“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

Mount Tabor. Photo: Matthew Duckett, 2010.

 

Sermon at Parish Mass Sunday next before Lent 2022

Exodus 34.29-35

2 Corinthians 3.12-4.2
Luke 9.28-36

A pilgrimage to the Holy land, if you have the opportunity to make one, can bring the stories in the Bible alive in a new way, with the insight that comes from being in the places where Jesus walked and taught, and seeing where the great events of salvation happened.

Some of the pilgrimage sites are well authenticated by history and archaeology. In Jerusalem, the places where Jesus died and was buried were venerated by Christians long before Christianity was officially tolerated, and are still there, in the exact spot, encrusted with the devotion of centuries.

Other pilgrim sites are rather more like representative places. We don’t know where the actual site is, but a shrine has been set up to help us make the connection. The traditional stations of the cross, for example, are marked out in winding mediaeval streets that bear no relation to Jerusalem at the time of Jesus.

When it comes to the Transfiguration, which we commemorate today, all the Gospels tell us is that Jesus went up a high mountain with Peter, James and John. The Gospels don’t tell us where this mountain was. But early Christian tradition was quick to identify it as Mount Tabor, near Lake Galilee in what is now northern Israel. Today there is a twentieth century pilgrimage church on top of Mount Tabor, next to the remains of churches from the fourth century onwards.

Now you might suppose that the early Christians just thought, pick any old mountain, it will do as a representative site. Until you go there. Mount Tabor is striking. It is almost conical, rising high above the surrounding plain. Even before you get there it looks like a place of supernatural revelations. But it is where it is that is most significant. The plain it rises above is the valley of Jezreel, the site of the ancient city of Megiddo. Or, as it is better known in Greek, Armageddon.

Those are the most ominous place names in the Bible. Because of their location, Jezreel and Megiddo have been the site of battles from ancient times, a plain where contesting armies collide. And fight. And kill. It’s no wonder that the Book of Revelation chooses this site as the location of the symbolic last battle before the Second Coming of Christ.

From the top of the mountain, you see the whole plain. The landscape itself seems as though it is in turmoil. It is a place for battles, contorted rocks in an inhospitable environment burned dry by the sun. But, on top of the mountain, you experience the shade of trees, peace, silence, and prayer.

If this was the site of the Transfiguration, then it makes perfect sense. Because the revelation of Christ in glory presents the world with a choice. On top of the mountain, there is light and glory, the testimony of the law and the prophets, and the voice of the Father, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”. Below, there is darkness, division, hatred, conflict and war. Humanity, without the light of Christ, plunging into a horror and despair of its own making.

The revelation of Christ in glory tells us that it does not have to be this way. “Listen to him!”, says the Father. Listen to the good news of the Kingdom of God. Repent, turn away from violence, hatred, division and war. And his teaching is not difficult. His yoke is easy, and his burden light.

But the nations do not listen. Now, or then. The revelation of Christ in glory is the prelude to his last journey to Jerusalem, to his suffering and his death. Because the world would not listen, Jesus enters willingly into the darkness below, the place of conflict and death. Because the world would not listen, the redemption of the human race must needs be won at a far greater price than that of our listening, the price of his own blood.

We have looked on at the terrible events in Ukraine this last week with a sense of horror, fear, and helplessness. We wonder what might happen next, and what we can do, as once again we see how fragile civilisation can be. And how much contempt those in power can have for human lives.

And yet this is nothing new. The light of Christ shone from the mountain top onto the darkened world beneath, and shines still. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. It is Christ, the Chosen, the Son of the Father, who faces that world squarely, and freely walks into it to suffer all that it will do to him.

But his call remains, “repent!”. And the voice of the Father sounds in irrevocable command: “listen to him!”.

What can we do? Those things. Repent. Listen to him. Pray. On the threshold of Lent, that great season of repentance, prayer and listening, we realise that our response must begin by turning once again to Christ. The vision of his glory may seem bewildering, incomprehensible, disconnected from the dark world below. But it is precisely that vision which is the hope of the world.

It is that vision which strengthens the disciples before they follow Christ on the way of the cross. The way that will lead them through darkness they could not imagine. To fear and denial and hiding behind locked doors. But, beyond the darkness, their path will bring them in the end to the light of the resurrection. To the definitive encounter with Christ, the Risen One, once and for all triumphant over sin and death. To the one who breathes on them the gift of his Spirit, and says to them, and to us, always, until the end of time, “peace be with you, do not be afraid!”

Sermon at Parish Mass 2nd Sunday before Lent 2022

 

Genesis 2.4b–9, 15–25

Revelation 4

Luke 8.22-25

Our readings today take us from a garden, to a storm, by way of a scene of heavenly worship. I suppose, after Storm Eunice, and the chaos it has caused in our gardens and parks, we might find readings about gardens and storms resonate with us today.

The Church of England, in these two Sundays before Lent, chooses readings along the themes of creation, this week, and Transfiguration, next week. These help to remind us that the Christ, whose footsteps we will follow through Lent and Passiontide, is the Word of creation through whom all things were made, and is the Light of God who has come into the world.

And, so, the common thread running through these readings is that they speak to us of Christ. Indeed, it is Christ himself, the Word of God, who speaks through all the words of scripture when they are read in the community of the Church. But, of course, the words of scripture are very diverse. There are many different kinds of writing in the Bible and we need to be attentive to what sort of thing it is that we are reading, and how we can hear the voice of the living Christ speaking through them.

We began today with the reading from Genesis about the Garden of Eden. This is the second of two different creation myths recorded in Genesis. A myth, as a kind of literature, is not something that is false, but something that seeks to convey true meaning under the form of a grand symbolic narrative.

The Garden of Eden is a place of harmony and peace. Everything that is created lives and belongs together, all is good and pleasant. The one thing that is not good is that the man should be alone, and so the Lord God makes companions for him in the animals, and finally in the woman who is born from his opened side.

This is a companionship that seeks union: “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh”. And yet, as we know, sin and division enter in through the disobedience of Adam and Eve. These destroy the original harmony of creation, and create an obstacle to the return to union that human beings seek.

Creation, in the scriptures, is not so much something that happened at a point in time long ago, but is more an ongoing project, a work in progress. The “In the beginning” of Genesis has a rich meaning in Hebrew: it is that which is true in principle, and continues to be true even when it is obscured. What is “original”, in the Genesis myths, is what creation is striving to be.

We see this continuing work of creation when we read the Gospels. The Word of God through whom all things were made has come into the world, to complete the work of creation and to restore that unity and peace for which we were created, and for which we long. The ancient story of Eve being born from Adam’s opened side is echoed in John’s Gospel, when the side of Christ the new Adam is opened on the cross, and out flow blood and water, the sacramental tide of Baptism and the Eucharist that gives birth to the Church, the new Eve, represented by the Mother of Jesus and the Beloved Disciple who stand beneath.

The unity and peace for which we were created are finally made possible in Christ, who unites all things in himself. The healings and miracles that were the signs of his presence in the world show that, in Christ, the work of creation is being healed and brought to perfection. So when Christ, in today’s Gospel reading, rebukes the wind and waves and saves the terrified disciples, he restores the original harmony and peace of creation. “In the beginning”, that which is true in principle, creation is good.

But the word of Christ, who speaks through the scriptures to us, comes to us with a challenge: “where is your faith”? Our recognition may be slow, as it was with the first disciples, but in Christ the creator and redeemer are one and the same. As the scriptures are read in the church, at the gathering for the Eucharist, he stands before us, the living one, the conqueror of death. We are invited not simply to learn about him, but into a living relationship with the risen Lord. In him we are indeed made one; in him we are indeed saved from sin and death.

And this is true whatever is going on for us. With the eye of faith, we can look back at Genesis and see God preparing our redemption even before everything went wrong. In the beginning, God is the redeemer. And, in the midst of the storms of life, God in Christ is with us, still.

There will be storms in our lives. Creation is still a work in progress. We look forward to the final vision where all creation is gathered in worship, in the new heaven and the new earth. But in this life, as Our Lord tells us, we will have troubles. Storms and crises can come upon us unexpectedly, and we can find ourselves feeling overwhelmed and helpless.

But in the midst of these times, Christ is still with us. He may seem to be asleep in the bottom of our rickety boat that is in danger of sinking. He may seem even to be absent or uncaring. But he is there, still. Christ, who is the Word of creation and the redeemer of the universe, is with us, no matter what. He stands before us, and asks “where is your faith”?

He does not ask us for certainty. We are not asked to pretend that we don’t have troubles. We are not asked to be strong when we are weak. We don’t have to know how it will all end. But Jesus does ask us to have faith. Faith that the creator and redeemer are one and the same, that he is the living Lord, Jesus Christ, who is with us even in the darkest storms of life. And faith, as St Paul tells us, that all things in the end will work together for good, for those who love God.

Levelling Down

 

Chrispijn van den Broeck  (1523–1591): Christ Healing the Sick (Royal Collection)

Sermon at Parish Mass 3^rd Sunday before Lent 2022

Jeremiah 17.5–10

1 Corinthians 15.12–20

Luke 6.17-26

 

You have probably had the experience of watching a film or TV series adapted from a book that you already know – an Agatha Christie mystery, perhaps, or the Lord of the Rings. You think you know the story but then you watch someone else’s interpretation and think, “it didn’t look like that in the book!”. But someone else’s view of the story can be enlightening, it can open up to us new perspectives and insights which we hadn’t seen before. How it looks to someone else can add to what the story says to us. And perhaps then we might go back to the book and read it again with new eyes.

So let’s try and visualise the scene in today’s Gospel reading. What do we think this scene looked like?

When we hear the Beatitudes, the sayings of Jesus that begin, “blessed are you who are poor”, and so on, we might think straight away, “ah, it’s the Sermon on the Mount”. Because, in Matthew’s Gospel, it is. But not in Luke. Luke records these sayings of Jesus slightly differently, and also adds the “woes” to those who are rich and full. But he also has a different account of where Jesus gives this teaching. In Luke, this scene does not take place on a mountain, but on a level place that Jesus and his disciples come down to.

The different scene in Luke adds to our understanding of what Jesus is teaching. A level place is an accessible place, and it needs to be because so many in the crowd have come to be healed. We have the little detail, that Jesus “looked up at his disciples”. If people are sick and coming to be healed they probably need to sit down, or even lie down. So, when Jesus has healed them he looks up to speak to his disciples. He is down there on the level ground, sitting or kneeling himself with the people who have come to him for healing.

A level place is a place which is accessible to all, a place where all are equal. And this levelling place sets the scene for Luke’s version of the Beatitudes – and the Woes.

The contrasts are sharp. “Blessed are you who are poor”, and that means materially poor, not the “poor in spirit” as in Matthew. “For yours is the kingdom of God”. But, “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation”.

Jesus proclaims this great reversal, a theme of Luke’s Gospel, in the level place. The powerful, the privileged and the rich are brought down, but the powerless, the marginalised and the poor are raised up, for the Kingdom of God belongs to them. It is a Gospel of liberation for the oppressed, but also a Gospel of judgment for those who have had their fill.

If we hear this as revolutionary, then we are hearing rightly – it is. But it is not a revolution as human beings tend to arrange them, where the structures of oppression stay the same and you just change who is charge at the top. God’s judgement, here and throughout the scriptures, is a call to repentance, to change. God’s judgement always offers hope. The Gospel of liberation for the poor is also the Gospel of liberation for the rich and powerful, because it is their judgement. They, too, need to be saved from the tangled web of power and privilege from which they cannot free themselves.

The Gospel of liberation brings us all down to a level place, where all are brought in as equals, and Jesus our liberator looks up at us to teach us how to be blessed. He frees the oppressed from their oppression, and the powerful from their power.

We need to hear this call to repentance, to be challenged by the Gospel of liberation, constantly. The imbalance between human beings, the un-level place of power and oppression is everywhere. Jesus summons us out from there to a level place where all are welcome and all are equal.

We need to hear it in the Church, as well as in society at large. Father Brian and I have just been doing the safeguarding training that clergy have to undertake every three years. Part of that training is a reminder of how badly the Church has got things wrong in the past. Not only in the appalling crimes of abuse themselves, but also in the ways that Church authorities, bishops and establishment figures, have covered things up, ignored complaints, let abusers go back to abusing, and abandoned the victims. It is a shocking and tragic history. It is also a failure to hear and to live the Gospel of liberation for all.

Good safeguarding practice in Church is not only about responding to disclosures of abuse. It is, even more, about creating a culture where abuse is much less likely. And that means a culture where there are no imbalances of power, where everyone is welcomed and valued as equals. Where children and vulnerable adults are placed at the centre of our care, not ignored on the margins. Where those who have authority realise that it is given them to serve, not to lord it over people. Authority to be down on their knees in the level place, attending most to the people who are most in need.

The recent history of the Church of England shows us that we still have a long way to go to create a good safeguarding culture, but we are learning. As I hope we are also learning in other areas such as race, gender and sexuality. We must not turn back or become complacent. It is Jesus who proclaims the Gospel of liberation for all. It is Jesus who calls us to come down with him to the level place, the accessible place where all are welcome and all are equal. The place where Jesus our liberator brings healing to those most in need, and where he looks up at us to teach us how to be blessed.

Sermon at Parish Mass 6 February 2022

 

Isaiah 6:1-8

1 Corinthians15:1-11

Luke 5:1-11

 

The Queen has said many memorable things in her long reign, but among the words that come to mind particularly today, the 70^th anniversary of her Accession, are some that she spoke while she was still Princess Elizabeth, in 1947:

“I declare before you all that my whole life whether it be long or short shall be devoted to your service... But I shall not have strength to carry out this resolution alone unless you join in it with me, as I now invite you to do... God help me to make good my vow, and God bless all of you who are willing to share in it.”

The Queen’s sense of calling and duty are something that come through clearly in her life. Illuminated by her Christian faith, she conceives of her role as one of service to the Nation and the Commonwealth. And all that is bound up in prayer and dependence on God. She believes that God called her to her role, and in her Coronation she was consecrated to it for life.

This morning’s readings are all in one way or another about people being called by God, to the particular task or vocation that God gives them. In all three readings, we encounter someone who is called by God but who feels inadequate for the task. Isaiah feels overwhelmed by a sense of uncleanness at the vision he has seen. Paul protests that he is unfit to be called an apostle, because he persecuted the Church of God. And Simon Peter, realising the divine power that is at work in Jesus, cries out, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’

Nevertheless, all three were called by God, all had a specific task to do. And, by the grace of God, they carried out their task. Speaking God’s word to God’s people, making disciples of the nations. Isaiah and Peter and Paul protested their unworthiness, but worthiness had nothing to do with it. It was all grace. God’s calling is God’s gift. And it was undertaken not in their own strength but in the power and strength that God gave for the task.

The calling to be an apostle or a prophet is rare. As St Paul himself says in 1 Corinthians, “Are all apostles? Are all prophets?”. Likewise, the calling to be a Christian monarch or national leader is rare. But we all do have a particular call from God. Christian discipleship, for every follower of Jesus, is in one way or another about hearing his call in our lives and responding.

For most of us this will be discerned and lived out in the ordinary circumstances of daily life. Being a parent or a carer or a partner. In our work which one way or another serves other people’s needs and helps to build up community. In hidden lives of prayer in which we lift to God all those in need, known and unknown. The everyday-ness of these things does not make our lives any less a response to God’s call, and does not mean that we are any less dependent on God’s grace. St Paul says in Colossians, “whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him”.

God’s call to us is God’s gift, and with it the strength and the grace needed to follow that call. God’s call assures us that we are loved and valued for who we are. Jesus said to the disciples, “you did not choose me, but I chose you”.

It is all grace. Worthiness has nothing to do with it. We do not need to earn God’s favour or approval. God’s call came to us first as God’s gift. Our response also is God’s gift. It is Simon Peter, who knows how sinful he is, who is called by Jesus to be a leader of his Church. Simon Peter, who will fail and deny Jesus, is called, anyway, and given grace to respond to his calling. Paul, unworthy to be called an apostle, became by God’s grace the one whom we often just call The Apostle, the messenger of Christ to the nations.

Whatever our particular vocation may be, doing everything in the name of the Lord Jesus gives joy and thankfulness to our lives. It makes daily life in a way sacramental, a breaking through of grace in the daily round and common task undertaken for God’s sake.

Cardinal Newman summed this sense of being called in the ordinary things of life:

“God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.

“He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments.

“Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about.”

Jesus calls us, every one of us, “follow me”. He has chosen us. We are loved and valued as we are. His calling is his gift. Our response is his gift. The strengths and graces we need to follow are his gift. We do not need to see the outcome. His call in our lives is his gift, and the outcome will be, too. And as we follow along the path he calls us, we do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.