Cuthbert: A Radical Call to Reclaim Lost Sheep

A sermon for the feast day of Cuthbert, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Missionary, d.687 (20 March)

Texts: 2 Corinthians 6.1–10 and Matthew 18.12–14

By any modern standards, Cuthbert is a very odd fellow indeed.  Picture him, the monk, the bishop, the hermit, alone on his windswept Inner Farne, puffins alone for companions, the wild North Sea a constant, rhythmic prayer. He remembers the sheep he tended as a boy, the visions that called him from the hills of his youth, the long, arduous journeys that led him to Lindisfarne, and then, finally, to this solitary refuge. He remembers the faces of those he served, his silent communion with the creatures of the shore.  He reflects on the unwavering call of a God that echoed in the crashing waves and the cries of the gulls. He is Saint Cuthbert, a soul forged in the crucible of wind and wave, a life etched in the stark beauty of the northern landscape, a testament to the power of a simple, radical faith.

We gather today, on this feast day of one of the greatest of Britain’s saints, not to merely recall a figure from a distant age, but to ignite within ourselves the spark of his radical spirit. We stand here, on the cusp of spring, a time of renewal, and we consider the life of a man who embodied that very renewal, a man whose life speaks to us with a startling clarity.  We’ll think about Cuthbert together, but through the lens of the readings we’ve just heard – through Paul's urgent plea to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 6:1-10) and Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep. (Matthew 18:12-14.)

First Paul, who implores his readers, including us, “not to receive God’s grace in vain.” He lays bare the trials of ministry: affliction, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labours, sleepless nights, hunger.  And yet, amidst this litany of suffering, he proclaims the paradoxical reality of the Christian life: we are “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything.”

Cuthbert: the shepherd boy, like King David, who became a monk, a bishop, a hermit. He knew hardship. He knew the biting winds of the North Sea, the isolation of Inner Farne, the weight of leadership. Yet, in that very isolation, in that very simplicity, he found a profound connection with the divine. He knew the joy of communion with God in the wild, the solace of the sea birds, the quiet strength of the earth. And he made many rich in their hearts by the depth of his connection to the Divine, hard-won, on the stark North sea coast.

In this age of rampant consumerism and ecological devastation, we have so much to learn from Cuthbert’s reverence for creation. He understood the natural world as a sacred space, a testament to God’s boundless love, and not merely a resource to be exploited.  He lived a life of radical simplicity, a life that challenged the prevailing norms of his time, just as it challenges ours.

By complete contrast, we are bombarded with messages that tell us we are not enough, that we need more, that happiness lies in material possessions. But Cuthbert, like Paul, understood that true wealth lies not in what we possess, but in what we give. He gave his life to God, to his community, to the very land he walked upon.

Then let’s turn to Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep. He tells us that if a shepherd has a hundred sheep and one goes astray, he will leave the ninety-nine and go in search of the lost one. That is the radical, unrelenting love of God. A love that leaves the comfortable flock to seek out the marginalized, the forgotten, the broken.

Cuthbert, in his own way, embodied this relentless pursuit of the lost. He was a pastor who cared deeply for his flock, who sought out the spiritual well-being of every soul under his care. He was a leader who understood that true leadership is about service, not power.

Today, we are surrounded by lost sheep. We see them in the faces of the homeless, the refugees, the victims of injustice. We see them in the eyes of those who have been marginalized and excluded by the very institutions that claim to represent God.

The church, at times, has been guilty of neglecting these lost sheep. We have become too comfortable within our walls, too concerned with maintaining our own power and privilege. Too concerned about our internal battles for our traditions and for our particular ideas about God.  We have forgotten the radical call of Jesus to go out into the world and seek the lost.

Cuthbert’s life is a challenge to us. It is a call to reclaim the lost sheep, to stand in solidarity with the marginalized, to live lives of radical simplicity and ecological responsibility. It is a call to be, as Paul urges, “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything.”

This is not a call to passive piety. My friends, our faith calls us to more than just attending church.  Cuthbert, Paul and Jesus call us to action.  It is a call to be agents of change, to be beacons of hope in a world that is fast losing that hope.  It is a call to live our faith with courage and conviction, to embrace the paradox of the Christian life, to find joy in sorrow, strength in weakness, and abundance in simplicity.

So, on this feast of St Cuthbert, shall we commit ourselves anew to the radical path of following Jesus? Can we be inspired by his example of love, compassion, and unwavering trust in the Divine?  We are invited to reclaim the lost sheep; not just those outside the church, but those within, who have been wounded by our judgement and neglected by our indifference.   Shall we dare to live lives that reflect the beauty and simplicity of God’s creation.  And may we, like Cuthbert, find our true home in the Divine heart. Amen.