Disruptive love

Today is the feast of the conversion of Saint Paul, and we heard the dramatic events of this in the reading from Acts, it was followed by a tiny gospel reading which feels deliberate to not overshadow the main event of today, which is Saul’s life-changing experience of the road to Damascus, after which he changes his name and his life’s purpose.

Without Paul who knows what we’d actually know of Jesus, because Paul’s role in evangelising and spreading the Gospel, through teaching, preaching and of course letter-writing, was central to getting the message out into the wider Roman Empire – which God knew would be the case, and eventually that message reached these isles, some 2000 miles away from these events.

The narrative of what led to Paul finding his true calling – the purpose which God had for his life, followed that amazing reading from Jeremiah which also talks about call – and there’s a thread of calling, change, and purpose through all our readings today.

Each passage shows God interrupting everyday life, changing its direction, and inviting people into something so much bigger than themselves. And that feels rather timely as we look ahead to our church planning day on the 14th of February. We’ll be asking big questions about who we are, what we’re called to do, and how God might be reshaping us for the future. And each and every one of you are invited to join us for that day.

Jeremiah’s story shows him protesting:

“sorry God! I can’t do this, I’m too young for all of this”. He feels he’s too young, too inexperienced, and too small for what God is calling him towards. God’s response isn’t stern, he doesn’t chastise Jeremiah, but reframes his protests

“Don’t say ‘I am only…’ how can you be ‘only’ anything with me beside you? I’ll give you the words you need, I’ll send you where you need to go”. Jeremiah’s calling isn’t based on his own ability but on God knowing he’ll be right beside him in that calling.

I think many Churches can fall into this “only” language:

We’re only a small congregation.

We’re only volunteers.

We only have so much time or resources.

But God says: Don’t say “only.”

God’s call begins not with our capacity, but with God’s, which is limitless.

As we anticipate our planning day, Jeremiah’s story invites us to leave behind the narrative of limitation and ask instead:

What might God be planting in us, collectively and as individuals, that we haven’t yet recognised or named?

Saul is a man on a mission, he has his purpose and his calling, and that means bad news for any Christians he encounters.

Yet when Saul encounters Jesus, he’s not punished, as you might have expected if we were in the Old Testament, but Saul experiences the disruption Jesus can bring into our lives when he enters in with generous, unending and undeserved love. For Saul this disruption comes as a light, a voice and a question:

“why do you persecute me?”

This question, directly from God, dismantles Saul’s worldview. It forces him to see that those people he’s hurt or harmed are, in fact, all part of God’s kingdom.

Paul’s conversion isn’t just about a change in belief but it’s also about recognition. He recognises that God is present in the very people he’d excluded.

For Paul this is both costly and liberating as his old life falls away and he allows himself to be changed by love, the love that God shows him.

Contemplating how changed Paul is by this experience invites us to open ourselves to what might be possible – what or who might God be asking us to see differently? What question might God be asking of us? How could God be calling us to be changed?

To go back to the purpose of our planning day, it’s an opportunity to allow God to interrupt us, to ask us uncomfortable questions, and to widen our imagination about who we’re called to be.

Peter’s question in the gospel reading is so very real, it’s probably what the others have been thinking but, of course, Peter is the one to open his mouth “We’ve left everything to follow you. What’s in it for us?”

They’ve sacrificed so much, and Peter wants to know it’s going to be worth it.

Jesus’ response could have been anything, we know he can be quick to chide or rebuke the disciples when they show self-interest, be here he offers a vision of renewal—a world made whole.

Building the kingdom isn’t about personal reward, it’s about making all things whole in God.

As we think about our future as a church - our mission, our priorities, our resources – we shouldn’t ask what’s in it for us, but rather: through the work of this community

Who can be lifted up?

Who can be welcomed?

Who can find healing, dignity, and belonging because we exist?

What do we need to do to join in God’s renewal of all things?

It can sometimes be a struggle to see how all our set readings fit together on any given Sunday, but it’s always good to remember that they always do –

a lot of thinking from clever theologians went into planning the 3-year cycles of readings. These three readings today are one story, and it’s also our story.

Through Jeremiah we see God calls us even when we feel inadequate.

Paul’s conversion demonstrates God transforms us, usually in ways we don’t expect.

And Jesus reminds us we’re being sent into a world that’s being renewed.

So, we invite you to be part of something next month where together we can imagine:

what’s possible for us with God alongside us?

What can be transformed in us?

where does change need to happen?

And what part might you have to play in all of this – where are we being called communally, but also where is the Spirit leading you?

It’s good to remember that whilst the conversion of Paul is big and dramatic, most transformation is much, much quieter. It happens in our conversations, in happens in our prayers, and in happens in our planning days, in moments of honesty and courage. It happens when we ask:

Where is God at work - and how can we join in? 

Amen,

Readings: 

Jeremiah 1:4-10 Jeremiah’s Call and Commission

4 Now the word of the Lord came to me saying,

5 ‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,

and before you were born I consecrated you;

I appointed you a prophet to the nations.’

6 Then I said, ‘Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.’ 7 But the Lord said to me,

‘Do not say, “I am only a boy”;

for you shall go to all to whom I send you,

and you shall speak whatever I command you.

8 Do not be afraid of them,

for I am with you to deliver you,

says the Lord.’

9 Then the Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth; and the Lord said to me,

‘Now I have put my words in your mouth.

10 See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms,

to pluck up and to pull down,

to destroy and to overthrow,

to build and to plant.’

Acts 9:1-22 The Conversion of Saul

9 Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest 2 and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. 3 Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. 4 He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ 5 He asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The reply came, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. 6 But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.’ 7 The men who were travelling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. 8 Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. 9 For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.

10 Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, ‘Ananias.’ He answered, ‘Here I am, Lord.’ 11 The Lord said to him, ‘Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, 12 and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.’ 13 But Ananias answered, ‘Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; 14 and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.’ 15 But the Lord said to him, ‘Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; 16 I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.’ 17 So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, ‘Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.’ 18 And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, 19 and after taking some food, he regained his strength.

Saul Preaches in Damascus

For several days he was with the disciples in Damascus, 20 and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, ‘He is the Son of God.’ 21 All who heard him were amazed and said, ‘Is not this the man who made havoc in Jerusalem among those who invoked this name? And has he not come here for the purpose of bringing them bound before the chief priests?’ 22 Saul became increasingly more powerful and confounded the Jews who lived in Damascus by proving that Jesus was the Messiah.

Matthew 19:27-30

27 Then Peter said in reply, ‘Look, we have left everything and followed you. What then will we have?’ 28 Jesus said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man is seated on the throne of his glory, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.  29 And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife[a] or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. 30 But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.

Making Room

We were rushed off our feet that night, we’d never known the town to be this busy – it was the count you see, the census. Every room was booked up and my husband was just explaining this to yet another family when another road-weary traveller walked in, dusty and tired.

He was a Galilean – you can always tell – but this one was different from the others trying to barter with my husband. He looked very troubled, and with more than just the worry of where to sleep.

He noticed me noticing him and rushed forward – “please madam, is this your inn?” he inquired

“It’s my husband’s, but there’re no rooms if that’s what your next question’s going to be” I was very matter of fact, there was absolutely nothing we could do to make any space.

“Is there truly nothing?” he pleaded “It’s not me, you see, it’s my wife. We’ve travelled all the way from Bethlehem, it’s taken us over a week, and I think, well, I think our baby might be coming”

Well this was new, none of the others who’d tried to convince us to give them a room had tried this tactic…but then I followed his gaze, into the street and for the first time I noticed his wife. She’d managed to climb down from the donkey (which must have borne her for the journey) and was now crouched on the ground. She winced and held her stomach.

I knew that look, that wince. I’ve carried 6 babies and that was without question a woman in early labour.

Well I couldn’t leave her there, by the look of how young she was it was probably her first – no girl should have to birth her first child in those circumstances, but what could I do? There was literally nowhere – even the roof had people sleeping on it!

But it was then that a thought struck me – divine inspiration you might say- most of my recent midwifery experience was with the lambs and calves we kept out back. A bed of straw was a better option than the filthy roadside.

I touched my husband’s arm to get his attention away from the latest group of travellers he was disappointing. I gestured towards the girl “it’s her time Lazar” – he understood my meaning - “But what can we do” he replied” “I can’t magic up a bed, not even for her!”

“The outhouse” I said - he looked at me, utterly puzzled. “It’s got a roof and clean straw, and, in the circumstances, I don’t think we have a choice!”

He nodded in agreement “Do what you need to Hanna”

I grabbed a lamp – it was dark out back and I knew the light would help. “Follow me” I instructed the man “help your wife, it’s not far”

I shewed the animals from the outhouse into the yard, quickly swept aside the used straw and laid some fresh from a bale stored nearby. The man helped his wife into the small stone building and helped her lie down.

“Tell me your name child” I asked the girl

“M- Mary” she managed between contractions

“and you?” I inquired of her husband

“Joseph” he responded

“and I’m Hanna, so now we’re all friends”

“What do we do?” Joseph pleaded

“Well, son, you stay close by, and if I need you, I’ll tell you”

“Don’t be afraid Mary” I told her, gently “I’m not going anywhere”

And I didn’t – I stayed through it all, helped her know what to do. I did what my mother had done for me, what I’d done for my sisters and daughters. What generations of woman had done for each other since Eve.

The labour was quick, surprisingly quick, and the baby looked healthy – a healthy boy! God be praised. I wrapped him in my shawl and passed him to his father for approval. The joy which radiated from his eyes made my heart full – such love in the man’s eyes.

And the child – so oddly peaceful for a newborn, so content – almost radiant! I must have been getting tired and my emotions were getting the best of me.

The man passed the baby to the girl and her face seemed as radiant as his – the rush of love almost palpable.

I showed her how to help him latch on – he was hungry! I warned her she may be sore, but it passes.

I’ve no idea how much time had passed when the spell was broken by a dirty faced child appearing in the yard – he was holding a lamb around his shoulders, and it wasn’t one of ours. I took in his appearance – he was one of those filthy shepherds from the outskirts of town – and dear lord there were more of them behind him!

“Miss” the boy addressed the girl “miss – we…we were told not to be afraid, we were told to come” and the whole group of them knelt before the mother and child as if he were royalty! The boy lifted the lamb and presented it to them like a gift.

Now, I know I needed some sleep – but what was this? What on earth was happening here in my back yard?! Who were this man and woman – and who on earth was this child? The three of them sat there in the straw, radiating love and joy and contentment the like of which I had never seen.

Then, I don’t know from where, but words appeared in my head – I’d heard them before, the words of one of the prophets, probably shouted at me by a preacher in the market square.

“But you, Bethlehem... out of you will come forth for Me one to be ruler over Israel, whose origins are of old, from ancient times”

I looked down at that child, I saw and felt pure and unconditional love for maybe the first time in my life, and I thought maybe, just maybe – stranger things have happened!

And so I stood there, straw clinging to my skirts, lamp flickering in my hand, watching this tiny family in my outhouse — and I realised something. The Messiah hadn’t arrived in the palace as the men who debated in the temple imagined, or even in the temple itself where we thought holiness lived. He’d come to us — to the ordinary, the overlooked, the tired, the overcrowded, the unprepared. To a woman who had nothing to offer but clean straw and a willing pair of hands.

And perhaps that’s the point.

Perhaps the Messiah still comes to us in the same way — quietly, vulnerably, without fanfare — asking only whether we’ll make room. Not a perfect room, not a tidy room, not a “ready” room… just room.

As we gather this Christmas, may we remember that outhouse. May we remember that holiness can be born in the most unlikely corners of our lives. And may we dare to believe that even in our mess, our exhaustion, our crowded hearts, God still chooses to arrive — bringing love that radiates, hope that surprises, and light that no darkness can overcome.

Amen.

What does it mean to be a safeguarding church?

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.

You Can't Take it With You

I want to know who was paying attention at last week’s Orchard Service – can anyone tell me the takeaway message which Nick had us repeating and that I’ve had in my head all week?

“You can’t take it with you” – I’m sure we’ve each heard that dozens of times, but in our Gospel, we’re again hearing Jesus ask us where our treasure lies, and it’s interesting in the context of our other readings, which draw us back to the relationship between faith and action.

In Isaiah’s vision to the people of Judah and Jerusalem, he’s declaring that God has no need of empty gestures, the sacrifice of things - animals or incense – or even festivals and praise. The message is very clear; material sacrifice means nothing, changes nothing. God wants us to show our faith by doing good and is very clear that this means standing with the oppressed, the poor and vulnerable. For any Christians who regard works of social justice as “woke nonsense” I suggest they give their bibles a read.

The writer of Hebrews reminds us that throughout history God’s chosen people have done what God required or asked of them by faith and faith alone, there may have been no pay off for their actions or personal sacrifices within their own lifetime, but their lives and actions formed part of a much bigger narrative, becoming part of the wider story of God’s relationship with humankind.

We’ve had this thread running through our preaching for quite some time, that our actions in the world reveal a lot about our relationship to faith and relationship with God. Jesus tells us in today’s gospel reading that what we treasure reveals where our heart lies, and this then seems to be directly linked to our readiness to receive Jesus.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got so much stuff. Sitting writing this sermon I was surrounded by books, craft materials, board games, ornaments, a very full shoe rack. I’m surrounded by things, and as I contemplated this sermon I thought about how the things around me made me feel.

I’m sure many of us here are book people, there’s something so beautiful about a physical book – it’s a sensory experience of sight, smell and touch – and then there’s what’s in the book, be it knowledge or an exciting story, or a delicious recipe, or maybe we enjoy bokos of art or photography – appreciating that our creator has made us people who create. Books enhance our human experience, maybe even help us to understand it a little better. And we learn about God through books and of course The Bible.

And being created to be people who create, many of us enjoy craft or art – many of grew out of necessity but now I think is driven by the creative urge which God has put in each of us.

Then there’s the boardgames – boardgames bring people together, they give us a shared social experience which again can enhance our experience of life. Boardgames take us away from screens and are an active rather than passive way to spend time.

Ornaments offer us beauty or art, memories of where we’ve been or self-expression in our decor, as do shoes – many people say you can tell a lot about a person from their shoes, although I think mine mostly say I like to be comfy.

Not treasuring these earthly things I think is hard, an object can hold so much meaning – otherwise why would archaeologists spend their lives carefully uncovering, logging and exploring items from history?

And there’s objects like our wedding rings or items passed down through generations, yet all the while I’m looking around at these objects, I’m also remembering our entire congregation last week chanting “you can’t take it with you”.

Do these items hold our hearts more than God does? Or are we able to hold lightly onto these material things?

There’s a societal narrative, driven by advertising and media, that the acquisition of things, earning more money and buying higher status items is what we should aspire to. It’s contributed to making our relationship to what we treasure really complicated. We live in a society centred around earning money and buying things – this is how worth is often measured.

I don’t want to patronise or romanticise people who have little material wealth or goods, especially as none of us can hide from the knowledge of the extreme poverty and deprivation that exists in our world, but it’s sometimes the case that those who have less, those without the noise of acquisition or objects surrounding them, are more receptive to the concept of God – there’s a reason why most religious orders have rules around wealth and possessions. They believe, and demonstrate, it makes you more receptive and ready to welcome Jesus.

The perceived need for God in people’s lives has diminished as the standard of living has risen. The better off we become the less we feel we need a God.

But Christian’s don’t always get it right either - the first time I visited Chester Cathedral some really negative feelings rose up in me– I was appalled at its ornament and the massive displays of the past wealth of its patrons. I couldn’t get out of my head what good could have been done with that money – I couldn’t see the artistry or beauty at all.

So how do we get back to building our treasure in heaven so we’re ready to receive Jesus should he fancy a visit to Flixton any time soon? Well I think the writers of Isaiah and Hebrews would possibly tell us to act right and have faith.

And Jesus might remind us of the spiritual riches we have in abundance like God's love, grace and mercy. We don’t access these using some heavenly ledger, treasure in heaven, despite the imagery used, isn’t like a bank for good deeds, balancing the books to access Gods riches.

God just gives it too us, and desires that we love that freely given abundance more than we love the finite and limited riches the world has to offer. The books, the craft materials, the boardgames, the shoes and ornaments will one day be dust in the wind. I can’t take them with me, but nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate us from the treasure that comes from opening our hearts, having faith and choosing to welcome God into our lives.

Finding your work

May I speak in the name of the one God, who is Speaker, Word and Breath.

Stu mentioned a couple of weeks ago about the theme running through our readings and sermons recently around faith and acts – the belief that if our faith really reflects who God is, that will then be reflected in how we conduct ourselves in the world- the people we are, the things we do, the decisions and choices we make.

This seems to neatly come together this morning in probably the most famous example of loving action, the tale of The Good Samaritan – and it is a tale rather than a parable. There’s nothing in it that’s metaphorical, it’s very clear. It’s our job to be merciful, compassionate neighbours in the world.

Those of us who’ve been or are nurses will know there’s two types of nurse; if when you’re going about you normal life there’s some sort of medical emergency – someone collapses in the middle aisle of Aldi - and there’s a shout for medical help, are you the nurse who immediately runs forward, or the nurse who waits 10 seconds to see if someone else runs goes first?

I’m definitely in the second camp, I’m a fantastic nurse in a hospital-based emergency, but out in the wild is a different matter! I think the older and wiser we get the less likely we are to immediately jump in there – with age and wisdom we recognise our limits.

Or maybe we recognise what is ours to do and what isn’t. An up to date first aider might actually be more useful in that situation than someone who’s used to being surrounded by all the help and equipment you could wish for.

That level of self-reflection isn’t, as far as we know, seen in our priest and Levite this morning. They’re not waiting to see if someone else jumps in, thinking if someone else doesn’t step forward then they will, or reflecting there may be someone better equipped, it’s a very clear head down, walk-on-by scenario.

We’ve heard this story so many times - I can remember at priest school having an activity where we re-wrote it in a modern setting - but examining the story through our current lens, reflecting upon faith leading us into action, why did these people of faith not act? Considering this might help us to understand the times when we ourselves have felt we could do nothing but look the other way, despite our faith in God.

Fear could be one answer. What if he’s contagious? They may not have looked closely enough to see he’d been attacked – they just see a man lying there, half dead. He could have a contagious illness. If they catch it and become sick who’ll provide for their families? They have important jobs and responsibilities. Who’ll see to those?

There could be the fear that it’s a trap. If this area is renowned for attacks, it may be known that this is one way the thieves operate to lure in victims.

There’s Mosaic law to consider – if the man is dead, and they can’t tell at this point – if they touch him, they can’t do their jobs for 7 days, they’ll be ritually unclean. They can’t let that happen, again they’re important, relied upon. They’re men that matter.

Another explanation could just be complacency -how often do they see bodies or people collapsed by the side of the road? It could be over-saturation, compassion fatigue. Maybe they’ve stepped in before and it cost them in some way, maybe they see so many people collapsed along that road that if they stopped to help everyone they’d never get anywhere.

So we have fear, personal cost and complacency. I’m not going to lie, that sounds pretty familiar to me at the moment. Whilst writing this there was a charity advert on the TV in the background which I’ve seen dozens of times – a young boy in an African country at the risk of going blind. If I stop to actually pay attention to it, think of the enormity of the issue it's implications, It’ll break my heart. Sometimes we feel we have to protect ourselves from feeling empathy because it could break us.

We do have to have boundaries and protect ourselves from over-saturation of media and news and sadness, just so we can go about our lives. If we let every awful thing we have knowledge about into our hearts we’d be paralysed by not only the sadness but the knowledge that we simply can’t help every person or situation we’d like to. There’re things that are just too big for us to tackle or effect. Those in need are simply too numerous.

How does this fit with our theology of faith leading to action? How can we navigate this alongside our belief in the universal neighbourhood? The whole point of Jesus telling this tale is to help the young lawyer see that anyone who needs our mercy, or who shows us mercy, is our neighbour, and there’s a big scary world our there very much in need of mercy.

I read something by the wonderful Revd. Nadia Bolz-Weber a couple of years ago – I was actually talking to Joanne about this yesterday – to summarise, as I can’t find the actual quote, Nadia wrote that the way we’ve been created, and the world be now inhabit are out of alignment. We we’re created to be people of community and created to be able to carry the worries, concerns, anxieties and stresses of that community, or village or tribe.

With 24-hour news cycles, our connectedness and the global nature of modern life we’re trying to carry the worries, concerns, anxieties and stresses of an entire world, and we simply can’t do it, we’re not built for it…so what do we do?

Seeing the suffering and looking away, turning a blind eye, isn’t an option, because we see our neighbours, those in need of mercy, and our hearts ache for them, because we are people of faith, people who hunger and thirst after righteousness, people who like the Samaritan of the story are moved from our very guts with compassion- that’s the literal translation of the Greek – compassion you feel in your spleen.

Nadia Bolz-Weber also has this to share when it comes to the burn-out that can come from carrying global sorrows in our heads and hearts:

Every day of my life I ask myself three discernment questions:

What’s MINE to do, and what’s NOT mine to do?

What’s MINE to say and what’s NOT mine to say?

And the third one is harder:

What’s MINE to care about and what’s NOT mine to care about?

To be clear – that is not to say that it is not worthy to be cared about by SOMEONE, only that my effectiveness in the world cannot extend to every worthy to be cared about event and situation. It’s not an issue of values, it’s an issue of MATH.

It’s ok to do what is YOURS to do. Say what’s yours to say. Care about what’s yours to care about. That’s enough.

This is all part of being the body of Christ; we each have our role, our separate functions that ensure the body keeps working and moving.

The hope is that if we’re each finding out what work is ours to do, then all the things which need work, the peoples and situations that require our mercy, that require someone to be a neighbour, will eventually have people, enough people, and the right people, whose work it is to be a Christ-like, spirit-filled presence there.

We won’t need to fear, worry about the personal cost or feel complacent in the suffering we see, we won’t need to cross over, pretending we don’t see what’s happening, because someone will already be there, tending the wounds, and we’ll be tending to the wounds we’re called to bandage.

And if we’re outraged by a situation and asking where the mercy is, where the neighbours are, then maybe that’s a sign of the work which is ours to do.

I’m sure you all know that one of my great passions is inclusion – not just inclusion but belonging. I want anyone to walk through that door and feel they belong. That’s part of my work.

My years as a nurse have led me into my current role in staff support and improving culture. That’s part of my work.

Your work might be speaking out against the Palestinian genocide, standing with refugees, fighting for the rights and inclusion of older people, working to support our local domestic abuse charity.

Where is God calling you to carry Gods name and do Gods work? Where are you moved to your spleen with compassion? Listen to the calling and the feelings, if you’re coming back to the same issue or situation time and time again, chances are that’s the work God is showing you is yours.

See it as an invitation, or even a challenge from God. Identify where you’re being called, answer that call, and start the work. Amen

Growing together

A short address from the double vow renewal that was held at St Michael's yesterday

I wasn’t sure if I was going to make an address today, but the more I thought about it this morning, the more appropriate it felt to take a moment during this glorious celebration of marriage and love, for Paula & Wayne, and Nica & Med, a moment to pause and reflect upon these milestones – 25 years for Paula & Wayne and 50 years for Nica & Med – for which this holy and sacred place has played such an important part.

We were looking at Nica and Med’s wedding photos yesterday evening, and it was so glorious not only to see the joy in their youthful and hope-filled faces and some very impressive fashion, but also the evolution of the church – oh and Med’s very impressive hair!

Because everything and everyone evolves over time, 50 years may not feel particularly long in the life of a church building (when some bits of it can be dated back to the 1500s) but there are some significant changes. Each of you will have evolved as people over the course of your marriages, and thank God you’ve grown and changed together when so many of us grow apart in our relationships.

There are 2 trees out the back of the church, near the garden of remembrance, which are so close that even though they’re different species, the way they’ve grown they’re so intertwined that even though you can see that they’re different trees, they’ve grown together to make something new, something beautiful and entirely unique.

The beauty of growing together is clear from each of your relationships – your bond of love and marriage has created something strong and something beautiful. And St Michael’s being part of that means that right from the start of your marriages God was there too, helping the nurturing, the growth and of course the love.

The reading from 1 Corinthians tells us how God loves and gives us a template for how we ought to love each other – with compassion, kindness, humility and patience. With a combined 75 years of marriage between you I think you’re probably doing OK with holding to these qualities, the things which nourish the roots of a relationship.

My prayer for each of you today is that as you continue your lives together, joined in the sacred covenant of marriage, that you continue to grow together in love, upholding and supporting each other through both the joys and challenges of life, and that through all of this you remember that God, who blessed you on your wedding day and blesses you today, is always with you, encircling you with never-ending, unconditional love. Amen.

Anything to declare?

May I speak in the name of the One God, who is Speaker, Word & Breath.

Very much like the last time I was with you, I wasn't expecting to write a sermon this week, so again I’ve just tried to put some thoughts together around the readings – and they are an amazing three readings!!

I didn’t know where to look first – we have the earthquake, wind and fire, followed by the silence where God was to be found. 

We have a reading that I, as someone who is passionate about justice and equity, love - There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.

And then, the weird and wonderful gospel story of Jesus healing the demoniac who lived naked among the tombs, sending the demons who call themselves Legion into the herd of pigs and over a cliff.

There’s so much to unpick in the gospel reading, but I get uncomfortable when contemporary writers or preachers try to explain demons or relate them to our modern understanding of various mental health or psychiatric conditions.

I’m sure than if like me you have people in your life, or even yourselves, who've experienced or are experiencing various mental health challenges, you wish that faith or prayer could heal them, but it's more complex than that, and there’s a lot more nuance needed when venturing into this area, so that’s not the road I’m going down.

What strikes me when we put these readings together is the sense of God’s power and how unexpected it is in relation to humankind’s idea of power – and that’s often the case when we look at God through the lens of Jesus.

There was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.

Elijah witnesses the power of nature, of God’s created order – the power of the physical world. But that’s not where Elijah finds God. Elijah finds God in the quiet that comes after that, and maybe some of us can think of times that this was our experience as well.

There’re two very good films about the nature of faith and silence and I’d recommend them both – the first is Into Great Silence, an almost wordless film which follows a year in the life of silent Carthusian monks who live high in the French Alps – it’s a 2 hour and 40 minute meditation on how silence and prayer in extremis shape the lives of these men.

The other is Martin Scorsese’s Silence, one of the most complex and challenging films of this century – both intellectually and spiritually. It tells the story of Portuguese Jesuit priests in feudal Japan. For me the film is about how complex faith and our relationship with the divine is, especially displayed in the character Kichijiro, locked in a cycle perpetual penitence as he continually renounces then reaffirms his belief. It’s in part a film about what we do with our faith when we don’t hear God in the silence, and the power God still has in that.

The reading from Galatians for me demonstrates the power of God to make all people equal because There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.

God’s love through Jesus is the great leveller – when Mary sings the Magnificat and declares: He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly, it doesn’t mean raising one above the other but bringing them both to a place where they’re equal – it’s true equity, and that’s the power God has to bring justice into our world.

The labels we put on each don’t really matter as we’re all part of the body of Christ, all uniquely and beautifully different, all contributing our own thing, but all beloved children of the same divine parent.

In the gospel reading there’s so many ways we could interpret God’s power at work, but for me it’s all summed up in the last words we hear from Jesus in the passage: Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.

The everyday power God has in our lives is letting us see that now matter who we are, where we’ve been, what we’ve done or what we’ve experienced, when we welcome the power of God into our life the old narratives of who were, or thought we were, whatever other people may think we are, everything can be turned around, everything can change.

It can sometimes happen in a miraculous and dramatic moment as in our gospel, it can provide that powerful testimony capable of changing the lives of other people, or it can come, probably more often, in the way we evolve and change over time, with God’s powerful love working in us and being reflected to those we connect with.

I’m reminded again of The Magnificat: the Mighty One has done great things for me, and has done great things for us, and when we recognise this, it becomes our turn to go and declare how much good God has done for us.

Our lives and how we choose to live them are each examples of God’s power at work – and that power may be in silence, or in seeking justice and equity, or in our own stories of how our lives have been healed or reconciled, drawing us further into communion with Jesus.

Amen.

1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a

1Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. 2Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” 3Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there. 4But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” [5Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” 6He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. 7The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.”] 8He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.

9At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”10He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” 11He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake;12and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 14He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” 15Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus.”

Galatians 3:23-29

23Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. 24Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. 25But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian, 26for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. 27As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. 28There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. 29And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise.

Luke 8:26-39

26Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. 27As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. 28When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”— 29for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) 30Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. 31They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. 32Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. 33Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned. 34When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country.35Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid.36Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. 37Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. 38The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, 39“Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.