St Andrew's Zurich

Acts 2:1-21; Psalm 104: 26-34; Romans 8:14-17; John 14:8-17, 25-27

It seems that every day in our newspapers, on our tv screens, through our social media, podcasts, in our conversations, we hear about the world, the earth, and what is happening: the wars, disasters, the young attacking old men because of their colour, race or religion; people struggling to travel where they want and if they do travel, facing prejudice and rejection because of their country of origin; women, children, young and old being bombed and starved, their land taken because of greed, mutual distrust, hatred and the vicious cycle of revenge.  It can seem that our world is in a parlous state, to say the least.  And humanity?  Destroying what is beautiful for profit; stirring up hatred and enmity for political and power gains; arousing suspicions, stoking fears, fomenting divisions.  And why?  I find that words from a song from the musical Oliver spring to mind:  “Where is love? Does it fall from clouds above? Is it underneath the willow tree that I’ve been dreaming of?”  Must we travel far and wide to find it? (2)  Are we who seek it merely dreamers, dreaming dreams?  Idealists?  Naïve?

“Pour out, I will pour out my spirit, earth shall be much more than it seems.  Both sons and daughters shall prophesy, young and old shall dream dreams.”  And following those words, I think my answer to my questions is NO!  No, we are not dreamers, idealists, naïve.  And why?  Because of Pentecost.  We have moved from the Annunciation, through the Incarnation, Christ living amongst us, beside us, sharing our lives, feeling everything we feel, and more – feeling the rejection of the world, the pain of torture and cruel, deliberate, humiliating, relentless death.  Christ has known and felt everything the world is still throwing at his people, that humanity is still doing to humanity.  Christ knows.  God knows!  Christ has been there, in the middle of suffering.  And has come out the other end.  And has sent the Spirit for us: to remind us of all he did and teach us more.  And so, “Both sons and daughters shall prophesy, young and old shall dream dreams.”  Not just shall, but should, must, dream dreams – dreams of the future, the future revealed in Christ, in the resurrection, Ascension and in the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost.  Because in Christ those dreams, those prophecies are realised.

“Pour out, I will pour out my spirit, earth shall be much more than it seems.  Both sons and daughters shall prophesy, young and old shall dream dreams.”  Yes, we need to find our voice: the voices inspired by the Spirit to speak peace and hope and love into the world, into those situations of hate and greed and division.  That peace given to us by Christ, his peace left with us. The peace which gives us the hope that “earth shall be much more than it seems”, that we can be much more than we seem.  Because the Spirit gives us power, strength and voices to become more, to be more Christ, to live more Christ in the world, to open the world to the promise of God’s love.  To speak the truth that the world tries to reject, as it tried to reject the Word of Truth and Light of God, who came to redeem, reunite, restore humanity and reconcile us to each other once more, and reconcile us to God forever.  The one whose Spirit broke down the division of different voices and, on that first Pentecost, allowed each to hear in their own tongues the words of love, peace and reconciliation through Christ’s love for us, Christ who leaves his peace with us, if we keep his commandments, if we love him as he loved us, and if we love each other, the earth and all there is therein, with his same intensity and hopefulness.

“Pour out, I will pour out my spirit, earth shall be much more than it seems.  Both sons and daughters shall prophesy, young and old shall dream dreams.”  We are the sons and daughters, the young and old, called to prophesy and dream dreams.  We are the ones to be inspired by the Spirit of truth and speak peace, hope and love into the darkness of the world.  To stand up and say: earth can be much more than it seems: we can be much more than we seem – all of us, all of humanity, if we stop, look around us and see the world through God’s eyes, see each other through God’s eyes, seeing the worth, the value, the loveliness and hopefulness and potential in everyone.  The loveliness, hopefulness and potential that when united can work miracles in the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The miracle of bringing hope, love and unity and breaking down the barriers of hate, fear and pride that divide and oppress.  The miracle of reconciliation that can happen if we allow the Spirit to be poured into us, allow the wind and flame to inspire us, guide us and enlighten us, fire us up to speak the Peace that Christ leaves with us, which calms troubled hearts, takes all fear away and brings the unity that Pentecost gave us a taste of.  ”How is it that we hear, each of us, in our own language?”  Because the language spoken was the language of love and the language of love is universal.  God’s love is universal, and eternal.  We are those who are led by the Spirit, and so are, as Paul writes, God’s children, as all people are God’s children.  We can all cry: Abba, Father, through the life and love of the Son and the power of the Spirit. 

This Pentecost, let us feel inspired, filled with the loving gift of the Spirit to stand up and speak the universal language of love, to speak truth to the world, to show in our lives, our actions, in our communities that the world and its people can be more than it seems.  Earth and all people can be more because Christ tells us: “I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  God has poured out the Spirit on us, on the earth; earth can be more than it seems; sons, daughters, us, all people can prophesy and dream dreams and the world can be transformed through the hope-filled power of Pentecost; the power of the Spirit of love working within us in the name of the Father and the Son. 

I close with the poem: “Pentecost,” by Malcolm Guite and hope that we truly feel the power of Pentecost in our selves, in our souls, today:

Today we feel the wind beneath our wings
Today  the hidden fountain flows and plays
Today the church draws breath at last and sings
As every flame becomes a Tongue of praise.
This is the feast of fire, air, and water
Poured out and breathed and kindled into earth.
The earth herself awakens to her maker
And is translated out of death to birth.
The right words come today in their right order
And every word spells freedom and release
Today the gospel crosses every border
All tongues are loosened by the Prince of Peace
Today the lost are found in His translation.
Whose mother tongue is Love in every nation. (3)

Amen.

(1) “Pour out, I will pour” in John L Bell (2002) Come all you people, WGRG Iona Community, Wild Goose Publications Glasgow, p.61.

(2) “Where is love?” from Lionel Bart, Oliver.

(3) “Pentecost” by Malcolm Guite (2012), Sounding the Seasons, Norwich: Canterbury Press, p47 (https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/tag/pentecost/).

Acts 16:9-15; Psalm 67; Revelation 21:10,22-22:5; John 14:23-29

“For the Lord God will be their light.”

I’m sure some of you will know this: “Jesus bids us shine with a clear pure light, like a little candle burning in the night; in this world of darkness we must shine – you in your small corner, and I in mine.” (1).

I don’t know about you, but as a child I was afraid of the dark.  So much so the landing light was left on so that I could see it under my door, and even then, I hid under the bedclothes as soon as my light was off.  Darkness was very scary.  Even today: I get nervous walking on my own at night in the dark, even with Pippin.  I check the shadows or walk along main, well-lit paths.  No wonder we pray “Lighten our darkness we beseech thee O Lord.”  And how much more threatening, scary, would darkness have been at the time of Jesus – no streetlights, no nightlights.  The streets would have been very quiet and very dark.  “O Little town of Bethlehem how still we see thee lie,” indeed.  And “yet, in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”  This is everlasting light that needs no lamp or sun, the light that replaces night with day, the light by which the nations will walk when God’s re-creation is established, and tears are wiped away, when God’s kingdom has come, God’s will is done on earth as it is in heaven.  There is so much in our readings today that reminds us of that light, the light which is the Word, the Word made flesh, and which came into the world to dispel darkness, to overcome it eternally.  The light and Word John speaks of so eloquently at the beginning of his Gospel is reflected in today’s Gospel and other readings.

Our readings describe a light that reaches into the deepest shadows and offers hope, offers freedom from darkness.  This is the Lord God who will be our light.  And it is into this light, this light of the Lord, that we are called to live, to live and walk in the light, and to take up the light, to become part of the light that shines in the darkness, which the darkness did not overcome.  We are to let the light banish the darkness from before our path; to let the light into all those dark corners of our lives – however scary or unnerving that could be – and let it bring the hope and peace of Christ into our hearts:  Peace be with you, the peace Christ left with us in the Spirit.  And then we are to speak the Word into the darkness we see around us and bring Peace, the peace left with us, to us, by Christ.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid.  Because this is the Peace which takes away fear, drives out darkness and restores the hope and love of God in the world.  And so, Jesus bids us shine with a pure clear light shining in the darkness of this world, into the small corners, so that the powerful light of the Lord can lighten the darkness and drive out fear.

This is the light that leads us in the power of the Spirit, the light and Word from the Spirit that Paul was waiting for and which led him to Macedonia to bring light to Lydia and the women meeting to pray by the river.  And it is this light that gives us strength to stand in the darkness and drive the shadows away by bringing the hope that light offers.  Even if we can only do it in a small way, even if our light seems to shine only as a pale imitation of the light of Christ.  After all, we are only a reflection of that light, and sometimes the darkness in the world can seem overwhelming.  Sometimes it can feel that offering hope and peace in this world is an endless, thankless task in the face of the violence, the prejudice, the hate that fills our TV screens, that is spoken around us by those who seem more influential, who appear to have more power, more access to power and stronger voices. Voices that shout to drown out the words of love for neighbour, for stranger, for friend and foe.  Voices speaking words in darkness that generate hatred for the other, encourage prejudice, blaming others, seeking to divide, build barriers, in order to preserve the status quo in which the poor, the oppressed, the forgotten and overlooked can remain shoved into their darknesses of despair and hopelessness whilst the rich, noisy and powerful increase their riches and power, speaking violence at the expense of others’ lives.  Truly into this darkness, it can seem our flame, our light, can be too pale to make a difference.  But Jesus knows this.  And so, “Jesus bids us shine, first of all for him; well he sees and knows it, if our light is dim; he looks down from heaven, sees us shine – you in your small corner, and I in mine.”  We shine our lights for him, with him, and in him, and together with him and each other, and he gives us strength to shine brighter: after all, if we all take up the light then through the power of the Spirit, that light grows, strengthens and reaches deep into the darkness of people’s hearts, and into the dark situations people can find themselves in, and bring Peace: the peace of God, of Christ, the peace Christ gives to us, not as the world gives.  We are not alone in shining our small lights into our small corners.  We shine with Christ and together – you in your small corner and I in mine, shining with the light of Christ, the light that is life, that is the light of all people, which guides our hearts, our words and actions: the light which shines in the darkness overcoming that darkness through the power of the cross and the resurrection.

Because: “Jesus bids us shine, then; for all around many kinds of darkness in this world abound: sin and want and sorrow: we must shine – you in your small corner, and I in mine.”  Jesus knows the world is full of darkness, he felt its power as it tried to defeat him, his mission, and he overcame it.  Jesus came into the world as light and hope and love for all people.  He is the Word of God, the light that enlightens everybody and whose example and triumph we are called into.  Thus it is this light that we testify to, like Paul to Lydia, this light we are called to share and spread across the world, joining with Christ and guided by the Spirit, in our own small corners, bringing light and hope to the situations around us, you in your small corner and I in mine. 

Christ is our light.  We are called to overcome our fear of the dark and become lights in the world for Christ, to bring hope and speak peace into troubled situations.  To stand up for the light, for truth and hope and love in the face of darkness and hatred, prejudice and oppression.  We are to find where Christ is waiting in the streets and join him, stepping into his light, letting it bring strength and embolden us so that we can then shine more brightly together, with Christ and each other, lightening the  darkness with love, hope and redemption, so all can know that “the Lord God will be their light,” their light and their salvation, within their darkest nights, kindling a flame that never dies away.  And the more of us who shine with the light and peace of Christ, the further it will reach, the more darkness and sin, want, sorrow and fear will be overcome.  So it is that we must shine, for Christ and with Christ: you in your small corner and I in mine.  Amen.

(1) Susan Warner, “Jesus Bids Us Shine”: https://hymnary.org/text/jesus_bids_us_shine_with_a_pure_clear_li   

Acts 9:36-43; Psalm 23; Revelation 7:9-17; John 10:22-30

“How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly!”

My mum had a wealth of wonderful sayings at her fingertips – and I’m sure she was not the only one!  Useful phrases that summed up in a few words a world of meaning.  One of these was: there’s none so blind as them as cannot see!  A saying saved for those instances when something seems perfectly clear to us, but to others?  Well, not so clear, and almost wilfully so.  The ones who can’t, or won’t, see that repeating an action will not change the outcome, or who wilfully misread information so that it says the opposite of the intended meaning.  There is a lot of that about in the media, online, in the world today, people seeing things only through their own lenses, for their own ends, ignoring what the facts say, what is actually happening around them.  They refuse to see, to even look, or listen to what is actually said, to what is actually happening.  They do not “hear my voice” as Jesus says, but listen to their own, or to the world’s voice echoing around them.  There’s none so blind as them as cannot see.

And this is what Jesus seems to be saying in the Gospel today.  For goodness’ sake, open your eyes, your ears, your minds and look, listen, understand what is before you: “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me,” he says, and you can almost hear the frustration, the exasperation in his voice.  For goodness’ sake, open your eyes, ears, minds! What do you see?  Good news is brought to the poor; release is proclaimed to the captives; the blind recover their sight; the oppressed go free!  The lowly are lifted up and those who are pushed aside, the lowly, weak, women, those on the margins, are brought forward, are brought home.  And peace is preached, the love of God is made known to all.  Open your eyes: if you have eyes to see and ears to hear, then look and listen!  If this isn’t the work of the Messiah, of the chosen one of God, then what are you wanting from God? Look, and you will see that the Father and I are one, says Jesus.  There’s none so blind as them as will not see!

And they still choose not to see.  They choose to see and hear what they want to hear, the words that suit their worldly ideas and ideals, ones that don’t challenge their perceptions.  And they follow the devices and desires of their own hearts, as the Evensong service tells us.  “I have told you and you do not believe,” you will not believe, you don’t want to believe, because to believe, to see and hear clearly what Jesus is saying and doing challenges everything.  It challenges the ways of the world, the easy way.  It means seeing and hearing and then taking up our cross and doing and saying what Jesus does and says. It means being one of the sheep, one of the sheep who “hear his voice”.  And being one of the sheep means following the shepherd wherever he leads, knowing that the shepherd will never lead us astray, but he will lead us on the narrow path of faith: of following Christ’s example and obeying his command to love God with all our being and loving our neighbour as ourself: “Loving shepherd, ever near, teach me still thy voice to hear; suffer not my steps to stray from the straight and narrow way.”  As one of Jesus’ sheep we are safe, we cannot be taken from him.  But as one of his sheep we have, as Richard of Chichester wrote (1), a duty to: know him more clearly, love him more dearly and follow him more nearly, day by day.  It means we have to have our eyes open to see as Jesus sees: seeing the needs of all people in the world, speaking out for those who are oppressed, who are made voiceless by the world, who are pushed aside by the powers of this world, and being there with them, among them, for them, even if that discomforts us or those around us.  It means standing beside the persecuted, the downtrodden.  As we remember VE and VJ , the call of Jesus to see and hear and to follow him is seen in the way people across the world in the Second World War stood up against prejudice, hatred, oppression, violence and worked for peace and reconciliation, so that all, everyone, could and can live in peace and security and hope.  And it is in this call to follow him, to be his sheep, that Jesus asks us to step forward and proclaim that yes, we believe, like Peter at Caesarea Philippi, we believe that Jesus is the Messiah: we believe because we have heard his word and have seen his actions in the world, and we will follow him and join in, because he leads us in the right paths, the paths of righteousness, of love, of compassion and of peace.  We are called to say: the Lord is my shepherd and we will follow where he leads, be it in green pastures, beside still waters, or with those who walk through the valley of the shadow of death. And as one of his sheep, we will listen to him, we will seek to know him clearly, love him dearly and follow him more nearly: and in the  words of Teresa of Avila (2), we will be his body, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his voice, to bring his compassion, his blessing on the world, and to work with him through the Spirit to bring his kingdom, the Kingdom of God, on earth.  “Where thou leadest may we go, walking in thy steps below,” and may we always work to bring Christ’s love into the world, lifting up the lowly and oppressed, speaking truth where there is falsehood and lying and deliberate misleading, and may we be inspired by Christ to continue his work amongst those in need, those whom the world rejects and fears.  The Lord is our Shepherd, listen to him, see his works, believe and join in with those works and, as Pope Leo XIV said, build bridges not barriers, speaking Christ’s words of peace to a world and to people desperately in need of that love, hope and peace. Amen.

(1) https://www.loyolapress.com/catholic-resources/prayer/traditional-catholic-prayers/saints-prayers/day-by-day-prayer-of-saint-richard-of-chichester/

(2) Theresa of Avila, “You are Christ’s Hands”, in Housden R (2009), For Lovers of God Everywhere (Hay House, 2009: p52).

Jeremiah 17:5-10; Psalm 1; 1 Corinthians 15:12-20; Luke 6:17-26

I the Lord test the mind and search the heart!

One of the joys of working with young children, or being a parent, is watching them grow and develop into little people.  As they pick up from those around them – the responsible adults – how to be a person, what it means to be part of society, the world.  Both good and bad!  Who hasn’t had to smile as their infant gives their first lie – so blatant that they might as well have a flashing light on their heads.  The mouth and hands covered in chocolate: no, I didn’t eat it, it was my invisible friend, my brother/sister, them.  All wide-eyed.  But the interesting thing is, they know it’s wrong.  Did you watch the programme on childhood development based in a nursery?  They tested the honesty and understanding of right and wrong at different pre-school ages.  There’s a cake with chocolate, icing and sweets and other goodies, and they are told it is for all of them later on but they are to leave it alone now.  Oh, the wonderful discussions, and the tempting, the encouraging each other to take a sweet, or a piece of chocolate or icing.  And the lying afterwards.  They knew what was wrong, they knew that sharing would be good.  But!  And of course, we know how to behave, what is wrong.  So why are there so many evil deeds in the world?  Why do we find it hard to do the right thing?

I the Lord test the mind and search the heart!  Our readings today remind us that we know how to behave, we know right from wrong, how to live morally, according to good ethical practice.  Jesus preached on the message of the prophets, the message from God which pervades the Old Testament and is taken further by Jesus in the New – the message that God cares, God cares how we behave towards each other, how we behave towards the planet.  God cares for the poor: they are blessed by God, they are held in esteem by God, their lives and what affects them, damages them, is important to God.  Actions which make them, and others, suffer are cursed: those who take but don’t give, those who hoard and don’t share God’s good gifts, those who trample on the rights and lives of others –those who, like the children, want the whole chocolate cake for themselves.  All these actions are condemned by God.  God asks us to live lives of fulfilment, building up communities and people, uniting them, breaking down barriers of wealth, power, pride, fear, so that all can live in peace and hope.  Woe to you who are rich, you have received consolation: woe to you who are self-sufficient, who think you can survive without God’s grace and love, without care for others, who deny life and life-enhancing gifts to others.  The message in the Gospel is a call to overturn inequality, to see all people as human, as made in God’s image.  Jesus speaks to those who are suffering from the actions of those who trust only in themselves, only in what mortals can do, and turn away from the Lord, from what is good and right.  And he speaks consolation: you are blessed!  You who are suffering, who are abused, it is you who are held in God’s love and protection.  You will thrive, filled with the living water of God’s love and hope.

These are readings about our hearts and minds and lives.  We are told, in no uncertain terms, what it means to be a disciple.  It means taking God’s command to our hearts, letting it become fully part of us, our lives.  It means living out God’s command, God’s love and compassion, to our neighbour. And who is our neighbour?  Well, it’s not just the person living next door.  From the Good Samaritan we see that our neighbour is any who are in need, trouble or distress.  And their neighbour is us. Our neighbour includes those less fortunate than ourselves, those whose lives are messed up, who are outcast, rejected, marginalised.  Our neighbour is the person seeking safety and sanctuary from persecution, situations of violence, of threats against them because of who they are; where they come from; how they worship.  It is these people we are called to love and serve: brother, sister, let me serve you, let me be as Christ to you.  To be as the Christ who lay down his life for our sins – Christ who was raised to give us the promise of life eternal, and the forgiveness of sins, as Paul tells us.

I the Lord test the mind and search the heart!  God knows us.  God knows our innermost feelings. Just as we can tell when a two-year-old tries to lie, we see through their words, so God sees through ours, and looks into our hearts, sees through our motives: as we say each Sunday: Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known and from whom no secrets are hidden.  God knows our innermost thoughts and desires, and our fears and weaknesses.  God knows what we need, and what our neighbours need, even if we do not always know or recognise our need of God.  We try to trust only in ourselves, in earthly things: we trust in mere mortals, mortals who also are tempted, led astray by the desire for power, wealth, revenge.  It seems very sad that in our world it is words of hate and division that generate popular responses, whilst love, compassion and empathy are seen as weakness.  It seems so very sad that the world sees bluster and bravado more compelling than sacrifice and humility. 

So where does this leave us? What are we to do in response to the message of God?  I think it starts with ourselves: we have to acknowledge our manifold sins and wickednesses, as evensong tells us, but also to acknowledge that in Christ we have forgiveness: through his resurrection our sins are forgiven, we have new life in him, with him.  But if we are to live this new life we have to follow God’s gaze, to look with God’s eyes at those around us, at the world around us, and seek to bring blessing and blessedness into that world and to those whom we meet, to our neighbours, all of them.  We have to recognise, as Moltmann puts it, God’s bias in favour of the poor and oppressed, that serving others brings more reward than being self-serving, that through service we get to live, we who are gifted God’s grace and blessing ourselves, and we live this grace and blessing out in our forgiven lives.  We are to work towards establishing God’s kingdom here and now, bringing blessings to all.  And this means standing up for our neighbours, for what we know is right and just and fair, standing up for peace, love, an end to hatred and prejudice; it means seeking a just and fair sharing of all God’s world provides.  It means living the commandments of Christ: loving the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and loving our neighbour as ourself.  There is no other commandment greater than these. If we live by these then we will be blessed, we will be aware of the significance of God’s ways and live lives of blessing to God and neighbour.  “Father, hear the prayer we offer, not for ease that prayer shall be, but for strength that we may ever live our lives courageously.”  Courageously for God and courageously for our neighbour.  Amen.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

I think for many of us, Christmas is the time of the year when we feel closest to our sense of tradition. Many of our traditions would seem strange without their long history that we have inherited. Cutting down a tree, bringing it inside, decorating it with baubles, forgetting to water it, watching it die rapidly, and then slowly shed its needles all over your sitting room is a strange practice, I am sure. But still I am looking forward to getting my tree and going through all these steps as I do every year. Why do we do this?

There are historical answers, of course—legends about Saint Boniface cutting down the sacred groves of the Germanic tribes. There are more recent and probably more relevant facts—Queen Victoria’s Christmas tree honouring her German husband Prince Albert, and so on. But these historical facts do not explain why we put up Christmas trees. I am American, so maybe elements of Britishness elude me, but Queen Victoria is not especially on my mind while I am decorating my tree.

The real reason why we do these things is tradition. But what is a tradition? Traditions recollect a past by remaking it in the present. There are of course many things we do repeatedly, but we do not brush our teeth because of tradition. Habits, even well established ones that have been handed down for generations, are not necessarily traditions. Traditions are about meaning—they use the past to give us a sense of the self, and a sense of our place in the community.

I put up a Christmas tree because that is what we do at Christmas; it is what my family does, it is what my church does, and it is what my culture does. So, doing that connects me to the whole community by appealing to our stories, our moments, our shared memories of the past.

In that sense, Christmas is about my childhood, and about my parents’ childhood. We do what we have always done, and the feeling that we have always done it also helps inspire what I want for my own kids. When I put up a tree or hang the stockings, I am, as the saying goes, making memories for them. This idea of making memories is a curious way to think about the future—as something already in the past, already remembered. But it shapes the way that we hope for our children’s future, rooted in our own memories of the past.

I start with this because I think that it can help us make sense of what is going on with the way that the sense of the past and the future are connected in our biblical passages today. Each of them appeals to the past in different ways. The Old Testament reading from Malachi is striking for a number of reasons. The New Testament interprets this passage as a prediction about the coming of John the Baptist.

But when we read it in its own context, we find something more complicated. The name of the prophet Malachi is actually just the Hebrew word for “my messenger” or perhaps “my angel,” who is referenced in the opening verses of our passage today. This messenger brings judgment against the priests administering the Temple for their offering of low-quality sacrifices. Sometimes it seems like the writer of the text is himself the messenger, while at other times he seems to be imagining another messenger bringing fulfilment to his words, anticipating a future continuation of his tradition.

Regardless, this is a passage about the reform of cultic practices, probably in the Persian period during the time of the reconstruction of the Temple shortly after the restoration of the Israelites from the Babylonian exile. See, you all knew it was a mistake that Jackie asked the Old Testament scholar to preach.

But I actually want to take that seriously for a moment to reflect on the way that hope is not a fixed vision. The writer of Malachi speaks to concerns of his own day and age, in all the particularities of his historical moment that are extremely far removed from those of John the Baptist, let alone from us. What makes this passage relevant is the appeal to hope—hope that God is still doing something, bringing renewal, at a time when things seem very far gone. It is this hope that gives the story its continued resonance across the ages.

Malachi’s hope for transformation is not wholly fixed in the future. Our passage from Malachi ends with the verse that says, “Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the Lord as in the days of old and as in former years.” In other words, he anticipates a renewal of the past. Or slightly differently, the past grounds his sense of hope for the future, which remains alive because it is firmly planted in the experience of the present.

Hope is situated at the strange intersection of the past and the future in the shifting present. We look backwards to look forward, and we look forwards to live.

When we get to the new beginnings imagined in our gospel passage, John the Baptist is preaching repentance and forgiveness. He is the figure in the Christian tradition most often associated with the “messenger” of Malachi, but he is not bringing judgment or cultic reform; he is calling the people to renewal. And again, the gospel writer looks backwards in order to understand, calling on texts from the prophet Isaiah: “The voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”

In these quoted verses, Isaiah is speaking about the return of the people from exile in Babylon as the beginning of a renewal. And here too, he borrows language from the Israelites’ own legendary past in the Exodus story, returning across the wilderness to a homeland prepared for them. The point, of course, is not to rewrite or replace the older stories, but to locate the meaning of their present hopes and troubles in the echo of the past that shapes who they are.

That same pattern is happening in the gospel passage, as John the Baptist is imagined in the words of Isaiah, who imagines his own present in the images of the further past in Moses. And yet both Isaiah and John the Baptist, though they reach into the past, also imagine a new future transformation. The future seems alive because of the vitality of the past that gives birth to it.

These prophets are not merely recollecting old stories. The past to them is not a dead memory. It is the basis for their attempts to seek renewal in their own time. It grounds their hopes for a future that they then set about trying to build.

This is what I want us to understand. The Christmas season is about traditions—about our memories. But I don’t just mean memories of our own childhoods or the cultural memories of the Christmas tree or carol services. I mean that it is about these recollections of these stories of the ancient past that tell of hope, renewal, and transformation.

If we are not careful, we can fall into the habit of absorbing them into a pastiche of sentimentality. The baby in the manger becomes a cute story about animals, starlight, and familial joy. We lose the sense that the story has meaning; we forget to make it our own. We only observe the traditions; we forget to embody them.

If the story of Christmas is about the unexpected in-breaking of divine love that transforms us, then that gives us a profound narrative on which to ground our sense of who we are—as individuals and as a community this season. The stories we tell ourselves do have the potential to shape us, but only if we make them our own.

So for example, Christmas reminds us of family—for good and for ill—partly because the story itself centres on a family, and also especially because of the centrality of the home in our traditions. But many of our relationships are broken or dingy from years of neglect. If the past is not merely a story, but a living hope for our own renewal, then we cannot afford to ignore the cracks or dust in our own lives. We all have regrets. Sentimentalism papers over them; but hope seeks healing.

Do not waste the memory of the past. Christmas is not an aesthetic; it is meant to be a lived experience of hope and renewal.

This idea is actually deeply embedded in the Christian calendar. We are in the season of advent, which remembers part of the Christmas story—particularly about the period of anticipation leading up to the birth of Jesus. But the Christian church has not merely set aside this to be a time recollecting the period of anticipation before the coming of the Messiah. We do this because the church, too, waits for the return of Jesus.

This can sound strange and foreign to our ears, if by the Second Coming we imagine the fantastical cataclysms born from disaster movies wedded to our dim recollections of the book of Revelation. But another way of understanding the imagery of the Second Coming is as a manifestation of divine love and resurrection hope made visible in comprehensive renewal. It is a vision of the past—of the mythic past of creation, of the moments of Exodus renewal, of cultic communal purification, of Christmas hope—all reborn as a future of hope realised. To appeal to this past and anticipate this future is to remind ourselves that we belong to the middle of this story, right here and now. If advent is about memory and anticipation, it is also about how to live out that hope in the present.

The words of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist from the Benedictus speak to this precisely. He recollects the promises made to the ancestors, including King David, and well before him, Abraham. But he also speaks of the new day that is breaking: “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

This hope is as yet obviously not fully realised. We still live in a world torn by violence and death. Our own lives, protected as we may be from the contingencies of war, are still marked by broken relationships, violation, and hurt, and we live in a society that too often is content to cover over or ignore the suffering of others to preserve our own comfort and ease. We have the opportunity instead to make a difference—to bring healing, grace, and forgiveness, and find beauty in God’s world, starting in the relationships closest to us and expanding outwards into our communities. We look backwards to look forward, and we look forwards to live. The expectations of advent are our invitation to remember, but also to hope, and so to be renewed.

Amen.

Zephaniah 3:14-20; Psalm 146:4-10; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.  Rejoice and exult with all your heart. So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news.

Do you feel joyful today?  Is your heart so full of joy you want to sing out, to sing aloud, to shout?  Gaudete!  Rejoice!  I don’t know about you, but I seem to be so busy, there seems to be so much still to be done, so many tasks, so much shopping, so much preparation.  I’m not sure I feel like rejoicing. I’m not sure I have time for rejoicing.  And looking at the news, at the way the world is today, it doesn’t inspire joy: anxiety, trepidation, despair perhaps. Joy, shouts of alleluia, praise, well they seem to be lost in the fear and news reports.  In this season as we prepare to welcome the light of the world, it can seem that the darkness is overpowering.  And yet, today is Gaudete Sunday, the time in Advent when the readings call us to rejoice in the Lord always, again, I say rejoice!

Why should we rejoice?  I think because we do have much to rejoice over.  We are lucky, and we should give thanks for the good things we have, the good opportunities, the friends, our families, our health – whatever it may be, the fact that we can come together this morning to worship freely: we can, in the words of Zechariah from last week, worship God without fear.  These are good things, these are worth recognising and remembering before God, because we know that many do not have these advantages, some live in fear, some live in poverty, some live in pain, some cannot worship freely.  And giving thanks for our opportunities doesn’t take from the needs of others, it should make us more keenly aware of their needs, of the desire of God for all to live in peace, for the hungry to be satisfied and the lowly lifted up.  Our rejoicing should open our eyes and make us hunger and thirst for righteousness sake.

And we should rejoice today because our readings demand that we feel joy, that we rejoice before the Lord, in the Lord, always, again I say rejoice!  Even John the Baptist is offering hope. The hope of the future, of the Christ-child.  And he is forthright!  “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”  But even in this attack he offers them hope: “Bear fruits worthy of repentance.”  They too can have a chance of salvation through repentance. Throughout the Gospel reading those who come to John are challenged to change, to repent, to turn their lives around and live as God has commanded throughout the prophets.  And this is the hope we can rejoice in: they are offered the hope that if they change, if they rethink their lives, there is salvation, there is expectation.  John tells them, if they change then they will be gathered into God’s granary.  The hope is offered, is gifted, freely, if they will only hearken to the voice of God through the prophets, through John the Baptist.  “What should we do?” they ask, to be saved, to live lives pleasing to God. And John answers them: don’t extort or abuse others, share with those who have nothing, or little.  Because, as the psalm says, “the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; … the Lord watches over the strangers: he upholds the orphan and the widow.”  And if this is what the Lord does, then we are to do the same: to care for the vulnerable in our midst.

And this applies to us too.  John’s message of hope, of the offer of redemption, is there for us too.  And this is another reason we can rejoice.  But, this hope asks us to act. We, like the people who came to John in the wilderness, need to prepare ourselves, we need to rethink, reassess our lives, and attune them to the will of God.  The one who “keeps faith for ever; who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry… sets the prisoners free” as the psalmist tells us.  We, too, like the tax-gatherers and soldiers, are to make sure our actions reflect God’s love, that our actions do not oppress others, that we do not take more than our fair share of God’s good things.  It is this rethinking of our lives and actions and how they affect others, that will help us prepare for the coming of the light, of the one who will baptise with “the Holy Spirit and with fire.”  John asks to look at how our lives affect those around us, how our actions affect those around us. And if our actions do not reflect the love of God for all God’s people, if we do not reveal the love of God in our lives, then we need to rethink, to retune, and turn to Christ.

And this is the Gospel, the “good news to the people.”  That we can change, with the help and guidance of God, through the power of the Spirit following the example and command of Christ.  We can repent of past actions, and renew ourselves in the light of Christ’s message, life and promise.  And it is to this hope we turn at Advent.  Because we know that God is in our midst: the God who came to us, vulnerable, poor, as a gift from God.  And God lived amongst us, loved us, showed us how to live and love as he does, and gave us those two great commandments: love God with our heart, soul, mind and strength, and love our neighbour as ourself.  It is this God who is near, who brings the kingdom near and gives us such hope that we can, and should, rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice.  And it is this hope in the love of God in action that can bring light to what seems an all too dark world.  Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice.  Amen.

“Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”

I might have mentioned before that I like the disciples.  They are so human, so like us.  Their journey with Christ is like our journey with Christ: we walk with Jesus, listening to his words, seeing him in action, trying to understand what we are seeing and hearing, and quite often not quite getting the message.  And here we have James and John.  Their strange request comes after Jesus has just quite explicitly told them what his life, his mission, his ministry is all about, what he will have to do to achieve it: “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again” (Mk 10:33-34).  And what’s the first thing that James and John think about after hearing that?  Who’s getting the prime position next to Jesus.  I don’t know about you, but if my best friend had just spoken words about their future painful death, how I can achieve power and prominence wouldn’t be my first thoughts or question!  James and John want some of the glory.  Some of Christ’s glory.  And their question reveals their complete misunderstanding of who Jesus is and what he is about.  For, this is our God, the servant King.

Jesus fully understood what his life and ministry meant.  He had taken time to consider the path he must take – time in the wilderness – and at his baptism his choice of path, of Messiahship, had been confirmed by God: “You are my Son, my Beloved, with you I am well pleased” (Mk 1:11).  And Jesus fully understood that ministry, setting them out in the words he chose to read from Isaiah at the beginning of his ministry, as recorded by Luke: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor … to proclaim release to the captives.  Sight to the blind … to let the oppressed go free” (Lk 4:18).  It was part of the words of his own mother before he was born: “he has brought down the powerful … lifted up the lowly … filled the hungry … sent the rich away empty” (Lk 1:52-3).  Jesus’ whole mission was to bring the world back to God, to bring humanity back into line with God’s plans, to transform the world. “Jesus is … turning the world’s values and power-systems on their heads, setting off to give his life as a ransom for many” (1).  His glory is not what his disciples expect, not what was expected of the Messiah at all.  Because it is on the cross that Christ’s glory is revealed, and “the cross is not, for Jesus or for Mark, a difficult episode to be got through on the way to a happy ending. It is precisely God’s way of standing worldly power and authority on its head.” (2)  Christ’s glory is seen in his emptying of himself once for all upon the cross.  And there will be two on Christ’s left and on his right when Jesus comes to his glory – the two criminals crucified with him!  Is this the glory James and John are seeking?  Or have they yet to understand Jesus, to understand Jesus’ definition of power and glory? 

This is our God, the Servant King.  And this is Christ’s understanding of power: Service. Power is not something to be wielded, allowing someone to lord it over others.  It is not something that draws wealth to itself and gives control over other humans.  Power, true power, is found in serving others, putting others first, it is to serve, not to be served.  No wonder those who held, who hold, earthly power find Jesus’ message, life and ministry so challenging, so threatening. So threatening that they killed him!  No wonder the disciples didn’t really understand, even after Jesus’ careful explanations. Jesus tries to tell them: this is what will happen because I have come to restore the true balance to God’s people, to God’s creation. The balance which makes love of God and love of neighbour central to life.  The balance that enables people to break swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks, and not wage war. The balance that recognises the worth in all people, those we love and those we hate, and those we fear.  The balance that seeks peace and reconciliation rather than retaliation and revenge.  It is a thing most wonderful, almost too wonderful to see, that God’s own Son should come from heaven and die to save a child like me, like you, like all human beings, everywhere (H364).  And this is the baptism to which we are called: This is our God, the Servant King, who calls us now to follow him (H205).  It is a baptism of service to others. A baptism of self-sacrifice, not self-serving.  A baptism of fellowship with all humanity, and with Christ in his glory, the glory revealed on the cross, demonstrated through the resurrection.  A baptism we are part of today. One in which, as the baptism service puts it, we will learn “to know God in public worship and private prayer, follow Jesus Christ in the life of faith, (and) serve our neighbour after the example of Christ” (3).  And it sounds daunting for any such child who is brought to baptism.  It sounds daunting for us.  This calling to stand beside Christ and speak peace into situations of fear and hate, to speak with Christ of a power which loves all and serves all, and which challenges how the world sees power, glory and position.  It is daunting if we think we speak alone.  But Christ is with us, and has spoken these words already.  “For the son of man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Mk 10:45).  And this is not just something Jesus has said, it is something he did, something he was and is.  He has lived it, shown us how to live as a child of God, a son or daughter of God. And has sent the Spirit to help us to live this message, to live as Christ in the world, following his example and obeying his command.  This is our God, the Servant King, who calls us now to follow him in service and love.  And as well as Christ’s example and the Spirit’s presence, we have each other, the whole family of Christ, of God.  As we are reminded by the baptism service: “As we grow up, we will need the help and encouragement of the Christian community” to fulfil Christ’s call to us.  We all need that support, help and encouragement to fulfil Christ’s call to us to follow him.  We all have a duty to support each other, care for each other, love each other as Christ has loved us.  So that the question we ask isn’t, as James and John asked: “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” It isn’t what can Christ do for us – he has done more than we can repay already. No, our question is: what can we do to serve Christ in one another and, with the power of the Spirit, love each other, all people, as he loves us, and how we can work with Christ and the Spirit to transform the world into the Kingdom of the Father?  Amen.

1. Wright, Tom. Mark for Everyone (New Testament for Everyone Book 3) (p. 141). SPCK. Kindle Edition.
2. Wright, Tom. Mark for Everyone (New Testament for Everyone Book 3) (p. 139). SPCK. Kindle Edition.
3. The Liturgy of Baptism: The Commission, The Archbishops Council (2000)

Readings: Genesis 28:10-17; Psalm 103:19-22; Hebrews 1:5-14; John 1:47-51

“Rabbi, you are the Son of God!  You are the King of Israel!‘

What is an angel?  Who is an angel?  Today is dedicated to Michael and All Angels.  But what actually is an angel, what is their purpose?  To see that, we need to look at the examples we are given: Gabriel, the one who brought good tidings of great joy and told Mary she was to “conceive, and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus”. (Lk 1:31).  And, then, well, the only ones I can recall are the heavenly host who appear with Gabriel to the shepherds and announce, “Upon earth peace among those whom God favours” (Lk 2:14). Other angels do appear in the Bible – Raphael restores sight to Tobit’s eyes; Uriel appears on a vision to Ezra in 2 Esdras (1).  And then we have Michael, the one whose name is associated with today: Michael, his name means “who is like God”, is seen as a protector, leader of the heavenly armies, the patron saint of: grocers, soldiers, doctors, mariners, paratroopers, police, sickness (2).  And the patron saint of Mont St Michel, St Michael’s Mount and many other churches across the world – including my curacy parish in Southampton, the oldest standing church in the city.  Angels – , we know of them; they are there in the Bible and in our popular and religious culture.  But why? 

Well, because of their role.  In the Bible, angels “communicate the presence of God”.  They shout God’s presence: at Jesus’ birth they couldn’t contain themselves: He’s here! Glory to God!.  They give messages: to Mary, to Zechariah about John the Baptist, to the shepherds, to the apostles – he is risen, he is not here! They “fight for God’s purposes” (3) – Michael is most associated with this: in Daniel and Revelation he commands the holy army which defends God’s people and defeats the devil.  And he is often depicted with a flaming sword, or killing a dragon (Revelation).

But why is this important today, and why with these readings?  “As Jacob with travel was weary one day, at night on a stone for a pillow he lay; he saw in a vision a ladder so high that its foot was on earth and its top in the sky”, as the hymn has it.  Jacob’s ladder, with the angels descending and ascending between earth and heaven, carrying God’s word, being God’s presence to God’s people, God’s creation.  They are the means by which God communicated with us, how God communicated with all God’s people.  The angel in Daniel; the angel that stood before Balaam’s donkey and prevented Balaam from going forward.  The angel that stood at the gate of Eden preventing Adam and Eve’s return.  They let the people know what God wanted, and kept God in contact with God’s people, even if it was with a flaming sword. 

But now, in today’s Gospel, we have: “Very truly I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”  Because here we get to the heart of things.  The angels have mediated between God and humans, have been agents of God in the world.  And now, something changes.  From the moment Gabriel’s message is fulfilled, the moment of Jesus’ birth, the relationship between God and humanity has irrevocably changed.  He is here!  God is with us, in person, in the form of the baby in the manger; the carpenter learning his trade; the wandering preacher gathering his disciples and seeing Nathaniel under the fig tree, knowing Nathaniel, knowing him deeply, fully, and Nathaniel recognising this deeper understanding, this deeper recognition by Jesus: God is with us, teaching through the parables, healing, hanging on the cross, and finally, fully in the resurrected Christ.  Emmanuel, God is with us!  Jesus is saying to Nathaniel, to his disciples, to all of us: “I am the ladder. The true connection, the gate of heaven.” (4).  If you have seen him, you have seen the Father, heard the Father.  Jesus himself becomes the ladder “set for all the broken-hearted and earth herself becoming heaven’s door”(5). Jesus becomes heaven’s door, an open door between God and humanity,   reconciling God and humanity.  Something vividly demonstrated at the crucifixion when the veil in the Temple tears in two: the veil between God and humans is brought down and through Christ, through Christ’s life, teaching, death and resurrection we see God: and God is with us.  And that is true today.  God is with us, in all that we do.  In our day to day lives. Through Christ’s life among us, God knows what it is like to deal with daily life, working, what it is like to live in poverty, dependent on the generosity of others, what it is like to face challenges, to be opposed, to suffer and to die.  And through Christ we know that death is not an end.  That there is life after death.  That our death will lead to eternal life in God.  Because God has been there before and has shown us the path. 

The angels are “spirits in the divine service, sent to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation. (Heb.1:14)  They are examples of listening to God, of doing God’s will. They shouted Christ’s coming, and Christ now reveals God, to us.  They are obedient to God’s spoken word, ministers who do God’s will.  Examples to us of how to live for God, following God’s will.  Examples of how to praise and bless the Lord.  But they are only messengers.  It is Christ, the ladder connecting heaven and earth, God and creation,  who brings God close to us, who becomes the ladder, the gateway between heaven and earth.  It is Christ who reveals God’s nature; Christ who is God in man made manifest.  The one through whom we are “ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven.”  The one who has given “his own dear presence to cheer and to guide, strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.” The one who is faithful: ‘Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father’. So we say with Nathaniel: ‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God!’  “For now a child of Israel finds it true, And sees the One who heals the deep heart’s aching As Jacob’s dream becomes Nathanael’s waking.”(6).  And ours. 

1. Exciting Holiness p. 410
2. https://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=308
3. Stevenson K (1998), All the Company of Heaven, Norwich: Canterbury Press, p105
4. https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/tag/jacobs-ladder/
5. https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/tag/jacobs-ladder/
6. https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/tag/jacobs-ladder/

Photo by Allen Taylor on Unsplash

“My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favouritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?”

I am constantly being teased by my children about favourites, each accusing me of seeing the other as favourite: whose concert I went to; whom we visited at uni; etc., etc. Luckily, I know they jest – I do actually love each equally, and they know that our dog Pippin really is the favourite and always comes first anyway! But, seriously, favouritism isn’t just a family thing, a small thing. We’ve seen over the past few weeks the bigger picture of favouritism. Where who is more valued, who is seen as more worthy is played out on a national and a global scale. Where favouritism is used to keep people in their place, to provide a scapegoat for difficult situations. Keep housing for our own people! Health care for us first, let the others pay or go elsewhere! Our jobs for our people! And the coverage of disasters or wars – we keep a tally of the days of the war in Ukraine, and rightly so, but how long has Yemen been at war? Or Sudan? Or the conflicts in the DRC? The news media do seem to have favourites when it comes to news reporting. And nations use favouritism to reduce spending, to promote agendas: charity begins at home, with our people, our group, people like us!

In our readings today we have such favouritism being challenged. Overtly in James’ letter, “My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favouritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?” but also in our Gospel reading. “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Words of Jesus, which could seem quite shocking if taken at face value. Is Jesus really denying his help to people of a different race? Of a different grouping? Is he really calling them dogs?! Or is something else happening here? Is he challenging those around him, those who follow him? Asking them to consider their ideas, their attitudes? Shocking them by speaking out loud things they may have only considered internally, perhaps unconsciously. I’m only here for one group, the rest of you must go elsewhere! The woman he is speaking to certainly responds to this challenge: “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs”. Yes, she says, challenging the status quo, we are worthy to be considered, we are not just dogs hiding under the table hoping for scraps from the rich man’s feast. And Jesus heals her daughter willingly, heals her from a distance: his power reaches out and heals: her faith is fully rewarded. His love reaches beyond our limited horizons.

“My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favouritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?” James here, like Jesus, challenges our prejudices. Challenges the times we walk on by, judge others. James picks up Jesus’ challenge, the challenge by which he taught his disciples to look again at those whom they rejected – just as he did in the parable of the Good Samaritan: a Samaritan, good!? The Levite, Pharisee, others, just walk by unheeding? Jesus, through his preaching and ministry, his acts of love and compassion, his response to the faith of those around him, showed that God is impartial, that God so loved the whole world that God sent Jesus to be the light to lighten the Gentiles, to be the glory of all people. To show that God is for all creation. God is not confined to one group, to one denomination, to one country or people, but is there for all. James makes this plain: we cannot say we really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ if we show favouritism, if we act with partiality towards one group of people, to those who dress nicely or look and behave like us. Charity doesn’t begin at home, with those we identify with, with those we know. It begins with need, with those in need, whoever and wherever they are. If God has a bias, then, as Moltmann puts it, as James reiterates, that bias is in favour of the poor and oppressed, because humanity certainly doesn’t show them favouritism. As Proverbs tells us, rich and poor have this in common: the Lord is the maker of them all. There is no difference, we are all created in the image of God. We are all equally and unconditionally loved by God. But we are also tasked to protect and help those who are poor, not rob them, not make them feel worse, not give them the dregs, make them sit lower, push them aside in favour of those who are rich, those who have power, those who might be able to do something for us. The poor, as much as the rich, perhaps more so, are our neighbour. And we have a duty to them, because of our faith, because of the love of God to us, and to them. We have a duty not to be hypocritical and pour blessings on those who have nothing whilst telling them, “go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill”, even though they actually have nothing! Our faith requires us to show God’s love, to be impartial, to overcome our prejudices and favouritisms and to love those in need as ourselves. Because faith by itself, if it has no works, if it is just words with no love, no compassion, no action, is dead.

We are to welcome all, to care for all equally, just as God welcomes and cares for all equally. Just as Jesus welcomed and cared for all who came to him, or to whom he went. He spoke to all, women, the sick, the despised, the outcast, the deaf, lepers, those whose ailments separated them from society, and brought them home. Just as he meets us where we are, all of us, and brings us home. And we are to do likewise, to share God’s love, our love, with all and show this in our lives, following the example of Christ, the one who reached out to all he met, who touched those who were unclean and mixed with those others rejected. So, we must live out God’s impartiality in our lives, following his example and obeying his command, seen in the life, ministry and mission of God’s Son. Amen.

The Revd Jackie Sellin