The Spirit is Upon Me

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When our children grow up and first leave home, perhaps to go to university, or to go to work, it’s lovely when they come home for the weekend, or for the holidays, isn’t it? And often they will come to church with us, and see all their old friends, and talk about how they are getting on. And it has been known for the minister or preacher to ask them to come up and talk about what they’ve been doing, especially if they’ve been away on some kind of mission work.

Our reading is set very near the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. He has been baptised by John, and then led into the desert to be tempted, and basically to come to terms with who he is and what his mission is. He has been wandering around Galilee, collecting disciples, healing the sick, and proclaiming the Kingdom of God. And now he has come home to Nazareth and, of course, goes to his home synagogue on the Sabbath. And he is asked to read a passage of scripture, which was the norm – Jewish men were, and I believe still are – and, of course, women in some Jewish traditions, but not all – apt to be dropped on to read at a moment’s notice.

And what Jesus reads is the very passage we had for our first reading this evening, from Isaiah:
“The Sovereign Lord has filled me with his Spirit.
He has chosen me and sent me
To bring good news to the poor,
To heal the broken-hearted,
To announce release to captives
And freedom to those in prison.
He has sent me to proclaim
That the time has come
When the Lord will save his people
And defeat their enemies.”

So far, so very good. It’s lovely, isn’t it, to think that we have just read a passage of Scripture that we know that Jesus himself read, allowing for differences in translation!

The tradition was that if you read the Scripture, you could comment on it, but having stood to read – much as in some churches we stand to read the Gospel – you then sat down. And Jesus sat down, and they all looked at him attentively, wondering what he was going to say.

After all, they’d known him since he was a very small boy, when the family had moved to Nazareth after King Herod died. And he’d grown up with them, gone to school with them, worked with his father – until suddenly he’d gone off, some months ago now, with barely a word of farewell. You can hear the aunties in the gallery, can’t you: “Hmph, don’t know what he thought he was doing, leaving his Mum in the lurch like that. I did hear he’s been doing miracles and healings and so on, out in the back country, but I don’t believe a word of it, do you? Well, he’s home now. Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself!”

What he said was the last thing anybody expected:
“This passage of scripture has come true today, as you heard it being read.”

“This passage of scripture has come true today, as you heard it being read.”

I can’t help wondering whether he knew he was going to say that, or whether it just came out. It’s so unclear how much Jesus knew about Who he was, and what he had been sent to do. He had been coming to terms with it a bit in the desert, of course, but it’s clear from Scripture that he gradually appreciates things more and more as time goes on. I do hope he was able to grow up as an ordinary boy, learning and playing with his friends, without any special knowledge hanging over hime. Anyway, at this stage, he does know that he has been sent to heal people, to minister to the sick, to proclaim the Kingdom of God, and, above all, to follow the promptings of God’s spirit. And maybe, when he read the bit from Isaiah, it suddenly spoke to him, and showed him that it was he to whom it applied.

We didn’t go on to read the rest of the story, but it’s rather sad. They were impressed by his authority – but – but – this was Joseph’s son, surely? How could the Isaiah passage apply to him?

And Jesus says, probably slightly annoyed, “Well, they do say a prophet is without honour in his own country!” which, of course, infuriates them, and they drag him up to the cliff edge with some thought of throwing him over, but he escapes and goes away.

You see, it’s very difficult when God doesn’t do what you expect. And nobody in Nazareth expected God to come in the person of the carpenter’s son! Not Mary’s eldest, who’d gone off so suddenly like that!

Sometimes, when we call upon God for help, we expect him to come in some kind of miraculous way. My father used to tell of a man whose house was menaced by floods, and who was on the roof, praying for God to save him. He really expected God to sweep him away in a whirlwind or something, so when the fire services came along in a rowing-boat, he refused to get in, saying “God will save me!” A little later, another boat came along, but again he refused. The waters continued to rise, and a coast guard helicopter came to try to persuade him to come to safety but no, “God will save me.” And, inevitably, he was swept away and drowned.

So, in Heaven, he seeks the throne of grace, and demands, “How could you let me down like that? I prayed for you to save me, and you didn’t!”
But God answered, “My dear son, I sent you two boats and a helicopter – what more could you want?”

The man didn’t recognise God’s hand in the boats and the helicopter, and the people of Nazareth didn’t recognise it in Jesus.

But for Jesus, this passage, and similar ones from Isaiah, were the touchstone of his ministry. You remember, some time later, how his cousin John was imprisoned and suddenly had a crisis of faith. He sent his disciples to Jesus to ask “Are you the one John said was going to come, or should we expect someone else?” and Jesus replied, “Go back and tell John what you are hearing and seeing: the blind can see, the lame can walk, those who suffer from dreaded skin diseases are made clean, the deaf hear, the dead are brought back to life, and the Good News is preached to the poor.”

Jesus became more and more certain that he was the Messiah, the chosen one. Even if his childhood friends didn’t recognise this. His disciples did, most of the time, but even they had moments….

But why does this matter? What does this passage have to say to us tonight?

Well, on Thursday it was Ascension Day, the day when we remember Jesus’ final parting from his disciples. The Book of Acts tells us that he was “taken from their sight”, and it is certainly clear to them, in some way, that he will not now return as the Jesus they knew and loved. But they have been told to wait in Jerusalem until the Spirit comes. Which, as we know, happened on the Day of Pentecost, which we will be celebrating next Sunday.

And when the Spirit came, of course, what had happened was instantly recognisable. It wasn’t just the tongues of fire, or the rushing mighty wind. It wasn’t just the way the disciples were enabled to speak in tongues, and the listeners to understand what was being said. It wasn’t just the way that Peter was able to preach so powerfully that three thousand people were added to the church that day.

It was all that, and then it was the fact that they were able, in Jesus’ name, to heal the sick, to perform miracles, and, perhaps especially, to
“bring good news to the poor,
To heal the broken-hearted,
To announce release to captives
And freedom to those in prison.
. . . . to proclaim
That the time has come
When the Lord will save his people
And defeat their enemies.”

And again, that is not just something that happened long ago in history; it is something that can, and should, happen to all believers today. To you, and to me.

We can be, and should be, filled with the Holy Spirit; I’m sure we can all remember times when we know this is what has happened. Some believers talk of being “baptized with the Holy Spirit”, from John the Baptist’s pointing out that he, John, can only baptize with water, but Jesus can and will baptize with the Holy Spirit. And maybe you have experienced something you can describe as such.

But the problem with being filled with the Holy Spirit is that we tend to leak! It’s not, I find, a once-and-for-all experience; it’s something that we need to ask God to do daily, sometimes even hourly! The Spirit comes to burn out that which is not of God in us – what St Paul would probably call “the flesh”; to enable us to speak God’s word, whether we know we’ve done so or not, and above all, to help us become the people God created us to be, the ones we have been designed to be.

My friends, right now this minute we may be full of the Holy Spirit, or we may feel empty and forlorn. Or somewhere in between. So let’s ask God to fill us anew, using the lovely song “Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me.” Let’s sing it through twice.

Cornelius

I do wish the people who compiled the lectionary wouldn’t start us off right in the middle of a story!
You never know quite what is going on.
I do see that they wish to take pity on those whose turn it is to read the Scriptures aloud, but even still!

And this story in Acts, that was our first reading today,
starts off bang in the middle of things.
What is Peter up to, and, more to the point,
what has he been up to?

Well, the story began when Cornelius, a Roman official, wanted to learn more about God, so God sent an angel to him saying, in effect,
“The man you want is called Simon Peter, and he’s staying at the house of Simon the Tanner, here in Joppa –
why not send for him?”

Snag was, it was going to take more than an invitation to persuade Peter to go round to the Cornelius’ place.
If you were Jewish, you didn’t associate with unbelievers, end of.
You certainly never went to their homes –
you might speak to them in the street, if you absolutely had to,
but going to their homes would have made you what was known as “unclean”, and you would have had to have had a ritual bath
before you could associate with your friends and family again.
That’s one of the reasons why the Priest and the Levite walked past the dying victim in Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan –
if the man was actually dead, and they touched him,
they’d have made themselves unclean for no good reason.
Far better to pass by on the other side of the road, and pretend you hadn’t noticed.

So because God wants Peter to go and see Cornelius, Peter, too, gets a vision.
Or, just possibly, a dream –
he’s gone up to sit on the flat roof to pray for awhile before lunch, and he might easily have nodded off.
Anyway, whatever, what he sees is a large sheet, full of the kind of animals he simply wouldn’t have dreamt of eating in a million years.
The sort of animal he’d always considered unclean, and probably made his stomach churn to think of eating it –
rather like we might feel about ants’ eggs or sheep’s eyeballs.
But three times he was told to do this, and three times he was told not to call anything unclean that God has called clean.

When he woke up, or came to himself, or whatever, he was still inclined to wonder what God meant by it all.
So you can imagine how surprised he was when he found Cornelius’ servants waiting downstairs, asking him to come along.
Now, Peter, since the Holy Spirit came, is a changed man.
But at times there are still traces of the old Peter there, like now, because the first thing he said was "You yourselves know that it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile."

So kind. So polite. Contrast this with last week’s story, where another man who was a total outsider wanted to know more about God, and God sent Philip to talk to him. Philip wasn’t in the least worried about chatting to the man, and even baptised him when he was challenged to do so. But Peter is a different kettle of fish.

“Your yourselves know that it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile!”

Yeah, right. I wonder how that made Cornelius feel. I wonder how it makes you feel. Some of you will have experienced far deeper rejection than I can ever know or understand. Peter might just as well have said something along the lines of “Your kind of people are generally lazy and just come here to sponge off of social security.
You people all have lots of babies so you can get more money from the Government without having to work.
I shouldn't be crossing the picket lines to talk to you scabs.
I am fully aware that God does not approve of your life style and that you are an abomination to God.
I don’t know what I’m doing talking to the likes of you….
But hey, here I am.
Aren't you impressed?"

Oh Peter….. not good. But fortunately, Peter has learnt a bit in recent weeks or months, and he has learnt to listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, and suddenly realises what his vision meant.
He rightly concludes, "God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean."

Peter is slowly realizing that he had been sent to this particular household for a reason.
Until then, the disciples had thought that they were only meant to be preaching to the Jews, and the Good News wasn’t for everybody.
Jesus had tried to show that it was, but I have a feeling he wasn’t altogether too clear on that one while he was on earth, so it became an issue to be addressed primarily after the resurrection, like now.
Peter suddenly sees the light:
"I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him."

It’s the same as last week’s story, isn’t it. The treasury official, rejected by the Jews because of his mutilation – he wouldn’t have been allowed to convert, even had he wanted to – challenges Philip to baptise him. Would this new religion reject him, too? “Here is water,” he says. “What is to keep me from being baptised?”

And, of course, there was nothing. This man, whose skin was a different colour, who came from a completely different country, whose sexuality was, forcibly, different from most people’s – there was no reason at all why he shouldn’t be baptised, and Philip baptised him.

But somehow that news hadn’t reached Peter yet, or if it had, Peter hadn’t really taken it in. I think he must have apologised to Cornelius for having been rude, but he must have been utterly gobsmacked.
Right from his earliest childhood, he had been taught to thank God each day that he had not been born a Gentile, a slave, or a woman.
And now God is telling him that who people are doesn’t matter –
if they want to know Jesus, if they want to be baptised, they can.
And while he is beginning to say something of this to Cornelius and his family, the Holy Spirit takes over, and Cornelius and his household all begin to pray in tongues and to rejoice in God’s love. So Peter baptises them with water, and henceforth they are members of the church.

And so Peter tells the believers in Jerusalem, when they send for him and ask what on earth he thinks he’s been doing.
For Peter, this is a start of a whole new journey of discovery, of what God is doing among other people, people who aren’t Jewish.
He does have his moments of backsliding –
St Paul tells us, in the letter to the Galatians, that he had to remind Peter that he was perfectly able to eat with Gentiles and not to be so stupid about it.
But, by and large, the early church had turned a huge corner.

The snag is, it hasn’t stayed turned, has it? St Paul may have written that “There is no longer Jew or Greek,
there is no longer slave or free,
there is no longer male and female;
for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” –
but the Church doesn’t believe it and never has!
Peter may have learnt that God shows no partiality,
but God’s followers most certainly do.
Philip may have found no reason not to baptise the treasury official,
but too many people who came over on the Empire Windrush and its successors found themselves unwelcome in our churches.

Look, we’re always going to associate mostly with people who are more like us –
we have more in common with people who come from the same sort of background, went to the same sort of school, enjoy the same sort of hobbies.
Christian folk may well prefer the company of other Christians.
That’s okay.

But it can all too easily become toxic, become a matter of “them and us”. I am ashamed that it was not until this year that I realised, thanks to the television advertisements –
I expect you’ve seen them, too –
that Muslims believe, just as we do, that when one part of the body suffers, all suffer.
And I simply hadn’t known that before, and I should have known.

God shows no partiality. We are all equally loved and cared for, whatever our race, or religion, or skin colour. Many centuries ago, John Donne, a clergyman poet wrote this:
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

We are all involved with one another.
Because God shows no partiality, and neither must we.
We are all accepted by God, loved by God, and, as Christians, indwelt by God the Holy Spirit.
Each and every one of us.
Even you.
Even me.
We may be rejected by the world, we may even –
although I do hope not –
be rejected by the church, but God will never, ever reject us. Amen.

 

Noah and the Good Shepherd

Two very familiar Bible passages today; the story of Noah, 

and Jesus’ teachings about being the Good Shepherd;

I think in some ways the two stories may be connected.
But let’s look at them in chronological order!

The story of Noah is so familiar as to need no introduction!
We all know how God thought that the world he had made was so very wicked that he wanted to destroy it and start again from scratch.
But as Noah and his family were good people, he decided to save them,
and, while he was at it, to save the animals and birds,
as they’d done nobody any harm.
And so Noah was told to build the Ark, and he built it
and took two of every sort of animal, and maybe even seven pairs of the “clean” animals, and so on and so forth.
We know the story.
But is it true?

The extraordinary thing about Noah’s flood is that almost every ancient culture has its flood story.
There’s a theory that it’s a folk memory of the Black Sea being formed when the waters burst through the Bosphorus.
Or it’s possible that the flood myths came from people finding seashells and so on far inland.
Nobody really knows,
but we do know that in prehistoric times some areas that are now under water were dry land, and vice versa, as the world has changed.
It might be a folk memory of sea levels rising catastrophically after the end of the last Ice Age,
when all the waters that had been bound up in the glaciers melted
and many communities were submerged forever,
including the submerged country known as Doggerland, in the North Sea,
dating back as recently as ten thousand years ago,
when Britain was joined to the Continent by more than an undersea tunnel!

But whether there was a real Noah, and a real Ark, who knows?
I don’t know whether there would ever be any proof of the sort that would satisfy archaeologists but does it matter?
There are truer truths than historical truth!
As someone once said, everything in the Bible is true;
some of it even happened!

What matters about the story of Noah isn’t details like whether there was only one breeding pair of each sort of animal, or seven pairs of some
(the story isn’t very clear on that, as though two accounts have got mixed up,
which is quite probable);
it doesn’t even matter how the fish and sea-birds survived,
and what Noah did about the insects and the kinds of animals that people haven’t even discovered yet!
What does matter, of course, is what the story has to teach us.
Is there anything we can learn from a story that was old when Jesus walked on this earth?

I think there is.
I think this story can tell us a lot.
Perhaps not so much about God’s character –
do we today really believe in a God who would capriciously destroy the world?
On the other hand, of course, we are told at the end of the story that God promised never to do such a thing again,
which we can remember every time we see a rainbow.
There’s a children’s song on the subject which finishes “Whenever you see a rainbow, remember God is Love”.
Which is actually no bad thing to do, of course.

But I think the story, appropriately enough for this time of year, is about resurrection.

Whatever happened, it is obvious that there was a terrific cataclysm, and much, if not all, of the known world was destroyed.
And yet God rebuilt it.
The world survived.
God used Noah and his family, so we are told, to repopulate the earth.
God used the animals, birds and insects that had been stored in the ark to rebuild the ecology, and the world was raised from what must have seemed to be the end of everything.

Historically speaking, I suppose, this must have happened lots of times throughout the earth’s lifetime;
we are told of cataclysm upon cataclysm,
asteroid strikes that may have disposed of the dinosaurs;
ice ages that may or may not have destroyed humanity,
but in any case made life difficult for it:
plagues, wars, pandemics, earthquakes, floods, droughts and so on.

But we never expected to be confined to our homes for over a year!
We knew there would be plagues,
but we didn’t expect them to impinge on our lives!

The world isn’t designed to be stable and concrete.
Change, often cataclysmic change, is the only constant.
“Nothing’s sure,” they say, “Except death and taxes”.
The Bible teaches us that one day this earth will come to a final conclusion,
and there will be “A new heaven and a new earth” and, one gathers, permanent bliss.
Well, that may well be so, but meanwhile we have this life to live first,
a life in which things can change as quickly as someone flies halfway across the world and brings a virus into the country.

But there is always resurrection,
always renewal.
Most of us, I expect, have met with the risen Christ one way or another;
we believe in the resurrection or we wouldn’t be here.
We know the risen Christ,
and we know, because of Christ, that life goes on.
And we can experience that, as Noah and his family experienced it, in our own lives.

I don’t mean just life after death –
although, as St Paul says,
we’re going to look extremely stupid if that doesn’t happen –
but also resurrection in our lives here on this earth.
Jesus said, after all, as we heard in our Gospel reading,
that he came so that we could have life and have it abundantly, to the full,
and I’m sure he didn’t just mean “pie in the sky when you die”.
Sometimes, if life is particularly difficult,
that may be all we have to cling on to,
the hope that one day there will be a better world.
But other times, who knows,
a better life may be just round the corner.
We are beginning to emerge, tentatively, from lockdown and we hope that this time they won’t have to impose it again, but who knows?
Who knows what will happen tomorrow, even?
Realistically, only God knows. But God does know!

Maybe we will be allowed to come properly out of lockdown; to stay with our friends and families, to go to big parties, if that is what gives us pleasure, or to travel! Maybe. At the moment, only God knows.
The Government has plans, but they could be foiled.

Resurrection happens, and we see the proof of it even here in London as the spring brings out the blossoms and the leaves and the spring flowers.
Noah and his family came out of the Ark into a changed world,
but one where they could make a new start,
grow their families and their crops,
their flocks and their herds,
and build a life for themselves and their descendants.
They had been, as it were, raised from death.

Of course, they had been given a place of safety.
Noah had, we are told,
been given very detailed instructions on how to build the ark –
incidentally, if he had built it to the dimensions given, it would have been about the size of one of today’s larger bulk oil carriers!
And he trusted God,
and carried out the work as he had been told,
because he knew how to recognise God’s voice.
And Jesus reminds us how important that this is.
“The shepherd calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.
When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them,
and the sheep follow him because they know his voice.”

Jesus reminds us of the need to know his voice so that we don’t go off at a tangent, following the wrong leader.
I know that sometimes we worry about this,
being scared that we are going to get things wrong,
but honestly, if we are serious about being God’s person,
I don’t think it’s very likely.
If Jesus is the gatekeeper, the door, then he’s not going to let us go off at too many tangents, or not for long!
There’s a lovely passage in Isaiah that was one of the first I learnt when I became a Christian:
“And when you turn to the right
or when you turn to the left,
your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying,
`This is the way; walk in it.'”

“This is the way; walk in it”.

We sometimes complain that we don’t hear God’s leading very clearly,
at least, not as clearly as, for instance, Noah seemed to.
But there are so many instances when we can turn round and say,
“Oh, there God was leading me!”
even if we didn’t see it at the time.
We’ve probably all known those times.
And often, they have led to times of resurrection for us –
but it is only when we are experiencing the resurrection that we can see how God led us.

Noah and his family had to spend six weeks on the ark before it was safe to land,
so we are told.
But when they landed, they found the land had been raised from death to new life.
They saw how God had led them.
And we, too, see how God has led us,
raised us,
protected us,.

Jesus said “I am come that they may have life, and have it abundantly”.

Abundantly. In all its fullness.
Let’s trust God for that fullness,

or, if life is too painful to do that right now,

let’s just trust him for the touch that can call us back to life again.
Amen.

Children of God

 

I thought that today, for once, we wouldn’t look too closely at the Gospel reading,
as Luke’s account of Jesus’ appearance to the disciples after the Resurrection
is very similar to the account in John’s gospel,
which I expect you looked at last week.
We certainly did at Brixton Hill!

The only thing I will point out is that Luke says Jesus actually ate with them –
ghosts, after all, don’t eat!
So that particular detail is, for the gospel writer,
just another proof that Jesus really was raised.
He wasn’t just a ghost;
he wasn’t just a figment of their imagination.
He ate some fish –
and there’s the dirty plate!

You may have read the first chapter of this letter from John last week, too.
I want to focus on the passage we read today, in a minute.
It isn’t quite a letter, is it –
it’s more of a sermon.
He doesn’t put in the chatty details that Paul puts into his letters,
nor the personal messages.
Nobody seems to know whether it was really the disciple that Jesus loved that wrote the Gospel and this letter,
or whether it was someone writing as from them, which was apparently a recognised literary convention of the day.
But have you ever noticed that right at the very beginning of the letter, or sermon –
hey, let’s just call it an Epistle and have done –
right at the very beginning, he says:

“We write to you about the Word of life, which has existed from the very beginning.
We have heard it, and we have seen it with our eyes;
yes, we have seen it, and our hands have touched it.
When this life became visible, we saw it;
so we speak of it and tell you about the eternal life which was with the Father and was made known to us.”

In other words, the writer, too, claims to have seen, known and touched Jesus!

But to today’s passage.
“See how much the Father has loved us!
His love is so great that we are called God's children –
and so, in fact, we are.”
“See how much the Father has loved us!
His love is so great that we are called God's children –
and so, in fact, we are.”

We are God’s children!
You know, when you come to think of it, that’s a pretty terrifying concept.
People tend to think of themselves as serving God, or as worshipping God.
But to be a child of God?
That’s a whole different ball-game.
After all, if we worship God or serve God,
that doesn’t necessarily imply that God does anything for us in return.
But if we are God’s children?
That’s different!
That implies that God is active in caring for us,
in being involved in our lives,
in minding.

Many of us here this morning have had children of our own.
And all of us have been children!
Perhaps some of us didn’t have very satisfactory childhoods,
or our parents weren’t all they should have been.
The model of God as Father isn’t helpful to everybody, I know.

But I still want to unpack it a bit, if I can, as I do think it’s important.
We are all children of God, so we are told.
We are not servants.
We are not just worshippers.
“Children” implies a two-way relationship.

Actually, it almost implies more than that.
It implies that God does the doing;
we don’t have to.
No, seriously, think about it a minute.
I have a daughter –
she’s grown up and married now, of course,
but for eighteen years she lived at home,
and for many of those years she was totally dependant on Robert and me for everything, and her own boys are on her and her husband –
for food, for clothing, for education, you name it!
And babies need their parents even more than older children do.
Until they are about two or three, they can’t even keep themselves clean, but have to have their nappies changed every few hours.

Parents look after their children.
Quite apart from the seeing to food, clothing, education and so on,
it’s about the daily care –
seeing to it they get up and so on.
All the things we need to remind them to do or not do each day:
Have you washed your hands?
Have you cleaned your teeth?
Put your shoes on.
Put your coat on.
Pull your trousers up, please.....
Don't bite your nails!
And so on and so forth.
But it is, of course, because we care for and about our children,
and want them to grow up to be the best possible person they can be.

And parents do this because they love their children.
Ask any new parent –
all those sleepless nights,
the pacing up and down, the nappies, the lack of sleep –
and yet, they are delighting in that precious baby,
and will show you photographs on the slightest provocation.
And that is just how God feels about us!
Pretty mind-blowing, isn’t it?

And yes, God does want us to grow up to be the person he designed us to be.
And sometimes that will involve saying “No” to us,
as we have to say it to our children.
“No, you mustn’t do that;
no, you can’t have that!”
Not to be mean, not because we are horrid –
although it can feel like that sometimes when you’re on the receiving end –
but because it is for their best.
You can’t let a child do something dangerous;
you can’t allow them to be rude;
they can’t eat unlimited sweets or ices.... and so on.
When my elder grandson was about five, he once said, with a deep sigh, when reminded that sweets weren't very good for him:
“Is anything good for me?”
And the same sort of thing with us.

God loves us enormously and just wants what is best for us.
And because we are, mostly, not small children, we tend to be aware of this, and allow Him to work in us through the power of the Holy Spirit.

John goes on to comment about sin and sinfulness.
It is rather an odd passage, this;
we know that we do sin, sometimes, because we are human.
And yet we know, too, that we are God’s children and we abide in Him.
Yet John here says nobody who sins abides in God.
If he were right, that would mean none of us would, since we are all sinners.

But then, are we?
I mean, yes, we are, but the point is, we are sinners saved by grace, as they say.
God has redeemed us through his Son.
We don’t “abide in sin” any more.

St Paul tells us that when we become Christians, we are “made right” with God through faith in his promises.
I believe the technical term is “justified”, and you remember the meaning because it’s “just as if I’d” never sinned.
However, we also have to grow up to make this a reality in our lives.
That’s called becoming sanctified, made saint-like.

One author described it like this.
Suppose there was a law against jumping in mud puddles.
And you broke that law, and jumped.
You would not only be guilty of breaking the law,
you would also be covered in mud.
My grandsons seem to have spent most of lockdown rolling in the mud in Epping Forest, according to their mother, and they do seem to enjoy getting filthy!
Anyway, when you are justified, you are declared not guilty of breaking that law –
and being sanctified means that you wash off the mud!

So we no longer abide in sin, but are we washing off the mud?
That’s not always easy to do –
the temptation to conform to the world’s standards can be overwhelming at times.
We all have different temptations, of course;
I can’t claim to be virtuous because I don’t gamble,
since gambling simply doesn’t appeal to me!
But I am apt to procrastinate, and can be horrendously grouchy at times, particularly when stressed.
And I am very prone to self-pity.

These lockdowns have been stressful for all of us, I think, and many of us have found it all too easy to get cross at the slightest provocation.

And even now there is light at the end of the tunnel, we know we’re not out of the wood yet – we could easily still be locked down again.
Look how all Lambeth residents have been told to get a PCR test because there have been a few cases of a variant of the virus –
and we are all supposed to get two lateral flow tests a week, too,
though quite why those of us who have been vaccinated must do so escapes me.
But the point is, it’s stressful, and I’m finding it all but impossible to make plans more than a couple of days in advance.
And I know I’m not the only one to have found it all very difficult –
I’ve had it easy, of course;
I’m retired, so I haven’t had the worry about a job;
I live within a few metres of a large supermarket, so shopping hasn’t been an issue, and so on.
But even still, I can’t pretend it’s been easy, and there have been times when I’ve had to cling on to the fact that my relationship with God depends far more on God than it does on me!
But once, some years ago now, I posted a very self-pitying status on Facebook – can’t remember now what I said.
But a couple of posts down on my feed, someone had posted “Cast all your cares on Him, for he cares for you!”
So I laughed, deleted my status, and tried to do just that.
But you know, and I know, that it’s not always easy!

And, of course, there are those who have not said “Yes” to God,
who perhaps have no idea of doing so.
In this model, they are not God’s children –
but that doesn’t mean they are not loved!
Indeed, God so loved the world that he sent his Son while we were still sinners, so we are told.
God loves the worst and most horrible person you could imagine,
just as much as he loves you or he loves me.
Even terrorists.
Even paedophiles.
Jesus died for them, too.
Just as he died for you, and just as he died for me.

And we, we are Children of God.
We are God’s precious Children.
We are not just servants of God.
We are not just worshippers.
We are children.
And the Risen Christ calls us his friends. Amen.

Thoughtful Thomas

 

“Thomas, thoughtful though tentative, thinks through terrific tidings – takes time to trust – then, totally transformed, travels teaching truth.”

Thus a clergy friend of mine meditated on a statue of St Thomas in the church of St Thomas and St Andrew, Doxey, Stafford.
I think it is a very good summary of our Gospel reading for today which, as every year, tells Thomas’ story.

The disciples are together, hiding from the authorities, in the evening of that first Easter Day when the Risen Lord appears to them, and reassures them.
And then Luke tells us that Cleopas and his wife come racing back from Emmaus to tell them that they, too, had seen Jesus.

But Thomas wasn’t there.
We don’t know why, but he missed it.
And he isn’t inclined to believe the others,
thinking they must be deceived in some way.
Well, you can understand it, can’t you?
If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.
If it were true, it would indeed be terrific tidings –
but people don’t just come back from the dead!
Not even the dear Teacher.
Once you’re dead, you’re dead, thinks Thomas.
How can you come back to life again?
Surely this was wishful thinking on the part of the others?
Surely a group hallucination?
Surely they were mistaken, weren’t they?
Weren’t they?

Thomas remembers the last couple of years,
since he started being one of Jesus’ disciples.
How they had travelled together, quite a large band of them,
with a few women who saw to it that everybody had something to eat
and at the very least a blanket at night.
There was the time he had gone off with Matthew, on Jesus’ instructions, to preach the Good News,
and they had had such a great time.
And then it had all gone sour,
and Jesus had been arrested, tortured, and crucified.
But they were saying he was still alive?
Not possible, surely.
It couldn’t really be true, could it?
But then, there had been those miracles, people healed –
the time his friend Lazarus had died,
and Jesus had called him to come out of the tomb, and he had come.
Or when that little girl had died, only Jesus had said she was only sleeping.
Or that time when….
Thomas goes on remembering all the times Jesus had healed the sick or done other miracles.
But then, he couldn’t be alive, could he?
And so on, round and round, on the treadmill of his thoughts.

This goes on for a whole week.
It must have seemed an eternity to poor Thomas,
with the others, although still cautious and hiding from the authorities –
indeed, some of the fishermen were talking of going back to Galilee and getting the boats out;
safer that way –
the others, still cautious, yet fizzing and bubbling that the Teacher was alive!

A whole week.

A week can feel like eternity, sometimes.
I know when the lockdowns first started, over a year ago now,
each week felt like an eternity.
I think it’s as well we didn’t know it would go on for over a year –
and, of course, if things go pear-shaped again, it’s possible that restrictions will either not be eased on schedule or else will be reimposed.
But a year ago we had no way of knowing that,
and a week seemed like forever.
And I don’t know about you, but I certainly wondered where God was in all this!

Many of us had the virus, and some, sadly, have lost loved ones to it.
Some people have barely left their homes for a year,
and even though they’ve now been told it’s safe, as long as they are careful,
they are still reluctant to do so.
I personally am finding it absolutely impossible to make plans of any kind lest they have to be cancelled.
Even though more and more of us have been vaccinated –
and please, do get the vaccination if you’re offered it, it’s well worth it –
still find it hard to believe we’ll be free again one day.

Where is God when you need him?
We want to see God’s face, to hear the reassurance that all will be well and all manner of thing will be well.
We want the reassurance that God is truly there and hasn’t abandoned us.

We have learnt new ways of being Church;
did you notice how many people logged on for the Maundy Thursday and Good Friday Zoom services?
Given how many people were sharing logins, it was well over a hundred people!
Far more than would ever have come to a Circuit service if they had to go out.
While it’s wonderful to be together again, even with restrictions,
I hope that some services, and some meetings, will continue to be held via Zoom.
We’ve also learnt to livestream our services,
and to post the recordings so people who don’t want to come to church,
or who can’t come for any reason,
can still join us in worship.
God has been there, leading us and teaching us over the past year.
But it hasn’t always been easy to see the next step.

But you see, Thomas shows us that this is okay.
He had to wait a whole week until the risen Jesus came to him to reassure him –
and a week can be a very, very long time!
But that’s okay.
We don’t have to get immediate answers;
we don’t have to feel better at once if we are taken ill;
we do, perhaps, have to be very patient and keep remembering hands, face, space and fresh air.

For Thomas, it took a week.
That’s why we remember him on this day each year –
Low Sunday, I was taught to call it –
as it’s the anniversary of the day when Jesus did come to Thomas.
The disciples were still hiding from the Jewish authorities –
they could easily have been picked up, arrested, and crucified in their turn.
And this time, Thomas was with them.
He was still doubtful, still not convinced –
but Jesus came, specially for him.
“Here, touch my scars, touch my side –
it’s true, I’m alive, you can trust me!”
And Thomas’ immediate response was to fall down in awe and worship.

And he was totally transformed.
His doubts all fell away, as if they had never been.
He knew Jesus forgave him for having doubted,
just as he was to forgive Peter for having denied he knew him,
just as he would have forgiven Judas for having betrayed him,
had Judas been in any condition to receive that forgiveness.
Thomas was forgiven and transformed.

As we, too, can be.
You know this and I know this, but sometimes it feels as though that knowledge is only in our heads,
we don’t absolutely know it with all of us.
Except when we do –
and then we wonder how on earth we ever doubted,
why we don’t always believe with our whole being.
We have all had those mountain-top experiences, I expect –
and we have all had our times of doubt and even disbelief.
It seems to be normal and human.
Thomas certainly didn’t believe that Jesus had been raised;
it took a special touch from our Lord himself to convince him,
as it sometimes does to convince us.

And Thomas was totally transformed, from doubter to staunch believer.
And, what’s more, he then travels, teaching truth.

We have nothing in the Bible to tell us what may or many not have happened to Thomas after his encounter with the risen Lord.
But there are various traditions,
most notably that he went to India and founded the church there.
They say he was martyred in Chennai in about AD72, having lived and worked in India for over twenty years, and some sources say his remains were brought back to Edessa, in modern Syria, although others think he was buried in India.

Even today, almost two thousand years later, there are Christians in India who trace their faith history back to Thomas’ ministry.
How much of this is factual, and how much tradition, we don’t know.
But given that so many Christians in India,
Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant,
all trace their faith back to him leads me to suspect there might be something in it.

But whatever the truth, we know that Thomas travelled, teaching the truth about Jesus,
teaching, as did many of the other apostles, proclaiming the Risen Christ,
witnessing that he had actually seen and spoken to him,
being filled with God’s Holy Spirit to proclaim the Kingdom of Heaven.
He was totally transformed from the doubtful, worried disciple of that first Easter Day.

Most of us have been following Jesus for many years now.
We too have been transformed,
probably gradually over the years,
to be more like the people we were created to be,
the people God designed us to be.
We, too, proclaim our risen Lord, not only –
probably not even primarily –
in words.
And like Thomas, we sometimes take time to tentatively think through terrific truths, and we take time to trust.

And Thomas shows us that this is okay, as long as we don’t stop there.
As long as we can accept that our first views may be wrong, and allow God to heal and transform us.
And then, my friends, along with Thomas we too will be teaching the truth.

“Thomas, thoughtful though tentative, thinks through terrific tidings – takes time to trust – then, totally transformed, travels teaching truth.”

Journey to Jerusalem.

Sadly, this was not preached, as I was suffering from food poisoning and couldn't go to Church - fortunately, i had been sharing the service with our minister and was able to warn her in time.

So today is Palm Sunday. It’s the start of Holy Week, when we begin that long, sad, strenuous journey to the cross. In other years, we might have all met together last night for a Circuit Passover Supper, to mark the beginning of Holy Week. Obviously, with the current restrictions that couldn’t happen either last year or this year, but maybe next year we will be able to do so. Anyway, then today we remember Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, and, indeed, for many churches today’s service is a journey towards the Cross; there isn’t a sermon but together they read what’s called the “Passion Narrative”, the story from today’s reading right up to Jesus’ death. Or we can, as we are doing this year, make the journey last for the week. On Thursday we will meet together on Zoom to remember how Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, and how he took the traditional Jewish Friday-night ritual blessing of bread and wine and lifted it, transformed it into something quite different that we know today as Holy Communion. On Friday, also on Zoom, we will remember his death on the Cross. And next Sunday, of course, we will be rejoicing and celebrating the Resurrection and being able to meet together once again to do so!

But for today, we are focussing on the journey to Jerusalem. Now, Jesus had often stayed in Bethany before – probably with Martha and Mary, do you think? – and walked into Jerusalem. It wasn’t far – only a couple of miles, probably not much further than from here to Streatham. So why, do you suppose, he suddenly wanted to ride on a donkey? And why this particular donkey, which had never been ridden before?

Well, Mark doesn’t say, but Matthew’s version of the story reminds us of the promise in Zechariah: “Shout and cheer, Daughter Zion!
    Raise your voice, Daughter Jerusalem!
Your king is coming!
    a good king who makes all things right,
    a humble king riding a donkey,
    a mere colt of a donkey.”

That must have been a very odd image to the first hearers. We don’t know exactly what the prophet thought he was referring to – there was very often a local context, as well as one looking forward to Jesus – but obviously now was the time for this prophecy to be fulfilled. Again, we don’t know whether Jesus knew that, and was consciously fulfilling the prophecy, which he would have known from childhood, or whether he was just obeying the inner voice from God that was leading him step by step, inexorably, towards the Cross.

It must have been a very odd image, don’t you think, to those first hearers of Zechariah? I mean, a donkey is what the humble people rode, a beast of burden. Kings rode horses, or in chariots – they didn’t ride donkeys. Our Queen doesn’t drive a white van!

But this was the image. The King, God Almighty, riding on a donkey like any merchant or shopkeeper. Extraordinary, really, when you come to think about it.

But, of course, people didn’t know that this was God Himself in the Person of his Son Jesus Christ. If they recognised him at all, they saw the rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, the teacher. The one who was getting up the noses of the Temple authorities. The one who said that God’s country was quite different from what you’d always thought, but that it was still worth giving up everything you had for. The one who said you should love your enemies. The one who had said some very extraordinary things about himself…. That he was the Light of the World; that he was the Good Shepherd…. And that, if you followed Him, you would be being God’s person even if you didn’t keep the Jewish law absolutely perfectly, even if you were not allowed to go to the Temple for some reason, even if you were a prostitute or a drug addict.

And, suddenly, it all came together and they began to cheer and shout. “Praise God! God bless him who comes in the name of the Lord! God bless the coming kingdom of King David, our father! Praise be to God!” The word “Hosanna”, which the Good News Bible translates as “Praise God” originally meant “God save him!” but it has transmuted into an affirmation of praise!

And they threw down branches on the road, and even their cloaks, which would have been ruined by the dust and the donkey’s feet! And they may well have been new cloaks, bought specially to go to Jerusalem for the festival, for this was the Passover, one of the most holy festivals in the Jewish calendar. You went to Jerusalem to celebrate the major festivals whenever you could, and especially for Passover – we know that Jesus was taken as a boy, all the way from Nazareth, and that he also went to the Temple when it was Hannukah, and possibly on other festivals, too. So there would have been big crowds going to Jerusalem. Those who had never heard of the new Teacher from Nazareth would have been told a bit by their friends and fellow-traveller when they saw him on the donkey and wondered what all the fuss was about.

And so they went to Jerusalem, cheered every step of the way, and, we are told, looked round the Temple for a bit and then went back to Bethany for the night, presumably returning the donkey to its rightful owners en route.

And? I mean, why does it matter? Why do we celebrate each year? Is it just a remembering thing, part of what happened to Jesus that we remember each year? Or is it something more.

It’s both, of course. Yes, part of it is certainly remembering what happened to Jesus. But it’s also about our own journeys towards God. And they are not always straightforward. People don’t shout and wave palm branches at us, which is probably just as well, as we are so prone to mess things up. Remember that lovely hymn we so often sing at this time of year:

“Sometimes they strew his way
and his sweet praises sing,
resounding all the day
hosanna to their king.
Then “Crucify!”
is all their breath
and for his death
they thirst and cry.”

We all waver between singing hosannas and shouting “crucify!” To take a Bible example, look at Peter – one minute he was declaring that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, and then the next minute he was being seriously unhelpful by saying he would never let Jesus be killed… which wasn’t what Jesus either wanted or needed to hear just then; Peter could and arguably should have given him a shoulder to cry on and bought him a pint! And later it is Peter who denies Jesus – but later still, he is able to accept forgiveness and be made whole again. Even Jesus wobbled a bit at times, as we saw in last week’s reading when he said he was scared and wished he could ask God to save him from this hour – but he knew he couldn’t. Similarly in the Garden of Gethsemane when he had a major meltdown and a real struggle to say “Not as I will, but as you will!” to God.

This year in particular has been so very difficult for so many people. I have struggled with not being able to see my family – thankfully the restrictions are being eased a bit tomorrow so we can go and visit my mother, out of doors, and take her her Christmas presents! And we did have a few weeks’ respite last summer as, I hope, we will have this summer. And I have had it easy – I did get the virus, and have struggled to recover, but I didn’t have to go to hospital and nobody close to me died from or with it. I’m retired, so the lockdown hasn’t impacted me financially. I live in walking distance of several “essential shops”, and we had plenty of loo paper to see us through the first shortage! But even so, it hasn’t been easy. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has asked God to just let it all be over, and to take this wretched virus away!

But we know, as St Paul reminds us, that God works all things together for good for those who love him. The bad is still bad – but God works it for good. We have been learning new ways of being church when we can’t meet in person. We’ve been learning that church committee meetings are a lot less onerous when you can do them from the comfort of your own chair!

It’s not easy to be God’s person all the time, and we all wobble. But Isaiah tells us that “If you wander off the road to the right or the left, you will hear his voice behind you saying, ‘Here is the road. Follow it.’” God won’t let us get too badly lost, however painful the road ahead may be.

So as we remember Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, let’s commit ourselves anew to travelling along with him, to being part of the crowd shouting “Hosanna”, and not the crowd shouting “Crucify him!” Amen. 

Tempted and Fallen

The first reading today was about a man, and a woman and God.
The man and the woman don't have names –
later on, they are called Adam and Eve,
but at this stage they don't need names.
They are just Man and Woman.
They are the only Man and Woman that exist –
God hasn't made any more, yet –
so they don't need names.
Man can just go, “Oi, you!”
and Woman will know he's talking to her.

God has made the Man and the Woman, and put them in a garden,
where there is plenty of food to eat for the picking of it.
It's lovely and warm, so they don't need clothes,
and in fact they are so comfortable with themselves and with God that they don't want clothes.
There are animals to be cared for, and crops to be tended,
but the work is easy and pleasurable.
And all the fruit in the garden is theirs, except for one tree,
which God has told them is poisonous.
If they eat the fruit of this tree, God said, they'll die.

Well, so far, so good.
But at this point, enter another player.
The serpent.
Now, the Serpent is God's enemy,
but the Man and the Woman don't know that.
They think the Serpent is just another animal.
Now Serpent comes and chats to Woman.

“Nice pomegranate you've got there!”

“Mmm, yes,” says Woman.

“Look at that fruit on that tree over there, though,” says Serpent.
“That looks well tasty!”

“Yes, but it's poisonous!” explains Woman.
“God said that if we ate it, we'd die, so we're keeping well clear of it!”

“Oh rubbish!” says Serpent.
“God's stringing you a line!
It's not poisonous at all.
Thing is, if you eat it, you'll be just like God,
and know good and evil.
God doesn't want you to eat it,
because God doesn't want any rivals!
Go on, have a bite!
You won't regret it!”

So Woman has another look at the tree,
and sees that the fruit is red and ripe and smells tempting,
so she cautiously stretches out her hand and grabs the fruit,
and, ever so tentatively, takes a tiny bite.
Mmm, it is good!

So she calls to Man, “Oi, you!”

“Mm-hmmm,” calls Man, looking up from the game he was playing with his dogs.
“What is it?”

“Come and try this fruit,” says Woman,
and explains how the Serpent had said that God had been stringing them a line,
and how good the fruit tasted.
So Man decides to have a piece himself.

But it's coming on to evening,
and at evening, God usually comes and walks in the garden,
and Man and Woman usually come and share their day.
But tonight, somehow, they don't feel like chatting to God.
And those bodies, the bodies they'd enjoyed so much, suddenly feel like they want to be kept private.
They look at one another, and both retreat, silently, into the far depths of the garden, grabbing some fig leaves to make coverings for themselves.

Presently, God comes looking for them.
“What's up?
Why are you hiding?”

“Well,” goes Man, “I didn't want to face you, 'cos I was naked.”

“Naked?” says God.
“Naked?
Who told you you were naked?
You've been eating that fruit I told you was poisonous, haven't you?”

“Well, er, um.”
Man wriggles.
“It wasn't my fault.
That one, the Woman you gave me.
She said to eat it, so I did.
Wasn't my fault at all.
You can't blame me!”

So God looks at Woman, and says, “Is this true?
Did you give him the fruit?”

Woman goes scarlet.
“Well, it was Serpent.
He said you, well, that the fruit wasn't poisonous.”

But, of course, the fruit had been poisonous
It wasn't that it gave Man and Woman a tummyache or the runs;
it poisoned their whole relationship with God.
They couldn't stay in God's garden any more.
Serpent was going to have to crawl on his belly from now on,
and everyone, almost, would be afraid of him.
Woman was going to have awful trouble having babies,
and Man was going to find making a living difficult.

But God did show them how to make warm clothes for themselves, and didn't abandon them forever,
even though, from that time forth, they weren't really comfortable with God.

Well, that's the story, then, that the Israelites used to explain why human beings find it so very difficult to be God's people and to do God's will.
And it shows how first the Woman and then the Man were tempted, and fell.

They fell.
But Jesus resisted temptation.
You may remember that he was baptised,
and there was the voice from heaven that said
“This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”
And then Jesus went off into the desert for six weeks or so,
to come to terms with exactly Who he was,
and to discover the exact nature of his divine powers.

It must have been so insidious, mustn't it?
"Are you really the Son of God?
Why don't you prove it by making these stones bread?
You're very hungry, aren't you?
If you're the Son of God, you can do anything you like, can't you?
Surely you can make these stones into bread?
But perhaps you aren't the Son of God, after all...."
And so it would have gone on and on and on.

But Jesus resisted.
The way the gospel-writers tell it,
you would think he just waved his hand and shook his head and said,
“No, man shall not live by bread alone!”
But that wouldn't have been temptation.
You know what it's like
when you're tempted to do something you ought not –
the longing can become more and more intense.
There are times when you think,
Hmm, that'd be nice, but then you think,
naaa, not right, and put it behind you;
but other times when you have to really, really struggle to put it behind you.
“If you are the Son of God....”

The view from the pinnacle of the Temple.
So high up.... by their standards,
like the top of the Canary Wharf tower would be to us.
"Go on then –
you're the Son of God, aren't you?
Throw yourself down –
your God will protect you!"
The temptation is to show off, to use his powers like magic.
Yes, God would have rescued him, but:
“Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
That's not what it's about.
That would have been showing off.
That would have been misusing his divine powers for something rather spectacular.

Jesus was also tempted with riches and power beyond his wildest dreams –
at that, beyond our wildest dreams,
if only he would worship the enemy.
We can sympathise with this particular temptation;
I'm sure we all would love to be rich and powerful!
But for Jesus, it must have been particularly subtle –
it would help him do the work he'd been sent to do!
Could he fulfil his mission without riches and power?
What was being God's beloved son all about, anyway?
Would it be possible to spread the message that he was beginning to realise he had to spread
if he was going to spend his life in an obscure and dusty part of the Roman empire?
And again, after prayer and wrestling with it, he finds the answer:
“Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”
Let the riches and power look after themselves;
the important thing was to serve God.
If that is right, the rest would follow.

You may remember that Jesus was similarly tempted on the Cross, he could have called down the legions from heaven to rescue him.
But he chose not to.
It wasn't about spectacular powers –
often, when Jesus did miracles,
he asked people not to tell anybody.
He didn't want to be spectacular.
He'd learnt that his mission was to the people of Israel,
probably even just the people of Galilee –
and the occasional outsider who needed him, like the Syro-Phoenician woman, or the Roman centurion –
and anything more than that was up to his heavenly Father.

And, obviously, if the "anything more" hadn't happened,
we wouldn't be here this evening!
But, at the time, that wasn't Jesus' business.
His business, as he told us, was to do the work of his Father in Heaven –
and that work, for now, was to be an itinerant preacher and healer,
but not trying deliberately to call attention to himself.

And a few years later, Jesus was crucified. It is, I think, far too complicated for us to ever know exactly what happened then, but it is safe to say that a change took place in the moral nature of the universe. St Paul expands on this idea in our second reading tonight.

Paul compares and contrasts what happened to the first Man, Adam, with what happened to Jesus, pointing out that sin came into the world through Adam, which poisoned humanity’s relationship with God, but through Jesus, we can receive the free gift of eternal life, and thus restore our relationship.

Of course, it’s never as easy as that in practice. You know that and I know that. Can we really live in a restored relationship with God? All the time? Twenty-four seven? Well, maybe you can, but I find it very difficult indeed!
We know we’re apt to screw things up in our relationship with God. Usually because we screw things up in our relationship with other people, but not always. Sometimes we just screw ourselves up! We don’t take the exercise we promised ourselves. We lounge around all day and don’t get on – so easy to do, I find, in lockdown, don’t you?

But the point is, Paul seems to think that we can live in a restored relationship with God. And so does John, when he reminds us that “Those who are children of God do not continue to sin, for God's very nature is in them; and because God is their Father, they cannot continue to sin.” He also, of course, reminds us that if and when we do sin, we need to confess our sins and we will be forgiven. We need to look at ourselves honestly, and admit not only what we did, said or thought, but that we are the kind of person who can do, say or think such things. And allow God not only to forgive us, but to help us grow so that we will stop being such people.

John Wesley very much believed Christian perfection was a thing.
He didn’t think he’d attained it, but he reckoned it was possible in this life.
He preached on it and it’s one of the sermons we local preachers are supposed to have read –
you can find it on-line easily enough.
Anyway, what he said about perfection was that it wasn’t about being ignorant, or mistaken, or ill or disabled, or not being tempted –
you could be any or all of those things and still be perfect.
Wesley reckons –
and by and large he reckons that the closer we continue with Jesus,
the less likely we are to sin.
I believe he didn’t consider that he’d got there himself, but he did know people who had.
He said even a baby Christian has been cleansed from sin,
and mature Christians who walk with Jesus will be freed from it, both outwardly and inwardly.
I hope he’s right....

But the point is, it’s not something we can do in our own strength; we have to allow God to do it for us and in us. The first Man and Woman listened to the serpent, and destroyed their – and our – relationship with God. Jesus was able to restore that relationship through the atonement. And because that relationship is restored, we can be indwelt by the Holy Spirit, and made whole again. Let’s do it! Amen.