Sermon from Lent III at Wesley

Isaiah 55:1-9
1 Corinthians 10:1-13
Luke 13:1-9

I wonder how many of you have had one of those emails from someone who is in desperate need of moving a large amount of money from one place to another and needs little help. In return, they will give you a reasonable proportion of this very large sum of money. All out of the blue. And, of course, we know that this is the beginning of an email scam. They’ll ask for your bank details and you’ll find that the flow of money is out of rather than into your bank account. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is as the saying goes. So we are all well advised to ignore that kind of message. We know that what it says is too good to be true and in fact it conceals something more sinister.

This morning’s passage from Isaiah that we thought about a bit earlier sometimes sounds to me like one of those things that is too good to be true. “Ho everyone who thirsts, come to the waters and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price!” And we’re accustomed, as are many people in our society, to wonder what the concealed sinister part might be. The abundance of God’s invitation, the crazy and random scattering of grace on God’s people defies our understanding and we react in different ways. Maybe some of us are awed by it and moved to worship; maybe others are shocked and frightened; maybe others confused or suspicious. We find it difficult to engage with an offer that is truly free. We are always expecting the catch to be there somewhere. As the Church we have not always been good at keeping catches out of an offer of the grace of God; we’re a bit too ready maybe to ask for things in return. But the challenge to us today and always is to be aware of the reality of the freedom of God’s grace; abundant and overflowing. An offer too good to be true but true nevertheless. This is the first mystery of the gospel that I set before us this morning.

But this is not the whole story. Life brings to us not only the abundance of the grace of God, but life brings many trials and tribulations too. St Paul writing to the church in Corinth recounts some of the difficulties faced by God’s people over the years. He challenges the church there not to rest on its laurels nor to presume that hardship would not befall them but to live faithfully. All too often people – Christians perhaps especially – have been ready to call hardship in life a consequence of sin. Jesus Christ in the gospel tells us this is not so. Was the Galileans suffering at the hands of Pilate a consequence of them being greater sinners than others? No it was not. Did those who perished at the tower of Siloam perish because they were greater sinners than others? No they did not. But still people are prepared to say that kind of thing. In the wake of the terrible earthquake in Haiti a prominent American evangelist described it as the result of sin. It is not so. And that is plain in the words of Christ in today’s gospel reading. The question in both the readings from the first letter to the Corinthians and from Luke’s gospel is the question of suffering. It is a real question for us today as we look at the world we live in – as we see news reports from Chile, from places of war; as we see those who suffer in our own lives and experience. This question has exercised theologians and pastors alike through the centuries and will continue to challenge them and us. It is the second mystery of the gospel that I set before us this morning.

Life is unfathomable. It rains on the just and on the unjust. There is abundance of grace in the world; but there is abundance of suffering too. There is no promise that we shall not suffer; there is no promise of an easy life. But there is a promise of a life with God and a life supported by his strength. There is the promise of fellowship and support within the fellowship of Christ’s body the Church. The anthem the choir sang earlier talked of companionship through all the unfathomables of life. The challenge to us in the face of these mysteries is to live a faithful life. Paul challenges the Corinthians to faithfulness in the light of the challenges that are before them in their day. Jesus tells the parable of the fig tree: a parable of the second chance but a parable of faithfulness too. We are always called to faithfulness. Not to success or material goals but to faithfulness.

So this morning, we approach the Lord’s table. We come in the light of those mysteries: the mystery of the abundance of grace and mystery of the prevalence of suffering. And we come to a place where both of those mysteries are made real. For at this table we join in the heavenly banquet prepared for all people. We join in the feast of our Lord in his kingdom. We come to this table to receive without money and without price. But at this table we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. We re-present his sacrifice on the cross of Calvary and we enter into his suffering and despair as he died there. The mysteries of the gospel are set forth at this table. We come for grace and strength to live faithful lives in the light of Christ.

Sermon from Lent I at Wesley

Romans 10:8b – 13
Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16
Luke 4:1-13

I cannot imagine what it would be like to go for forty days without food. Indeed, I’m a terrible one for snacking all through the day – as I sat yesterday writing this sermon I was grabbing biscuits to keep me going. Luke tells us that Jesus was in the wilderness for forty days. Now as you may know, in biblical texts “forty days” is often a figure of speech for “a long time”, so there might be a bit of give-and-take there but we’re talking about a bit more than breakfast to lunch. It’s not often that many of us have to go without food for any significant period of time and if we do it’s probably more an act of choice or because of something like medical treatment than because we don’t have any. There are many in our world who do endure long periods without food and indeed without water, because they do not have the resources to feed themselves or their families. It is appropriate that we are reminded of this in Lent and encouraged to do what we can to assist in relieving their suffering.

In the desert, Jesus is tempted by the devil. There are three temptations: to satisfy his hunger by turning stones into bread, to obtain earthly power and authority by worshipping the devil and to put God to the test by throwing himself from the highest point of the temple. At the root of it, all these temptations are about power: what power does Jesus have and how does he use it? We too have a lot of power: perhaps more than we realise. It is good to take time in Lent to reflect on how the way we live our lives and the way we act day to day affects other people. The Methodist Relief and Development Fund’s campaign for Lent this year encourages us to think about power, about what the scriptures have to say about power and about how we use the power we have. There is a great deal that we can actually achieve and when we place our power at God’s service rather than expecting God’s power at our service, all sorts of things can happen which we cannot even hope for or imagine.

But this morning, I want to concentrate on that first temptation. The temptation to turn stones into bread, to satisfy Jesus’ hunger. The devil tries to goad Jesus into an exercise of his power just for himself. If you are the Son of God, turn this stone into bread. It seems very ironic. This is Jesus, who will make five loaves and two fish feed thousands of people. This is Jesus, who will tell the crowds – to their amazement – that he is the bread of life. This is Jesus, who will sit to eat with his disciples and take bread, bless it and give it to them saying “This is my body”. Here he is – this Jesus – in the desert, famished, but he doesn’t turn these stones into bread. Jesus who said, “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a stone?” faces these stones but he has no bread.

Jesus is the true self-giver. He can give unconditionally without a thought for himself. So he gave food the crowds who hungered far from anywhere they might find food. Before giving himself up for all people, he sat with his disciples and ate and drank with them. He made himself available to people in preaching, teaching, healing, forgiving and comforting. We come today to his table; he invites everyone. He who hungered in the desert with no bread to eat invites us all to receive the bread of life: his body. As we gather before him as his body the church we come to receive his body given for us on the cross and given for us at this table. Here at this table we join with Jesus sat with his disciples in that upper room. Here at this table we see the reality of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. Here at this table we join in the heavenly banquet prepared for all people. For this is the table of Jesus Christ in his Church and he invites all to come. Come, you who are hungry: come and eat. Come you are thirsty: come and drink.

So this Lent we follow Jesus into the wilderness. He was led by the Spirit and we too will be led by the Spirit. We go knowing that we will face temptations and challenges. We go knowing that it will not be an easy journey. But we set ourselves on the road of Christ and we know that he will sustain us and guide us. Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved: we follow, we call and we are welcomed in by our Lord, who will give us more than we can ask or imagine. So set out on this journey, set out on the journey to the cross and beyond. Set out with God and who knows where it will lead.

Sermon from the Ash Wednesday Eucharist with imposition of ashes at Wesley:

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17
Psalm 51
2 Corinthians 5:20b - 6:10
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21


I trust that you all had adequate opportunity to fill yourself up with pancakes yesterday. I managed 4 before disappearing to the more carnival-esque atmosphere of the Finance and Property Committee. The tradition of the feast before the fast is one that has ingrained itself in our culture. Mardi gras becomes more and more prominent in news reports and features; supermarkets all remind us to stock up on our pancake ingredients and so on. But the reminders of what the next day is don’t seem to have worked themselves into our psyche quite so much. We like the feast; we don’t like the fast.

It was always like that in many ways. If you read through the message of the Hebrew prophets you’ll find that they have to keep saying the same things over and over and over again to God’s people. In every age we need reminding of God’s call to justice and righteousness. We need constant reminders of our mission in God’s world. We tend to forget and we take the easy bits and leave the more tricky bits behind. It’s like eating the icing off the top of our cake and declaring that we don’t like the rest.

Joel reminds the people yet again to return to God. They are to worship in solemn assembly, leaving everything else till later – even the bridegroom and bride should forget the ceremonies of their wedding to join in penitence. The ministers of the Lord should weep between the porch and the altar, Joel says, imploring God’s mercy for his penitent people. I’m not sure Gareth and I will shed too many tears this evening but you get the picture. It’s not fun and games.

Paul reminds the Corinthian church of their need to reconciled with God. The Christian life is not easy he says. They endure all kinds of hardship but still strive to live their lives in the light of the Gospel and the mission of God. Now is the day of salvation he says, now is the acceptable time.

Jesus too speaks of this need to return to God. He talks too about motives. Looking like you’re turning back to God to look good to other people is no good. Don’t make a show of giving money to the poor: do it in secret. Don’t make a show of your prayers: do it in secret. Don’t walk around looking miserable when you fast and brag about it to everybody: do it in secret. Your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

And people haven’t changed. We still need reminding to return to God. We still need reminding not just to go through the motions. And we need reminding that we do it for God and not to go up in the opinion of other people.

So the Church reminds us each of year of our need. Each year we observe the season of Lent. It’s like those prophets in the Hebrew scriptures reminding God’s people of their duty. It’s like Paul writing the Corinthian church reminding them of their calling. It’s like Jesus’ challenge to those around him. And we return to God with fasting, with prayer, by giving money to those in need. We recall how we have fallen short of this ideal and we repent.

From earliest times, ashes have been a symbol of this repentance. They were certainly in use in church as a symbol by the third century AD. By about the 8th century and possibly earlier they had become part of worship on this first day of Lent, as Christians were reminded of their calling and of their need to return to God. An early English writer, Aelfric, writing in the mid 7th century encourages his readers to church on Ash Wednesday. He even tells the story of a man who refused to go to church for the ashes on Ash Wednesday and who a few days after was accidentally killed in a boar hunt – so you better look out!

So today we are called back to God. We are reminded of our mission. We begin our preparations for Easter. As part of that, in a few moments, I will invite to join with Christians throughout the world today and through the ages who have used the symbol of ashes to mark their commitment to return to God, to seek God’s mission and to be renewed in his likeness. At baptism, we are claimed by God and planted into his church. The cross is signed on our foreheads. We sign the cross on our foreheads again today, remembering our baptism, being sorry for the ways in which we have not lived up to God’s call on our lives and seeking God’s forgiveness and renewal.

I have to admit to being rather surprised by the address of the President and Vice-President to the General Synod of the Church of England. In particular, many news reports have seized upon the President's statement that the Methodist Church is prepared to cease its separate existence if that will further the kingdom. He says too that the Methodist Church addresses its Covenant spirituality of "Let me have all things, let me have nothing" to the Church of England as it does to God in the annual Covenant service. It is certainly true that Methodism has a deep spirituality and theology of covenant that has perhaps not been strongly appreciated by our covenant partner.

The disastrous results a few years ago of moves towards introducing an episcopal ministry within the Methodist Church have all but stalled recent progress on the Covenant. It has been interesting to see over recent months various attempts to raise its profile once more, from Lord Griffiths' discussions with the Bishop of London, to Colin Buchanan's article in the Church Times and now the President's address. The Joint Implementation Commission is due to present the suggestion of an episcopal President to the Conference this year and I will be watching the progress with interest. That said, one wonders what success is expected given that the report on the proposed Presidium has been produced entirely separately from any consideration of the episcopal nature (or otherwise!) of the President.

The Vice-President's blog entry regarding the address suggests that their affirmation of Methodism's willingness to cease existence is simply a restatement of previous decisions of the Conference. That seems rather more reticent than the boldness of the address itself. We could restate also those many previous decisions of the Conference regarding episcopacy but we are also aware of the reality of how little weight those decisions carried in the end.

I applaud the challenge that President and the Vice-President have presented to both our churches and dearly hope that their enthusiasm will be shared on the ground and in the Conference this summer. I'm not holding out any great hopes but maybe - hopefully! - I will be eating my words before too long.

Sermon from the evening service at Whitchurch Methodist Church

1 Chronicles 29:6-19
Acts 7:44-50
John 4:19-29

This is not the time or the place! Perhaps I remember that phrase being uttered in my direction more recently than some of you do. Somehow though it never seems to be quite clear in those situations what the proper time and place is! That phrase sprang to my mind as I looked over the readings in this evening’s lectionary. Time and place. And in particular the time and the place for worship.

On one level, of course, we would, as Christians, be keen to say that the time and place for worship is always and everywhere. There is no where that God is not, and there is no time when God is not. God fills all in all. As a result, God can be worshipped wherever and whenever we happen to be. At home, at work, in the shops, in the park, you name it, a Christian can worship there. There is a lot to be said for this if it leads us to consecrate every moment to God and to live our lives in a constant awareness of God’s presence in our world. When Local Preachers move from being “On Note” - the first stage of training – to “On Trial” the second stage of training they are given a book by the Local Preachers’ Office. When I passed between those stages, I received a book entitled “Called to Prayer” which is a compendium of different prayers for various occasions. I use it frequently. One of my favourite prayers in it is as follows:

Lord, let me discern you with equal joy in times of business and in times of prayer. Let me know you with equal tranquillity in the noise and clatter of the kitchen and in the blessing of your holy sacrament; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

At one level, every moment is an opportunity for encounter with God: the washing up just as much as the Most Holy Sacrament.

But as humans we are very good indeed at taking things for granted. It is very easy to forget about the significance of things that are always there. Which of us is mindful of the fact that there is oxygen in the air which allows us to breathe and therefore to continue to live day by day? It is only when we become ill and have difficulties that we realise its importance. Those who are dependent on oxygen tanks will realise its significance in a way that many of us don’t.

It is the same with God. Being able to worship anywhere can quickly lead us to taking worship for granted. Being able to worship at any time can quickly lead us to an attitude where God is at our beck and call ready when we might be in need, but easily forgotten the rest of the time.

Furthermore, if we assert that there is no need for times and places set apart for worship then we leave behind a great deal of the witness of the Hebrew scriptures. The lesson from the first book of Chronicles tells us of David and the leaders of the ancestral houses making offerings for the building of the Temple. Solomon, David’s son, later to be king, will build the temple, a house for God’s holy name. We believe that God can be encountered in every moment and every place, so what is this Temple for? What is this Temple about? We are reminded in the book of Acts that the Most High does not dwell in houses made with human hands. But equally we are mindful of the detailed passages regarding the construction of the temple and God’s instruction for its furnishing and the worship which is to be offered in it. By the temple and its worship, by the visible signs of his presence, God can be known among his people, and indeed among all people.

This issue of worship and its time and place come to head in the Gospel reading. The lectionary brings us in half-way through the encounter. Jesus is at the well about noon – in the heat of the day. He asks a Samaritan woman – who remains unnamed – for a drink. This is scandalous as by the proper standards of the day he shouldn’t even be talking to her much less accepting a drink from her. Furthermore, she is in disgrace as a result of her marital situation – she has had five husbands before the man she now lives with. This is why she comes to draw water in the heat of the day: when no one else would normally be around. As she talks with Jesus, she exclaims that he is a prophet and that is where we began to read. Their ancestors, she says, worshipped on the mountain but the Jews worship in Jerusalem.

Jesus’ response to this is perhaps surprising. He doesn’t talk of the temple, nor yet of the synagogue. It won’t be Jerusalem nor the mountain where the Samaritans worship. He simply says that there will be a time, which is now here, when true worshippers will worship in Spirit and in truth.

Now a great deal of ink has been spilt and breath expended trying to say what it might be to worship in spirit and in truth. We have been too ready in more recent history to interpret it as saying that our worship is all about our attitude and that everything else is external, secondary and therefore of little relevance. But let us just ponder on this for a moment. The comment arises in the context of a discussion about the proper place for worship, set in the background of the Hebrew law which provided carefully for ceremonies, sacrifices and so on.

Remember too that word Spirit. Remember the close association between Spirit and breath in the scriptures. Ruach in Hebrew and pneuma in Greek can both mean breath or spirit and those meanings overlap. God breathes into Adam and Eve to give them life. The Spirit hovers over the waters at creation. In Ezekiel the Spirit of the Lord leads him to the valley of dry bones and God says to the bones I will cause breath to enter you. So on and so forth. Spirit, breath is something to do with life and creation and renewal. I would suggest that to worship in Spirit, with our breath, is to worship with our whole selves with our bodies as well as our minds and emotions. We have not, in our tradition, been as physical with our worship as some others. The exception to that is maybe in our hymn-singing – you cannot sing properly without using your body. To worship in Spirit, to worship with our whole spirit, our whole being, with the very breath of our life: Let everything that has breath praise the Lord, says the Psalmist.

And so to truth. What is the truth of our worship? Jesus says that the Jews worship what they know and the Samaritans what they do not know. But that aside really, Jesus’ revelation of himself to her as the Messiah which is unmistakable in verse 26 when he says the words “I am” - the divine name. The truth of worship is something to do then with the revelation of God and of God’s identity. That subsumes both the mountain and Jerusalem as places of worship: they are both in their way places of revelation. They are both places where God has been known. But there will be other places too and the worshippers of God will worship in the knowledge of that truth; in the experience of the revelation of God.

Worship is rooted in that experience and that brings us back to the importance of time and place where we first started out. Christian worship is offered in spirit and in truth and is not limited to any place or time. But Christian worship is rooted in an experience of revelation and it does relate to our whole selves and our whole beings. Because of this, place and time becomes once more important. As limited human beings, our experiences of God are within space and time. A focussed time and place for worship alerts us to the revelation of God in that place and makes us more attuned to it in the everyday and the mundane. If we learn what holiness looks like in a place set apart and a time set apart, we can begin to recognise it where it might at first seem harder to find. The visible sign of the church building, the gathering of God’s people, the setting-apart of times of the day are all pointers to this holiness that lies in every moment and every place.

I was once on retreat in a monastery and the monk leading the retreat gave us some advice for seeking God. Go, he said, to the places you expect God to be, and wait there. And in the silence and stillness of the church, of creation, of the place where we look for God, we can break through into the worship of heaven, into the congregation of all the saints who worship God in Spirit and in truth in the glorious vision of his holiness.

I was at Calvary Baptist Church this morning because we had a pulpit exchange for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.

Ecclesiastes 1:1-11
Luke 24:33-49

We see and hear all sorts of different things from day to day. As you travel through the city you’ll see billboards and adverts. You’ll see people coming and going and doing all the things that they do. You’ll see places that are familiar and unfamiliar. Sights that pass you by and sights that attract your attention and make you wonder what’s going on. And maybe you look a bit more intently, trying to see what’s there.

Think of the sounds of the city too: some of them are obvious in traffic, bustle of people, a conversation on a street corner. Maybe you hear something flying overhead – a plane or a helicopter – or your hear a train passing. And somewhere in all of that might be a few words that catch your attention. Something that turns your head and makes you think, “Did I hear that right?”

You are witnesses says Jesus to the apostles in Luke 24:48. You are witnesses is the theme for this year’s Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. What is it to be a witness? It is more, I think, than just to see and just to hear. It’s got something to do with those surprise moments, those turning the head moments. When Jesus tells the apostles that they are witnesses of these things, which things did he mean? What had turned their heads? Caught their attention? Buried itself deep in their minds and the consciences? How did it affect their lives that they were witnesses of these things?

They had seen Jesus stand among them and had heard him say, “Peace be with you”. They had looked at his hands and his feet. He’d told them to touch him. And he asked for something to eat and he had a bit of fish.

Some of them had walked with Jesus on the road to Emmaus. They had heard him explain the scriptures. They had sat at supper with him. He had broken bread and they had recognised him.

The women had gone to the tomb, early on a Sunday morning, after the Friday when Jesus was killed. They had gone with spices to anoint his body. But when they got there, he was not there. They couldn’t find his body. And “they” - whoever “they” were - said to the women, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” And so they went and told the eleven and the rest of them.

You are witnesses of these things. These are some of things you have seen, says Jesus, over recent days.

They had been with him before that, of course. They had heard him preach about the kingdom of God, the year of the Lord’s favour. He was the one to proclaim good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight for the blind, to let the oppressed go free. He healed those who had long ago given up all hope of being well again. He ate with those no one else would eat with. They had seen these things too. Some of them they had thought that they maybe understood. Some of them confused them completely. Other things they didn’t even really notice.

Of course, they had seen too what had happened when he was arrested and tried. What Pilate and the chief priests did to him. And they had scattered, fearing for their own lives. So they maybe didn’t see him being flogged, carrying his cross to Golgotha and being crucified. Or maybe they did, but from a distance. And they knew of Joseph, a righteous man, who had asked for the body of Jesus so that he might bury it.

You are witnesses of these things. These are some of things that you’ve seen, heard and experienced.

And so this man Jesus who was dead and buried, comes and stands among them again. Confusion doesn’t even begin to explain it – they were startled and terrified and thought that they were seeing a ghost. Whatever they had witnessed before, it hadn’t even begun to prepare them for this moment. They had heard the news from the women who’d gone to the tomb. Those who had been on the road to Emmaus had told their story about how they knew him in the breaking of the bread. But then he disappeared. Now he is here standing among them as someone they can touch, someone who is hungry and wants something to eat. This man who fed 5000 people from five loaves and two fish needs to ask them for bread at the table and fish from the fire.

You are witnesses of these things, says Jesus. But it’s not just about you, it’s to be proclaimed to all the peoples, but not just yet. Wait here until you receive power from on high.

They have witnessed all these things. They have not yet begun to understand them and appreciate them for what they are and what they mean. They are witnesses in the first stage of witnessing. They have not just seen and heard but they have looked and listened. Out of the huge number of different experiences they’ve had, they have been able to recognise something special and something significant in these encounters, in this life they’ve lived with Jesus. They are witnesses of these things: they have looked and they have listened. The first stage.


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A short sermon for the Covenant Service at St Paul's
Deuteronomy 29:10-15
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Romans 12:1-2
John 15:1-10

One of the presents I had for Christmas was a little greenhouse, with a plantpot and some grape seeds. It also had in it some instructions for how to grow a vine. If you do well, you might a couple of years down the line harvest some grapes from it. It also had in it a small bottle of some thing you might make out of the grapes if you had enough of them. But being a good Methodist, I’ve not brought that along.

So here’s what you have to do. You plant your seeds in the pot and you put the pot in the little greenhouse. Then you put it in a sunny place and wait for your seeds to sprout. Once your vine starts to grow then you need to think about supporting them or they won’t grow very well. The instructions say “It is important to be able to give your vine strong supports to grow up.” And that is what our gospel reading is talking about when it talks about the vine and the branches. The branches are the supports for the vine to grow up. And the vine won’t do very well at all and won’t bear any fruit without the branches. Equally, the branches on their own won’t be very exciting. They need to be together.

So Jesus’ picture for us has his Father as the vine-grower, Jesus himself is the vine and his disciples are the branches. And remember that the vine is no good without the branches and the branches are no good without the vine. They have to be together.

In this Covenant service, we recommit ourselves to being together with Jesus. We are no good without him – but the remarkable thing is – he is no good without us. We need each other – we cannot possibly do without him and he cannot do without us. Because we are his church, we are a sign of his presence here in Loudoun Square, in Butetown and everywhere we go. So recommit ourselves today to that partnership. Because if we don’t we’re just a branch, a support with nothing growing up it. And then there is no fruit to bear. We commit ourselves again to growing together.

In Holy Communion, we especially express that growing together. On the night he was betrayed Jesus took the cup of wine, the fruit of the vine and the work of human hands – a symbol of that partnership. And he said “This is my blood of the new covenant which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this as often as you drink it in remembrance of me.” Every time we come to this table we draw ourselves together with him again. We grow together again. We receive his presence, his life in our very selves. We abide in him and he in us.

A few words for the feast of the Baptism of Christ.
Isaiah 43:1-7
Luke 3:15-22

We celebrate not one but two baptisms today. Of course, we celebrate [this child]’s baptism and we rejoice with [her parents] and all her family at the gift to them of a daughter and we rejoice at the demonstration of God’s great love for her in her baptism. But today is an especially appropriate day for a baptism, because today is the day when the Church celebrates Christ’s own baptism. The Church today celebrates that Jesus came to the Jordan and was baptised there by John. The fact that Jesus was baptised is one of the many reasons that the church still baptises today.

Think for a moment about that situation in the gospel reading. John has been teaching the crowds who came to him in the wilderness about Jesus. John has been telling them that he baptises them with water, but the one who is coming after him – Jesus in other words – will baptise them with the Holy Spirit and with fire. John says that he’s not worthy even to untie Jesus’ sandals. Undoing someone’s sandals would have been a slave’s job at that time so John’s saying he’s not worthy even to be Jesus’ slave. But then the remarkable thing is that Jesus comes to John and is baptised with water. The one who will baptise with the Holy Spirit and with fire is baptised by someone who thinks himself unworthy even to be his slave. This baptism is an event which tells us a lot about who Jesus is. He comes gently, he is baptised by John in the Jordan and he prays. And the heavens open and the Father’s voice says “You are my beloved Son, in you I delight.” John’s actions in baptising Jesus lead to a revealing of who Jesus is.

When the Church baptises, she doesn’t baptise just with water, but with the Holy Spirit, with fire and with water. We prayed for the Holy Spirit to rest on the water, we prayed that God might touch us all again with the fire of that Spirit. We gave [this child] a burning candle, showing the fire and the light of Christ. Because this baptism is not just the baptism that John was called to give, it is the baptism that Jesus instructed his disciples about, it’s the baptism that the apostles baptised people with after they had received the fire of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. And just as that baptism of Jesus revealed who he was, so our baptism is about revealing who we are. I asked [her parents] earlier what they had named their daughter. I didn’t ask that because I didn’t know. I asked it because baptism is about who she is, it is about calling her by her name.

We heard Isaiah speaking God’s message in our first reading earlier. Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. In baptism, God declared Jesus his beloved Son. In this baptism, God declares [this child] to be his child. God calls her by name. For all of us who are baptised, God calls us by name, God has redeemed us. We belong to God.

A sermon for the Epiphany, observed a few days early at Cyncoed Methodist Church

Isaiah 60:1-6
Psalm 72
Matthew 2:1-12

All will be revealed, as they say. St Luke says in his gospel, “For nothing is hidden that will not be disclosed, nor is anything secret that will not become known and come to light.” In this evening’s service, we think a bit about the Epiphany. Properly speaking, Epiphany is on Wednesday, but I suspect you won’t be here then. I’m assuming you were focussing on your Covenant this morning, so I thought we would spend a little time on the Epiphany this evening. If any of you gets a double dose, then it will do you good!

All will be revealed. And that is what epiphany is about. The word comes from the Greek ἐπιφαίνω I reveal, I appear, I give light. It is about an uncovering or a showing, a manifestation if you like. It is about the discovery of who the infant Christ is. The discovery of that by the Gentiles in particular, represented in the Magi, who have journeyed from the East to come to worship the infant Christ. There are three stories that are traditionally associated with the Epiphany: the visit of the Magi, of course, the Baptism of Christ, which we celebrate next Sunday and the miracle of turning water into wine at the wedding of Cana. These three are all about a discovery or a revelation – an epiphany in other words – of who Christ is. Christ is revealed by the star and by the gifts the wise men bring, Christ is revealed in his baptism as the Father says, “This is my Son the beloved in whom I am well pleased” and Christ is revealed by his miracle at Cana which he performs at the request of his mother, Mary.

“Darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples” wrote the prophet Isaiah. And there may be many darknesses that we feel in our world and our lives today. On a global scale, there is the ongoing issues of conflict and war, perhaps brought into focus by the attempt to attack many people on a plane to America recently. Perhaps we might also worry about what might happen in response to that or in retaliation. In our personal lives, we may face challenges and difficulties. We may well be aware of friends, family and others who face significant difficulties. Darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples. For some of these situations, the story of the Epiphany is a story we can live in. The Magi studied the skies; they looked for the light breaking through. The looked for the star that would guide them. But that was only a pointer in the right direction, because, as we know, they came to Jerusalem and had to ask which way to go. Where was the child? They needed some more information at this point. But they had left their own country because something had been revealed to them; they had had a pointer in the right direction.

Lift up your eyes and look around, Isaiah continues. Have you ever been into a building where the ceiling is amazing? Perhaps you don’t even realise it when you walk through the door. We don’t naturally look up. Sometimes they have trolleys on wheels with mirrors mounted in them so that you can look at the decoration of the ceiling without straining your neck. Sometimes I’ve not realised that the ceiling was ornate until seeing that there was a trolley with a mirror in it which makes me then look up. That trolley was a little epiphany for me. Lift up your eyes and look around. The Epiphany inspires to look for those revelations of God in our lives. They may not all be stars in the night sky, or voices from heaven or miracles of wine but they are there. Lift up your eyes and look around.

And so the wise men come from the East to the infant Christ. The Kings of Sheba and Seba will offer gifts said the psalmist. Historically in the church we’ve read this psalm as a prophesy of the Epiphany. It’s one of the reasons why we traditionally call the wise men kings, even though the account in St Matthew’s gospel doesn’t say they were. This psalm reveals to us something of who this infant Christ is. He shall have pity on the weak and the poor. He shall care for the oppressed. Dear shall their blood be in his sight. At a time when many lives were considered expendable – perhaps a time not so distant from our own – the revelation of God is one of care and concern for all people. Each person is precious in God’s sight. The rich and the poor; those from nearby like the shepherds and those from far away like the wise men. Elizabeth who gave birth even in old age to John the Baptist paving the way for the coming of Christ, and of course Mary his mother herself, a young girl, unwed, potentially the subject of disgrace. All these, and many more, valued and precious in the sight of God.

But the revelation of Christ is not always good news. There are those for whom it is very bad news indeed. Herod the King also heard something of the revelation of Christ. The wise men came to him and asked “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage.” Those words were not good news for Herod but deeply challenging and disturbing. This child was a threat to his power, his stability, ultimately his whole life. And if you read on in St Matthew’s gospel you know that Mary and Joseph with the infant Christ had to flee because Herod ordered that all the young boys be killed. Herod, anxious about his own political power, his own wealth and riches, responded to this revelation with violence, death and destruction. Darkness covers the earth, and thick darkness the peoples. There are still children today who suffer violence, death and destruction to serve the power-hungry aims of others. The need for the revelation of Christ, rightly received, is greater than ever.

So leaving Herod, having unwisely alerted him to the birth of Christ, the wise men go on their way and find Jesus with his mother Mary. And they fall down and worship him. They offer their gifts of gold – for another king is here, frankincense – incense being an essential part of worshipping God and myrrh – used for anointing and embalming the dead, a painful prophecy of what was to come. They had come to the source of the revelation they had first seen back in the East, in the star in the night sky. They had followed not knowing exactly where they were going or what they would find. But they came, and they worshipped, and they saw. It was all revealed to them. And they went back by another road, not back to Herod. They went back another way, changed by what they had seen.

So we reflect this evening on their journey and on their experience and we ask what it has to say to us. Through the darkness we look for the revelation of God, for that light which all the nations will come to. We look to the infant Christ who welcomes all people wherever they come from and we seek to go with the wise men to worship him. We go knowing that not everyone will see this revelation as good news. We go challenged as to how we will react to it: we will be worried about our own security and react with hostility, we will rejoice at the child and fall down in worship. As we journey back from the stable, will we have learned the lesson to lift up our eyes and look around? To be aware of the revealing of God in our lives and in the world around us, for God shows himself to us in the small as well as the great. All will be revealed.

A few words for the Christmas morning service
Luke 2:1-20

So here it is, merry Christmas, as the song puts it. The days of Advent have passed – quickly or slowly, maybe depending on your age – and we have come to the celebration of Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, truly God and truly human. We have just heard in Luke’s gospel of how the shepherds first heard the news on that first Christmas. That kind of experience must have left a profound impression on them: they would remember that for the rest of their lives. Maybe you have some first Christmas memories: family, presents, tree, carols, church and many more, I’m sure. Christmas comes each year, a feast in the church’s calendar to remind us once more of what those shepherds, cold and lonely on their hillside, heard and saw.

Amid all the rush and bustle, the joy and celebration, we’re here to hear again the angel’s song “Glory to God in the highest”; we’re here to follow the shepherds to Bethlehem, joyfully praising God. Because today Christ is born, God is with us. God came not to the powerful or the rich or the influential, but to Mary and Joseph, in a stable. The first visitors were the poor shepherds from the hillside. The message that God is with us was for each one of them: for each shepherd, for the innkeeper, for Joseph and of course, for Mary, who had known the presence of God with her especially over those nine months where she carried Jesus.

And now he is born. And now God is among us. There will be much to do over the coming days and years. This child will grow up. He will live a life. He will do many things. But the task for today is to go with the shepherds to Bethlehem, to see Mary and Joseph and the baby lying in a manger and to fall down and worship. To join in with the song of the angels: Glory to God in the highest heaven and on earth peace to all whom he favours! It is with Mary, to treasure, yes treasure, all of these things in our hearts, and to return, with the shepherds, glorifying and praising God.

So here it is. Merry Christmas. What weight those words should carry, what depth of meaning. Enjoy yourself. Rejoice. Have fun. Because God is with us and with all people: Jesus, Emmanuel, is born. He is lying in the manger at Bethlehem. He is cradled by Mary his most holy Mother. He is protected by Joseph. He is worshipped by the shepherds. Let the angels sing his praise; Let the saints sing his praise; Let God’s people everywhere sing his praise; and let us join with them.

Glory to God in the highest heaven and on earth peace to all whom he favours!

A short sermon for the midnight Mass...

Isaiah 52:7-10
Hebrews 1:1-4
John 1:1-14

Someone once asked me if I had to sum up the gospel in one sentence, what that sentence would be. I wonder what any of you would have said to that. I suspect round church this evening we might come up with a variety of different sentences. I answered in words from this evening’s gospel reading. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” It is the central truth of this festival and it is one of the central truths of our faith: that our Lord Jesus Christ, truly God became human and was born in Bethlehem. We proclaim a God who is involved with us, who reaches out to us in our need and came to this world to live as one of us. Jesus Christ was not simply a good teacher, he was not simply an inspiring example, he is not simply a figure of history, but he is the image of the invisible God. He is the exact representation of God’s being and the radiance of God’s glory.

Through Advent we have heard again the call of the prophets: those words whose truth becomes new in every age; the words God spoke to our ancestors in the faith. God spoke them, says the writer to the Hebrews, in many and various ways. But the message, the revelation, the glory that is revealed in Christ is something different and something new. In these last days – and that’s not last as in recent, but last as in end, final: the last days as we might say – in these last days, God has spoken to us by a Son. There is a finality to this, to these last days, that there was not in the message of the prophets. They needed to repeat their message, they constantly needed to call the people back to the way which God had created. And they were faithful from age to age in that task to which God called them. Their words still guide us, inspire us and call us back. But the encounter we have with Jesus Christ – God made flesh – is of another kind. It is final, not because God doesn’t speak today, or because there is nothing more to be said, but because it is eternal. God became flesh in Jesus Christ and because God is eternal, that becoming flesh – that incarnation – is eternal and always. God is always and for ever one of us because he became human as Jesus of Nazareth. A revelation which was final but which is as new today as it was then.

Those of you who were here on Sunday evening might remember I talked a bit people – shepherds, wise men, Mary, Joseph and so on – being changed by meeting the infant Christ. Tonight – on the night of his birth – we realise that it is not just people, but the whole of creation. The world is never the same again because of a helpless baby lying in the manger at Bethlehem. The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

A few words for the carol service at Wesley:

And they all lived happily ever after. That’s how nice stories end; that is the fairy tale picture of perfection. And they all lived happily ever after. All the characters played their part; we sat on the edge of our seats for a bit; we rooted for them; we followed them along. And now they live happily ever after. Sometimes I think that our Christmas re-telling of the story is sometimes a bit like that. We get to our picture of the Infant Christ, Mary and Joseph, the Shepherds with lambs, Kings with their gifts all gathered round in the stable, and we think, “And they all lived happily ever after.” But what became of them? And for us, who have listened again to the message of the angels and have gone in heart and mind to Bethlehem to see this thing which has happened, what will become of us?

Luke’s gospel tells us that after visiting the baby Jesus, the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God. And did they go back to their fields and just carry on watching their sheep? Could they who had heard the singing of the choir of angels carry on as before? Could they who had seen the baby and Mary his mother be the same people as they were before?

Matthew’s gospel tells us that the Wise Men went back to their own country by another road so as to avoid going back to Herod and betraying where Jesus was. And did they go back to their studies of the skies and just carry on as they were? Could they who had followed this star that they knew would lead to a king carry on as before? They who had brought precious costly gifts to a child and knelt down before him and paid him homage, could they be the same again?

For Mary and Joseph, shortly to have to flee into exile in Egypt for fear of Jesus’ life because Herod wants to kill him, can they be the same again. And they hear the mysterious prophecy when they present Jesus in the temple, and Simeon, the old priest, tells them that this child is destined for the falling and rising of many. Can they be the same again?

That perfect picture of them all gathered in the stable hides all the questions of what is to come. Because they didn’t all go and live happily ever after; they went on journeys, they challenged people, they were fundamentally changed because they had seen, they had encountered that tiny baby who was God incarnate. Maybe they had the tiniest inkling of the life he would lead: of his teaching and healing, of his suffering and death on the cross, of his resurrection to new life and his return to heaven in his ascension. And they met that person, that baby, helpless and tiny, in the manger of a stable in Bethlehem.

In St John’s masterful account, we read that The Word who is and was God became flesh, became a human being and lived with us. And for all who encounter that Word, for all who have beheld his glory, things can never be the same again. Just as the shepherds went on their way glorifying and praising God, and the wise men went back a different way and Mary and Joseph fled into Egypt so we go a different way, because we have seen this baby. Amen.

Sermon for Advent III evening service at Radyr

Isaiah 35:1-10
Luke 1:57-66

But that’s impossible! There is no way you can do that. It’ll never work.

Our readings this evening are all about the impossible. They are about things which might seem a world away or about things which would seem like they could never happen. As Christians, we’re maybe used to the idea that “with God all things are possible”, but it’s much harder to live it and believe it.

The Isaiah reading is a stunningly poetic passage. It comes from the time of the exile: when the people of Israel were conquered and held captive. The Hebrew scriptures include lots of texts from this time. One of the things I often wonder about them is how they were received by the people. When a prophet said something like this, did it bring hope, or maybe even joy? Could they anticipate returning home sometime soon? Or did they maybe think “Yeah, right! Dream on...” Waters in the wilderness, streams in the desert? I don’t think so.

I wonder too if these texts were ever heard by those who kept them in captivity. I wonder what they thought? Were they threatened by them? Did it sound like subversive plotting? Like they were planning to escape? Might it even make them afraid? Or did they think that their prisoners were deluding themselves, holding out a vain hope of return that would never happen?

If we step into the text itself, its full of images that sound impossible. The wilderness and the dry land will be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom. The eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. The lame shall leap like a deer and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. And so it goes on. The vision is almost utopian in its extravagance. There will be no more sorrow and sighing – and the implication therefore is that there is a fair bit of that at the moment – but there will be joy and gladness.

Imagine yourself sitting in exile in Babylon, enslaved and far from home. How would you react to this text? Would it make you feel more hopeful or more despondent? Would you be grateful for it?

There are people in our world today who are enslaved: by oppressive political power, by poverty, because of the sex and the drugs trade and for many other reasons. Is this deliverance theirs? How would they react to the vision of freedom? Because if we are serious about this freedom, about this vision then it has to be for those around us as much as it was for the people of God in exile in Babylon.

The Gospel takes us to the family of Elizabeth and Zechariah. Elizabeth who is about to have a baby. It might all sound normal enough. But if we look back earlier in the chapter, we find that Elizabeth is in “old age” and we’re also told that she was said to be barren. Children were a sign of God’s blessing and to be without children was a sign of shame. Today we might have very different views about that. But for them, the possibility of a child was one which was both much desired and seemingly completely impossible. Nevertheless an angel had foretold to Zechariah that Elizabeth would have a child. The angel instructed that the child be named John. Zechariah didn’t believe it – perhaps not unreasonably – and became mute. When the child was born, and named John, there was a dispute. What a strange name! What have you called him that for? It’s not a name of anyone in the family... And so they go to Zechariah for his ruling on the matter. But Zechariah – still unable to speak – writes down that he is to be called John. And then his speech is restored. There might be echoes for us there of the Isaiah passage – the tongue of the speechless shall sing for joy. More impossible things. Two impossibles make a possible? Or something like that...

Imagine yourself with the family of Elizabeth and Zechariah. Their dream has been fulfilled; what they hoped for – the impossible itself – has happened. We might know what it is to dream for something, to hope against hope that it might happen – whether that is for children or for something else. If that hope is realised it is an amazing thing; if it is not then we press on but life seems that bit harder than it did before. What hopes and dreams do we have? What are the hopes and dreams of the world we live in? And how can the Advent hope of the coming Christ shine into those situations?

For the early church, the expectation of Christ’s return loomed rather larger than it maybe does for us. They expected it to be very soon: certainly within their own life times. Just under 2000 years later, it looks like another of these impossible things. Or maybe if not impossible, rather remote and not worthy of much of our attention. Does the Advent call to make ready really ring in our ears? Or does it sound a bit hollow? Does it give us hope or is it the message of a futile utopia?

The world we live in faces us with many similar dilemmas. The question of climate change: can we ever achieve serious action about it? Or is the possibility of low-carbon living an impossible dream? For the world to be at peace seems increasingly a dream as each day brings news of more people killed through violence and war. Many more lack food, water, clothing, medical attention and so on. And in the face of it all, we can feel powerless and even useless. What use is an Advent hope in the face of all of this?

Strengthen the weak hands,
make firm the feeble knees,
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
‘Be strong, do not fear;

For those exiles some 3000 years ago, what a challenging text that must have been. But also what a message of hope that we are here this evening reading that text again. And not just reading it, but wondering what it might mean. And reflecting on the exile of all sorts of people in our world. For in every generation the people of God have been faced with the impossible, have been confronted with things that seemed insurmountable. And we are still here. And in the future, we will still be here. And we will still be doing the impossible.

For Christ came into a darkened world. And the light shone in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. The one who came to bear witness to that light was John, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah, the impossible child. It is the supreme irony: the paradox of God that gives us hope, that drives us forward through the Advent season and indeed through the whole of our Christian lives. God did not come the easy way; God did not come the obvious way; God came through the impossible, the frankly absurd. And God continues to do so.

So to live in Advent, to live in expectation of the coming of Christ is at one level to mourn in exile, with the people of Israel for whom that passage of Isaiah was written. It is to mourn with Elizabeth and Zechariah at their inability to have a child. It is to live in the darkness of the world. But while we live in those situations, we are able to look at the wilderness and tell it to be glad, to look at the desert and tell it to blossom, to tell water to spring up, to tell burning sand to become a pool, to say that there can be new life where there was none. For we are the people of the light, of the light which shines in the darkness and can never be put out. We are the people of the impossible God.

Nothing is impossible, for in Christ, Emmanuel, God is with us. Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, Rejoice!

Sermon for Advent III at Wesley
Philippians 4:4-7
Luke 3:7-18

And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?”

Crowds gather for all sorts of things. Crowds gather for sports games, for concerts, for the shops, to protest, to campaign, for many different reasons. We have probably each been part of crowds various kinds. We know something of what it’s like – perhaps we love it or loathe it.

I find it hard to imagine the crowd that went out to John in the wilderness. I wonder how the message went around? There’s this really odd guy out in the desert, you must come and see... He was in the desert – the crowds wouldn’t have seen him in passing: they came out deliberately. And they came, the text tells us, to be baptised. But they didn’t get the most welcoming of responses. “You brood of vipers!” Who warned you to flee? Who told you? How did you find out? I wonder if John was a little confused by the response that he got. But he preaches his message of repentance. It is no good coming to me in the desert; it’s no good being children of Abraham unless you start doing something about it. Having reflected on the prophetic call last week: the call back to God’s way, to God’s justice and to God’s righteousness, we have a clear message from John that we have to do something about it. As we take the Advent journey, we’re called to hear those words again: and with the crowd to ask, “What then should we do?”

There are many things that can occupy our time in preparing for Christmas. Some might seem more like chores; others might be quite enjoyable. There might be plans to make about travel to visit friends or family; Christmas shopping (love it or loathe it...); cards to write, food to plan and so on... Some of you may have started putting up decorations at home. In all of this, and in the rush of the secular season, we can lose sight of the more challenging preparation that Advent calls us to. Advent is traditionally a season of penitence and fasting. It is a real entering into that message both of the prophets and of John the Baptist to bear fruits worthy of repentance. And we do this not just in memory of Christ’s first coming, but in anticipation of his coming again. Get your house in order, says John. And that should ring in our ears all the way through Advent.

So we ask, with the crowd, what should we do? And John has answers for some of the different groups of people who come to him. Tax-collectors: don’t take more than the right amount. Don’t cheat people out of their money in other words – only take what’s owed. Soldiers: Don’t bully people and steal things. And I’m sure he had the right things to say to others who came to him. What might he say to us? As you feast, remember the poor. Be satisfied with what you have. Seek justice for all people. This is again that ringing cry of the prophets.

But John is not just another of the prophets: he has been called the forerunner. The Church recognises that he has a special place among prophets. He goes before the Lord to clear the way, as the version of Zechariah’s song that we sang earlier puts it. And he tells the people of this one who is to come. One who is more powerful than John is; John says he’s not even worthy to untie his sandals. He is coming, says John. And it sounds like a daunting, maybe awesome coming.

As we approach the Lord’s table today, we ready ourselves too for the coming of Christ: for his coming to us in his body and blood. We probably don’t regard that as the kind of coming that John talks about. We probably won’t see any unquenchable fire, winnowing forks and all the rest of it. But the Holy Spirit will most certainly be there and Christ will reign as Lord on his altar. And it is just as important that we make ready, and that we recognise his coming.

What then should we do? Bear fruits worthy of repentance, certainly, but also rejoice! For the Lord is near. Do not worry about anything. And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

For the coming of Christ will be unexpected in many ways: as he came at that first Christmas in Bethlehem, as he comes in the moments and encounters of daily life, as he comes in the sacrament of Holy Communion. He comes to bring judgement, he comes to bring peace, he comes to bring joy. He comes to bring new life: life transformed by all of these things. Because when Christ comes, nothing is the same again: everything is different.

Mary the mother of Christ our God, knew that. She saw how completely her life changed through the coming of Christ. She said yes to God, she followed the way of the prophets. The Magnificat, her song, is one of the most stirring calls for God’s righteousness and God’s justice in the whole of the Bible. And so, in her, this road of preparation was brought to completion, and Christ was born. That was a world changing event. Our celebration of the Eucharist is also a world-changing event, though we may not realise it. Because here we participate in the life of Christ, we take part in his incarnation, in his death on the cross, in his resurrection to new life. Here, Christ comes, as he came then and as he will come again.

What then should we do?

Sermon for Advent II at Wesley, including a baptism
Malachi 3:1-4
Luke 3:1-6

“You’re not going to like this but...” I wonder if any of you have ever had say something along those lines. Maybe you’ve had to tell someone something that you know they’re not going to want to hear. Maybe something they need to hear; maybe something they’ve been ignoring. We have a saying for those times: “Don’t shoot the messenger”. But I always think that’s one of those sayings that’s easy to say and harder to do.

Our Old Testament reading tells us of the sending of a messenger. “See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me.” The messenger will come to the temple: the place where God is worshipped. The messenger will purify the descendants of Levi: in other words, the Levites who were the priests in the temple. The messenger is coming, basically, to tell the priests in the temple that they are not offering the temple offerings rightly. If we read the surrounding parts of passage: especially the later part of chapter 3, we find out a bit about what the problem is. The priests and people are not keeping to God’s law and especially they’re taking advantage of the poor: orphans, widows, foreigners in the land. And God sends the messenger to tell the priests that their offerings are no good unless it goes together with a commitment to God’s justice and God’s righteousness. I can’t imagine that a messenger would relish being sent to tell the priests that. We’re told that he is going to purify the priests so that they will be able to offer offerings in righteousness. He’s coming to set them back on the right path so that their temple worship and their whole lives can be pleasing to God.

On this second Sunday in Advent, we think about these kinds of messengers, who have been known through all the history of God’s people. We call them prophets. People often think of prophesy as being about foretelling the future: God’s version of the horoscope if you like. While prophets do warn people about consequences – if you carry on like this, then whatever it is will happen – the main thrust of their message is about calling the people back. It is about reminding God’s people to be faithful to God; it is about calling them back to they way of life that God has set for them. A prophet stands often on the edge of a community. They’re someone who might be thought a bit strange – and some of the Biblical ones certainly were. But they are the people who say: We have material wealth: how do we share those resources? We are called to stewardship of God’s creation: what does that say for how we treat our environment? There are those in our midst in need: what do we do for them? Part of our reflection in Advent is to hear the call of the prophets again. To be called back. To change our lives. To turn round and start in another direction.

The season of Advent heightens that message for us because this reading has a second and perhaps more significant reading for us as Christians. As well as its meaning for the time when Malachi the prophet was around (about 500 years before the birth of Christ), we see it as a signpost to the coming of Jesus Christ, the ultimate messenger of the covenant. He too came to call people back; he was born in the stable at Bethlehem and lived among us. He called us back to live in God’s way and he demonstrated in his life what that looks like. That way led him to the cross where he was killed. But he conquered death and rose again. The ultimate point of the way of God is that: new life. New life for all: for through the resurrection of Jesus Christ we can all be given a new life: we can be called back to God, and we can be sent out to be his people living in his way.

We heard a little about John the Baptist, John the son of Zechariah, in the gospel reading – and there’ll be more about him next week when he is our particular focus. But for now, I want to point out that he stands very much in the tradition of the prophets. Luke puts him straight in that context by quoting from Isaiah as he describes him. John was in the wilderness; the desert – he was not in the city, he was not in the villages, he was not where people lived. He was in the desert; an inhospitable and really quite unpleasant place. But he’s a prophet; prophets do those kind of crazy things. The word of God came to him in the wilderness. This is another way that Luke shows he’s a prophet: lots of the accounts of the call of prophets in the Old Testament – for example Jeremiah, Hosea, Joel – have this kind of saying. The word of God came to... so John the Baptist became a prophet, a messenger. He had a message. And as we will discover next week, the crowds came out to listen to him and he had some things to tell them that they probably didn’t want to hear.

In Advent, we are challenged in some ways that we might not want to be challenged. We are called back to God’s way; we are called to the way of justice and righteousness: care for the poor and the outcast; faithfulness to the service of God. For though we try to follow this way, we do not always succeed. Sometimes we need a gentle nudge in the right direction; sometimes it takes something a bit more drastic. But whatever, God is there before us and with us. God accompanies us on the way and is ready to guide us in our lives. In our Methodist tradition, we have talked about “prevenient grace”. That means the grace of God – God’s love and power with us – which is there before we get there. It’s there waiting for us, before we know about it. One of the most powerful examples of this is in the service of baptism. Before she knows anything of it, God’s grace is there for [this child], as it was for each one of us who was baptised. And it continues, through our lives. We can grow into the grace which is given to us as we learn (and continue to learn) about living in God’s way. As we fail and start again, as we hear again the message of the prophets and turn around and as we rejoice, as we give thanks for the call of God in our lives and that God calls us – along with people everywhere – to his service.

So this Advent, let us hear again the message of the prophets. Let us turn round and be called back to God’s way. And let us prepare for the coming of Christ to his temple: to the temple of creation, to the temple of his church and to each one of us who are all living temples of the Holy Spirit.

Sermon from Conway Road Methodist Church on Sunday evening

One of the things I always wonder when I’m going to preach somewhere for the first time is what it will be like. What will the building be like? What about the congregation? Will it be big or small? Dignified and reverent or relaxed and friendly? Will they like me? You can fill me in on all the answers to those things afterwards.

The reading from Luke’s gospel today takes us to Jesus going to preach in the synagogue. We’re told that it is his custom to go to the synagogue on the Sabbath day and we’re told also that he had been teaching in the synagogues of Galilee and had been well received. But this isn’t just any synagogue – this is the synagogue in Nazareth; and Luke makes a point of reminding us that Nazareth is where Jesus was brought up. He is well-known here. A few months ago, I went back to the church where I was brought up and where I am still very well-known to preach for the first time and that was a daunting experience. The support and encouragement from them was great, but I was still very nervous about it. Home soil is not always the easiest.

He stands up to read and is given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Oh good, a nice bit. I do like having nice bits to read. And he sits down – in other words he gets ready to preach – and says “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing”. And that’s usually where we stop. What a lovely story. A powerful passage of Luke – whose feast day we celebrate today – setting out the mission of Jesus. It’s a radical mission. It’s a mission firmly rooted in the witness of the prophets who spoke out for justice and peace, especially for the poor. And though we’re not told it here, as readers we know that it’s a mission that will lead to the cross. I want to think about that mission of Jesus in two parts: a mission of proclamation and a mission of healing.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to bring good news … to proclaim release ... to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour. Luke sets this act of proclamation in the synagogue at the beginning of his account of Jesus’ whole ministry of proclamation. If we fast-forward to chapter 10, we see Jesus commissioning others to take on the task of proclaiming: he sends out the seventy who are to go into every place and to tell people “The kingdom of God has come near.” Luke himself carried on that ministry of proclamation by writing the gospel: one of the major texts we have about Christ. His proclamation of Christ in his life and through his gospel is one of the reasons the Church came to recognise him as a saint and so he is honoured on this day. There are usually many traditions about saints, especially old ones. Often, you might think that they owe more to piety than history. But they may still have something to teach us. One of the traditions about Luke that I wanted to mention this evening is the tradition that he painted the first icon of the Virgin Mary. We don’t know what his icon would have looked like but I have brought along a modern icon and we see Mary cradling her Son and pointing to him. The icon depicts an act of proclamation as Mary points us to her Son. The painting of the icon was itself an act of proclamation. And so is displaying it: Here is Jesus Christ, Son of God and Son of Mary. Jesus’ mission is one of proclamation and he calls us to share it in many ways: through speaking and writing, through art and music, through our whole lives.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour. A mission of healing – these are all healing actions: some of them connected with individual people; some of them connected with the society of the day. Those needs for healing are still very much present with us today. Again this is a mission which Jesus also commissions others to do: we read of his healing work through the gospel but the seventy sent out in chapter 10 are also told to cure the sick. This mission is Christ’s and he passes it on to his followers and so to us. The second tradition about Luke that I want to mention is that he was a doctor, which is attested in Colossians 4:14 where he is referred to as the beloved physician. So Luke is a person who is very concerned with healing and he shows us Jesus’ work of healing and Jesus’ commission to his followers to heal. And some traditions in the church have talked of the wholesome medicine of the gospel: Luke leaves us a gospel which is not just proclamation but brings us healing: as individuals and as a society. Our other acts of proclamation especially through the arts can be powerful means of healing too.

But let us rewind to the reading from that gospel that we heard. We had got to Jesus saying “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing”. The people are all amazed at what he said – perhaps not surprisingly. And they say “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” Local boy made good – we all like that story. Jesus expects them to want him to be able to put his money where his mouth is as it were: he expects them to want to see the evidence of what he’s said: Doctor, cure yourself. Again a healing metaphor. And Jesus tells them that it won’t be as easy as all that. He won’t just click his fingers and everything will be alright. He points them to the history: in the time of Elijah there were many widows, but Elijah only went to one. There were many lepers in the time of Elisha, but only one was healed. The crowd had loved what he’d had to say before, but this made them very angry. They drove him out of town and were about to push him off a cliff. Local boy made good forgotten very quickly. But Jesus walks through them and goes on his way.

I rejoice in the Church’s mission of proclamation and healing which comes to her from Jesus. But I struggle with those points that he himself makes: in the time of Elijah many widows, but Elijah only came to one. In the time of Elisha many lepers, but only one healed. Today, we rejoice at God’s work of healing but we might equally ask about those who are not healed. And when we do, do we rage like the crowd? Do we carry on our way as Jesus did? What do we do?

And I suggest we come back once more to our mission of proclamation and healing, we come back once more to the wholesome medicine of the gospel, to the sacred mysteries of the body and blood of Christ. And we seek the Spirit of the Lord who anoints us for our mission.

Sermon from Wesley on Sunday morning

Once, during my time at theological college, I had just met another student of the university. He asked me what I was studying as students often do when they meet for the first time. I told him I was studying theology and he asked me what I was planning to do afterwards. So I said, I’m going to be a minister. And he seemed very puzzled. “Why do you need to study theology to be a minister?” he said. And after a few moments, I realised that the issue was that he was thinking of a different sort of minister: a government ministers not a minister of religion. So I explained and all was well. But it left me with the question again, which is one I want to think about a bit this morning: what do we think a minister is? It’s something we tend to spend a lot of time thinking about in theological colleges and training institutions, but maybe not so much in church.

Last week, Gareth came to celebrate communion for you. Probationers, like me, are not ordained and only celebrate communion if they have a specific authorisation from the Conference to do that. In practice most probationers do have authorisation but some don’t either because they have said they do not want to be given authorisation or because the Conference hasn’t granted the request. I am a probationer without an authorisation at my own request. I’ve had conversations with some of you about that but I do want to take some time to address that here in worship, because it is an issue that will affect your worship and mine between now and the Conference of 2011 when, God willing, I will be ordained.

But I want to think about that issue in the context of a broader view of ministry and of the ministry that we all share. I have chosen to address this issue today because the lectionary presents us with texts that lead us to reflect on the ministry of Christ, which is the pattern for all our ministry. That reading from Isaiah is probably familiar to many of us: it paints a sombre picture. Christ is the one who bears the suffering of his people: “surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases.” He is the one who is counted as nothing: oppressed and afflicted. He poured himself out to death, and was numbered with the transgressors. There is the ministry of Christ: to number yourself with those who are cast out by others, to pour yourself out to death, to be oppressed and afflicted. If we think that the ministry of Christ will bring us glory or fame or an easy life then we must think again. The ministry of Christ, which we all share, is not an easy ministry. But there is a glimmer there: “Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge. The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous.” There are rewards in this ministry we share: it is a demanding ministry but it is a rewarding ministry.

The reading from the letter to the Hebrews reflects on the consequences of some of this suffering ministry for how we regard Christ himself. Jesus is our high priest, but he did not “glorify himself in becoming a high priest, but was appointed by the one who said to him, “You are my Son” - by God the Father, in other words. We are told that he learned obedience through suffering and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation. So salvation comes from Christ the High Priest. Any ministry that we do must therefore find its source in Christ the High Priest. So how do we exercise the demanding and challenging ministry of Jesus Christ the High Priest in the world?

And so I come to the gospel reading. Two of the disciples come to Jesus. That’s not an usual start to a reading from one of the gospels. They come with a request. The disciples were chosen by Jesus and called to follow him. And they come saying, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” That’s a striking thing to say. What would you say if I wanted you to do whatever I asked you? Nothing about what kind of thing it might be; it’s like a request for a blank cheque. We want you to do for us whatever we ask. And so perhaps not surprisingly, Jesus says, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they want the top seats, the greatest honour: they want the glory. Remembering that reading from Isaiah especially we know that that’s not the kind of ministry Jesus exercises. It’s not about the glory and the power. And so Jesus confronts them with the kind of ministry that it is about: Can you drink the cup I drink? The echo for us who know what is coming later of the garden of Gethsemane is powerful. Can you be baptised with the baptism that I am baptised with? Remember that we are baptised into the death of Christ so that we might rise with him. “Can you follow the path of my ministry?” Jesus asks them. And they say they can. But do they know what they’re saying? Do they know what they’re signing up for, or have they just given over the blank cheque that they asked Jesus for to start with? And then there’s the real sting in the tail – they’ll get the cup and baptism but Jesus promises no glory.

When the others hear about this, they’re perhaps understandably angry. So Jesus teaches them again about the kind of ministry he’s doing. You’ve seen the kind of people, he says, that rule out there in the world: they’re bossy and tyrannical. They abuse their authority and don’t care for the people they’re set over. It is not so among you. You must not be like that; that is not what we’re about. Whoever wishes to be great must be a servant; whoever wishes to be first must be the slave of all. This is the ministry of Christ: this was the ministry of Jesus then and it is still the ministry of Jesus now. It is exercised now through the Church: his body of which we form part.

In that body there are many different roles we play. You might remember a few weeks ago we commissioned our pastoral visitors: a very important role in the life of the local church. It is one which has evolved out of the earlier role (which still exists in some places) of Class Leader. We tend, in general, not to meet formally in Class any more. But our pastoral work continues and our care for our members continues through that role as well as in other ways. We declared in the liturgy of that service:

We are the Body of Christ:
each of us is a member of it.

There is one ministry of Christ:
in this ministry we all share.

There are different ways of serving God:
it is the same Lord whom we serve.

Part of discerning our call to ministry, both as a community and as individuals is to begin to understand the way we’re called to serve God. We’re not all called to serve in the same way but we are called to share in the one ministry of Christ. Two of the oldest roles of Christian ministry are those of presbyter and deacon. You can find them in the pages of the New Testament, through 2000 years of the history of the Church and they are still here in the Methodist Church today. We have often tended to call presbyters ministers but we try to remember that we are all ministers because we all share in the one ministry of Christ. The ministry of a presbyter is that ministry focussed around the proclamation of God’s word and the celebration of the sacraments. The presbyter shares in that way in serving God and in the ministry of Christ and therefore in Christ’s High Priesthood. The ministry of a deacon is focussed around the proclamation of the gospel in word and deed: through acts of service. The deacon shares in that way in serving God and in the ministry of Christ who came not to be served but to serve. We have traditionally admitted people who are called to these ancient offices to their work by the act of ordination. In ordination, the Church recognises their call and, acting as Christ’s body, makes them presbyters and deacons. Through the history of the Church, there have been different ways of preparing for this. In our Methodist tradition, the system of probation, where a person spends some time in their post before ordination is part of how we prepare.

So as I minister among you in this time of probation, I am constantly trying to learn more about the ministry we all share and the particular ministry I am called to. I have asked not to have authorisation to preside at communion because I see that as part of the particular role of a presbyter which I have not yet reached. When, God willing, I am ordained, I will celebrate communion among you and all the church as presbyters have done throughout the church’s history. In this time of probation, I continue by the grace of God and with your help and your prayers to prepare for that and to minister among you and with you in the here and now.

So rewind to that first question of what a minister is? How do we exercise the one ministry of Christ? How is each one of us called to share in the one ministry of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve?

Harvest sermon from Wesley, Canton... attentive readers might notice some material in common with St Paul's last week :)

I haven’t ploughed many fields or scattered much good seed on the land this year. Some of you, I know, have grown quite an amount of produce in your gardens. However, I suspect very few of us could feed ourselves simply with what we grow. We are generally accustomed to depending on the fact that we have food readily available that we can go and buy. Indeed, our harvest display is a testament to that: where does our food come from? By and large, from the shops. Similarly, we’re used to not having to worry about where we will get water from: we depend on the fact that if we turn on the tap there will be water for drinking, washing and all the other things we need it for. We are used to taking these things for granted.

Perhaps then, hearing Jesus’ words in today’s gospel reading, we might find ourselves feeling a little smug. It is easy for us not to worry about what we will eat or what we will drink or what we will wear (beyond whether other people will think of our fashion sense). Oh no, we don’t need to worry about what we eat or drink. As we pray in the Lord’s prayer each day or at least when come to church Sundays, “Give us this day our daily bread” but for many us that is maybe just a formality. Very few of us have reason to doubt that there will be daily bread or clean water or clothes to wear. For this we do give thanks at this harvest festival: we do give thanks that God has given these gifts to the world. But we must also be mindful that we in the developed world take rather more than our fair share of the world’s resources. As we eat and are filled and have some left over, others starve. As we are free to wash our cars and water our gardens, others die of thirst. As we wonder in the morning which outfit looks the best, others have little more than rags. For people in these situations, it is only natural to worry about what they will eat, drink and wear. Can we say to them “Don’t worry”? But think of the crowds listening to Jesus. This passage is part of the sermon of the mount. Back at the beginning of chapter 5 where the sermon started we’re told that Jesus, seeing the crowds, went up the mountain and began to teach. When he ends, three chapters later, we’re told that the crowd were amazed at his teaching, because he taught with authority. Now this crowd wouldn’t have been the well-off and respectable. It would have been the ordinary people who were really quite poor. The way the society of the day worked meant that it was very had for them to support themselves and they would struggle day to day to make ends meet. So, maybe it wasn’t so easy for Jesus to say “Don’t worry about what you will eat”. But what did he remind them? “Are you not of more value than [the birds of the air]?” Think about the great King Solomon – even he didn’t have clothes as amazing as lilies in the field. But God clothes them and God will clothe you. For people used to being thought of as the lowest of the low, Jesus’ message of God’s care and concern is profound. God cares for you as much as he cares for the great and the good. And that is a reminder to us this harvest, as we seek to pattern our lives on God’s will, that we too should care for these people as God does. Our collection for Water Aid is one of the ways we’ve tried to do this.

Some other people who were perhaps rightly worried about what they would eat and drink were Ruth and Naomi. I find their story a bit of a biblical soap opera with ups and downs and surprises here and there. Ruth and Naomi have come back to Judah from Moab. Naomi is a native of Judah but Ruth is a Moabite. Ruth and Naomi are both widows; Ruth is Naomi’s daughter-in-law. The Moabites were despised in Judah, and the society of the day was not a great place for a woman who lived without a man, whether her father or her husband. So Ruth and Naomi having come in to Judah from a country that was looked down on, as single women travelling together were not in the best of situations. They might well be justifiably worried about where they were to get food from. Now, either by luck or judgement – we don’t actually know – they came to Bethlehem in the middle of the barley harvest. And you may remember that the Jewish law required people not to harvest the whole field, but to leave some at the edge so that the poor could come and glean in the field and take some food to feed themselves and their families. So Ruth decides to go and glean in the field. This is something like begging on the street for food; Ruth is going to pick up what is left behind by those who are harvesting the bulk of the crop. Out of their abundance, Ruth can collect a little to supply her and Naomi. Again a reminder to us in our abundance, that it costs us little to leave some over for others who have less.

And we get to the soap opera type plot device: the field Ruth is gleaning in just happens to be Boaz’s field. Boaz is a rich and famous man who is related to Naomi. Boaz asks who she is and takes care of her – he tells her to keep gleaning in his field, that she can have water when she needs it. Boaz has heard that she came with Naomi and he is impressed with her for it.

Ruth goes home in the evening taking the barley, and Naomi asks her where she’s been gleaning. Naomi is amazed to hear whose field it was: it couldn’t really have worked out better. So they are provided with food by the generosity of a member of their family and they have something to eat. As the story goes on, Boaz does more for them: you can read the text and find out. But ultimately from that family came Jesse and David – it is the line from which Christ came. A mighty family coming out of two poor women with nothing to eat.

To me, this seems like an amazing string of circumstances. Things could so easily have been much worse. What if Ruth had found herself in a different field? What if they hadn’t had a prominent rich relative in Judah to help them? How might they have managed then? There is a lot of rhetoric around about people who come in to our own country, often from countries we don’t respect as much as others. I’m sure you can think of some of our present day Moabs. We have heard the news this week of the closing by French police of the camp at Calais called the Jungle used by many people seeking to reach the UK. Think how the circumstances of their lives have been beyond their control and utterly dependent on others as to whether they have food and shelter and so on. Ruth and Naomi travelled to a new country and were lucky to be welcomed and to have kin there; not everyone has that. The challenge for us as Christians as we celebrate the harvest is to be aware of those in our midst who do not have that abundance, to share it with them and to be kin to all people: to be the brother and sister and mother and father of everyone who seeks bread to eat or water to drink. For whatever we do for the least of these, we do for Christ himself.

Evening service at St Andrew's, Caerphilly Road

Have you ever seen those chevrons that get painted on motorway lanes to encourage you to keep your distance from the car in front? Stay back two chevrons – for your own safety and that of everyone else. If there is an emergency in a building somewhere, you might well be told by the police or the fire brigade to stand well back. Again for your safety and for the safety of everyone else. Even within the walls of churches, recent swine flu prevention advice suggested considering keeping 1m away from other worshippers... for own safety. Happily, the situation has improved considerably and much of the advice has been relaxed. But there are many examples, and I’m sure you can think of others where we might be encouraged to keep well back for our own safety. Don’t go too close. We’re not however, often accustomed to thinking of God in these terms. We normally think of God as our companion and our friend, who is always with us, closer to us than we are to ourselves. Against that background, I came to this evening’s Old Testament lesson. It is just before the giving of the ten commandments to Moses: the very next part after what we heard is “Then God spoke all these words: I am the Lord you God, who brought you out of slavery...” and so on, in the familiar words of the ten commandments. But in the passage we heard Moses is told to warn the people to stand well back, for their own safety. So important is it to discourage people from going near that anyone who does is to be put to death. Moses goes up to God, when God has summoned him and is again told to warn the people not to come near: both the priests and the people must stay well away.

The presence of God on the mountain is marked by signs that might well inspire people to want to keep away: there is thunder and lightning; fire and smoke. Perhaps the eruption of a volcano might be something like what it was like – very definitely something where you might be well-advised to stand well back. But out of this comes the law – the wisdom of God which guides the people as to how they should live. Through this amazing apparition – theophany or revelation of God – the people are given a means to know God and guidance for their lives. We are perhaps too ready to understand God being near to us without looking also for the God who dwells in unapproachable light, immortal, invisible. For this is an image of God which also has much to teach us. This is not a God we can domesticate; this is not a God who can be controlled. This is not a God who is at our beck and call, but it is a God who call us to follow. One of John Wesley’s great concerns was the pursuit of that holiness without which no one can see the Lord. We have perhaps not been as ready as Methodists to seek that holiness as we once were and the image of the distant God perhaps might inspire us once more: Moses had to make himself and the people holy before he could approach God. What might we have to learn from that?

Our gospel reading likewise brings us into two more situations of danger. The disciples and Jesus are in a boat on the lake. Jesus is asleep when a great storm blows up – there is no chance of standing well back here: they’re in the thick of it. And God in the person of Jesus is very near to them, so they rush to him to wake him “Lord save us! We are perishing!” In the Greek text, there’s a great sense of urgency - it’s just three words: Lord! Help! Dying! Jesus asks them, perhaps surprisingly in the circumstances, why they’re afraid, but he calms the wind and the sea. The question I want to ask of this text is what the disciples expected him to do. We’re told that they were amazed saying, “What sort of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?” What was it they expected him to do? They were, after all experienced fishermen: they knew the lake, they knew the propensity of the weather in that area to through up sudden storms – surely they were better equipped than anyone to handle the situation? Yet they went to someone for help who they apparently didn’t even know could do what he did. Or maybe they didn’t trust that he could do that. Or maybe they reached out for help not knowing what would happen. This, in contrast to the picture from Exodus is the near God, the one we haven’t even realised is there, but who can still do for us more than we can ask or imagine. And so I draw us once more to the question of the holiness without which no one can see the Lord. Did the disciples in that boat recognise the Lord? Were they able to see that that’s who he was? Or was it revealed to them in the calming of the wind and of the sea? It is easy for us I think, not to know or not to trust in what God can do. God can make each of us holy – there is no limit to what the grace of God can do in us. If we cry out to God, who knows what the result might be?

And so we come to the second of the episodes of our gospel reading. Another case of danger: there were two people with demons. They were so fierce that no one could go that way. Stand well back. And they shout, what have you to do with us Son of God? And the demons ask to be sent into a large herd of pigs which is nearby. Jesus says go and they go. The herd of pigs stampedes off the cliff into the water where they are all drowned. I’m never quite sure if this is a happy ending or not: presumably if you’re one of the people with demons, it is. If you’re a swineherd, it’s perhaps not so good. And clearly the people in the town aren’t best pleased because when they’re told about it they beg Jesus to leave. Perhaps for the townspeople as for the demons, this is God who is too close for comfort – they’d be far happier standing well back. Remember that both demons and pigs were considered unclean by the Jewish people: the region where this is happening is a Gentile region: and the Gentiles tended mock the Jewish view of pigs. So the encounter with God of these Gentiles has caused them to have to let go of things that they maybe didn’t want to let go of – things which are “unclean” but nevertheless suit them. And so they beg Jesus to go away. They don’t want this. They were quite happy as they were, thank you very much. So what are the consequences for us of an encounter with God? What of the question question of pursuing that holiness without which no one can see the Lord? Well sometimes God comes to us when we are not ready, when quite frankly we would prefer to stand well back and sometimes we are called to lose things that we would really rather keep. But this too, is part of the path to holiness to which we are all called.

In our evening readings then, we have three images of God coming to us: the distant God of power and majesty, the near God who we perhaps don’t realise is there and the unexpected God who challenges us and makes us uncomfortable. All of these pictures have something to say to us of how we might see God. They all have something to say to us of how we might seek, by God’s grace, to be made holy. How will God come to you and to me this week? How will we seek the holiness we need to see God?

Harvest festival at St Paul's, Loudoun Square

I don’t know about you, but I certainly haven’t ploughed any fields this year. Nor have I scattered any seed, good or otherwise, on the land. Some years I have grown something (or helped grow something) in the garden to eat, but for the majority of what I eat I depend on the work of others. I think that’s probably the same for many of us. We don’t ourselves plough the fields, or scatter the good seed on the land, but we depend on those who work in a variety of ways to provide our food, all ultimately under the Almighty hand of God.

Our readings this morning give us two reflections on this sense of God’s providing for us, within the focus of our food, which we need each day. But I want as well to spend some time thinking about God’s providing for us in a more general way and with some reference to our life here at St Paul’s. So to the scriptures...

We join the people of God in Deuteronomy who are in an in-between place. “When you have come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you” we read: they are not there yet. God has led them out from the slavery they were in in Egypt and they are in the wilderness. They have not reached the land which God has promised to them. What they are doing here is learning how God wants them to live; God is giving them the laws and commandments which will guide them in the right ways of doing things. And there are quite a few of them... we heard a very small portion this morning. But it’s an instruction for the future... When you have come into the land. This is going to happen but it’s not yet. There is still a way travel before that happens. But the instruction for then is to take the first of the harvest and offer it to the Lord. The first of the harvest is an exciting thing – growing up I can remember it being an excitement when there were the first potatoes dug from the garden or the beans to be picked. The first strawberry was even more an excitement. But think what it would have been like if you had been travelling for years and finally settled somewhere and began to harvest the first of the crop. After years of probably a fairly hand-to-mouth existence you’re beginning to see a bit of stability, you’re beginning to have a food supply you can call your own. It’s more than exciting: it’s a whole new life. And it’s that that you’re called to offer to God. And you offer it to God in thanksgiving for what the land produces but above all because God delivered your people from slavery in Egypt. Because God gave you freedom you come to God with this offering: a part of the fruit of the ground – which of course comes from God anyway. It is a thanksgiving to God, but also a way of acknowledging how much they depend on God for their life. As we come to our own harvest thanksgiving today we make offerings: of food and drink, of money, of praise and worship and we acknowledge the same things. We acknowledge that we depend on God; we acknowledge all that God has given us through the years, that it is because of God that we have life and breath.

The history of God’s people is important here too – these commands are given to each and every person of God’s people – but they are set in the context of the freedom that has come to God’s people and how they are to celebrate that together. Verse 11: “Then you, together with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you, shall celebrate with all the bounty that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house.” Go and have a party, in other words! But do it together and make sure you include those on the edges of your community – the aliens who reside among you. And we hope to do some of that today as we share food after the service.

But to sit ourselves in this reading is maybe not quite as easy as all that. We perhaps aren’t able to reflect on our history with as much joy as God’s people in the book of Deuteronomy. We might remember with joy God’s work among us in the past; we might remember, or have been told about, days when our church was fuller that it is today and days when its future looked rosier than it does today. We maybe sit in the wilderness, like the people of God in our reading, but maybe we don’t have the confidence of arriving at the land which God has promised. Maybe we even ask where is the promise of God for us? Maybe we see lamentation in the future rather than celebration and thanksgiving. Perhaps we truly sit in the wilderness in doubt as to the way ahead, looking or hoping for the guidance of God whether in pillar of cloud or flame or in some other, more 21st century way.

And against that background, we come to the gospel reading. It seems very easy to say “Do not worry about what you will eat or what you will drink”. In the financial situation that, with much of the world, we have been going through recently, many people have perhaps, with very good reason, been worrying about what they will eat and what they will drink. We know that if we don’t eat, we will die. It is at the root level as simple as that. Yet Jesus calls us to trust God’s provision and warns us of the dangers of devoting our lives to seeking material security. “You cannot serve two masters” he tells us.

It’s easy for him to say do not worry. It’s much harder for us, isn’t it? But think of the crowds listening to him. This passage is part of the sermon of the mount. Back at the beginning of chapter 5 where the sermon started we’re told that Jesus, seeing the crowds, went up the mountain and began to teach. When he ends, three chapters later, we’re told that the crowd were amazed at his teaching, because he taught with authority. Now this crowd wouldn’t have been the well-off and respectable. It would have been the ordinary people who were really quite poor. The way the society of the day worked meant that it was very had for them to support themselves and they would struggle day to day to make ends meet. So, maybe it wasn’t so easy for Jesus to say “Don’t worry about what you will eat”. But what did he remind them? “Are you not of more value than [the birds of the air]?” Think about the great King Solomon – even he didn’t have clothes as amazing as lilies in the field. But God clothes them and God will clothe you. For people used to being thought of as the lowest of the low, Jesus’ message of God’s care and concern is profound. God cares for you as much as he cares for the great and the good.

Our harvest celebrations call us back to realise this. To realise God’s care for all people everywhere and to challenge us about it. In Britain we can largely know that there will be food and water for us. Most of the time, we don’t need to worry. We pray daily in the Lord’s prayer for our daily bread but it is not often that that needs to be a truly heartfelt plea; it can often be a formality. We are called back today to remember to give thanks to God for the food we have but also to remember those who do rightly worry about what they will eat and drink and wear and to remember that God cares for them as much as he does for us. So we are moved to remember the care we are called to give to those in our midst – like the foreigner in Deuteronomy – who have less than we do.

But again as a church, isn’t this a hard reading to sit in? Do not worry about tomorrow – easy for you to say. Do we worry about our church? As I’ve begun to get to know some of you and some of the story of this place and this community, I’ve heard people voice real worries and real concerns. And it is right that they do that. We can’t live pretending that things aren’t happening – we can’t pretend everything is as it once was. So where do we go from here? We might find it hard to trust in God’s care for us as a church in the way he cares for birds of the air, the grass of the field and the flower of the lilly. We come to two points: no one can serve two masters – our master is God and we serve only him. And the second, from verse 33, strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well. One of the things that has really struck me – both when I first visited you back in January and in conversations in more recent days, is the faithfulness, passion and commitment of your small community here. That you are seeking the kingdom of God and his righteousness, that you are serving God to the very best you can. And I am privileged to come to try to seek the kingdom of God and his righteousness and his justice with you. It is an honour for me to try to serve God with you. And as we do it, you and me together, we do so in a spirit of thanksgiving for God’s goodness in the past, in a spirit of prayer of God’s help in the present and in a spirit of faith in God’s hope for the future when we shall come into the land which God has promised to give us.