Today, our soul food is God’s unconditional love and forgiveness,
as shown in our Gospel reading. Also because it’s Mothering
Sunday, which I’ll talk more about in a bit. But first, let’s
have a look at our familiar, and, I suspect much-loved, Gospel
story.
We don't know why the younger son got fed up with
his comfortable life on the farm;
Jesus didn't go into details
about his family background, or, if he did, Luke didn't record
them!
Perhaps he was being asked to marry a girl he really
disliked –
or perhaps he'd fallen in love with the wrong
girl.
Or perhaps he just found farm work boring,
and the
lights of the big city more attractive.
Whatever, he goes to his
father and asks for his share of his inheritance, and takes
off.
Now, it was really awful of him to ask that –
he
was more or less saying “I can't wait until you're dead!”.
And,
of course, it wasn't a matter of going to the bank and writing a
cheque –
it was a matter of dividing up the farm,
letting the younger son have a certain number of fields and
buildings,
and a certain amount of stock.
But this story
is taking place in God's country,
where the rules are not the
same as ours,
so the farmer does just that,
and a few
days later, when the son has sold all this –
I wonder if he
sold it back to his father, I wouldn't put it past him –
he
lets his son go with his blessing.
And the son goes off to
seek his fortune in the big city.
But, like so many of us,
he doesn't make a fortune.
Instead, he wastes what he has on
what the Bible calls “Dissolute living”.
You know the kind
of thing –
fashionable clothes,
champagne,
caviar,
top-of-the-range smartphones,
expensive callgirls,
fast
cars,
cocaine,
and so on and so forth.
They
perhaps didn't have quite those things in his day, but very
similar!
And he almost definitely gambled,
and may even
have taken drugs as well.
And, inevitably, it all goes
horribly wrong and he wakes up one morning with no money and with his
creditors ringing the doorbell.
And he is forced to earn his
living as best he can.
I don't think we Christians can
ever quite realise the absolute horror of what happened next.
We
don't have the utter horror of pigs that the Jews had and have.
We
think of pigs, we think of bacon and sausages and roast pork with
crispy crackling;
for the Jews –
and, I gather, for
Muslims, too –
it was more like taking a job on a rat farm.
In
terms of actual work,
it probably wasn't much different from
the work he'd been used to,
but he would be an outcast among
his own kind,
and we gather from the story that he wasn't paid
very well, either.
He was hungry, to the point where even the
pigs' food looked good.
I wonder if he was working for one of
his creditors?
Anyway, one morning he wakes up and thinks
to himself, “What on earth am I doing?
Even my father treats
his people better than this –
maybe he'd take me on as a farm
worker.”
You notice, perhaps, that he doesn't actually
say he's sorry.
He doesn't appear to regret having left home,
only finding himself in this fix.
And yes, he would be
better off working for his father than he is here.
He does say
he’ll admit he has sinned, and is not worthy to be his father’s
son any more, but there doesn’t seem to be any regret….
I
wonder if those few years of squandering it all still felt worth
it?
Well, we all know what happened next.
Father
rushes out to greet him –
and men simply never ran in that
place and time,
but remember that this story takes place in
God's country,
and anything can happen there.
The
celebrations go on and on.
Elder brother is most put
out.
He has been working hard all the time,
and nobody
ever gave him a party, did they?
And this wastrel, who has
caused so much grief, is being treated like a prince.
What's all
that about?
Well, the elder brother could have had a party
any day in the week, if he'd wanted one.
He'd never said, had
he?
He'd seemed quite content with his lifestyle.
Perhaps
underneath, though, he was seriously jealous of his brother.
No,
not jealous, that's the wrong word.
Envious.
Perhaps he
wish he had had the guts to cut loose and make a life of
his
own.
We don't know.
But whatever, Father's reaction
seemed to him to be well out of order.
He wished his Father had
said, “Get out –
how dare you show your face around
here!”
Or that Father had said “Well, I suppose you
can be a servant,
but no way are you coming back into this
family.”
Or, perhaps, “Well, if you work really hard
and prove to me you're really sorry, I might be prepared to forgive
you –
in about ten years' time and providing you are
absolutely perfect during that time!”
But for Father to
rush up and hug Little Brother, and to be calling for champagne and
throwing a party –
well, that was definitely out of order, as
far as Big Brother was concerned.
His only hope was that Little
Brother would insist on being treated as a servant:
“No, no,
you can't give me a party!
I don't deserve it.
I'm going to
live above the stables with the other workers,
and behave like
a worker, not your son!”
You know, that's what I think I
would have done.
I don't know about you, but I find being
forgiven the hardest thing there is.
Responding to God's love is
really hard.
I want to earn my forgiveness, earn God's love,
God's approval.
But it doesn't work like that, does
it?
The bit of Luke Chapter 15 that we didn't read was the other
two “lost” stories –
the lost sheep and the lost coin.
We
don't blame the coin for getting lost;
we know how easy it is to
drop something, or to put it down in a safe place, and we can't find
it.
If you knew how many time Robert mislays the keys to one
church building or another….
And when we find whatever it was
we have mislaid – usually when we’re looking for something else,
we do rejoice!
We don't really blame the sheep for wandering
off, either.
Sheep are dumb animals –
well, noisy ones,
really, but stupid ones, whatever –
and if they can get into
trouble, they will.
But the Good Shepherd isn't going to lose
one if he can help it;
he'll be pulling on his coat and wellies
as soon as he realises one has gone missing, and set off with his
dogs to find it.
You might say that is over the top –
but
again,
this is God's country, the Kingdom of Heaven,
and
anything can happen there.
In God's country there is more joy
over one lost sheep being found than over the 99 that stayed in their
field.
But we can and we do blame the young man for
running off.
Perhaps we would like to run off, who knows?
In
any case, we can identify with him.
We know we can –
and
maybe we have –
done dreadful things like that.
And we
don't like it, like the big brother didn't like it,
when the
Father forgives him so generously and open-heartedly,
even
without his repenting properly.
He came home, he is here again,
this calls for a drink!
No, we think, this won't do.
I
can't be forgiven that easily.
It can't be that simple.
I
need to earn it.
But we can't earn it.
We can't earn
forgiveness.
We can't earn salvation.
Sometimes we speak as
if, and maybe we even think,
that salvation is down to us,
that we need to say the special prayer so that God will save
us.
No.
Salvation is all God's idea,
and God has a
great deal more invested in the relationship than we do.
God
pours out his love on us unconditionally, and all we need do is
accept it.
God’s love and forgiveness are unconditional
This
reading does fit in rather well with the fact that it’s Mothering
Sunday. It’s also Mother’s Day, but they are two rather
different things.
Mothering Sunday has roots way, way
back in history, at a time when this mid-Lent Sunday was the time
when servants would go home to visit their families
and, if
possible, they would all visit the “mother church” of their area
together.
One of the traditional readings for today is the one
where Jesus is weeping over Jerusalem: “
“Jerusalem,
Jerusalem!
Your people have killed the prophets and have stoned
the messengers who were sent to you.
I have often wanted to
gather your people, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.
But
you wouldn't let me.”
The image of Jesus as a mother
hen!
What we remember on Mothering Sunday isn’t just our
mothers, although them, too, but above all,
the wonderful love
of God, our Father and our Mother.
We do give thanks for
our mothers, of course we do.
But we have to remember, too,
people whose Mums are no longer with us, and to remember that some
people didn't have satisfactory relationships with their own Mums,
and some people have never known the joy of motherhood.
The
Church used to be very tactless about this, and only give flowers to
those women in the congregation who actually were mothers – quite
ignoring those who would have loved to have had children.
And
blithely glossing over the fact that for the rest of the year we were
rather left to get on with it, and were told that the loneliness and
isolation and lack of fellowship was “the price you pay for the
wonderful privilege of being a Christian Mother!”
As if....
At
least these days we give flowers to everybody in church!
But
what I really want to leave with you this morning is God’s
wonderful and unconditional love and forgiveness.
So much love,
so much forgiveness – it could almost overwhelm us, which is
probably why we hold back.
And we feel, rightly, that we don’t
deserve it.
Well, of course we don’t – but who does?
I
don’t know about you, but the first time I really realised the
tiniest fraction of what God’s love is like was when they laid my
newborn daughter in my arms.
Was this feeling, this love, this
protectiveness, this –
this total overwhelmingness, was it
really a picture of what God feels for me?
And for you?
And
for each and every one of us?
I think it is.
But the
awful thing we also have to remember is that this love is for
everybody!
It’s not
just for those who have “accepted Christ as their personal
Saviour”;
it’s not just for those who conform to what we
believe a Christian must be.
It’s everybody.
It’s the
muggers, the phone snatchers, the bank robbers, the traffikers, the
slavers, the rapists –
and yes, even the politicians!
God
might –
and probably does –
hate the things they do,
hate the things they say –
but God doesn’t hate them!
On the contrary, God loves each and every one of them as much
as he loves you and me.
And each and every one of us is loved
with all of God’s love, because God is love, and “when
we are still far off” God comes running to rejoice with us that we
are home at last! Amen!
30 March 2025
Soul Repair: Nourished by Unconditional Love and Forgiveness
02 March 2025
Glimpses of Glory
Do you ever watch sport on television?
It doesn’t really
matter which sport –
football, rugby, athletics, gymnastics,
cycling, ice-skating –
whatever it is you enjoy,
the
point I’m about to make is the same.
What we see on
television is just the tip of the iceberg, the pinnacle of the
sport.
They show you the very best athletes at the peak of their
game.
What they don’t show you is the endless hours of
practice every single one of those athletes puts in,
often
training at unearthly hours of the morning to fit in with the day’s
work, grinding along,
day after day after day,
getting
injured,
recovering,
plodding on.
And then, every
once in awhile, realising how much they’ve improved,
how much
they are “getting it”.
Suddenly, all the hard work has
paid off –
they’ve been selected for their team, or their
club, or even their country!
Or perhaps they’re finding a
certain aspect of the skill easy that six months before they could
barely do.
A glimpse of the glory of what they’ve been
working so hard for.
Perhaps you’ve taken a sport fairly
seriously in your time, so you know what I’m talking about.
But
even if you haven’t, isn’t it the same with our Christian lives,
too?
We plod on, dutifully using what John Wesley called “The
means of grace”,
that is, the Sacrament,
public
worship,
the Scriptures,
prayer and so on,
and yet
nothing seems to happen.
Sometimes it feels as though our
relationship with God is all down to us, not to God,
and doubts
set in.
But then, just sometimes, God breaks in and we
get a glimpse of his glory.
I know that has happened to
me, and I hope it has happened to you.
In our
readings today, various people get glimpses of God’s
glory.
Firstly, Moses and the Israelites.
Moses is spending time in the mountains with God.
This
passage is set shortly after that infamous episode with the golden
calf,
and I think the authors are trying to emphasize that it
is God, Yahweh, who is in charge,
not Moses, not a golden calf,
nor anybody else.
So Moses’ face shines when he has
been in God’s presence,
as he is speaking with God’s
authority.
The Israelites caught a glimpse of God’s
glory.
And we are told that Moses did, too;
he was
allowed to see just the tiniest shadow of the back of God –
as
though God had a human form, but then, he was told,
he couldn’t
see the face of God as he wouldn’t live through the experience.
Nobody can, nobody except Jesus.
We can only come
to God through Jesus;
more of that in a minute.
The
Israelites could only see God’s glory reflected in Moses’ face,
and it scared them.
Moses, who hadn’t at all realised
anything was different,
had to put a veil over his face while
he was among them, so as not to scare them.
The New
Testament reading set for today, which we didn’t read,
points
out that Moses was able to take the veil off, eventually, because the
glory faded.
Moses was back among the people, involved in
the every-day tasks of running the Exodus,
and gradually the
glimpse of glory that he had had,
and that he had passed on to
the Israelites,
faded.
Okay, fast-forward
several hundred years to the time of Christ.
This time, it is
Jesus who is going up the mountain and he asks his friends James,
Peter and John to go with him.
I don't know whether Jesus knew
what was going to happen,
only that it was going to be
something rather different and special,
and he wanted some
moral support!
And so the four friends go up the mountain –
and
suddenly things get rather confused for a time,
and when it
stops being confused,
there is Jesus in shining white robes
talking to Moses and Elijah.
Peter, of course,
babbles on about building shelters,
but more to reassure
himself that he exists, I think, than for any other reason.
And
then the voice from heaven saying "This is my Son,
listen to Him".
In other words, Jesus is more
important than either Moses or Elijah, who were the two main people,
apart from God, in the Jewish faith.
To good Jews, as James,
Peter and John were, this must have almost felt like blasphemy.
No
wonder Jesus told them to keep their big mouths shut until the time
was right,
or he'd have been stoned for a blasphemer
forthwith.
Peter, for one, remembered this momentous day
until the end of his life.
Years and years later, he –
or
someone writing in his name –
was to write:
"For we
did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the
power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ,
but we had been
eyewitnesses of his majesty.
For he received honour and glory
from God the Father
when that voice was conveyed to him by the
Majestic Glory, saying, `This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am
well pleased.'
We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven,
while we were with him on the holy mountain."
For
Peter, James and John, it was to be proof that Jesus is the
Messiah, and through all the turbulent times that followed they must
have held on to the memory of that tremendous day, when they saw a
glimpse of God’s glory in Jesus.
But they, too,
had to come down from the mountainside and carry on,
and
immediately they are confronted with a crisis:
a child who has
been brought to the disciples for healing, but nothing has happened.
In this version of the story, Jesus sounds almost cross –
well,
you can’t blame him, can you?
He was probably tired
after being on the mountain,
and rather wanting a quiet supper
and his bed,
and now the disciples were all talking at once,
explaining how they’d tried to cast out this demon,
and the
boy’s father is adding to the confusion, and yadda, yadda,
yadda…..
Basically, back to normal!
We know
from other accounts of this story that afterwards Jesus tells the
disciples that they can only cast out that sort of demon with prayer
and possibly fasting.
So it seems that
glimpses of God’s glory are very rare, and the normal gritty,
hum-drum, everyday life is the norm.
And that’s as it
should be.
You can’t live on a mountain-top all the
time, you’d get altitude sickness!
If you were on
holiday all the time, you wouldn’t appreciate the rest and
relaxation that being on holiday brings.
It’s not much
fun waking up and knowing you have no work to go to and, when you get
up, the big excitement of the day will be deciding what to have for
supper!
We are never quite sure where God is in all of
this.
But God is there.
Those
very special glimpses of his glory, such as Moses saw,
such as
Peter, James and John saw, are just that:
special.
They
happen maybe once or twice in a lifetime, if that.
But God
is there, acting, working in our lives, even if we don’t always
recognise Him.
There are a couple of stories about this,
which you may or may not have heard. In the first, two men are
talking in the pub, and the first is telling of an adventure he’s
recently had in North Africa. He got lost in the desert, and ran out
of water, and quite thought his last hour had come, so he prayed out
loud to God to come and save him.
“And what did God do?”
asked his friend, realising that something must have happened as
there he was, large as life and twice as natural, in the pub enjoying
his pint.
“Oh,” said the first man, “God didn’t need to
do anything, as just then a caravan came along, and I was able to go
on with them to safety.”
The second story tells of
the time there was a big flood, and people had to climb up on to the
roofs of their houses to escape.
One person – let’s make it
a woman this time, as we had a man in the last story, but it doesn’t
really matter – one woman thought this was a remarkable opportunity
to demonstrate, so she thought, God’s power, so she prayed “Dear
Lord, please come and save me.”
Just then, someone came
past in a rowing-boat and said “Climb in, we’ll take you to
safety!”
“Oh, no thank you,” said our friend, “I’ve
prayed for God to save me, so I’ll just wait for Him to do
so.”
And she carried on praying, “Dear Lord, please
save me!”
Then along came the police in a motor-launch,
and called for her to jump in, but she sent them away, too, and
continued to pray “Dear Lord, please save me!”
Finally,
a Coastguard helicopter came and sent down someone on a rope to him,
but she still refused,
claiming that she was relying on God to
save her.
And half an hour later, she was swept away and
drowned.
So, because she was a Christian, as you can
imagine, she ended up in Heaven,
and the first thing she did
when he got there
was go to to the Throne of Grace, and say to
God,
“What do you mean by letting me down like this?
I
prayed and prayed for you to rescue me, and you didn’t!”
“My
dear child,” said God, “I sent you two boats and a helicopter
–
what more did you want?”
When we pray for
someone to be healed, quite often we want to see God intervening
spectacularly, like the disciples expected to see with the boy with a
demon from today’s reading.
After all, if you think of
it, there’s a limit to what medicine can do.
When
you have an operation, the surgeons can cut you open and do what
needs to be done inside you, and then they can stitch you up again –
but they can’t make that cut heal up!
They can, of
course, do all sorts of things to encourage it to heal –
they
can’t actually make the flesh grow back together again.
That
has to be left to natural processes –
or is it God?
I
believe God is involved in healing, whether it is by direct,
supernatural intervention,
or, more usually, through the normal
processes of one’s immune system,
aided by medical or
surgical intervention when necessary.
But those glimpses
of glory that I started with –
when you realise that you are
making progress in your chosen sport or hobby, or perhaps when you
are out there competing –
I believe those times, too, are from
God.
I think, then, that what I want to leave with
you today is this:
as we go into Lent,
which is a time
when we are apt to think about God, and our relationship with Him,
perhaps a little more deeply than at other times of the year,
let’s be on the lookout for touches of God in our everyday
lives.
They don’t have to be spectacular, they probably
won’t be.
But each of them is a little glimpse of
glory. Amen.
23 February 2025
Doormat or Dynamite?
Two familiar passages today;
in the first, we see Joseph
confronting his brothers many years after they sold him into slavery
and told his father he was dead.
And in the second, Jesus is
preaching to the crowds in what is often called the “Sermon on the
Plain”;
Luke’s version of the Sermon on the Mount that we
are so familiar with from Matthew’s gospel.
Let’s look
at the Old Testament story first.
You know Joseph’s story, of
course;
born into the most dysfunctional of dysfunctional
families, his father and grandfather both liars and cheats.
And
Joseph himself was the spoilt favourite –
his father had two
wives, you may remember, Rachel, whom he loved, and Leah, whom he
didn't but was tricked into marrying anyway.
He also had a
couple of kids by Leah's and Rachel's maids, Bilhah and Zilpah, but
Rachel, the beloved wife, had had trouble conceiving,
so Joseph
and his full brother Benjamin were very precious,
especially as
Rachel had died having Benjamin.
He, it seems, was still too
young to take much part in the story at this stage, but Joseph was
well old enough to help his brothers –
and, we are told, to
spy on them and sneak on them to his father.
And stupid enough
to boast of self-important dreams.
It's not too surprising
that his brothers hated him, is it?
Obviously, he didn't deserve
to be killed, but human nature is what it is,
and the brothers
were a long way from home
and saw an opportunity to be rid of
him.
At least Reuben, and later Judah, didn't go along with
having him killed,
although they did sell him to the
Ishmaelites who were coming along.
Joseph has a lot of
growing up to do,
and it takes a false accusation and many years
in prison to help him grow up.
But eventually he is freed
and
given an important post in the Egyptian administration,
preparing
for the forthcoming famine and then administering food relief when it
comes.
And so his brothers come to beg for food
relief.
And at first Joseph is angry enough with them to first
of all insist they bring the youngest, Benjamin, with them next time
they come –
he had stayed at home to look after their father
–
and then to plant false evidence that he had stolen a gold
cup.
He says he will let the others go but keep Benjamin as his
slave,
but the other brothers explain that it will kill their
father if he does so.
And at that something breaks inside
Joseph, and he makes himself known to his brothers, forgiving them
completely for all they had done to him –
pointing out, even,
that God had used this for good,
as he had been able to organise
the food relief,
knowing there would be five more years of
drought and famine to come.
And he sends for his father to come
and bring all the households and settle in Egypt.
The family is
reunited and –
for some generations, at least –
they
all live happily ever after.
Five hundred years or so
later, the son of another Joseph is preaching to the people.
And
what he says is completely revolutionary.
Here is a modern
paraphrase:
“If you are ready to hear the truth then I
have this to say:
Love! Love even your enemies.
Treat even
those who hate you with love.
If anyone mouths off at you or
treats you like dirt, wish them all the best and pray for them.
If
someone gives you a smack around the ear to humiliate you, stand tall
and stick your chin out, and invite them to have another
crack.
Absorb the hostility –
don’t escalate it.
If
someone nicks your coat, just say, ‘Hey, if you’re needing that,
you’ll be needing these,’ and hand over your hat and scarf as
well.
Give to everyone who asks something of you, and don’t go
hassling people to give back what they’ve got from you.
Live
generously, and don’t go keeping score and looking to balance the
ledger.”
©2001
Nathan Nettleton LaughingBird.net
It’s all pretty familiar, isn’t it?
We are
perhaps more familiar with the version given in St Matthew, but it’s
pretty much the same sentiment.
Jesus goes on:
“If you
want to know how to treat someone, just ask yourself what you’d be
hoping for if you were in their shoes.
Treat others the way
you’d like to be treated, not just the way you are treated.
It’s
not as though you’d deserve a medal for loving someone who loves
you.
Anyone can do that!
You won’t find your name in the
honours lists for a good turn done to those who are always going out
of their way to help you.
Any crook can do that!
And if you
only ever give when it looks like there’ll be something in it for
you, what’s the big deal?
Every business shark knows how to
make an investment, but it’s not exactly evidence of a generous
spirit.”
©2001
Nathan Nettleton LaughingBird.net
The thing is, of course, that we don’t do it!
None
of it.
We know it in our heads, but we haven’t made it part of
us.
We’re taught to stand up for ourselves, we’re taught to
look out for number one.
Even though we’re taught to share, we
understand that we may have our turn on the swings in the playground,
or whatever.
Maybe as adults, we reckon we’ve a right to our
turn at the remote control….
But from what Jesus is
saying, we don’t.
We need to put other people first.
We
need to allow other people to walk all over us, to hit us, to steal
our possessions.
It does sound as though we’re supposed to be
doormats, doesn’t it?
As though we need to just stand there,
being totally passive, allowing other people to run our lives for
us.
No wonder we don’t do it!
But are we supposed
to be doormats?
I don’t think so!
Jesus wasn’t, after
all.
Yes, he allowed himself to be arrested and crucified, he
refused to defend himself at his trial.
But before that we see
him arguing with the Pharisees and teachers of the law.
He
doesn’t say “Oh well, I expect you’re right,” but tries to
show them what he is all about, what the Kingdom of Heaven is
like.
He took up a whip and drove out the traders in the Temple
–
was that being a doormat?
You see, it’s not
just about standing there and taking it.
It’s about being
positive, as well.
“Be different!” says Jesus.
“Love
your enemies and do good to them.
Lend freely, and don’t go
looking for returns.
God will see that it’s worth it for
you.
You will be God’s very own children.
God is generous
to those who don’t deserve it,
even if they’re totally
ungrateful.
God forgives whatever anyone owes.
Do
likewise:
treat people the way God treats people.”
©2001
Nathan Nettleton LaughingBird.net
“Treat people the way God treats people.”
Of
course, there are those who go around saying that God hates this
group of people, or that group.
There are those who would like
to exclude all sorts of people from God’s love.
But that’s
not what the Bible says.
Our Methodist doctrines teach that
everybody, no matter who, can be saved.
“And every offender
who truly believes,
that moment from Jesus a pardon
receives!”
God doesn’t hold things against us.
It
worries me, you know, that people’s whole careers can be ruined
because of a thoughtless tweet they may have published ten years
ago.
People move on.
I don’t know about you, but there
are things I’ve thought or said in my past that make me cringe to
think about them now –
had there been social media when I was
young,
I’d probably be utterly disgraced now!
And you
can probably think of occasions in your own lives, too.
But
the thing is, God doesn’t think of them.
“So far as the East
is from the West,
so far has God put our transgressions from
us,” says the Psalmist.
And Jesus reminds us, here as
elsewhere,
that because that is so, we need to forgive,
too.
Think of the story we call the Prodigal Son.
The
son who asked for his share of inheritance and went into the world to
have some fun,
and when he was in the gutter decided to go home
again.
And the father ran to meet him, and put on a massive
celebration for him,
and had obviously been longing and longing
and longing for his son to come home again.
But the father
couldn't make the son come home.
He had to wait until the son
chose to come home of his own free will.
What's more, the son
had to accept that his father wanted him home again.
He could
have said "Well, no, I don't deserve all this,"
and
rushed off to live in the stables, behaving like a servant,
although
his father wanted to treat him as the son he was.
The son had to
receive his father's forgiveness, just as we do.
And don't
forget, either, the elder brother,
who simply couldn't join in
the celebrations because he couldn't forgive his brother.
How
dare they celebrate for that lousy rotter!
I don't know whether
he was crosser with his father for having a party, or with his
brother for daring to come home.
I feel sorry for him, because
he allowed his bitterness to spoil what could have been a good
time.
And that is exactly what happens to us when we do
not forgive one another.
We allow our bitterness to spoil what
could have been a good time with God.
I often think
forgiveness is the Christian’s secret weapon.
All of Jesus’
teachings in the passage we have been looking at this morning seem to
be about forgiveness.
If someone hits us, we forgive them,
rather than hitting back.
If someone steals our coat, we forgive
them, and perhaps even offer them more of our clothes.
And so
on.
After all, that’s how we’d like them to treat us, isn’t
it?
But as you know, and as I know, the world isn’t like
that.
And we tend to conform to the world’s standards,
rather
than God’s standards.
But what if we didn’t?
What
if we really did do as Jesus tells us?
What if we really treated
people the way God treats them,
the way we would like them to
treat us?
The first Christians were known as the people
who turned the world upside-down.
But that was two thousand
years ago, and over the centuries we have watered down Jesus’
teaching.
We have got used to it, and we don’t see how
revolutionary his teaching actually was.
Joseph, as we
have seen, was able to forgive his brothers –
it took him
awhile, but when he got there, he really forgave them.
He saw
how God had worked everything together for good, and not only forgave
them, but invited them to come and settle locally.
He really is
the poster child for forgiveness.
Jesus promises us that
if we give generously –
and I don’t think he means just
material giving, but giving of ourselves, of our time, of our love,
of our forgiveness –
then God’s generosity to us will know
no limits, either.
What do you think, I wonder?
If
you did as Jesus says in the gospel reading –
would you turn
into a doormat?
Or could it be, possibly, just might, it prove
to be dynamite,
something to turn the world upside-down?
Amen.
16 February 2025
A tree planted by the water
From our first reading this morning, the passage from Jeremiah
chapter 17:
“I will bless the person
who
puts his trust in me.
He is like a tree growing near a
stream
and sending out roots to the
water.
It is not afraid when hot weather comes,
because
its leaves stay green;
it has no worries when there is no
rain;
it keeps on bearing fruit.”
And
in the Psalm we read together, we are told that those who delight in
the law of the Lord “are like trees planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in due season.
Their leaves do not
wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.”
Some
time ago I saw a documentary about the Kalahari desert in Africa,
which is one of the driest places on earth.
But water still
flows under, and very occasionally on top of, the dried river beds,
and you could see, from drone footage, exactly where the rivers run,
because they are lined with green trees,
and it was those trees
that enabled giraffes to live there,
as they could feed on the
leaves.
Israel is pretty dry, too, I understand –
the
Negev, do they call the desert there?
Anyway, the whole thing of
irrigation, and planting trees by the river, has a great many echoes
in the Bible,
so I imagine it must have been very much a thing,
especially back in the days before modern irrigation techniques
were able to make the desert, quite literally, blossom like a
rose.
One of my favourite passages is in Ezekiel,
where
that prophet has a vision of a stream of water beginning in the
Temple in Jerusalem and flowing down to the Dead Sea,
becoming
wider and deeper as it flows, full of fish, fertile, bringing
fertility to the whole area, including the Dead Sea.
And we are
told that “On each bank of the stream all kinds of trees will grow
to provide food.
Their leaves will never wither, and they will
never stop bearing fruit.
They will have fresh fruit every
month, because they are watered by the stream that flows from the
Temple.
The trees will provide food, and their leaves will be
used for healing people.”
Zechariah also mentions this
river, but says half of it will flow to the Mediterranean and half to
the Red Sea.
He doesn’t put trees alongside it explicitly,
though.
This river appears, according to the book of
Revelation, to be in the heavenly Jerusalem rather than the earthly
one we know.
The writer has a vision of the new Jerusalem, and
in part,
“The angel also showed me the river of the water of
life, sparkling like crystal, and coming from the throne of God and
of the Lamb and flowing down the middle of the city's street.
On
each side of the river was the tree of life, which bears fruit twelve
times a year, once each month;
and its leaves are for the
healing of the nations.”
But the point of the passages
in both Jeremiah and the Psalm is that it is we who are –
or
who can be –
like the tree planted by the water.
It is we
who can bear fruit all year round, who can stay green and fresh even
in times of drought.
And at this point we all start to wriggle
and feel uncomfortable and think, “Oh God, I’m not like that at
all!”
And, of course, we aren’t like that.
At
least, most of us aren’t.
Some of us are, and you will know
who those people are in your life.
But they won’t know it
–
partly because if they did know it, they might start
thinking what great people they are, and then, of course, they
wouldn’t be.
Because the whole point is, those of us who do
bear fruit, or green leaves, or whatever, are the ones through whom
God’s Spirit flows.
Jesus said that if we abide in him,
we will bear much fruit, and apart from him, we can do nothing.
We
know, too, what the fruit is that we are going to bear –
those
lovely, life-enhancing qualities that St Paul lists in his letter to
the Galatians:
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness,
faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
And I am sure there
are others –
Paul’s lists are apt to be descriptive, not
prescriptive!
But to get back to our passage, Jeremiah
also points out that people who do not trust in God are like desert
shrubs –
small, stunted, good for nothing much at all.
A
far cry from the lush trees growing by the river.
And we may
well know people like that, too;
people who do make a fair fist
at being human,
but oh, how much more they could be if only
they trusted Jesus!
And, you know, it’s not just us as
individuals, but us as a church.
As a church, we can be lush
trees growing by the river;
at that, we can guide people to the
source of living water, Jesus himself.
We can cry out against
injustice where we perceive it;
we can stand by our American
friends who are really worried by this new regime; by our
Ukrainian,
Russian,
Palestinian,
Israeli,
Sudanese,
Somali
or
Syrian friends whose lives have been devastated by war;
we can
cry out against the conditions that mean people need to use the food
banks –
and, indeed, donate to them;
and so on –
you
can watch the news as much as I can!
Or, alas, we can be small
and stunted and good for nothing much –
but I’m sure this
church isn’t like that!
And Jesus himself had some
pretty harsh things to say to people –
and, presumably,
churches –
who only trusted themselves, as we heard in our
Gospel reading.
We are more used to the version of this teaching
given in Matthew, I think, probably because Matthew’s version is so
much easier.
We can think of ourselves as poor in spirit, as
hungry and thirsty after righteousness –
but we are manifestly
rich and well fed,
just like those whom Jesus condemns here.
I
imagine Jesus does not condemn us just for being rich and well fed
and content –
after all, that is largely an accident of
birth.
Had we been born in another country, at another time,
things might have gone very differently for us.
But it’s the
“I’m all right, Jack” mentality that so often goes with being
rich and well fed that is to be shunned at all costs.
We may be
all right –
but there are plenty of people who aren’t.
We
may be going home to a big Sunday lunch,
or we might be
planning to go out for brunch,
as there are so many good
restaurants in this area that serve it on a Sunday.
We’re on
our way to the country for a week!
But what of those whose
cupboards are bare, who depend on the food banks for today’s
meals?
What of those who are homeless and begging in the
streets?
These appear to be the ones who, in this passage, Jesus
is praising and blessing.
I’m not saying, of course,
that we should be giving to every beggar on the streets –
there
are better ways of
helping to relieve homelessness and hunger.
I
know some of you have donated to the Brixton Food Bank recently
–
Robert took a car-load from here over to the hub at Brixton
Hill just the other day.
Please go on doing this as and when you
can afford to –
it is more necessary than ever, alas.
But
it isn’t so much what you do, as your attitude.
Remember
Jesus’ story of the rich man ostentatiously giving huge amounts to
the Temple, and then the poor old beggar woman giving a tiny coin?
It
was, said Jesus, the woman who had given the most;
the rich man
wasn’t going to miss what he’d given, but that coin might have
meant the woman going without her supper that day.
But how
do we become that sort of person?
I know I’m not!
The
sort of person who resembles a tree planted by the water,
bearing
fruit and leaves all year round –
well, that’s not me!
I’m
far too selfish and lazy and greedy and so on….
But then, we
all have our faults.
And if I were to try to conquer mine in my
own strength, I’d just be setting myself up for failure.
The
thing is –
and this isn’t easy, either –
it’s about
letting God grow us.
We are to produce fruit, and fruit isn’t
manufactured, it’s grown.
Leaves aren’t stuck on the tree
with Blu-tak, they are grown, too.
Some years ago now, a
friend gave me a small flower-pot containing an aloe vera shoot.
These days, it’s huge – at least three large plants, and I ought
to repot it. But I’ve done nothing to make this happen – given
it a few drops of water from time to time; plucked a leaf when I’ve
needed some aloe vera for something, and that’s it. It has
grown.
Plants grow.
Flowers grow.
Fruit
grows.
Leaves grow.
We can’t make them grow, and we can’t
make ourselves produce the good qualities that are required of God’s
people.
But we can allow God the Holy Spirit to flow through us,
to fill us,
to indwell us,
to enable us to become
the people God designed us to be.
And if we do that –
and,
let’s face it, we’re not going to be able to do that every
moment,
but the more we try to allow God to work in and through
us, the more successful we will be –
if we do allow God the
Holy Spirit to flow through us, we will gradually become a tree
planted by the water side.
Amen.
19 January 2025
Extravagance
I suggest you listen to the beginning of the recording, at least, as I included what would have been the children's talk had there actually been any children in church!
I wonder how many of you went to a Christmas party? We invited
someone to lunch on Christmas Day, but the only other party we went
to was Brixton Hill’s big annual Christmas dinner. For reasons I
won’t go into now, that was a bit of a disaster, with food having
to be cooked on one site and brought round to the other. Mostly by
R! But there was plenty of food; most people were able to take
a “goody bag” home with them.
That’s one of the
things about parties, or weddings,
or any other big event that
you’re hosting, or your church is,
have you got enough food
and drink for everybody –
to the point that, very often, there
is far too much, as there was at Brixton Hill this year!
And I
do know we got it right when it came to buying the sparkling wine for
our daughter’s wedding, many years ago now,
but I also
remember worrying lest we should, perhaps, have got another case….
As
it turned out, there was plenty –
we were even able to take a
couple of bottles home with us!
But it seems to have been
very far from the case for that poor host of the wedding at Cana we
have just read about.
As I understand it, back in the day
wedding feasts lasted two or three days, and a host would expect to
have enough food and drink to cater for the entire time.
But
something had gone badly wrong here.
We don’t know what had
happened, or why –
only that it had.
Such embarrassment
–
the party will be going on for awhile yet, but there is no
wine.
But among the wedding guests were a very special
family.
Mary, the carpenter's widow from Nazareth, and her
sons.
Cana isn't very far from Nazareth, only about twelve
miles,
but that's quite a good day's journey when you have to
rely on your own two feet to get you there.
So it's probable
that either the bride or the groom were related to Mary in some way,
especially as she seems to have been told about the disaster
with the wine.
And then comes one of those turning-point
moments in the Gospels.
Mary tells her eldest son, Jesus, that
the wine has run out.
Now, as far as we can tell, Jesus is
only just beginning to realise who he is.
John's gospel says
that he has already been baptised by John the Baptist,
which
implies that he has been out into the desert to wrestle with the
implications of being the Messiah –
and the temptations which
came with it,
and John also tells us that Simon Peter, Andrew
and some of the others have started to be Jesus' disciples
and
had come with him to the wedding.
But, in this version of the
story, Jesus hasn't yet started to use his divine power to heal
people and to perform miracles,
and he isn't quite sure that
the time is right to do so.
So when his mother comes up and says
“They have no wine,”
his immediate reaction is to say, more
or less,
“Well, nothing I can do about it!
It isn't time
yet!”
His mother, however, seems to have been ahead of
Jesus for once, on this,
and says to the servants, “Do
whatever he tells you!”
And Jesus, who was always very close
to God,
and who had learnt to listen to his Father all the
time,
realises that, after all, his mother is right
and
the time has come to start using the power God has given him.
So
he tells the servants to fill those big jars with water –
and
they pour out the best wine anybody there has ever tasted.
As
someone remarked, right at the fag-end of the wedding,
when
people are beginning to go home and everybody has had more than
enough to drink, anyway.
I don't suppose the bridegroom's
family were sorry, though.
Those jars were huge –
they
held about a hundred litres each, and there were six of them.
Do
you realise just how much wine that was?
Six hundred litres
–
about eight hundred standard bottles of wine!
Eight
hundred....
you don't even see that many on the supermarket
shelves, do you?
Eight hundred....
I should think Mary was
a bit flabber-gasted.
And it was such good quality too.
Okay,
so people drank rather more wine then than we do today,
since
there was no tea or coffee, poor them,
and the water could be a
bit iffy,
but even still, I should think eight hundred bottles
would last them quite a while.
And at that stage of the wedding
party, there's simply no way they could have needed that much.
But
isn't that exactly like Jesus?
Isn't that typical of God?
We
see it over and over and over again in the Scriptures.
The story
of feeding the five thousand, for instance –
and one of the
Gospel-writers points out that it was five thousand men, not counting
the women and children –
well, in that story, Jesus didn't
provide just barely enough lunch for everybody, quite the reverse
–
there were twelve whole basketsful left over!
Far more
than enough food –
all the disciples could have a basketful to
take home to Mum.
Or what about when the disciples were
fishing and he told them to cast their nets that-away?
The nets
didn't just get a sensible catch of fish –
they were full and
over-full, so that they almost ripped.
It's not just in
the Bible either –
look at God's creation.
You've all
seen pictures of the way the desert blooms when it rains –
look
at those millions of flowers that nobody, for a very long time, ever
knew were there except God.
Or look at how many millions and
millions of sperm male animals produce to fertilise only a few
embryos in the course of a lifetime.
Or where lots of embryos
are produced, like fish, for instance, millions of them are eaten or
otherwise perish long before adulthood.
And millions and
millions of different plant and animal species, some of which are
only now being discovered.
Or look at the stars!
All
those millions upon millions of stars, many with planets, some with
planets like our own that may even hold intelligent life.....
God
is amazing, isn't He?
And just suppose we really are the only
intelligent life in the Universe?
That says something else about
God's extravagance in creating such an enormous Universe with only us
in it!
Our God is truly amazing!
Scientists think
that some of the so-called exoplanets they have been discovering
lately might contain life, although whether or not that would be
intelligent life is not clear, and probably never will be.
So
how did God redeem such beings, assuming they needed redemption?
We
know that here, his most extravagant act of all was to come down and
be born as a human baby –
God, helpless, lying in a makeshift
cradle fashioned from an animal feeding-trough.
Having to learn
all the things that human babies and children have to learn.
Becoming
just like us, one of us, knowing what it’s like to work for his
living, what it’s like to be a condemned criminal and to die a
shameful death!
But God, God who could only allow Moses
the teeniest glimpse of his glory, or he would not have been able to
survive it, and even then his face shone for hours afterwards, this
God became a human being who could be captured and put to death.
You
know, sometimes I think the main function of the church is to help us
cope with God.
Perhaps the church, quite unwittingly, limits
God, or, like Moses, we’d not be able to handle it.
St Paul
prays that we might know “what is the immeasurable greatness of his
power for us who believe, according to the working of his great
power.
God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him
from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly
places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion,
and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in
the age to come.
And he has put all things under his feet and
has made him the head over all things for the church, which is
his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.”
The
Church, which is His body.
And yet we –
we the Church
–
are so bad at being His body.
We limit God.
We
limit God as individuals, saying “Thus far shall you come, and no
further!” We don’t allow God access to all of us, to every
particle of our being.
And we limit God as communities, as
churches;
We tell God what to do.
We tell God who God may
love, and who is to be considered beyond the pale.
We judge, we
fail to forgive, we withhold, despite the fact that Jesus said
“Do
not judge, and you will not be judged;
do not condemn, and you
will not be condemned.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven;
give,
and it will be given to you.
A good measure, pressed down,
shaken together, running over,
will be put into your lap;
for
the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”
And
yet we still hold back from God, both as individuals and as
communities.
I don’t mean just money –
although we do
that, too, despite the promise that if we:
“Bring the full
tithe into the storehouse, so that there may be food in my
house, and thus put me to the test, says the Lord of
hosts;
see if I will not open the windows of heaven for you and
pour down for you an overflowing blessing.”
But we hold
back ourselves from God.
We aren’t –
well, I know I’m
not, and I dare say I speak for you too –
we aren’t really
prepared to give ourselves whole-heartedly to God.
After all,
who knows what God won’t ask of us if we do?
We might even
have to give up our lives, as Jesus did!
Or worse, perhaps God
would say “No thank you!”
Perhaps we would be asked to go on
doing just exactly as we are doing –
how disappointing!
But
I wonder if it’s really about doing.
Isn’t it more about
being?
Isn’t it more about being made into the person God
created us to be?
Isn’t it more about allowing God into us
extravagantly, wholeheartedly…. I would say “completely”, but I
don’t think that’s quite possible.
God is simply too big,
and we would be overwhelmed.
Nevertheless, Jesus came, he
told us, so that we can have life, and have it
abundantly!
Abundantly.
Can we let more of God into our
lives, to be able to live more abundantly?
Do you dare?
Do
I dare?
Do we dare?
Amen!
29 December 2024
It takes a Village
As holidays go, it was a dismal failure, because I had flu, the hotel was horrible, and it snowed!
But one thing was very good, and that was that in the Town Hall, they had a Christmas crib.
Now, when we think of a Christmas crib, we usually think of a stable, with Mary and Joseph, the Christ Child, the shepherds, an ox and an ass, and perhaps the wise men if it’s nearly Epiphany.
But in France, and particularly in the South of France, they do things a bit differently, and their Christmas cribs show the whole village of Bethlehem, as they imagine it.
They do have the Holy Family, but they also have all the villagers going around their daily visitors;
you might have a milkmaid flirting with the baker’s boy;
someone fishing from a bridge;
someone else with a cart full of wood,]the old men sitting on a bench watching the world go by,
a couple of women gossiping outside a shop, and so on.
The more you look, the more you see.
I wish I could show you some of the pictures I took of it,
and of one I saw in an exhibition of cribs in a church in Alsace last year!
I love this Provençal tradition.
You see, unlike many crib traditions, it reminds us that Bethlehem was, and is, a village, and Mary and Joseph were not isolated.
We tend to think of them as travelling alone –
just Mary, Joseph and the donkey –
but of course they would have gone to Bethlehem with a group of other travellers;
it wasn’t safe, else.
And realistically, the manger would have been on the step separating the animal part of the house from the human part,
and there would probably have been a great many women,
mostly relations, helping Mary with the birth and afterwards.
We don’t think of animals as sharing living-space with humans, as we only do that with our pets,
but of course the cattle and horses or donkeys would have helped keep the house warm in the winter, and was the norm back in the day.
Yes, there were signs that this wasn’t just another human baby being born at a most inconvenient time.
Yes, the shepherds came to visit –
but they might well have been family, don’t you think?
And yes, Anna and Simeon did respond to the promptings of God’s Spirit,
and knew that they had seen their salvation.
But from the human point of view, Mary and Joseph were just doing what all Jewish families did –
they had their son circumcised at eight days old, and then, at forty days old, they took him to the Temple to redeem him from God –
the first and the best of everything belongs to God, so that parents would redeem him by paying a small sum and having ritual prayers said over him, these always invoking Elijah.
Everybody did that, if they could.
And then they went back to Nazareth –
again, travelling in a party for safety –
and Jesus would have grown up in an extended family, lots of aunts and uncles and cousins around, and, in due course, brothers and sisters.
He would have learnt to roll over, and to sit up,
and in due course to stand and walk, and talk, and be potty-trained;
he’d have had to learn when not to talk,
and when he needed to sit still and listen.
He’d have gone to school with the other kids his age,
and learnt to read and write, especially the Scriptures.
He’d probably have hung round Joseph, and learnt basic carpentry, even before his formal apprenticeship when he was 13 –
and, at that, he probably learnt some interesting words to say when he hit his thumb with a hammer!
And each year they would go to Jerusalem, to the Temple.
Again, they would travel in groups and caravans.
At first Jesus would be carried on his father’s back,
and then kept close to his parents,
but as he grew older, he’d be off with his friends,
running ahead and being told not to go out of sight,
or lagging behind and being told to keep up.
Now, in Jewish circles, you were considered a man at the age of 13,
and from then on could be asked to read, and comment on, the Scriptures at any time.
where the child in question reads a passage from Scriptures, translates it, and then preaches on it –
my daughter went to a friend’s daughter’s Bat Mitzvah last term, and was very impressed by her performance.
They also have a party, either immediately afterwards or later the same day.
not girls, back in the day, alas –
every boy approaching his 13th birthday knew he could be called on at any time after his birthday.
Their teachers would have been focussing on this during the school year,
and probably some of the boys were getting nervous.
It was probably their last school year –
they would be leaving soon to work with their fathers, and learn their father’s trade.
They weren’t children any more –
at thirteen, they would be considered men.
That year, they all went up to Jerusalem as usual, and attended the Passover festivities, and then gathered together to go home again.
And it wasn’t until next day they discovered that there Jesus wasn’t!
His parents had assumed he was off with his friends as usual,
but suddenly, horrifyingly, nobody had seen him.
His parents rushed back to Jerusalem –
they didn’t like to go on their own, but this was an emergency –
and found him still in the Temple, deep in discussion with the scribes.
You see, as Jesus had studied the Scriptures, he became engrossed in them.
God helped them become real to him.
And, of course, Jesus had endless questions.
I'm sure his parents did their best to answer him, but perhaps they didn't know all that much themselves.
And his teachers, perhaps, didn’t have the time they would have liked to answer his questions –
or perhaps he wanted to go more deeply into these things than they cared to do in an academic environment.
And when he reached Jerusalem that year, he found all that, for then, he was seeking with the scribes in the Temple.
They knew.
They could answer his questions, in the way that the folks back home in Nazareth could not.
They could deal with his objections, listen to him, wonder at his perspicacity at such a young age.
I hope the scribes didn’t laugh at him;
it's not clear from the text, but they might have.
But probably not, if his questions were sensible and to the point.
And Jesus, typically adolescent, totally forgets about going home,
forgets that his parents will have kittens when they find he's not with them, forgets to wonder how he's going to get home,
or even where he's going to sleep –
or, perhaps, thinks a vague mention of his plans was enough.
Anyway, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Zach will put him up, he’s quite sure.
And when his parents finally find him,
like any adolescent, he says “You don’t understand!”
And, rather rudely, “I have to be about my Father’s business!”
Poor Joseph –
not very kind, was it?
We aren’t told what happened next,
whether they hurried to catch up with their original caravan,
or had to wait until the next one was going in that direction.
We aren’t told whether Jesus was grounded for a few days when they did get home, or what.
Come to that, we aren’t told whether he actually knew anything about who he was.
He’d probably grown up in the normal rough-and-tumble of village life,
but then, when they started studying the Scriptures in good earnest,
something came alight in him.
He began to catch glimpses of God,
of That Which Is,
of the Thought that Thought the World…
and he longed and longed to know more.
Later on, of course, he would realise that
searching the Scriptures was not enough.
Remember what he said to the Pharisees:
“You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life;
and it is they that testify on my behalf.
Yet you refuse to come to me to have life."
He knew that you needed more than just the words on the page –
but at twelve years old, this was what had intrigued him, fascinated him, to the point of ignoring anything else.
But why does this matter?
For me, it’s about Jesus being human as well as divine.
He didn’t come fully formed from his father’s head,
like some of the Greek or Roman gods are alleged to have done.
He didn’t grow up in splendid isolation, just with his parents,
and later, with his mother alone.
Even if, as it appears from Matthew’s gospel,
the family had lived in Bethlehem until they had had to flee into exile,
they would probably have resettled in Nazareth because they had family there, rather than just choosing it at random.
The thing is, he grew up in the midst of other people.
They say it takes a village to raise a child,
and Jesus grew up in that sort of village!
He had lots of examples to follow,
both of how to behave and of how not to.
I hope he didn’t know how special he was, not until much later.
But he did grow up loving God.
It’s not always easy, at this distance, to see the human Jesus, is it?
We see him as divine –
and so he is,
but he is also human.
His experiences may not have been exactly the same as ours,
as he grew up in a very different culture.
All the same, if he was 13 years old today, he’d be glued to his phone,
getting WhatsApp messages from his friends every few minutes,
gradually being allowed more freedom to go out with his friends, and so on, like my grandsons, who are 11 and 14, so just that sort of age!
at least, I find it does –
much more approachable, much more real,
much more able to empathise with me, and plead my cause with God.
On Christmas Day, K reminded us, at Brixton Hill, that God came down into the mess and muddle of this world.
He’s been here; he knows what it’s like.
He’s not just the baby in the manger;
he’s not just the adolescent boy following his obsessions to the exclusion of all else;
at that, he’s not even the still figure on the Cross.
He is any and all of those things, he is Jesus Christ,
and he is our Lord and Saviour.
Amen.
22 December 2024
Carol Service 2024
“So hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing!”
That is the theme the Methodist church has suggested we
consider during the festive season this year, and really, what with
one war and another going on around the world, it really couldn’t
be more appropriate. The words come, as you know, from the carol “It
came upon the midnight clear”, which we’re going to sing in a
minute or so.
There is just too much war going on in the
world this year – Ukraine, Israel, Syria, Sudan…. So it goes. We
know that, even while we are celebrating, people all over the world
are suffering. And, closer to home, we know that there are many
people who will be struggling to put a festive meal on the table on
Wednesday, never mind find presents for their family. Just ask those
who help out at the foodbank each week! Father Christmas won’t be
calling at those homes.
And for the rest of us,
Christmas can be a bit manic – all that last-minute shopping, and
you know as well as I do that the supermarkets will have run out of
the one thing you really went in for…. And the stress of whether
you have forgotten something vital!
There’s a poem that
went round social media the other day – you may have seen it. But
it resonated with me on this year’s theme of “hush the noise”.
It’s by someone called Meredith Anne Miller, and goes like
this:
Christmas is not here to offer
a four-week
escape
from the pain of the world
with a paper-thin layer
of twinkle lights.
It is not here to anaesthetise us
with
bows and eggnog lattes.
Christmas is not offering us the
chance
to escape the ache of life
through piles of
presents.
Christmas is God saying,
“Yes, this pain
is too much. Yes, it is too sad.
Yes, the ache is too great.
Hang on.
I’ll come carry it with you.”
©
Meredithannemiller
“I’ll
come carry it with you.”
“Hush the noise.”
Let’s
try to spend a few minutes each day hushing the noise, relaxing, and
becoming aware that God has come to carry it all with us. Amen.