In the beginning, God

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I seem to have published this before I preached it, which isn't something I tend to do! Without checking the formatting first! Ah well.... Listen to the podcast, as I am not sure how closely I stuck to my script!

Our first reading today was that lovely poem that begins the Bible, that tells how God created order out of chaos. It's a lovely poem, one of my favourites.

You start with the absolute blankness, nothing. I don't think we can ever experience that sort of nothingness here on earth. Even if you all shut your eyes tightly, you can still hear and smell and taste and feel. Although some people have gone through what they call "sensory deprivation", which sounds as if it's very nasty indeed. Some people do it voluntarily, to prove a point, but for others it's quite literally torture. I suppose that might give us a glimpse of what it was like before the world was made. Although even sensory deprivation, unless you have it in space, doesn't turn off gravity!

 And then gradually, day by day, order forms out of chaos. First the light - not yet the light of the sun or moon, but an unspecified light. Then the sky, then the land, then vegetation, trees, plants, seeds, grasses. Then on the fourth day the sun, moon and stars, on the fifth day the birds and the fish. And on the sixth day, firstly the land animals and then the pinnacle of creation, human beings.

 "So God created human beings in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them". And on the seventh day, that great Sabbath rest that we have such trouble either understanding or implementing.

 The chorus of the poem, at the end of each stanza: "And God saw that it was good." "And there was evening and there was morning, the whatever day". It is a lovely poem, isn't it?

 Incidentally, nothing here about the man naming the animals, or the woman being created from his ribs, and them being placed in a garden – that is another story, I suspect a separate one, that comes in the next chapter. This poem is self-sufficient. And it is true. I don't mean literally true, of course – we know that the actual history of how this world came into being is told, firstly by astronomers and then by geologists and those who study tectonic plates and so on, and finally by naturalists and geneticists.

 But it is true in other ways.
 It shows how God is intimately involved in creation; it shows how pleased God is with that creation;
and it shows how we, in our creativity, are made in God's image.

The story shows how God is intimately involved in creation. Well, yes, that goes without saying. But I think it does bear repeating, because all too often, we act as though God created the world and then left it to get on with it. But those who wrote down this story – and I suspect they were writing down a tale that had been repeated and repeated and repeated for generations – those who wrote down this story did not, I think, believe that. For them, God was intimately involved in every detail of creation; why would He abandon it? No “God of the Gaps” theology for them.

 It's not always easy, when we know that we share much of our genetic material with earthworms and other animals; we know that it is the characteristics that enhance survival that are the ones apt to persist down the generations. Mind you, when it comes to some birds, the characteristics that their mates seem to prefer are more decorative than practical!

 But sometimes, I know, we wonder how much God has wound up his creation and left it to get on with it! But our Gospel reading reminds us that God is still involved in creation, providing food for the sparrows and clothing for the flowers; we are told that even the hairs on our heads are numbered. And we know that the poem shows God is still intimately involved in our lives today and that we are able to have a relationship with Him – or why are we here this morning?

 So yes, God is intimately involved in His creation, and God is pleased with that creation.

 Every stanza of the poem ends “And God saw that it was good”. God was pleased with what He had made. Sometimes we forget that, don't we?

 I know I used to, years ago – I got so used to the idea of myself as a sinner that I somehow forgot that, actually, God meant to make me – I, and the rest of humanity, wasn't some kind of dreadful mistake on God's part! It's all too easy, I find, to get into the mindset where God only tolerates humanity because of what Jesus did – rather than God loving his Creation so much that it was His idea to send Jesus to fix what had gone wrong. God doesn't hate his Creation because, through humanity's fault, it became flawed and broken – rather the reverse; God loves it so much that he fixed it!

 I sometimes wonder, don't you, what creation is like on other worlds, other planets. There has been endless speculation about this; we know now that Mars is mostly desert, but scientists are still looking for traces of life, although they don't think there was ever intelligent life there.

 But before we knew what Mars was like, people speculated, and some really good stories were written about potential Martians, and what they might be like. And, indeed, on what people from all sorts of other places might be like. But all too often, our authors have created them in our own image. They might be bug-eyed monsters, in fact, they frequently are – but it is the word “monster” that is significant here.

 It was, I think, C S Lewis, among others, who drew attention to the fact that other civilisations might not have fallen, as humankind did. In an essay from 1958 entitled Religion and Rocketry, he says that if animal life exists on other planets, and if any of those animals are self-aware, rational beings like us, and could be argued to have souls, as we do, then are any of them, or all of them, fallen as we are? And if so, what provision has God made, as He undoubtedly has, for their redemption.

He quotes a now-forgotten poem, Christ in the Universe, by Alice Meynell, which I rather like, so I'm going to read it to you:

With this ambiguous earth
His dealings have been told us.  These abide:
The signal to a maid, the human birth,
The lesson, and the young Man crucified.

But not a star of all
The innumerable host of stars has heard
How He administered this terrestrial ball.
Our race have kept their Lord’s entrusted Word.

Of His earth-visiting feet
None knows the secret, cherished, perilous,
The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet,
Heart-shattering secret of His way with us.

No planet knows that this
Our wayside planet, carrying land and wave,
Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss,
Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave.

Nor, in our little day,
May His devices with the heavens be guessed,
His pilgrimage to thread the Milky Way
Or His bestowals there be manifest.

But in the eternities,
Doubtless we shall compare together, hear
A million alien Gospels, in what guise
He trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear.

O, be prepared, my soul!
To read the inconceivable, to scan
The myriad forms of God those stars unroll
When, in our turn, we show to them a Man.

 Lewis comments that it is just as well that the distances between stars is so vast that it is unlikely we shall ever meet beings from other planets. Given humanity's record of dealing with people from other places, he doesn't think we would be very good at dealing with them, whether or not they were the bug-eyed monsters of pulp fiction or a race of wonderful, unfallen people, of whatever shape, who are able to worship their Creator and to know Him in ways we cannot. Or whether they have been redeemed in some totally different way. We will never know.

But what we do know is that God reckons that His creation is very good. And where it is no longer good, He has redeemed it. God is pleased with His Creation.

So, then, God is involved in His creation;
God is pleased with His Creation;
and God created humankind in His own image.

 Earlier, we looked and thought about some of the things that we have made. Few other animals make things. Some do make tools – apes certainly do, and some species of bird. And some birds, the Australian bower-bird in particular, make beautifully-decorated bowers to attract their mates.

 But by and large animals are not creative in the way that we are – they don't bake cakes and decorate them, or knit themselves sweaters, or weave fabrics that last beyond a brief nesting season. It is, I think, in our creativity that we are made in God's image.

 God thought of the whole of this universe – or is it “these universes”? I am never quite sure. And in our turn we have thought of most extraordinary things – just look around you when you leave this place.

 Some years ago now I happened to be visiting my parents when someone who had been given permission to use a metal detector on some of my father's land came to call. He was showing us some of the things they had found in the field, ranging from a brooch that had been lost off a Roman cloak to a button that had come off a railway-worker's uniform. I held the brooch and could see how it was made – much more interesting than just seeing them laid out in display cases in a museum, when you really can't tell what they are supposed to be. Human beings had made all these things.

Some years ago we went to Bolzano, in Italy, and saw Oetzi, the so-called Ice Man, whose preserved body was found in a glacier about twenty years ago. The artifacts found with his body were wonderful, too – a copper axe, among other things, and shoes and other clothes. Even five thousand years ago, people were making things!

We have gone on making things down the ages, right down to the cup of tea we made this morning! Some of the things we've made we could wish we hadn't – guns and bombs and other tools for killing people with. Other things, we are very glad we did – respirators and iron lungs to keep people alive, for instance.

 But all our creativity, whether we have used it for good or for ill, harks back to that of our Creator. And like God, we need to look at what we make, and be sure that it is good. God is still involved in His Creation; God is pleased with what He has made, and God has gifted us with creativity in His image. We may well misuse that creativity, but it is still in God's image.

So, my sisters and brothers, let us praise our Creator in the words of hymn no 699: Lord of Creation, to Thee be all praise.

Choose Life

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Only the podcast today; if you want to read the text, I re-preached this sermon from three years ago, more or less identical. Listen to the podcast if you want to know what changed!

Salt and Light

I didn't record the Children's talk, the podcast only applies to the main sermon 

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 Children's talk:

When it's really dark outside, what do we do? We turn on the lights, and we draw the curtains, and we are all snug and cosy indoors. Here in London, we don't often see it being really dark, unless there's a power-cut, because of the street lights and all the lighting up.

When I was a girl, the street lights in the town where I went to school were switched off around 11:00 pm or so, and last weekend Robert and I stayed in a village in France where that still happens. And it gets really, really dark. What if you were out then? You'd be glad of a torch or a lantern so you could see where you were going, wouldn't you? And you'd be glad if someone in the house you were going to would pull back the curtains so you could see the lights.

In our Bible reading today, Jesus says that we, his people, are the light of the world. He didn't have electric lights back then, it was all candles and lanterns. But even they are enough to dispel the darkness a bit. And when lots of them get together, the light is multiplied and magnified and gets very bright, so people who are lost in the dark can see it and come for help. Which is why, Jesus says, we mustn't hide our light. We don't have to do anything specific to be light, but we do have to be careful not to hide our light by doing things we know God's people don't do, or by not saying “Sorry” to God when we've been and gone and done them anyway!

---oo0oo---

Main Sermon:

“You are the salt of the earth;” says Jesus, “but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.”

“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.”

Salt. These days it's often considered a bad thing, as too much is thought to be implicated in raised blood-pressure, and so on. But back in the days before refrigeration and so on, salt was vital to help preserve our foods. Even today, bacon and ham are preserved with salt, and some other foods are, too.

Salt is also useful in other ways. It's a disinfectant; if you rinse a small cut in salty water – stings like crazy, so don't unless you haven't anything better – it will stop it going nasty. And if you have something that has gone nasty, like a boil or an infected cut, soaking it in very hot, very salty water will draw out the infection and help it heal.

Salt makes a good emergency toothpaste, and if you have a sore mouth and have run out of mouthwash, again, rinse it out with salty water and it will help.

But above all, salt brings out the flavour of our food. Processed foods often contain far too much salt, but when we're cooking, we add a pinch or so to whatever it is to bring out the flavour. Even if you're making a cake, a pinch of salt, no more, can help bring out the flavour. And if you make your own bread, it is horrible if you don't add enough salt!

Imagine, then, if salt weren't salty. If it were just a white powder that sat there and did nothing. I don't know whether modern salt can lose its saltiness, but if it did, we'd throw it away and go and buy fresh, wouldn't we?

And Jesus tells us we are the salt of the world. Salt, and light.

But how does this work out in practice? I think, don't you, that we need to look at our Old Testament reading for today, from Isaiah.

In this passage, Isaiah was speaking God's word to people who were wondering why God was taking no notice of their fasting and other religious exercises. And he was pretty scathing: it's no good dressing in sackcloth and ashes, and fasting until you faint, if you then spend the day snapping at your servants and quarrelling with your family. That's not being God's person, and that sort of fast isn't going to do anybody any good.

Jesus said something similar, you may recall, in another part of this collection of his sayings that we call the Sermon on the Mount: “And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.  But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

It's what your heart is doing, not what you look as though you are doing that matters! Isaiah tells us what sort of fasting God wants: “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”

This is what God wants. It's not just the big picture, you see. Yes, maybe we are called to be working for the rights of Palestinians in Israel, or whichever tribe is oppressing whoever – sadly, it seems inevitable throughout history that whenever two tribes try to share a territory, there will always be friction, whether it is the Muslims and Hindus in India and Pakistan, or Greeks and Turks, Tutsi and Hutu, Loyalists and Nationalists in Northern Ireland, or Palestinians and Israelis. Throughout history it has been the same – and that it has not been very much worse has been down to the efforts of God's people, often unsung, often not thanked, often, even, persecuted and tormented for their efforts. But they have been there, and they have helped. And God knows their names and has rewarded them.

But it's not just about the big picture, is it? It's about the little things we do here at home, every day. We can't always take homeless people into our homes, although some do – but we can give to the food bank, either in cash or in kind. And maybe we should be asking our MP awkward questions about exactly why, in 2014, our food bank is so necessary! There's a man has opened a soup kitchen in Brixton – a secular one, as he reckoned people in need shouldn't have to sit through prayers that meant nothing to them in order to get a meal. That's terrific work, and we should support it – but again, why is it necessary in 2014?

That's part of what our being salt and light to our community is all about. Not just doing the giving, not just helping out where necessary – although that too. But asking the awkward questions, not settling for the status quo, making a nuisance of ourselves, if necessary, until we get some of the answers.

It's not always easy to see how one person can make a difference. Sometimes, I don't know about you, but when I watch those nature documentaries on TV and they go on about how a given species is on the brink of extinction and it's All Our Fault, I wonder what they expect me to do about it, and ditto when we get programmes about climate change and all the other frighteners the BBC likes to put on us. But it's like I said to the children – maybe one little candle doesn't make too much difference in the dark, except for being there and enabling us to see a little way ahead. But when lots of us get together, it blazes out and nothing can dim it. One person alone can't do very much – but if all of us recycled, and used our own shopping bags, and public transport when feasible, and limited our family sizes, then there would soon be a difference.

Obviously you don't have to be God's person to do such things. As I said, the Brixton soup kitchen is firmly secular, and I know nothing about the faith of the person who runs it, even if he has any. But we, God's people, should be in the forefront of doing such things, leading by example, showing others how to help this world. Historically, we always have been. But sometimes the temptation is to hide in our little ghettoes and shut ourselves away from the world. It's all too easy to say “Oh dear, this sinful world!” and to refuse to have anything to do with it – but if God had done that, if Jesus had done that, then where would we be?

We don't bring people to faith through our words, but through what we do. As St James says in his letter, it's all very well to say “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” to someone who hasn't enough clothes or food, but what good does that do? That person won't think much of Christianity, will they?

I heard, over the weekend, about someone who was left a widow with four very small children, and how the local church heard about her plight and gave her very practical help; they were there for her when her husband died, and helped her cope with all the practical details; now they keep an eye on her and do things like paying for a baby-sitter so she can go to church events without always having to be with her children. And so on. And it is through their steady love and support, rather than through any preaching they may or may not have done, that this woman has come to faith.

Ordinary Time, and we are in a brief bit of Ordinary Time before the countdown to Lent starts, is the time when what we say we believe comes up against what we really believe, and how we allow our faith to work out in practice. It's all too easy to listen to this sort of sermon and feel all hot and wriggly because you're aware that you don't do all you could to be salt and light in the community – and then to forget about it by the time you've had a cup of coffee. It's also all too easy to think it doesn't apply to you – but, my friends, the Bible says we are all salt and light, doesn't it? It doesn't say we must be, but that we are. It's what we do with it that matters! We don't want to be putting our light under a basket so it can't be seen. And if, as salt, we lose our saltiness – well, let's not go there, shall we?

Many of us, of course, are already very engaged in God's work in our community, in whatever way – youth work of various kinds, including our Girls' Brigade, our parent-and-toddler groups, the Pop-in club and so on. We might not even think of it as God's work, but that's what it is. We are being salt and light in the community.

The question is, what more, as a Church, could we or should we be doing? What should I, as an individual, be doing?

And that's where we have the huge advantage over people who do such work who are not yet consciously God's people – we pray. We can bring ourselves to God and ask whether there are places that need our gifts, whether there is something we could be doing to help, or what. Don't forget, too, that there are those whose main work is praying for those out there on the front line, as it were. And even if all we can do is put 50p a week aside for the food bank, and write to Chuka Umunna every few months and ask why we still need food banks in this day and age and what he, and the rest of Parliament, is doing about it – well, it all adds up.

Because I don't know about you, but I would rather not risk what might happen if we were to lose our saltiness. Amen.

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh

I decided to try recording my sermon, to see if people were interested.  Unfortunately, it turns out that you can't upload straight sound files to Blogger, so next time I shall have to record it as video. As it is, I have been faffing around with it all evening.... And, I think, may have finally won.

Getting ready

So today is Advent Sunday.

It's the first Sunday in the Church's Year, and, of course, the first in the four-week cycle that brings us up to Christmas.

Christmas is definitely coming –

if you go by what the supermarkets do, it's been going on since September!

It seems strange then, doesn't it, that the readings for this Sunday are about as un-Christmassy as you can get!

This from the Gospel we've just heard:

“For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.”

It's all about the end of the world!

The time when Jesus will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, as we say in the Creed.

Now, there are frequently scares that the end of the world is about to happen –

some cult or other claims to have deciphered an ancient text that tells us that it might occur on any given date –

Last year, some people thought that an ancient Mayan calendar “proved” that the world was going to end on 21 December.

As you can see, it didn't!

And that was only one of a very long line of end-of-the-world stories which people have believed.

Sometimes they have even gone as far as to sell up all their possessions and to gather on a mountain-top,

and at least two groups committed mass suicide to make it easier for them to be found, or something.

I don't know exactly what....

And because some Christians believe that when it happens,

they will be snatched away with no notice whatsoever, leaving their supper to burn in the oven, or their car to crash in the middle of the motorway, a group of non-believers even set up an organisation called After the Rapture which you can sign up to, and if and when it happens, they will look after your pets for you!

They assume that, as they are not believers, they will be left behind.

The people behind the website, I mean, not the pets!

People who believe in what they call the Rapture take it from this very reading, where it says that two people will be in the field and one will be taken and the other not.... but we don't know how much notice we get, if any!

It sounds to me rather more like the sort of pogroms where the dictator's army swoops down and takes people, chosen at random or not, away to imprisonment.

God is not like that, of course, but such things have happened throughout history.

Actually, the second coming/the end of the world is a very difficult thing to think about

because it hasn’t happened yet!
The Bible shows us most clearly that the early church was convinced that it was something that would happen any minute now,

certainly in their lifetimes.
But here we are, two thousand years later,

and nothing has happened.
So most of us don’t really believe it will,

or if we do believe it, it isn’t a belief that’s in the forefront of our minds.
It doesn’t really affect the way we live.

But maybe it should.

Jesus said we don't know when it's going to happen.

Nobody knows.

He didn't know.

He assumed, I think, that it would be fairly soon after his death –

did anybody expect the Church to go on for another two thousand years after that?

Certainly his first followers expected His return any minute now.

What is clear from the Bible –

and from our own knowledge, too –

is that this world isn't designed to last forever;

it's not meant to be permanent.

Just ask the dinosaurs!

We don't know how it will end.

When I was a girl it was assumed it would end in the flames of a nuclear holocaust;

that particular fear has lessened since 1989,

although I don't think it's gone away completely.

These days we think more in terms of runaway global warming,

or global pandemics of some disease they can't find a cure for, or something, or a major asteroid strike.

But what is clear is that one day humanity will cease to exist on this planet.

We don't know how or when,

but we do know that God is in charge and will cope when it happens.

Whatever is going to happen, whenever it happens, we need to be ready.
Our readings today all reflect that.
Our Gospel reading sounds a bit disjointed, almost as though Matthew has collected odd bits of Jesus’ sayings.
But it still has a clear theme –
be ready, because you never know!

Some years ago there was an ad put out by the police, I think, saying that leaving your doors and windows open was absolutely inviting burglars to come in.
I don’t think Jesus could have seen that ad,

but the end of the gospel reading reminded me of it:
“If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into.

So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”

Okay, so we need to be ready.
Fair enough, but how?
How do you get ready,

how do you stay ready,

and above all, how do you go on being ready when nothing seems to happen?

I think the answer is also in the parallel with the thief in the night.
We make it a habit, don’t we,

of checking that our doors and windows are locked before we go out,

even on a short trip to Lidl or Tesco.
If we have our car, it’s automatic to check that we haven’t left anything visible, and that it is locked, before we leave it.
And we have insurance to cover us in case the worst happens anyway,

no matter how careful we’ve been.

Well, it’s the same, I think, in our Christian lives.
We can build good habits of prayer, of reading the Bible,

of fellowship and of coming to the Sacrament regularly.
These are what John Wesley called “The means of grace”,

and they are the building blocks of our Christian life.
They are as essential to our Christian life as food and drink are to our physical life.
But they are also habits that one can acquire or break.
You’re in the habit of locking your front door whenever you leave the house –
are you in the habit of contacting God every day, too?
You make sure you’ve shut your windows –
are you sure you take the Sacrament?
And so it goes on.

Parallels only work so far, of course,

especially because it’s not all down to us.
I know we sometimes talk as though it is,

and, of course, we are always free to say “No” to God –
though I do very much hope we won’t choose to do that.
But God has far more invested in the relationship than we do –
either that, or God is so far above us that he’s totally uninterested in us as individuals.
And we know that’s not true!
So it must be true that God is numbering every hair on our head,

and being far more interested in maintaining a relationship with us than we are with him.
We don’t have to do all the hard work.

Nevertheless, good habits are good habits,

and we need to acquire them!
And with God’s help, we can.
We don’t have to do it alone, because God indwells us,

through the Holy Spirit,

and enables us to actually want to read the Bible and pray, and worship, and take Communion, and so on.

We don’t often think about the end of times and the Last Judgement,

and that’s probably as it should be.
If we thought about it too much, we’d never get on with our lives,

and we’d end up being so heavenly-minded we’d be of no earthly use.
But we do need this annual reminder,

because we don’t want to end up living as if this life were all there is, either.
Obviously we don’t absolutely know that when we die,

we’ll go on with Jesus somewhere else.
It might just be wishful thinking on our part.
But that’s what faith is all about!
We can’t know, not really, but we can choose to believe it,

and to live accordingly.
And to work together with God to become the best we can possibly be.

And then, if, or perhaps when the unthinkable happens,

then we’ll be ready.
Are you ready?

Oh, one loose end –
in my parallel with burglar-proofing our houses,

I mentioned insurance.
Do we have insurance?
As Christians, yes, we do.
We have Jesus’ promise in John’s gospel:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

Those who believe in him are not condemned;
but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

Says it all, doesn’t it!

Job and Remembrance

“I know,” said Job, “that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.”

We are all very familiar with those words,

whether we know them from Handel’s Messiah

or from Martha’s reprise of them in John’s Gospel,

or even from this bit of the book of Job, which is where it came from originally.

It's a funny old story, isn't it, this story of Job.

Do you know, nobody knows anything about it –

what you see is totally what you get!

Nobody knows who it was written, or when, or why,

or whether it is true history or a fictional story –

most probably the latter!

Apparently, The Book of Job is incredibly ancient, or parts of it are.

And so it makes it very difficult for us to understand.

We do realise, of course, that it was one of the earliest attempts someone made to rationalise why bad things happen to good people, but it still seems odd to us.

Just to remind you, the story first of all establishes Job as really rich, and then as a really holy type –

whenever his children have parties, which they seem to have done pretty frequently, he offers sacrifices to God just in case the parties were orgies!

And so on.

Then God says to Satan, hey, look at old Job, isn't he a super servant of mine, and Satan says, rather crossly, yeah, well, it's all right for him –

just look how you've blessed him.

Anybody would be a super servant like that.

You take all those blessings away from him, and see if he still serves you!

And that, of course, is just exactly what happens.

The children are all killed,

the crops are all destroyed,

the flocks and herds perish.

And Job still remains faithful to God:

“Naked I came from my mother's womb,

and naked shall I return there;

the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;

blessed be the name of the Lord.”

So then Satan says, well, all right, Job is still worshipping you,

but he still has his health, doesn't he?

I bet he would sing a very different tune if you let me take his health away!

So God says, well, okay, only you mustn't kill him.

And Job gets a plague of boils, which must have been really nasty –

painful, uncomfortable, itchy and making him feel rotten in himself as well.

Poor sod.

No wonder he ends up sitting on a dung-heap, scratching himself with a piece of broken china!

And his wife, who must have suffered just as much as Job, only of course women weren't really people in those days, she says “Curse God, and die!”

In other words, what do you have left to live for?

But Job refuses, although he does, with some justification, curse the day on which he was born.

Then you know the rest of the story, of course.

How the three "friends" come and try to persuade him to admit that he deserves all that had come upon him –

we've all had friends like that who try to make our various sufferings be our fault, and who try to poultice them with pious platitudes.

And Job insists that he is not at fault, and demands some answers from God!

Which, in the end, he gets.

But not totally satisfactory to our ears, although they really are the most glorious poetry.

Here's just a tiny bit:

“Do you give the horse its might?

Do you clothe its neck with mane?

Do you make it leap like the locust?

Its majestic snorting is terrible.

It paws violently, exults mightily;

it goes out to meet the weapons.

It laughs at fear, and is not dismayed;

it does not turn back from the sword.

Upon it rattle the quiver, the flashing spear, and the javelin.

With fierceness and rage it swallows the ground;

it cannot stand still at the sound of the trumpet.

When the trumpet sounds, it says "Aha!"

From a distance it smells the battle, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.

Is it by your wisdom that the hawk soars,

and spreads its wings towards the south?

Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up and makes its nest on high?

It lives on the rock and makes its home in the fastness of the rocky crag.

From there it spies the prey;

its eyes see it from far away.

Its young ones suck up blood;

and where the slain are, there it is.”

Wonderful stuff, and it goes on for about three chapters, talking of the natural world and its wonders, and how God is the author of them all.

If you ever want to rejoice in creation, read Job chapters 38, 39 and 40. Indeed, my father has asked for Job 39 to be read at his funeral!

And at the end, Job repents "in dust and ashes", we are told, and then his riches are restored to him.

But would even more children and riches really make up for those seven children who were killed?

I doubt it, which is one of the reasons it’s probably a story, rather than actual history.

But even still, Job makes one of the central declarations of our faith:

“I know, that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.”

Job may or may not have been only a story, but we do believe that much of the Old Testament, by and large, is historical.

Jesus certainly believed that.

When he talked to the Sadducees, he mentions the story of Moses and the Burning Bush as though it were historical fact.

And he comments that “even Moses showed that the dead rise, for he calls the Lord ‘the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’.

He is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive.”

For Jesus, it was history;

Moses said this, and it proved that.

And I think that, because it is Remembrance Day, we, too, need to look a bit at history this morning.

The thing about history is its continuity.

God is the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob today, just as much as in Jesus’ time.

And just as much as in Moses’ time, come to that!

God doesn’t change.

And there are other continuities, too –

including the pyramids in Egypt,

which Abraham might well have seen,

which Moses probably knew well,

which Jesus might have been taken to visit,

and which one can still see today.

I find this gives me a sense of continuity.

And so, too, the particular bit of history we celebrate today,

when we honour those who gave their lives or who were wounded in the service of their country.

I know our troops are still deployed in Afghanistan,

but for the past sixty years and more,

it hasn’t impinged on our daily lives unless we happened to have a relation serving with the armed forces.

In the two wars we call world wars, last century, it was very different.

Everybody’s lives were affected in one way or another.

But here in the UK we were pretty lucky.

I've visited a lot of places which were destroyed in either the first world war, or the second, or both –

Warsaw, Berlin, Dresden and most recently Arras, among others.

All of those cities have been beautifully restored, although Dresden is a weird mix of restored, modern and Communist-era buildings, which somehow works.

But there hasn’t been a battle fought on British soil since Culloden in 1745 –

not a pitched battle, anyway.

Yes, we were blitzed in the Second World War,

and you can still see the scars today, that block of newer flats in Glenelg Road, for instance, showing where the original houses were destroyed.

I wasn’t around in those days, but if you were,

I'm sure you'll be able to tell me how terrible it was.

And yes, we have been subject to terrorist attacks of all kinds,

from the IRA bombs of the 1970s to the 7/7 attacks some years ago.

But, although there have been wars of all kinds,

they’ve all taken place in someone else’s back garden.

The tanks have rolled through other people’s streets.

At least, for us here in the UK.

We haven't had foreign soldiers walking in our streets,

swaggering around imposing their will on us,

perhaps even raping every woman.

And maybe that’s one of the reasons we continue to remember those who fought and died for their country so long ago.

My grandfather was badly wounded in the First War,

and my father in the Second.

Actually, the First World War must have been really terrible –

I’ve read my great-grandfather’s diaries.

His elder son was wounded so badly nobody thought he would live –

although he did, or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale –

and my great-grandfather got permission from the War Office and went over to France to visit him.

And then it became clear that he would live, after all, so my great-grandfather came home again, only to hear that his other son had been killed on the Somme.

My other grandfather was a career soldier, involved in both wars.

He went through the first war unscathed, but broke his leg during the second war – not in action, I believe quite a trivial accident.

But my mother said it was really nice, as the rest of the family were living in South Africa, and he went on leave to bring them home.

But he hadn't seen them for four years, and that's a long time when you are twelve and sixteen, as they had been when he went off to fight.

One of his brothers was killed in action, too –

he was a flyer, and the life expectancy of fliers over the Western Front was measurable in minutes.

But this is all history.

Kids study it in school.

Even the oldest of us here weren’t much more than children when the Second War finished.

I wasn’t even born.

I don’t remember having a ration book, although I’m told I did.

I don’t remember a time when I couldn’t buy anything I wanted in the shops, whenever I wanted it –

although naturally Tesco’s has always run out of, or stopped stocking, the one thing you go in for, but that’s rather different.

There are those who say that Remembrance services glorify war.

I think not.

They are not easy, of course.

For those who have been involved in war,

whether actively or by default because their whole country was,

they bring back all sorts of memories.

For those who have not been involved, they can seem irrelevant.

Many Christians, too, think that all fighting and killing is wrong,

and refuse to join the armed forces, even in a time of conscription.

I’m inclined to agree, I have to admit, but for one thing –
do we really want our armed forces to be places where God is not honoured?
That’s the big problem with Christian pacifism –
it leaves the armed forces very vulnerable.

We must, of course, do all we can to bring peace.

But almost more important is to bring hope.

To bring the good news that

Job, and then Jesus proclaimed.

“I KNOW that my Redeemer lives.”

“God IS the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob.”

We all find the concept of eternal life enormously comforting, of course.

You may well have known people who have died very suddenly; I know I have.

We may have known people who have been the victims of terrorist attacks, or just the random shootings and stabbings that seem to have happened far too often recently.

And we wonder, as Job must have done, where God is in all this.

Job, we are told, never lost faith –

but many people did when they saw the horrors of war.

But if God grants people eternal life,

if this life is not all there is,

if the best bit is still to come,

then death isn’t a total, unmitigated disaster.

Of course it is a disaster.

Of course we hurt, and ache, and grieve, and miss the person who has gone.

But we can know they haven’t gone forever, and it does help!

I certainly believe in eternal life!

Some preachers will say that God limits those who can get into heaven to those who have professed faith in Jesus,

but I think it is rather we who exclude ourselves than God who excludes us.

People who are seriously anti-God,

seriously anti-faith,

wouldn’t be comfortable in eternal life, would they?

God is a God of love, a God who delights in us,

who loves each and every one of us so much that Jesus came to die so that we can have eternal life.

“I KNOW that my Redeemer lives and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.”

Who needs God?

(Luke 18:9-14)

Sometimes, when you hear Jesus talk about the Pharisees, you would think they were really wicked, awful people.

Worst sinners in the universe.

But they weren’t, of course.

They were actually really religious, holy people.

People like Nicodemus, you remember, or St Paul –

they were Pharisees.

Not even wicked villains at all!

And that, of course, was the problem.

Because back then, if you wanted to be God’s person,

it was thought that you had to keep loads of rules and regulations.

It was all very well when it was just the Ten Commandments,

and some of the food and other rules laid down in the book of Deuteronomy, they were simple enough to follow.

But, of course, people got themselves rather worried by all of this.

What did you mean when you said “You mustn’t work on a Sunday”?

Was lighting a fire work?

Was getting dressed work?

That sort of thing.

So the Pharisees and their like laid down all sorts of rules and regulations to try to cover every possibility,

from how far you could walk on a Sunday,

to just exactly what you could and couldn’t eat.

Even today, observant Jews have two sets of crockery and cutlery,

one for when they eat meat, and one for when they eat dairy products.

Well, okay.

But there were then two problems:

first of all, you simply couldn’t keep all the rules and regulations –

nobody could.

No matter how hard you tried, it simply wasn’t possible.

So almost everybody went round feeling like a failure.

And, of course, as happened in Jesus’ story, people who could and did keep most of the rules felt very proud of themselves, very clever.

And, Jesus says elsewhere, some of the time they got so wrapped up in keeping the rules that they forgot all about loving other people!

Actually, there was a third problem, too.

And that is that human nature simply adores rules.

Especially when it comes to our relationship with God.

It’s a lot easier to keep the rules than to live in a relationship with God –

that’s just scary!

But we like rules anyway –

and, of course, we need rules to keep ourselves and our society safe.

But we do tend to impose our own personal rules on other people.

To take a very silly example, when I was a child, my mother had a rule that my brother and I were only allowed tomato ketchup if we were having chips –

I think we would have poured it on to everything if we could, and never developed any appreciation of any other flavour!

So even though I know better, I still think it’s awful when I see someone put tomato ketchup on anything else!

I have to remind myself that not everybody grew up with that rule, and it’s perfectly all right to put tomato ketchup on your egg and bacon, if that’s what you like.

And sometimes we make rules for ourselves because we know we are tempted in certain areas, so need to steer clear.

Some people, for instance, can’t drink any alcohol as they can’t stop once they start.

So they would like to have a universal rule saying that nobody can drink an alcoholic drink.

Which those of us who are able to enjoy a drink without being addicted, or without having to get drunk, can’t see the point of at all.

And if you remember your history, you’ll know that they tried that rule in the USA in the 1920s and it didn’t work at all,

just created a whole new load of crimes and criminals.

But the problem in today’s reading is that the Pharisee in Jesus’ story was so pleased with himself for keeping the rules –

and indeed, keeping them even better than most people, look how he boasts about fasting twice a week, when he really only needed to do it once –

he was so proud of himself that he actually seems to have forgotten what it was all about.

He forgot he needed God!

The publican, or tax-gatherer, on the other hand, knew he was a pile of pooh all right.

He had a rather awful job, actually.

He was working for the colonial authorities and had to collect taxes from people.

Which was fine, only he wasn’t paid a salary, and was expected to charge people a little extra and provide a living for himself that way.

And many, if not most, tax-gatherers got a reputation for making a very good living for themselves that way –

you remember Zaccheus, who hid up a sycamore tree to watch Jesus, and Jesus decided to go and have supper with him.

You can quite see the temptation, of course.

And they were pretty well hated anyway, as quislings, collaborators, so they might just as well do what they were accused of!

So all the tax-gatherer could pray was “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!”

We don’t know whether the Pharisee went on from the synagogue to take a basket of fruit to an elderly member of the synagogue who was housebound, or whether the tax-gatherer went back to his job,

but it’s quite probable that they did.

But the difference was that, that day at any rate, God had heard and answered the tax-gatherer’s prayer,

but the Pharisee had been far too pleased with himself to need God –

and God can’t get in where there isn’t room!

That was the Pharisee’s big mistake –

he forgot that even though he did keep the rules, and was good at it, he still needed God’s help.

We all need God’s help, of course.

No matter how good we are, no matter how clever, or talented,

we still need God.

We are still sinners.

That’s why Jesus came –

because every single human being is a sinner.

We’d rather go our own way than God’s way, it’s part of human nature.

And when we do decide we want to go God’s way, we would rather do it by means of rules and regulations than by a relationship with the living God.

Again, it’s part of human nature.

It’s why we have a prayer of confession at the start of every service.

The Pharisee forgot that.

He reckoned that because he was a good, God-fearing Pharisee that made him a better human being than the tax-gatherer who was also praying that day.

And, of course, in human terms he was!

But not in God’s terms.

God loved the tax-gatherer every bit as much as he loved the Pharisee, and was quick to answer his prayers and forgive him. In God's eyes, that day, the tax-gatherer was the better person.

We do find it difficult not to go by rules and regulations, don't we? Years ago, I read of a Sunday-school teacher who shared this story with her class, and then said “Now, children, let us thank God we are not like this Pharisee!”

Well, yes, that's all very well – until you find yourself, as I did, thanking God I was not like that Sunday-school teacher! Derrr!

But you see, that's human nature! We like to compare ourselves with those around us – are we doing it right? Are we doing better than he or she is? We like to have rules and regulations to tell us how we should behave, and what we can to do make God love us. We like to define our relationship with God by the rules.

And, of course, it's not like that. Christianity, it has often been said, is a relationship, not a religion! It is about having a mutual relationship with our Creator. It's about letting God love us.

It's the kind of relationship where, when you go astray, the Good Shepherd pulls on his boots and wellies and goes in search of you. No reproaches when he finds you, either, only joy: “Rejoice with me, for I have found that which was lost”.

It's the kind of relationship where, when you take one tiny step towards God, when you are still a long way away, God rushes to meet you and celebrates your return with a massive party.

It's the kind of relationship where you are encouraged to dare great things for God, where you're encouraged to let go of the rulebook and throw it in the bin.

It's the kind of relationship where you are encouraged to allow God to do great things in and through you. All the time, not just the hour or so a week you spend in Church on Sundays.

Most people do a fantastic job of being human without God, of course. But think, how much better could you do with God?

Do you dare try for a relationship with God on his terms? Without rules and regulations? Maybe you have been doing so this past fifty years, and wonder what I am on about – if so, that's fabulous, and I congratulate you!

But all too many of us cling frantically to the rules. The trouble is, when we let go of them, we don't have anything else to cling to – only the Cross of Christ. And that is scary.

The tax-gatherer was able to let go, though. “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!” That was all he needed – and it is all we need, too.

God, have mercy on us sinners. Amen.