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.

Safeguarding the Vulnerable: A Church That Protects and Heals

Text: Hebrews 10:11-25 & Mark 13:1-8

Recent events have shaken us, haven’t they? The resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury over safeguarding issues has left us questioning: Is the church truly safe? Can we trust our leaders to protect the vulnerable?

The devastating revelations of abuse — from John Smyth’s manipulation of young people to countless other abuses — are a stark reminder of how far we’ve fallen. The church, a place meant to heal, has become a place of harm for too many.

But here’s the truth: We can do better.  We must do better.

Today, we turn to the Scriptures. We are called to be a community where Christ’s love is more than words. It’s justice. It’s safety. It’s healing. And yes, it’s accountability. This is not a suggestion. It’s a command.

The letter to the Hebrews reminds us that Christ’s perfect sacrifice brings us redemption. You will probably know that that’s a theology I have questions about – but, let’s take it at face value for today.  The point is that the foundational sacrifice of Christ is not just for our individual salvation — it’s about the whole body of Christ. The church must reflect His care for the broken. His protection of the vulnerable. His commitment to justice.

The writer to the Hebrews says that “By a single offering, He has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified” (Hebrews 10:14). Christ’s sacrifice covers us all. And because of it, the church must be a place of refuge for all. A sanctuary. A safe haven for the hurting.

So, what does that look like? It’s more than policies. It’s a culture. A culture where compassion is the norm. Where transparency isn’t a buzzword, but a way of life. Where accountability is non-negotiable.

Every person in our care is precious. Every person. No one is beyond Christ’s love. No one should ever feel unsafe in His house.

Hebrews urges us to draw near to God with a “true heart in full assurance of faith” (Hebrews 10:22). But it’s not just about individual faith. We are called to stir one another to “love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24-25). The church isn’t just a place for personal growth. It’s a place where we protect and strengthen one another. Where we stand together, shoulder to shoulder.

For those who have suffered abuse, the church must be a place of protection — but also of healing. Too often, we’ve failed to act. Too often, we’ve turned a blind eye. The consequences are devastating. When leaders don’t protect the vulnerable, when they turn their faces away from abuse, the church becomes a place of trauma. Not healing.

So, how do we rebuild trust? How do we make the church a true sanctuary once more?

We create a culture where safeguarding is a top priority. Where leadership is accountable. Where everyone is treated with dignity and respect. And most importantly, we listen to those who have been harmed. We believe them. We support them.

In today’s Gospel (Mark 13), Jesus warns us about false messiahs. These aren’t just impostors in the traditional sense. These are abusers — people who exploit trust for personal gain. They may not wear a false crown, but they wear a mask of authority. And they lead others astray.

We’ve seen this all too many times. Mega-church pastors. Leaders of movements. All exposed for their abuses — financial, emotional, sexual. Recently, the founder of Soul Survivor in the UK was forced to step down after such revelations.

Jesus calls us to beware of these false messiahs. Because, just as abuse corrupts, so does the desire for power. Power misused is not the Gospel. Christ came to serve, not to control. To heal, not to harm.

So we must be vigilant. No one in the church should use their position to exploit others. No one. And when it happens, we expose it. We root it out. We do not tolerate it.

But to those who have suffered, we say: We hear you. We believe you. We are committed to doing better.  The church must be a place where victims are believed, where pain is acknowledged, and where healing is possible.

Christ calls us to be agents of reconciliation. The church isn’t a museum for perfect people; it’s a hospital for the broken. But for healing to happen, it requires safe spaces. Spaces where people can come as they are. No fear. Only hope.

Let’s commit to safeguarding the vulnerable. To standing against abuse. To creating a culture where all are treated with dignity, where all are protected, where all are loved. Let’s respond positively to those requests for safeguarding training, and for criminal records checks.  And let’s keep constantly alert to the possibility of abuse, whether physical, financial, emotional or spiritual.

May we be a church where the love of Christ is not just preached, but lived in how we protect, serve, and heal one another.  Amen.

Philemon and the Coming Kingdom

Texts:  The Letter to Philemon and Luke 17.20–25 (See the end of this post for the actual scriptures)

In Paul’s Letter to Philemon, we find a deeply personal message from one Christian to another about a complex issue: slavery. Paul writes to Philemon on behalf of Onesimus, a man who has been his servant, appealing for Philemon’s mercy and even suggesting he treat Onesimus as a brother in Christ. This short letter, often overlooked, raises a fundamental question for us: what does the gospel say about human freedom, justice, and love? And how does that message unfold in the ongoing story of God’s Kingdom?

Let’s begin with a bit of background. In Paul’s day, slavery was woven into society's fabric. Most people would never have questioned it. The church, in fact, has had a difficult history with slavery. At times, Christians used scripture to justify keeping people in bondage, arguing that passages like Paul’s counsel to “be content in all situations” (Philippians 4:11) implied acceptance of social structures as they were. However, as the church developed and the gospel was re-examined through the centuries, some Christians began to realise that scripture also calls us to proclaim freedom to captives and justice for the oppressed. This growing awareness led to the church playing a major role in the abolition of legal slavery.

The Letter to Philemon, then, gives us a window into this evolving understanding. Paul doesn’t outright condemn slavery, but he asks Philemon to consider a different way—to welcome Onesimus not merely as a servant, but as a brother. It’s a challenge to Philemon to see Onesimus in a new light, as someone who deserves dignity and freedom. This approach, in its way, subtly undermines the concept of slavery and points to a radical equality in Christ that we can recognise today as a call for justice.

This idea aligns with Jesus’ words in Luke 17, where he responds to the Pharisees’ question about when the Kingdom of God will come. He says, “The Kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed…for, in fact, the Kingdom of God is among you” (Luke 17:20-21). This message—that God’s Kingdom is not a future event but an unfolding reality within and around us—invites us to live with open eyes and hearts, to constantly seek and nurture signs of God’s justice, mercy, and love in our world.

Jesus doesn’t tell his disciples to wait passively for God’s Kingdom; rather, he invites them to become a part of it. We see the Kingdom when people are treated with respect, when mercy triumphs over judgement, and when love overcomes prejudice. This is what Paul invites Philemon to do: to bring a bit of God’s Kingdom into the world by treating Onesimus as an equal, as a brother. 

Jesus’ words to the Pharisees in Luke 17 remind us that the Kingdom of God is not about waiting for a miraculous event to come to us from the outside. Instead, we are called to participate in the Kingdom as it unfolds around us, to see others as brothers and sisters, and to nurture justice and love.

The Letter to Philemon encourages us to reflect on the ways we view others. Do we see them as “servants,” as people defined by their roles, social status, or background? Or do we see them as brothers and sisters, as fellow bearers of God’s image?

Our faith has developed over the centuries, and so has our understanding of God’s will for justice. In the 18th and 19th centuries, Christians like William Wilberforce in the UK and Harriet Tubman in the United States worked tirelessly to end slavery, driven by a belief that all people were created equal before God. Their work was a response to Jesus’ call to build God’s Kingdom here and now, through love, justice, and mercy.

And so, as we read Paul’s letter today, we are reminded that God’s call to justice is not frozen in time. It grows as we grow in understanding and love. The Kingdom of God is not simply “coming”—it is also already here, waiting for us to take part in it, just as Paul invited Philemon to take a step forward in welcoming Onesimus as an equal.

But, in a week that has seen the resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury, over his failure (more than a decade ago) to sufficiently pursue an abuser of children, we need to acknowledge that the unfolding of the Kingdom is a work in progress.  The kingdom is both 'now' - among us, but also 'not yet' - waiting to be fully revealed.  As that unfolding takes, there will be many mis-steps along the way, because we, like the Archbishop, are fragile human beings.  We are bound to fail.

But look how far we've come.  In the time of Jesus, slavery was considered normal in human society, and children were put to work in the fields as soon as they could walk and pick up crops.  Now, legal forms of slavery are abolished, and children are cherished, educated, and prized - not as labourers, but for their intrinsic humanity. 

There will, however, always be those twisted individuals who profit from modern-day slavery.  There will always be criminals who use organisations like the church (and many other collections of humanity) to prey upon vulnerable children and adults.  Our task, while continuing to unfold the kingdom, is to be alert to such people - constantly on the lookout for those who would undermine and pervert the kingdom of justice, mercy and peace; on our guard for the wolves in sheep's clothing.  That, ultimately, is what the safeguarding process is all about.

So - may we, too, seek to live out this Kingdom, seeing each person we encounter not through labels or roles but as a child of God. And in doing so, may we help to bring about the justice, mercy, and peace that Jesus so often spoke of, the Kingdom of God among us.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Paul’s letter to Philemon – verses 7–20

In this very short letter of the New Testament, Paul writes to his Christian brother, Philemon, begging him to also treat the slave Onesimus as a brother.

I have received much joy and encouragement from your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you, my brother.

For this reason, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love—and I, Paul, do this as an old man, and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus.  I am appealing to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become during my imprisonment. 

Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me. I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you. I wanted to keep him with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced. Perhaps this is the reason he was separated from you for a while, so that you might have him back for ever, no longer as a slave but as more than a slave, a beloved brother—especially to me but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.

So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand: I will repay it. I say nothing about your owing me even your own self. Yes, brother, let me have this benefit from you in the Lord! Refresh my heart in Christ.

Luke 17.20–25

Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God was coming, and he answered, ‘The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, “Look, here it is!” or “There it is!” For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you.’

Then he said to the disciples, ‘The days are coming when you will long to see one of the days of the Son of Man, and you will not see it. They will say to you, “Look there!” or “Look here!” Do not go, do not set off in pursuit. For as the lightning flashes and lights up the sky from one side to the other, so will the Son of Man be in his day.  But first he must endure much suffering and be rejected by this generation.’

Sermon on Willibrord of York and the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20)

Sermon on Willibrord of York and the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20)

Today, as we reflect on the life of Willibrord of York, the missionary bishop and “Apostle to the Frisians,” (the people, not the cows!) we see a man who embraced Christ’s call to “make disciples of all nations” with a remarkable passion.  Matthew 28:16-20, often called the Great Commission, resonates deeply with Willibrord’s life and ministry.  These verses capture the moment when Jesus, standing on the mountain after His resurrection, instructs His disciples to go forth, to baptize, and to teach.  Willibrord took up this commission with fervour, venturing far from his homeland to spread the gospel in what is now the Netherlands. His life offers a powerful example of dedication, faith, and resilience in the face of challenges.

In Matthew 28, Jesus gives a command to “make disciples of all nations,”.  That’s a call to all Christians to go beyond their familiar boundaries in spreading the message of God’s love.  Willibrord answered this call with a heart open to wherever God would lead him. Born in Northumbria, trained in Ireland, and sent to Frisia (modern-day Netherlands), Willibrord left everything familiar to embark on a mission of conversion and education among people who knew little of the Christian faith.

His journey was no easy task. Frisia in the 7th century was a land with a strong pagan tradition, where the message of Christ was unfamiliar and often unwelcome. Willibrord faced resistance, even hostility, and yet he pressed on. This reminds us of the courage it takes to fulfil Jesus’s commission. How often do we hesitate when God calls us to speak to a neighbour, to reach out to someone in need, or to challenge an injustice? Willibrord’s life shows us that the call to “make disciples” is not limited by borders, by language, or by the opinions of others. Rather, it is a call to step out in faith, knowing that Christ’s presence will be with us always.

Then Jesus commanded us to baptise in the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Baptism is the outward symbol of inward transformation, a sacrament that welcomes us into the family of God. For Willibrord, baptism was central to his mission. His work was not just about introducing people to Jesus but about inviting them into a community where they could grow in faith, supported by others. Baptism offered new believers a sense of belonging and identity.

Willibrord’s dedication to baptizing people, despite the cultural and religious barriers he encountered, reminds us of the power of baptism to unite us across differences. Baptism doesn’t erase our unique identities but instead draws us into a shared purpose, giving us the identity of disciples. Through baptism, Willibrord gave the people of Frisia a new spiritual home, a place of belonging. This speaks powerfully to us today, encouraging us to see our baptism not just as a personal milestone but as an invitation into a lifelong journey with a community that supports and challenges us.

The third aspect of the Great Commission was Jesus’ instruction to “teach them to obey everything I have commanded you”.   Jesus’s command includes not only baptizing but also teaching. Willibrord’s missionary work went beyond converting individuals; he was dedicated to instructing them in the teachings of Christ. He established churches, trained leaders, and founded monasteries, understanding that faith needs a foundation built on understanding and wisdom.

In our fast-paced, information-saturated world, we might ask: How are we passing down the teachings of Jesus? Are we fostering a love of Scripture, a commitment to compassion, and a devotion to justice in our communities? Willibrord’s legacy challenges us to be intentional about teaching, not only through words but by modelling lives that reflect Christ’s love. He understood that true discipleship involves a transformation of both mind and heart, and he committed himself to helping others grow in their understanding of God’s Word.

At the end of the Great Commission – Jesus offer a promise: “Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age”.  Perhaps one of the most comforting aspects of the Great Commission is that very promise to be with us “to the end of the age.” This promise gave Willibrord strength through many trials, knowing that he was not alone. History tells us that he faced setbacks, exile, and even physical threats, yet he kept moving forward. His resilience reminds us that Christ’s presence is not dependent on our circumstances. It is with us in every season, every struggle, and every triumph.

Willibrord’s perseverance is a testament to the enduring promise of Jesus’s companionship. We may not face the exact struggles he did, but we all encounter moments of doubt, loneliness, or challenge in our journey of faith. In those times, Jesus’s promise to be with us “to the end of the age” is a source of unshakeable hope. Willibrord trusted that Jesus would sustain him, and this allowed him to be bold and unafraid, even when his mission seemed uncertain.

So how can we live the Great Commission today?

Willibrord’s life urges us to consider how we might embody the Great Commission in our own context. Not all of us are called to leave our homes or travel to distant lands. Yet, each of us is called to make disciples by sharing God’s love, inviting others into community, and teaching through our words and actions. Perhaps it’s through mentoring someone younger, reaching out to someone who feels lost, or standing up for justice in our local community. Each of these actions is part of the work to which Jesus has called us.

Willibrord’s legacy teaches us that missionary work is not just about crossing physical borders but about crossing boundaries of fear, prejudice, and indifference. He reminds us that the Great Commission is lived out in everyday acts of kindness, in our willingness to serve, and in our commitment to growing in faith and love.

In closing, as we remember Willibrord and his remarkable dedication, may you be inspired to carry out the Great Commission in your own life. May you go forth with courage, baptizing in love, teaching with wisdom, and trusting that Christ’s presence will sustain us, now and always. Like Willibrord, may you be faithful ambassadors of the gospel, bringing the light of Christ to every corner of our world.  Amen.

The Cost of Discipleship

The Cost of Discipleship – A Reflection with Archbishop William Temple

(For the University of Winchester on 6 Nov 2024 - the Commemoration of William Temple)

Scripture: Luke 14:25-33

In today’s passage, Jesus speaks about the cost of discipleship in stark terms: “Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:27). For those of us in academic settings, where reason, analysis, and pursuit of knowledge are daily practices, these words are a call to reflect deeply on the nature of commitment. Jesus is asking us not merely for belief, but for an allegiance that may require the sacrifice of everything we hold dear.

Archbishop William Temple, a towering figure in 20th-century Anglican thought, provides an invaluable perspective on this radical call. Temple is particularly known for linking Christian faith with a responsibility to act in society.  Notably, he was influential in the political debates which led to the creation of a welfare state, and the National Health Service, after the Second World War.  Temple’s perspective encourages us to apply our intellect and talents in service to the common good, not just personal advancement. His work reminds us that Christianity is not a private faith, nor a comfortable affiliation, but a way of life that requires an alignment between what we believe and how we live.

If you’ll allow me, I have three areas of focus I’d like to explore briefly.  First, I want to to ask what radical discipleship looks like.  Secondly, I’d like to ask how we can align our faith with our intellect.  And finally, I’d like to explore what Sacrifice and Solidarity with the Marginalized looks like.

1. A Vision of Radical Discipleship

William Temple’s writings often highlight the societal implications of the Christian life. In his influential work Christianity and Social Order, Temple makes the case that Christianity must extend beyond the walls of the church to transform the wider world. This notion complements Jesus’ call to discipleship in Luke 14:25-33. Temple asserts that a Christian’s devotion should not only be personal but should radiate outward, impacting communities and systems of society.

Temple’s vision of radical discipleship means that counting the cost, as Jesus commands, includes not just personal sacrifices but the courage to challenge injustice in society. In a university context, where ideals of fairness, truth, and progress are upheld, Temple’s insights remind us that discipleship demands more than intellectual assent; it demands action. For Temple, if our faith is real, it will lead us to care deeply about the conditions of others’ lives, to strive for justice, and to make sacrifices for the sake of the oppressed and marginalized.

Temple’s thought encourages students and academics to reflect on how our intellectual pursuits might serve the common good, extending the meaning of discipleship to embrace social, economic, and ethical concerns. This is costly because it may require us to question our assumptions, to make decisions that prioritize others’ needs over our own success, and to advocate for truth and justice, even when it is inconvenient or unpopular.

2. The Alignment of Faith and Intellect

One of the great challenges for university students and academics is finding harmony between intellectual rigor and faith. In his writings, Temple held that faith and intellect are not opposites but partners. He argued that the search for truth, wherever it may lead, is ultimately a search for God, for “all truth is God’s truth.” His theological framework sees God not only as the ultimate truth but as the foundation for all truth we seek to understand in every discipline—be it science, philosophy, or literature.

Temple’s perspective can help us understand Jesus’ command to "count the cost" as an invitation to examine not only our hearts but also our minds. For Temple, the intellect is a sacred gift to be used in service to God and others. When we commit ourselves to discipleship, it means dedicating our studies, research, and teaching to principles of truth, justice, and compassion. This may mean using our academic platform to speak out against unfair practices, whether in research ethics, social policies, or educational access.

In a society that often values intellectual prestige and individual accomplishment, Temple’s view of discipleship challenges us to ask hard questions: How do my studies contribute to the greater good? Does my research serve the common welfare, or merely my personal ambition? The cost of discipleship, therefore, includes aligning our intellect with our faith, and sometimes choosing paths of scholarship or professional action that might be less profitable or popular but more faithful.

3. Sacrifice and Solidarity with the Marginalized

Archbishop Temple was deeply concerned with the well-being of society’s most vulnerable. He argued that “the church exists primarily for those who are outside it,” reflecting the outward focus of a true disciple. This idea aligns with Jesus’ message in Luke 14:27 about “carrying the cross.” For Temple, carrying our cross means standing in solidarity with the marginalized, advocating for economic fairness, and challenging structures that perpetuate inequality.

In academic life, where resources, access, and prestige can create significant divides, Temple’s reflections push us to consider how we might “carry our cross” in a context that values competition and individual success. Discipleship might mean choosing to use our privilege to support others, to create opportunities for underrepresented voices, and to uplift the marginalized within our institutions and communities. As Temple writes, “Social welfare is rooted in a theology of incarnation”—a theology that sees God as deeply concerned with the material and social realities of all people.

Temple’s emphasis on social responsibility speaks to us in concrete terms: our faith requires us to live sacrificially, even in our educational and professional pursuits. We must be willing to consider how we can use our influence to advocate for policies that protect the vulnerable, to ensure access to resources and knowledge, and to build inclusive communities. This type of cross-bearing might not come with public recognition, but it is, in Temple’s words, an offering to God and to our neighbour.

Conclusion: A Call to Transformative Discipleship

As we reflect on Jesus’ words in Luke 14:25-33, informed by William Temple’s teachings, we are called to consider how discipleship might transform every area of our lives, including our academic pursuits. The cost is high, but the reward—participating in God’s vision of justice, love, and truth—is profound.

Temple’s perspective challenges us not only to “count the cost” of discipleship in our personal lives but to see it as a vocation that demands integrity, courage, and compassion in all spheres. For university students and academics, this means thinking critically about how our studies, our research, and our influence can contribute to a world that reflects God’s love and justice. It calls us to be both scholars and servants, to let our intellect be guided by a faith that seeks the well-being of all.

In a world that often prizes self-interest, Temple’s vision of discipleship is a reminder that following Jesus is countercultural and costly. Yet it is precisely this radical commitment that Jesus invites us to embrace—a commitment that seeks not only personal growth but the transformation of society in the name of love and truth. May you have the courage to answer this call, bearing the cross with hope, humility, and a vision of the Kingdom that Temple so passionately believed in. 

The Raising of Lazurus - a sermon for All Saints Sunday

Text: John 11.32-44.

Here’s a little conundrum…what is John’s story of the raising of Lazurus doing as our Gospel reading for All Saints Sunday?  All Saints is an opportunity to think about, and celebrate, the promise of eternal life for all those who trust in God, and who receive his freely-offered gift of life.  It’s a Sunday when we are reminded of the ‘great cloud of witnesses’ in the heavenly places with the risen and ascended Lord.  Orthodox believers would remind us that it’s an opportunity to remember that while we celebrate this Eucharist on earth, Jesus eternally celebrates it in heaven with ‘all the Saints who from their labours rest’.

So with all that heavenly imagery, why does the Lectionary invite us to consider the story of the raising of Lazurus?  There are, after all, many other passages which might have been chosen, with a much more heavenly-focus.  What, for example, about that passage which is read at so many funerals, from John 14, when Jesus says that he is going to make a place for us in his ‘Father’s house of many mansions’.  Or what about Jesus’ promise to the repentant thief on the cross that ‘Today you will be with me in paradise?

The raising of Lazurus, by comparison to these eternal mysteries, seems somewhat of a let-down, doesn’t it?  After all, Lazurus was not carried off into heaven to be with all the saints.  Neither was he resurrected with a new body, as was to happen to Jesus (the first born from the dead).  The story of Lazurus is a story of resuscitation.  Not resurrection.  Lazurus was restored to his previous life.  He would still go on to die, just like all of us.

But this is no ordinary resuscitation.  And it is on that fact that we are invited to dwell, for a few moments.  First of all, Lazurus had been dead for many days, by the time Jesus got there.  In fact, Jesus took his own sweet time to get there…not exactly hurrying…precisely to allow enough time to pass.  We know this because when he commands the stone to be rolled away, Martha protests: ‘Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days’.  (Incidentally, I rather like the Authorised translation of that line:  ‘Lord, he stinketh!’).

All this detail is given to us, by John, to make sure that there can be no doubt of the impossibility of what Jesus is about to do.  Human beings can be resuscitated after death, as we know only too well in our modern world of defibrillators and first aid training.  Quite possibly, even at the time of Jesus, a few people had been revived (after drowning, perhaps).  But not after four days! What Jesus is about to accomplish is beyond any human understanding.  He has the power to revive a body which ‘stinketh’ – in which the break-down of matter has already begun in earnest.  John wants us to see that Jesus can interrupt this process, and even reverse it.  He can bring back a man who was terminally sick, and whose body is corrupting, completely back to life!

Jesus himself gives us another clue as to what he is doing.  Praying publically to his Father in heaven, he says “have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me”.  Jesus wants everyone to see, witness and record his complete mastery of even the normal process of death.  More than that, he wants this moment to be a moment that builds faith.  He wants everyone to believe that God has sent him.

So that’s why we are asked to contemplate this story on the Festival of All Saints!   All the stuff about heaven, and the glorious but incomprehensible pictures of angels and saints in eternal Eucharist is all very nice – but it’s not something we can really relate too.  We know, instinctively, that all the metaphors of houses with many mansions, and heavenly Jerusalems coming out of the sky, streets paved with gold and days in paradise are just that: metaphors.  They are images which help us to see, poetically, beyond the veil of our physical existence into a dimension that we are not yet equipped to understand at all.

But Jesus raising a stinking corpse from the grave.  That we can see, through John’s eyes as our reliable witness.  That we can understand.  That gives us something solid and tangible to hold onto.  As Jesus says in chapter 14 of the same gospel, he is the way, the truth and the life.  Our hope of heaven is given real and tangible form through observing the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  It is on Jesus that we pin our own hopes to join the heavenly feast. It is through Jesus that God offers us the ‘sanctification’ by which we also can become ‘sancti-ficavit’ – which means, ‘made holy’:  that is ‘made saints’.  And his raising of Lazurus, surrounded by witnesses, recorded for our benefit by John, gives us hope – real and tangible hope – that in Jesus we can trust, and that we too, by God’s grace alone, may one day be counted among All the Saints.  Amen.

Halloween – it’s not all bad!

 A few days ago, the staff of our charity shop received a drubbing from one of their customers, because of the window display, featuring some Harry Potter imagery, marking Halloween.  It is, I’m afraid, common among certain branches of the church to condemn Harry Potter and other such tales because of the references to magic, and to evil.  Sadly, many who criticise it, especially from within the Christian Community, have only a scant understanding of the content of the books – which are essentially about the great struggle between good and evil, set within a fantastical framework.  They miss the fact that Harry Potter is a good guy, a good guy who ultimately gives up his life for his friends, following the example of Jesus Christ, in order to defeat evil.  One wonders whether such critics of Harry Potter would also condemn the Bible, because of its inclusion of stories about the Devil!

So, today, on Halloween, let’s ponder this celebration that many of us know well, but few really undertand. Halloween has become synonymous with costumes, sweets, and eerie decorations, but behind such paraphernalia lies a rich history - and an opportunity for thoughtful reflection for Christians.

The roots of Halloween go back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced “sown” by celtic speakers today).  ‘Sown’ marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. For the Celts, this was a time when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest, allowing spirits of the dead to return. To protect themselves, people would wear costumes and light bonfires to ward off any harmful spirits. 

When Christianity spread through Celtic regions, the Church adopted elements of Samhain and incorporated them into its own traditions – essentially ‘hollowing’ them:  giving them a holy, or hallowed purpose. So, November 1st became All Saints’ Day, a day to honour all the saints and martyrs who had gone before. In old English, they were the ‘hallowed’ ones – the holy ones.  The night before, October 31st, became known as All Hallows’ Eve (or Even) eventually shortened to “Halloween.”  This blending of practices is a recurring theme in Christianity’s history: it’s a willingness to embrace aspects of cultural traditions and to imbue them with new meaning.  The date of Christmas is another very good example – coming at the winter solstice, when the days begin to lengthen, Christians took the ancient feast of Saturnalia, and hallowed it by reference to the Light of Christ coming into the world…defeating the darkness.

In modern times, Halloween has evolved into a secular holiday in many parts of the world. Children dress up as superheroes or monsters, families carve pumpkins, and households open their doors to trick-or-treaters. For some, Halloween is just harmless fun, but for others, it can feel at odds with Christian values. All those ghosts, skeletons, and witches, coupled with the focus on fear and death, may seem to glorify the dark and the supernatural.

Yet as Christians, we’re encouraged to look beyond surface-level interpretations and ask deeper questions. Could Halloween be an opportunity for us to reflect on our mortality, on good and evil, and on our own Christian calling? How might we approach Halloween in a way that honours our faith?

Halloween, for all its frights, reminds us that life is fleeting. This isn’t a theme unique to Halloween; scripture too reminds us of our limited time on earth. In Psalm 39:4 for example, we read, “Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days.”  Halloween, then, can be a cultural moment to acknowledge our human limits and even the inevitability of death—not to be morbid, but to gain a sense of perspective, gratitude, and humility. In reflecting on our mortality, we can also embrace our hope in the resurrection, for as Christians, death is not the end. Halloween can be a time to remind ourselves that we believe in a God who conquers death.

Then there’s the aspect of good and evil. Through costumes and stories, Halloween often dramatizes the struggle between light and dark, good and evil. This can be a teachable moment: we know that our faith calls us to live in the light and to love one another. Ephesians 5:8 encourages us, saying, “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.” Halloween can serve as a playful reminder of this, showing us that although we may be surrounded by symbols of darkness, we are called to walk in the light, girded with all the armour of God, as the letter to the Ephesians goes on.

Instead of seeing Halloween as something inherently “bad” or to be avoided, I suggest that Christians might see it as a chance to participate in community, to practice hospitality, and to celebrate creativity. When we open our doors to trick-or-treaters, we create moments of kindness and welcome. When we decorate or join in costume-play, we join in the cultural expression of playfulness and imagination. 

And, as we reflect on the themes of Halloween, we can also seek to educate others gently. We can explain that while we may dress as “scary” characters, we do not celebrate or promote darkness. Instead, we can embrace Halloween as a time to remember that God’s love shines even in the darkest places, that our faith calls us to kindness and compassion, and that, ultimately, we have nothing to fear.

Perhaps you’re wondering how to celebrate Halloween in a way that’s both fun and mindful?  Well, here are a few suggestions:

1. Engage with Gratitude: Use Halloween as a moment to reflect on the saints and loved ones who have passed on. Consider lighting a candle or saying a prayer of thanks for those who have come before you.

2. Practice Generosity: When giving out treats or participating in community events, use it as a chance to practice generosity. Halloween is a wonderful time to model kindness in our neighbourhoods.

3. Offer Positive Alternatives: If some traditional Halloween imagery doesn’t feel comfortable, consider offering alternative symbols. Pumpkins, harvest themes, and costumes of positive role models are just a few ways to keep Halloween fun and uplifting.

4. Hold onto Hope: Remind yourself and others that, even as we face symbols of death, fear, and darkness, our faith is one of hope and love. Jesus himself reminded us in John 8:12, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

In conclusion, then, Halloween need not be a source of worry for Christians. Instead, it can be a chance to embrace our faith’s themes of light, life, and hope. We can remember that our God is with us in all things, even in times of fear, and that we are called to reflect that light to others. By choosing to engage thoughtfully and generously, we can make Halloween a time of welcome, reflection, and joyful connection in our community.  Which is why I’m 100 per cent behind our charity shop manager – even if she is my wife!

‘Teach me O Lord, the way of thy statutes’ - Bible Sunday 2024

‘Teach me O Lord, the way of thy statutes’.  Which statutes, though?  Do we mean the ones about not wearing two kinds of cloth, or the one about not planting two types of crop next to each other.  How about the prohibition on eating pork – no more sausages?  Or shellfish (there goes the Emsworth Oyster-beds!). How about the statute about stoning your child to death if he blasphemes the law.  It turns out that identifying which of the Bible’s statutes are divine, and which are man-made, is a tricky business.

According to one survey, the Bible has sold more than 6 billion copies in more than 2,000 languages and dialects. Whatever the precise figure, the Bible is by far the bestselling book of all time.   On the other hand, the Bible is also the least read book in the world!  Very few Bibles ever get opened.  They are often given as gifts.  But, unfortunately, they often remain as pristine as the day they are given.

            Why is this? There are a number of reasons.  Sometimes the translations of the Bible are just too difficult, and too archaic for modern minds to grasp.   Other people find that they do try to start reading the Bible.  But they soon get lost in a sea of numbers and laws. 

            In my experience, if that’s YOU, you will undoubtedly be a good Christian. You will be someone who tries to follow Jesus every day. And yet, you will be carrying around this weight of guilt that you never actually open your Bible.

            So, how am I to respond to this fact? How would you expect me to react? Perhaps I should pull myself up to my full height and call you all 'Sinners!'? 

            Hmm...I'm not sure that would help very much, would it? Because, actually, if you are one of those who finds the Bible difficult to read...I agree with you!  The Bible is not a novel. It's not even a newspaper. Some people have described the Bible as 'the Maker's Instructions'. But for many, it’s the kind of instructions which come with those packages we sometimes get from foreign countries:  ...like this bit of helpful instruction from a computer hard-drive I recently purchased:  "More simple under USB interface, it only can do until the 3rd step and deleted is present channel”.  And let’s be honest – that’s how some of us hear the Bible.  I know – I watch those eyes glazing over!

            But the Bible is not an instruction manual. Neither is it a well-planned novel from a single writer, who sets out to tell a story. Instead, it is a collection of writings, 66 letters and books, assembled over a period of about 1,600 years. (The word Bible itself means ‘library’ – and is a word preserved by the French ‘biblioteque’ for those who remember their O level French!).  It contains legal codes, songs and poetry, prophecy, myths, history, stories and some pretty complex and sometimes competing theological ideas. Sometimes these different genres are separate. Sometimes they are all woven into just one of the books!

            At this morning’s service, Bishop John Hind offered a very fruitful analogy – that of a garden.  He described how the Bible, like a garden, has some beautiful flower borders, but also some wild patches, a few weeds, and even a compost heap.  Each one of them contributes to the overall beauty and diversity of the garden.  But some parts of it, should be entered with care.

            So should we just not bother with the hard work of reading the Bible? No. One of the things that the Protestant Reformation gave us, was access to the precious pages of Scripture for ourselves. With that access comes the chance to grow daily in our understanding of God. 

But, the church Fathers of old were right about one thing. They knew that, unless properly understood, the Bible can be so easily mis-interpreted, mis-used and manipulated.  That’s why many of the church leaders at the time of the Reformation were very worried about the advent of the printing press.  Direct access to Scripture is why the quote "you shall not suffer a witch to live" was used so mercilessly throughout the Middle Ages.  It's why the letter to Philemon was used for so long as a justification for slavery.  It’s why the letters of St Paul are still used to silence women’s voices in some church leadership circles, and to denigrate people of minority gender identities or sexual orientations.  It is too easy to take a line or phrase from one of the Bible’s many competing voices to justify your personal biases and prejudices.

            The underlying problem is that in some very loud quarters of the church, the Library of books, stories, myths, laws, poems and theology we have inherited has gained a status which it does not claim for itself.  Some of the loudest voices declare that the ‘Library’ is ‘the Word of God’…as if God had personally written down his thoughts for us, as fully- formed instructions for us to follow slavishly. 

            Well…I might be about to shock you now.  My view is that the Bible is NOT the word of God.   Rather, it is a collection of writings – Scriptures - which point us towards the actual Word of God – the Logos, the wisdom, the statutes of God – who is Jesus Christ.   

            For it is in Jesus Christ that the Scriptures find their target, and their fulfilment.  In that one divinely inspired man, who embodied the very essence of God, we find the inspiration and the focus of the whole Library of writings we call The Bible.  He is both the author and the perfector of our faith – the first and the last.  He inspired the writers of the Bible, like a beautiful mountainside inspires a painter. The painter will never be able to record the deep reality of the mountain in his view.  He’ll never know how many blades of grass there are, or how many insects are buried in its soil.  But the mountain may inspire the painter to create a facsimile, a shadow, and an accurate impression of it.  And through his teachings, his life, his death and his ongoing inspiration – Jesus, inspires us ever up the mountain to the sun-lit uplands of our Faith.  Amen. 

Vanity, vanity, all is vanity!

 It's all meaningless!

Time marches on.  We are already in autumn, and, incredibly, we are starting to think about Christmas, already.  Over in our charity shop, Clare has already unpacked the Christmas gifts she’s been saving up for people to buy.  And it’s still September, for goodness sake.  As the Teacher of Ecclesiastes grimly reminds us, nothing actually changes in reality.  There is a time for everything under the sun, and just as the earth orbits the Sun for another year, so the time for all things will come again.  Time to sow, time to reap, time to live and time to die. 

The Book of Ecclesiastes is a puzzling inclusion in the canon of Scripture.  But it is well worth considering as the year marches forward to its inevitable conclusion.  It starts with those strident lines, ‘Vanity, vanity, all is vanity!’ and the startling statement, by a biblical text, that ‘there is nothing new under the Sun’.  The translation of the Hebrew word hevel as vanity is somewhat disputed.  It literally translates as “breath” or "vapour".  Figuratively, it can be translated to mean “vain”, but also "insubstantial", "futile", or "meaningless".

So much of Scripture has a trajectory through time.  Its grand narrative is of a Universe created from nothing, then the coming of life, the arrival of sin, then its redemption and ultimately the completion of all things in a new heaven and a new earth.  There is a direction of travel, through the pages of Scripture.  We are encouraged to hold on to the coat-tails of history as we traverse a part of that great road to the future.  But the writer of Ecclesiastes, who may have been King Solomon, has an entirely different view of history.  For him, history repeats itself.  It goes round and round.  And none of it really matters.  It’s all meaningless, futile; vanity.  He underlines his view with some really dark comments.  Like these, (from chapter 1):

“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun” (verse 9).

“Is there a thing of which it is said ‘See, this is new’?  It has already been, in the ages before us” (verse 10)

And then, even more bleakly, “The people of long ago are not remembered, nor will there be any remembrance of people yet to come by those who come after them” (verse 11).

Even more bleakly, the writer of Ecclesiastes notices the reality of oppression in our world.  In chapter 4, he says this:

“I saw all the oppressions that are practiced under the sun.  Look, the tears of the oppressed – with no-one to comfort them!  On the side of their oppressors there was power – with no-one to comfort them.  And I thought of the dead, who have already died, more fortunate than the living, who are still alive; but better than both is the one who has not yet been, and has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun”!

As we look back over the awful events of the last year, especially in Ukraine, in Israel and Palestine, in the Yemen, in Sudan and in many other places – we can see exactly what The Teacher means, can’t we?  He is right that power often leads to oppression.  He is right that the most fortunate person is perhaps the one not yet born – the one who has not had to witness the evil deeds that are done under the sun.  He is also right about the circularity of these things – the present wars and conflicts are but the latest examples of such battles in, quite often, the self-same lands.  The quest for power – to have it, to exercise it, to use it for one’s own benefit is at the heart of all such conflict.  It is all futile.  All vanity.  For every tyrant will die.  Every state will crumble.  Every political movement will founder on the rocks of time and reality.

So what is there for us to cling to, amid such a bleak assessment of the passing of time.  Only God.  At the very end of his book, the Teacher offers us this thought:

“[This is] the end of the matter, all has been heard.  Fear God, and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of everyone.  For God will bring every deed into judgement, including every secret thing, whether good or ill”.

In the end, God. God is the author of all, the perfector of all, the judge of all.  God is the yardstick against which every human action is measured – however often that action is repeated in the cycle of history.  God may be a real, living entity, the source of all things, the ground of all being.  Or God may be an idea, an insistence upon the human condition, a constant story against which all human action can be weighed, measured and judged.  But what history demands of you and I, what the ceaseless round of orbits round the Sun teaches us, is that only that there is only one constant presence, one constant idea, one constant Word worth our attention, our commitment, our effort and our life.  It is God.  In the end, it is God. Amen

A Just Harvest

 The Harvest of Grace and Justice

In our globalized world, the food we enjoy often comes from far beyond our shores.  I’m a huge fan of buying locally, whenever possible – because local food is good for local farmers, and better for the environment.  But modern diets, and modern food production, means that we’ve become addicted to things like coffee, tea, chocolate and bananas which can’t be grown locally to us.  And so, we find, we are intimately connected – at the level of our stomachs – with people all over the world.  The way such people are treated matters.  It matters at the deep level of social justice.  So, today, we are invited to not only celebrate the harvest but to think deeply about how our choices can help bring justice to those who labour for it. This is where the theme of Fairtrade becomes essential.

Just as the farmer tends the soil, we are called to tend the plants of justice and fairness for those whose labour is often unseen and undervalued.  So, let us explore this idea of a just and bountiful harvest—one that nourishes both body and soul. 

The first thing required of us, as people of God, is that we should sow in Faith.  The scriptures remind us that sowing and reaping are not just about agriculture but about the kingdom of God. In Paul's letter to the Galatians, we read, “…whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (Galatians 6:7).  But, just like the farmer who waits patiently for the harvest, the seeds of justice and fairness take time to bear fruit.  Fairtrade reminds us of this reality. It is a movement built on faith, patience and hope—working to ensure that farmers and producers, especially in developing nations, receive a fair price for their labour.   Fairtrade ensures that their communities can flourish, that their children can go to school, and that they can live in dignity.

SO we ‘sow in faith’.  And we must also ‘reap justly’.   Everything we receive is a gift from God. There is nothing you own which comes to you by right.  It comes because you were blessed enough to have rich ancestors, or to live in a country with a national pension scheme, or to work for an employer whose greed was, or is, tempered by a national minimum wage.  Or because you had a free education which helped you succeed in life.  But these gifts are not given for us alone. They are entrusted to us so that we might share them generously and justly with others.

In the Bible, the idea of justice is inseparable from the idea of the harvest. In Leviticus, God instructs the Israelites: “When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Leave them for the poor and for the foreigner residing among you” (Leviticus 23:22). The idea is clear—our harvest, whether literal or metaphorical, is not for us alone.  It is meant to be shared, especially with the vulnerable.

Fairtrade is a modern expression of this ancient biblical principle. It ensures that the fruits of the earth are shared more justly, allowing those who are often marginalized—smallholder farmers, workers in far-flung places—to enjoy the dignity of their labour.  By supporting Fairtrade, we participate in a system that aligns with God’s vision of justice, where no one is left behind, and everyone has a fair share in the earth’s bounty.

When we choose Fairtrade products, we are choosing to stand with those who work tirelessly in fields, plantations, and factories. We are choosing to acknowledge their humanity, their right to a decent livelihood, and their role in God’s creation.

So we sow in faith, and we reap justly.  And both of these are underpinned by a call to generosity. Generosity is a central theme of Harvest, and it is deeply connected to the idea of justice. The more we recognize the abundance that God has given us, the more we are called to share it with others. In 2 Corinthians 9:10, we read: “He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness.”  This is not just a material promise but a spiritual one. When we give generously of our time, talents, and treasures, God multiplies our efforts in ways we cannot even imagine.

But generosity is not just about giving from our abundance. It is about giving in ways that ensure justice. Fairtrade invites us to think about generosity not just as charity, but as basic fairness. We are not simply giving to others (by paying a little more for our luxuries); we are recognizing that they, our neighbours in other lands, deserve a fair share of the world's resources. We are ensuring that the harvest is just, not just for ourselves but for those who often labour unseen and unheard.

So we sow in faith, we reap justly, we’re called to generosity, and, finally, harvest is “a Call to Community”.  Let’s remember that the harvest is not a solitary endeavour. It takes a community to bring in the crop. Likewise, our faith is not lived in isolation. We are called to walk alongside one another, bearing each other’s burdens, rejoicing in each other’s joys, and, yes, harvesting together.

Fairtrade is also about building community—global community. It reminds us that we are connected to people we will never meet but whose labour makes our lives possible. Sometimes, when leading assemblies, I like to remind children of how many people are involved in the production of a tin of beans.  It’s quite startling, when you think about it.  The farmer relies on the tractor-maker, and the manufacturer of fertilizer (who in turn rely on a whole network of suppliers).  Once the beans are harvested, they are cooked, and combined with other ingredients from other fields, by skilled cooks and manufacturers.  But that’s not the end of it.  For a portion of baked beans to get to your table requires miners to dig the metal for the tin, smelters to make the can, paper-producers to make the label, ink producers to print the label.  Then lorry drivers are needed to get it to your supermarket, on roads built by labourers, in supermarkets built by construction workers, where shelf-stackers place it where you’ll find it.  Then, you get it home, to find you need electricity or gas suppliers, and saucepan makers to heat the beans up to eat them.  And detergent and water suppliers to clean the plate afterwards. 

Whether it is the farmer in the field, the worker in a factory, or the one who sets the table, we are all connected in this intricate web of life. Fairtrade strengthens that web by ensuring that everyone, from the smallest farmer to the largest consumer, is treated with dignity.  If anyone in that vast community of people is not rewarded fairly for their contribution, then you have exploited their labour.  It’s unintentional, of course.  But the exploitation is real.  Fairtrade helps us to ensure that no-one suffers along the supply-line to our dinner tables.

So, this harvest, we are called to sow in faith and to reap justly.  And we are called to live generously and in community.  May each of us make the changes we ought to make today.  Given the choice between goods made through the exploitation of others, and those whose makers and growers have been fairly rewarded – let’s make the right choices, as we all run over to Waitrose after the service!  May the harvest we celebrate today be one that reflects the faith, justice, generosity and community at the heart of the kingdom of God. Amen.