Little Saling, 23rd June 2013


A Sermon about Inclusivity. I used some material from Roots. The Bible Readings were Galatians 3, verses 23-29 and St Luke 8, veres 26 - 37.

A few weeks ago a blog post appeared on my Facebook wall about the CEO of US clothing Company Abercrombie and Fitch. It’s not a brand I wear, not I suspect does it grace too many of your wardrobes. Nevertheless I watched it and was appalled to see this CEO, Mike Jeffries saying, “We go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely”.

Basically, he was saying in public what a lot of companies and institutions keep in the boardroom – that they have a specific target audience. What was so appalling though was that he went on to effectively say in public that ugly, poor or overweight people were not welcome in his shops or indeed welcome to wear Abercrombie and Fitch clothes. As you can imagine this video had two outcomes. First, the company’s stock lost a lot of value, and second, a campaign was launched to present a counter argument, in which a young man was filmed giving homeless people Abercrombie and Fitch clothes to wear.

All of that seems rather a long way from us, but it provides a modern twist on the common theme of our two readings, which both mention clothing, or being clothed. In today’s society, rightly or wrongly, what people wear is perceived as part of their identity, which is why when the Archbishop of York or the Prime Minister wears a hoodie, we are challenged – which was their intention.

In Galatians Chapter 3, the conversation is about baptism and it provides a vivid illustration of God’s newly-arrived freedom. Paul’s writings generally give the impression that candidates for baptism removed their outer clothes before going under the water and, once they emerged, put on new clothes to symbolise their sharing in the risen life of Christ . Whatever their place in the wider social world (indicated then as now by the clothes they wore), the newly-baptised would all be dressed alike to demonstrate their oneness in Christ. Imagine the baptism of a household, headed by a Jewish man who has come to faith. His wife and children, who in those days were lower in the family hierarchy, join him together with his Gentile slaves. They emerge from the water of baptism as one, re-clothed with Christ. Paul’s vision of baptism is truly sacramental. It offers a foretaste of God’s intention for all humankind, as in Christ (not Moses), we enter into the inheritance promised to Abraham and his seed: the blessing of God’s Spirit that knows no boundaries, and makes us truly alive. 

In the Gospel reading, Jesus crosses the sea of Galilee into Gentile territory. The Gerasene man he meets represents the chaos of a world devastated by imperial rule. Too disturbed to live in the town among his own people, his superhuman strength makes him a danger to himself and others. He is unclothed. His nakedness symbolises his vulnerability,, personally and socially. His name suggests that he is possessed by the spirits of the foreign army that has taken over his land (today we might say that he has been driven mad by the stresses of the Roman occupation). The only place for him is out in the wilds among the tombs: a living death. In this hopeless, godless place we find Jesus, crossing every imaginable boundary – geographical, racial, cultural, spiritual – to enter the world of Legion and liberate him. 

The story suggests quite a struggle to set him free. Did he shout so loudly as he was released that he frightened the pigs over the cliff edge? Like the baptised in the Galatian church, he is re-clothed (v.35), a symbol of the liberating, peace-making power of the Son of God over a dangerously chaotic world. Why does Jesus send him back to his own people? Not surprisingly, they want nothing to do with Jesus. He may have delivered their man from evil but he has deprived them of their livelihood. If these Gentile pig farmers are to have faith in the liberating power of Israel’s God, perhaps they will listen to the man formerly known as Legion, as he tells his story of how Jesus re-clothed his whole being. 

Clothes provide more than a protective outer covering.  If you think of designer labels, hoodies, burkas, school uniform, military uniform, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that clothing is a significant expression of body language revealing as much or as little as it conceals. What we wear says a lot about how we see ourselves in relation to others. Clothing is a symbol of identity. In the same way, to be clothed with Christ gives us an identity as a Christian. You may have particular clothes you wear for Church – obviously I do, but it is not these that matter – that would be falling into the same trap the Galatians did, of making the regulations more important than the relationship.

For to be clothed with Christ is not about what clothes we wear in a literal sense. To be clothed with Christ is to be in Christ, to be part of God’s inclusive family, the community of the baptised. To be part of a worldwide spiritual community where all are of the same status, just as those baptised today in the Jordan all look the same in the white gowns they are given as they emerge from the water.

Abercrombie and Fitch are like the BNP or the EDL, they are exclusive and they are obnoxious about those they seek to exclude. While in its chequered past the church has sometimes been like that, today all over the world we rejoice in our unity and diversity, as the community of the baptized.

 I close then with a quotation from Pope Paul VI, which I read in a letter from Bishop Stephen Cottrell. It's from "Evangelisation in the Modern World". 

"The Christian community is never closed upon itself. The intimate life of this community - the life of listening to the Word and the Apostles' teaching, charity lived in a fraternal way, the sharing of bread - only adquires its full meaning when it becomes witness, when it evokes admiration and conversion  and when it becomes the preaching and proclamation of the Good News. Thus it is the whole church that receives the mission to evangelise."

Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her; a sermon on women in the episcopate.

This is from Great Saling on the 18th of July
The readings were Colossians 1, 15-23and Luke 10, 38-42. As usual I had some help from Rootsontheweb

Do you often ask the question “Who’s in charge here?”


It’s usually a question that comes to mind when we are not content and wish to rectify that by speaking to a superior - perhaps we most frequently these days end up saying “can I speak to your supervisor?” to a telephone sales person. At the end of a week during which the Church of England General Synod has made a momentous decision about the future of our leadership, in voting in favour of the ordination of women as bishops, it seems quite a good question for us to ask, and it also was a very relevant question for the church at Colossae.

Colossians 1.15-28 suggests the rhythm and form of a poem or hymn – perhaps an earlier one that Paul has adapted. It is steeped in the language of creation and of people as created in God's image (c.f. Genesis 1.26), taking up the theme from the first half of chapter 1 of ‘fruitfulness’ (Genesis 1.28). Thus the promise of God's Kingdom (the new creation) is earthed in God's primeval act of creation.

Images of the Emperor were inescapable in a city like Colossae at the heart of the Roman Empire – in the markets, on coins, in the gymnasium … everywhere. They defined a social and political system totally dominated by the semi-divine Emperor, just as some might say corporate logos today define our dependency on global capitalism. In those days a rigid patron/client system meant that everyone knew their place, and any defiance of the system was dealt with swiftly and brutally. Pax Romana came at a high price in terms of personal freedom. A brutal tax system that paid for the military might on which the Empire depended terrorised peasants and small landowners, who could be sold into slavery if they couldn't pay. At least our coalition government has gone that far yet!

Against this background, Paul contrasts the image of Jesus with that of Caesar. Paul's first readers couldn’t fail to identify the 'thrones and dominions and rulers and powers' (v. 16) with Caesar and his vast empire, as well as with the cults which reinforced it. The apostle want to make the point that political power doesn't rest on military or economic might, on men or their gods, but on the true God who created all things (v. 16). He is the only true Lord and object of worship. This perspective relativises political power and prevents it toppling into totalitarianism; it was this insight that lay at the heart of Dietrich Bonheoffer’s opposition to Hitler in the 1930s.

And it is a helpful insight for our government as they walk the fine line between saving money and saving their necks in the “turnaround”. I guess economic recovery might even be seen as an idol – the idol of growth,

And with the church politics this week, and all the wrangling and wringing of hands tears of joy and tears of frustration, it is good to pause and remind ourselves that even at times when it may not appear so (depending on which broadsheet newspaper you read) God is in fact in charge of our church, and that we need to let him have that charge instead of wrestling it from him.

That said, Luke 10.38-42 is a fascinating reading for this week – it is the one in the lectionary. We will now have women bishops in this country. One obvious feature of Luke's Gospel is its sympathetic portrayals of women, who, as we know from both Acts and Paul's letters, were prominent members of the first churches. Luke is reflecting a religious context in which 'there is neither male nor female '. For every order of the church now, that will be true, as indeed for every order of society it ought to be.

The story presents us with two conventional images of woman. We have Martha, the 'housewife', bustling around with her chores; and Mary, the submissive woman, meekly kneeling and listening to her Master's voice. I wonder which of the two might be a woman bishop (or at least, where we are now, someone campaigning for them).

Martha is perhaps a campaigner, very active, getting stuff done, bustling around (and if we’re very honest, sometimes neglecting the real business of the church’s mission), so we might say she typifies the attitude of a female supporter of women bishops. Mary on the other hand, seems rather passive and submissive, not typical characteristics of a female bishop in waiting. However, lets remember 2 things; first, Mary has chosen to listen to the Lord, and submit to his authority, and pay him the attention he merits, which are good characteristics of a Christian leader. Secondly and more relevantly to this weeks events, Mary has crossed a divide in the cultural norms of her day; it would be quite unusual for a Jewsih rabbi and a woman to be seated next to each other ina home environment. Some say that they shouldn’t even really have been in the same room. So mary appears passive but is in fact taking a big step (I geuss in faith) that will set her against the cultural norms of her day.

Now that is the way of the woman bishop. And for those who did wait patiently for the Synod to sort themselves out (if you haven’t worked it out by now I am hugely in favour of women in the episcopate), what a great final line; “Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her”.

There is also a link with the Good Samaritan story that precedes it. Martha parallels the priest and Levite, who are too busy, too preoccupied, to stop and attend to the mugged man. Mary, however, attends to Jesus despite the opprobrium of her sister. Are there those in our churches who are so preoccupied with rules, committees and agendas that they cannot stop to wait on God – or the world? It is a good thing that we have women bishops. If you are worried about the effect on us here in the parishes I don’t think we will see much difference. The supreme governor of the Church of England has been a woman for the last 58 years after all.

So it is a good thing, but it is not the main thing; as a friend of mine paraphrased in a sermon the other week, “the harvest is plentiful but the workers are in the barn arguing about what colour the tractor should be”.

There is a task before us, and rather than just looking busy like Martha, we would do well, whether we are bishops or just normal Christians, to listen to our Lord, and sit under his authority.

Sermon at Lindsell and Little Saling, 11th July

I'm very pleased to say our placement student from Ridley Hall, Jody Stowell, has consented to guest post her sermon on this blog. If you want to read more of her work have a look at her blog, Radical Evangelical.

Amos7.7-17


Luke 10.25-37

So this morning we have our two texts, one from the prophet Amos and the other, a rather better known text from Luke, the Good Samaritan. It may seem at first glance that one has little to do with the other. The God of Amos is declaring anger towards God’s people, the Israelites: that God will no more be present with them and that Israel are to be sold into exile.

And then we have our Good Samaritan passage. Which is nice, isn’t it? This teacher, trying to discover what God wants him to do, is told to be neighbourly. And we like neighbourliness don’t we? Neighbourliness is good, it draws us together and it makes our communities work well and harmoniously together. Doesn’t it? Does it?

Did you ever wonder why Jesus tells this story this way round? He doesn’t actually entirely answer the question that is being asked. It’s kind of a way of Jesus, to not quite answer the question, but to create new ones.

Because, Jesus has just told this man to ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ and the man asks Jesus ‘so, who is my neighbour?’..... ‘who’s this neighbour, that I’ve got to be neighbourly to?’

You’ve probably heard before that it was a bit unexpected that it was the Samaritan who stopped. And that’s putting it mildly. Samaritans were not generally thought to be ‘good sorts’, in fact they were considered to be the lowest of the low, by the Jews. Impure trash.

But actually, in the story, it isn’t the Samaritan who Jesus wants the Jew to be neighbourly to. It’s the other way around. Jesus requires the Jew to accept the neighbourliness of the Samaritan.

As a Jew, you wouldn’t want a Samaritan touching you, let alone dressing your wounds and paying for you, I mean, how embarrassing, does this guy have no pride?

What do you think? Do you think that the Samaritan’s actions would lead to a more harmonious community for the Jew who had been helped out?

What do you think it did for him in his community, to be helped out by the ‘trash’ who lived over the road? The Samaritans are dirty, wicked people. Jews should die rather than accept the help of this piece of filth.

The man asks ‘who is my neighbour’ and the answer will cause him great discomfort.

_______________

Now, let’s just park that for a minute and have a little look at the Amos passage.

God is seriously ticked off with his people, isn’t he?

Why on earth would God want to sell them? It all seems a bit dramatic doesn’t it? What was it that they had done so wrong?

Amos tells us:

Hear this you that trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land, saying, ‘When will the new moon be over so that we may sell grain; and the Sabbath, so that we may offer wheat for sale? We will make the ephah small and the shekel great, and practise deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat.’ 8v4-6

and

I hate and despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt-offerings and grain-offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. 5v21-24

God is the God of justice for the poor and the oppressed and the outcast. They are the ones who do the worst because of those who cheat, those who fiddle the weights of the grain to give short measures or who don’t leave the last dregs of the wheat for the poor to pick up.

And, Amos says, it’s God’s people who have been the cheats! – they are meant to be the bringers of God’s justice to the earth, God’s shalom, but they are the cheats. And God says ‘no’... ‘My people are to be neighbourly’.

Neighbourly is one of those words that gets lost a bit, it can seem a bit mild. But actually it is a strong word, to live together with those around you, to accept them and who they are, even if they are sometimes very different from you. To give them, not just the fair things that they deserve, but an extra portion of whatever you have. This is true neighbourliness.

___________________________

So we return to our teacher, who gets much more than I think he bargained for, when he asks Jesus ‘who is my neighbour?’

The teacher knows his history, he knows that God’s people are to be ‘neighbourly’. This is the call of God’s people from the beginning, to welcome the widow and orphan and the foreigner. Throughout the whole of God’s story with his people, God has been known as the God of the widow and the orphan and the foreigner, those who are the underclass and the underdog in our society. This teacher knows that it is God’s people who are to be ‘neighbourly’.

So when Jesus introduces the one who is being neighbourly in this story as the Samaritan. He is not only saying, ‘hey these guys who you hate, they are your neighbour, be nice to them’, it’s actually much more radical than that. He is saying, ‘these guys who you hate, they can be my people’. They are welcomed in, they are not the excluded anymore and anyone who reaches out to those in need, anyone who is neighbourly, in the radically compassionate definition of that word, defines themselves as belonging to God.

And those who don’t reach out to those in need, says our passage in Amos, have no right to expect God to be present with them. Whether they think they are God’s people or not.

God’s people are those who are neighbourly.

___________________________

So as we step out into this week and we look around us to see where God is at work in our communities, may he open our eyes and hearts to those who need God’s all embracing love and may he give us the courage and strength we need to be those who bring that love and neighbourliness to those around us. May we be God’s people in this place.

Lindsell 4th July

Readings Galatians 6, 1-16, Luke 10, 1-20. Some stuff from Roots

In Galatians 6 Paul explores the idea that Christians are part of a new order in which the constraints of Torah Judaism are transcended. In Luke's Gospel, the good news is for everyone, not just those whose religion is defined by the same Torah. Both our readings today have Old Testament connections, but both of them can speak to us today in our situation here in Lindsell. Or indeed anywhere.


In my internet surfing this week I have read a lot of reaction from vicars and other Christians to the new BBC 2 series “Rev”, a comedy set in an inner London parish; I watched it and (apart from the swearing) thought it passable though not much like my own life or ministry (thank God). Interestingly though, the portrayal of the vicar as essentially a glorified social worker (and a rather weedy one at that) drew much criticism among my clergy friends. Not that there is no social element to Christian ministry, but that it was being presented as the only element, in the eyes of some viewers. Galatians 6 contains the verse that gives Paul’s version of Jesus’ summary of the law – bear one another’s burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ, so we know that we are called to care for others, and for the fellowship of believers, and in so doing we proclaim the love God has for the world, and indeed bring it into effect in our own actions.

But is “do as you would be done by” really all there is to being a Christian? I think the second half of Galatians 6 and our gospel reading show us clearly that it is simple, but not quite as simple as that popular misconception. These passages are about what is distinctive about Christians, telling us no t only to care for those around us now, but also to look to the Kingdom of God as the ideal community, delineated by God’s grace, not by human legalism or ritual. And not just to look to it, but to proclaim it.



Circumcision was enjoined on Abraham as a mark of the covenant between Israel and God (Genesis 17.9-14), and from the time of the Exile it became a sign of Jewish distinctiveness. Other ancient peoples also required this operation, although the biblical stipulation of circumcision on the eighth day after birth removes its function elsewhere as a puberty or pre-marital rite. The Messianic Jews who opposed Paul's mission to the Gentiles apparently insisted that Gentiles had to be circumcised before becoming Christians – pretty painful without anaesthetic. Such a badge of membership also excludes women, who were clearly prominent in the Pauline communities. Paul replies that 'in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything'; but the 'new creation' is everything. In other words, God is no longer looking for outward ritual commitment, but inner spiritual rebirth through faith in the one who brings in the Kingdom.

And the gospel reading completes the picture. Luke 10 verse 1 is a clear allusion to Numbers 11.16-17,24-25, where Moses appointed seventy 'elders', whose purpose is not made clear. Here, however, the mission of the seventy is clearly delineated, and it is also clear that they are not to expect an easy time (v. 3). They are told to carry no possessions and to speak to no one – rather as today when, if you venture into certain city areas, it is best not to take your credit cards or your mobile phone, and to keep yourself to yourself. Travelling light is often a means of self preservation.

This passage is framed by two stories about Samaritans. At Luke 9.51-53 they are represented as hostile; whereas in the Good Samaritan parable (Luke 10.29-37),the Samaritan is the 'hero'. Luke is warning his original readers of the risks attached to being Christians. They had already faced the Neronian persecutions – and more were to follow – as well as Jewish opposition. And so Samaria, along with Tyre, Sidon, etc. come to represent the hostile forces that the Seventy will have to face – just as Jesus himself was to face growing hostility as he 'set his face to go to Jerusalem' and to the ultimate hostility of the cross.

Luke 10 verses 13-15 show that this episode is an anticipation of eschatological judgement. How people respond to Jesus and his message now will determine how they will be judged in the Kingdom of God. The choice is stark: either they receive the 'worker' or they will be brushed aside like so much dust. 'The Kingdom of God has come near to you' (v. 9) –in the person of Jesus – and those who reject him bring upon themselves the fate of Tyre and Sidon.

Yet the mission is vindicated. The Seventy return jubilant, and their mission's success acquires cosmic significance as demons concede defeat and even Satan himself falls from the sky. There is a lot of bad news about the church these days, and so I guess I’m glad that “Rev” at least presented us with a priest with a sense of humour and a genuine family life, but more than that I am glad and privileged to serve in parishes like this one where people take seriously the call to care, and the call to proclaim god’s good news to all.

Sermons from St Mary's Stebbing are now available in audio form

I'm very pleased to say that sermons by me and my colleagues are now available in audio format here.

Thanks Dave and Duncan for getting this sorted out

Remembrance Sunday at Stebbing and Lindsell

Readings Micah 4, 1-5 and Philippians 4, 6-9

We will remember them.

It is 70 years ago this year that the Second World War began, and it is 90 years since we first held a remembrance Sunday – 91 since the end of the war, so 90 since the first annual marking of its ending.

But of course – and unfortunately - Remembrance Sunday is about so much more than that these days. It has been hard this week to frame in my mind what to say today after events first in Afghanistan and then in Fort Hood, Texas, in which virtues like honour and trust were discarded for personal and political gain at the cost of 18 lives.

I want to start with the obvious. Remembrance Sunday is ever more important year by year, as the number of living veterans of the first Armistice Day dwindles to almost none. It also remains important because in the news every day, and never more so perhaps than this week, conflict, death and injury are unavoidable, and we need to find some way of making sense of it all. I hope in what we do here today and what I say in this address we can try to do that.

In the three years we have been here there have probably been more deaths of UK service personnel than at any time for a good few years. But the conflicts that have taken their lives are far away from our lives; we do not see what they saw and we do not share their experience in any way really, in spite of the media coverage it all gets. This is a great contrast with conflicts of the past where the nation was under a fairly constant threat and the population as a whole considered themselves to be at war, even though it took weeks sometimes for news to get through. I guess that although we are constantly aware of what’s going on in Afghanistan, we do not actually consider ourselves to be at war – these days that is what soldiers do. So today of all days, we should not forget them.

The most significant thing I have learned in getting to know soldiers over the last few years is that they all love peace; they strive for it and long for it. That is why a reading like Philippians 4 is actually a good one for today; at first hearing these words do not sit well in a context of war, especially if you are a pacifist, but put yourself in the shoes of a soldier in Kandahar reading these words today from his or her special Armed Forces edition of the new testament. What better words could there be to both encourage and comfort someone like that? Yes it is true that there is very little that is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy in what we see on our TV screens from war zones around the world. All the more reason then for us, as for that hypothetical Bible –reading soldier to follow the apostle Paul’s advice to the Philippians and think about these things, because by their very nature they remind us of God’s Kingdom, and they focus our minds on trying to bring that to fruition.

Which is also what is going on in the prophecy of Micah 4. It has a short term fulfilment in the return of God’s people from exile, but when we reads it with our New Testament Christian glasses on, we see it referring metaphorically to the future rule and reign of God, with the consequence of peace and reconciliation. It is a famous passage often cited by people who oppose war, but I wanted us to hear it today because I believe Micah speaks into our current world as a voice of hope for the future, and as an encouragement to see the sacrifice of wars past and present not as futile, but as building towards a future in which the words of Micah speak of reality, not as a prophecy, and the words of Paul to the Philippians are more immediately relevant. We are not yet beating our sword into ploughshares, and there is still a lot of ugliness dishonesty, impurity, ignobility, and so on in the world, but our purpose in acting as we are called to, whether military or civilian, must be to work within God’s plan towards the goal these words spur us on to.

It is traditional on occasions such as today to draw a comparison between the sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of human lives in war, and in one sense my conclusion today is not going to deviate from that tradition. I will say as I always do that any comparison must point to the supremacy of Christ’s sacrifice, because its efficacy, as we are about to sing, means that God’s wrath is turned away form humanity – “On that cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied”.

There is a painting that belongs to the Royal Corps of Signals in Blandford, Dorset. It is called “Through”, and it depicts the body of a signaller, lying in open ground it what is clearly a battle situation. The signaller has given his life to re-connect a severed signals line, thus enabling two separated groups of soldiers to communicate. To me there is no co-incidence in the fact that the soldier’s body lies with arms outstretched and knees drawn up to one side, in the manner of a crucified body. The painting tells a story about human heroism, but it portrays a more profound truth about the supreme sacrifice, of Jesus Christ, which restored the connection between God and humanity that had been broken by human sinfulness.

Paul wrote to the Philippians, telling them “the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts in Christ Jesus”. The key words in that phrase are the last three – God’s peace is made available to us in Christ Jesus – through faith in him and by an acceptance of the validity of his teaching and the achievements of his sacrifice.

As we remember today all those in the past and in the present whose lives were spent in protecting our freedom, I feel the best way of making sense of the pain and the suffering of war today is to look at it all in the light of Christ’s own suffering. Not that we see Afghanistan as some kind of holy war, but that our understanding of what is happening in the world is always subject to the sovereignty of God.

All Saints 1 Nov 2009 at Lindsell and Stebbing, and All Souls at Stebbing

Isaiah 25, 6-8

John 11, 32-44

Today's Gospel presents a dramatic working out of the second beatitude: 'Blessed are those who weep now, for you will laugh' (Luke 6.21) or Matthew 5.4 'Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.' It is a theme echoed in Isaiah 25.8, and then in Revelation 21.4, as tears in the face of death are turned to joy.

All were weeping at Lazarus' death, and Jesus shared the sorrow of his friends. But his real response will be to enact the words of the second beatitude. His prayer at Lazarus' tomb does not ask for a miracle. He says 'Father, I am giving you thanks' (eucharisteo in Greek). His expression of confidence and joy uses a word, which we associate with the Eucharistic Prayer, which we of course make through our risen Lord Jesus Christ.

Tonight we will be thinking more about death and resurrection as we celebrate All Souls at Stebbing and Great Saling, with those who have been bereaved. This morning I would like to concentrate more on the status of the living church and the communion of all saints

The saints, in the way the term is used in the New Testament, are the community of believers who share a faith in Jesus as the way, the truth and the life. You do not have to be dead or even dead famous to be a saint. St Paul frequently addresses his letters to “the saints in ..”  

While I guess it is a bit strange that the Gospel chosen for this day is not about someone whom we would necessarily regard as a saint in the stereotypical sense, hre story of Lazarust does make the dramatic point that risen life with Christ is a free gift from God to all who are called to be saints. Famous saints like St Francis, or St Maximilian Kolbe, who did things to get themselves and more importantly God noticed are all very well, but if we concentrate too much on them, we might miss out on the person they are trying to draw us to – Jesus. St Therese of Lisieux - whose relics recently toured the UK, is all very well, but she’s no different from you or me in the eyes of God.  To focus too much on any saint, if our relationship with God suffers, is like going on a journey, but stopping at the first signpost to our destination, and just standing looking at it.

 The dead Lazarus, bound in his grave clothes, could do nothing for himself, but he was given life as the free gift from God. Having said he’s not normally listed under saints, we need to remember that travellers to Paris are sometimes greeted by him, if they arrive by train at the Gare St Lazare.

Though of course St John couldn’t have known about that rather good designation for the end of a journey, he invites us to note the parallels between the raising of Lazarus and the resurrection of Jesus, which of course opens the way to us to our final destination in the new creation.

Think about it for a second. Both stories have women called Mary who weep; they both involve cave tombs with stones rolled away. In both narratives there is a lengthy time the body spends in the tomb, and references to grave clothes, and (implied by the spices on Easter morning, and overtly here,) the resultant smell. Of course the passages are ultimately linked by the sheer impossibility in human terms alone, of coming to life again.

 The similarity continues then with the appearances of Lazarus and the risen Christ from their tombs. Lazarus emerges bound in strips of cloth, and Jesus orders people to unbind him. This is a symbol of the way in which we are bound by sin and death, and a reminder that the risen Christ will proclaim release from sin when he appears in the upper room (John 20). There, his authority to release people bound by sin will be given to his disciples. With this, the tears are at an end as, in the words of Isaiah (25.8), 'He will swallow up death for ever.'

One  Tuesday night last month at the course in Christian studies we were looking at the apostle’s creed, and considering what those ancient words mean for the relationship of believers to each other and to God. I was blessed to be in a small group as we discussed the final paragraph:

       I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting.

Amen.

As a group we noticed how there a natural and gracious sequence in these words: the Spirit of God brings together the church on earth and the communion of saints, which transcends the boundaries of space and time. The communion is based on forgiveness – by God’s grace alone we are saints, remember, and centres on the resurrection of the body – the body of Jesus yes, but also our bodies, when we make the transition from being part of the earthly church to just being members of the communion of saints in eternity.

But I promised to focus on the living this morning, so I wonder how we really ought to feel about the communion of saints. I’ve never been much of a protestant, until last week anyway, and I do, you’ve probably noticed, celebrate saints’ days from the lectionary whenever I can. I’m not doing this, I’m sure you realise, because I think that saints are more important than Jesus, or even because I think they are as important as Jesus. I do it because they point to Jesus, and so help us on our way.

That is our task too, but that’s another story.

All Souls at Stebbing

1 Peter 1 3-9

You know typing, right – well, the fact is I have to do a lot of it these days, but haven’t had a lesson since I was 17. I know I’m doing it wrong, but I’ve just kind of adapted to the keyboard and screen so that I can get on with the job in hand.

The other day I was typing an address for a funeral, and instead of writing about the hope of eternal life, I wrote about the hop of eternal life. That’s funny now, but I had a hard time trying to keep a straight face at the crematorium.

If I knew how to type properly, and didn’t rely on computers to do my grammar for me, my life would in a way be simpler, less complex and more joyful. I’d be doing fewer corrections too!

Why am I talking about typing, you ask, well, because it is a bit like life, especially the life of a Christian; we do it, but not all of us actually know what we’re doing. Some of us were taught about it in our youth, some more recently, but under stress it is hard to call to mind things from the recesses of our memories.

But our struggle with life, like my struggle with the keyboard, doesn’t normally show, it just sometimes comes to the surface when we are under pressure or stress, as we are when we suffer bereavement.

Church, then, is like a typing class; it gives us the things we need to do life together, even in the darkness. Here we can find support, comfort and (by the grace of God) strength to carry on. Here we can soak up the wisdom of the Scriptures and our traditions, that have served us for many centuries and are still of indispensable use today. Here we can find a comforting shoulder, a listening ear, and even simple things like a cup of tea and a box of tissues. Things we need for every day, but particularly so in our loss.

But the picture breaks down at this point. If you attend a class – for typing or whatever, you have a teacher, who spends some time with you and then you are left on your own to get on with it. With God it is not like that. Yes, Jesus did spend some time on earth, but after he left he sent the Holy Spirit to be our comforter and guide, so we never need to be alone; we never need to be alone. Even in the deepest darkest moments of our sorrow or suffering, we never need to be alone.

Jesus doesn’t just teach us how to live in good times and in bad, then leave is alone -  he walks with us on the journey through life.

You and I find comfort in the love we receive from others, the practical help, the hug, the company; in the touch of a comforter’s hand, you may be assured that you are receiving the love of God.

So if you are feeling a little like an untrained typist trying to type a dissertation, be assured you are in good company. Church is not about being superior and saying “we know how to do this”. Church is really just a bunch of people who know they need God’s grace and strength, and are brought together on a common journey to seek these things. We are, you might say, the walking wounded, but because we walk with the wounded saviour, our heads do not drop.

Our reading spoke of the inexpressible joy of knowing Christ; perhaps that is what is meant by the hop of eternal life?

But the hope of eternal life, which never disappoints us because the Holy Spirit has been given us, is always waiting for us to reach out and claim it for ourselves, and then we shall find rest for our souls.

Lindsell 11 10 09

Yesterday's sermon can be found here

Stebbing and Lindsell 04 10 09

please visit the Friends' Meeting House for last Sunday's sermon

thanks

Lindsell, Little Saling and (partly) Stebbing, 13th September 09

This (it being a frantic week) owes a lot to Roots on the Web. The readings Were Proverbs 1, 20-the end and Mark 8, 27-the end. I kind of used this script at Stebbing but deviated massively because I needed to launch the vision statement there.

This week as we continue to travel through Proverbs and St Mark, we are directed to the difference between God's way and our own, and exhorted to follow his wisdom and commands.


The teaching in Proverbs is delivered as from a father to a son, and some of it may be based on the teachers of the Egyptian and Babylonian Empires. But what is remarkable alongside this heritage is the high regard given in the Book to women, of which we shall hear even more in next week’s reading. The book begins (chapter 1 verse 8) by giving respect to a mother's teaching alongside that of a father. And now Wisdom itself is personified as the most desirable of women. Wisdom is the revelation of God, the fountain of life, giving us discernment, which frees us from death and leads to life. The Wisdom of the God of Israel is not a goddess like those of ancient fertility religions. She is the word of the living God who pours out the divine Spirit (1.23). Those who respond to her will share in the messianic banquet, as we read in chapter 9 verses 1-6). It is fascinating and perhaps unexpected that the book of Proverbs contains a resurrection hope.

From chapter 1, though, the first call of Wisdom is to conversion. The path of violence must be abandoned and the first step on the path to life is to recognise how pervasive violence is in those who turn their backs on 'the fear of the Lord'.

The punishment envisaged for this failure to seek divine wisdom is not a thunderbolt from heaven. Rather, it is simply that the foolish will reap the consequences of their own folly. They 'eat the fruit of their way' because they have ignored God's call.

The view expressed in Proverbs had been a simple message; that 'those who listen to me will be secure and will live at ease' (1.33). Later Wisdom literature like Job, Ecclesiastes and Lamentations would temper this sunny innocence with a realistic recognition that things do not automatically go well for those who follow God's way. This provides the basis for Jesus' remarks in today's Gospel reading from Mark 8. It probably also resonates slightly better for us in the light of our own life experiences. Perhaps that’s why Proverbs doesn’t feature heavily in books with titles like “why do bad things happen to good people?”

Jesus asked the disciples who they say he is, and Peter confesses him as the Christ, i.e., the Messiah. Having commended Peter's answer by indicating that his confession is divinely revealed, Jesus immediately goes on to outline the nature of his understanding of the Messiah. He was not going to be a warrior king at the head of a triumphant army who would come to overthrow the occupying forces and “restore the Kingdom to Israel”. Our familiarity with that phrase from Acts chapter 1 is an indication that even after the resurrection, the disciples didn’t necessarily get the message!

Instead, Jesus explains that his destiny is to be a wounded figure who is eventually killed. Nonetheless, even here there is hope for vindication through resurrection.

I have always been intrigued by this episode. It reveals so much about Jesus but challenges us in two ways; first, to consider his very nature, ands second, in our own response to his question, “who do you say that I am?”

We confess in our creeds that Jesus is God incarnate; we acknowledge his authority and power and we worship him in response to those things. But I can’t help but wonder whether Jesus was really expecting Peter to give the answer he did. Can he have known it was coming and so did he therefore plan his consequent teaching session on what was to come, or was it all spontaneous? We will never know.



What we can be sure of though is that Peter made his declaration unprompted, other than by the words he had heard and the actions and attitudes he had seen coming from Jesus. We could I suppose conclude that whether or not he foresaw Peter’s response, Jesus seizes this moment to tell his disciples about his death in order to reinforce the point that he is not the Messiah that most Jews were waiting for. He is God, but he is human and has to react as a human to the workings of Peter’s very human mind.

And so, when we are asked, “Who do you say that I am”, we probably know the answer we are expected to give, if we say the creed often enough. Yet I acknowledge that not everyone here would answer that question in the same way as Peter did. This passage is frequently used to indicate the importance of personal confession of the person and nature of Christ in the Christian faith, and there is no doubt that our faith is edified by being able to say it with him, but we need to remember that Peter didn’t say this out of nowhere; his confession was not out of the blue, but was the result of spending a lot of time sitting and listening to Jesus’ teaching, watching him in conversation with others, and presumably worshipping with him. We need to remember this because if we forget it, our ministry of welcome to those who come along to church looking for something or someone, and our ministry of inclusion of those who struggle to confess like Peter, will be compromised, and we will appear to be saying, “If you come here, you need to be able to say that”, which of course we are not saying at all.



Peter’s confession may have been sudden, but it was a long time coming. Unfortunately his next pronouncement is less well considered, as we then turn from the wounded servant messiah to wounding tongues. Having just been commended by Jesus, Peter is then sharply rebuked for daring to suggest that the way of suffering was not an appropriate way forward. Peter's response to this public rebuke is not recorded but it is not unreasonable to think that he would at the time have felt stung by that censure, and he might remember it forever.

However, when we recall that Mark's Gospel may well be based on Peter's preaching, the fact that this is remembered would seem to indicate that by this time Peter was happy to admit to his fault, rather than feel resentful about the just rebuke. He had not appreciated the divine wisdom behind Jesus' remark, and behind his going the way of the cross. Are we wise enough to listen when we are called to account, or do we make the occasion one for bearing a grudge and trying to get even?

lindsell salings 16 08 09

For todays sermon please go here

Lindsell 030509

Text was Acts 4, 5-12 and John 10, 11-18

"True leadership and discipleship cannot be separated from the personal love of those whom we know by name and voice."

In John's Gospel, Jesus picks up the metaphor of the shepherd, familiar to his hearers from the 23rd Psalm and gives it a new, self-referential, twist: the good shepherd is the one who is prepared to face death in order to fulfil his responsibilities.
In Acts, Peter follows his master's example. By healing the cripple and fearlessly proclaiming the source of his power, he puts himself in immediate danger. In each case, the willingness to sacrifice oneself is tied to personal love: the shepherd knows the sheep by name and they know his voice; the disciples act in the name of Jesus; the ones we care for are our brothers and sisters.
Peter is the dominant figure in the early chapters of Acts, and his appearance here is typical. After a night in prison, he and his companions are brought before the Jewish religious authorities. The assembled array is impressive: rulers, priests and scribes; the high priest and members of his family, listed by name. The disciples are thrust right into the middle of all this. They are unlettered, ordinary, men, as Luke reminds us a little later; we know also from his Gospel that Peter's nerve had failed when his master had been arrested. But now he is transformed: he speaks with the freedom and confidence that was, in the ancient world, the mark of a philosopher. His style is fluent and authoritative, more a sermon than a speech of defence. He even emphasises the errors of his prosecutors by adding 'you' to the Old Testament quotation, 'This is the stone which you builders rejected', and by insisting on the resurrection of Christ before the Sadducees, who rejected even the future resurrection. The transformation of Peter reveals the power of the Holy Spirit, bestowed on the apostles at Pentecost.
Jesus is rarely in the New Testament described directly as 'God'. Instead, the writers repeatedly ascribe to him activities or titles or descriptions that properly belong to God. Here Jesus identifies himself with the Good Shepherd who, in the Old Testament, stands for God. Ezekiel 34 makes a contrast with the bad shepherds, who neglect and exploit their flocks; Psalm 23 gives details of the painstaking care provided by the true herdsman. In John, Jesus contrasts the shepherd with the hired hand: the one abandons his charges at the first sign of danger; the other faces death for the sake of his sheep. The extension of the Old Testament metaphor is striking: Jesus identifies himself with God precisely in his self-giving death.
Jesus' claim is that his relationship with the Father, one of mutual love and knowledge, is the source of his love and knowledge of his sheep. They are his own: the Greek word idios is used of members of one's family. It is the unity between Father and Son that makes unity among the sheep an imperative. That is why the 'other sheep' will become part of one and the same flock. Some scholars argue that the 'other sheep' are scattered groups of Jewish Christians in John's own day, facing persecution by the synagogues; most think that they are the non-Jews who will eventually become Christians. In either case, the readers are reminded that they are all linked as members of one family through the one shepherd.
And the one shepherd is of course unique. As Peter says in his conclusion, “Salvation is found in no on else, for there is no other name under heaven given to people by which we must be saved.” He is the only one.
Its worth noting that although at Easter we talk about how Jesus rose from the dead, this passage makes it clear that it was God who raised him; he did not do it himself. The work of Christ on the cross, and the power of God which raised him from the dead, are how our salvation is possible. Peter’s speech before the Sanhedrin sees them with their backs against the wall, defending their faith and seeking to ensure the truth about Jesus is properly understood. Clearly, Peter took an enormous risk in speaking out, and could have suffered a similar fate to that of Jesus, but the Sanhedrin eventually release him and John.

I find it fascinating that Jesus’ picture of the sheepfold, with himself as the shepherd, the protective gate (verse 7), while apparently first of all implying a protected, isolated community, if we see the sheep as the Church, is of course followed by the statement from Jesus that “I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen, I must bring them also … there shall be one flock and one shepherd.” So its actually a call to be inclusive of outsiders – whether, as we have seen, these other sheep are from other churches or from no church at all.
Here at Lindsell this is what we aim to do, to be inclusive, and we need to be ready to be transformed by our encounter with other sheep. I’m no farmer, but I do know that when you introduce new stock to a flock or herd, the gene pool is altered over generations and the animals become different – I wonder how long it would take fro a flock of plain white sheep to become spotty with the introduction of just one Jacobs ram? In the same way, as we grow as a church, and we are the only officially growing church in this benefice right now, we need to hold in tension our stated aims to have an open door and to hold to traditional values.
Our shepherd does want to let other sheep into the sheepfold, but are we ready to receive them? Have we perhaps regarded the sanctuary of this building, this church family as somehow sacrosanct? I think perhaps not so far in my experience, which is why we are growing. Yet at the same time we do not need to compromise our gospel faith, and instead we should be ready to model it by word and deed.

The sheepfold Jesus spoke of might have been made up simply of a circle of thorn bushes with a gap guarded by the shepherd – who would lie down across the entrance, hence lay down his life – but I suspect that for us the thorns are not just o protect us from what is outside; if you are sitting in or near thorns you cannot stay comfortable for too long and you have to move; the thorns in our sheepfold then might be a motivation to get up and go out- to turn the church inside out, for the sake of the other sheep, the people we know and love, who aren’t here today.

Using some material from www.rootsontheweb.com by Sister Margaret Atkins

Lindsell and Great Saling Easter day 09

Readings were Isaiah 25, 6-9 and Mark 16, 1-8

As we celebrate Easter, I’d like to ask, what does the Christian teaching of the resurrection of Jesus from the dead mean?
Our Old Testament reading from Isaiah 25 poses this question in its expectation that God will destroy death. In actual fact, there is almost no certain resurrection hope in the Old Testament, but Isaiah uses metaphorical language to describe the nature of the era that would result from God's saving intervention. In the short term he was talking about a return to Jerusalem from exile – reference to “On this Mountain” is intended to mean the city built on Mount Zion. As we read the passage with our New Testament Easter perspective, it is hard to avoid reading the cross and the resurrection into verses like “on this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples… he will swallow up death forever.” Today of all days, these words evoke a dramatic picture of Calvary’s hilltop scene, and of Matthew’s image of the Temple veil being torn in two as Jesus died. The first thing resurrection means then, is that death need not be the end.
This theme is echoed in Revelation 21, which speaks of the New Jerusalem, the ultimate intimacy with God, where there is no more death or mourning or crying or pain. This is what the resurrection of Jesus opens up for us. The language of salvation in Isaiah 25 points us to the work of Jesus upon the cross, and the love of God in raising him from the dead. So the second thing resurrection means is that we can be in a personal relationship with God, both in Christ and because of what he achieved.
But who is “we”? In the Old Testament as a whole, the focus is on God’s relationship with his chosen people, the Jews. In this passage however there is a prefiguring of the New Testament’s re-definition of that term, as the biblical hope for Israel is extended to include all of humankind. This universal hope and the promise that death is irrelevant make this an entirely appropriate passage to be thinking about on Easter Sunday. What Jesus won by conquering death is available to all who put their trust in him, not just people of one ethnic group. Even this seems to be prefigured in Isaiah 25 verse 9; “This is the Lord, we trusted in him; let us rejoice and be glad in his salvation.” So the picture Isaiah paints of a people returning to their home city has become a picture of the Kingdom of God, of those who by putting their trust in Christ have been delivered from death and will dwell with God. The third thing that resurrection means is the redefinition of humanity as potentially all being the people of God. No one is outside this scope, no matter how evil they may appear; the victory of the cross and the empty tomb is just as available to a mass murderer as it is to you and me. We would both simply have to place our faith and trust in Christ, and the burden of our sin, whether great or small, is washed away.
So what actually happened at the resurrection? Well Mark 16 is as interesting for what it does not say as for what it does say. It describes the appearance of an angel but not that of Jesus himself. When we set Mark’s account alongside the writings and theology of St Paul, Paul has no description of the empty tomb and Mark has no description of the resurrection appearances.
In fact we must read both narratives in the light of each other. The empty tomb, as described in the Gospel, is an unambiguous symbol which finds its meaning when read alongside the resurrection appearances, which we will be looking at over the coming weeks. The resurrection appearances gain their definitive meaning from the description of the empty tomb. Put together, the Easter message is that Jesus, in rising from the dead, was revealed as a glorious heavenly being who was entitled to universal worship. The absence of a body supports a faith in the resurrection of the body rather than just a separation of body and spirit. The fourth thing that resurrection means then is that in Christ God re-drew the boundaries of heaven and earth, and opened the gate between them.
The original version of the Gospel probably ended at Mark 16.8, since what follows is a kind readers’ digest version of the resurrection appearances from the other gospels. If this is the case, the subtle absence of full narrative closure is striking. The women said nothing to anyone for they were afraid. Indeed, the original Greek wording appears unfinished: 'they were afraid of … ' what? We never find out. Somehow, Mark is hanging on to his notion of a secret right to the end, and doesn't ever actually say that the risen Christ was seen. So we need to acknowledge that resurrection also means a mystery. We simply don’t know how he did it.
In conclusion, Mark’s account brings us back to the question of what the resurrection means and how the disciples became convinced about it. It leaves space for doubts and fears but is unequivocal in the description of the empty tomb, and of the coming mission of the disciples to go into Galilee, and thence into the entire world. From there we return to Isaiah’s picture of a salvation given by God for the whole world to benefit from. Yet there is no passivity in this; in language reminiscent of the New Testament, Isaiah portrays the nations of the earth acknowledging God, and putting their trust in him for salvation.
To fully take the meaning of resurrection on for ourselves, for our own faith, this is what we are called to do as well.
Let us pray.


Some material by Rev'd Dr Jonathan Knight taken from www.rootsontheweb.com and is copyright © Roots for Churches Ltd 2008.

Lindsell and Stebbing Palm Sunday 09

Readings were Psalm 118 and Mark 11,1-11

You know that feeling you get when someone starts telling you a story about something that happened to them, or a joke, or whatever, and about 5 seconds in, you remember that they have already told you this thing, and you know what’s coming at the end of the story, you’ve heard the punchline? You are usually too polite to stop them and say, actually you told me this yesterday or last week or whenever, so you listen on to the end, and there is no impact for you, because you’ve already heard it.

Well, as we arrive at the beginning of Holy Week, I am only too aware that we know the end of the story; it is a story that has been told many many times to us and to our forebears; how Jesus Christ rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and was welcomed as a King, but within days had been tried and condemned to death, executed and buried as a convicted criminal, yet rose from the dead after 3 days in the tomb. We know the end of the story because we are still living in its light. We know the end of the story, but that ought not to diminish the impact for us of this episode. It certainly did not diminish for Mark’s first readers, who evaluated the triumphal entry in the light of the resurrection. Of course, we can only call it the triumphal entry if Jesus does go on to rise form the dead.

I’m fascinated by the fact that the crowds welcomed Jesus with open arms, they put down their cloaks and their palm branched to line his route from the Mount of Olives into the valley and up into Jerusalem. So they welcomed him but really they had no idea who he was; only the disciples – and arguably not all of those, had any clue. I was reminded of this on Thursday morning when, while waiting for my sports news bulletin on BBC breakfast TV I was subjected to 25 minutes of coverage of g20 leaders arriving at Excel; the cameras were all waiting for Barak Obama, but he was in a jam (or something) and so in the delay a stream of lesser faces were shown arriving, and the hapless newsreaders struggled to work out who the people greeting Gordon Brown were – the classic example being, on the arrival of an oriental chap, “So that’ll be the prime Minister of Japan”, “ no Bill, that’s Ban Kyi Moon, the UN secretary general.”

In our celebrity driven culture there is a tendency to run from one media hype to the next – for journalists and photographers that is sometimes literally true – if you have ever happened to be in an airport when film or sports stars are arriving you’ll know what I mean. They didn’t have media hype in Jerusalem in 33AD, but they did have an expectation of a coming King, a coming Saviour, to deliver the people from Roman occupation. So if the news came that Jesus was riding into town, the expectation would be high. The gospel writers reflect this expectation by showing Jesus as King – and not just King of Israel but of the entire world. The expectation may then have been exaggerated, much as tabloids tend to exaggerate today, but the gospel writers had a good reason for that – they wanted to make sure their readers got the point about the Messiah’s kingship being of David’s line, but of a different order – Jesus did not ride in as a conqueror but as a suffering servant. He did not come to boot the Romans out but to inaugurate a Kingdom not of this world.

It’s perhaps mostly about perceptions. Jesus was perceived by the crowds to be one kind of King, when actually he was and is a different kind of King altogether; his Kingdom is not of this world; he may have been born into a royal family but in order to ascend to the throne he had to die rather than stay alive, and citizens of his Kingdom are not limited by time space or geography. This has been a big challenge to me recently. As both Lindsell and Stebbing have bee thinking in recent months about how to describe ourselves and our vision, it is good, although not always easy, as part of that process, to consider how we are perceived by those who do not come to church.

In Lindsell I find that there is generally at the moment a perception of the church as being indeed a place of traditional values, an open door and a warm welcome. Our challenge is to make that perception into a motivation for people to welcome God into their lives in Christ. I am happy to be part of a church that stands for the things we say we stand for; what I wonder is, do any of them matte to those who aren’t here? And if not, how can we make it so that they do matter. My hunch is that we will need to carry on doing what we do – caring for others, those in need and those bereaved, and caring for our community, with a servant heart. This I believe is the pattern that fits with Jesus’ example.

In Stebbing I am beginning to realise that our pattern of church is a broken one. Firstly, because of a potential misunderstanding of what this service and the service at 5 pm tonight, are actually about. They are not primarily designed for people who already come to this church; rather, they are both intended to provide a means for us to open our door wide. In the morning, it is open those who do not currently come but who would prefer this kind of formal liturgical worship, and in the evening the same – for informal café style worship. So if regular church members are staying away “because they don’t like that kind of service”, then they are unable to invite anyone to come along, and the evangelistic endeavour is undermined.
Secondly, it may be that the perception of what church is for, who church is for and how we are part of church, is mismatched between church and village. In order to rectify that there is only one solution – to turn ourselves inside out. Then the village as while can see who we are and what we stand for, and then also there will be no wall between us. This will make is quite vulnerable, but I believe it is the pattern that fits with Jesus’ example.



That is the question to ask, isn’t it? “What would Jesus do?” There are many answers to this question, but they would all involve 2 things – a servant heart and a desire to glorify God.

One thing I know Jesus would not do is vote for the BNP. I only mention this because you are going to start seeing election posters for the European elections soon with an assertion from the BNP that Jesus would vote for them because they stand up for the persecuted. Of course, this is a democracy and you are free to vote for those loonies er… I mean that party of you so wish, but let us remember that Palm Sunday is not about democracy, it’s about monarchy, the Kingship of Christ over the entire world. Jesus’ Kingdom is not like a country or even a nation on this earth; it is not subject to elections for it is a true theocracy, in which God reigns, and as our Psalm reminded us, The Lord is good, and his love endures forever.

So even though you know what happens at the end, journey with me this Holy Week. Come with us on the Good Friday walk, and hear and re-live the passion narrative, the story of Jesus’ trail and crucifixion and death. And as you journey, reflect upon your own lives, as I will be reflecting upon mine. And as we near the celebration of resurrection, just after we have held our APCM, let us also think about a new start, for a new year, with a new and fresh vision to serve the people and glorify God. We need not worry if we are going over old ground, after all, at the end of the Triumphal entry, Jesus left the city and went back to the Mount of Olives.

The end is a bit sudden, but "live", we went straight into an act of commitment and the blessing of the palms

Lindsell Stebbing and Great Saling 29th March 09

It's quite a rare thing for mew to preach in all three services in a day, and probably even rarer to preach the same sermon in all three churches.
The readings were Hebrews 5, 5-10 and John 12, 20-33
There were a lot of ad libs, for example about PSA. The bit of the shack I read out was from page 31 where Mack and Missy are talking about whether God is mean to send Jesus to the cross

Why is Jesus like the Internet?
One reason is my spell checker won’t let me write either of those two words without a capital letter!
This week in Stebbing the broadband Internet connection wasn’t working.
As a result I found myself getting quite stressed, and realised just how much I rely on these things for communication, to stay connected to lots of networks and to receive and send lots of information. I felt cut off, and it made me think about being cut off from God.
Last week after church at Little Saling, young Oscar Roe asked me “What is salvation?” I gave him an answer, but I’m not sure it was an adequate one. This week, I might have answered using the broadband cut off metaphor.
Without Christ, we are cut off from God, we cannot get through to him and we cannot come into his presence, but Christ provides for us a means of communication with God, and he is also the provider to us of everything God wants to give us. Just as our computers give and receive information from other computers via the Internet, Christ the means both of our communication with God, and his communication – of his love, his guidance, his power and his comfort – with us. When our Internet connection goes down, we may feel cut off, but that state of isolation is nothing compared to the condition of being cut off from God.

In this sense then, Jesus is, as the writer to the Hebrews says, the source of our salvation, as well as being the means. He is how we receive God’s gift of eternal life – through faith in him, and he is the reason we can receive it, because of his death upon the cross. Hebrews tells us that Jesus’ priesthood was not a human institution but a divine appointment. It was God’s purpose, and Jesus’ choice, to take the path he walked, the path to the cross.

So then, another way Jesus is like the Internet is that you don’t need to know how it works to benefit from it.
What I mean by that is, I don’t understand computers beyond a limited amount of information like how to switch them on and off, or how to … er, actually that’s about it. Yet I can still use one and benefit from the communication tools it affords me (when it is working of course!)

In the same way, there are whole libraries full of books on the theology of the cross. Theologians from all shades of the church have spent the last 2 millennia puzzling over the mechanics of the cross, how it is that one man’s death at one point in history can have such far-reaching and fantastic consequences. There are lots of different theories of the atonement, but they remain theories. I am not one of those people who assess a Christian’s orthodoxy on the basis of which theory of the atonement they subscribe to. But there is one issue surrounding this that has been debated recently, and which our readings today offer interesting insights on.

Hebrews speaks of Christ’s obedience, and John’s gospel portrays Jesus predicting his own heath, and speaking of its consequences. John’s Jesus is a man who knows what he has to do, yet still chooses to do it in the face of extreme distress. Some people say they do not like the idea of God forcing his Son to die, railroading him into making a sacrifice. This, it is said by some, is inconsistent with the idea of a God of love and grace, which the New Testament tells of. This approach regards the idea of God sacrificing his son as barbaric, just as we would regard the story of Abraham and Isaac as barbaric, if God had not intervened to stop the patriarch from killing his own son.

However, it is clear that Jesus knew his own mind – he was daunted by the prospect, but he trusted God. He was aware of the stakes, but he chose to go to the cross; he was not railroaded and could have taken another route; yet he knew the Father’s will. Not that it was a vindictive death sentence laid down by a vindictive God, but that when he was lifted up form the world, he would draw all people to himself. Lifted up in John is a reference to the cross, the throne of the King.

To reinforce this point I would like to read a paragraph from the Shack (p31)

So, if you like, to answer Oscar’s question more articulately, salvation is the fact that Jesus chose willingly to die for us. He knew his sacrifice would not be in vain, and he became obedient to his father in choosing to die. His death conquered death for us; that is salvation, that even though we die yet shall we live, because that’s what he did – but we must save the last bit for Easter.
So to conclude, Oscar, salvation is being saved from death, being brought into God’s family, God’s kingdom. It is something Jesus has done for us upon the cross, but we are not passive it this. Just as Jesus chose to die – his Father did not compel him, but he chose to die, we have to choose to follow him, to trust him and to believe in his promises.
When we have done that, if it’s not too trivial a comparison, Jesus is our Internet connection to God. Through him we receive messages, reassurances, encouragement, rebukes, healing and forgiveness. Through him we send to God our worship, our praises, our prayers, our confessions, our frustrations and our distress. In doing this we draw closer to Christ, closer, by the power of the Spirit in us, to each other, and closer to our Father God.