Sermons
A Sermon by Mrs Sandra Bentall, Authorised Lay Minister
Two weeks ago we were celebrating the birth of the Christ child; last week we recalled the visit of the wise men, and today we celebrate Christ’s baptism. But this was not the baptism of a baby as 30 years have passed to today’s Gospel reading and we encounter Jesus as he begins his ministry. Apart from a brief passage in Luke’s Gospel telling of Jesus’ visit to Jerusalem at the age of 12, we know nothing at all about the intervening years.
Now, Jesus’ baptism as a man leads us to realise that 90% of his life was not spent in the limelight. But those mostly missing 30 years years seem to be just as important to us as the three years we know more about, because they bring home to us that Jesus does indeed know what it’s like to walk in the ordinariness of daily life. God is with us in our often humdrum reality of everyday.
As we heard in the Gospel of Luke,
“in the wilderness John proclaimed a baptism of repentance” – Repent means ‘to turn’ implying a change in behaviour, and so turning from sin toward God.
Jesus chose to be baptised in the waters of the River Jordan by his cousin John, joining with those people who were repenting for forgiveness of their sin. We recall this in our baptism liturgies.
What happened next? After Jesus had been baptised by John, Luke’s Gospel tells us that as Jesus was praying “the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”
This is one of the places in Scripture where all 3 persons of the Trinity are present and active – God the Father speaks, God the Son is baptised, and God the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus.
That Jesus is God’s divine Son is the foundation for all we read about in the 4 Gospels. We see the ministry of Jesus begin with an act – and with a sign.
An act of love and a sign of God’s compassion. The baptism of Christ is the act which begins his ministry – the event which commences the process of proclaiming the good news of salvation, the start of a career of ministry which ends in our redemption.
Our own public baptism is similarly our sacramental recognition of entry into a new life in and with Christ and to follow him.
Do you remember anything about your baptism? The chances are NO. Most of us were baptised as babies and our parents and godparents made promises and set the scene for our own Christian journey, which we then confirmed for ourselves at our own Confirmation. Baptism is a great gift from God to us. Baptism is God’s doing, not ours. It is God who causes us to be born anew in a new life in Christ. It is God who fills us with his Spirit, as he did Jesus coming up out of the river water. God is the Light of the World who ignites the light of love in our hearts. At Baptisms now, a lighted candle is presented with the words “.. receive this light. God has delivered us from the dominion of darkness and has given us a place with the saints in light. You have received the light of Christ; walk in this light all the days of your life. Shine as a light in the world to the glory of God the Father ”
So most of us, if not all of us, would not remember anything about our baptism. Jesus would not have forgotten his baptism and the affirmation that he was the Messiah.
As you entered church this morning, most of you by the main South door as you do every Sunday, what did you walk past? Anyone? You walked by the Font. It’s not just for those BEING baptised when the congregation says “We welcome you”. It is a constant reminder both of the dignity of Christian baptism as a Gospel Sacrament, and of our own entry into the Church, in whichever church building it was, through baptism, when first we were received into the worldwide congregation of Christ’s flock. Even though most of us would not be able to remember our own baptism, let walking past the font in both of our churches, provoke us to continue to walk in the newness of life.
I would encourage you to make that weekly walk a deliberate act of walking past the font, and so part of your regular spirituality. Let it remind us of Christ’s baptism; Jesus would not have forgotten it.
Let the font remind us that we have been given the Spirit of holiness, and that we can re-flect the Light of Christ.
Which brings us to today’s celebration with Christingles, and a reminder of so many imageries.
Thanks to Maggie and Rose and anyone else who was there, for making the Christingles yesterday though some of us could not assist as we were at a service in Chichester Cathedral.
So what are Christingles?
Primarily as a visual reminder that Christ is the Light who came into the world. It is suggested your Christingle is placed on your dining table as you remember, every mealtime, what it means to you, and the sharing of God’s love around the world. As The Children’s Society encourages Christingles as a worldwide project promoting its work amongst children and young people, remember them and their work at every mealtime and try and put a coin or two into the Children’s Society envelope for the next couple of weeks or so. Some of you were given a Children’s Society donation envelope or cardboard candle last week, and some this week, and we shall be grateful to receive these back in the Offertory Plate today or in the next two weeks.
Shall we look more closely at a Christingle to help us remember its significance?
First of all the ORANGE – it is round like the world we live in. It means that God’s love is for everybody, everywhere.
The RED RIBBON goes all around the world. It is a symbol of Jesus’ blood he shed when he died for us, a reminder that he died for the people of the world.
The CANDLE stands tall and straight and symbolises Jesus as the Light of the World. He talked about himself as light coming into a dark place. He brought people God’s love into the world in a new way. “I am the Light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8 v12)
The FOUR STICKS point in all directions representing North, South, East, and West, another symbol that God’s love is for everyone. They also represent the four seasons, each playing its part in providing the food and sustenance we need to live. Some people think of the four sticks representing the four Gospels from which we read every week and follow Christ’s teachings.
The DRIED FRUIT AND SWEETS remind us of the fruits of the earth, representing God’s gifts to the world including kindness and love.
But what about THE FOIL? Is it there just to catch the drips as they fall away from the candle?
Perhaps it can remind us that WE are here to catch any people who might be wavering away from Christ, and we can encourage them back into the fold.
That foil has another function too – it reflects the candle light. Just as we are called to reflect the light of Christ.
If the foil was flat like a mirror then it – would reflect the light perfectly. But it’s not, is it?
The foil is a bit crumpled, perhaps like us sometimes, and the image we reflect may not always be perfect in the way that we’d wish. But we are created in God’s image and we reflect the glory of his Son, Jesus.
And so, may we be as candles and shine out, and may others see the light of Christ in us – in what we say and do – and so be drawn to Him, to follow Christ the Light of the World. Amen
A Sermon by Dr Pat Lock
Epiphany 2nd January 2022 St Clement
Before I retired I worked as a headteacher in Primary schools and I have either produced or watched endless Nativity plays. I know all the jokes, have seen the comedy of errors – the innkeeper who says yes, those who have fallen asleep on stage, those who have picked their noses in the middle of the angels singing, and Mary who hit Joseph with the baby Jesus. But the Kings surpass them all – one gift left behind, one King in the toilet, another tripping over his cloak, crowns askew and of course – Frankenstein, not Frankincense.
One of the best, but more unusual ones came from the second King in one play. The task was simple: come out on stage, place your gift at the foot of the manger, turn to the audience, and tell them the name of their gift. One word. There was a pause, as this second child wasn’t sure of his cue. He looked terrified, and slowly made his way on stage. He placed his gift at the foot of the manger, turned around, braced himself, and remembering all the rehearsal instructions about speaking loud and clear, he said, “Frank sent this”.
Epiphany marks the manifestation of the light of God’s revelation in the Incarnation. The whole word is Biblically set and there were different manifestations of Christ’s glory and divinity celebrated throughout history. In the past faithful saints reflected on Christ’s baptism, the miracle at Cana, the Nativity, and of course the visit of the Magi. The Magi was, after all, an astral, star-led quest. It fulfilled Numbers 24:17, “A Star shall come out of Jacob; A Sceptre shall rise out of Israel.”
The word, “Epiphany” is found in the Greek New Testament and It means “give light, shine on” or “be manifested, appear. So what has this got to do with me and my world today? Everything. We are starting off a New Year and it is time to bring Epiphany into our daily lives.
The persons here denoted were philosophers, priests, or astronomers. They lived chiefly in Persia and Arabia. They were the learned men of the Eastern nations. Devoted to astronomy, to religion, and to medicine. They were held in high esteem by the Persian court and were admitted as counsellors, and advisors. These men were not Jews, but they knew about the Jewish Messiah to be born. We don’t get any details about the wise men’s trip, but they arrive together at their destination. And to arrive together, they had to be committed to discerning the path , to sticking together, and to wait and listen to each other.
The first thing we hear about them is their question upon arriving in Jerusalem, “Where is he that is born King of the Jews?” And they say that men never ask for directions! Well wise men do! The wise men are not deluded by any exaggerated sense of their own intelligence. Their journey represents the searching, the longing and desire of all people, looking for something more, longing for a better world, seeking to know. Wise men and women ask and seek and knock. They bring with them, first of all, not gifts, but a question. The questions of our hearts and minds, the quests of our lives, these are the first things we all have and bring, and these find their answer in the Word of God, and in the Word made flesh.
These Magi, these Great ones, were overwhelmed, and overcome, by the grace and dignity of this humble child born of common parents. They found Jesus in the humblest of circumstances, but even in this infant, they recognised something royal and divine . As odd as it may have been for Shepherds to be looking around in barns and mangers for Christ the Lord, it was odder still for these noble wise men to seek for a King in a backwater Jewish town, born to humble parents of a conquered and oppressed people.
The Magi recognised the Messiah King by the light of a star while Herod missed it completely. A babe in a manger. God stripped away all his power and pyrotechnics, and made His message as simple and low-tech as possible so we couldn’t miss the meaning: Jesus is God made. And God’s message of salvation was intended for all people
The wise men were on a journey – a journey with a purpose. A journey that led them to Jesus. We too are on a journey – a journey throughout our lifetime that leads us to Jesus and our real Epiphany will be at the end of our earthly lives when we come face to face with the Son of God. That will be an Epiphany with fireworks! But we all also have leading stars in our own personal lives – people, experiences, nudges, and wake-up calls, that God has used to lead us on the right path. And when we look on these and recognise in them the providence of God, we, too, will rejoice with exceeding joy. For these Wise men, this was the most important journey they would ever take. Nobody …. nothing was going to stand between them and following that star. They made a dramatic commitment of time to search for this new king. There is a wonderful message here for us. They put feet to their faith, …. and commenced a journey. When God presents us with a new opportunity, …. are we willing to get up ….. and begin a journey of faith? The story of the Wise Kings helps us to see that there is something special …. something remarkable ….. that awaits us at the end of the journey.
Matthew gives us three main verbs to describe the activity of the wise men: they came, they saw, they worshipped. And I hope and pray that that is the story of the journey of your life today. How, then, can we be wise men and wise women? The first way is to ask for directions, to ask and seek and knock. The second way is to search the Scriptures, for in them we find God’s answers to our quests and questions. Finally, the wise men worshipped. They found what they had been looking for in Jesus Christ. For all human desire and aspiration has its end in the knowledge and love of God in Jesus.
Let’s note, first off, that they give Jesus the very best. Too often, what we offer to God is the leftovers, but these wise people give him their very best. And so should we. We offer the gold of our money, the incense of our prayers, and the myrrh of our sins, to our King and God and Saviour. More generally, we may think of the Gold of Obedience, the Incense of Worship, and the Myrrh of the Saviour, which we all have and can offer to Jesus our King and God and Saviour. Saint Paul writes about the unsearchable riches of Christ. The wise men brought their expensive gifts, their treasures, but they recognised in Jesus the most valuable thing in the world. They saw and knew and honoured and worshipped in him their King and God and Saviour. In Jesus, they recognised the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace and the Saviour who would die for them and for many, for the forgiveness of sins.
In the end, it is not so much about what they offered Jesus, but what they knew that Jesus offered to them and to all the world, the Salvation and Kingdom of God.
How do we live in a wisemen’s world when we are surrounded by suffering in the world? How do we believe in the power and presence of Jesus Christ when so much godless and sinful activity surrounds us and brings pain and suffering into our lives? We continue to follow the star that always leads to Christ and we repeatably come back to the manger.
Epiphany is that change of vision that turns us into wise men: the realisation that what you thought needed to be silenced is the voice you most need to hear.
Epiphany is realising that when Christ broke the bread on the last night it was because his death was not a failure but a triumph, the overcoming of the very fear that was putting him to death.
Epiphany is when you realise that your fears were misplaced, and the things that seemed to threaten the way of life you held dear are actually the things that are most to be valued.
Epiphany is when you realise that all the rest of the world has got it wrong and is away focussed on other tasks at the time they most needed to be aware of the starlight.
Epiphany is when the light of God shines, so where others see failure we see wonder. Where they see something to hate we see something to love. Where they see human degradation we see the incarnation, the ultimate sacrifice, the Christ who shares our life and death in pain and sorrow
Epiphany leads us to look for the star glowing, even where others cannot see it. He is in the stable, where the homeless are giving birth in misery. He is in the boats where the refugees are trying to cross the sea to safety. He is in the mothers’ arms as they cradle their babies running from forest fires and floods. He is in the queue at the food bank. He is outside the school gate, being sent home with the wrong uniform. He is at the hospital desk where he cannot be seen. He is in the areas of our world where children beg for food.
Let us be people of the Epiphany. Let us live in a world lit up by the star, by hearing that message of salvation. We must see with the eyes of faith. We must live in the Epiphany. We will be changed, travelling another way, transformed by our encounter with Jesus.
The manger is for life . We too need to rise up and follow the star wherever God takes us.
Come and bring whatever gift you have for your simple gift is like gold to God. In return he will give you the crown of life. There is no greater gift than the Prince of Peace, the son of God himself. The word made flesh. And that is our Epiphany.
St. Stephen’s Day
(St. Clement’s, Hastings, 26th December 2021)
When I was a child I spoke like a child and I thought like a child and I reasoned like a child and so I thought that Boxing Day was so called because I once saw a boxing match on the television on that day. It was many years later that I discovered that the 26th December took its popular name because it was on this day that the poor boxes were opened in church and the money distributed to the poor. However, for most people today will be about relatives, cold turkey (in a gastronomic sense) and perhaps an afternoon walk or even a visit to the pantomime. In that connection I note that the University of Staffordshire has launched a Masters degree in Pantomime Studies. On no, they haven’t. Oh, yes they have!
But today is St. Stephen’s Day and I rather fear that he is always rather left out liturgically. However, as readers of Going to Church in Medieval England will know, it was a very popular saint’s day in the Middle Ages, not least because of the opening of the poor boxes. Together with St. John’s Day (tomorrow) and Holy Innocents’ Day on the 28th, St. Stephen’s Day was a major festival and good King Wenceslas might well have looked out.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye, who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing.
Indeed, the whole period from Christmas Day to Epiphany was one long celebration. Alas, Boxing Day can be a bit of an anti-climax and St. Stephen barely gets a look in. And I suspect that even some churches will not be holding a service today and some of those that are holding a service will be keeping it as the First Sunday after Christmas rather than as the Feast of Stephen.
So let’s think this morning about St. Stephen and make amends of sorts for the way in which he is neglected. In our reading from Acts were heard of Stephen’s martyrdom when he became the first martyr of the Christian Church. We also heard that Saul, better known as St. Paul, was one of the instigators and approved of the stoning. Who knows, but perhaps in retrospect Stephen’s witness began Paul’s process of conversion in advance of his experience on the Damascus Road. It only occurred to me when writing this sermon that Paul never refers directly to the death of Stephen in his letters; perhaps he was too ashamed. After all, we all have aspects of our past that we would prefer to forget.
Less well remembered than his martyrdom is Stephen’s ministry as a deacon. He was one of the first seven deacons to be appointed by the Apostles and their work was to distribute food and other necessities to the poor. This was to allow the apostles to be able to spend more time praying and preaching. I presume that Stephen’s ministry to the poor is the reason why the poor boxes were opened on his feast day.
“Then the twelve called the multitude of the disciples unto them, and said, It is not reasonable that we should leave the word of God, and serve tables.
Wherefore, brethren, look ye out among you seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost and wisdom, whom we may appoint over this business.
But we will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the ministry of the word.
And the saying pleased the whole multitude: and they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost, and Philip, and Prochorus, and Nicanor, and Timon, and Parmenas, and Nicolas a proselyte of Antioch:
Whom they set before the apostles: and when they had prayed, they laid their hands on them. (Acts 6.2-6)
The apostles are remembered but the deacons are not.
Much of our Christian work is unglamorous and unseen by our brothers and sisters. I like to think of St. Stephen as the patron saint of unremembered Christians: Unremembered, that is, by their fellow Christians. For, like Stephen, they are remembered by God.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“Do not be afraid; behold, I bring you news of great joy.”
(Luke 2.10)
(Christmas, St Clement’s Hastings 2021)
What is your earliest memory of Christmas? I think that mine comes from when I was five or six and Christmas Eve was being spent in an unfamiliar house where I was put to bed. Someone kept coming into the bedroom and telling me stories about Father Christmas who, so I was assured, would be coming into the room that night.
Now even at that young age I knew that Santa Claus didn’t really exist. I knew that he was really the school caretaker, having made the connection between ‘S’ and ‘C’ for ‘School Caretaker’ and ‘S’ and ‘C’ in Santa Claus. It was so obvious that I couldn’t really understand why nobody else made the connection. But I didn’t like the idea of the school caretaker coming into my bedroom and so I started crying.
So in an attempt to keep me quiet, the teller of tales promised to bring me some of my presents from under the tree. The first present turned out to be a handkerchief – and so I continued crying. Next up was a pair of socks. Realising by this time that I was on to a good thing, I continued crying. The third gift turned out to be a pop-up Nativity book. I stopped crying and read it avidly, thus begining an interest in theology and probably why I am standing here today!
Now we will all be able to recall particular Christmases, good or bad, happy and unhappy. There is a certain nostalgia about Christmas and we try to recapture something of the magic of Christmas past, especially those of our childhood. Perhaps some of the occasional disappointment of Christmas – if we are honest with ourselves – is to be found in our failure to do so.
We think too of that first Christmas in Bethlehem two thousand years ago.
But the meaning of that first Christmas is as much about the future as it is about the past. The Nativity we celebrate was only the beginning.
The infant who was laid in the manger was later to be nailed to a cross and laid in a tomb. And part of the promise of Christmas, all too easily forgotten, is that this same Jesus will come again as judge and king.
“Do not be afraid; behold, I bring you news of great joy.” On that first Christmas night, the shepherds rejoiced, not simply because they had seen a babe lying in a manger, but because they had glimpsed something of the future in the angels’ song – peace on earth, goodwill amongst men. Hope for the future.
“Do not be afraid; behold, I bring you news of great joy.” On that first Christmas night, Mary pondered these things in her heart, not because she could see into the future, but because she sensed that the birth of her son was to be the turning point in the future of humanity.
“Do not be afraid; behold, I bring you news of great joy.” As a society we are fearful of the future: Climate change, pandemic, wars and rumours of wars. And so we seek refuge in the past, in nostalgia when everything seemed secure and happy, dare I say like a small child at Christmas?
But on that first Christmas night, God entered into human history in the person of Jesus Christ. In Jesus Christ, God takes humanity to Himself, the good and the bad, the happy and the unhappy, our hopes and fears.
“O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
That is why as Christians we should face the future with confidence. Christmas is about the future more than it is about the past.
“Do not be afraid; behold, I bring you news of great joy.”
So as we raise our glasses this Christmas, let us indeed raise our glass to Christmas past, to the remembrance of those whom we still love but see no longer, and especially to that first Christmas two thousand years ago. But let us also raise our glasses to the future. That is the test of real Christmas faith and Christmas joy.
© Paul Hunt 2021
A Sermon by Keith Leech, Authorised Lay Minister
My soul doth magnify the Lord.
In today’s gospel from Luke we have a real treat. The Magnificat. The Song of Mary. or the Canticle of Mary, in the eastern tradition, the Ode of the Theotokos . Theotokos meaning in Greek literally the God bearer.
I remember as a boy chorister singing The Magnificat every week at sung evensong. The Magnificat was put into evensong by Thomas Cranmer, when he put together the Book of Common Prayer. This has made this great hymn a part of the Anglican tradition. It is one of the most ancient hymns of praise we have. I must admit that liberal moderniser that I am I find the modern language from today’s passage lacking compared to the translation in the King James Bible.
It is loaded with meaning and in it Mary shows a depth of knowledge of scripture one wouldn’t expect from one so young. So much so that some say it would have been impossible for Mary to write it herself. Others feel that this diminishes Mary and that God would have chosen somebody who knew the scriptures well to carry His son. She wasn’t just any young woman, she had all the qualities required for such an important task. Theotokos…The God Bearer. Nothing less than bearing and bringing the Saviour of the world into being. She was the instrument of the incarnation which we will be celebrating later this week at Christmas, and affirm every week in the words of the Creed. For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven, was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and was made man. You may notice some of us bow at this point this is to acknowledge the incarnation, not bowing to Mary as some may think.
The word Christmas by the way comes from the Saxon interpretation of the Greek and Latin Cristes-messe. The mass of Christ. The Messiah’s Eucharist. The great meeting of thanksgiving for the Messiah. Most other languages simply refer to The Nativity. In Greek it is literally translated as Christ Birth. It gives us an indication of the importance given to Christmas by our forebears and may in part explain why it has become such a big festival in English speaking nations for both the Church and the secular world.
Elsewhere Luke also tells us of The Annunciation, the words of which are used in that great ancient prayer The Angelus (sadly not used so often these days).
The Annunciation starts with the words of the Angel Gabriel to Mary …in the King James version. “Hail Mary full of grace”. In the new International version more simply “Greetings Mary you are highly favoured”. The angel goes on to say. “Do not be afraid; you have found favour with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”
“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” This echoes Isaiah 7.14 Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: A young woman will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Emmanuel.
The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”
“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” In the King James version she says she is the ‘handmaid of the Lord’. A handmaid was a very lowly servant who in that society could be used to bear the seed of the master as Hagar did for Abraham and Sara.
By the door in this church is a copy of Rossetti’s Ecce Ancilla Domini. The Annunciation. Here his brother William represents the Angel Gabriel and the part of Mary is played by his sister Christina who wrote In the Bleak Midwinter. It is worth noting that in this depiction Mary is just getting up, not at prayer as is often seen in illustrations, showing us that the Holy Spirit can visit us at any time. Rossetti was married here and there is a long association of this church with the Rossetti family.
A couple of months after The Annunciation we have Mary visiting her cousin Elizabeth to share the joys of their pregnancies. Elizabeth recognises instantly what has happened and exclaims ‘Blessed are you among women’. You are so lucky. This is no ordinary baby. So what does Mary do? Is she running around shouting look I am that important I have God’s son? Not at all…she says
My soul doth magnify the Lord.
And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
For he hath regarded: the lowliness of his handmaiden: For behold, from henceforth: all generations shall call me blessed.
Showing humility and trust in God just as she did when the angel came when she said’ I am the Lord’s servant’. She isn’t puffed up with her own importance… she is grateful that God should choose her, one so lowly, not a princess, an ordinary Galilean young woman. She recognises that she will become famous and that all generations will call her blessed but again says that God has done this for her and goes to praise Him again. She can see that it is all about God and His plan. Not about her, she is just the instrument that God is using. She will suffer pain because of this devotion to God, the pain of having a baby so young and ultimately watching Him be crucified.
She then goes on to give a prophecy of the Messiah
And his mercy is on them that fear him: throughout all generations.
He hath shewed strength with his arm: he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat: and hath exalted the humble and meek.
He hath filled the hungry with good things: and the rich he hath sent empty away.
Here she shows that she knows what is going to happen and what her Son is destined to do.
Finally she shows the fulfilment of the prophecy in Genesis. Now the Lord said to Abram, …I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”
Mary says
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel:
As he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever.
What does this say to us here today? It shows us that Mary was a woman of great humility who saw herself not as a chosen one but as an instrument of God. She was willing to give up everything to serve God because she loved God. She heard and heeded God’s call to her without even flinching. Her soul magnified the Lord.
So today we should strive to be like Mary, we may not be as fortunate to get a visitation from an angel but we should be open to what the Holy Spirit is asking us to do, (and remember the Holy Spirit can visit us at any time). To recognise that we are all instruments of God, and we should serve Him with praise and without fear.
How do you serve God and why do you serve God? Is it to get praise from others? …What a good sermon…or is it to serve God? Yes we are all human and who wouldn’t like to hear they have done a good job? It is right that we should encourage each other in our service to God. If however our prime motivation is to gather praise and good standing with others rather than to serve God then we may have to reset out motivational compass.
What is God asking you to do for him this Christmas? When you do things for God do them not for praise from others, only to give praise to God. In this way we may ourselves through God’s grace also become blessed among women (and men)
Hail Mary full of grace, The Lord is with you, blessed are you among women and blessed be the fruit of thy womb Jesus.
Amen
“I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” (Luke 3.16)
(The Third Sunday in Advent, 12th December 2021, St. Clement’s, Hastings)
Do you remember the £1 note? It used to be a lot of money and it was possible to buy quite a lot with it. I ask that question because I remember a woman in our congregation who used to put £1 into the collection every week. When the collection bag came round, she raised her right hand in the air with the £1 note for all to see and with a rather splendid flourish placed the note into the bag. And in so doing she pointed to her own generosity . I think that she had rather missed Jesus’ words in Matthew Chapter Six: “But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret.”
Today’s focus is on John the Baptist. We’ve lit our Advent candle, the Collect makes reference to him and we’ve heard something of his preaching, both encouraging and disturbing, in today’s Gospel.
But should we be thinking about John at all? What would he make of today’s focus? For John’s entire ministry points away from himself to Jesus Christ. “He must increase,” said John. “I must decrease.” “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal”, the action of a slave.
Such humility cannot have come to John easily. Just consider:
- He is Jesus’ cousin, virtually the same age.
- He has his own followers, even into the twentieth century amongst the marsh arabs in Iraq.
- He has his own ministry of preaching and baptism.
- He has even baptised Jesus who came to him.
- Some people considered that he, John, might be the promised Christ, the Messiah.
Given what we know and our experience of human nature and the history of self-appointed messiahs, both religious and political, was there not a temptation for John?
Yet John remains firm to his vocation as a forerunner, preparing people for the advent of the Christ and all the time pointing away from himself to Jesus the Christ.
And as such John is the model for us, a reminder that we should always point away from ourselves to Jesus Christ. We cannot be like the woman with the £1 note whom I remember more than fifty years later.
I am conscious of the astonishing number of hours of voluntary service – and I use the word service deliberately – that is given so willingly by so many in this parish. God knows what you do even if it’s not always recognised by those around you. But do we preach or sing in the choir or serve at the altar or read the lesson or lead the prayers or contact the sick or clean the brass or welcome visitors to point to Christ or point to ourselves?
And if we do serve Him faithfully, there can be disappointments and discouragement; just think of John the Baptist and those who didn’t accept his preaching, who doubted his authenticity, who wanted him dead. One of the most difficult tasks I have had in my ministry was when I was the Warden of Readers in the London Diocese and had to break the news face to face with candidates who had not been accepted to train as a Reader. And on a personal note, I’ve certainly had disappointments and discouragement in my own ministry.
Like John the Baptist, we are called to be faithful to the tasks to which God has called us, whatever that may be and however disappointed or discouraged we might feel at times.
The vocation of all the baptised is to point to Jesus Christ. Are we worthy enough to untie the thong of his sandal? To what extent do we join with the Baptist in saying, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world”?
“Should we be thinking about John at all?” was my earlier question. Well, we have been thinking about John and in so doing I hope that we have also been thinking about ourselves.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple” (Malachi 3.1)
Many years ago when I taught at Brighton College we had a sixth former who rarely turned up to lessons and rarely handed in any work. In fact he was very rarely in school at all, prefering to play truant in a local amusement arcade. “I don’t think that he is really suited for the Sixth Form,” I said to a colleague. Her reply was, “Don’t you think you’re being rather judgemental?”
“Rather judgemental.” We now live in a culture in which the concept of judgement when applied to people has gone out of fashion. The difference between right and wrong is now a matter for subjective individual judgement and rather than pass judgement on someone we seek excuses for bad behaviour and try and shift the responsibility for it elsewhere.
The concept of judgement has rather gone out of fashion in Church life too. Every week we recite in the Creed that Jesus will come to judge the living and the dead but do we really give this much thought? After all, we do not recite “He will come and act as our facilitator in group therapy sessions via Zoom”.
As Pat reminded us last Sunday, judgement is one of the four traditional themes of Advent, together with heaven and hell and death. We tend to use Advent as a time of preparation for the coming of Jesus as a babe born in a manger but Advent is also about our readiness for Jesus’ coming at the end of earthly time, that last day, as the Advent collect reminds us, “when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead.” This is the Day of the Lord of which the prophets spoke.
So when will this be? Jehovah’s Witnesses, of course, have predicted the actual year several times: 1914 and 1925 have come and gone and I failed to notice the end of the world in 1975. The next predicted date is 2034. It’s easy to make fun of all this but at least the Jehovah’s Witnesses take the concept of the end of history and the final consummation and judgement with an earnestness lost to the mainstream churches. It’s as though we acknowledge this as a belief but without it having any real effect on our daily living and spirituality. We’ve rather replaced the concept of Jesus as judge with the more comforting idea of Jesus as our best mate who will find us a parking space, although I suspect that even he would struggle to find one for us in the Old Town. But have we not just sung the following words in our Gradual hymn?
“As judge, on clouds of light,
He soon will come again,
And his true members all unite
With him in heaven to reign.”
But I’m not convinced by the word “soon”. The first generation of Christians did indeed expect Jesus to return soon within their lifetimes. But at the conclusion of his earthly ministry, Jesus told the Apostles that it was not for them to know the times and seasons.
The emphasis in the New Testament is more on ‘sudden’ rather than necessarily ‘soon’. Think of the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids in Matthew chapter twenty-five. Five were foolish and five were wise. The wise bridesmaids took flasks of oil for their lamps and were able to trim their lamps when the bridegroom appeared suddenly and unexpectedly at midnight. “Keep awake,” said Jesus at the parable’s conclusion, “for you know neither the day nor the hour.” Jesus coming might be in 2034 or it might be tonight.
We have many images of Jesus, all of them important and valid and precious. We think of Him as Shepherd, as King, as Servant. But in this Advent time let us not forget that he is also our judge.
Here are two representations of Jesus as our judge and ruler of the world. One is a sixth century representation from St Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai and the other is by El Greco in the early seventeenth century. In the first Jesus holds the Gospel Book in his left hand and blesses with his right. In the second he holds the world in his left hand and blesses with the other.
The season of Advent is a sharp reminder – or at least it should be a sharp reminder – that we need to be ready for his coming as judge and ruler of the world “now in the time of this mortal life” In the words of the Advent Sunday Collect. “Who can endure the day of his coming?” asked the prophet Malachi. “Who can stand when he appears?” “The night is far gone,” wrote St. Paul to the Christians in Rome, “the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armour of light.”
Are we unprepared and asleep like the foolish bridesmaids? Or are we ready and able to trim our lamps and rejoice?
Wake, O wake! With tidings thrilling
the watchmen all the air are filling,
arise, Jerusalem, arise!
Midnight strikes! No more delaying,
‘The hour has come!’ we hear them saying,
‘where are ye all, ye virgins wise?
The Bridegroom comes in sight,
raise high your torches bright!’
Alleluia!
The wedding song swells loud and strong:
go forth and join the festal throng.
© Paul Hunt 2021
Advent Sunday 28th November 2021
A sermon by Dr. Pat Lock
I suppose I should start the sermon this morning by wishing you all ’Happy New Year.’ Today is Advent Sunday, the new year in the Church’s calendar, it’s the beginning of the Church year. Look at our colours this morning! While the rest of the country is starting to deck itself out in the Christmas colours of green and red, we have moved to the other end of the ecclesiastical colour spectrum – donning purple, the colour of sombre reflection.
Advent Sunday is different from any other day in the church calendar, because the church year does not start with an event, such as Jesus’s birth, or death, or resurrection, or ascension. No: instead, the new church year starts with a strange darkness and even emptiness, a real sense of mystery, and a rather tense, almost spine-tingling, feeling of expectation. It is a curious mixture of both dread and delight. Dread, because the themes the church has historically focused on in this season are rather forbidding – the ‘four last things’: heaven, hell, death and judgement. Delight, because Advent does look forward to the promise of the Incarnation: Immanuel, God entering into the arena of our humanity and – astonishingly – sharing our human experience with us. And so today we observe the ritual of the lighting of our first Advent candle. So we seek to find our way in this mysterious darkness which marks the beginning of the season – waiting, wondering, daring to hope that the mystery might be revealed. Advent Sunday calls us to remain alert and to keep watch, but also to be still and grow in holiness.
Early Christians lived with the expectation the world would end at any time. They waited expectantly for Christ to return. They lived each day as it came. As one prophet cried out, ‘How long, O Lord, how long?’And today, we too don’t know when the end of the world will come but we have a responsibility to live each day for God whilst waiting expectantly for the end to come. And still we wait.
But no sooner has Advent got under way than we’re headlong into all those interminable carol services, so that by the time it gets to the point when we should sing carols, we’re all carolled out. And I think we are the poorer for not remembering Advent. Advent isn’t Christmas, and nor is Advent about preparing for Christmas. Advent is a time of waiting, a time of preparation for celebrating the coming of God into the world in human form in the person of Jesus his Son and looking to His return in glory. It is a period of waiting and preparation, with a sense of emptiness and wondering. But I think it’s right because if we don’t go through this season of Advent waiting and watching and preparing then we don’t really have anything to celebrate.
We are not used to waiting these days! The incessant pace and demand of life, especially through electronic media makes us increasingly impatient and intolerant of having to wait. I am not happy if my computer screen does not instantly spring into life on demand! Advent is about watching and waiting for the coming of God to complete his work, but doing so in activity and hope. On this Advent Sunday we who are Christian disciples are reminded by our scriptures that, though the world seems bleak and broken at times, God is going to complete the job he started in Bethlehem on that first Christmas, and continued in Jesus’ loving death and mighty resurrection at Easter. Advent is about the sure and certain hope that God will finish what he has started, that justice and right will triumph in the end.
What are your hopes and dreams at present – for yourself, your family, our church? Our lives are full of hopes: worldly, natural hopes, important and trivial. People in some other parts of the world hope for no more war, that there will be food and clean water tomorrow, that they simply get safely to the end of the day. Advent Sunday calls us back to our hopes and dreams in Christ. In the Gospels Jesus says “Be alert; you do not know when the time will come “ And again “What I say to you, I say to all: keep awake!” Are we complacent in our spiritual waiting, or active in pushing forward the boundaries of the Kingdom of God as his disciples? So here we are on Advent Sunday 2021 called to renew our hope in the God who still comes to us now, every minute, every moment, calling us to watch and wait and join in with his work in the world. Waiting in Advent hope is not about inertia and leaving it all to God. As this season of Advent
progresses God says to his church, “you can’t just sit there! Now is the time. I am here – do something!” Advent is a wake-up call to the Church to watch and pray, but not to stop there, rather to see what God is doing and join in. So what is God calling you to do between now and Christmas? We are not called to be sleepily religious, but to be faithful and adventurous for and with Jesus. Always remember that God has double vision for you: he sees you as you are and as you can or should be. The challenge of Advent is to live an authentic Christian life: You are writing a Gospel, a chapter each day by the deeds that you do, and the things that you say, be it faithful and true. What are you waiting for?
Nonetheless, there’s still more than enough distress and misery to go round, as we see pictures of human suffering on an immense scale – people and nations ravaged by war or terrorist attacks, lives blighted by poverty, drought, starvation or disease. Tragically, we have become used to seeing people with no light in their eyes, no hope for tomorrow, nothing to live for. Where is God in this? The questions about the whereabouts of God are, of course, as old as time. And they’ve been hurled at the sky as much by people of faith as by anyone else. We hear them asked repeatedly and urgently in Scripture, by individuals and by the Hebrew people in general. Somehow, even though it can be hard, we have to hang on even when God seems to be absent. Beware any religion that promises perpetual bliss or constant joy.
Advent Sunday reminds us that we wait for God like night watchmen wait for the morning. In the darkness we yearn for the light. But the candle we light today is tentative and vulnerable; its flame flickers at the slightest draught. Sometimes the darkness almost overwhelms us, yet here’s the good news. Jesus says, it’s at just such a time that we are to
expect a sense of the presence of God. ‘The Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour’, says the Gospel. The darkness will be pierced, God’s promise will be fulfilled, a child will
be born. Advent places us perpetually on the eve of God’s coming among us. So – stay alert, let the flickering light of the candle into your darkness, look for even the smallest signs of God’s presence breaking through. We don’t know when the darkness will be penetrated, but the urgent prophetic message of Advent is that we must remain alert to the glimpses of light that come our way. We must constantly be ready to meet the divine clothed in our very humanity, in the course of our ordinary everyday lives. Advent urges us to expect that encounter at any moment and in any number of surprising ways. And once it has happened, things can never be the same again.
We are already in the presence of something eternal, the living Word of God who is Jesus himself. The kingdom of God is near. What you would want to be found doing if Jesus suddenly appeared on the scene? If one day you hear the loud sound of trumpets from the heavens – I suggest at the very least you bow before Him in awe and wonder.
“They shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no-one shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4.4)
(Remembrance Sunday, 14th November 2021, St. Clement’s, Hastings)
A rosary, a copy of the Book of Common Prayer and a copy of Hymns Ancient and Modern. They are not especially suprising items to find in a church. But the rosary, prayer book and hymn book that I have with me this morning would also have been found in one of the countless trenches that once disfigured Europe from Switzerland to the North Sea.
The rosary was given to me by someone whose father had used it throughout the Great War of 1914-18 and the prayer book and hymn book are part of a set, in the tiniest of print, given to soldiers.
Life in the trenches was beyond grim, especially in winter: Mud, water, cold, the lack of sleep, poor food, rats, lice, separation from loved ones, fear of gas, fear of bombardment, fear of death.
The poet Siegfried Sassoon expressed the reality of such a life in his poem Trench Duty:
Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake,
Out in the trench with three hours’ watch to take,
I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then
Hear the gruff muttering voices of the men
Crouching in cabins candle-chinked with light.
Hark! There’s the big bombardment on our right
Rumbling and bumping; and the dark’s a glare
Of flickering horror in the sectors where
We raid the Boche; men waiting, stiff and chilled,
Or crawling on their bellies through the wire.
“What? Stretcher-bearers wanted? Some one killed?”
Five minutes ago I heard a sniper fire:
Why did he do it?… Starlight overhead—
Blank stars. I’m wide-awake; and some chap’s dead.
And again in his poem Suicide in the Trenches:
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go
Some of these soldiers are named on our memorial boards, and were most likely baptised here or at All Saints or St Clement’s, Halton or at All Souls. And some of them would have sung in our choir or served at our altars. The prayers and hymns in their tiny print would have spoken to them of home and happier days and given the glimpse of a vision and a hope for the future.
Over two and a half thousand years before the first trench had been dug on the western front, the prophet Micah gave a vision and a hope for the future. Micah, who was a younger contemporary of Isaiah, preached in Jerusalem in about 725 B.C. He looks to a time of social justice and peace:
“They shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no-one shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4.4)
Their own vines. Their own fig tree. This was the Israelite dream of the good life repeated elsewhere in the Old Testament. Life under King Solomon is idealised in this way in I kings 4.25:
“During Solomon’s lifetime Judah and Israel lived in safety, from Dan even to Beersheba, all of them under their vines and fig trees.”
The prophet Zechariah pictures the restored community in Israel after the Babylonian exile in the same way:
“On that day, says the Lord of Hosts, you shall invite each other to come under your vine and fig tree.” (Zechariah 3.10)
It is an image of the good life used by George Washington and it occurs some fifty times in his writings in reference to life in the new republic of the United States. It was the vision he held out to prospective immigrants and is the original American dream, now refashioned, of course, in a more materialistic fashion.
Vine and fig tree. A vision of peace and simple prosperity. For the soldiers in the trenches their version of the vision may have been a return to home and family and a job.
It is easy to become cynical when we survey the conflicts of our own time and recall that the so-called “war to end all wars” was followed by a second global conflict two decades later.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring;
Oh, hush the noise, ye men of strife
And hear the angels sing.
Do we hear the angels sing? “Peace on the earth, good will to men, from heaven’s all-gracious King!”
Remembrance Sunday invites us to look to the past with its wars and unimaginable suffering. But it is also an invitation to look to the future, to keep alive the vision of vine and fig tree, of peace on earth and good will to all men and women. The Book of Proverbs tells us that without vision, the people will perish.
As we think today especially of those young men in the trenches, it is our duty to them to keep that vision alive and not to allow cynicism or pessimism or fatalism – all of which are anathema to the Christian Gospel – to win.
Rosary, prayer book, hymn book. Vine and fig tree. Let our Christian faith keep alive that vision for which we, just like our forebearers in the trenches from this parish, pray and yearn.
For lo!, the days are hastening on,
By prophet bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendours fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“A garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.” (Isaiah 61.3)
(Borough Service, St. Clement’s, Hastings, 7th November 2021)
This time last year we were just beginning our second lockdown and I remember being stopped by a woman in George Street. “Where is God in all this Covid stuff?” she asked me. It was a good question then and it is a good question today.
Let’s face it, the Bible can make for some uncomfortable reading when it speaks of God sending plagues and other disasters. The leader of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church is on record as saying that Covid is God’s punishment for same sex marriage and Islamic State has said that it is God’s punishment on non-Muslims. A survey in the United States found that 35% of Christians – almost entirely Evangelicals from the Christian Right – believe the virus to be God’s judgement and a sign of the end of the world. If all this is true, then I must respectfully ask God for my P45. But thankfully I know of Christians, Jews, Muslims and other people of faith up and down our land who have served as good neighbours in their localities during the pandemic. You don’t, of course, have to be religious to be a good neighbour but the motive for the believer is different. When our common humanity is under threat, an expression of God’s love in action counts for more than the rhetoric of hate.
“To comfort all who mourn, to provide for those who mourn in Zion, to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.”
Those words from our first reading speak to us across the centuries. They were addressed by God through a prophet to a people whose entire way of life and cultural expectations had been shattered, to a people who were trying to rebuild their society after an unexpected and shattering dislocation.
For at the beginning of the Sixth Century B.C., Jerusalem (Zion) had been captured by the Babylonians and many of its citizens had been taken away to Babylon as exiles. Others had died. There, by its rivers, the exiles sat down and wept when they thought of their homeland.
“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion,” wrote the author of Psalm 137. “For how could we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”
But they were not simply homesick; their whole understanding of life had been destroyed. Their most important building, the Jerusalem Temple where the God of Israel dwelt, had been destroyed. Had God deserted his people? Were the Babylonian gods more powerful? And now they were in a ritually unclean strange land where they could no longer sacrifice to their God and the future was uncertain. How could they sing the Lord’s song anymore?
The sudden dislocation of those Babylonian exiles is now ours. Past ways of life, once taken for granted, have either gone or are uncertain and the future appears unclear. We too can sit and weep as we mourn the loss of past certainties and familiarities.
We, too, are in exile. As it was for those Sixth Century exiles by the waters of Babylon, our accepted social structures have changed since March 2020. The ways of life we took for granted – handshaking and hugging, shopping and singing, holidays and work, transport and live entertainment – have been dislocated and we would be foolish to take these things for granted again. Perhaps we are learning to appreciate them more. And I rather suspect that many things will never be quite the same again, be they health protocols or an understanding of personal space or the interconnectedness of our world.
“A garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.”
Ashes. Mourning. A faint spirit. Like those exiles in Babylon, we have also experienced these things during the past twenty months. But God’s promise to the exiles is a garland, the oil of gladness and a mantle of praise.
That exile did indeed come to an end and from that shattering experience there arose the Judaism we know today. Its emergence was gradual and difficult and controversial as the religion of Israel slowly moved from a religious system focused on sacrifice in the Jerusalem Temple to a non-sacrificial form of religion based on what we know as synagogues with rabbis – teachers – replacing the priests. The experience of exile and the eventual return to Israel were periods of extreme creativity amidst the mourning and the daily struggle and much of the Hebrew Bible began to take shape during this period.
Our exile and struggle has also been a time of mourning and ashes and, if we are honest with ourselves, a faint spirit at times. But it has also been a time of extraordinary human creativity, much of it in the on-line world, but not least in the rapid development of vaccines and improved means of treating patients afflicted by Covid. Just in the past few days we have learned of two antiviral pills that will be highly effective at preventing hospitalisation and death.
And amidst the fake news and selfish acts of the few, has there not been a spirit of caring generosity towards one another, not least in this Borough – checking on our neighbours, collecting prescriptions and shopping for the vulnerable, re-assuring the anxious however faint our own spirit may be?
And, of course, there is the continued dedication and fortitude of our key workers, motivated by a spirit of service and not by the pay slip. And who knows? Perhaps the mantra that ‘no-one is safe until all are safe’ applied to the global vaccine roll-out may also be acted upon in the battle against climate change. For no nation is an island whatever the map may show.
So let us be thankful for all of the blessings that we can discern in times that were dark but are now slowly emerging into light.
And in these blessings there is also hope. For the time is coming when we shall no longer need to sit and weep at the loss of our pre-Covid world. The pandemic will pass, difficult to imagine as that might seem today. But let not our nostalgia for our lives before Covid causes us to forget that our world was far from perfect. Let us commit to playing our part in ensuring that we return from our Covid exile to a new and better so-called ‘normal’ in which society places a greater value on service and generosity, recognises that no-man or nation is an island, addresses social injustices exposed by the pandemic nationally and internationally and rises to the challenge of climate change.
“To comfort all who mourn, to provide for those who mourn in Zion, to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.”
The end of our exile is in sight. Let us cast away ashes and mourning and faint spirit and begin to reach for that garland and oil of gladness and mantle of praise.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God has come near” (Mark.1.15)
(The Third Sunday before Advent, 7th November, 2021, St Clement’s, Hastings)
Time flies. Time will tell. Time is a great healer. Time and tide wait for no man.
A line from the seventeenth century poet Andrew Marvell:
“But at my back I always hear time’s winged chariot drawing near.”
A line from Isaac Watt’s great hymn:
“Time like an ever rolling stream bears all its sons away”
A verse from the book of Ecclesiastes:
“ For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.”
Time. What exactly is time? asked St. Augustine. And responding to his own question, he answered, “If no-one asks me, I know what it is.”
I dare say that we all know what Augustine meant. Time is a concept that is difficult to put into words and yet we all know about time. Why does it seem to go faster and faster as we grow older? Waiting for a birthday or Christmas seemed like an age in childhood but now birthdays and Christmas come round with increasing rapidity or so it seems.
Speaking for myself, I am increasingly aware of the passing of the years. Surely it cannot be over forty years ago since I began my first job at Bexhill High School or over a year since I became your priest-in-charge?
I’ve mentioned the book Going to Church in Medieval England in at least two previous sermons. In one chapter the author, Nicholas Orme, writes of the effect that the introduction of clocks had on worship and life generally. By the 1430s clocks were becoming less unusual in churches. “In cities and towns, men rule themselves by the clock,” wrote one writer in about 1400. Do we not do the same? The mechanism of the clock has mechanised our lives.
And yet we must hearken to the Baptist’s cry and the cry of Jesus: “The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God has come near.”
“The time is fulfilled.” This is not the same sort of time with which I began this sermon. All my references were to chronolological time, from the Greek word Chronos which refers to measured time or a duration of time. Thus Jesus says to the disciples in Acts 1.7: “It is not for you to know the times or seasons that the Father has set by his own authority.” Or in reference to Herod in Matthew 2.7: “Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time (chronos) when the star had appeared.”
Jesus draws our attention to time in a different sense. A different Greek word is used – kairos – and this denotes an opportunity, fulfilment, a fitting situation or season, the right circumstances. It is the “fullness of time” in which St. Paul says that God sent his Son. (Galatians 4.4)
“The time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.” The time appointed by God for the fulfillment of His promises down the ages, the time to which the prophets had pointed, has come. It is a time determined by God, not by a clock, or wristwatch or mobile telephone.
This sort of time cannot be planned like the chronological time of attending an early morning service at 8 a.m. or meeting a friend for coffee at 11 a.m. This sort of time needs to be recognised, the job opportunity that occurs at just the right stage in your life, the appropriate moment at which retire or step down from something, the appropriate moment at which to have that difficult conversation. Kairos come sometimes occur unexpectedly and we need to recognise and act upon it. If we are not alert, we can miss the moment and perhaps we can all look back on our lives when we may have failed to recognise kairos because of our busyness with chronos.
“Let both of them (wheat and tares) grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time (kairos) I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.” (Matthew 13.30)
“But when the fullness of time (kairos) had come, God sent his Son.” (Gal. 4.4)
“Behold, now is the acceptable time (kairos); behold, now is the day of salvation.” (2 Corinthians 6.2)
I’m told that sermons should not be too long and my time, my chronos, is up lest you start to glance surreptitiously at your watches. But God’s time is not like that. As the psalmist wrote, “For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday”. (Psalm 90.4)
As we begin to look towards Advent, let us hearken to the cry of today’s Gospel and seize the time, the kairos, the moment, the opportunity to use that season to renew our repentence and commit ourselves to the Gospel.
On Jordan’s Bank the Baptist’s cry
Announces that the Lord is nigh;
Awake and hearken, for he brings
Glad tidings from the King of Kings.
© Paul Hunt 2021
All Soul’s Day 2021 – a sermon by Dr Pat Lock
I am very conscious that all of you gathered here this evening, on this All Souls Day, are carrying into this Church a particular set of memories, thanksgivings, regrets, hurts and pain. There is a big chunk of your past that you have shared with a loved one – where now there are only memories.
The whole point of community, community of any sort, but perhaps the church in particular, is that we do this together. We are all gathered here in this Church, and we all share common experiences. There are of course common threads in bereavement but not everyone responds to death and grief in the same way. But we all know about the emptiness, for Bereavement doesn’t get better. It gets different.
This evening, this service, is without doubt a difficult one. And it is right that it is a place where we can cry, where we can sit quietly with our feelings of loss, whether they are terribly raw, or no less real, but have been changed, made different, by time. It is an opportunity to give thanks for all our good memories, for joy and companionship, for the chance to love and be loved. For God’s church remains a place where we can come with all our anxieties and feelings, as well as thanksgiving for the gift of our loved ones.
All Souls Day also confronts us with our mortality, the fact that each one of us will one day die. The wheels of Life will keep turning. Death brings separation and thus sadness, and for some people here the memories are still raw and sharp with grief and tears, for others there is a long sadness which never quite goes but which time has softened and God’s grace has tempered.
That hole that is left in your heart by the loss of the person or people named aloud or silently this evening, that hole is not filled, that person is not replaced, for although we cannot see it yet, it is shining with glory, because Christ is risen from the dead, and there are angels here, and everything will be made new.
The task for us this evening, the task for us every day, is to learn to begin to dare to believe that that is true. And it is better if we do that together, not knowing how each other feels, but knowing that we are together on the journey, of which our pain and sorrow is a vital part, but it is a journey that leads to a garden, and an empty tomb, and light such as the darkness can never overcome.
And that is why this service takes the form that it does. This service is not a counselling session. It is not a funeral either. Though it bears some of the likeness to that important rite of passage. This service is a Eucharist. And it is full of symbols. Symbols help us to negotiate the territory. Standing near me is the Paschal Candle. The Easter Candle. It has burned in this Church since we lit it in the shadows of Easter morning, when the first hints of the possibility that death is not the end were whispered in the dark. The Easter Candle is a symbol of the promise that Christ is always here and we are never alone, and a symbol of His resurrection.
There will be names read in this service. It is helpful to remember, to speak into the silence the personal name of someone we love, and lost. It helps to keep the memory alive; it helps to remind us of our duty to be the living biography of the people whose lives have intersected and intertwined with ours.
The Church is not here to offer trite or easy answers to some of the most difficult questions we face as human beings. These kinds of question we can ask only of God, trusting at least that, as Jesus came down to earth to share our human lives, he can also share in, and understand, our grief and loss, as he himself wept at the death of his friend, Lazarus.
This service is actually not just for the people that we can remember either. This church has been here for hundreds of years, and the stones of this place have been hallowed by prayers, tears and laughter uttered by countless thousands of people who we will never know, but they are part of the story, they are part of God’s family, and we remember them too.
And here is the key to beginning to muddle our way through how it feels to be mortal, fragile, alone, broken. And it is of course the sacrament of Holy Communion. The central symbol, the sacrament of this service, is broken bread and out-poured wine. The body and the blood of Christ.
The food on the altar is the bread of heaven and food of angels.
God invites us already into the life of glory right now, to be with the saints, with our departed loved ones, with every creature that God loved – that we lost and he found. And, yes, our experience of heaven and glory now are very hazy and unclear. But by patiently desiring that fellowship, making time for God in prayer; our grief and faith become mutually enriching. Grief and loss can become the place where we learn to rely on God, where faith blossoms.
Grief is the place to discover and trust, and to learn that God is strong even when we’re not. This is the wonderful thing about faith, it springs from the place of uncontrollable loss – we can do nothing – and so it pushes us beyond our own resources, onto the patient, ever-waiting, outstretched arms of God. Faith comes not from trying, but from not trying to do it all ourselves. We allow ourselves to be in God’s arms and discover that we are held and have been all the time.
This building is full of angels, full of holiness, full of forgiveness, and love, and grace, and hope. The readings we have heard tonight were selected for their message of Christian hope.
We are surrounded by the irresistible and glorious vanguard of Christ. And that is what the words of the what the Eucharist service says:
“with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, we proclaim your great and glorious name…”
So may God hold us in his arms, as he holds our loved ones departed in his presence, and may God open our hearts to join with them and the whole communion of Saints through the Bread of Holy Communion, and witness the joy and glory of God, and the Hope that is in Christ Jesus.
.
All Saints’ Sunday, 31st October 2021, St. Clement’s, Hastings
I’m glad that Brother Aelred is sitting down because today is not only All Saints’ Sunday. It is also Reformation Sunday. Protestant Christians around the world will be commemorating the Reformation, that period of renewal in the Western Church, and thinking in particular of the Reformer Martin Luther, thought to have nailed his ninety-five theses to the church door in Wittenberg on this day in 1517.
Martin Luther is one of the towering figures in the two thousand years of Christian history, one of its greatest theologians and spiritual leaders. He was a man of immense courage, standing up to the authorities of Church and State for the Gospel, attacking church corruption and proclaiming that we are saved through faith and not by good works alone. His translation of the Bible into German had an extraordinary impact in the development of German language and culture, rather in the way that the Authorised Version of the Bible and Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer had on ours. His hymns are still sung today and not just by the millions of Lutherans throughout the world. Two of those hymns are in our hymn book.
Luther is one of the saints. And yet he exhibited a virulent anti-semitism and at times his language was pretty vulgar. And, for what it is worth, it is said that he never changed his bedclothes once during his adult life, although that charge may have been Roman Catholic propaganda.
Luther is one of the saints. Luther is also one of the sinners.
And that brings us on this Reformation Sunday to today’s other celebration of All Saints.
The lives of most famous saints don’t bear too much close examination. But we forget that they, like us, are also sinners. One of my favourite saints and sinners is the truly great fifth century theologian Cyril of Alexandria who fought against the heresy of Nestorianism at the Council of Ephesus. As bishop, he had a gang of fearsome monks – a heavy gang in effect – that he used to intimidate fellow bishops at church meetings. Gifts would be offered first in exchange for voting as Cyril wanted and, if that approach failed, persuasion by physical violence followed. Bishops knew how to lead in those days. Cyril was not the easiest of men and it is said that when he died the monks decided to bury him very deeply in case he upset the dead so much that they sent him back.
Thus we have Bishop Cyril of Alexandria, theologian and preacher, saint and sinner.
A parochial example: Many years ago, I was Honorary Curate in a flourishing parish led by an excellent vicar whom we all reckoned to be destined for higher things. The Vicar was an excellent preacher, a strong administrator and pastorally sensitive. Then one Saturday, my telephone rang and it was one of the churchwardens: The Vicar had left his wife and five children and would I take the next morning’s services. It was a Sunday I will never forget. Some parishioners were crying and the atmosphere was sombre. The Vicar was seen to be both saint and sinner. The holy man was seen to have feet of clay. What didn’t happen, though – and what I and the bishop had feared – was that it would cause some people to question their faith. There was deep sadness and puzzlement, of course, and a sense of betrayal for many. But their faith was ultimately in God and not in the earthen vessel of the Vicar. I’ve said it before more than once but I say it again: thank goodness that the worth of a sacrament does not depend upon the worth of the minister, something affirmed by Article XXVI of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion in the Prayer Book.
Christians are sometimes set up by those hostile to Christianity – and sometimes set themselves up – as a community of the pure and holy in opposition to a sinful world. When people have criticised the Church for its hypocrisy and its members as hypocrites, my response has always been along the lines of “Yes, I know I’m a hypocrite. That’s why I need to go to Church where I can acknowledge that and seek forgiveness.” Or as Luther said about himself when he celebrated the Eucharist: “I am dust and ashes and full of sin and I am speaking to the living, eternal and the true God.”
I suspect that far from considering ourselves to be pure and holy, we are more aware of our faults than our holiness, more aware of ourselves as sinners more than saints. Just like Martin Luther. But let’s give ourselves a break today and reflect on our holiness, our very own sainthood – our service to others, our attempts at prayer, our reading of Scripture, our faithfulness in attending divine worship.
Today is a day for remembering that all the faithful are called to be saints, literally to be the holy ones.
We are all called to be saints, holy ones, by virtue of our baptism but we remain sinners who, as St Paul and Luther proclaimed, are justified by faith in Jesus Christ. And if our call to sainthood sometimes seems too daunting, let us reflect on Martin Luther, saint and sinner, and not least when we change our bedding.
© Paul Hunt 2021
St Clement Dedication Festival, 24th October 2021
“Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said,’Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!’ And he was afraid and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’” (Genesis 28.16-17)
It is exactly one year since my first sermon as your priest-in-charge. In that sermon I urged us to work together to ensure the building up of our churches and their longer term viability. No more teams of one. I truly believe that we have made serious strides in that direction and are working together in a way that is more reflective of what it means to be the Body of Christ in this place. So thank you. To repeat my words of last year, this is not my church. It is ours.
In my sermon I quoted a verse of the Anglican humourist SJ Forrest in reference to the parish priest:
“This lucky man,
Whose work unique
Is only needed once a week.
We know he gets but little pay
But does he earn it any way?”
I will leave it to you to draw your own judgement!
Perhaps you might identify with these further words from the same pen:
“Before we had a vicar,
Our happy little flock,
Petitioned for a live wire,
And got a nasty shock:
His manifold surprises
Electrify the Pews;
Nor have we yet discovered
His swiftly changing views.”
Despite lockdowns, we have accomplished much in the past twelve months ranging from important matters of governance to the unveiling of the new website and the introduction of contactless payment to the launch of the Junior Choir. The continued development of collaborative ministry has been a major step forward. Much has been done to improve our fabric. Our electoral roll stands at its highest for several years. Attendances are higher than immediately before the pandemic. We are making maximum financial use of our former parish office and the hall garage.
But to what purpose? I think that it is right that we should take time to congratulate ourselves on our progress – as Paul Dine said a few weeks ago, even the vestry clocks now run on time although I note that the clock in the choir vestry has since stopped! But to what purpose?
“Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said,’Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!’ And he was afraid and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’”
How awesome is this place….. I’m currently reading a book entitled Going to Church in Medieval England. It has really brought St Clements and All Saints to life for me in thinking about our predecessors in the Communion of Saints who worshipped here. In this very place. At the spot where you now sit. When the sanctus bell is rung this morning, contemplate that such a bell was rung at such a time by someone, the Keith Leech of the late fourteenth century, in this church in its very first services. And then think about their successors who worshipped in their turn through Reformation, Commonwealth, Restoration, the introduction of the Book of Common Prayer and onwards down the decades, through the centuries until this morning. How awesome indeed is this place. In that famous line of T S Eliot from Little Gidding, the last of the Four Quartets, “You are here to kneel where prayer has been valid.”
And as Eliot goes on to remind us, our prayers are validated by theirs.
“And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the
living.”
As we pray this morning, we enter into the prayer stream of the centuries. And more than that, we join with all the faithful departed of this church in prayer and worship today.
Prayer and worship is our primary calling, not governance or fund raising or building maintenance or the Rector’s latest idea. For without prayer and worship all these things availeth us naught.
To what extent do we treat this as the house of God, the gate of heaven? We can become so caught up in the day to day business of running a church with its rotas and meetings, that we can, in effect, sleep through its primary purpose? Time that should be devoted to prayer can be taken over by a list of things to do or say after a service. To what extent do we talk to God before the Service and allow God to talk to us during it? Or are we actually talking to each other in our innermost reality?
“Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said,’Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!’ And he was afraid and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’”
St Clement’s is one of three places in the Old Town where earth and heaven meet, not least during the Prayer of Consecration when the sanctus bell is rung. This is what Eliot calls the “intersection of the timeless moment”, our Bethel, literally the house of God, the gate of heaven with the ladder set up from earth to heaven.
Prayer and worship is our aim and purpose and from which everything else flows. Woe unto us if we do not know that.
On our dedication Festival as we look to the past and look to the future, let us awake from sleep with Jacob and say in our hearts
“Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it! …How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”
© Paul Hunt 2021
SERMON 17.10.2021: SERVING OTHERS. LET ME SERVE YOU. LET ME BE AS CHRIST TO YOU.(Mark 10:35-45)
LET ME SERVE YOU, LET ME BE AS CHRIST TO YOU.
What strong encouragement, Jesus gives us today, of serving others without lording it over them.
I read of an incident which happened in America that illustrates what we should be like with regard to having a servant attitude if we see a job that needs doing and we can help out, for that is what caring is about.
During the American Revolutionary War a group of soldiers under the command of a captain were building a fort out of a pile of heavy logs. While wrestling with a log which was to form the capstone and was really too heavy for the men to manage, the captain kept yelling at the men “heave it up” while he himself stood by with his hands on his hips. Suddenly a stranger in everyday clothing rode up on horseback, and seeing the soldiers sweating and struggling with the log, he stopped and asked the captain why he was not adding his strength and helping his men. “I AM AN OFFICER” was the reply. With that the stranger leapt off his horse, took off his coat, and helped the men put the heavy log in place while the captain looked on. Then, as he was about to ride away, he said to the captain . . . . . “Next time you need help just call on me. My name is George Washington and I am Commander in Chief of the United States Army”.
Food for thought! So in today’s Gospel, how should we think about James and John, the sons of Zebedee? How should we think about the day they went to Jesus and demanded : “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you”
Whoa. You do for us whatever we ask of you! Wasn’t that audacious? What did they think gave them the right to make a demand of Jesus like that? Then “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory”
How should we think about these 2 men, previously fishermen in their father’s successful business on Lake Galilee – I wonder if they thought they had a right to this privilege because of apparent family connections – In a William Barclay commentary, he looks at the women named at the foot of the cross in the gospels of Matthewm Mark and John and deduces that the mother of James and John, Salome, and Jesus’ mother, Mary, were sisters.
However, James and John left behind all semblance of humility. They seemed to be so forward that they not only wanted to stand out from the crowd, they also wanted to stand ahead of the other disciples and put themselves forward asking Jesus to ensure they be given the highest positions of power and privilege to sit in the two places of honour beside him in his kingdom. They certainly didn’t care about the feelings of the other disciples did they, rather snubbing them by inferring they were better & so deserved to get their request.
Jesus could have put them in their place but he didn’t reprimand them, or ridicule them, or shrug them off. He lets them reveal what is in their heart! They might have wanted to serve the Lord but they wanted to tell Jesus in what capacity they would do it!
Jesus had previously told the disciples that he would go through tough times but had they not taken it in? His forthcoming suffering seemed not to have registered with them as they ploughed on assuring Jesus they could drink the cup he drinks and be baptized with the baptism he is baptized with. “We are able” the brothers said. Jesus warned them “You do not know what you are asking”.
James and John agreed to something but it seemed they had no idea of the implications of what they were agreeing to. Just like we might do. “Yes, I’ll accept that job, or that promotion!” But if only we knew what it would actually entail! We might stay right where we are, realising that the small raise is not worth it when we experience anxiety and find the longer hours that had to be worked were just unforeseen.
Did the brothers accept the cup and the baptism Jesus spoke about, without realising what this would mean? A bitter cup, a cup of sorrow, the terrible experience Jesus would have to go through. And a baptism of suffering, being submerged in hatred, pain and death – that is what they should be prepared to encounter as would Jesus. And the privileged seats of honour next to Jesus? Jesus explained that those places were not for him to decide.
We know that the other ten disciples were angry with James and John. When we ask for something we don’t deserve and with only self-interest in mind, that does not please God and others may turn their back on us.
Should we regard James and John as overly ambitious in their ideas of self-advancement and being very pushy. Should we think less of them because they let all sense of humility go out of the window, and seem to think too much of themselves. Or should we just ignore their lack of sensitivity? Their lack of tact? It’s not wrong to have ambition but not if we detrimentally affect others. Or could it be that behind their ambition lay unshakable loyalty to Jesus and their invincible faith in him because even when the brothers were bluntly told what lay ahead it did not deter them, bewildered as they might be.
Jesus told all the disciples that lording over others was not the way among his disciples, instead “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”
So the way to get along in Christ’s kingdom is service. The desire to be on top will hinder, not help. Rather than seeking to have our needs met, we need to look for ways we can minister to the needs of others.
Apparently in an ants’ community hierarchy, the most important individuals are not the queen ant or the solder ants, but the worker ants. They are the ones who feed the rest of the colony. A lesson from nature -they are the serv-ants!
Jesus made it clear that those who desire to be the greatest should practice humility – perhaps an art long forgotten in human history. He also showed us that the only way to serve like him is to be a servant. You’ll recall Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, usually the task of a servant in a household, and in our Eucharist service we see a liturgical servant laying up the altar and later clearing it as a servant would do at a secular meal table. Paul has explained to us that the word ‘deacon’ comes from the Greek word for servant and we saw that as deacon in the service Bro.Aelred had draped his stole across his body and tied it at the side symbolising the towel Jesus used.
Jesus showed that leadership is about servanthood. If someone wants to be great they must first serve.
So what is serving? Someone said that it’s when you do something for someone for which you do not get paid. Well, that would include doing the laundry and washing up the dishes!
I think serving is doing anything because we love Jesus and we love people. Serve with a thankful heart.
Doing stuff for God without caring about our relationship to God is not what God wants. He does not want us to do more than we feel we are able. He just wants us to serve him and his people out of clean motives. We really need to infill ourselves with the love of God, to wallow in being one of his flock, to feed on his love; ensure we maintain our relationship with God, keep our batteries topped up by praying, praising, worshiping, reading, listening, and serving. Christians need to receive God’s grace and to extend God’s grace, so we are Christianly healthy to serve and be as Christ to others.
Each of us is called to do what we can as an opportunity arises. One of the issues of the moment is the environment and its needs. It’s a massive problem and we can feel overwhelmed by the enormity of it.
But let’s not be put off doing whatever little we can. Most of us do our bit, we recycle, we repair, we re-use, we reduce or eliminate food waste and create less refuse, we try to use eco-friendly items, and be greener. We help and care, and so serve the environment in any way we can. Without expecting any recognition or thanks.
Let’s remember George Washington climbing down off his horse because he saw a job that needed doing, and so he helped out without expecting recognition.
All praise be to God, to Jesus Christ his Son and our caring servant. Amen
Sandra Bentall. Authorised Lay Minister, Hastings Old Town Parish.
A Sermon by Mr Keith Leech, Authorised Lay Minister
If ever there were a set of readings to make you want to get up and walk out of the church door they are today’s.
We start with Amos ‘For I know how many are your transgressions, and how great are your sins.’ In the Epistle to the Hebrews we have God’s two edged sword which will judge the thoughts and intentions of our hearts and there is nowhere to hide. If we turn to the Gospel of Mark we are told that it is easier for a camel to enter the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.
That’s it. I don’t know about you but I think I don’t measure up at all. I am by no means rich but I own my own house and car and am like most people in this country richer than most in this world, certainly richer than the Ethiopians I used to work with when I was a young teacher. I remember once in the Ethiopian highlands a 500 birr note fell out of my pocket somewhere (about 50 pounds) I was angry with myself and then realised whoever found it had probably found for themselves six months wages. So what am I to do? The disciples themselves questioned Jesus and asked who then can be saved?
If we look closer the readings are about judgement, but also what we should do.
Amos goes on to say ‘Seek good and not evil, that you may live; and so the LORD, the God of hosts, will be with you, just as you have said. Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate.’
Hebrews goes on to say. ‘Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ So we are to seek good not evil and Jesus is himself not unable to sympathise with our weakness, because he has experienced in the incarnation being human himself.
In Mark, Jesus goes on to explain to the disciples who were asking who can possibly be saved ‘For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.’
Keith Pound reminded me that today is prison Sunday and I find it no coincidence that today’s readings are about judgement. Prisoners are judged by us, by their peers, by society and we are ourselves judged by God. For a prisoner judgment is, if guilty, followed by punishment and it is in a civilised society important that a punishment fits the crime. I am reminded of the line in Les Miserables where Jean Valjean says he was imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread and goes on to explain that his niece was close to death and needed food. For this he was subjected to hard labour. In that same period in history we have Marie Antionette famously saying when the Parisians were complaining of no bread ‘let them eat cake’ (although it was probably words put into her mouth by another but she certainly had no concept of poverty). Although fiction Les Miserables was based on reality and Jean Valjean’s punishment was extreme for what he did. Marie Antoinette, although naïve and foolish did not deserve the guillotine, (although she may have done well to consider how a camel could pass through the eye of a needle). If human punishment goes beyond what a crime deserves it can cause resentment and lead to more crime and a cycle of wrong doing.
With God there is no hiding, there is no lack of evidence, all extenuating circumstances are known for God knows everything. Fortunately we are told that God is a merciful and fair judge.
Along with judgement there should be contemplation of the crime and ultimately repentance. With God true repentance gives forgiveness. Here we are all at the mercy of God who wants us all to be with Him, not to punish us, because He knows our weaknesses, because He has experienced them through Jesus Christ.
I would like to return to the camel passing through the eye of the needle. I found the passage and the metaphor perplexing, so I did a little reading around the subject. The gates to the city of Jerusalem had two doors a large open door that opened the whole gate and a smaller pedestrian door that opened in one of the larger gates, just as they have at Battle Abbey and in many of our cathedrals. A camel loaded with goods and chattels would need to pass through the wide open door. In one of the gates to Jerusalem this smaller gate was possibly referred to as the eye of the needle. A camel could only pass through if it had everything taken off it. So here Jesus could be referring to the extra things a rich man may carry around with him, being more concerned about his goods and money and how to deal with it, what to buy, what to sell. Things that would keep somebody’s mind from God. So Jesus may be saying if we approach the gates of the Kingdom of God with whatever goods and chattels we may (literally or metaphorically) be carrying around with us we will not be able to enter through the gate unless we leave them behind.
We also need to consider what the Kingdom of God is. The Kingdom of God isn’t a physical place, it is a metaphor. It’s a state of being; finding Jesus Christ and being with Him here on Earth, in part, and with him fully in the life to come. The Kingdom of God will not be found out there, we cannot go and build it somewhere and go and live there. It is found within you. In Matthew 6 we are told to seek first the Kingdom of God and all these things will be given to you. So Jesus is telling us that before we can be truly with Him we should shed all the burdens that are preventing us from coming to Him right here and now on Earth. He is reminding us that wealth is a burden that can hinder our coming to Him.
So consider the prisoner who has to spend time contemplating their crime (no matter what weakness may have taken them to that point). Then consider yourself and what it is that is preventing you (no matter what weakness has taken you to that point) from fully entering the Kingdom of God. Just as the prisoner will hopefully come to see their transgressions, repent and return to a full life so may we in prayer and contemplation come to see our transgressions and repent so we can be forgiven… then, only by God’s mercy, enter the Kingdom of God.
Yes God will judge the thoughts and intentions of our hearts and there will be nowhere to hide, but if those thoughts and intentions are leading us to Him. If we hate evil and love good, we may by His mercy and grace come to be with Him.
‘For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.’
Sermon by Dr Pat Lock, 26th September James 5 vv 13 – end
James concludes his short letter to the Jewish Christians, setting out specific instructions to the early church – to pray, to sing and to heal. And he sets the church in the role of First Responder.
What is a First Responder? The FR answers emergency calls to provide efficient and immediate care to ill and injured patients. After receiving notification of an emergency, the FR safely responds to the location given, using the most expeditious route, depending on traffic and weather conditions. The FR in this country is our paramedic team, arriving in an ambulance, and it is well known that the our paramedics save lives.
Would you call a First Responder if you were seriously injured? Would you call 999 if you saw a neighbour laid out in his yard with a possible heart attack? Would you call a First Responder if your child had injured himself? James, in a spiritual sense clearly tells us to take out burdens to the spiritual First Responders. Are you a Christian First Responder or are you the bystander who is waiting to spread gossip? Are you that First Responder who someone can come to in confidence or are you the person who will turn the other way? Are you that person who someone can count on to pray with them right there, or do you shun prayer as you do not know what to say? James puts it like this: Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. The weapon of the First Responder is prayer. The word of God is the shield that protects when prayer is going on.
James then says “Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing songs (psalms/hymns)”. When people sing songs it takes their happiness to a whole new level and affects our inner being. Let’s never forget that we need to take care of our attitudes, mental states and emotions, and when we take care of them, we are able to help others in so many ways.
If I can take us on a trip down memory lane for a minute and go back to the Disney Cartoon Movie, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. There is the well-known song “Whistle While You Work” the Lyrics are: Just whistle while you work. And cheerfully together, we can tidy up the place. So hum a merry tune. It won’t take long, when there’s a song, to help you set the pace. And as you sweep the room, imagine that the broom, is someone that you love and soon you’ll find you’re dancing to the tune. When hearts are high, the time will fly, so whistle while you work So whistle while you work. This song is a perfect illustration of how singing can lift the monotony of a task into a joyful experience. Of how music can change perspective.
Music has had a profound influence on the culture of the different countries of the world. Black music is especially profound and is often the sustaining factor of a people, emotionally, spiritually, and collectively. Music portrays the roots of a people stripped of their humanity and burdened with shackled labour driven by the harsh sting of the whip. Slaves, in the form of their songs, held on to the only piece of their homeland and heritage that they could truly embrace. Through songs they were able to bear the struggles, of their experiences in a foreign land that professed liberty and justice for all, yet treated them worse than livestock, unworthy of the amenities of humanity. Psalm 137:1-4 says “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How shall we sing the LORD’S song in a strange land”.
People all over the world love to sing whether or not they can carry a tune. You must understand that there’s something positive, something healthy in the act of raising our voices in song. In fact, there’s solid scientific evidence to prove that singing is, in fact, good for your body and your mind.
However, in the Bible singing isn’t just good for us it is a command to us. Singing provides a direct experience – it’s a mood lifter & anti-depressant with no side effects. But when we find singing in the Bible it is usually pointing to times of joy and rejoicing and it is so vitally connected with our worship toward God. Singing isn’t an option in Scripture. It’s a command: Colossians 3:16 says “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord”. Ephesians 5:18-19 says “And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit. Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord” Singing is one of the chief ways in which God’s Word dwells in us richly and is an important part of our worship. Singing helps to build people up emotionally and spiritually. Psalm 105:2 says, “Sing unto him, sing psalms unto him: talk ye of all his wondrous works”. It is no wonder that we are impatient to start singing the service here again, and from next week we will at last be able to sing all of the hymns. Remember when you sing, you glorify God. Singing has such a unique way of bringing our heart, soul, mind, and strength together to focus entirely and completely on God.
But best of all we are told it may improve snoring – regular singing may change the way you breathe, even when you’re not singing. Researchers in a 2008 study interviewed the spouses of choir members, along with the spouses of people who don’t sing. The researchers found that significantly fewer choir members snored. Unfortunately, it does not work for all and I know a musician in this church who still snores profoundly!
And thirdly James says “is any among you sick? Let him call in the elders of the church”. We live in quite different times than when he wrote this letter. Back in the day, there would not have been as many doctors as we have today. He goes on to suggest that a sick person sends for the elders of the church to come and pray for them in faith, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord, as they do so. This is something that is hardly popular in the church today and is hardly practiced, except to anoint the dying. Let’s seek to get back to the basics of our faith – perhaps we will see a lot more miracles happening and as a result, this will build both our faith, and that of others who witness these miracles. This anointing with oil has been interpreted as either seeking the best medical attention possible for the afflicted, or as an emblem of the Holy Spirit’s presence and power.
In all 3 accounts James clearly puts the initiative on the person in need: let him call. The hesitancy of people to ask for or to seek prayer from the leadership of the church in such circumstances is a true mystery. I am not sure why folks who are in pain, who are going through some sickness or who have trouble in their way do not go to the ministers of the church to pray. Maybe they do not feel it will do any good. Clearly, God does not grant immediate healing for every prayer of faith, and the reasons are hidden in the heart and mind of God. The best approach in praying for the sick is to pray with humble confidence that they will be healed. Having prayed, we simply leave the matter to God. It is not the job of the First Responder to wait around for attention. They are not there to be interviewed or to gain glory. Their mindset is not first to be the hero. Their focus is on doing their job. Our job is to give God the glory. We are to stay humble and leave it all to God for the outcome. We should remember that God is big enough to handle whatever is in the lives of His people and God uses ordinary people for his work. God’s Holy Spirit makes us ready for whatever may come. He gives us the words to say and, sometimes, encourages us not to say. However, we all can think of at least one time when we prayed for someone to be healed, and they weren’t. Our experience is that sometimes healing happens and sometimes it doesn’t. There is no “formula” that offers a guarantee. And this is part of the mystery of the way God moves in our world. It’s as if James and other biblical writers wanted to emphasise that the process was more important than the outcome. Praying for one another, comforting one another, and offering support are what we can do. Rather than thinking “what’s the use?” we see ourselves as the hands and feet of Jesus as we minister to those who are hurting. Whether or not healing comes, the person who is prayed for feels loved and supported. The mystery of healing is not ours to control, but building loving relationships does fall within our domain and responsibilities.
So the church is to pray, to sing and to heal the sick. But remember this – true service is serving others and expecting no recognition and nothing in return.
“Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet.” (Mark 7.25)
(The Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity, 5th September 2021, All Saints, Hastings)
Asking for a pay rise. Asking for promotion. Asking for someone to marry you. Asking for that sought-after ticket to watch Arsenal triumph in a Champions’ League Final. Asking for something always carries the risk of refusal. If it doesn’t, it cannot be a genuine request.
So let’s just think afresh about the context of the Syro-Phoenician woman’s request for Jesus to heal her daughter.
Jesus has been extremely busy teaching and healing; just read the preceeding chapters in Mark. Basically, he’s bushed. He’s gone north to a Gentile area and found a safe house “and did not want anyone to know he was there.” (7.24) But his cover has been blown and there at his door is this woman wanting his time and energy. The woman, bowing down at his feet, must have sensed that the risk of being turned away was high.
Jesus is a Jew. She is a Gentile. There is a long history of enmity.
He is a man. She is a woman. There is a long history of patriarchy.
He is tired. She is intruding. Jesus is in need of complete rest.
The unnamed woman, for whom Jesus was a stranger not a saviour, must have feared refusal.
The exchange which followed is well-known: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the puppies.” The Greek word used here is a diminuitive and therefore the word ‘puppy’ makes better sense of Jesus’ reply; it is more playful than we might otherwise suppose. “Yes, but even the puppies under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” is the womans’s quick-witted reply. In other words, surely there must be some compassion left to be given to Gentiles. The reply is also a declaration of faith by the Gentile woman: Even a crumb of Jesus’ power is sufficient. And so Jesus heals her daughter from a distance. His word is sufficient. Do we not say, “Lord I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed”?
Do we really believe those words? After all, we say them before Communion every week. Do we really mean them?
When we ask something of God, do we expect our request to be granted? Or do we, deep-down and spoken only in the privacy of our hearts, fear that we shall be turned away? We may think that we are not good enough or religious enough or that God only truly listens to religious leaders to whom we ascribe greater intimacy with God. If so, perhaps we are not so disimilar to that Syro-Phoenician woman, remembered for her confident reply to Jesus rather than for its unpromising context of a Gentile woman seeking healing for her daughter from an exhausted Jesus.
Healing. This has been the subject of fruitful discussion at Home Groups in recent months. What do we mean by healing? Sometimes our requests for healing are answered and we rejoice. But sometimes our asking seems to be on hold as we pray for people whose condition does not change. And when someone dies, does that mean that our asking has run the risk of refusal and fallen victim to the risk? Have we been turned away in the manner that the Syro-Phoenician woman must have feared about her request? I cannot be alone in knowing people who no longer come to church because their prayerful request has not be answered according to their understanding of what that answer should have entailed.
And didn’t Jesus say “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find, knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened”? Doesn’t this sound like a promise of a swift positive response to our requests? But the Greek here is an imperative – Keep on asking, keeping on seeking, keep on knocking. In other words, Jesus’ words are about the need for persistence in prayer. Pray without ceasing urged St. Paul. And think of the persistent widow and the judge. And at all times the model of Christian prayer laid down by Jesus in Gethesmane is not what we want but what God wants. That is the most difficult part.
Genuinely prayerful requests can result in extraordinary physical or mental or spiritual healing. But if our prayer doesn’t, does it mean that we have been turned away and our request refused, just as that Syro-Phoenician woman might have feared?
Healing and the granting of our request can come in manifold ways. It may come through a deeper relationship with God or through reconciliation with others, a sense of true peace even in the shadow of death. It may come through the discovery of unrealised gifts or by ministry to others. I will always remember Gwen, a bed-ridden lady in a nursing home to whom I used to take communion. She always looked so peaceful and was grateful for the view – simply the top of a tree against the sky – from her room, her radio programmes and the security and care provided by the staff. I visited to comfort her but, in truth, the reverse was true. I always left her feeling uplifted. That was her ministry and gift to me.
Gwen died over twenty years ago. But as a devout Christian she knew that Jesus Christ has broken the power of death and that his healing power extends beyond the grave.
“For I am persuaded,” wrote St. Paul, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8.38-39)
We suffer with Christ, he writes in that same letter to the Romans, that we may also be glorified with him.
We are never turned away or refused. But like the Syro-Phoenician woman, we need the courage to ask. We also need the courage to accept and understand the answer in the context of St. Paul’s glorious words.
Puppies and crumbs? We may indeed not be worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under his table and asking always carries the risk of refusal. But as the unnamed Syro-Phoenician woman discovered, he is the same Lord whose nature is always to have mercy, yesterday and today and forever.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.” (Mark 7.8)
(Trinity 13, 29th August 2021, All Saints, Hastings)
Covering Sunday services in different churches is always interesting and as a school chaplain, and in retirement, I covered a lot. When asked about the form of service and any local practice, I invariably received the same reply from a churchwarden: “Oh, it’s just the usual” in a tone which might imply that I was asking a silly question.
But the reality is that common worship is a misnomer if ever there was one and each church thinks that what it does is normal practice. In the end, particularly in more anglo-catholic churches, I adopted a simple policy: If in doubt, sit. If it moves, bless it.
Much of what we do in church during services is often a matter of human tradition. Sometimes that human tradition is couched in sacred terms. I’ve never forgotten the occasion at Chichester Theological College when I was being shown how to lay out the altar just before I was made deacon. I committed the cardinal sin of laying my hand on the altar. The bishop’s chaplain was horrified. “You can’t do that,” he said (or words to that effect). “But when you are a priest you can lay your hands on the altar when reciting the Lord’s Prayer.” I was too green to challenge that then and I still do not understand the liturgical or theological reasoning.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus is highly critical of the Pharisees and scribes who were fastidious about ritual washing and other traditions, abandoning the commandment of God and holding to human tradition. They pounce on the technical infringement of the disciples in the same way that the bishop’s chaplain pounced on me. Quoting the prophet Isaiah, Jesus recognises the danger of honouring God with our lips when our hearts are far from him, worshipping in vain and teaching human precepts as doctrines.
So what does all this say about our ritual at All Saints and St. Clement’s? First, let me be clear that I regard liturgical order and ritual to be very important. Sloppy, chaotic worship is an insult to God. We ought to be mindful of St Paul’s words concerning the worship in Corinth: “All things should be done decently and in order.” (I Cor. 14.40)
The key test is whether rituals bring us closer to God. When I ran confirmation classes as a school chaplain I always showed pupils how to make the sign of the cross. But my advice was always that we should cross ourselves if we find it devotionally helpful and not do so if we don’t.
I find that making the sign of the cross helps to make me still for prayer and reminds me of what we believe, uniting us with Christ on the Cross. It traces our Creed: Godhead, Incarnation, Death and Resurrection. But it can just be a literally thoughtless reflex action. I can remember seeing a production of Donizetti’s opera Maria Stuarda at the Edinburgh Festival many years ago. Rather extraordinarily, John Knox’s puritans – the most extreme of protestants for whom crossing themselves would have unthinkable – had been given stage directions to cross themselves at various times. I complained about this lack of historical and liturgical verisimilitude to an usherette at the interval but I got the impression that she thought I was a bit odd.
Thinking of Donizetti (and nothing to do with this sermon), I can remember going into what was called Our Price Records at the bottom of Queens Road sometime in the early 1980s. “Do you have any recordings of Donizetti?” I asked somewhat hopefully. The young woman, looking puzzled, went away to enquire. “No, we don’t,” she said upon her return. “But we do have Donna Summer.” She probably had a sister who worked as an usherette at the Edinburgh Festival.
Returning to the theme of this sermon, I engage in a ritual washing of my hands before the Eucharistic prayer. This is my reminder that I am not worthy to celebrate the sacrament by virtue of my merits. “Lord wash away my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin,” is the priest’s prayer during this action. Article XXVI of the Church of England states that the worth of the sacrament does not reside in the worth of the minister and I literally thank God for that.
And behind the bishop’s chaplain’s words to me was a reminder that the altar is a sacred place where heaven and earth meet, not a trolly table from Ikea to be wheeled out at Communion as happens in some churches.
So ritual can aid our worship in which the body joins the heart and mind in worship. It can remind us of the sacred in a profane world.
But ritual can also be dangerous if it becomes an idol in itself and I think that this is what Jesus means when he says that human tradition becomes more important than the commandments of God. I also think that Freud was on to something when he argued that religious ritual can become a form of obsessive neurosis when the performance of ritual has to be in accordance with tightly prescribed words and actions if it is to be valid. Basically, that turns religious ritual into magic, as though we can control God by the recitation of a precise formula and the performance of precisely defined actions.
So the question for us as we contemplate Jesus’ words is whether ritual, our human tradition, becomes an end in itself or comes from the heart and mind and help lift us to the divine?
I end with a story that suggests we should keep ritual in perspective. It concerns the use of liturgical fans, an ancient custom still used in the Eastern Churches. Two fans are waved over the elements at the consecration and during the Creed. I once asked the once well-known Orthodox theologian Kallistos Ware about their significance. He smiled and said, “We say they represent the holy angels and the presence of the Holy Spirit. But really it is to keep away the flies.”
© Paul Hunt 2021
A Sermon by Keith Leech, Authorised Lay Minister
Put on the whole armour of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.
What kind of Christian are you? Why are you here? Questions I remember from the first day of my training. It’s not a loaded question … There is no right answer, but what role do you play in the body? We are all the body of Christ and St. Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians (as does St Clement in his letter to the Corinthian Christians) that we were all baptised by one Spirit so as to form one body. .…Paul lists some of the parts. Apostles, prophets, teachers, miracles, gifts of healing, of helping, of guidance, and of different kinds of tongues. At the training we all wrote what we thought we were on a post it, we could only choose one thing. They were placed on the wall and divided into groups. One post remained on its own. It simply said ‘Christian Soldier’. It caused quite a few raised eyebrows.
While training, an evangelical Christian friend said to me. ‘Beware the devil will try and stop you’. I laughed… The devil? What kind of medieval old fashioned idea is that?… I was wrong. To get to be able to stand here and speak to you has not been an easy journey. This passage from today’s epistle is one of the things that got me through. I did as St Paul suggests and used the tools God had given me. The shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
Where I had misunderstood was that I had an idea the attacks would come directly and I would be standing there like some Gandalf figure tossing thunderbolts at a red man with horns. The devil is indeed cunning and as C.S Lewis said his greatest trick is for people to think he doesn’t exist. The attacks were subtle, came from behind, and came through other people. . . People outside the church, but also from within. People casting doubts about me to others, people questioning my motives, people questioning the Christian faith, people questioning how I as a trained scientist can believe in such mythological nonsense. The scoffers, the doubters, the straight forwards antagonistic. It also came from my own mind casting self-doubt and doubt about the faith. Disbelief in myself, and a feeling that I was simply not good enough to be doing this. I really needed the shield of faith and the sword of the spirit, the word of God …and I needed to pray.
All of us, as Christians, are under constant attack. The devil doesn’t want us to succeed. The better we get at filling the churches or stronger in our faith the worse the attacks will be. The devil loves to see congregations diminishing in number. Fortunately these are mere local skirmishes… in the end the devil cannot win. Light will always defeat darkness. That wonderful beginning of the Gospel of John tells us ‘The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it’. In Matthew Jesus tells us the gates of hell will not prevail against the Church built by Him. Nevertheless we are under attack from 21st century society. We are seen as superstitious and non-scientific. These are false ideas that deny Truth, but are prevalent in society. Ideas that are often based on what people perceive us to be… What they think Christianity is, and what Christians are, rather than what it really is and what we really are. There is a denial of Christian mystery, because everything has to be explained and provable. It is beyond the comprehension of some that there can be things that are outside of what our minds can ever understand… people forget that scientific method has room for things that are outside of science as valid; things that a Christian would say only God can understand, the not understandable… but those who wish to use science against us conveniently forget that. To be a Christian you have to be comfortable with the mysteries of God. With things that will make those who do not understand Christian mystery feel uncomfortable.
As you probably know I come from a theatrical and performing family and as such have been to see some very avante garde material. Everybody is trying to push the artistic boundary and too often that means belittling our faith. I have seen things that some would say are very blasphemous. (I won’t give you the details). To me they are just artistically rather boring; I have seen it all before and want to cry out ‘Please try something original’. . These performances are the kind of thing where some Christians or those of other faiths may well have attacked the perpetrators with all the problems we have seen that come from that.
I don’t think to attack what we may personally consider to be blasphemous is the Christian way to deal with these situations. Our way is love, not attack; we defend ourselves by loving our enemies. Some of these pieces of performance art have got me to question why it is that some feel they need to attack us, why do they need to attack the Christian faith? What have we done to them to hurt or harm them? The more I considered it, spoke to these people and listened to what they had to say the more I became aware that far from an attack on Christianity these performances are a form of self-defence.
Some people who profess the Christian faith had often attacked them or their friends for some supposed ‘sin’ in the eyes of the attacker causing emotional, psychological, spiritiual and sometimes physical abuse. These performances are actually retaliation against harm that has been done to the writer or performer. If you heard some of the tales I have heard some people tell about rejection from their own families who professed to be Christian you would weep with them ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone’. By attacking people rather than showing them love, I believe that those who think they are fighting for Christ are actually doing the devil’s work for him and successfully turning the people they are attacking against Jesus Christ. There are sadly too many of those those who profess our faith who condemn too much and love too little.
That does not mean that all who attack our faith have been hurt in some way. Some of course (for their own reasons) genuinely do not want us to succeed.
So as soldiers of Christ how should we behave? What should we do? No matter how outraged or upset we may feel … going on the attack does not work. It may make us feel better but will we change the mind of the person we are attacking? All we do if we attack is play right into the devil’s hands. That is what he is goading us to do.
What we should be doing instead is showing by our actions and words that people have nothing to fear from our faith. Quite the contrary there is everything to be happy about and there is no need to feel threatened by it. We need to show those qualities of love, mercy, compassion we are meant as Christians to do. With this we can quench the arrows of the evil one. We need to remember that the writer of today’s epistle was St Paul. Paul was an open persecutor of the Christian faith; if Paul could be turned, it certainly is possible for us to turn those who attack us.
When we come under attack there is no need to attack back. Our role is simply one of defence; we have the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit. Use them and use them wisely, with love and care for the people you are defending against. Use it as an opportunity to teach them what they are missing. Their problem is usually caused by misunderstanding.
You will get told that as a Christian you are superstitious and believe in a man in the sky. Just hold firm. Love your enemy and if needs be turn the other cheek. The Bible tells us we can hold the line and all we have to do is stand firm until Jesus comes to win the battle. 1 Corinthians tells us to ‘Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong’.
In the meantime what we need to do is continue to build the army of God, we need to take the Good news out to the people and we need to seek out those who feel we are against them and teach them that quite the opposite is true.
Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, put on the breastplate of righteousness. Be ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. Take the shield of faith; take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit. Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication.
So what kind of Christian are you? Where do you fit in the body of Christ? Whatever you are, I feel we are all in one way or another, ‘Christian soldiers’.
“They saw His Glory” (Luke 9.32)
(The Transfiguration, 8th August 2021, All Saints, Hastings)
It’s a very long time since I’ve been to the cinema. I see that this summer’s blockbuster films include The Devil Made Me Do It, Top Gun: Maverick and Ghostbusters: Afterlife. Last Friday’s major release was entitled The Suicide Squad. My absence from the cinema may possibly last a little longer.
But what I always enjoy at the cinema are the trailers for films yet to be released. These are often intriguing teasers intended to make you want to see the entire film when it reaches the screen. They point to something even better that awaits us should we seize the opportunity.
The Feast of the Transfiguration is just like that. To make sense of it, we need to realise that it is a trailer of what is to come post-Resurrection. The key word is Glory and this fascinating but strange story is an anticipation of the glory to come. It is a taster, a trailer. Peter tries to capture the experience by building three tents, one for Moses who represents the Law, one for Elijah who represents the prophets and one for Jesus who represents the fulfilment of both the Law and the Prophets. The presence of Moses and Elijah bears witness that Jesus is in accord with the Jewish scriptures. But Peter doesn’t really grasp that the Transfiguration is fleeting, an intimation of the future.
Glory. What does it mean? It is the key word in this story and one of the dominant words in St. John’s Gospel. It is not the same as earthly glory
“Pride of man and earthly glory,
Sword and crown betray his trust;
What with care and toil he buildeth,
Tower and temple fall to dust.”
It is not the glory of the Olympic medal winner or the recipient of a Hollywood oscar.
Rather ‘glory’ in the Bible has a moral quality. It is linked as much with the Passion of Jesus as it is with the Resurrection and what we call the Second Coming. Ascribing glory to God – Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit – is not some form of servile praise as to a Roman emperor or modern dictator but our response in awe and thankfulness for what God has done for us in Christ. Think of that wonderful passage in Phillipians Chapter 2 in which Jesus is given glory and ascribed the name that is above every name precisely because he humbled himself and became obedient unto death on a cross.
“At the name of Jesus
Every knee shall bow,
Every tongue confess him
King of Glory now.”
Jesus is transfigured. “And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” Today is the anniversary of the the dropping of the atomic bomb on Nagasaki. The first bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on 6th August, the actual feast day of the Transfiguration. In those places the appearance of people’s faces also changed and their clothes also became dazzling white. And Nagasaki was the most Christian city in Japan.
There is a strong theological argument to be made that the splitting of the atom – with its potential for both good and evil – and the dropping of those two atomic bombs represents a replaying of the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden and the attempt to reach heaven by human endeavour alone in the building of the Tower of Babel. Humanity can overeach itself when it thinks it can be like God. We might ponder Oppenheimer’s words when the atom was first split in the deserts of New Mexico: “Scientists have now known sin.” It is indeed pride of man and earthly glory. The towers and temples have turned to dust. The transfiguration of the civilians of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is the result of human sin, the Old Adam. The transfiguration of Christ points to the redemption from human sin in the New Adam. That Transfiguration hints at our future transfiguration, a result of Christ’s moral glory in the Passion as well as in the Resurrection and the Second Coming.
“We will all be changed ,” writes St. Paul to the Corinthians, “in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable and we will be changed.”
On the feast of the Transfiguration we are bidden to the Mount to see the anticipation, the trailer as it were, of the glory that is to come for Christ and by extension to us. But for now we live in this world with its dreams of earthly glory and its towers and temples. We cannot always live the Christian life on a spiritual high and we seek to be faithful when faith burns low. It is not always easy.
So let us keep before us the Transfiguration of Jesus, the vision bright, as our trailer, our anticipation, of that which is to come.
“’Tis good, Lord, to be here,
Yet we may not remain;
But since thou bidst us leave the mount,
Come with us to the plain.”
© Paul Hunt 2021
Old Town Week Sermon 2021
“Put out into the deep” (Luke 5.4)
(St. Clements, 1st August 2021)
Why does the sea moan evermore?
Shut out from heaven it makes its moan,
It frets against the boundary shore;
All earth’s full rivers cannot fill
The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
Sheer miracles of loveliness
Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed:
Anemones, salt, passionless,
Blow flower-like; just enough alive
To blow and multiply and thrive.
Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike,
Encrusted live things argus-eyed,
All fair alike, yet all unlike,
Are born without a pang, and die
Without a pang, and so pass by.
The Old Town is shaped by the sea: Its geography, its history, its air, its light, its smell. Its occupations and livelihoods. For Christina Rossetti, author of the poem By the Sea with which I began, our Old Town was also a place of health and healing.
For the ancient Israelites, the sea was not a place of health and healing but a place of fear and death. Despite its coastline, the Israelites were not a sea going people. In our first lesson from Isaiah, we heard God’s words of comfort to the Jewish people, then in exile in Babylon where they sat down and wept when they remembered their homeland. And we heard the prophet’s appeal to God:
Was it not you who cut Rahab to pieces, who pierced the monster through?
Was it not you who dried up the sea, the waters of the great deep, who made a road in the depths of the sea so that the redeemed might cross over?” (Isaiah 51.9-10)
It is the God of Israel who defeats Rahab, the sea monster of chaos, in Israelite mythology, also known as Leviathan. It is the God of Israel who brings order at the Creation to the darkness upon the face of the deep. It is the God of Israel who leads the children of Israel through the Red Sea at the exodus. “Thou whose almighty word, chaos and darkness heard.”
It is because of all this that the exiles in Babylon are told to put their faith in the future and that they will return to the lands of their forefathers. It would have seemed scarcely believable but, in being called to believe, they are being called to put out into deep waters.
We are not ancient Israelites and yet fear of the sea lies deep within the modern psyche. We remain fascinated by the fate of the Titanic. We remain wary of what may lurk just below the surface as in the film Jaws. We remain aware of the danger the sea poses to those, like our own fishermen, whose business lies in great waters as Psalm 107 puts it. We remember especially Gary Cornelius who lost his life so tragically to the sea this past week. We remember the work of the Hastings Lifeboat crew whose business also lies in great waters.
The sea is a metaphor for being in trouble: X is in deep water we say. Or X may have a plan that is dead in the water. Perhaps X had better test the waters if he or she is to keep their head above it.
Jesus said to the disciples “Put out into the deep water.” Lake Galilee is no great ocean but storms can arise very suddenly as I once observed for myself. The disciples have worked all night and caught no fish; they are doubtless exhausted and dispirited. Yet Jesus challenges them to put out into the deep once again and to let down their nets. “When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break.”
It has been a very difficult eighteen months for our community. No-one could have foreseen the storm that was about to break upon us when we last celebrated Old Town Week normally in 2019. Our churches closed in March 2020 and the voice of song was not to be heard again until last Sunday. Livelihoods were suddenly under threat and our way of life changed almost literally overnight. Fear of infection and of a premature death became a daily concern.
Fear was abroad in our old town streets, almost certainly in a way last seen during the Black Death in 1348. The present churches of St Clement and All Saints date from a time when memory of the Black Death was very strong. They were actually built during the decades after 1348 when England experienced further waves into the Fifteenth Century. Just reflect on that for a moment: What an act of faith it was to build the churches we know today. We might also reflect that Old Hastings survived as a community then and is doing so again. The storm that broke in 1348 did not break the town of Hastings. And the storm that broke upon us in 2020 has not broken us either.
Those fourteenth century residents did indeed launch out into the deep to build new churches, the very signs of a living community and faith in the future. Perhaps like those Babylonian exiles who wept for their homeland and their old way of life, perhaps like those fishermen after their fruitless night-time efforts on Lake Galilee, we are also exhausted and dispirited by the pandemic. But as we seek to pick up our community life with forward planning by its organisations and to rebuild the Old Town’s livelihoods and vibrancy in a dislocated present and for an uncertain future, we too are called to put out into deep waters.
As we ask today for God’s blessing on our Old Town and give thanks for its life, let us take courage from its past and trust in the God who brought order to the primaeval chaos at the Creation and in His Son of whom the disciples said, “Who is this that even wind and sea obey him?” For if we do, then perhaps our nets too will be full to breaking point.
So let us all, individuals and organisations, pledge ourselves to put out into the deep – together.
Paul Hunt
© 2021
THE MAGDALEN AND LASHER ANNUAL SERVICE 2021
THE PARABLE OF THE GOOD INNKEEPER
“Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.” (Luke 10.35)
We’ve gathered this afternoon to give thanks for the remarkable work of the Magdalen and Lasher Charity, its benefactors, especially Petronella de Cham, Thomas Lasher, William Parker and James Saunders, those benefactors whose names are lost to history, the work of trustees and staff down the generations, and to remember its many beneficiaries.
Our first reading today from the Book of Leviticus reminds us that the moral life and charitable action go hand-in-hand. I particularly like the command that, come harvest time, provision should be made for the poor and the stranger. And our reading from St. Luke’s Gospel reminds us that some charitable actions are remembered for their dramatic and immediate generosity whilst other charitable actions, less dramatic but equally important, can go largely unremembered and often unrecognised.
If there’s one story from the Bible which remains in the general public consciousness, it is surely that Parable of the Good Samaritan, although I can remember having to tell it to some Sixth Formers to whom it was new. Alas, we can no longer assume even a most general biblical literacy.
But we know the story. We know what it means. We know that it reminds us to follow the example of the Samaritan in being a good neighbour to everyone, whomsoever they might be, even an enemy. It is a simple parable which, like all good parables, makes one point and one point only.
But here is a clever interpretation from St Augustine of Hippo, one of the very greatest of Church theologians.
Augustine understood it as being an allegory about salvation. The man is travelling from Jerusalem to Jericho, from the heavenly Jerusalem to a city of mortality, the beaten man is Adam, the thieves are the devil and his minions, the priest and Levite represent the old ritual law that is unable to save the man, the Samaritan represents Jesus, the Innkeeper is the Apostle Paul and the Inn is the Church where the man is made whole.
Augustine’s allegory is ingenious. Unfortunately, it completely distorts the meaning of Jesus’ story, turning a parable about being a good neighbour into an allegory of salvation. However, despite Augustine’s clever effort, the story remains a parable with that one simple point about how to be a good neighbour.
And the charity for which we give thanks today is certainly that: A good neighbour, seeking to assist anyone in our Borough who is in need. As it was for the Samaritan in Jesus’ parable, need is the criterion, not race or religious or political opinion. And unlike St Augustine’s clever interpretation which is far removed from the parable’s original intention, the charity keeps to the original intentions of its principal benefactors, Petronella de Cham in the thirteenth century and Thomas Lasher in the seventeenth.
But here is another simple interpretation of the parable, this time from a pupil when I taught at Bexhill High School forty years ago. There was a class known in those days as a “remedial” class, in other words a class for the slowest learners. I can picture them now, reading the parable of the Good Samaritan very slowly, followed by a very young version of me asking them questions about it.
“So who was the neighbour?” I asked Tommy Lake, a boy who liked to stand up in class and neigh like a horse from time to time. “The Innkeeper, Sir” came the reply. “No, it’s the Samaritan who is the neighbour,” I replied. “But Sir,” pleaded Tommy, “the Innkeeper had to take all the responsibility, look after him and trust the Samaritan to come back and pay him.”
Well, Tommy had a point. In all my years of knowing that parable, I had given very little thought to the Innkeeper. The Samaritan provided dramatic and immediate and necessary help but it was the Innkeeper who had to continue the care, take responsibility and trust that the Samaritan would return to re-imburse him.
That intellectual giant St. Augustine was wrong and the remedial Tommy Lake was right. It is commonplace to remember the charitable actions of the Samaritan and call on people to emulate him; Tommy was struck by the charitable actions of the Inn keeper.
We have an inn of sorts known as Old Hastings House that takes long-term responsibility for the welfare of its residents. And our charity has over two hundred pensioners and funds two outreach workers who are able to have a long-term impact on people’s lives with their advice on social security benefits. We have heard today about our Charity’s impact on the clients of Project Artworks and the Isobel Blackman Centre.
Petronella de Cham, Thomas Lasher, William Parker and James Saunders are our Good Samaritans but, in the 700 years since Petronella de Cham’s foundation gift in 1294, we have had many inn keepers too. Our benefactors are many but most are unremembered by name. They are our innkeepers, together with our trustees and dedicated staff.
So dear old Tommy Lake, last seen by me many years ago as a waiter in the Bohemia Road Travel Lodge, still has a point for those of us privileged to be trustees and beneficiaries of this wonderful charity.
And Tommy’s point is this: A truly moral society needs good Samaritans but it also needs good innkeepers too.
PMH
© 2021
JAMES, THE APOSTLE Sermon by Mrs Sandra Bentall, Authorised Lay Minister, for Sunday 25th July 2021 at All Saints. Matthew 20:20-28.
Today is the Feast Day or Festival of James the Apostle. So who is this James?
There is often some confusion about James, because there are 4 people named James in the New Testament and two were included in the twelve apostles. There was James, brother of John, sons of Zebedee, Another disciple James the brother of Jude who were sons of Alphaeus. Thirdly a James who was the father of Judas (not Iscariot) , and then James a half-brother to Jesus who was not one of the believers in Jesus as the Messiah until after Jesus’ resurrection which must have convinced him, and he is accepted as the author of the Letter of James in the New Testament.
Our man today, James the Apostle, is among the most prominent apostles of Jesus and we have more biblical evidence than for many of the other apostles or early followers of Jesus. He was a fisherman with his brother in their father’s fishing business which seemed to be successful as Zebedee owned boats and employed hired men, so probably the family was a little wealthier than some. Fishing was a major industry in more than 30 towns around the Sea of Galilee and one day when the brothers were mending their nets, Jesus walked by. He had just invited Simon and Andrew and now called James and John to follow him and be fishers of men – in modern translations we read “to fish for people” – not quite as poetic a phrase.
This might seem impetuous to upsticks and leave their families and jobs, but we can read in Luke and John’s gospels that this was apparently not the only time James, John and Peter had met Jesus. So it is considered that these 4 would have been well aware of Jesus’ preaching, teaching and healing, so they knew what kind of man Jesus was and were now willing to follow and learn from him. But still a life-changing decision.
I imagine that James threw himself into his new life, which became a period of companionship with Jesus and like a probationer, listening and learning all he could from Jesus. He would have had much to learn – the gospels tell us about Jesus’ ministry, his parables and teachings, miracles and healings, and that following him is not always easy or comfortable.
Eventually Jesus, having prayed all night, summoned his disciples and selected 12 of them as Apostles whom he would send out under his authority to heal and as missionaries to proclaim his message. James is the third name listed, and only in Mark’s gospel Jesus refers to James and John as Boanerges or “Sons of Thunder”. We’re not told why – perhaps he dubbed them this on account of impetuous and fiery tempers we’re told about elsewhere. James’ aggressive tendency did not stop Jesus from drawing him into his inner circle of three closest companions. Peter, James, and John were with Jesus on the Mount of the Transfiguration, the raising of Jairus’ daughter, and were the nearest to Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.
So now we know who St James’s Day is about and we’ve heard some background about who St James the Apostle was.
Now I want to tell you a story for you to think about, concerning the retirement of a Theological College principal, the most important person in the college, status-wise. It was only after he had left that it transpired that he had undertaken some of the cleaning jobs, now left undone by his absence. People only realised some of the things he’d taken upon himself behind the scenes when they weren’t being done anymore.
In Parish life a lot goes on behind the scenes that perhaps some don’t think about. There’s a myriad of what might be thought of as “ordinary” jobs and it needs people to step up and do them. Such as brass cleaning – maybe we’d only notice when things didn’t shine as they used to. Church sitting – if church sitters didn’t come the church could not be open outside of services. Sweeping the porch of the sandstone that crumbles down – St Clement’s is like a sandcastle in our sea air. Bundling up Parish Magazines ready to be delivered by many helping hands – or rather feet. Weeding flower beds and tending to plants. And so on. There are many things which happen but so often we don’t know how or by whom, as they just get done by people willing to serve the parish and without looking for any recognition.
This morning someone must have prepared the font for the baptism, and put out the scallop shell which the priest uses to pour the water during baptism. This is one of the most common symbols of St James the Apostle who reportedly used a seashell to baptize converts in Northern Spain where he is believed to have travelled after Jesus’ resurrection to convert people into the Christian faith and baptize them. Scallop shells were plentiful on the beaches of Northern Spain. Today and for more than a thousand years pilgrims come from many different places to where it’s believed James’ body is buried, and many pilgrims see the lines on a scallop shell as a reflection of their many paths leading to one point.
So was James the humble servant Jesus teaches about serving others, or does it look like he had other ideas? Today’s gospel shows worldly ambitions of James and his brother claiming privileged places in Jesus’ kingdom, seemingly thinking of personal reward and recognition without personal sacrifice. They were standing with their mother and Jesus replied to her sons, not to her. “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink of the cup that I am about to drink?” “We are able” they said, and Jesus pointed out “You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.”
I wonder, had they ignored or didn’t they understand Jesus’ several forewarnings that ahead of him lay inescapable sufferings and the Cross? Did they still think the Messiah would be an all-conquering militant who would overthrow and release them from oppressive rule of the Romans, governing an earthly king-dom, restoring Israel’s former glory? It seems they had ambitions to be seen at the “top table” as it were.
James and his brother surely failed to understand the suffering Jesus had predicted he would endure. The “cup” was the suffering and crucifixion Christ faced. Would they really drink of that cup?
Well, we know now that James was not destined to the visible recognition given to Peter and John. His life for the Lord was to be a short one. Probably a dozen years after the death of Christ on the cross, James suffered as the first of the apostles to be martyred, to die for the gospel – King Herod Agrippa I had James executed with the sword, put to death for his faith. Thus James did fulfil Jesus’ prophecy that “The cup that I drink you will drink”.
The other ten disciples were angry and indignant that the two brothers had tried to seek prominent recognition for themselves. We’ve read before about all the disciples wanting to be the greatest but Jesus taught them that the greatest person in God’s kingdom is the servant of all. True greatness comes in serving others. We too can learn from Jesus’ lesson about discipleship, about what it means to follow Jesus. Rather than seeking to have our own needs met, we should look for ways we can minister to the needs of others. Instead of using people, we are to serve them. Jesus’ mission was to serve others and give his life away. A real leader has a servant’s heart; he appreciates others’ worth and realises he’s not above any job. Remember the College principal I told you about? So what does Jesus call us for? Public recognition, or an opportunity for service?
Jesus said “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave, just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
So the way up is down. The way to the top is at the bottom. The way to greatness in Jesus’ eyes is servanthood.
When we have the next hymn later, number 393, which we can hum behind our masks but not yet sing, I urge that we carefully contemplate the words of all the verses in our hymn books, that they come from our hearts, but for now I pray – “Brother, sister, let me serve you, let me be as Christ to you; pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant too.” AMEN
Sandra Bentall, Authorised Lay Minister commissioned by the Diocese of Chichester for the Old Town Parish.
Sermon 18th July Mark 6 30-34, 53 to end Pat Lock, Diocesan Reader
As Headteacher a parent told me about her children. Her youngest son had celebrated his birthday on crutches, so he couldn’t carry his cupcakes into school without help, that mum had made for the rest of the class. She asked the older brother to help him carry them. “ I could,” he said, but I’d prefer not to.” Somewhat annoyed with this response her husband asked the brother “ What would Jesus do?” He answered, “Jesus would heal him so he could carry his own cupcakes.” I had not worked out if the lad was being facetious or if he truly believed what he was saying.
But there is no question about the people in our gospel reading who followed Jesus to be healed and we are told that all who touched Him were healed. Jesus showed compassion, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.
Mark. The big lessons, the big speeches, and the big miracles. And yet, our reading from Mark’s gospel this morning includes none of those things. At first glance, it seems like an oddly unnatural selection. It begins with the apostles returning from their mission, where Jesus sent them out to preach repentance, heal the sick, and cast out demons. But we aren’t given any details about their results, rather their success is hinted at by the crowds which recognise them. But just as Mark is about to tell us about Jesus feeding the 5,000 and his walking on water, arguably two of his most spectacular miracles, we skipped right to the end of the episode where the crowds are again rushing to meet him, and he and his disciples are swamped with people in need of healing, renewal, and restoration. It was about ten miles around that lake but only four miles across it. But if the wind was too still or blowing in the wrong direction, it was faster on foot to just run around to the other side than to take a boat across. These people hungered to hear more of the word of God and be in the presence of Christ. They didn’t let the distance deter them.
As we read the gospel of Mark we see that Jesus showed great compassion on those around him. He was tired, the disciples were tired, they were all hungry, I don’t know about you but when I am tired and hungry I’m also grumpy. But Jesus’ advice was that they head off to a quiet spot and put their feet up, rest for a while. So as a group they headed off to this quiet spot only to find the crowd had got there before them. Does Jesus send them away? No he doesn’t, he shows compassion. Why, well Mark says “they were like sheep without a shepherd, they were lost and wandering, vulnerable, and uncared for. So Jesus began teaching them many things. Teaching many things takes time, takes effort and energy. Jesus showed compassion to these people, he taught them many things.
The term “compassion” is used throughout the Gospels, over and over again, to describe Jesus’ attitude toward human beings. “Compassion” literally means to “suffer with” – to be in “unconditional solidarity with others.” Compassion is from a Greek root word which means “to be moved with love in the deepest part of a person .
Compassion is truly the essence of God. It’s Who God is. And because our attitude toward the world invariably mirrors our understanding of God- our ethics follow our theology, in other words – compassion is what Christians are called to have toward the world as well. Real compassion is not pity or empathy, but suffering with the sufferer. Compassion is a very deep, gut-wrenching response to the suffering we see in others, making us suffer with them!
In life we are constantly faced by situations that we can either react angrily or even ignore people, treating them like they are of no value, or we can show compassion to people. We have all been like those who followed Jesus and the disciples that day, like sheep without a shepherd, in need.
How do we respond to those we don’t understand, don’t like, or don’t know, to the vulnerable needy people of this world? How did Jesus respond: by showing compassion, not just feeling sorry for them but by getting involved in the solution to whatever the issue might be that has left them lost and vulnerable?
What is your understanding of the word compassion? ? I’d like you to take a moment to think about it because it is an important word in the Christian lexicon. As we read in today’s passage, Jesus felt compassion for the people, so he began to teach them many things. If we are to lead lives in imitation of Christ, then we also need to feel compassion. We all suffer, but we can use our suffering for the good of others. All it takes is compassion. As we look around our community, do we see sheep without a shepherd who need to be gathered in? Jesus’ compassion for the world is radical. It is what prompted Him to heal the sick, touch the lepers, hang out with prostitutes, tax collectors and all the other outcasts of society. Have you, have I, really got a handle on just how radical it is to live Jesus’ kind of compassion in a world that is so lost, desperate, harassed, helpless and broken? “. Sheep cannot defend themselves, nor can they effectively run away. Without someone to protect them, they are easy prey. I would say that with the pressure of rising prices, stagnant wages and the ever-present spectre of terrorist activity, that is how many people around us feel. Add in Covid and all its implications and people are looking for a safe haven. When we look at the spiritual picture, we see beliefs under attack on every side. We see institutions that people have always relied on for stability tottering and falling. Throw in a pandemic and people are starving for a rock to cling to. God has entrusted us to be the Body of Christ – the hands and feet through which God’s work is done in this world. God works through people – people like you and me. And in doing so, God changes our perspectives and allows us the great privilege of, if even for a moment, seeing humanity the way God sees humanity.
Contemporary theologian Douglas Hall writes: “Christians must ask not only whether we have grasped the full radicality of belief in a compassionate God, but whether as the Church we are ready to live that compassion in our profoundly threatened world.”
The Lord Jesus never distanced Himself from anybody who sought Him or needed His compassionate presence, so what is our excuse if we claim to be His followers and do nothing in these times of fear and despair.
At the end of our reading the people of Gennesaret made Jesus and His disciples feel at home. They knew about Jesus, and they knew about the mighty works which he did where ever He went, and that He was a willing healer, – and that He usually did not stay very long in any one place; therefore they knew they needed to move fast to take advantage of this opportunity to benefit from His visit. They hurried through the whole region, and began to carry the sick on their beds to Jesus, because they knew He would heal them. They laid them where He might pass by and touch them, and they begged Him to just let them touch the hem of His garment, like the woman with the issue of blood did. She was probably the first to be healed by this method. As far as we know, they did not desire to be taught by Him; only to be healed. And Jesus healed them all. We are told that everyone who touched Him was healed. When we mix faith with the word of God, and believe it, and depend upon it, and submit to it, we touch the hem of His garment. And when we touch him, we are made whole. Those are His terms, and it can be truly said that He heals freely.
And finally, Jesus recognises the need to rest and pray. To re-equip and re-charge our batteries. Jesus went from crowd to crowd renewed, refreshed and reenergized because he stepped aside to pray. Just as you need air, you need prayer and you need rest. An archer’s bow needs its string periodically loosened or it will break. A woodsman can chop more wood if he stops occasionally to sharpen the axe. Top of FormBottom of FormIn this week ahead think about what God is calling you to do, listen for his still small voice and act out of the love and compassion He has given you. For there are many outside these doors who are going through life like sheep without a shepherd.
“For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison.” (Mark 6.17)
(Sixth Sunday after Trinity, 11th July 2021, All Saints’ Hastings)
What were you doing, I wonder, on Thursday, 14th April 1988? My collection of Covent Garden programmes tells me that I was at the Opera House, attending a memorable performance of Richard Strauss’ great opera Salome. The conductor that evening, incidentally, was Christoph von Dohnanyi, nephew of the martyred theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
It was the first – and only – time that I have ever seen a woman strip completely naked in public. This came at the end of the seductive dance of the seven veils and the soprano, Maria Ewing, directed by her husband Sir Peter Hall, rolled naked down a flight of stairs before asking her step-father, Herod Antipas, to honour his promise to give her anything up to half of his kingdom. And Salome asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter.
It is a dark, uncomfortable and disturbing opera, shocking even by today’s standards, 116 years after its first performance. Based on Oscar Wilde’s play, Salome has become the temptress, the femme fatale, seeking John’s head because he has not succumbed to her advances. In the most recent production, the opera reaches its terrible climax when Salome kisses the severed head and Herod, in reaction to the horror he has unleashed, orders her execution.
But this is not in the Bible and it is very easy to fall into a trap of reading the original biblical account in the light of the later interpretation of Salome as the wicked temptress. The figure of Salome has attracted artists and writers for a thousand years. She has danced before our imagination and become a temptress in the line of Eve and Adam and Potiphar’s wife and Joseph and Jezebel and Ahab and Delilah and Samson, all seeking to lead the righteous man astray. This is a common archetype and we might reflect on the injustice caused to women down the ages by this projection of male innocence and female guilt.
But the historical Salome is rather different. Unamed by the Gospel writers, we learn from the first century Jewish historian Josephus that Salome was the grandaughter of Herod the Great and that her mother Herodias had contracted an illegal marriage to Herod Antipas while her current husband Philip was still alive. Philip was the brother of Herod Antipas and so Salome’s step-father was therefore also her uncle.
To refer to the Herod family as dysfunctional, to use modern parlance, is an understatement. Almost certainly in her early teens, we should view Salome not as a femme fatale but, given that the appearance of a female member of the Royal Household at a male banquet would have been seen as disgraceful, as someone who has been exploited and degraded and manipulated by her mother and uncle. Salome is, I suggest, more of a victim than we might usually suppose.
Not so Herod Antipas, often seen as the victim of his wife and step-daughter. The responsibility for John’s execution is his, despite the manipulative behaviour of Herodias in using Salome to bring about John’s death. The desire for John’s death comes from Herodias but the power to bring it about comes from Herod.
Herod is weak and he allows John to be killed rather than admit and recant his mistaken boast in front of his courtiers to give Salome up to half of his kingdom. He knows deep down that he is wrong. “Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed , and yet he liked to listen to him.” (Mark 6.20) But his pride in not wanting to lose face in front of his courtiers will not allow him to refuse Salome’s request.
We know that he has a guilty conscience about John who had preached against his illegal marriage. He is haunted by John’s death for when he hears about Jesus he thinks that Jesus might be John the Baptist. “But when Herod heard of it, he said, ‘John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.’” (Mark 6.16)
Herod Antipas is a weak man, tortured by his conscience. Deep down I suspect that he knows that it is he – not Herodias, not Salome – who has killed a righteous man.
To some extent we all share something of Herod’s experience. In thinking about Jesus rather than John, we too know that he was a righteous and holy man. Perhaps we too are perplexed and disturbed when we hear the Gospel but nevertheless like to listen. How do we react when faced with the question “Who is Jesus?” in front of non-Christians? Are we weak and conform to what we think they want to hear? Or do we speak from the depths of our conscience? Despite his recognition that John is a holy and righteous man, Herod Antipas is prepared to see him beheaded, thereby condemning himself to imprisonment in his own guilty conscience. Despite our recognition of Jesus as a righteous and holy man, do we not sometimes give Him up for execution to save the embarrassment of acknowledging Him as Lord and Saviour in front of our friends and neighbours?
“For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John.” (Mark 6.17) True. But imprisoned by his own deeds and guilty conscience about John, he had really arrested himself.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.” (Mark 6. 8-9)
(The Fifth Sunday after Trinity, 4th July 2021, All Saints, Hastings)
Having had my trip to Leipzig cancelled last month – and what better holiday can there be than three Wagner operas on successive evenings? – I’ve now learnt that my trip to Transnistria in September has also fallen victim to the pandemic. Transnistria, in case you are wondering, is a breakway republic in Moldova and is one of the last living relics of the Soviet Union. Lenin statues and Soviet posters abound. Wagner and Lenin: I believe that holidays should always be for pleasure. And so my suitcase sits forlornly in the corner of the bedroom and looks at me in its empty, unused, useless and ignored state. I suppose that it might be described as a case of emotional baggage.
“He ordered them to take nothing for their journey.” There is no need to pack for the twelve disciples for their mission and ministry in the villages around Nazareth. They are to preach the need for repentence, cast out demons and heal the sick.
That’s a tough mission and we might reflect that Jesus spends more time telling them about their luggage than the mission message itself. The standard first-century suitcase items – two tunics, bread for the journey, no bag, no money are forbidden. In Matthew and Luke’s version of this narrative, the staff is also not allowed. And in Matthew’s version even sandals are denied to the Twelve.
But why? Why does Jesus forbid these items?
The Twelve are not being sent on holiday to a Wagner Festival in Leipzig or to view statues of Lenin in Transnistria. They are being sent on a mission for the Kingdom of God. And going on holiday and being sent on a mission are not the same.
The disciples do not need a lot of equipment because they are the equipment in the promotion of the Gospel. It is they who have been commissioned to preach and to exorcise and to heal. The mission depends upon them and not upon what would ordinarily be considered essential for a journey. There is a sense of urgency in this passage. Fussing about what to take can get in the way upon the singlemindedness of their ministry.
There is a lesson for us in this otherwise somewhat perplexing set of instructions from Jesus. How often is it that non-Christians, sympathetic to the Gospel or not, will judge Christianity by the authenticity of our lives as professed Christians? The baggage of traditional church life can so often, if we are not careful, become a substitute for living truly as a Christian. Church-going is essential for the Christian – you cannot be a Christian without it – but church-going is not the same as being a Christian. Like the Twelve, we are the equipment in the promotion of the Gospel. The bottom line is that mission depends upon us – how we live and how we exercise whatever vocation and ministry is given to us so that (as our collect today reminds us) in our vocation and ministry we may serve God in holiness and truth.
Being a Christian is an existential gamble; we are either for or against Jesus Christ. There is no middle way. The notion that Jesus was no more than a first century Jew who preached a message of love may be attractive. It may even be true. But it is not the message of salvation preached by the Incarnate God. We are either for or against Jesus the Christ.
As with the Twelve in their mission and ministry in the villages of the Galilee, our Christian journey is an act of faith. We take either the road of Jesus Christ or the road which leads away from Him. There is no middle way. Stripped of the usual essentials, the Twelve must rely on the Master who has commissioned and sent them. His words are their only security.
It is simply human for us to want security, a guarantee that all will go according to plan. In a time of immense societal change and fear of the future – the pandemic, the environment, terrorism, dangerous regimes – the world seems ever more hostile to Christian faith. “If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you..shake off the dust that is on your feet.” (Mark 6.11) There is a lot of dust to be shaken.
In our quest for security in the face of uncertainty, it is human nature to cling to material goods. They speak to us of our success in the world, they speak to us of comfort and provision for the future. They are our spare tunic and bag and bread and money for the journey. In terms of church life – and I plead absolutely guilty here – they are our buildings and liturgies and hymns. I love the security and comfort which comes from Cranmer’s glorious liturgy. These are good and helpful things in themselves but they must never become a form of security blanket that prevents us from seeing clearly and, even worse, become a substitute for faith. Like the Twelve, it is we who are the fundamental equipment in the proclamation of the Gospel.
And what about that staff, allowed by Jesus in Mark’s version which is the earlier form of the narrative? Perhaps we might think of it metaphorically as a reminder that we may need to prod one another from time to time lest we become too reliant on material security – church or non-church – rather than upon our commission, given at baptism, and which comes from God to shine as lights in an uncertain and fearful and hostile world.
We may feel weaker without our modern day equivalents, in church and out of church, of tunic and bag and money for the journey but it exposes our gamble of faith and throws us back upon the authority of Jesus Christ for our mission. In this we can, paradoxically,take comfort in the words of the Lord given to St. Paul and recorded in today’s epistle: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”
If, like the Twelve, we can be brave in seeing life’s material props for what they are, then we shall indeed be strong.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“If I touch even the hem of his garment, I shall be healed” (Mark.5.28)
(The Fourth Sunday after Trinity, 27th June 2021, All Saints, Hastings)
I don’t know about you, but I often feel terribly inadequate as a Christian, and not simply because I’m not very good at being one. I think that much of my sense of inadequacy goes back to my undergraduate days at Durham when I first came across other Christians whose relationship with Jesus Christ seemed so much easier and more intimate than mine. They were very much at ease at being, literally, on first name terms with the Lord Christ in whom I stood in awe. Their form of Christian faith seemed so easy for them whereas for me it was, and continues to be, a struggle. Now it is very easy for us to suffer from spiritual intimidation, intentional or otherwise, and so I would like us to think for a few moments about the different ways in which we encounter Jesus Christ and the forms of faith – note the plural – that it can entail. And this morning’s Gospel reading from St Mark – the stories of Jairus and his daughter and of the woman with the haemorrhage – offers, I think, some pointers.
So how do we encounter Jesus? First, we need to look at the context of this passage from Mark. Jesus has just returned from a visit to the land of the Gaderenes, a Gentile area on the eastern shore of Lake Galilee.
There he had encountered the man possessed by the legion of demons. The story is well known. Its main point for us this morning is that it is Jesus who takes the initiative. He expels the demons and, in Mark’s version of this story, the man is left sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.
Imagine that man sitting there and gazing out from the cliff top over the Sea of Galilee. If he had been able to choose some words from a hymn, they might well have been these:
“Drop thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of thy peace.”
That man’s encounter with Jesus is dramatic. In a few moments his life is changed by Jesus from a disordered existence disfigured by evil into one in which he is at peace with himself and with God. His conversion is sudden, it is unexpected, it comes from a direct face-to-face encounter
initiated by the Lord of life. Such a dramatic first encounter with Jesus Christ has been the experience of many Christians down the ages. It was so for Matthew, sitting at his place of toll; it was so for St Paul on the road to Damascus; it was so for the slave ship captain John Newton turned priest and hymn writer; it was so for a former teacher of mine who left school on a Friday afternoon as a communist party activist and returned on Monday morning as a Christian.
Such a sudden and unexpected encounter with Jesus Christ may have been the way to Christian faith for some of us. This dramatic form of faith is literally life changing, almost in an instant. It is one that we might envy but there are other forms of faith, equally appealing and no less challenging, upon the sea-shore. I refer to the sea-shore because, as the great and sadly neglected theologian, Ulrich Simon, once wrote: Forms of faith are like shells on the sea-shore – their number is innumerable and only some take our fancy. Sometimes we will discard one shell for another. Each shell is unique, just like the way in which we appropriate faith.
So how else do we encounter Jesus Christ? What about Jairus, the synagogue official? Unlike the man possessed by demons, it is Jairus who takes the initiative. He approaches Jesus directly, falling at those very feet where the madman had sat not so very long before. He begs Jesus to come and heal his twelve year-old daughter who has just died:
“My daughter has just died; but come and lay your hands on her, and she will live.”
Are these words of faith or are they words of desperation? Perhaps the distinction is a false one. For sometimes faith comes when we are desperate, when all seems lost, when we are totally powerless and can turn only to God. Jairus, the synagogue official and desperate father, is asking the Lord of life to come into his life. Jesus responds but the initiative has come from Jairus in his desperation. And that, too, has been
the experience of many Christians down the ages and, again, that will have been the experience of some of us here this morning.
If we had to choose some words from a hymn for Jairus, we might perhaps settle on the second verse from Nahum Tate’s fine hymn Through all the changing scenes of life:
“O Magnify the Lord with me.
With me exalt his name;
When in distress to him I called,
He to my rescue came.”
Jesus approaches the madman of the Gadarenes whose life is changed in that sudden and dramatic way. Jairus calls on Jesus in his desperation.
But is there yet another way, another form of faith, another shell upon the sea-shore, that speaks of our encounter with Jesus? What about the woman with the haemorrhage? Ill for twelve years, for as long in fact as Jairus’ daughter had been alive, she had given up on the hope that doctors might cure her. Ritually unclean, she was an outcast, especially so since her illness would have been viewed as a punishment for sin. Not for her a sudden conversion encounter as with the madman of the Gadarenes. Not for her a very public demonstration of an appeal to the power of Jesus to heal as with Jairus.
“If only I can touch the hem of his garment I shall be healed.”
The hem. This was the most sacred part of the garment, the corner, the tassels, the fringe. Both Luke and Matthew refer explicitly to these tassels, commanded in Numbers and Deuteronomy, as a reminder to the people of the commandments.
As one person in a crowd, anonymously, she touches that hem, touching it perhaps more in hope than faith. She, the ritually unclean woman, reaches out for that which is holy. And Jesus Christ does not disappoint.
She approaches Jesus indirectly but Jesus still responds. “Who was it who touched me?”
And so the woman is forced to come to Jesus, trembling and, according to Mark, falling down at those same feet where the madman and Jairus had also been. And she declares her trembling but deepening faith by explaining why she had touched that hem. “If only I can touch the hem of his garment, I shall be healed.”
“Daughter, your faith as made you well; go in peace.”
The healing shows that the woman’s sins have been forgiven for in the New Testament the same Greek verb used for ‘making well’ is also used for ‘saving from sin’.
“Daughter, your faith has made you well.”
“Daughter, your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
The woman’s approach to Jesus was tentative, was indirect, was almost embarrassed. But from that encounter came faith in Jesus the Christ.
And that, too, has been the experience of perhaps the majority of Christians down the ages and will undoubtedly be so for many of us this morning, myself included. It is easier to approach Jesus in a crowd, a crowd in which we are able to pluck up the courage to metaphorically touch that hem of Jesus’ garment.
“Just as I am, though tossed about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings within, and fears without,
O Lamb of God, I come.”
So how do we encounter Jesus? Perhaps we are a curious mixture of all three – of that madman possessed by that which is opposed to God and so Jesus has to come to him, of Jairus in his desperate plea for answered prayer begging for healing from the Lord of life, of that woman conscious of unworthiness and sin and approaching the Lord in fear and trembling, thinking that she can remain hidden in the crowd.
One thing I know. That when we approach the Lord’s Table this morning and fall to our knees like the madman and Jairus and the woman, that when we stretch out our hands to receive the Holy Communion, that when we ask God for his blessing, we shall be stretching out to touch the hem of his garment. And if we have any sort of faith in Jesus, we too shall be healed.
© Paul Hunt 2021
(This is a revised version of a sermon preached at King’s College, Cambridge in 2001 and St Barnabas, Clapham Common in 2012.)
Natalie Broomfield-Hill (Authorised Lay Minister)
What is 27 + 48?
Actually what I want to know is how do you add up 27 + 48?
Have you been doing it in your head? If not have a go!
Are you adding the 7+8 then the 20+40?
Or rounding the 2 numbers up so 27=30, 48=50 then subtract 3 and 2?
Those are the two methods I thought of but you may well have thought of a different one or you might have not even had a go because you’ve been told over the years that you are no good at numbers!
Well you might feel relieved or sad but we’re not just doing sums!
I don’t want the answer. I’m interested in the method!
I wanted to remind us that we all think differently, our brains process information in different ways. Even adding up.
We all bring our own lived experience whether positive or negative, vast or limited.
And IF we all have different ways of adding up, which is a relatively simple concept,
then what happens when we come to those complex things that affect us all?
not simple, or straightforward, that can’t be made tangible by 27 oranges and 48 apples ?
Things we can’t see like love, pain, grief, loneliness, kindness, greed
how do we make sense of life when these things affect us,
how do we know how to behave in the world or even just how to ‘be’ every day?
As humans we’re always trying to make meaning of our chaotic lives in whatever way we can. Telling ourselves stories. Ordering our lives using lists, diaries, rotas. Anything that helps us feel like we might be in control.
This is why Jesus teaches us using parables including stories, examples, analogies, comparisons, narrated conversations because it’s the way in which we learn.
Jesus uses parables to help us make sense of the more complicated aspects of our lives and relationships.
They make us look at ourselves and consider our responses within certain situations.
After all Jesus knows. He is involved in the messiness of humanity. He is fully human. His mission is to teach us about his Good News. Everything He stands for. As the Son of God He is fully divine.
Jesus uses the parables to speak the Word to his followers, as they were able to hear it, as much as they could understand. (Mk4.33)
Jesus uses examples from the Biblical visual, working, living landscape. Of course that is not our reality in a seaside town on the southern edge of the British Isles. Nor is subsistence farming or slavery the working norm – though it’s still around.
But the beauty of stories is they transcend space and time and we can relate to the feelings, the emotions, the dilemmas.
And Jesus’s use of parables works on so many different levels. As both simple explanations and an invitation to think more deeply, beyond the obvious answer.
They can be giving us a scenario where none of the answers seem right such as the parable of the talents (where you either break the law to make money or bury it in the ground) because we are being invited to think about what our response might be.
How would we react in the same situation?
How do we react when there are no obvious right answers?
What Mark’s Gospel gives us in today’s parables of the Mustard Seed and the Growing Seed are examples of the tangible and the intangible, the physically knowable and the mysterious, all that is seen and unseen.
Jesus speaks the Word through his parables teaching us about the Kingdom of God. That certainly belongs in the complex things category, if not its very own category.
Jesus asks us with what can WE compare the kingdom of God?
We are not asked to sit back and ear the answer but to engage with the big questions,
to think for ourselves, to work out what this might mean for me and how I live my life. becoming more Christ-like in our words and in our deeds.
Jesus asks us with WHAT can we compare the kingdom of God? The mustard seed.
The tiniest of seeds that grows into the greatest of shrubs.
The tiniest spark of love that grows into the greatest of relationships.
The tiniest spark of faith that grows into the greatest of journeys with God.
The Kingdom of God is both to come and is already here and it starts, and is seen, through the tiniest of inconsequential things.
The mustard seed. Something that falls between the cracks.
We can barely see it amongst literally everything else on the floor and amongst everything else in our lives.
If a seed with such potential fell, would we notice it gone? Would we bother to look for it? Search for it?
What about if it were a diamond or a speck of gold, a favourite earring, a screw from a pair of reading glasses, a hearing aid battery? Are they more precious, more important, serve more of a purpose?
What if that tiny seed were the last one? Or what if it was your faith? Your love for God?
Your love for yourself? Your love for others? Would you search for it then?
Jesus doesn’t teach us using a precious item but a humble mustard seed, considered a weed in the Middle East.
And just as dropped seeds have a special way of showing they haven’t been lost by sprouting up between cracks in the steps,
God does not forget or neglect us however much we might forget or neglect Him and the people of His Kingdom.
The Kingdom of God is the seed, the potential, the promise of what is to come and the Kingdom of God is the tree, the fruition, what the kingdom already is: Sustaining life, opening its arms to shelter the birds who feel safe enough to make nests, make homes to bring up their young in the embrace of its branches.
It is never-ending, as the tree sends out its own seeds and the cycle starts again.
This knowledge of the Kingdom of God gives us all the potential to grow like that tiny seed into something as sustaining and nurturing of old and new as the mustard tree… individually and together as the Old Town Parish, as the Universal Church, as the Body of Christ.
Why does Jesus spend all this time and effort helping us confront and understand life as a human being?
Why does he think of all these parables, specifically honed to each group of people he meets and to the message that they need to hear?
Because of love. Because He loves us. Because God loves us so He comes into our lives as the Son so we can reconcile our lives back to the Father.
That reconciliation requires the changing of our hearts and minds which we cannot do without Jesus’s help.
We can keep learning how to live as followers of Christ through engaging with the lessons of the parables: returning to them as our experience and faith feeds into our understanding.
So, let us not ignore or disregard the tiny because God doesn’t.
A tiny gesture from one can mean something hugely significant to another.
A tiny start can grow into something more than we can ever imagine.
And let us never assume that only big people with power or wealth can make a difference.
No matter how tiny we feel or how overwhelmed we are with the dilemmas of the fallen world there is a Kingdom beyond, which we occasionally catch a glimpse of, where each and every one of us matters and is loved beyond measure.
All Saints 6th June Mark 3 vv 20-35
Dr Pat Lock (Reader)
After reviewing their finances, a husband and wife decided it was time to tighten up, to spend less and save more. A day later, the wife was out shopping and found the dress of her dreams. It cost way too much, but she had to have it. When she showed it to her husband, he exclaimed, “After all we said about spending less, how could you?” She replied, “The devil made me do it.” The husband asked, “Didn’t you tell him, ‘Get behind me, Satan?’” “I did,” the wife replied, “but he said, ‘It really looks great from the back, too!’”
The devil made me do it – an expression often heard but usually meant in jest.
I’m sure you’ve all seen people do some far-out wacky things and have thought to yourself, “These people must be out of their minds”. Have you ever accused someone of being out of their mind? Probably. We are not unaccustomed to making such a statement about people we know today. A friend of yours takes a bungee jump off a high tower, and you ask, “Has he gone out of his mind?” Another friend takes a sky diving lesson and jumps out of a perfectly good aeroplane, and you ask, “Has she gone out of her mind?” There are lots of more everyday situations in which we might ask that question of someone we know – are they insane – mad – nuts – crazy – or with a new phrase “are they a few tomatoes short of a salad”. But we are shocked when someone asks that question of Jesus. In verse 21, we learn that people were saying, “He is insane.” I believe this shocking statement can help us to understand the ways some people viewed Jesus during his early ministry. Our text tells us that some people were quite alarmed by Jesus’ behaviour.
First, we find that his family was alarmed. The text says, “when his friends heard it, they went out to seize him: for they said, “He is insane.” He’s out of his mind (20-21). Jesus had been teaching in the synagogues and was healing the crippled and demon possessed. Word got out and he began to attract big crowds of people. Wherever he went the crowds followed. They became so enamoured with Jesus that it interrupted his daily living. When his family got word of this they made a decision, probably out of genuine concern, to come and take him away. They concluded that he was out of his mind. Jesus purportedly lived at home and had assumed Joseph’s carpentry business. He was a known, skilled and respected young man in town. And then he suddenly hangs up his carpenter’s apron, locks his shop and hits the road as an itinerant preacher.
Even Jesus’ earthly family and friends didn’t understand his ministry. They didn’t understand that he was the Son of God. To the people of Nazareth, he was just the son of Mary and Joseph-earthly parents. The family had a total lack of sympathy for the nature of Jesus’ ministry. In fact, we read in John 7:5, “His brothers didn’t believe in him.” But what has happened to those Christmas angels, the shepherds and the Kings – this baby that both Mary and Joseph knew was special. What happened to Mary “pondering all these things in her heart”.
Perhaps it befuddled them why he left his humble life of carpentry and took off into the wilderness and then started travelling around teaching and healing. Maybe they thought he was out of his mind for socialising with tax collectors, prostitutes and sinners. Perhaps they had heard the rumours that he was breaking the Sabbath and breaking the traditions of the elders. Considering all that was happening they surmised that he had gone mad. He’s possessed (22-30). Christ was performing miracle after miracle, healing the diseased as well as the demon possessed. People were amazed at his teaching and the works he performed and his popularity was growing at an alarming rate. Some were astounded and saw it as proof that Christ was the promised Messiah. This troubled the religious leaders, who also witnessed what Jesus was doing. Because the Pharisees did not understand what Jesus was doing, they accused him of being possessed by the devil – the devil made him do it
Sometimes we can’t understand Jesus and his ministry. Sometimes it’s hard for us to understand who Jesus is, what he does and why he does what he does. But at least we have the benefit now of all the New Testament to try and make sense of it all.
The teachers of the law acknowledged that Jesus was casting out demons but since they weren’t willing to believe that Jesus was God’s Son and therefore working in accordance with God’s power so they had to draw another conclusion-it had to be Satan’s power. They also had it out for Jesus and wanted to discredit him with the people. Convincing them that Jesus’ ability came from the devil would do that. Again, the devil made him do it. By accusing Jesus of using the devil’s power to cast out demons, the Pharisees rejected the work of the Holy Spirit and they willingly rejected Christ as their Saviour.
Jesus alarmed the Pharisees, but we are much more familiar with their negative reactions. The Pharisees from Jerusalem had made the considerable journey to Galilee to look into this Jesus sensation. They said his power was not a good power. He had been taken over by Beelzebub, an unclean, satanic, demonic spirit. They warned the crowds about him.
But Jesus blew their ridiculous claim out of the water and exploded their argument (23-27) “If a kingdom is divided against itself it cannot stand”. When we are living for Jesus, those who oppose us may make some pretty lame claims against what we’re doing. They will accuse us of having ulterior motives, we will be accused of thinking we’re better than everyone else; we will be accused of being narrow or closed-minded. We will be accused of being haters. Just like Jesus was accused of evil though he was doing good so will we be. Jesus warned us in John 15:18 when he said, “If the world hates you keep in mind that it hated me first”.
- S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, “ A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice
Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronising nonsense about his being a great human teacher. Now it seems to me obvious that He was neither a lunatic nor a fiend: and consequently, however strange or terrifying or unlikely it may seem, I have to accept the view that He was and is God.”
At the end of our passage, Jesus turns again to address the issue of family when he asks, “Behold, my mother and my brothers?” In his reply, Jesus offered a redefinition of family, and in the process gave a great definition of the church. He portrays a vision of the family of God. Jesus acknowledges that discipleship may cost our old, natural family ties. But if we do the will of God, we will discover ourselves as members of the new family of God. Despite Jesus’ disappointment that his family and the scribes rejected him, he proclaims the good news that all who do the will of God will be accepted into the family of God. Jesus’ statement moves the value of human relationships beyond the physical to the spiritual. I believe he is saying that as important as physical relationships are, they are not as important as spiritual relationships. Who is my mother? Who is my brother? Those who do the will of God. Those who love like Jesus loved. Those who, regardless of their biological relationship, capture the spirit of sacrificial love that God clearly demonstrated in Jesus Christ. In a world where there is so much opposition to the Christian faith, and where our homes and families demand so much of our time, our one priority is to love one another wherever we are, and with every breath of our being. When we unite with fellow believers, the power of the spirit can flow . And that power is the awesome power of God! And in that power the devil cannot do it!
OF FAITH IN THE HOLY TRINITY
(Trinity Sunday, 30th May 2021, St Clement’s, Hastings)
“There is but one living and true God, everlasting, without body, parts, or passions; of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness; the Maker, and Preserver of all things visible and invisible. And in unity of this Godhead there be three Persons, of one substance, power, and eternity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” (Article One.)
Those words are the first of the Church of England’s Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion which, together with the Book of Common Prayer and the Bible, form the sources of Church of England doctrine.
But do we care? Are not such statements just gobbledegook which get in the way of Christian living? Isn’t the doctrine of the Trinity in particular impossible to understand and a stumbling block to would-be believers?
Well, yes we should care. Doctrine is the life-blood of the Church and the real stumbling block to would-be believers is our inability to articulate it. The current doctrine-lite or believe-almost-what-you-like Church of England drones on about mission but mission strategy is empty unless it conveys Christian doctrine.
But let me lighten the tone with a non-doctrinal question:
“Are you tidy?”
Some of us are tidy by nature; most of us are tidy by aspiration.
- A tidy home, especially if visitors are coming
- A tidy desk, not necessarily a sign of efficiency
- Tidy finances, especially as we grow older
- Tidy lives, with a proper balance between work, leisure and our domestic life.
Churches can also be tidy. When I was Vicar of St. Andrew’s, Southgate in North London, the Church was so tidy that if you put something down and turned your back for a moment it would either be tidied away, thrown away or available for purchase at the Christmas Fayre.
Trinity Sunday, the only Feast Day which celebrates a doctrine rather than a biblical narrative, is a reminder that we should not and cannot be tidy about God, hard as we might try to fit Him neatly into theological systems of our own devising.
We cannot “manage” God
We cannot adequately imagine God
A god whom we can hold in our minds like a multiplication table would not be the God of the Bible.
The only thing which must be tidied away – indeed thrown away – when we eventually encounter God face-to-face will be our pictures and images of Him.
And so to the Doctrine of the most blessed and Holy Trinity which we celebrate today. We have a tidy formula (Three in One and One in Three) which is paradoxically untidy…. for it speaks of God.
As Christians we can often sound defensive, if not simply embarrassed by the doctrine and so here are six reasons why we should embrace it wholeheartedly and celebrate it this day.
Reason One: The doctrine is biblical, despite what Jehovah’s Witnesses might tell you. It is not simply the very rare explicit Trinitarian verses like Matthew 28.19 – the commission to baptise in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit – which make it biblical but whole passages which are Trinitarian in sweep. Read Genesis 1 in which God creates by His Word and the Spirit breathes upon the face of the deep or Ephesians Chapters 1-2 or think about today’s epistle and Gospel readings.
Reason Two: The doctrine preserves theological balance in our liturgical and spiritual life. Without balance we can worship a God who is only a remote father figure or focus on charismatic signs of the Spirit as the only genuine mark of being a Christian or treat Jesus as our best mate forgetting that he is also our judge. As an evangelical friend of mine once said, “If I hear ‘Jesus, I love you’ one more time, I think I shall go off him.”
The doctrine pulls us back into liturgical and spiritual line.
Reason Three: The doctrine links God to His creation. God is both transcendent – that is to say, beyond our everyday experience – and yet is also immanent – that is to say, involved in our everyday lives. The doctrine protects against the idea that God is like a remote cosmic watchmaker who sets the world going and then stands aloof from it and at the same time protects us from New Age notions that God is identical with His Creation.
Reason Four: It protects against the idea that we encounter God wearing different masks or in different roles. The current vogue of thinking of the Trinity in terms of Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer is heretical – the technical name for this heresy is modalism – because it sells us short in our desire for salvation. The big question is this: In Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, do we really meet with God Himself? Or do we simply meet with a role that God has played?
Reason Five: The doctrine is a reminder of our mutual inter-dependence. The usual social division is that between the individual and the collective or wider community.
But to be truly an individual requires participation in community. We develop as an individual through and because of our interaction with others. And you cannot have a functioning community unless it is composed of functioning individuals. We are who we are because of what we give to others and receive from others. No man or woman is an island.
We need to think of the Trinity not as three individual gods but as three beings who are in such perfect communion that they are truly one: Three in One and One in Three.
Reason Six: The doctrine preserves the mystery of God. The doctrine protects us against blasphemous, over-simplified theologies which seek to make tidy our understanding of God. The final court of appeal is not human reason but divine revelation.
Far from regarding today as a bit of a liturgical embarrassment or a stumbling block for would-be Christians, we need Trinity Sunday badly. It saddens me the doctrine of the Trinitarian God, totally sovereign and free, is so often replaced with a comfortable, folksy and manageable God. A tidy God for a tidy doctrine-lite Church.
The Doctrine we celebrate today is biblical; it preserves our theological and spiritual balance; it reminds us that God is linked to His Creation; it reminds us that in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit we encounter God Himself; it reminds us of our mutual inter-dependence; and it preserves the mystery of God.
“Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty!”
When it comes to God – How tidy are you?
© Paul Hunt 2021
(This text is based on sermons previously delivered at St Andrew’s Southgate and St. John’s, Upper St. Leonards.)
“They are filled with new wine” (Acts 2.13)
(Whit Sunday, 23rd May 2021, St Clement’s, Hastings)
What sort of parish are we? When I was a vicar in North London – and be not afraid, this isn’t one of my travelogues – I used to think of parishes in terms of wine. We were bordered by three parishes: One I called the Chianti parish. Italy was the destination of choice for its wealthier parishioners who could be described as medium bodied, ageing with a touch of spice and hint of nuts. The even more upmarket parish to our north I called the Sancerre parish. France was the destination of choice for its parishioners, some of whom had second homes there. The congregation was noted for having a certain degree of acidity and a subtle aroma of nettles waiting to be grasped. Our other neighbour was hard-line evangelical and I gave it the name of the Leibfraumilch parish, simply because it was beyond redemption. And my own St. Andrew’s? We became a perfectly chilled Muscadet, dry but with a hint of sparkle and zest and sufficiently versatile to be paired with most things. So what about the Old Town Parish?
Today is Whit Sunday when we remember the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, often considered to be the birthday of the Church. Naff parishes will doubtless be singing “Happy Birthday” and drinking warm lambrusco.
A question: Have you received the Holy Spirit? In some Christian contexts this can be a threatening question: Unless you speak in tongues like those gathered disciples on that first Whit Sunday, you haven’t received the Holy Spirit and you are therefore not a true Christian. I have been at charismatic meetings and unable to speak in tongues and have felt distinctly uncomfortable.
But the New Testament views the workings and gifts of the Spirit to be much wider. St Paul provides check lists in I Corinthians 12 and in Galatians 5. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control are also gifts of the Spirit.
A second question: Are you feeling yourself today? It’s a question asked of us by others and by us of other people. It’s a question asked when people don’t seem to be acting as we might expect, given their usual behaviour.
And this is essentially the comment made by the sceptics about those one hundred and twenty Christians on the Day of Pentecost. “They are not themselves today – they must be drunk.” “They are filled with new wine.”
It is not, of course, just alcohol that can effect a change in our character: health, friends and enemies, events (private and public), the weather even, can all cause us to behave differently. Many things may have the effect of not making us feel ourselves: happier or sadder, more or less confident, better or worse.
That we change is part of what makes us so likeable and interesting and infuriating as human beings. External forces can act upon us for good or ill; we are not like portraits in a gallery. And this means, of course, that we are open to receive the influence of the Holy Spirit.
So in answer to our first question – “Have you received the Holy Spirit?” – think of those occasions when our actions and responses have been better than we might have expected. When perhaps we haven’t been our usual selves and demonstrated more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control than than naturally lies within our all too human nature.
“Come down, O Love divine,
Seek thou this soul of mine,
And visit it with thine own ardour glowing.
O Comforter, draw near,
Within my heart appear,
And kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.”
So how should we describe the Old Town Parish in terms of wine? Chianti, Sancerre, Muscadet or Liebfraumilch? Let’s keep it simple. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those outside of St Clement’s and All Saints simply said of us, “They are filled with new wine”? That our proclaimed faith as Christians meant that we were not ourselves as found in our usual human nature but were inspired by the Holy Spirit to the lives to which we are called by the Triune God.
May the words of the nineteenth century cleric and classicist Edwin Hatch be our prayer on this Whit Sunday so that others will indeed say of us “They are filled with new wine”:
- Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do. - Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with Thee I will one will,
To do and to endure. - Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Till I am wholly Thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with Thy fire divine.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“So they proposed two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias.” (Acts 1.23)
(Sunday after the Ascension, 16th May 2021, St. Clement’s, Hastings)
Strange things can happen during church services. Many years ago I was taking a service in an extremely high church where the recently departed vicar had held a referendum about women priests, split the parish down the middle and left for Rome. I was chaplain at Mill Hill School at the time and the Bishop of Edmonton had asked me to look after the parish for a few months and try to bring the parish together. Anyway, just before the invitation to communion one Sunday, I noticed that one of my shoe laces had become undone. Rather than distract the kneeling communicants from their devotions with my dangling shoelace, I knelt down behind the altar to tie it. Impressed by my previously unsuspected devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, everyone in church duly genuflected en masse; no pun intended.
That Church was dedicated to St Matthias whose day in the calendar is the 14th May and who is remembered in today’s reading from Acts as the disciple who replaced Judas. We know almost nothing about his life. Although legends abound, Matthias is mentioned nowhere else in the New Testament.
But we do know that he was chosen by God after prayer and the casting of lots. “And the lot fell on Matthias.” We may imagine his feelings: awe perhaps, humility, gratitude, excitement, apprehension – perhaps a mixture of all these responses. Perhaps he felt pride and pleasure too.
And what about Joseph called Barsabbas who was also known as Justus? He is very much a forgotten character in the New Testament, even more so than Matthias, and so I would like us to reflect briefly on Justus this morning. Justus had exactly the same qualifications as Matthias which were that candidates to replace Judas had to have been with Jesus from the beginning of his ministry and been witnesses to the Resurrection. And yet it was Matthias who had been chosen and it was Justus who had been rejected.
Rejection hurts. That is a feeling we all share with Justus. Whether it be in love or friendship or when applying for a job or a course or in so many other ways, rejection can hurt. I’ve just finished reading the latest biography of Barbara Pym and read about how she felt when she had countless manuscripts for novels rejected by a host of publishers. Rejection hurts. We can try and rationalise our feelings and put on a brave face to the world but rejection can still gnaw away at us in our innermost being. It is possible, of course, that Justus was able to recognise God’s will at work and rejoice for Matthias. We don’t actually know his reaction, outwardly or inwardly, because he disappears completely from the narrative after the choice of Matthias. But even the holiest of us can feel ignored and not valued. Who was it who said on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
But has Justus been rejected and ignored and not valued by God? Perhaps it just feels like that. Perhaps it was simply a matter of God calling Matthias and Justus to different vocations. As with Matthias, legends abound and one of them describes Justus as a bishop and a martyr and he is venerated by some as a saint. The historical evidence for this legendary vocation might be described as less than convincing to put it gently but that rather misses the point. Whatever it may have been, God was calling him to a vocation other than that of replacing Judas as an apostle.
And there is a lesson here for everyone of us. I am disheartened by the way in which some younger clergy talk about having a career in the ministry and the media talks about becoming a bishop as a promotion. This is not to say that older generations of clerics have not been ambitious; far from it. But pay differentials amongst the clergy and fancy titles seem far removed from the New Testament idea of the Body of Christ. We can be called to a different function within the church, within the Body, but not to a different rank.
As St. Paul writes to the Christians in Rome:
For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another. Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them: if prophecy, in proportion to our faith; if service, in our serving; the one who teaches, in his teaching; the one who exhorts, in his exhortation; the one who contributes, in generosity; the one who leads, with zeal; the one who does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness.
(Romans12.4-8)
This is why collaborative ministry is so important and it goes beyond the Ministry Team as we rather grandly call ourselves. Vocation comes in many forms, not least in earnest prayer and quiet service behind the scenes. Collaborative ministry involves every single one of us in a myriad of ministries. People sometimes ask me why I went “into the Church”. But we all enter the Church, the Body of Christ, by means of our baptism.
The Christian Gospel is about acceptance rather than rejection. However much rejection we may experience in our lives, God accepts us. Whatever Jesus may have thought on the Cross, whatever Justus may have thought when Matthias was chosen instead of him, whatever we may sometimes feel, we can never be rejects in the sight of the God who values each one of us.
Our vocation, our calling within the Body of Christ may be different from what we may have chosen for ourselves or what others may imagine for us. But we are not rejected and we are called; each of us has a vocation.
As we think today of Matthias and Justus, we will do well to consider our vocation within the Body of Christ and to remember that God never rejects us.
It is only we who can reject that vocation and the God who calls us to it.
© Paul Hunt 2021
Sermon given by Mr Keith Leech, Authorised Lay Minister
Well here I am then. I always wondered what it would be like standing here. How many times have I thought I could do better than this, but listen to out of politeness? How many times haver I nodded off? Or lost the thread? Now it comes to it I recognise it’s not so easy. Whatever I do, for some it will be the best thing they have heard, for some it will be they have heard that all before and for others it will be… I disagree.
We were told that the first thing to do is to go to the texts for the day and read them, seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit to lead us… I hope it won’t be endless battles in the Book of Kings or even worse the Book of Revelation.
No its 1 John, Acts of the Apostles and The Gospel of John… God is for all, God is for the Gentiles, not the just the Jews… and Gods commandment is for us to love each other… Nicely crafted by those who put the lectionary together to give us a narrative for the day.
Look up notes on preaching… ‘Do not whatever you do say that we should Love God and be nice to each other everybody knows that, that is why they are sitting in front of you in the first place’….It’s a cliché and needs a theological basis. But that’s what todays texts are… Oh come on God give me a break.
Sit down, pray, look around what signs is God sending you? What text leaps out at you?… Ok here goes….
John 15.13 ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’.
How many times have I read this? I think on every war memorial I have ever been to. There it sits as a comfort to those who mourn neatly hiding the complete horror of war. For if everybody truly practiced Christian love I genuinely believe that there would be no war. If Christian love is being truly practiced by all people war becomes an impossibility. From 1 John today ‘ for whatever is born of God conquers the world. And this is the victory that conquers the world, our faith’ I see Christian love as a kind of vaccination against evil. This is partly why I am passionate about mission, or some would say evangelism…The act of bringing people to Christ… I really don’t mind how. If it is seen as unorthodox so be it. Does it expose people to the Gospel in such a way that they can be helped to find Christ? If yes then do it, if no then don’t.
It also does mean that we who profess to be Christian should display that love spoken of in the text so that people can see it and think …’I want some of that’. If we do not display that love we lay ourselves open to charges of hypocrisy and we do the cause of bringing people to Christ no favours. This isn’t new…Tertullian quoted a pagan opponent of Christianity as saying (mockingly) “See how these Christians love one another” in reference to Christian in-fighting. I don’t mean being perfect, we are after all human and as open to temptation as the next person. In fact we are probably more open to temptation because if there is one thing the devil does not want is more people coming to see the Gospel.
I don’t like Bible verses taken on their own, they are part of a narrative and can be used too often to convey a meaning completely different to that intended. So let’s take a look at what else Jesus said in that narrative. ‘If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love… My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.’ The initial verse is about Jesus Christ laying down His life for us all. He is talking to the disciples who were with Him, but as we are all disciples He is talking to us. He is telling us what to do. To follow God’s commandments, and to love each other as much as he loved us. How much is that? He was crucified for us. That is how much He loves us. That’s how far God wants us to go if we have to, and many of those disciples did just that. As a far as we know Peter, Andrew, Philip and James were all crucified. Jesus goes on to say to the disciples … ‘go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. This is my command: Love each other.’ …. A commandment from Christ Himself.
This is no small thing the more you consider it the more it becomes apparent that we are (if needs be) being called to make great sacrifices for others. Here we need to refer to the Old Testament where sacrifice was not only burnt offerings, but was also giving. St Paul says because of Christ, we no longer have to bring a sacrifice, we become one. We’re not a burnt offering, we are a living one. We come before God and offer our complete self in gratitude and thanksgiving.
John 15.14 says ‘If you are my friends you will do what I command’… and in our other reading 1 John ‘And his commandments are not burdensome’. I personally find this a challenge. We are speaking of some sacrifices that I am personally not sure I want to give. This goes way beyond just being nice to each other… fluffy good feeling Christianity. It is a big ask and are any of us if we are being honest are up to it? Fortunately for us it is usually more about giving things up that we would like to have or doing things we would rather not ‘his commandments are not burdensome’
We are now slowly emerging from a pandemic, a life changing event for the whole world. Other than a tiny few of us nothing as big has happened to the whole world in our lifetime. During the pandemic we have all witnessed great acts of love, from simple getting of shopping to overcoming fears to get vaccinated for the common good, to those in the NHS who really did lay down their lives for others.
The question is how do we learn from this? How do we keep that Love flowing? We all want to get back to ‘normal’ but was it really the best way? Was it God’s way? Was it really showing true love for each other? It exposed many flaws in society it showed us inequality, injustice, and the capacity of nature to pose a threat beyond the power of any one country to face. It showed us that love for each other extends beyond any human boundary our love has to cover the whole world. Neither nature nor God recognise national boundaries. We should all be aware that no matter how good a vaccine, unless it is used equally across the whole planet it will fail. This isn’t only the case with the virus it is the case with many things, not least climate change. Are we going to learn from this experience of a threat to the whole planet, or squander it?
In his recently published book ‘Reimagining Britain’ Justin Welby sums it up well “If we do not learn the lessons and act on injustices of ethnic discrimination, lack of solidarity, neglect of the common good and most of all the even greater danger from human caused climate change then these already terrible results of Covid-19 will seem as little compared to what is to come. We must learn together or suffer and even perish in our differences.” He goes on to say “The danger is of having a rootless and self-protective society without generosity, arising from a lack of confidence and an inward-looking and self-centred reimagining of what it is to be British.”
We are not isolated, as individuals, as families, as towns as countries, we are part of God’s whole planet and creation. As John Donne said ‘No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main…’ So it is not just how well we conduct our lives and love those we know and come into contact with, (our direct friends and neighbours), but how we love those we don’t know and are never likely to meet on the other side of the world. It isn’t just about us, it about the kind of society the kind of world we as a whole shape, locally, nationally and internationally. Are we prepared to make sacrifices for those in other places on the other side of the world, even if we think they don’t deserve it? Are we prepared to work together internationally and forget our differences? What is our attitude to for example foreign aid? Or to migrants? Are we prepared to give up air travel for the sake of future generations? Are we prepared to be sent from this place as a living sacrifice?
As the Bee Gees said ‘How deep is your love?’ Is it confined to loving God and being nice to each other or does it extend beyond? How much of our lives, of our comfort, of the things we have, the things we enjoy, of our lifestyle are we prepared to give for others? What will you sacrifice this week for the good of others who may be on the other side of the planet or future generations? Perhaps the world could be a much better place if we did as we are commanded.
Jesus commanded us to ‘Love each other as I have loved you….. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’.
“I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15.5)
(The Fifth Sunday of Easter, 2nd May 2021, St. Clement’s, Hastings)
A warning: You are about to be treated to another of my travelogues. The last time I preached I reminisced about a wonderful meal in La Maison du Cygne in Brussels; today I begin with a visit to the Arctic Circle.
Back in the 1980s I used to travel regularly to what was then the Soviet Union and even taught in a Moscow school – School Number 35 – for a few weeks during the period of glasnost – openness – at the end of the decade. On one occasion, in 1985, I think, I boarded an Aeroflot plane in Moscow bound for Leningrad with its beautiful buildings, wonderful art and opera and ballet. Instead, for reasons that never became entirely clear, the flight was diverted to Murmansk, some 125 miles inside the Arctic Circle. There was hardly anything to do or see there, but it didn’t matter very much given that it was late December and the murky daylight lasted for less than five hours. It was also extremely cold. Compulsory entertainment in the hotel by the Great Patriotic War Women’s Labour Group Veterans’ Choir did little to improve my mood.
But the next day I found a church which was, apparently the most northerly in the world. I wandered in, eager to get out of the cold as much as anything. Inside the modest wooden building there were women cleaning and sweeping and polishing. It is a scene familiar in churches throughout the world.
I lit a candle, made the sign of the cross and prayed. And when I opened my eyes, one of the women was standing next to me, offering me a tiny orthodox cross. I have it with me this morning and will place it on the altar for the eucharistic prayer. This woman, like the others busy cleaning the church, had survived decades of hard persecution under various Soviet leaders and I was profoundly moved. I thanked her profusely and, in an unintentional act of irony, she wrapped the cross in some paper torn from Pravda, the Communist newspaper. And pravda is Russian for ‘truth’.
I did not know her name and she did not know mine – but we both knew the name Jesus Christ. Separated by different experiences of life and by nationality, age and gender and by our different Christian traditions, we nevertheless had fellowship in Jesus Christ.
Jesus is indeed the true vine and we indeed are the branches. How different it is from the pretend communities that people invent today in an attempt to invoke a sense of fellowship that doesn’t exist. The most absurd example that I’ve heard recently was that of a presenter on the Today programme referring to the “Intelligence Community”. I can’t think of anything less communal that the world of espionage and the secret service with its inevitable use of deception and false identities. Think too about the vogue for workers wearing name badges to make things seem personal, be it Nadia in Nationwide, Barry in the bank or Crystal in the Co-op. But if you say “Thank you, Crystal”, she will look quite startled because in reality you are a stranger.
Christian fellowship depends upon one name only: That of Jesus Christ. For cut off from him we cannot have fellowship either with Him or with other Christians. So it is that Jesus bids His first disciples and – us to remain in the Vine. The word ‘abide – ‘remain’ – occurs no less than seven times in seven verses, giving what is, to me, almost a sense of urgency about Our Lord’s command. For “Apart from me you can do nothing.” But as part of that True Vine, the fellowship offered by that church in Murmansk exists whenever and wherever Christians gather. The old woman who gave me the cross will have died decades ago but, as part of the Communion of Saints, she is part of the great company of heaven with whom we join in worship this morning.
One further reflection: So what may we say about the divisions which exist between Churches? How do our divisions square with the notion of one true vine, composed of stem and branches? Is it not a scandal that we are here and yet have brothers and sisters worshipping a few yards away at St. Mary Star of the Sea?
It seems to me that our fellowship in Christ can only be damaged when our different traditions and emphases become more important than the God to whom they should point. Let there be no mistake: Theology is vital for a healthy church because it prevents sloppy thinking and provides the underpinning, intellectual as well as spiritual, for all that we do. But we must always remember that the word theology literally means ‘words about God’; it is not God Himself. It is all too easy, as Christian history shows all too sadly, for Jesus’ disciples to exalt their particular understandings and ways of doing things at the expense of exalting the Lord Himself. The way in which I made the sign of the cross in that church in Murmansk was very different from the way in which that unknown Russian woman did so – but it is a sign of the same faith. And we both knew it.
Perhaps, and this is an old Anglican way of looking at this, the so-called branch theory of the Church, we should see each different church as but one branch of the same vine. “The branch cannot bear fruit by itself,” said Jesus. Cut off from him we can do nothing and, as Christian history demonstrates, such churches wither and die. The Church’s one foundation can only be Jesus Christ her Lord.
Perhaps as Anglicans we can offer a particular witness. I despair at the the theological and ecclesiological mess in which our world-wide Communion finds itself with its divisions over homosexuality and the role of women and what has become, in effect, a battle for the soul of Anglicanism between liberals and evangelicals. But back in 1936, Michael Ramsey, later to be a great Archbishop of Canterbury, wrote this:
“For while the Anglican church is vindicated by its place in history, with a strikingly balanced witness to Gospel and Church and sound learning, its greater vindication lies in its pointing through its own history to something of which it is a fragment. Its credentials are its incompleteness, with the tension and travail in its soul. It is clumsy and untidy, it baffles neatness and logic. For it is sent not to commend itself as “the best type of Christianity,” but by its very brokeness to point to the universal Church wherein all have died.” (The Gospel and the Catholic Church, SPCK edition, 1990, p.220)
Our fellowship as Christians is based, not upon words about Jesus Christ but upon Jesus Christ Himself who commands us to love one another as He has loved us. He is the Vine, we are one of His branches and we are told to abide in His love. True Christianity does not depend upon uniformity of tradition or understanding, important as these may be, but upon common recognition that Jesus Christ is Lord and the obedience to His command that we love one another.
For at our baptism we were baptised not into the Church of England or into the Church of Rome or into the Russian Orthodox Church. We were baptised into the Body of Christ which is the Church dispersed throughout the world. Baptised into a fellowship that stretches not just from Canterbury to Rome, from Hastings to Murmansk, but into the loving fellowship of God Himself, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
© Paul Hunt 2021
“I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15.5)
(The Fifth Sunday of Easter, 2nd May 2021, St. Clement’s, Hastings)
A warning: You are about to be treated to another of my travelogues. The last time I preached I reminisced about a wonderful meal in La Maison du Cygne in Brussels; today I begin with a visit to the Arctic Circle.
Back in the 1980s I used to travel regularly to what was then the Soviet Union and even taught in a Moscow school – School Number 35 – for a few weeks during the period of glasnost – openness – at the end of the decade. On one occasion, in 1985, I think, I boarded an Aeroflot plane in Moscow bound for Leningrad with its beautiful buildings, wonderful art and opera and ballet. Instead, for reasons that never became entirely clear, the flight was diverted to Murmansk, some 125 miles inside the Arctic Circle. There was hardly anything to do or see there, but it didn’t matter very much given that it was late December and the murky daylight lasted for less than five hours. It was also extremely cold. Compulsory entertainment in the hotel by the Great Patriotic War Women’s Labour Group Veterans’ Choir did little to improve my mood.
But the next day I found a church which was, apparently the most northerly in the world. I wandered in, eager to get out of the cold as much as anything. Inside the modest wooden building there were women cleaning and sweeping and polishing. It is a scene familiar in churches throughout the world.
I lit a candle, made the sign of the cross and prayed. And when I opened my eyes, one of the women was standing next to me, offering me a tiny orthodox cross. I have it with me this morning and will place it on the altar for the eucharistic prayer. This woman, like the others busy cleaning the church, had survived decades of hard persecution under various Soviet leaders and I was profoundly moved. I thanked her profusely and, in an unintentional act of irony, she wrapped the cross in some paper torn from Pravda, the Communist newspaper. And pravda is Russian for ‘truth’.
I did not know her name and she did not know mine – but we both knew the name Jesus Christ. Separated by different experiences of life and by nationality, age and gender and by our different Christian traditions, we nevertheless had fellowship in Jesus Christ.
Jesus is indeed the true vine and we indeed are the branches. How different it is from the pretend communities that people invent today in an attempt to invoke a sense of fellowship that doesn’t exist. The most absurd example that I’ve heard recently was that of a presenter on the Today programme referring to the “Intelligence Community”. I can’t think of anything less communal that the world of espionage and the secret service with its inevitable use of deception and false identities. Think too about the vogue for workers wearing name badges to make things seem personal, be it Nadia in Nationwide, Barry in the bank or Crystal in the Co-op. But if you say “Thank you, Crystal”, she will look quite startled because in reality you are a stranger.
Christian fellowship depends upon one name only: That of Jesus Christ. For cut off from him we cannot have fellowship either with Him or with other Christians. So it is that Jesus bids His first disciples and – us to remain in the Vine. The word ‘abide – ‘remain’ – occurs no less than seven times in seven verses, giving what is, to me, almost a sense of urgency about Our Lord’s command. For “Apart from me you can do nothing.” But as part of that True Vine, the fellowship offered by that church in Murmansk exists whenever and wherever Christians gather. The old woman who gave me the cross will have died decades ago but, as part of the Communion of Saints, she is part of the great company of heaven with whom we join in worship this morning.
One further reflection: So what may we say about the divisions which exist between Churches? How do our divisions square with the notion of one true vine, composed of stem and branches? Is it not a scandal that we are here and yet have brothers and sisters worshipping a few yards away at St. Mary Star of the Sea?
It seems to me that our fellowship in Christ can only be damaged when our different traditions and emphases become more important than the God to whom they should point. Let there be no mistake: Theology is vital for a healthy church because it prevents sloppy thinking and provides the underpinning, intellectual as well as spiritual, for all that we do. But we must always remember that the word theology literally means ‘words about God’; it is not God Himself. It is all too easy, as Christian history shows all too sadly, for Jesus’ disciples to exalt their particular understandings and ways of doing things at the expense of exalting the Lord Himself. The way in which I made the sign of the cross in that church in Murmansk was very different from the way in which that unknown Russian woman did so – but it is a sign of the same faith. And we both knew it.
Perhaps, and this is an old Anglican way of looking at this, the so-called branch theory of the Church, we should see each different church as but one branch of the same vine. “The branch cannot bear fruit by itself,” said Jesus. Cut off from him we can do nothing and, as Christian history demonstrates, such churches wither and die. The Church’s one foundation can only be Jesus Christ her Lord.
Perhaps as Anglicans we can offer a particular witness. I despair at the the theological and ecclesiological mess in which our world-wide Communion finds itself with its divisions over homosexuality and the role of women and what has become, in effect, a battle for the soul of Anglicanism between liberals and evangelicals. But back in 1936, Michael Ramsey, later to be a great Archbishop of Canterbury, wrote this:
“For while the Anglican church is vindicated by its place in history, with a strikingly balanced witness to Gospel and Church and sound learning, its greater vindication lies in its pointing through its own history to something of which it is a fragment. Its credentials are its incompleteness, with the tension and travail in its soul. It is clumsy and untidy, it baffles neatness and logic. For it is sent not to commend itself as “the best type of Christianity,” but by its very brokeness to point to the universal Church wherein all have died.” (The Gospel and the Catholic Church, SPCK edition, 1990, p.220)
Our fellowship as Christians is based, not upon words about Jesus Christ but upon Jesus Christ Himself who commands us to love one another as He has loved us. He is the Vine, we are one of His branches and we are told to abide in His love. True Christianity does not depend upon uniformity of tradition or understanding, important as these may be, but upon common recognition that Jesus Christ is Lord and the obedience to His command that we love one another.
For at our baptism we were baptised not into the Church of England or into the Church of Rome or into the Russian Orthodox Church. We were baptised into the Body of Christ which is the Church dispersed throughout the world. Baptised into a fellowship that stretches not just from Canterbury to Rome, from Hastings to Murmansk, but into the loving fellowship of God Himself, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
© Paul Hunt 2021
Sermon given by Mrs Sandra Bentall, Authorised lay Minister
“I am the good shepherd. I know my own, and my own know me” John 10:14 Sunday 25.4.2021
Our journey through the 50 days of Eastertide continues and the 4th Sunday of Easter is always Good Shepherd Sunday. If our service had included the Psalm appointed for today there are no prizes for guessing it would have been Psalm 23 – perhaps the most well-known psalm many of us reflect on in personal prayer times, times when we are distressed, or need words of comfort, and the psalm most read at funerals. It is known as a prayer of trust in God who cares for us, now and for ever. What a wonderful and serene scene this psalm paints for us – stillness, quietness, flowing water . . . But also mentioned is the rod and staff, not instruments of calm contemplation but designed to keep us on the right path, perhaps with more than a gentle pull or push by our shepherd. Here is comfort with the knowledge that God will pull us back if necessary or prod us, to keep us going in the right direction.
We have listened to our readings today, around Jesus being called The Good Shepherd. Every year we hear a different part of John’s gospel chapter 10; today is the 2nd part of that chapter which commences “I am the good shepherd”. Then in verse 14 he says “I am the good shepherd. I know my own, and my own know me”. So Jesus knows us, he knows us well, he knows our name – earlier in the chapter Jesus says “He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.” (v3)
What’s in a name? asked Shakespeare’s Juliet. Well, more significance really than she thought.
The name of God was never pronounced by the Hebrew people, it was too holy, too sacred. It could be written down with an initial letter but never spoken in full. What is perplexing for us is that in ancient Hebrew, the written language showed no vowels. The name we say as YAHWEH was actually just 4 consonants YHWH. We don’t really know how to pronounce it as we don’t know which consonants should be there. However, most scholars agree that YAHWEH is the most accepted way to say it. Scholars have guessed at vowels, using them from the Hebrew word for Lord, “Adonai” but we just don’t know. It’s also been pronounced as “Yehova” in Hebrew as a substitute word but we don’t actually know how it should be pronounced as it was never pronounced! Traditionally, religious Jews today would not say the name aloud because it is believed to be too holy to be spoken. But they often use substitutes when referring to the name of God, such as “Ha Shem” meaning “The Name”. This could have been from what God said in the Ten Commandments – “You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain”. (Ex 20:7)
English Bibles translate Yahweh as “I AM” which is the best possible guess because there simply is no English word that captures all that Yahweh means. King James translators expressed Yahweh – the name of God – as Jehovah.
You may have noticed that in many Bible translations today we can always tell where the original Hebrew refers to God as Yahweh because our Bibles translate it as L-O-R-D, and LORD is printed all in capital letters.
The name was first revealed to Moses at the burning bush. For his mission to bring the Israelites out of Egypt, he realised his name would not carry much weight and people would not listen to him. So he wanted to know God’s name so that the Hebrew people would know exactly who the God of their ancestors is, who sends Moses to them.
God calls himself “I AM” “I AM WHO I AM”. I AM HAS SENT ME TO YOU” Here we see the sovereignty of God (Ex 3:11-15) There is much of interest around names in the Old Testament. Change in a name could indicate a person’s status with God. Abram became Abraham after his covenant, and Sarai became Sarah. Many names end in –el which was one of the old names for God. Names were often occupational names and got passed over in the son’s name.
Today we are looking at the name – The Good Shepherd. Jesus said “I AM the good shepherd – surely a deliberate echo of the divine name taking on prophetic images of the Messiah pictured in the Old Testament, a declaration of his divinity. In many conversations with his disciples, Jesus spoke about being the shepherd of his sheep. People were familiar with shepherds who were considered lowly in status and had to spend long periods away from home, so had uncomfortable lives in the semi-wilderness.
Family groups generally kept a small flock of sheep which were raised especially for their wool, milk, and producing more sheep. Only a few were used for sacrifice and they weren’t usually eaten at other times. It was normally the task of one of the sons to care for them, go ahead of the sheep and lead them to pastures where there was good grass, protect them from danger, from wolves and thieves at night, keep them away from cliff edges and rocky crevices and hook them to safety if they couldn’t scramble out. Shepherds got to know their sheep very well, which ones liked to walk at the back and which at the front, and when lambs were born they might have given them names getting to know them in the flock and the lambs got used to knowing their shepherd and hearing his voice calling their name. Sheep needed 24/7 care so shepherds could not have a day off and were seen as disreputable and scandalous because they had to break the Sabbath Law.
Yet Jesus was identifying himself as a shepherd. How outrageous that would have seemed! Temple sheep were also herded around Jerusalem as sacrificial lambs and sheep used for worship in the temple. In speaking to his disciples about being the good shepherd Jesus says he lays down his life for the sheep. (v10) He says he lays it down of his own accord (v18), that he has the power to take it up again. Once again he was foreseeing his death and resurrection – perhaps again confusing the disciples who did not yet understand. Jesus says it is the good shepherd who offers himself as the sacrifice. He is fulfilling God’s plan.
– 2 –
Our reading from the Book of Acts today takes us to when Peter and John had healed a man lame from birth “in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth”(3:6,7). They had annoyed the religious leaders in Jerusalem for teaching that in Jesus there is resurrection which was against the Sadducees’ beliefs and who saw this as refuting their authority.
When asked by the council of religious leaders by what power or by what name had they done this, Peter spoke boldly, strengthened by the Holy Spirit, that it was “by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth”. Also that “there is salvation in no-one else, there is no other name under heaven by which we must be saved”.
I want to take you briefly back to our Easter Sunday gospel – Mary Magdalene went to the tomb, saw the stone rolled away from the entrance, and in her distress and confusion mistook the risen Christ for the gardener.
How did Jesus get through to her? He just said “Mary”. He called out her name.
NAMES are important to us, aren’t they? Where would we be without them?
For most of us we’ve had our name since we were babies. Perhaps names were discussed, but then a final decision had to be made. We also had a family name, our surname. My mother told me I was going to be named Gillian but then they didn’t want a name that would likely be shortened so I was baptised Sandra.
Little did she know then that I’ve often been called San.
How do you feel if your name is mispronounced, or you got stuck with a different name?
I have a name that can be pronounced two ways so, over the years, I have got used to “the other way”.
Because I am one of them, when I meet someone and we share that name I ask which way they like to be known – and try and remember their choice. What if you’ve habitually been called the wrong name? Someone told me that when he was teaching, for years he called the school caretaker Gary until one day Gary plucked up the courage to tell him his name was actually Graham. A mishearing at the outset continued for several years.
But regardless, they both knew who was being referred to!
Some people are not happy with the names they were given and they will sometimes use abbreviated forms of their name, or even change their name. None the less they have a name, albeit a new name, and surely everyone likes to be known by their name. Doesn’t it show that someone has taken the effort to remember it?
Jesus knows our name and he knows us. He knows our innermost being.
But what about when we are known NOT by our name? Times change but do our feelings?
How often are you identified these days by a number?
At the bank we have account numbers And PIN numbers to access those accounts. Our bank cards have different numbers. The tax department identify us with our tax file number. We have an NHS number. Phone the doctor and they look you up after asking your date of birth. When we enquire about our electricity or phone bills, the first thing we are asked is what is your customer number. You might not have experienced this but if someone is pulled over by the police for speeding, the officer is interested in numbers – driving licence number, car registration number, oh, and of course, he shows you the number on the radar gun! Numbers are so impersonal.
But isn’t it nice when someone has taken the care to actually remember your name!
OUR NAMES! Jesus says he knows our names. We are named at our baptism, we are named in confirmation,
we are named in prayers when we have a need for help, we are named in thanksgivings for God’s healing and blessing upon our individual lives. We are finally named at our funeral.
How privileged we are that Jesus knows us, and knows our name – however it’s pronounced, or abbreviated.
How privileged we are that Jesus is our shepherd, and leads and guides us.
Today’s theme is also very personal to me in that my mother’s maiden name was the Anglo-Saxon name Sheppard,
one of several spelling variations of this occupational name. (Shepherd) It also brings back many memories – From the mid-1970s we lived in a place called Amanzimtoti, a long Zulu name meaning place of sweet waters, so often abbreviated to Toti. The congregation there outgrew its old church of St John’s and a new round or roundish church was built. We were privileged to have been part of that congregation which was asked what they would like the new church building to be named. By far the highest votes were for the name The Good Shepherd.
That name was never abbreviated – perhaps we weren’t suited to being called just The Good!
By referring to himself as the good Shepherd did Jesus infer there were BAD shepherds? Well, yes, he spoke about the hired hand who does not own the sheep, he is just doing a job for personal gain, his wages, and not for the sake of the sheep at all. When he sees a wolf he thinks only of himself and runs away, leaving the sheep to be snatched and scattered by the wolf. But our shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. And he knows his sheep. Bad shepherds that Jesus used as a metaphor for the Pharisees, were in it for their own interest and didn’t care for the sheep. Pharisees were just concerned for themselves and didn’t want to break out of their self-righteous comfort zone.
Jesus also says he has other sheep who are not in the fold but he must bring them in as well & they will listen to his voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. Jesus was referring to non-Jews – he came to save Gentiles as well
– 3 –
as Jews in his worldwide mission. God’s flock is one of great diversity. Jesus emphasised “There will be one flock, one shepherd” (John 10:16) So also today; there will be black sheep, cream sheep, spotted lambs, crippled ewes, rams with broken horns, long haired sheep, sheep with short curly hair, white lambs, majestic beasts – There is no distinction in God’s flock. One shepherd – with ONE flock encompassing all.
Jesus was not the first to use the image of the shepherd. That image of a shepherd has been there in the long tradition of Israel. In the Hebrews scriptures in the Old Testament the image of the shepherd is used to refer to the leaders of the people of Israel. The prophets referred again and again to the leaders of Israel as shepherds, and to God as the true shepherd of the people.
Sheep are mentioned more than 500 times in the Bible, more than any other animal. Sheep were important to the agricultural life of the Hebrews and similar peoples. Sheep are also used throughout the Bible to symbolically refer to God’s people. Those who were given special leadership tasks by God in the Bible were literally shepherds and this prepared them for the great mission. Early in the Old Testament, Moses was tending his father-in-law’s sheep and was holding a shepherd’s staff, his tool for controlling his flock, guiding them, hooking them out of danger in rocky crevices, and so on, and the staff was then given new meaning by God as a symbol of leadership, authority, and the power of God. (Exodus 3:1, 4:2). David was not just a shepherd boy, but when the people of all the tribes of Israel went to David at Hebron to anoint him as their king, they said “The LORD said to you: ‘It is you who shall be shepherd of my people Israel, you who shall be leader of Israel’ “ (2 Sam 5:1-3)
And of course we have seen that in Psalm 23 David paints a perfect picture of God as a good shepherd who cares, nurtures, and protects his sheep. Yes, leaders in the Old Testament are seen as shepherds; however, the Jews had a dream of a good shepherd who is to come, as was foretold by the prophets. (Ezek 34)
What Ezekiel expected to be exercised by God is now accomplished in Jesus.
A shepherd takes great care of his sheep because they can’t take care of themselves well enough on their own.
The shepherd leads his flock from the front, he does not drive from behind as cattle herders do.
And what distinguishes Jesus as the good shepherd is his humility, patience and tolerance.
Jesus loves his sheep to the point of giving his life for them. He shepherds his flock at the cost of laying down his own life for them. Sacrificial love took Jesus to the cross where he died for his flock.
So what are the implications for us here? Jesus says that his sheep know him. The shepherd and his sheep have spent time together, getting to know one another. As we have seen, his sheep know him from his voice.
He says to us that we should be able to recognise his voice when he speaks to us, even among all the other voices we might hear. Sometimes we hear Jesus’ voice in the things we hear at church and the things we read about him in the Bible. Sometimes we hear Jesus’ voice speaking directly to us, and perhaps we need to practice listening to it.
Christians need to spend time with Jesus in order that they may know, trust and follow him. Not just once a week in church, but during the week as well. Do we spend enough quiet time with our Lord, talking with him, praying, reading the Bible learning to listen so that we recognise his voice? Are our lives too busy to hear him? When our conscience says “Don’t do that” or “Don’t say that”, we hear our conscience and know our deed or words might harm someone, but we ignore it.
That’s when our Good Shepherd can reel us back in, using the shepherd’s crook of his voice and calling our name. But are we listening? It is so easy to stray, and end up in need of help.
When we realise our need for a helping hand, and if we look around and cannot see the shepherd, and we cannot
see other members of our fold, then what we need to do is simply call out to him, because the good shepherd is
looking for us, and our voice will help him find us faster.
Jesus knows everything about each one of us and, wonder of wonders, he STILL loves and accepts us!
His love is unconditional; we do not have to earn it, although it must make a difference to our lives.
What is our responsibility? Just as Jesus looks after us, so we are to look after each other.
We are called to be as caring – as he was. To be as caring for others – as he was. To be open to others – as he was.
We have one shepherd and we should be one sheep herd.
In the epistle today from 1st John (3:16-24) we are reminded to love one another, not in word and speech, but in truth and action.
We are all called to be shepherds! We can strive to be good shepherds by loving others in truth and action,
and especially knowing Jesus more as his own.
HOW GOOD A SHEPHERD ARE WE? Amen.
Sandra Bentall for Good Shepherd Sunday 25th April 2021 in St Clement’s.
“They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence.” (Luke 24.42-43)
(Third Sunday of Easter, St. Clement’s, Hastings, 18th April 2021)
What’s the most memorable meal you’ve ever eaten? Mine is most probably a meal eaten over thirty years ago at La Maison du Cygne on the Grand Place in Brussels. I was leading a school trip and a generous parent had arranged for the four members of staff to dine there on his account. So while the pupils went off to McDonald’s – unsupervised in those pre-risk assessment days, of course – the staff went to dine in the grand fashion. I remember to this day the most wonderful caneton aux peches – slices of roast duck interwoven with braised peaches – accompanied by several bottles of a rather stunning pinot noir. The bill came as a bit of a shock – 38,750 Belgian francs which was about £650 for the four of us – and this was in 1989. I signed the bill quite happily for later payment by the parent. “I hope you had a good evening,” he said to me when I next encountered him. It would appear from a quick read of tripadvisor that, over thirty years on, the restaurant has lost its reputation as one of the top restaurants in Brussels. It seems that they let in anyone these days.
“They gave him a piece of broiled fish.” It’s grilled fish for Jesus not caneton aux peches. Have you ever considered just how much eating happens in the Gospels? There is, of course, the Last Supper. Then there’s the Feeding of the Five Thousand and the breakfast – fish, again – by the Sea of Galilee described in John 21. There is dining with the likes of Zacchaeus and the Pharisees accuse Jesus of dining with tax collectors and sinners.
And in the Old Testament there is also a lot of eating: Passover, manna in the wilderness, Abraham and the mysterious visitors at the oaks of Mamre and, lest we forget, the whole drama of salvation began with Adam biting off more than humanity could chew.
Meals can be enjoyable for reasons apart from the food itself. They can deepen friendship, demonstrate generosity, express gratitude.They can also be significant in our memories – perhaps a dinner party where we first met someone of great significance in our lives – or even a last supper with a loved one before they died.
It’s not without good reason that the Bible pictures the Kingdom of Heaven as being like a banquet. “Many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 8.11) That is God’s promise and invitation to us.
The Holy Communion reminds us of that promise. It reminds us of the Last Supper with a loved one before tragedy struck. It reminds us of the heavenly banquet to come. It reminds us of generosity, that God so loved the world. It expresses our fellowship, our communion, with Jesus Christ and all our fellow Christians, be they counted amongst the quick or the dead.
We are called to be guests at the Lord’s table. We’ve said that sharing a meal is also an occasion for showing gratitude. To what extent do we do that? Is it by careful preparation and prayer?
I have been in churches in which some people chat to each other as they wait to receive and thank goodness that this is not the case here. The Corinthian church, as we know, would not have been one for a first-time incumbent. St Paul’s words to them have lost none of their power: “Whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink the cup. For all who eat and drink unworthily without discerning the body, eat and drink judgement against themselves.”
(I Cor.11.27-29)
By now you will have realised that, by preference, I am very old-fashioned when it comes to liturgy. It is simply that I find much modern liturgy to be too light on human sin, barely a glancing acknowledgement in some cases. I hope that in due course we will be able to incorporate the Prayer of Humble Access into any new service booklets because none of us should presume to come the table of our merciful Lord trusting in our own righteousness. We can only trust in His manifold and great mercies.
We’ve come a long way from a piece of broiled fish in an upper room or caneton aux peches in La Maison du Cygne but we are invited to a meal this morning which reminds us of a past meal, provides communion in a present meal with both the quick and the dead and points to a future meal in the Kingdom of God.
So draw near with faith. Receive the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ which was given for thee and His Blood which was shed for thee and feed on Him in your hearts by faith with thanksgiving.
© Paul Hunt 2021
St Clement’s
Low Sunday (11th April 2021)
Thomas
During Holy Week in the preaching we
followed the theme of people in the Easter story – Caiaphas, Peter, Pilate and
Judas. Not surprisingly Jesus took the subject of Easter Day and now we turn to
Thomas.
A few years ago I went on a trip to India
and visited The St Thomas Basilica, built on St Thomas Mount close to where he
had been martyred. It is commonly accepted that Thomas became an evangelist to
India. He was also a skilled carpenter and was given money by one of the Kings
to build a palace. The story goes that
he gave all the money to the poor and when eventually the king realised there
was no building site, put Thomas in jail. Years later a group of non-believers
confronted him and demanded that he deny his faith in Christ. The one- time
doubter said, “I will never, ever, renounce Christ.” His accusers responded by
driving spears through his body. The remains of his bones are in the crypt of
the Basilica behind the High Altar.
There are many writings about Thomas, not least the gospel of Thomas
that did not make its way into the Bible. But this one-time doubter was now committed
enough to die for his Lord and his God. Why the difference? Because He knew
without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus really is alive!
We know the story well! For even though we follow a three-year
lectionary, the Gospel lesson for this particular Sunday is the same every
year. On this Second Sunday of Easter, we repeat the story that places Thomas
in his role as doubting the witness of the other disciples to having seen the
risen Christ.
Of course, to forever brand Thomas as an unfaithful doubter of our Lord’s
resurrection, is unfair as he is pictured as being a faithful disciple of Jesus
prior to his crucifixion, and proved to
be a faithful apostle of our Lord, following his resurrection. Our reading tells us that the disciples of
Jesus, with the exception of Thomas, had gathered together on Easter evening.
But instead of celebrating the news of Christ’s resurrection, we are told that
they had gathered behind locked doors, in fear of the Jewish authorities. But
why were they afraid? What did they fear? Matthew’s Gospel gives us a hint. He
tells us that the Roman guards, assigned to guard the tomb of Jesus,
experienced the earth quake, saw the stone sealing the grave moved by an angel,
and in awe and fear, fell to the ground and pretended to be dead. Then Matthew tells us, that some of the guard
went into the city and told the chief priests everything that had happened. But
instead of receiving the news with joy, they bribed the guards to report that
they had fallen asleep, and that the disciples had come and stolen the body of
Jesus. The guards took the bribe, and did as the Scribes had said. Their report
quickly spread throughout Jerusalem. And so, the disciples huddled behind
locked doors, because they were being sought for stealing a corpse and
perpetrating a hoax, a crime punishable by death. But the locked doors could
not keep the risen Christ from entering the room. Jesus came and stood among them, with a
greeting of peace.
But Thomas was not with the disciples that
day, or for several days, as far as we know. So when Jesus appears again who
was Thomas to believe? What was he to believe?
This poses the question to each of us, who have come to worship on this
second Sunday of Easter. Who do we believe? What are we to believe? Do we
believe that the disciples have pulled off one of the biggest hoaxes in all of
history, by taking the body of Jesus out of the tomb, reburying it in some
undisclosed location, to portray the myth that Jesus had risen from the grave?
Or do we truly believe the witness of the disciples, who have testified that
they saw Jesus risen from the dead, on that first Easter evening?
But it is now one week later and Thomas is
there standing in the same room and announces that he will only believe if he
can touch Jesus’ hands and side. Here is a disciple being an absolute stinker.
Why is he behaving this way? Some of his response might be accounted for by his
personality. He is an analytical person by nature. He doesn’t just go along.
Without condemning or scolding, Jesus invites Thomas to examine the truth. He
didn’t call him a “Doubting Thomas.” That’s a name we’ve invented. Jesus
invites him to touch him. But there is no recollection in the Bible of such a
scene actually happening because Thomas recognises Jesus and says “ MY LORD AND
MY GOD!” It is Thomas who is the first to say to Jesus after the Resurrection,
“My Lord – and my God.” I love Thomas’ response. Regardless of his
failings in the past this is his finest hour. Hear the awe in his voice as
Thomas addresses Jesus, “My Lord and my God!” The doubter has become the
worshipper.[25] He has surrendered to the Lordship of Christ. He has
acknowledged the divinity of Christ with absolute clarity. What a powerful proof
of the divinity of Jesus this scene is. There can be no mistake about it.
Thomas is declaring Jesus to be his God and Jesus is receiving that.[26] This
is where we all must be in our commitment to the Lord. He has to be both.
Actually, it would have been unacceptable for Thomas to have done anything else
but express doubts. There is a difference between trust and gullibility. There
is a difference between being a person of faith, and a sucker. So Thomas, the
doubter, makes the most profound confession of faith in the entire Gospel of
John. Jesus then responds to Thomas, “Have you believed because you have seen
me? Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe.”
These words of our risen Lord form the climax of John’s Gospel. These words are
intended for us, those of us who continue to carry on the Good News of our
Lord’s resurrection, as it has been handed down from those who were privileged
to witness our risen Lord’s presence, from generation to generation.
Thus, this story of Thomas doubting the news of Christ’s resurrection, gave
voice to the doubts of every generation and his doubts are our doubts. Thomas represents each one of us. He’s real –
he’s human , he expresses his thoughts out loud. To Thomas, that is what the
scars of Jesus meant — the Resurrection is real. To Thomas, the scars meant evidence
of the Resurrection. He gets it. Not
only does he get it, but he gets in a deeper and much more profound way. Jesus
who was once just Lord has now become Lord and God.
What do these scars mean to us? For us, it serves as a reminder of the humanity
of Christ. There is something about scars that seems to make a person
“more human”. We are sometimes
suspicious about people who seem to be “too perfect”: about children
who don’t have some signs of scraped knees, about teenagers who don’t show any
signs of acne, about models whose hair is perfect. There is something about our
scars that makes us real, believable, trustworthy. Maybe it is because we know
that life hands out its damaging blows to all people of all ages, of all
backgrounds. It is sometimes easy for us to accept the divinity of Christ, and
to forget the humanity of Christ. But Christ was both divine and human.
In Philippians, Paul said (2:6-7), Jesus, being in very nature God, did not
consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.”
Like Thomas, there are times we will be challenged. We will doubt and in our
time of doubt we will search, examine, question, and we too can gain a stronger
and deeper understanding of faith, of God, and of our relationship with him.
And so, on this second Sunday of Easter, we are invited to bring our doubts
into God’s presence, into the fellowship of the faithful, and to allow God’s Spirit to strengthen our faith
in our Lord’s resurrection victory over sin and death. Yes, it is an incredible
story that we are called upon to believe and trust. It defies logic and sane
reason. Yet, that is the witness of the
church. Those early disciples gave witness with more than their words. Peter
was crucified, many of the other
disciples were also martyred for their faith. Stephen was stoned to death, Paul
was beheaded.
Can you join with Thomas today and say “My
Lord and my God”
Pat Lock (Reader)
Rolling Our Stone Away
“But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb and as she wept, she stooped to look inside” (John 20.11)
The bones of Jesus have been found. The skeleton of a crucified man, found under the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, has been positively identified as that of Jesus. So what does this mean for us as Christians? Does it mean that our Creed should finish with the words “crucified under Pontius Pilate, died and was buried”? For it is there that the Gospel story now ends. What are we to make of those words of St. Paul:
“If Christ be not raised from the dead, then your faith is in vain”? (I Cor.15.14)
Well might we, like Mary Magdalene, weep at the entrance to the tomb.
But be not afraid. For it is now Easter Day, and the story of the discovery of the bones of Jesus belongs to a novel by the Roman Catholic writer Piers Paul Read. The alleged discovery of Jesus’ skeleton forms the basis of his novel On the Third Day and a splendid novel it is.
But what would be the result of such a discovery in real life? There would, I suspect, be two reactions. One would involve a radical re-writing of the Christian faith. Jesus would be respected as an inspired man but no more and who was put to death for his beliefs. Talk of resurrection would only mean that he and his teachings lived on in the memory of his disciples. This is BBC Christianity. The second reaction would be more honest and that would be to suffer a complete loss of faith. For if Christ be not raised from the dead, then truly is our faith in vain. With Mary Magdalene, we could indeed only stand at the entrance to that garden tomb and weep. Weeping for the loss of a loved one but weeping, too, for the loss of meaning in our lives, for the loss of a faith that has sustained us over the years and our loss of the resurrection hope. Our faith would indeed have been in vain and, as St. Paul also says, of all people we would be most to be pitied.
It is something like this which happens to the main character in Piers Paul Read’s novel. Andrew Nash is a twenty-eight year old novice monk who is about to take his final vows and dedicate his life to the service of the Lord Jesus Christ. He also happens to be an archaeologist whose great mentor has been responsible for identifying the crucified skeleton as that of Jesus. Andrew is in despair at the discovery: His life has collapsed and is empty. He weeps, both for himself and for the world which has no saviour. He is to live in a permanent Holy Saturday, forever caught between Good Friday and an Easter Day without a resurrection.
Holy Saturday is important, that time when grief and bereavement and weeping follow the death of someone we love. But how often do we as Christians think about the events of Good Friday and about the events of Easter Day without pausing to think much, if at all, about that Holy Saturday? How often do we think about Good Friday from the vantage point of Easter Day, paying lip service to Good Friday sorrow in the assurance that everything will be alright in the end?
But the experience of Holy Saturday is crucial to Christian faith, for without it we cannot Experience Easter Day as the day of true resurrection. The modern habit of calling yesterday Easter Saturday is not simply liturgically incorrect. It is a failure of understanding and a failure of imagination too.
On Holy Saturday Jesus is dead. The disciples’ faith is dead, buried with that battered body in the tomb. Their prayers remain unanswered. Their hope for the future has vanished. They have lost not only their teacher, but also the God to whom he pointed.
Holy Saturday is above all a day of darkness, a day of despair. That is something we should understand. The nineteenth century hope of humanity’s perfectibility and the belief in our essential goodness died in our self-crucifixion on the Somme and in Belsen, on the ground at Hiroshima and in the twin Towers and in the terrorist horrors since. Humanity is living in a Holy Saturday of its own making with no sign of an Easter Day. Just look at the faces of refugees from various countries and listen to the stories they tell.
And, like Andrew Nash in the novel, do we not also have our own personal Holy Saturdays? That time of personal tragedy, that time of unspeakable loss, that time of doubt that all shall be well, that time, perhaps, even of a loss of faith. That time when our prayers seem to go unanswered and the spirit is dry.
We can also build our own tombs and bury ourselves in a slough of despond or in anger or hatred or fear or addiction or guilt or aching regret or disappointment or in any of the many other conditions which eat away at our lives and ultimately destroy them.
Do we not sometimes, outwardly or inwardly, weep outside our own tombs?
In the novel Andrew Nash loses his faith and enters the tomb of despair. But he experiences resurrection too, for it transpires that the alleged skeleton of Jesus is but a clever forgery, deliberately designed to undermine the Christian Church. His faith is restored, is resurrected, but in a deeper way than before, having shared Holy Saturday with those first disciples before emerging into the light of Easter Day.
I am always somewhat disturbed by Christians who tell me that they never experience any doubt. That claim comes very close to blasphemy, to claiming a permanent hold on God, as though it is we who control Him. One of the wiser characters in the novel speaks of an Almighty God who retires from our lives momentarily – what the Bible refers to as the hiding of God’s face – to remind us that we are lost without Him. With Him we are not lost, for Christ has been raised from the dead and faith is not in vain. The essence of the Christian Gospel is that there is an Easter Day which swallows up all our Holy Saturdays.
Mary Magdalene, St John tells us, came to the tomb when it was still dark. Like her, we too can stand weeping in the darkness outside of the Lord’s tomb and weeping secretly in the darkness outside of our own Holy Saturday tomb. But like her and the other women, we need the courage to look into the Lord’s tomb which is now empty. Jesus spoke to her gently: “Mary”. In the darkest moment of her life the Resurrected Jesus called to Mary by name. And if we will only listen, we shall find that he is calling us too and that the stone in front of our own tomb has also been rolled away.
Original version preached at St John’s, Upper St Leonards on Easter Day 2019
Revised version preached at St Clement’s, Hastings On Easter Day 2021
© Paul Hunt 2021
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