Please scroll down for the main sermon and its podcast - I did add some additional stuff, so it is slightly different.
Children's Talk - Mothering Sunday
It will not have
escaped your notice that it's Mothers' Day today. But what you might
not realise is that it's also Mothering Sunday, which is a church
thing. Mothers' Day is basically a commercial festival, useful for
making money for retailers by selling flowers at twice what they
normally cost. But Mothering Sunday is only tangentially about human
mothers.
Today is the fourth Sunday in Lent, and it’s long been known as Laetare Sunday, or Refreshment Sunday – it’s half-way through Lent, and in days when people kept it rather more strictly than they do now, it was a day when you could relax the rules a little. And the tradition grew up that on that day, you went to the mother church in your area – often the cathedral, but it might have just been the largest church in your area.
Families went together, and it became traditional for servants to have time off to go home and see their families on that day, if they lived near enough. In the Middle Ages, servants may only have got one day off a year, and it was, traditionally, the 4th Sunday in Lent. Many servants had to leave home when they were very young – only about 11 or 12 – because their parents simply couldn't afford to feed them any longer. And, indeed, many of these children hadn't known what a full tummy felt like until they started work. But even so, they must have missed their families, and been glad to see them every year.
And today is also a day for remembering God’s love for us. We’re having the readings for the Fourth Sunday in Lent today, but if we’d had the traditional Mothering Sunday readings, we would have heard Jesus 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 that, 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 isn't always very tactful about Mothers Day, I'm afraid – I used to find it very patronising, especially considering that for the rest of the year I was rather left to get on with it, and was 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....
But we can all celebrate God's wonderful love for each and every one of us.
Today is the fourth Sunday in Lent, and it’s long been known as Laetare Sunday, or Refreshment Sunday – it’s half-way through Lent, and in days when people kept it rather more strictly than they do now, it was a day when you could relax the rules a little. And the tradition grew up that on that day, you went to the mother church in your area – often the cathedral, but it might have just been the largest church in your area.
Families went together, and it became traditional for servants to have time off to go home and see their families on that day, if they lived near enough. In the Middle Ages, servants may only have got one day off a year, and it was, traditionally, the 4th Sunday in Lent. Many servants had to leave home when they were very young – only about 11 or 12 – because their parents simply couldn't afford to feed them any longer. And, indeed, many of these children hadn't known what a full tummy felt like until they started work. But even so, they must have missed their families, and been glad to see them every year.
And today is also a day for remembering God’s love for us. We’re having the readings for the Fourth Sunday in Lent today, but if we’d had the traditional Mothering Sunday readings, we would have heard Jesus 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 that, 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 isn't always very tactful about Mothers Day, I'm afraid – I used to find it very patronising, especially considering that for the rest of the year I was rather left to get on with it, and was 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....
But we can all celebrate God's wonderful love for each and every one of us.
---oo0oo---
Love Bade Me Welcome
This is such a familiar
story, isn't it? We probably first heard it in primary school, and
have heard it on and off down the years ever since.
Jesus had a couple of
stories that began, “A farmer had two sons”. I shouldn't wonder
if he didn't flesh them out a bit, give them names, and so on, and
when he started a new story about them, the crowd would relax,
knowing that a favourite type of story was coming. That's slightly a
fantasy of mine, but don't you think the two sons who were asked to
help in the vineyard were the same two sons as in this story, only
younger?
Well, 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 older translations of the Bible called “riotous living”
- “reckless living” is what the Good News Bible calls it. You
know the kind of thing – fashionable clothes, champagne, caviar,
top-of-the-range smartphones, expensive callgirls, fast cars, 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 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.
And again, we 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. Just as I was settling down to prepare this sermon, Robert
rang up to say his bag had been stolen, with all his credit cards,
his phone, his keys.... in fact, it hadn't been stolen at all,
someone had moved it, but great was our rejoicing when we learnt
that!
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, and maybe 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.
There's a lovely poem
by a 17th-century poet called George Herbert which I'm going to
finish with today, as it does summarise what I'm trying to say here:
Guilty of dust and sin.
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me,
sweetly questioning,
A guest, I answered,
worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and
smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says
Love, who bore the blame?
May we all “sit and
eat”, and receive God's love and forgiveness, not as we deserve,
but as He desires. Amen.
