I’m sure you can imagine my delight when I looked at what readings I’d be preaching on today – they are, I think we can all agree, pretty challenging.
They speak of fire, collapse, and endurance in the face of betrayal. But they also speak of hope, healing, a community called to live responsibly, and a promise that not a hair of our head will perish.
As today is Safeguarding Sunday, these words aren’t abstract. They speak directly into the life of the church today. Because safeguarding is not simply a policy – it’s how we live out our faith and embody the Gospel in how we care for one another, especially the most vulnerable.
Safeguarding requires honesty; The Church of England has failed in safeguarding. Survivors of abuse have been ignored, silenced, or retraumatised by the very institution that should have protected them. Reports such as the Makin Review into John Smyth’s abuse have detailed the devastating consequences of inaction.
The Charity Commission has criticised the Church for being too slow to implement independent safeguarding structures, warning of “insufficient urgency and pace.” These failings have caused many to lose faith in us, maybe some of us here have lost our faith in the church, even if not in our St. Michael’s community.
Yet today, as we hear these readings, we hold together the pain of failure with the hope of God’s healing. And I wonder what does it mean to be a safeguarding church, a community where the love of Jesus brings safety, dignity, and life to all?
Malachi’s prophecy begins with fire: arrogance and evil consumed like stubble. But then comes the promise: “For you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise, with healing in its wings.”
This is a vision of justice that’s not about punishment, but restoration. It’s about light breaking into darkness, warmth dispelling cold, and healing reaching those who’ve been wounded.
For survivors of abuse, this image is profoundly important. Safeguarding isn’t just about preventing harm—it’s about creating spaces where healing can happen. It’s about listening to those who’ve been hurt, believing them, and committing ourselves to change.
As we live our communal life it’s with the knowledge that we are part of God’s healing wings. We’re called to be a community where the vulnerable are not only protected, but valued; where wounds aren’t hidden, but tended with compassion; where justice isn’t delayed, but implemented with urgency.
Paul’s words to the Thessalonians sound pretty harsh: he warns against idleness, against living off the labours of others. This has often been used as a stick to beat people with - the “protestant work ethic” which underpins some pretty dodgy about those who are deserving and undeserving of charity. But Paul’s deeper point is about responsibility, and about the things we do. Faith isn’t passive, it’s about our actions as well as our beliefs.
We take responsibility when we acknowledge that Safeguarding is communal work – the responsibility of all of us. It’s not the job of a safeguarding officer, or a committee, or a bishop. Every member of the church has a role to play - noticing, listening, speaking up, acting when necessary. The principles of my day job are Speak Up, Listen Up, Follow Up, and that’s what we’re talking about here.
Paul says, “Do not grow weary in doing what is right,”. Safeguarding can feel like hard, dull, tick-box, time-consuming work – with training sessions, background checks and procedures. It can feel bureaucratic. But it’s holy work. It’s the work of protecting the children of God – old and young - and of making sure that the church isn’t a place of harm but of sanctuary.
And when the church has failed, as it has, responsibility means more than words. It means repentance. It means change. It means putting survivors at the centre, not the institution. What is right matters more than reputation. It means recognising that safeguarding isn’t an optional extra but the Gospel in action.
The reading from Luke’s Gospel is sobering. Jesus speaks of wars, earthquakes, persecution, betrayal - even families turning against each another. Yet in the midst of this, he says: “By your endurance you will gain your souls.”
Safeguarding requires endurance. It requires us to keep going, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it means confronting painful truths about our church. It requires us to stand alongside those who’ve suffered, to bear witness to their stories, and to commit ourselves to change.
Jesus promises that when we face trials, he’ll give us words and wisdom. It’s a reminder that we’re not on our own in this difficult work - it isn’t just about human effort—it’s about trusting that Christ is with us, guiding us, strengthening us, and calling us to be courageous.
Endurance also means patience with one another.
Safeguarding can feel like a burden – particularly when we have to deal with the consequences of getting it wrong, but in reality, it’s really a gift to each of us. Because It’s the way we show that every person is precious, every person is beloved, and every person deserves to flourish.
So what’s the essence of what these readings mean to us today, especially on Safeguarding Sunday?
Malachi reminds us that God’s justice brings healing.
Paul reminds us that safeguarding is a communal responsibility.
Jesus reminds us that safeguarding requires endurance and faithful witness.
To safeguard is to embody Christ’s love: to protect the vulnerable, to confront harm, to create spaces of safety and of joy. It’s to say, with our actions, that every person matters.
And it’s to acknowledge, with true humility, that we’ve failed. The Church of England has failed. Trust has been broken, faith has been shaken. But the Gospel calls us not to despair, but to repent and move towards renewal and restoration.
Safeguarding isn’t about fulfilling a requirement or ticking a box. It’s about being the body of Christ—a body that protects, heals, and endures. It’s about being a community that with Jesus co-creates an intentional space where every person can experience the sun of righteousness rising, with healing in its wings.
Amen.
