Chaplaincy Nativity and Carol Service

I'm, sure many of us are missing out on a traditional nativity and carol service this year so we'd like to welcome everyone to our Chaplaincy carol service which you can enjoy from your desk! This will unashamedly mirror the sort of family crib service Andrew and myself might have in our parishes, or maybe the Nativity plays your children or grandchildren have taken part in.

We're going to sing some much loved Christmas carols and hear what happened all those years ago on that first Christmas. We begin with O Little Town of Bethlehem

Let's set the scene for how our story begins.

Luke 2:1-5: In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to register. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.

So the journey has begun, a perfect opportunity to sing Little Donkey.

Our little donkey has taken Mary and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem and Mary is very close to giving birth. Let's see what happens next in the story.

Luke 2:6-7 :While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

Now Jesus has been born, not as you’d expect a king to be born in a palace or castle but in the place where the animals sleep. To reflect on that we sing Away in a Manger.

Let's hear about some other unexpected characters who join in the story of that first Christmas.

Luke 2:8-16: In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them: ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying: ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!’ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another: ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.

As the shepherds have come to worship Jesus we’ll sing our next carol, See Him Lying on a Bed of Straw

Now anyone familiar with the Christmas story knows there are some more guests yet to arrive in Bethlehem. 

Matthew 2:1-2 and Matthew 2:10-12: In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking: ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’ When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Of course we now need a carol about the wise men, it has to be We Three Kings

And so that was the first Christmas. Mary and Joseph travelled to Bethlehem, where Jesus was born and visited by some unlikely guests. But it’s not the end of the story, not by a long way, in fact it's just the beginning. Jesus is going to do amazing things, and Christians believe he still does amazing things in our lives and through our lives. To prepare for some prayer time we sing Silent Night.

Let us pray

Jesus Christ, born in a stable,

Be with the poor and homeless this Christmas time.

As we pray, live and give;

shine your everlasting light.

 

Jesus Christ, born of Mary,

Be with young mothers across the world this Christmas time.

As we pray, live and give;

shine your everlasting light.

 

Jesus Christ, visited by Shepherds,

Be with all who have to work this Christmas, and those who long to work.

As we pray, live and give;

shine your everlasting light.

 

Jesus Christ,

who became a refugee,

Be with those who fear for their lives, and those who have left homes and families this Christmas.

As we pray, live and give;

shine your everlasting light.

Amen.

 

This is the story of our first Christmas. We wish you all a joyful, peaceful Christmas filled with love. As we go back to our work we go with joy in our hearts, singing Joy to the World.

Go in peace,

We go in peace

Go in joy

We go in joy

Go in love

We go in love

Amen.

The Four Stages of Love

Based upon Matthew 22:34-46

I’m sure that Jesus’ reply to the rather sneaky line of questioning in today’s gospel is familiar to many of us as it’s something we hear repeated at the beginning of most communion services throughout the year. He begins with the Shema, the command from Deuteronomy 6, also repeated daily in Jewish morning and evening prayer:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind

But Jesus adds to this from Leviticus 19:

You shall love your neighbour as yourself

I think we could agree that Jesus does nothing by accident and therefore it’s the relationship between the two verses he uses that’s the important thing. If we stripped our entire faith down to it’s barest of bones what Jesus says here is the core of our belief.

Putting these two commands together, not having just one or the other, matters. If we just have the Shema we run the risk of our journey with God becoming about an isolated relationship between the two of us, just us and God. If our faith develops in that bubble we can become oblivious to everything and everyone outside of it. 

God exists within the relationship of the Trinity, giving us a clear example for our own lives. And so Jesus adds a third party to our relationship with God. Our Faith journey is not just us and God, it’s us, God and neighbour. 

Whilst doing some background reading for today’s sermon I came across the writings of Bernard of Clairvaux. He was a monk writing in the early 12th century and examined what it means to love God with our entire being, and love or neighbour as ourself, in what he called The Four Degrees of Love. I’m going to share some of his thoughts with you in the hope that he can help us pick this apart a little bit.

The first degree of love is the love of self for self’s sake, putting our-self first because it benefits us. This is where most of us start out. We have our own needs and wants and this is what we’re mainly interested in taking care of. It’s in our human nature, but if left unchecked we can go too far, we can hurt others by the pursuit of our own desires and happiness. Our love of neighbour should hopefully keep our love of ourself in check.

The second degree is the love of God for self’s sake, loving God because we may benefit from it. We may be in the middle of  a crisis and turn to God, we may be asking the big existential questions about creation and existence or we may have come from a background where we think if we don’t love God we’ll be punished, or that loving God will put us in the holy good books and God will treat us more favourably than others.

This is the kind of faith which tends to crumble when we meet real adversity and perceive that our prayers haven’t been answered. We’re a good person, a good Christian- why has this happened to us? When we’re able to open our hearts to the suffering of others, suffering outside of our own immediate situation, knowing lots of bad things happen to lots of good people, we begin to move past this.

The third degree is loving God for God’s sake. This is when we keep loving God, even when bad things happen and our own needs aren’t being met because when we continually do our best to love God, and keep loving God, we learn to know God’s goodness and as or relationship develops we love because we sense we are loved. We care for others because we come to the realisation that Jesus cares for us.

This is a mature faith, where most of us probably find ourselves.

Bernard describes one final degree of love: love of self for God’s sake. This is much more difficult to understand because so few of us experience it. It’s a moment of transcendence, rare and fleeting, when we will be of one mind with God, and our wills in one accord with God. The prayer, “Thy will be done,” will be our prayer and our delight.

This is the perfect love of God with our heart, soul, mind, and strength. I think some people spend their entire lives trying to find this, it’s like a glimpse of heaven. Unity and oneness with God. We see ourselves and others as God sees them.

Bernard writings remind us of the centrality of love in all things- those which come from God and those of our own making. He writes “Love is the fountain of life, and the soul which does not drink from it cannot be called alive.” In Jesus’ answer to a man trying to catch him out he places love at the centre of everything- our entire faith. 

Here and now, we continue to experience varying degrees of isolation, particularly with an increase in the restrictions we face but our experiences this year have helped us examine how we live alongside each other and what our communal responsibilities are. So many of the choices we have to make are driven by a love of neighbour as we choose ways of being and living that may inconvenience us in the hope that we’re doing the right things for the community as a whole.

Even when living in a more isolated way than we ever have, we can find new ways to love our neighbour and through this love to see our own place in a much bigger picture. As we, as Jesus instructs us, strive to love God perfectly, by loving each other better, we may be moving a little closer to a taste of that perfect oneness with God that Bernard tells us is achievable by each of us, if only even for a moment.

Amen.

Where do we fit in?

Preached this morning both in church and on Zoom- until the Internet booted me off before I'd finished! Based on Matthew 16.13-20  and Romans 12.1-8

If you’ve been listening to my sermons for a while now you may remember that I have a lot of affection for Simon Peter. We see him today given his nickname, Peter, The Rock, “Rocky”, which I think rather suits his temperament; he’s hot headed and punchy, not really given to thinking before he speaks or acts.

Yet it’s by not thinking too hard and going by his gut instinct that leads Peter to be the one disciple who’s able to answer Jesus’ question correctly.

“and who do you say that I am?”

“you are the Messiah, the son of the living God”

No deep contemplation, he just blurts out what comes into his head; and he’s right!

Jesus then names Peter first amongst equals, and he becomes a defining figure in the early church. He was the first to be called, the first we usually see named in lists of apostles and the one from whom Paul seeks approval from as he sets out on his own mission, even though they have disagreements.

For all his paradoxes and contradictions Peter becomes a unifying figure, at the centre of the vision of a community of faith, central to Paul’s vision of the one body, the perfect example of how it takes people of every kind to build that community.

The body image is the illustration of the perfect inclusive church where no one is excluded, we all fit in somewhere. Both the person of Peter and the vision of Paul serve to give us hope that no matter what our faults or differences, God has a place for us.

And yet we continually see a society which normalises exclusion, whether consciously or unconsciously, and faith communities which mirror this. No matter where we go, which communities we move in, there’s some sense of what’s acceptable and what’s unacceptable, what helps you to “fit” and what draws attention to the ways in which you don’t fit in. Body size, disability, sexuality, gender, age, race; not being neurotypical, level of education, marital status, financial status. These are all elements of ourselves which may have made us feel included or excluded.

My vision is that we’re working on building a community here where each and every one of us feels safe, valued and accepted, particularly if that’s not something we’re used to experiencing in the wider world. Paul’s vision reminds us that God is so big as to be able to accommodate each and every one of us.

To truly build up a fully inclusive community we have to look at ourselves as an institution, and face that there were times, and may still be, when the church has been on the wrong side of history, has colluded with worldly powers and has rejected and excluded in the name of the one who welcomes all and excludes no-one.

But, like Peter’s, ours is a redemption story – remember this is the man who after these events goes on to deny Jesus and then be forgiven. 

There’s a reason why our services have an act of confession built into them- we only grow by acknowledging our mistakes and failings. To love as God loves we need to see ourselves as God sees us, that includes knowing we each are loved AND being honest about the times we ourselves have not been loving, whether individually or collectively. 

Peter’s life, as the first, unifying head of the church, is a good metaphor for the history of the church and of Christianity. We’ve got things wrong, we’ve rejected Christ for our own interests; we’ve got things right and recognised the activity of God when we’ve seen it. The church has at times been unstable, tactless and impetuous, at times been faithful and filled with love and life-giving.

Peter’s life also gives me hope for the church- and for myself. It took many years and many mistakes for him to become who he became. We share his faults and failings, so we can also share in his successes and ability to see Jesus for exactly who he is. And Jesus never rejects Peter, even when he himself is rejected. That’s my ideal of how we live and respond to the world around us, always trying our best to love and welcome the world even when it doesn’t seem to love or welcome us.

My vision of a loving and inclusive community does reject something- it rejects our inability to disagree courteously and reduce each argument or disagreement to binaries- wrong or right, black or white. This vision of inclusion embraces nuance and debate and discussion. It’s a place where minds and hearts as well as its doors are open.

Showing the love of Christ and modelling what it can look like to truly live out the love which pours from God hopefully means we open up the hearts and minds of others to what’s possible when we stop trying to divide, separate and exclude. 

I want this to be a place where there’s no rules about who does or doesn’t fit in, because we all do. I get a daily email with a reflection from The Society of St John the Evangelist. On Thursday Br. Curtis wrote: we’re all different from one another: different gifts and needs, which is what God uses to knit us together. Our distinctive gifts and distinctive needs are intended to complement one another, not intended for either competition or conflict.

And on Friday Br. Nicholas wrote we all belong to Christ. If we fully surrender to God’s love and mercy, then how can we judge and despise each other? When we love one another with open hearts, without judging, without creating separation where none need exist, that’s when were letting Christ’s light shine as God lives through us. 

Amen.

More Than Enough

Both of our readings this morning (Isaiah 55.1-5 & Matthew 14.13-21)- focus on active displays of God’s overwhelming abundance and generosity, and in particular what God does with very little, the abundance God creates, as we see a few fish and loaves transformed into a meal which feeds thousands, with enough leftovers to feed many more. 

I want to give a bit of context to the gospel passage because it helps set the scene a little and also acts as a contrast to how we see God work in the reading.

Jesus is seeking solitude as he’s just learned about the death of John the Baptist and needs some space to process that. John is killed after the events at Herod’s birthday celebration, an event which acts as a contrast to Jesus’s actions here. Herod’s party is hollow, shallow and elitist. It results in life being taken. Compare this to how Jesus cares and nurtures and feeds; no one is turned away, he sustains and nourishes in a way which lasts.

As the huge crowd of people try to follow Jesus as he retreats in his grief we see something I talked about recently in an online service- splagthnizomai: bowels of mercy. A physical, visceral response. Jesus is physically moved in the very core of his being to feel compassion for the crowd. 

This is Jesus who is trying to process his own grief and loss and yet still has it within himself to act with the utmost compassion and care towards those who have sought him out, who want or need something from him. And he gives it.

He talks and he teaches, he heals. He gives them what they need. By this point it’s really late and the disciples are thinking “job done, time to send them away”. But Jesus says no. you feed them. It’s like the worse case scenario of someone popping round for tea and having nothing in.

You can only imagine what the disciples must have thought, looking out over that crowd, and if you think, the 5000 was only the men, not counting women and children, there must have been upwards of 10,000 people there with a conservative estimate.

How do you feed 10,000 plus people? What on earth must the disciples have thought of Jesus? But Jesus knew they could do it, because more than anyone Jesus knows and demonstrates the character of God; he knows God is generous and compassionate and that is what is revealed by what followed

Jesus takes what can be found, he looks to heaven and then he blesses, breaks and shares what’s before him. That eucharistic imagery is not a coincidence, these are the actions Jesus will repeat at the Last Supper, the actions I will perform this morning. These actions have, until recently, punctuated our lives as members of a church community where communion is central to our worship- for some of us that has been through our entire life, and to have that denied to us through lockdown has been very painful indeed. 

It’s an example of our God and our faith as physical and practical. We have an incarnate God and an embodied faith. This gospel story of meeting need with abundance is an example of what Angus Ritchie means when he wrote “Eucharistic worship must lead on to truly eucharistic lives. Such lives will exhibit that “freedom from self-concern” which enables us to see our neighbour as a gift and not an interruption”

The disciples probably saw the crowd as an interruption, but Jesus, even in the midst of his own pain, saw them as a gift, and a gift through which he chose to reveal even more of God’s character.

So now we’ve reached a day where it’s possible to once more share in God’s abundance and for some of us to be able to share communion once more, but it’s important to remember that’s still not the case for everyone. We have many vulnerable members of this community for whom returning to the church building isn’t the right thing yet. I think it must be incredibly difficult for those of you who aren’t able to share in that act.

I hope we can be fortified in knowing that even if we can’t share in the elements, our worship, this worship we share today, is still eucharistic, and as Rosalind Brown reminds us the Eucharist is about God’s care for the world. We pray for the world though our eucharistic prayer and we pray that this directs our own actions:

"Lord of all life, help us to work together for that day when your Kingdom comes, and justice and mercy will be seen in all the earth." 

"Send us out in the power of your Spirit to live and work to your praise and glory;" 

"May we who share Christ's body live his risen life, we who drink his cup bring life to others, we whom the Spirit lights give light to the world."

Like the bread and fish Jesus gathers up, we too are taken by Jesus, blessed, broken and shared for the world. No matter how little we think we are or how little we feel we have to give, the words of our prayers and nature of our worship are shaped to remind us that our little, through God, is enough, is more than enough. We’re what God uses to sustain others, even if we feel very small and inadequate. 

Even if we can’t share in the fullness of a communion service as we once knew it we can share our fully eucharistic lives, knowing that whatever we offer to God will be multiplied and used to magnify and glorify God’s love in our world. 

And through our prayers for the world God directs us towards those people who surround us, who are a gift to us, and God continues to show his abundant and excessive love, where all are filled and there’s always enough to share and there’s always more than enough left over. Amen.

Simul Justus et Peccator

Based upon Matthew 13.24-30,36-43

Today’s gospel in an incredibly difficult passage and not one I’ve relished having to unpick. We hear Jesus share a parable of weeds and wheat, growing together and then being sorted at the harvest, the weeds being burned up. Jesus even gives us a handy explanation which seems to tie everything together neatly.

And yet the parables are never that neat or easy to interpret, even when an explanation seems to have been offered. We have a knack of entirely removing the context and relating it to ourselves, often missing its meaning entirely. 

My difficulty with this passage is how it’s been used over the centuries- as a means to control through fear, as a way of perpetuating a view of the afterlife which I don’t believe in and doesn’t match the loving God I do believe in. it’s also been used as a means of virtue signalling; we are the wheat and you are the weeds. We are good and you are bad.

I don’t know if it’s necessarily a useful analogy for us here and now. It may have given reassurance to Matthew’s audience, and it’s interesting to note it only appears in Matthew, written for a people who were victims of oppression, violence and war, wanting the evil that caused their pain eradicated. Wanting to know there would eventually be justice. 

I have a rule when trying to decipher the bible. Does what I’m reading about who God is and how God is resonate with Jesus’ primary teachings? If not their must be something else going on.

The image of weeds and wheat is so inflexible- wheat can’t become a weed and weeds can’t become wheat. This doesn’t fit with the image of an all-loving God who loves each of us and knows we each have the ability to grow and change and become the people God knows we can be. No one is all good or all bad, we’re each a complicated, nuanced mixture. 

If there’s any absolute truth it’s that each of us is simultaneously weeds and wheat. Martin Luther had this absolutely correct when he said that we’re simul justus et peccator: we are at the same time, sinner and saint.

Our task is to recognise that within ourselves, to know what our weeds are, be realistic about them, name them and work on them. We run into trouble by imagining we’re weed free, that we’re only magnificent, flawless and faultless wheat. 

If we think about how God loves us it might be worth thinking about someone we love, how we love them; a child, spouse, parent or friend. We love them despite their imperfections, why would God be any different? 

The thing being in lockdown has forced us to confront is ourselves, and those we live with. Having no option but to be either alone with ourselves or those in our household for several months may have highlighted for each of us the things which irk us about those we love or those things within ourselves we’re not so happy about. 

I’m sure, for the most part, we still love those we live with despite the things which have annoyed us. Hopefully we can say the same thing about the person we see in the mirror. Can we accept our own weeds and love ourselves in spite of them?

There’s so much mystery in how God has created us and our world, and within that good and evil, saint and sinner, are held together in a constant tension, as the weeds and wheat grow alongside each other, the removal of one would damage the other. Our flaws contribute to the person we are.

Maybe one way we can interpret this passage is to know that eventually, when at the end we’re drawn into the eternal mystery of God’s love and become one with that love, all things are made good and pure and whole. 

The fire of God’s love transforms everything, even our deepest flaws and wildest weeds. Until then we live the paradox of being both wheat and weed, saint and sinner, and knowing that is actually how God intends it to be. Amen.

Splagthnizomai

Based upon Matthew 9.35-10.8

I’m sure many of us are pretty familiar with this passage, you’ve probably heard it preached on before, or maybe the similar passage from Luke or Mark. I’m not going to talk about what The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few means for us today, because that’s not what I’ve found interesting as I’ve mulled over this passage over the last few days.

I absolute love it when I read a passage of scripture which I’ve read dozens of times before but in that moment something different than before grips me, as if I’m reading it for the first time. That happened when I read He had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless.

Now I’m going to get a bit anatomical this morning – that’s a fair warning for those of you who don’t enjoy talk of bodily things.

Compassion is a wonderful word, and an even more wonderful component of our humanity. I think it’s a massive part of what it means for us to be made in god’s image. But it’s actually a bit of a “nice” or weedy translation of what the original Greek word used by the gospel writer means.

Their word was far more visceral – literally. I have a writer called Charles Erlandson to thank for this translation, and my Greek isn’t great, but the word splagthnizomai, comes from the word for inward parts or entrails and so means to be moved with “bowels of mercy” or to have a visceral, physical, reaction of compassion.

For me this translation completely transforms Jesus’ reaction to the crowd. I was trying to think of a modern comparison that might make the reaction relatable for us and one which came to mind was the collective response to watching Michael Buerk’s 1984 news report on the famine in Ethiopia. The report caused that visceral, gut-churning experience of compassion which then forced a reaction in us- in that instance a world-wide drive of action and aid.

It’s also really interesting to look at the translation of the word which has driven Jesus’ splagthnizomai. The Greek word used for the helpless crowd is, according to Church Times writer Angus Ritchie eskylmenoi - translated as “harassed”, but more accurately “mangled” or “torn asunder”. Another translation is feeling “flayed alive”. It’s another very visceral word, and these very physical words are a reminder that we have a God who has lived our human life with our human body and human emotions.

We’ve seen a lot of crowds on our screens recently but I don’t know if your own reaction has been one of compassion, or fear or anger. Now I don’t think that those protestors I’ve seen standing in solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement have necessarily been fearful or leaderless, so this is in no way a direct comparison with our gospel story, but I think it may give us some degree of insight into how and why people have been driven to demonstrate even when it may be putting their own safety or the safety of others at risk in the middle of a worldwide pandemic.

I think protestors probably fall into two camps- the first are those who have felt harassed and helpless, mangled and torn asunder. People from black and minority ethnic groups who have experienced abuse, hate, racism, discrimination and “othering” from individuals, groups and institutions, or have witnessed it in others.

A world-wide coming together of circumstances has triggered a collective snap, and these protestors feel they can no longer live without much needed systemic change.

The second group of protestors I believe are those who have experienced the gut-wrenching physical compassion of witnessing the harassment and helplessness of others and have been moved into action, standing beside the harassed and helpless, and maybe even recognising their own part in the systems which have allowed discrimination to continue. 

Now I don’t know if the protests are right or wrong, I believe our right to protest is a fundamental one, but we are still in the grip of this awful virus, yet I do believe those who have chosen to protest are acting upon conscience and compassion.

It was incredibly moving on Monday evening to attend the Diocese online event Prayer and Protest where our own Cathedral Dean, Rogers, spoke of his experiences of racism and life in South Africa under apartheid. Archdeacon Karen talked about her inability of knowing whether to go out and protest or not- preparing to leave the house three times before finally staying home.

These are, as we are constantly reminded, unprecedented times and it’s so hard to know how to react and respond even when we feel that gut-wrenching compassion for the suffering others have experienced and continue to experience.

Jesus’ response to what he witnesses is in part to recognise that he alone is not enough. In this context I don’t think the harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few is about going and making new recruits for the church. I said I wasn’t going to talk about that didn’t I? I guess it couldn’t be avoided but I read this as meaning there’s an awful lot of people out there who are in need of help and healing, and not enough of us willing to do the helping and facilitate the healing.

It’s also interesting to look at what Jesus’ form of help looks like; Recognising he needs help he instructs the 12. This is the first place they’re called Apostles, meaning sent, and he gives them their mission; cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. It’s practical and physical, it’s acts of healing and love, it’s making God’s love visible in the world. The foundation our church is built upon.

If our compassion drives us to want to act, how can we make God’s love visible in the world? How can we offer healing and practical help – and how can we do this in the middle of a global pandemic?

The most important thing we can do is educate ourselves. The General Commission on Race and Religion have made some suggestions. 

We can read articles or books or watch films and documentaries by people from other cultures and backgrounds. There's a lot of things we can view online right now- the documentary 13th and the film Belle are a good start. I've seen historian David Olusoga interviewed a lot recently and his book Black and British is on many of the recommended lists.

We can follow the social media of people or organisations which represent BAME groups.

We can visit online museums and cultural centres.

We can listen to friends who identify as belonging to another culture.

And we can learn about our own history and how that history has affected others.

Educating ourselves is the most important step but there's action we can take too- signing petitions on parliament.uk to bring about official response, writing to your MP about issues of racial justice, donate if you're able. There's a whole variety of causes you may wish to support financially, including a bereavement fund helping with memorial and funeral costs for BAME families who we know are disproportionately affected by covid-19.

A spokesperson for Hackney Stand Up To Racism said: “Our best way of fighting racism is in unity. Anti-racists are the vast majority and our strength is in solidarity and organisation and a refusal to concede a millimetre to the racists.”

If our role as a church is to be a visible sign of God's love in the world than I believe it's our duty to be actively anti-racist.

We’re the body of Christ and as we read in 1 Corinthians “if one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honoured, every part rejoices with it.” Amen. 

To follow up on this morning's sermon here is a resource list. These a just a few suggestions and is the tiniest tip of the iceberg:

LISTEN

Witness Black History' by BBC World Service https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01h9dl0/episodes/downloads

READ

'Black, Listed: Black British Culture Explored' by Jeffrey Boakye

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Black-Listed-Jeffrey-Boakye/dp/0349700559

‘Black and British: A Forgotten History’ by David Olusoga https://www.amazon.co.uk/Black-British-Forgotten-David-Olusoga/dp/1447299760 

‘Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging’ by Afua Hirsch https://www.waterstones.com/book/brit-ish/afua-hirsch/9781784705039 

WATCH

13th (2006) https://www.netflix.com/gb/title/80091741 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krfcq5pF8u8 

Belle (2013) https://thevore.com/film/35834/ 

The Unwanted: The Secret Windrush Files https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m00068sk/the-unwanted-the-secret-windrush-files 

Britain’s Forgotten Slave Owners https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b062nqpd/britains-forgotten-slave-owners-1-profit-and-loss 

SIGN

UK Government and Parliament https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions?state=all 

WRITE

Write to your MP https://www.writetothem.com/ 

Email Gavin Williamson, Secretary of State for Education, to support The Black Curriculum’s campaign to address the lack of black history taught in UK schools. https://www.theblackcurriculum.com/action 

DONATE

Black Lives Matter UK (BLMUK) https://www.gofundme.com/f/ukblm-fund

Stand Up to Racism https://www.standuptoracism.org.uk/join-donate/ 

Majonzi Fund https://www.gofundme.com/f/majonzi-fund-covid19-bereavement-fund 

FOLLOW

Some suggestions here: https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/black-lives-matter-anti-racism-activists-instagram-social-media-a9554186.html

Leaving the Sheep Fold

There’s going to be a lot of sheep metaphors today because the 4th Sunday of Easter is also called Good Shepherd Sunday. If we were to have our full set of readings we would hear the Shepherd and their sheep evoked in Psalm 23; by St Peter’s writings; and we would hear of those very first Christians in the Book of Acts living out a version of Jesus’ gospel teaching. 

There must be something important in what Jesus is trying to get across to his listeners in this passage because he’s using an image that comes up again and again throughout the Hebrew Scriptures. As well as probably the best known psalm, the shepherd metaphor is used by Isaiah, Ezekiel, Micah…Jesus must be trying to communicate something important about God’s character and intention, and how his hearer’s should respond to that, even if, as we heard in the gospel account, they weren’t quite grasping it.

I remember on this Sunday five years ago Huw’s dad came to preach- I don’t always remember sermons I must admit but that one stuck with me. He spoke of God’s care for each and every one of us. We’d just entered an interregnum so we were a flock without a shepherd; now we have a shepherd, but the sheep are scattered, unable to be physically gathered in our fold.

It’s an incredibly unsettling time as clergy, and all those involved in church leadership, and our team here at St Michael’s, try to work out what shepherding our flock looks like in lockdown- and beyond as we imagine what church and community may be like when the world, probably quite slowly, begins to emerge from isolation.

We also have the challenge of looking to the ultimate Good Shepherd, Jesus himself, and wondering how we live that God-infused abundant life in our varying situations right now.

The Good Shepherd has for centuries been used as the ultimate model of how a “good Priest” should lead, it’s written into our ordination rites, and is what I would hope we each aspire to. Jesus describes the shepherd as a gatekeeper, but gates can be used to keep people out or let people in, admission or exclusion.

Our task is finding ways to nurture and feed our community which admit as many as possible and exclude as few as possible. As we find these new ways of worshipping and sharing our faith we’re admitting new people through the gate, but at the same time these new ways aren’t accessible or helpful to all members of our community and they may feeling excluded or shut out.

But there is good news here for those of us worried about the flock, concerned that we aren’t able to care for all as we’d wish. 

In the shepherding metaphor we, the people of God are the sheep. Now your impression of sheep may be that they're kind of skittish and none too bright but if you’ve spent any time with them you come the realise they’re also pretty tough, they’re hardy and resilient creatures. They're out in all weathers, in all terrains and in all circumstances. 

Also, they don't require constant attention, they're pretty good at just getting on and doing their own thing without their Shepherd being constantly present- they just check in every now and again to make sure one of the flock isn't in bother. 

Essentially sheep are equipped for survival, if we're God's "sheep" that means we’re equipped for survival too!

We're experiencing a pretty tough time right now but I truly believe we are designed for tough times. Having faith isn't a magic bullet to protect us from times like these but part of what helps pull us through and weather the storm, knowing we aren't on our own; the shepherd may not always be in sight, but they're never too far from us either.

I read a couple of articles this week on the Patheos website by a David Roberts and they gave me a new perspective on the shepherding metaphor.

We see the sheep fold as the place of safety, maybe as our home or church, or the traditions of our faith that bring us comfort- but where is the shepherd? Not in the fold.

To lead us to the green pastures we hear of in that famous psalm, to the abundant life promised by Jesus, The shepherd calls us out from the fold, we follow their voice as we’re led through the wilderness and eventually we will make it to those green pastures to the life Jesus intends for us.

To all of us who’re trying to lead: please try not to worry, the flock know the shepherd’s voice and are a hardy bunch, built to weather the storm. And to us the flock; trust the voice you know is God’s, follow where it leads. We will weather the storm, we will pass through the wilderness and there will, eventually, be in green pastures. Amen.

John 10.1-10

‘Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.’ Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

Nick Cave on prayer

The following is from a blog post authored by Musician Nick Cave. As a team we've been pondering if "prayer" is an inclusive or exclusive term as we (alongside many chaplaincy teams throughout the country) plan to light a candle at midday, each day, and pray for colleagues, patients and their dear ones who are effected by Covid-19.

The act of prayer is by no means exclusive to religious practise because prayer is not dependent on the existence of a subject. You need not pray to anyone. It is just as valuable to pray into your disbelief, as it is to pray into your belief, for prayer is not an encounter with an external agent, rather it is an encounter with oneself. There is as much chance of our prayers being answered by a God that exists as a God that doesn’t. I do not mean this facetiously, for prayers are very often answered.

A prayer provides us with a moment in time where we can contemplate the things that are important to us, and this watchful application of our attention can manifest these essential needs. The act of prayer asks of us something and by doing so delivers much in return — it asks us to present ourselves to the unknown as we are, devoid of pretence and affectation, and to contemplate exactly what it is we love or cherish. Through this conversation with our inner self we confront the nature of our own existence.

The coronavirus has brought us to our knees, yet it has also presented us with the opportunity to be prayerful, whether we believe in God or not. By forcing us into isolation, it has dismantled our constructed selves, by challenging our presumed needs, our desires, and our ambitions and rendered us raw, essential and reflective. Our sudden dislocation has thrown us into a mystery that exists at the edge of tears and revelation, for none of us knows what tomorrow will bring.

In our hubris we thought we knew, but as we bow our heads within the virus’ awesome power, all we are sure of now is our defencelessness. In the end this vulnerability may be, for our planet and ourselves, our saving grace, as we step chastened into tomorrow. Released from our certitude, we present our purest offering to the world — our prayers.

The original post can be found here

Broken Bread

Sonnet by Malcolm Guite used in this morning's service:

We thought that everything was lost and gone,

Disaster on disaster overtook us

The night we left our Jesus all alone

And we were scattered, and our faith forsook us.

But oh that foul Friday proved far worse,

For we had hoped that he had been the one,

Till crucifixion proved he was a curse,

And on the cross our hopes were all undone.

Oh foolish foolish heart why do you grieve?

Here is good news and comfort to your soul:

Open your mind to scripture and believe

He bore the curse for you to make you whole

The living God was numbered with the dead

That He might bring you Life in broken bread.

Tuesday of Holy Week 2020

Short meditation from last night's service of prayers for wholeness and healing.

On Ash Wednesday we entered the wilderness; we started a journey that began with the words “remember you are dust and to dust you will return” on a day set aside for us to remember the fact that one day we will die.

 

How could we have known, less than 6 weeks ago, what Holy Week would look like this year, just how deeply we would be in the wilderness place and how starkly we would be confronting death.

 

That’s a journey not one of us would want to begin, buts it’s the journey we’ve had no choice but to be led on.

 

In our Holy Week readings Jesus has now entered the last week of his life, and he knows it. But he still takes time to provide comfort for those around him:

 

Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.

 

What light can we find in the midst of all this darkness? What do those glimpses of light point us towards?

 

Maybe it’s our faith, our family, the kindness of people we didn’t know before this or the gratitude of someone we’ve helped.

 

I’ve seen God in so many people through these last few weeks; in acts of random kindness, in the coming together of communities, in the finding of new ways to be together; as friends, families and churches. In the slower pace of life, in the enforced sabbath rest. God is here in it all.

 

Those glimpses of light are glimpses of God, and therefore glimpses of love. The morning canticle from the Northumbria Community helps us to pray each day to be directed by the light:

Christ, as a light illumine and guide me.

Christ, as a shield overshadow me.

Christ under me; Christ over me;

Christ beside me; on my left and my right.

This year when Easter day dawns and we meet the risen Christ we’ll still be in the wilderness. Again, I look to the Northumbria Community for comfort with words from their evening prayer: Lord you have always lightened this darkness of mine; and though the night is here, today I believe.

I believe God is holding us in this darkness, I believe Jesus meets us in the wilderness and walks beside us. We believe in the light to carry us through the dark. We believe in the light, so that we may become children of light.

Amen.

Love alone overcomes fear

This is the message I read during yesterday's eucharist from my home.

A Message from Richard Rohr about COVID-19

Love Alone Overcomes Fear
March 19, 2020

It is shocking to think how much the world has changed in such a brief time. Each of us has had our lives and communities disrupted. Of course, I am here in this with you. I feel that I’m in no position to tell you how to feel or how to think, but there are a few things that come to mind I will share. 

A few days ago I was encouraged by the Franciscans and by the leadership team here at the CAC to self-quarantine, so I’ve been in my little hermitage now for three or four days. I’ve had years of practice, literally, how to do what we are calling “social distancing.” I have a nice, large yard behind me where there are four huge, beautiful cottonwood trees, and so I walk my dog Opie every few hours.

Right now I’m trying to take in psychologically, spiritually, and personally, what is God trying to say? When I use that phrase, I’m not saying that God causes suffering to teach us good things. But God does use everything, and if God wanted us to experience global solidarity, I can’t think of a better way. We all have access to this suffering, and it bypasses race, gender, religion, and nation. 

We are in the midst of a highly teachable moment. There’s no doubt that this period will be referred to for the rest of our lifetimes. We have a chance to go deep, and to go broad. Globally, we’re in this together. Depth is being forced on us by great suffering, which as I like to say, always leads to great love. 

But for God to reach us, we have to allow suffering to wound us. Now is no time for an academic solidarity with the world. Real solidarity needs to be felt and suffered. That’s the real meaning of the word “suffer” – to allow someone else’s pain to influence us in a real way. We need to move beyond our own personal feelings and take in the whole. This, I must say, is one of the gifts of television: we can turn it on and see how people in countries other than our own are hurting. What is going to happen to those living in isolated places or for those who don’t have health care? Imagine the fragility of the most marginalized, of people in prisons, the homeless, or even the people performing necessary services, such as ambulance drivers, nurses, and doctors, risking their lives to keep society together? Our feelings of urgency and devastation are not exaggeration: they are responding to the real human situation. We’re not pushing the panic button; we are the panic button. And we have to allow these feelings, and invite God’s presence to hold and sustain us in a time of collective prayer and lament. 

I hope this experience will force our attention outwards to the suffering of the most vulnerable. Love always means going beyond yourself to otherness. It takes two. There has to be the lover and the beloved. We must be stretched to an encounter with otherness, and only then do we know it’s love. This is what we call the subject-subject relationship. Love alone overcomes fear and is the true foundation that lasts (1 Corinthians 13:13). 

Mothering Sunday 2020

This could very well be the oddest way any of us have spent Mothering Sunday. Now I’m not always in church because of my job as a nurse, but if I were working we’d celebrate on another day. For many of us it’s a time to celebrate, gather with our families, eat together, and for us Christians we celebrate as a community, often relaxing our Lenten restrictions a little bit. I don’t tend to drink alcohol in Lent but that Mother’s Day gin is something I look forward to!

What do celebration and gathering look like today? I’m luckier than many people in my age group- I still live with my mum! Or rather we live together, but even for us we’re celebrating apart as we avoid each other’s parts of the house in an effort to protect her as she’s in a high-risk category. We’ll be eating the same meal later but in separate rooms.

One thing we learn from today’s gospel (John 19.25b-27) is that family doesn’t always follow a traditional pattern. Jesus directs his mother Mary to form a new family unit with his beloved disciple, probably John himself. A mother-son bond is created between two people who aren’t related but who have been drawn together in the most remarkable circumstances.

So for us, looking to the gospel, our gathering and celebration are not going to follow a traditional pattern today. For some this will mean phone calls, for others skype where they can see each other. It’s possible that whole families may be gathering using online video conferencing. Some may simply be choosing to do the same thing at the same time, like watching a favourite film.

The hospital unit I work on treats patients with impaired immune systems and through this I’ve watched many patients share in family celebrations because of technology. I’ve seen father of the bride speeches delivered from hospital rooms, special anniversary meals, spouses on different continents connect with each other, important exam results shared, school performances watched, and wedding receptions attended via a laptop. 

Technology is something many of us may take for granted, we may despise or adore it but maybe it’s only now that it’s ability to truly connect, for all the right reasons, is only just being fully appreciated. And this is what our churches are finding out.

Mothering Sunday is traditionally the time to return to your “mother church” or home parish, but the best definition I’ve found of mother church is depicting the Christian Church as a mother in its ability to nourish and protect. Hopefully this is how we can be mother church for you now.

We want to protect by closing our doors, as alien as that is to us, and we want to share good, factual information to support your continued protection whilst we can’t gather in person. We want to nurture by exploring ways of connecting and worshipping which work for as many people as possible, the way we’re doing this is still evolving.

A few days ago Pope Francis shared the following Message:

Tonight before falling asleep

think about when we will return to the street.

When we hug again,

when all the shopping together will seem like a party.

Let’s think about when the coffees will return to the bar,

the small talk, the photos close to each other.

We think about when it will be all a memory

but normalcy will seem an unexpected and beautiful gift.

We will love everything that has so far seemed futile to us.

Every second will be precious.

Swims at the sea, the sun until late,

sunsets, toasts, laughter.

We will go back to laughing together.

Strength and courage.

Until we can gather in person again, until we can hug our parents without fear, we will continue to be, as we have always been, Mother Church. To protect, to nurture, and to love as God loves. A different church, but one forever filled with hope. Amen.

Intercessions 

"As truly as God is our father, so just as truly is God our mother. In our father, God Almighty, we have our being; in our merciful mother we are re-made and restored. Our fragmented lives are knit together and made perfect. And by giving and yielding ourselves, through grace, to the Holy Spirit we are made whole." ~ Julian of Norwich

Holy One, we gather in your presence to give you thanks and to celebrate the gift of your love; a love that supports, nurtures and challenges us in ways that strengthen and transform us. We offer you praise and thanksgiving for your unfailing presence in our lives and all of the blessings that you so generously offer us.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Today, as we celebrate Mother's Day, we give thanks for mothers the world over. We give thanks for all those who have nurtured and care for us, remembering especially, birth mothers, adoptive mothers, surrogate mothers, aunts, grandmothers, teachers, neighbours and all women who have shared their faith with us.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

We pray, compassionate God, for those mothers who have been hurt, disillusioned, or disappointed in their role as mother. We pray for those who have been denied a longed for chance at motherhood, and for those whose years of mothering have been cut short by the loss of a child.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

We lift up before you, O God, the members of our human family around the world—for those who are afflicted or suffering at this time—for those who need healing, for those who require bread or shelter, for those who live in violent homes and communities, for those who are grieving, and for those whose needs are known to you alone…

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

We remember before you the mothers we have lost who now rejoice in your kingdom. We pray for those who mourn them, whether the loss was recently or long ago. We pray for all who have died recently…

And those whose anniversaries fall this week…

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Holy Mother and Father of us all, touch us with your healing peace and gentle  embrace that we may walk in your ways bringing dignity, justice and peace to all corners of your world. All of this we pray in the strong name of Jesus.

Amen.

from the World in Prayer website. http://www.worldinprayer.org/

Feast of St Joseph- stay connected

This is rather an odd day. I’ve led communion services where there’s only been 2 of us before, that’s usually the case when we hold a eucharist at the hospital chaplaincy; but I’ve never presided over a eucharist in a situation like this, of course very few of us could even imagine such a time and situation as this. 

There’s Paul and myself here now but I have no idea how many people will share in our communion today as we attempt our first St Michael’s service recording. As many of you will now be aware the church as a whole has taken the unprecedented step to suspend all public worship, so our challenge and call is to find alternative and creative ways of sharing our worship with you and continuing in our communal life even though that communal life is being lived out apart for now.

You might be wondering why, half-way through Lent, we're back at Christmas in our gospel reading today (Matthew 1:18-end), but today is in fact the feast day of St Joseph, so he is central in our gospel. And there’s two things I take from this reading in our current situation.

Firstly about Joseph himself. We really know so little of him. After Jesus' childhood he completely disappears and so most of the year, outside of the Christmas story, he's completely overlooked, and yet he is so important. I remember I mentioned this briefly in my midnight mass sermon; Jesus and Mary have Josephs name and therefore his protection. With Mary, Joseph creates a home and a family in which Jesus grows and is nurtured and in which they go on to welcome further children.

It’s reminding me of all those people who are important- central- to the crisis we find ourselves in right now. The overlooked, those labelled as unimportant until there importance is central to the well being of each and everyone of us; care staff, domestic staff, delivery drivers, supermarket workers, porters, lab staff and so many others whose worth to the functioning of society is only now becoming clear to so many of us.

Secondly the reading is a reminder of the most central truth of our existence; God is with us. Emmanuel. It may not feel like it, but through all of this mess God is and always is with us. For our highest of highs and lowest of lows we have a God who chooses to be alongside us and experience our hardships, pain, our grief and confusion. All of it.

And we're reminded of the angels words to Joseph, the words we need right now; “do not be afraid". I believe this is the most common phrase communicated to us from God within the scriptures. I don’t know if it’s true but I have read that it’s written 365 times- once for every day of the year.  Whether that’s true or not doesn’t detract from it being something God wishes to get through to us more than anything else. God is with us, do not be afraid.

That is of course much easier to say than do, and for many of us this is a time of disruption, fear and unknowing. We’re still in the Lent wilderness but none of us could have imagined this is the place we were being led to. 

As people of faith we’re called to be different, and whilst we must live within these new boundaries I implore each of us to use our fear of the unknown and channel it into making connections, of finding new ways of being church, new ways of serving and supporting our community. God is with us. Do not be afraid.

Intercessions

Let us pray for the Church and God’s world

and, inspired by the example of Joseph,

for grace to grow in faith and holiness

and to follow ever more closely in the way of Christ. Joseph was the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah: may we value our family life at home and in the wider family of the Church. We pray for all the members of our community and the wider church who are actively seeking out new ways of being church in our daily changing world. We pray for churches coming together to support the most isolated and the most in need.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer

Joseph was asked by the angel to not be afraid and to trust in God’s will: may we have no fear when we hear God’s call to his service. We pray for all those called to serve others. We pray in particular for NHS workers and those working in shops selling vital provisions. We think of those who cannot work right now and those who have lost their jobs.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer

Joseph was a man of integrity, protecting Mary from the societal disgrace she may have experienced. May we lead lives of integrity and be concerned for others.

We pray for those leading communities and nations right now, that they be people of truth and integrity.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer

Joseph protected Jesus and Mary from the wrath of Herod: may we always seek to shield those who are weak and vulnerable.

We pray for those who are ill, those who are suffering with mental health conditions, those who are frightened, the most at risk groups and those who are isolated and lonely. We offer our prayers for those on our church healing list.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer

Joseph took his family and returned to his native land: we remember those who have died recently and those anniversaries fall this week. May we, with them and all the departed, be welcomed to the banquet of eternal life.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer

Almighty God,

we give you thanks for Joseph

and for the whole company of your saints in glory, with whom in fellowship we join our prayers and praises; by your grace may we, like them, be made perfect in your love; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

2nd Sunday in Lent 2020

We’re well into Lent now aren’t we? Are any of you doing anything special for Lent this year? Given anything up and taken something up? I find I’m really enthusiastic at the start, I absolutely love Lent, which I realise is a bit weird, but it can get to the point where it starts to feel really hard depending upon what it is I’ve taken on or given up.

I doubt any of us have gone to quite the extreme, whether due to Lent or because we’re Christians, of giving up all or possessions like Jesus says in our Gospel reading this evening.

Now it’s really hard to say exactly what Jesus means here, some have taken it literally, like the Franciscans and other religious orders who take a vow of poverty, some have said he’s talking specifically to this particular group of people and others have pointed out that Jesus often uses extravagant and exaggerated language to emphasise a point. Whichever of those you believe Jesus is telling us it’s not an easy path to follow him, there may be a cost to us and we need to weigh that up.

Lent gives us the opportunity to explore this in a safe way. We’re invited to follow Jesus into the wilderness and spend time with him. To understand and deepen our commitment to this Lent journey we may choose to deny ourselves something or take up a discipline that asks something of us.

But we know Easter is coming, we know we get to celebrate at the end of the 40 days and nights. What if we didn’t know how the story ended? Would Jesus’ teachings be enough? What are we prepared to sacrifice, what are we willing to go through or even give up for our belief in those teachings? My answer is I don’t know, I don’t know how far I would go, but each Lent I try and take time to explore these questions, to ask myself can I carry the cross? What is the cost of my faith? What is Jesus asking of me, today, here and now.

I believe that the sacrifice we’re asked to make, the cost to us, is love. That doesn’t sound difficult on the surface, not like a sacrifice at all, but the love that’s asked of us is deep and unconditional, and I struggle with it every day. 

We’re asked to love those who don’t love us, those whose opinions and actions we find hateful, those completely unlike us in every way. Because we’re not just asked to love people we know, or good people, we’re called to love those who’ve committed crimes, those who’re racist, those who hurt women or children. And to us that probably seems impossible. It’s so much easier to not love, or feel justified in not loving someone because of the awful things they’ve done.

But if we believe Jesus’ teachings then we believe that God loves each and every one of us equally, God loves me as much as someone who’s committed a hate crime or murder. A difficult and inconvenient truth. Every person made in God’s image has the capacity to reflect God’s love. Our challenge through Lent is to ask ourselves what are our barriers to unconditional love? What are our prejudices and who do we feel we can’t love? And can we lay these aside to more closely follow Jesus? If we can leave some of them in the wilderness at the end of Lent maybe we’re a little bit closer to reflecting God’s love in the world.

Luke 14.27-33 (Evening Prayer New Testament reading for today)

Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, “This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.” Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

1st Sunday in Lent 2020

So we find ourselves once more at the beginning of Lent. I’m going to be completely honest- I love Lent. It’s probably my favourite part of the liturgical year. Maybe because I like routine and orderliness. I love structure and Lent gives us structure – a structured way to enter into the wilderness (like Jesus in the gospel reading), which is anything but orderly; yet Lent gives us a way of entering the wilderness with Jesus and a way to confront what we find there.

We start on Ash Wednesday with a service that moves us to ask ourselves “who am I?” by exploring our choices, the things we’ve done and thought and said, and examining which of those choices didn’t come from a place of Godly love. We also confront our inevitable death, and if we’re going to die how then do we want to live? Who are we and what are the things which have the capacity to draw us away from God?

We have readings this morning all about temptation, and a reminder of the things which do have the capacity to draw our eye from God and move us out of or away from our relationship with God.

There’s been a shift in our language in that we often talk about sins, plural; individual activities or acts which are bad or wrong and by these actions we ourselves become sinful or have committed a sin. Jesus (and Paul) most usually talks about sin, singular, no s on the end, which Sarah Heaner Lancaster defines as anything which takes us out of relationship with God.

This much broader understanding I feel is perhaps a more helpful thing to take into the wilderness with us during Lent. 

I said on Wednesday in that solemn Ash Wednesday service of remembering that one of the things we remember and apologise for are the times we forgot we aren’t alone, because they're the times, when we forget that God is with us - the very meaning of the word Emmanuel – that’s when we fall out of relationship with God, and make the choices that don’t mirror God’s love that is very much within us.

So maybe a question to ask ourselves at the beginning of our wilderness journey this Lent is what are our temptations? And by that I mean the things which run the risk of taking us out of our relationship with God. Lent gives us a safe space to give space and time for these questions and explorations, knowing that like Jesus it’s the Spirit who leads us and sustains us in the wilderness. As we work towards Easter Day we can use Lent as a safe space to explore who we are and how we want to live our lives, hopefully in a way which mirrors Gods love to those around us.

Based upon Genesis 2.15-17; 3.1-7, Romans 5.12-19 & Matthew 4.1-11

Ash Wednesday 2020

I wrote this for this morning's school service where 90 children came to St Michael's to share in a pared down Ash Wednesday service with ashing. 

I decided to read it again at our main service this evening; we're told to come with the faith of a child and sometimes we need to hear something very simply put.

Ash Wednesday isn’t about thinking of the things we’ve done wrong so we can be reminded that we’re bad people; it’s remembering that God created us from goodness for goodness.

And we get to ask the question why; why, when we’re created good do we sometimes not act kindly, or why do we create space in the world for unkindness to happen?

Today isn’t about thinking that one day we’ll die so that we can be sad; Knowing we will die should help us to see how we should live now.

But we don’t remember our choices and our deaths on our own; we use this day to remember together, as a community, because we don’t live our lives alone, we live our lives together.

And today we apologise together for all those times we chose something that wasn’t loving, that wasn’t kind, and for when we forgot that we aren’t alone; when we forgot that not only do we belong to each other but to God.

Today we recognise together our good and bad choices. We recognise that like God’s wonderful creations the plants and trees we’re capable of amazing beauty if we choose to live lives based in love. Like holy soil nurturing the things which grow in it, we grow in love.

Lent begins today. 40 days and 40 nights to take us up until Easter. 40 days and 40 nights where we think about the best way to live in the world, the best way to use our wonderful gift of a life. 

Let’s just take a moment, a tiny snapshot of time, to stop, to remember and to think of our amazing capacity to love  and to live kind, beautiful, flourishing lives, lives which mirror the love God has for us.

Don't Worry...Take Action

I’m absolutely certain that at some point each one of us would have felt worried. That proper worry that feels like butterflies in your stomach and around your heart. Worry that feels like your blood in shivering in your veins. Worry that invades your every waking thought and stops you escaping it by preventing you from sleeping. Waiting for results of a medical test or exam result, money worries or waiting to hear about redundancy, switching on or reading about the news of political unrest, dangerous viruses or the climate crisis.

Worry it seems is simply part of our lives, we probably experience it every day to a greater or lesser extent. As we have more knowledge of the world around us we seem to be finding more and more things to worry us. 

And how many times does someone see or hear our concerns and say “don’t worry!” Does that ever actually stop us worrying? If those comforting us are Christians they may even remind us of today’s gospel passage. Oh to be one of those cheery or relaxed souls who seems to drift through life without a care, taking life a day at a time. Never stressed or anxious, never overwhelmed. How I would love to be that person.

I wonder if that’s how God created us to be? We hear the creation narrative once more today- order out of chaos, God willing something and it being so…and it being good! Finally God creates humankind and our existence not only makes things good but very good. In the wonder of creation that God is willing into existence humankind arrives and enhances things- our presence makes something wonderful even better. 

Everything is good and everything is blessed. And we begin our role as the stewards, the guardians of all the good things God has created. Only to us did God give not just the responsibility but the ability to care for the whole of creation. 

Yet by the time the Letter to the Romans is being written we can see how much our relationship with the world around us has deteriorated. Creation is groaning and even though labour pains are a sign of something coming to fruition, something about to be born, the process itself can cause a lot of distress. 

This area, where we live, has until very recently been semi-rural. It was amazing for me to grow up in a farming family. We had that relationship to the land, to the seasons and to animals. It never felt exploitative but reciprocal and respectful, as small-scale farming is. I feel that I gained so much from being around the farming community, an understanding of the world and the stewardship role intended for us.

It’s something I think many of us yearn for now with our disconnect from the food we eat, as due to necessity, availability and simply how our lives work we mostly eat and buy food we have no relationship to, no understanding of how and who produced it.

Yet we know that something is amiss in our relationship with creation. Even though it’s incredibly difficult to recognise individual responsibility in it, and often we campaign and work against it, but we see the exploitation of the earth by industry, 

there’s no chance for the world to renew itself as demand and financial markets mean more and more questionable methods are used to obtain and process natural resources, to create artificial resources, to grow more foods, and to farm and process more animals.

We weren’t created to use our power this way. And it’s all incredibly worrying.  The kind of worry that wakes us up at 2am and creates knots in our stomach. But then we read today’s gospel where we have Jesus saying “don’t worry” like that super-chilled-out friend who nothing seems to phase.

Thankfully he’s not just saying “don’t worry” but also giving a pretty good reason why. Because God is in charge, because God loves us, and because this isn’t what God created us for. Jesus is reminding us that worrying isn’t going to make things any better, but this isn’t just a call for us to chillax, take a chill pill or just calm down, it’s an indicator of how we should spend our time and energy instead of worrying. 

But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

I think that our responsibility as Christians is to discern how we can regain or renew our relationship to creation. At a time where some of the organisations seeking to raise awareness of climate issues are on the same government watchlists as terrorist organisations our church has become an important voice in encouraging us to examine this relationship. 

This week the General synod ripped up its original target for the Church of England becoming carbon neutral by 2045 and set a target of 2030. Manchester is committed to the entire diocese fulfilling the “eco church” criteria and we’re committed to that here at St Michael’s. The Archbishop’s Lent book this year is Ruth Valeo’s Saying Yes to Life, a book which addresses these concerns, and Love Life Live Lent has a new version with an emphasis on caring for creation. This relationship with creation is front and centre amongst the concerns of our church.

I don’t know about you but I don’t find this very easy at all- changes aren’t easy, and there’s still so much I need to do, changes to make to my every day life, and sometimes it feels incredibly pointless when I see the lack of work being done elsewhere, or even how difficult it is to stand by these principals working in a hospital environment.

But Christianity has a strong history of individuals living differently, living in a way we feel is in-line with that striving for the kingdom, in a hope that us as individuals may become a group, and that group becomes a community, and as more individuals, groups and communities form they may all strive to bring about that renewed relationship with creation.

As it groans with labour pains we still don’t know what the fruits of that labour will be, but I hope with all my heart that the results of our own worry, striving and labour will be to regain our role as the protectors of creation, that once again humankind’s presence in the world can make it not just good but very good.

Preached 16.2.20 at the main Sunday service, based upon Genesis 1.1-23; Romans 8.18-25; Matthew 6.25-end