The Unclean and the Unspeakable: Confronting the Stigma of Disease

Text: Mark 1:40 to end

My friends, today we journey with Mark to a time when fear and misunderstanding ruled the hearts of many. A leper, outcast from society, approaches Jesus, his voice trembling with desperation. "If you will, you can make me clean." (Mark 1:40)

We do well to remember that at this time, sickness was usually thought of as a punishment for sin.  People with major illnesses, or disabilities were judged by their neighbours to have either been a bad sinner, or the son of daughter of one.  This man, bearing the weight of a disease considered both physical and spiritual, represents the marginalized of our own time – those living with disabilities, mental illness, poverty, or the consequences of social injustice. They are often seen as "other," their humanity diminished, their dignity trampled.  

Just think, for a moment, about the different ways in which we treat people who we consider ‘one of us’, and those we consider ‘unlike us’.  Just as an example, it is all but illegal for news cameras in England to show the picture of a child’s face, without the written permission of their guardian.  But news cameras in Africa, or Palestine, have no such compunction.  Think too about the round-the-clock news coverage we get over, say, the stabbing of a British young person.  But the ongoing murder from the sky of thousands in Palestine, or the abduction of children from their homes in Nigeria, get barely a mention.

Jesus, in his radical compassion, shatters these societal constructs. He does not recoil in fear or disgust from the man whom everyone else thinks is a sinner, or ‘other’ than them. Instead, he reaches out, his touch a symbol of radical inclusion. "I will; be clean." (Mark 1:41)

This isn't just a physical healing, but a profound act of social justice. Jesus dismantles the barriers of exclusion, restoring the leper to his rightful place within the community.

But what are we to make of the instruction that follows: "See that you say nothing to anyone." (Mark 1:43)?  It feels like Jesus wants to suppress the truth. Perhaps he’s worried that people will start to view him as a ‘miracle healer’ more than a wise teacher.

However, through a Progressive Christian lens, we can choose to see Jesus’ instruction as a call for sensitivity and respect for the individual's journey. Healing is a deeply personal process. It requires time for reflection, for reintegration into society, for the individual to reclaim their sense of self.

Furthermore, the emphasis on following the Law of Moses (Mark 1:44) can be seen as a recognition of the importance of both spiritual and physical well-being. While acknowledging the limitations of the Old Testament, we can appreciate its emphasis on ritual purity as a metaphor for inner transformation and social responsibility.

Just as Jesus healed the leper, he calls us to heal the brokenness within ourselves and our world. This requires us, first to:

• Challenge the systems of oppression: We must dismantle the structures that marginalize and dehumanize individuals based on their differences. This includes advocating for accessible healthcare, affordable housing, and social justice for all.

• Secondly, we are called to embrace radical inclusivity: We must extend compassion and understanding to those who are different from us, recognizing the inherent dignity and worth of every human being.

• Thirdly, we are called to cultivate empathy and compassion: We must strive to see the world through the eyes of others, to walk in their shoes, and to understand the challenges they face.

The story of the leper is not just a historical anecdote. It is a powerful reminder of the transformative power of love, compassion, and radical inclusion. It is a call to action, urging us to build a world where everyone, regardless of their background, their abilities, or their perceived imperfections, is embraced with dignity and respect.

May we, like Jesus, be agents of healing, not just for the physical ailments of the body, but for the deeper wounds of the soul. May we strive to create a world where the marginalized are uplifted, the oppressed are empowered, and all are welcomed into the embrace of the Beloved Community. Amen.

The Word Made Flesh: Spoken, Not Written

Text: Luke 4:14-22

Friends, today we contemplate a powerful paradox: Jesus, the Word made flesh, came to us in the fullness of time, a master teacher, yet he left us no written word of his own. 

Think of it. Jesus, the son of a carpenter, grew up in a world where literacy was a rare and precious skill.  He, undoubtedly, could read. The passage before us – his reading from Isaiah in the Nazareth synagogue – provides undeniable proof of that. He knew the scriptures intimately, could quote them with authority, and used them to illuminate the profound truths of God's kingdom. 

Yet, in all his years of public ministry, of healing the sick, feeding the hungry, challenging the powerful, and proclaiming the good news, Jesus never once picked up a pen and wrote down a single line of his own teachings. No letters, no treatises, no gospels penned by his own hand. 

This silence is profound. It challenges us to grapple with the very nature of truth, of revelation, and of the human encounter with the divine. 

Some may argue that the Gospels, with their carefully crafted narratives and profound theological insights, capture the essence of Jesus' message. They are, after all, the foundation of our faith. But let us be honest: these are not verbatim transcripts. They are the retellings, the interpretations, the remembered words of those who walked with Jesus, who heard his voice, and who sought to preserve his legacy for generations to come. 

And therein lies the challenge. How can we be certain that we fully understand the nuances of Jesus' teachings? How can we be sure that our interpretations, however sincere, do not reflect the biases and limitations of those who first recorded them? 

This is not to diminish the importance of the Gospels. They are precious gifts, windows into the life and ministry of Jesus. But they are windows, not photographs. They offer perspectives, not definitive pronouncements.

As Progressive Christians, we embrace this challenge. We recognize that faith is not a matter of blind adherence to a fixed set of doctrines, but an ongoing journey of seeking truth, guided by reason, informed by Scripture, and inspired by the Holy Spirit. 

We use our God-given intellect to critically examine the texts, to grapple with their complexities, and to discern the core message of Jesus' teachings. We strive to understand the historical and cultural context in which those teachings were given, and to apply them meaningfully to the challenges of our own time.

And above all, we remember Jesus' central message: love God with all your heart, mind, and soul, and love your neighbour as yourself. This is the foundation upon which all else rests. 

Any interpretation of Jesus' teachings that contradicts this fundamental principle of love – any claim that elevates fear over compassion, division over unity, or condemnation over grace – must be viewed with deep suspicion. 

For Jesus, the Word made flesh, came not to condemn the world, but to save it. He came to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind. He came to proclaim a message of radical love, of inclusion, of justice and peace. 

Let us, then, strive to live into that message. Let us use our God-given gifts of reason and compassion to discern the truth, to challenge injustice, and to build a world that reflects the love of God. 

For in the end, it is not about reciting creeds or adhering to rigid doctrines – however helpful they may be as statements from which to start on the journey of faith. It is about living lives that embody the spirit of Jesus – lives characterized by love, compassion, and a relentless pursuit of justice for all. 

Amen.

In search of wisdom

Epiphany 2025 

I suppose that many of us will have been on journeys over the last couple of weeks. Some of us have braved wind and rain to visit family and friends in far-flung corners of the British Isles. But I bet none of us had journeys which were as arduous as those of the Wise Men to Bethlehem.  They would have crossed blazing deserts, and freezing mountain passes.  They would have had to wash in streams, and to eat food gathered or trapped along the way.  Their journey was remarkable.

We don't know much about the Wise Men. The Bible calls them 'Magi', from which we get our word 'magician' - but that's not the full meaning of the word. The Magi were, as far as we can tell, learned men from another culture. They studied the stars, and no doubt studied the ancient texts of many religions too. They put that knowledge together came to the startling conclusion that a new King of the Jews was being born.

Actually, they were wrong.  Jesus never was the King of Jews in any earthly sense...despite the ironic poster that Pontius Pilate had nailed over his Cross.  In fact, according to John's Gospel, when Pilate asked him point blank whether he was the King of the Jews, Jesus replied "My Kingdom is not of this world".  No, the Magi were wrong.  The stars were not predicting the birth of the King of the Jews.

Another accident of the Magi was in their timing. According to Matthew’s account, they actually arrived something like two years late. (Matthew notes that Herod enquired of the wise men when they had seen the Star appear, and based on that information he slaughters all the boys in Bethlehem who are under two years old. )

So, the Magi were perhaps not all that wise. They failed to correctly predict the timing of the birth of a new King of the Jews - and they were two years adrift even of Jesus birth.  Wise men?  Perhaps not.

So, to those who say that our future can be read in the stars, there is a warning here. The stars do not foretell our future, any more than they did for the Magi. We would be wise not to place our future in the hands of star-gazers too.

And yet...and yet...  The Magi embarked on a journey of faith. They thought they knew where that journey would lead. They assumed it would lead them to a royal palace in Jerusalem.  But God has a way of using the journeys we plan for ourselves, and turning them into something much different, much more profound. Instead of a new prince in a royal cot, the Magi's journey led them, mysteriously, to an unremarkable house in a rural back-water...and to a baby who had been born in a food trough.

And it was when they got there, that the Magi could truly be described as wise men. Recognising Jesus for who he was, much more than an earthly King of the Jews, they knelt in homage to him. When they met him, Jesus was nothing like they expected.

And that’s because, in Jesus-of-the-stable, God was declaring a new way of living, and a new way of thinking. Human beings had tended to think of the Universe as a ‘top-down’ place – with God in heaven, dispensing rules and justice from the sky.  But that was a mistake.  Through Jesus, especially the Jesus revealed at the Epiphany, God was re-forming our picture of where God is.  Not in the sky, looking down…but here among us, one of us, part of us.  No longer the ‘top-down’ God of our ancestors; this is the ‘bottom-up’ God.  The Kingdom of God is an upside-down place – where the humble are blessed, and the mighty are brought low – as Mary foresaw in the Magnificat.  It is the Kingdom in which by losing, we win; and by giving, we receive.

But we still fail to recognise this, don’t we?  Even Christians are duped by the promises of power or celebrity.  We find ourselves ‘looking upward’ in hope towards political agendas, or individual politicians.  We trust that the powerful of our nation know what they are doing – when in reality they are just as confused as the rest of us…stumbling in the darkness.  Or we look upward to celebrities, modelling our life-choices, our fashions, our financial decisions on theirs.  But we find no peace there either.  Or we look to great church leaders, great Bishops, prominent Christian writers - or even our parish priests - to save us.  But Father does not always know best – and we church leaders have feet of clay too. 

The ‘bottom-up’ Kingdom of Epiphany teaches us to look for God in the simple and earthy things of life.  The Sky-God is silent – and looking upwards to such a God, or to other powerful beings – will not help us to find ‘him’.  As Moses discovered in front of the burning bush, it is the ground which is holy, not the sky.

When we look for God in a stable, we find ‘him’ in the love of his parents, and the care of a community of Shepherds and Wise Men.  God is found in the love between neighbours and friends.  God is found in the simple sharing of a meal.  ‘He’ is found in the bread and wine of the Eucharist.  ‘He’ is found in a simple act of charity.

The Wise Men had the wisdom to recognise him, and to worship him, in the dirt and squalor of a back-water town. Their pre-conceptions of palaces and earthly royalty fell away; and the new reality of Jesus took their place.

You see, really wise men and women are open to what the Journey will bring. Wise men and women embrace the possibilities for change and growth that arise whenever we put our journey in the hands of God.

I wonder what our journey this year will be like - our journey with God both as individuals, and as a parish.  If we are able to listen to God’s voice, in the middle of peace and prosperity, as well as chaos and darkness, we will find God speaking into our situation.  There is always something to be learned, always some new spiritual growth to take place even...perhaps especially...in the darkest times.

So, my encouragement to you this Epiphany is to be open to the journey.  Make a new year’s resolution, right here, right now, that you will be more alert, more open to what God is doing in your life as a person, and in your life as a church.    Make a pact with God that you will listen to God with greater attentiveness, searching the scriptures, worshipping, giving, and receiving what God has to give you.  If God can lead a bunch of mystics across deserts and mountains to a new Epiphany at the manger, then God can do the same for us.  Amen.

In search of Wisdom at the start of the year

 Texts: Wisdom of Solomon 7:15-22

Matthew 5:13-19

 

On this second day of a new calendar year, the Church invites us (through the Lectionary) to reflect on the life of a giant of the faith, St. Basil the Great.  We are invited to draw wisdom from his struggles and triumphs. Our readings today, from the book of Wisdom and the Gospel according to Matthew, offer us a lens through which to view his extraordinary life. Wisdom 7:15-22 speaks of the gift of wisdom, a spirit that is “intelligent, holy, unique, manifold, subtle, mobile, clear, unpolluted, distinct, invulnerable, loving the good, keen, irresistible.” It is a spirit that permeates all things, a “breath of the power of God, and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty.” And in Matthew 5:13-19, Jesus calls his followers to be salt and light to the world, upholding the law and teaching others to do likewise. These readings, when placed alongside the life of Basil, illuminate the path of faithful discipleship, particularly in the face of theological controversy.  We also live in a time of great theological controversy, as the church battles over issues of human sexuality, the nature of Christ, the authority of Bishops and Popes, and much more.

Basil lived in a time when the very nature of God was being fiercely debated. The Arian controversy, named after a man called Arius who questioned the full divinity of Christ, threatened to tear the Church apart. Arius and his followers argued that Jesus was a created being, subordinate to God the Father. This challenged the core of Christian belief: the Incarnation, the belief that God became human in Jesus Christ. Basil, along with other great theologians like Athanasius and Gregory of Nazianzus, stood firm in defense of the Nicene Creed, which affirmed that Jesus Christ is “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father.”

To understand Basil’s impact, we must place him within his historical context. Born in Caesarea in Cappadocia (modern-day Turkey) around 330 AD, Basil came from a devout and influential Christian family. Basil received an excellent education, studying in Caesarea, Constantinople, and Athens, where he befriended Gregory of Nazianzus. He excelled in rhetoric, philosophy, and astronomy, becoming a highly respected scholar. After a period of asceticism and travel through Egypt, Syria, and Palestine, studying monastic communities, Basil was ordained a priest in 365 AD and later became Bishop of Caesarea in 370 AD. This was a tumultuous time for the Church, with the Arian controversy raging. Basil's intellectual prowess, combined with his deep faith and administrative skills, made him a key figure in defending orthodox Christianity.

Basil’s engagement in this debate wasn't simply an intellectual exercise. It was a matter of life and death, of eternal consequence. He recognized that the question of Christ’s divinity was not a mere technicality, but went to the heart of salvation. If Jesus was not truly God, then how could he bridge the gap between humanity and divinity? How could he offer true reconciliation and redemption? Basil, imbued with the wisdom described in our reading from Wisdom, tirelessly defended the truth of the Gospel. He wrote extensively, preached powerfully, and worked tirelessly to reconcile those who had been led astray by Arian teachings. He was a beacon of light in a time of darkness, salt preserving the true faith from corruption.

The Arian controversy serves as a powerful example of how Christians throughout history have wrestled with the profound mysteries of the Incarnation. It demonstrates that the search for truth is not always easy or straightforward. It often involves difficult conversations, passionate disagreements, and a willingness to re-examine our own assumptions. The wisdom described in Wisdom is not static; it is mobile, keen, and irresistible. It compels us to seek deeper understanding, to grapple with complex questions, and to be open to new insights.

As Progressive Christians, we inherit this legacy of grappling with the great questions of faith. We acknowledge that our understanding of God is always evolving, always deepening. We recognize that the Bible, while divinely inspired, is also a product of its time and culture. We believe that the Holy Spirit continues to guide us into all truth, even today. This means that we must be willing to engage with new information, new perspectives, and new interpretations of scripture. We must be open to modifying our beliefs in light of new evidence and better arguments. This does not mean abandoning the core tenets of our faith, but rather embracing a dynamic and living faith that is constantly being renewed.

Just as Basil and his contemporaries were willing to challenge prevailing assumptions about the nature of God, so too must we be willing to question our own assumptions. We must be willing to have difficult conversations about issues that divide us, such as gender equality, LGBTQ+ inclusion, and social justice. We must be willing to listen to the voices of those who have been marginalized and oppressed. And we must be willing to change our minds when we are presented with compelling evidence.

This willingness to change, to adapt, to grow in wisdom, is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength. It is a testament to the power of the Holy Spirit working within us, leading us into all Truth. It is a reflection of the wisdom described in our reading from Wisdom, a wisdom that is “loving the good, keen, irresistible.” It is a way of being salt and light to the world, as Jesus calls us to be in our reading from Matthew.

So, dear friends, as we stand at the threshold of a new year, 2025, can we commit ourselves to this path of growing wisdom? Can we embrace the spirit of inquiry, the spirit of humility, and the spirit of love that characterized the life of Basil the Great?  Can we be open to new understandings of God, new ways of being Church, and new ways of serving the world?  I pray that this new year will be a time of deepening faith, growing understanding, and greater love for all who call themselves followers of Christ. May we all be blessed with the wisdom to discern truth, the courage to speak it, and the love to live it.  Amen.

What happened to the Angels?

Texts:  Judges 13.2-7, 24-end & Luke 1.5-25 

Today, we reflect on a theme that runs through both the Old and New Testaments: angels delivering important messages from God. In Luke 1, we hear the story of Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth, who are elderly and childless. In Judges 13, we encounter Manoah and his wife, who also long for a child. In both cases, angels appear with remarkable announcements, setting into motion God’s plan for His people. In Zechariah’s case, the angel foretells the birth of John the Baptist, who will prepare the way for the Messiah. In the story of Manoah, the angel announces the birth of Samson, a deliverer for Israel. And in the New Testament, the angel Gabriel visits Mary, announcing that she will conceive Jesus, the Saviour of the world.

These angelic visitations share a common thread—they disrupt the ordinary course of life, delivering messages that challenge, inspire, and require faith. The angel Gabriel’s visit to Zechariah, for example, was not merely to announce the birth of a child, but to declare the coming of God's salvation. Similarly, the message to Manoah’s wife was not just about a son, but about the deliverer who would begin Israel’s liberation. The message to Mary, though filled with wonder and awe, was a call to faith that would change the course of history. Each of these angelic encounters brings news of transformation, not just for the individuals involved, but for God’s entire redemptive plan.

Angels are not merely symbols of hope or benign figures of comfort. In Scripture, they are powerful agents of God’s will, breaking into human history at crucial moments to announce divine plans. And these encounters are often awe-inspiring. Whether it’s Zechariah, Manoah, or Mary, the response to an angel’s appearance is typically one of fear. “Do not be afraid,” the angel must assure each of them, acknowledging the overwhelming presence of divine messengers. The first words angels speak in the Bible are often to calm the fear that their presence invokes. The angel Gabriel’s visitation to Mary, for instance, comes with the command: “Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favour with God.” The same words were spoken to Zechariah and Manoah, for angels in Scripture are mighty, awe-inducing figures, not the soft, comforting beings often depicted in popular culture. Nor, as popular culture sometimes suggests, are angels the spirits of our ancestors.  Angels are God’s messengers. They bring divine truth, and that truth often challenges, unsettles, and calls for a response.

But where are the angels today?  If angels no longer appear to us in the same way, how does God communicate with us today? We may not see angels descending from heaven to deliver personal messages – and indeed, angels may be more mythological than real.  But that doesn’t mean God is silent. The ways God communicates with us have shifted from that imagined by the writers of Scripture, but His desire to speak to His people has not changed. 

The most direct way God speaks to us today is through the Scriptures. The Bible, inspired by God, points us to the true Word of God—Jesus Christ. The Scriptures are not in themselves the Word of God, but they are inspired by God, much like a landscape inspires a painter. They invite us into the story of God’s redemptive work, pointing us to Jesus, the Word made flesh, who reveals God’s love and salvation.

The Scriptures guide us in how to live as God’s people, showing us His will and inviting us to trust Him with our lives. Just as Zechariah, Manoah, and Mary received divine messages that shaped the future of God’s people, the Scriptures continue to speak to us today. In them, we find messages of hope, challenge, and transformation that are just as relevant now as they were in biblical times.

Another way God speaks to us is through prayer. In the quiet moments of prayer, God’s voice may not come in a dramatic way, but in a still, small whisper. We may not hear an angel’s trumpet, but we can sense God’s presence in our hearts, through peace, conviction, or unexpected wisdom. Just as Zechariah, Manoah, and Mary had to respond in faith to the angels’ words, we are called to respond in faith when God speaks to us through prayer.

Let us not forget the Holy Spirit. Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would come and dwell within us, guiding us into all truth. The Spirit is God’s presence with us today, and He speaks to us in ways that are deeply personal. Though we may not experience the dramatic encounters of Zechariah, Manoah, or Mary, we have the Holy Spirit living within us, always prompting, guiding, and empowering us for faithfulness.

Finally, God speaks to us through others. Just as the angel brought a message to Zechariah, Manoah, and Mary, God continues to use people around us—friends, pastors, and fellow believers—to speak into our lives. In times of need, a word of encouragement, a Scripture shared, or counsel from a trusted friend can be the very message God wants us to hear.

We may not encounter angels in the same way today, but God still speaks. The message delivered by the angel to Zechariah, Manoah, and Mary lives on in the promises of the Scriptures, in the still, small voice of the Spirit, in the fellowship of believers, and in the quiet moments of prayer. The question is not whether God still speaks, but whether we are listening.

As we reflect on these stories, I invite you to consider how you are hearing God’s voice in your life. Are you waiting for an angelic visitation, or are you listening for God’s voice through the Scriptures, through prayer, through the Spirit, and through others? God is still speaking. Let us tune our hearts to His voice and respond with faith and obedience.

May God give us the grace to hear His voice clearly and to respond, just as Zechariah, Manoah, and Mary did, trusting that His messages are always filled with hope and purpose.  Amen.

Advent 2: Making the crooked paths straight

 Luke 3.1-6  & Malachi 3.1-4

“In the 32nd year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth the 2nd, during the premiership of Margaret Thatcher, when Robert Runcie was the Archbishop of Canterbury, and when Torvill & Dean won gold at the Olympics by dancing to Bolero, the word of God came to Billy Graham at Wembley Stadium.” That’s something like how Luke’s readers would have heard his opening words of chapter 3. 

The problem for Luke was that no-one had come up with the idea of dating years by numbers.  In Luke’s day, events were tied to the reigns or activities of significant people.  Which is why he situates John the Baptiser’s ministry in time with the long list of posh people that I had to read out just now!

Luke wants his readers to know that the events he is reporting can be traced to a particular time and place.  He is saying: “Pay attention!  Listen up!  I’m telling you about something that happened in living memory!  A herald came with an urgent message from God”.  And what was that message?  John the Baptiser quotes Isaiah’s vision of the massive earth-works needed to build a road across a wilderness – reconfiguring the landscape shovelful by shovelful.  Because that ultimately is how you build a kingdom…brick by brick, shovel by shovel, or…if it’s a spiritual Kingdom, person by person, or soul by soul.

The prophet Malachi – who wrote our first reading for today – had similarly dramatic ideas of what God’s coming means:  God is in the precious-metals business, refining, purifying gold and silver by putting it through the fire to reveal its pure state; God is a consuming fire.   

In another stunning image, God is a washerwoman armed with fuller’s soap – not soft, perfumed lavender-scented handwash, but abrasive laundry soap that scrubs and scours.  Fulling is the art of cleansing wool – to strip out all the oils, dirt, manure and other impurities.  Pure white wool has been “fulled” – with some pretty abrasive chemicals!

You see, the transition of society away from his current state to one that looks like the Kingdom of God will not be a gentle affair.  It will require the heat of smelting gold, the acid of Fuller’s soap.  Modern society is not going to give up its languid comfort, easily.  It’s not going willingly reduce the gap between the rich and the poor, the powerful and the powerless.  Western society in particular is not going to transfer its wealth to the poorer nations of the world – even though much of Western society was built on the backs of such nations.  We only have to consider the recent failures of climate and plastics conferences to see how unwilling the West is to shoulder its fair share of worldwide burdens.

In Jesus, Luke sees a vision of the sheer purity that is the goal for all humans. That holiness is what God made us to share when we were made in God’s image.  The very idea of God challenges us to be what we were created to be.  And in Advent, these flamboyant images of fire, scrubbing and highway-engineering describe what it is like to prepare to experience the salvation of God.

Malachi’s name means “my messenger” – and he was part of God’s plan to clean things up.  He roundly condemned the laxity and corruption of the leaders of his day.  John the Baptiser, in the verses that follow today’s reading, goes on to call the people who heard him a ‘brood of vipers’.  If either Malachi or John were around today, they would have many people to hurl such insults at, wouldn’t they?  Corrupt politicians, tyrannical dictators, greedy bankers, ultra-capitalists and extremist preachers.

But John and Malachi would not have confined themselves to the mighty people of society – even if the calendar depended on them!   They would ask not just about bankers, but about how you and I use our wealth and power too.  

It is sobering to consider just how sharply our society is divided between the rich and the poor.   The people who queue in Waitrose and those who queue in food banks are not actually from different species. They are brothers and sisters. One of the core messages of the Gospel is that the rich need to beware of constantly pressing down on the poor – and that’s not just for the sake of the poor.  

The rich will suffer too, in their own way: forced by their own greed to retreat behind their gated community fences, with bars at the window, and paid security guards.  Constantly fearful of being robbed.  Fearfully protecting their land and wealth.  Encumbered by endless bills for staff, maintenance and upkeep of their gilded cages and manicured gardens, barely experiencing their neighbourhood, or their neighbours at all.  How many wealthy people in gated mansions end up dying friendless, or dependent on drugs and alcohol to dim the pain of their separation from others?  If there is one lesson to take from Wolf Hall, which we’ve all been enjoying I guess, is that even being King is not a place of happy contentment!

Christmas is a time for giving.  It is good to give gifts to our families and friends, of course. – because friendship is a wonderful gift to celebrate and strengthen.  But we who are among the wealthiest people in the world can choose to level the playing field, to fill up the valleys of poverty, and lower the mountains of greed.  Shovelful by shovelful.  Pound by pound. Penny by penny.

Perhaps we might add up what we will spend this year on Christmas celebrations, and make a similar donation to charities on top – like the Beacon Food Bank?  Then, people who have no one to give them a gift can receive a gift from us.  Or how about a Christmas donation to the church – so we can continue the task of building the Kingdom here in Havant?

And what does it mean to prepare ourselves spiritually for the coming of the King?  How can the crooked parts of our lives be made straight?  One shovelful at a time – beginning with ourselves.  Perhaps now is a good time to take up reading the bible daily, starting with the Gospels.  Maybe daily bible reading notes would help…there are some examples on the community table in the north aisle.  Perhaps now is the time to say yes to volunteering in the church, the charity shop or the Pallant Centre, in service of our community?

Both John the Baptiser and Jesus himself learned to say ‘Yes’ to the call of God on their lives.  Are we also learning what it means to say ‘Yes’ – Yes to the chance to go deeper, to live more fully, to expand our spiritual horizons – engaging with all the opportunities that there are in this parish for worship of God, and service to our community?

Advent is a call to wake up and respond to God’s initiative.  “In the 3rd year of the reign of Charles the 3rd, when Keir Starmer is the Prime Minister and Justin Welby is still the Archbishop of Canterbury (just) the word of God comes to us: “Prepare ye the way of the Lord.  Make his paths straight.”

On this rock I stand - the intersection between science and religion

 For Thursday 5 Dec 2024

In today’s Gospel, we hear a familiar image from Jesus: “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell—and great was its fall.” (Matthew 7:24-27)

 Today’s Gospel is one of Jesus’ more famous parables.  Did some of you learn the Sunday School hymn: ‘the wise man built his house upon the rock’?  I know I did.  This powerful image, of building our life on rock or on sand, seems to invites us to think about our lives in terms of foundation and stability.  Many a preacher has challenged us, over the years, to ponder the strength of our beliefs when the storms of life come. But I think there is more here than meets the eye. What does it really mean to build on the rock? What does Jesus want us to understand about our faith and its foundation?

When we hear the word “rock,” we might immediately think of certainty, of immovable truths. After all, in our world, certainty feels like security. We crave clarity. We want answers—clear, final, and unshakable. This is true in many parts of our lives, whether in science, philosophy, or religion. We seek to have everything figured out, to hold our beliefs firmly and never waver. We often assume that certainty is what makes a faith solid and secure.

But is that really what Jesus meant? Is the rock about knowing everything, about being sure of all the answers? Is it a call to build our lives on unwavering certainty? Or is it something deeper, something more open?

Franciscan writer, Richard Rohr, challenges us to reconsider this idea. He compares the way many of us approach our faith to the scientific method. Scientists, as he points out, are not afraid of not knowing. They are willing to experiment, to test, and to learn, always open to new discoveries and evidence. Yes, science operates in the material world, but its method—its openness to discovery—is something we might learn from. Scientists move forward with a sense of humility, knowing that their understanding is always subject to change. They’re not afraid to fail, to be wrong, and to revise their theories. They build on what they know, but they don’t assume that everything is already known. And that, I think, is where faith and science intersect: in the willingness to live with mystery, in the trust that the journey of discovery is itself valuable.

Now think about this in relation to our faith. So often, we treat belief like a set of facts to be defended rather than a living, evolving practice. We insist on knowing everything about God, everything about the world, and every answer to every question. We want to be certain that we have it all figured out. But too often, when the storms of life crash around us, we find that our certain faith in, say, a God who answers our prayers, or the God who protects and shields us from harm, or who fights for us on the battlefield becomes severely tested….or it crumbles away.  When the foundations of the faith we have built around us are undermined, rock can quickly turn into sand.

To build on the rock is not to possess all the answers but to trust in the God who is the foundation of all things – the ground of our being.  It is to root ourselves in a faith that is open, humble, and alive, like the scientific method itself—always growing, always learning, always ready for new discoveries. Jesus does not call us to build our lives on sand, which shifts with every new breeze, but on the rock of God’s presence in our lives. This rock is not immovable because it is rigid and unchanging; it is immovable because it is the foundation of trust in the one who holds all things together, seen and unseen.

Think of the great scientists and thinkers of history, those who have transformed the world with their discoveries. They did not start with all the answers. Instead, they approached the world with a sense of wonder and curiosity, with a willingness to experiment, to fail, and to grow. They never stopped asking questions. What they built on was not a fortress of certainty but a foundation of humility and openness to the unknown. They trusted that, even in their uncertainty, they were on a path toward greater truth.

This is the spirit Jesus calls us to: a faith that is not afraid of doubt or failure but is rooted in trust in God’s love, God’s grace, and God’s presence. We are called to build our lives not on the shifting sands of certainty but on the solid rock of faith that is alive, always growing, always transforming. This kind of faith does not ignore the storms of life; it faces them with courage and hope, knowing that no matter how fierce the winds or how deep the floods, we are grounded in the love of God.

And yet, even as we build on this rock, we must remember that the rock is not something we possess in its fullness. We cannot hold it in our hands. We cannot define it in the precise, mathematical way we might like to. The rock is God, the eternal foundation of all things, a foundation that invites us to trust even when we do not have all the answers. It is not a foundation of certainty but of love—love that calls us forward, love that transforms us, love that invites us to take the next step, even when we do not know exactly where it will lead.

When the storms come—and they will come, for that is part of life—we will not fall, not because we know everything, but because we trust in the one who holds us. The rains will fall, the winds will blow, and the floods will rise, but our house will stand, not because we have built it perfectly, but because we have built it on the love and grace of God.

So let us ask ourselves today: what kind of foundation are we building on? Are we building on the rock of trust, of love, of openness to God’s presence in our lives? Or are we building on sand—on rigid certainty, on the illusion that we can control everything? If we are to build a life that stands firm in the face of the storms, we must build on the rock—not of certainty, but of humble trust in the God who is with us, who calls us to grow, to experiment, and to trust in the mystery of life itself.

May we have the courage to build on the rock of faith, always open to the unexpected, always grounded in love, and always trusting that God’s presence will guide us through every storm. Amen.