Sunday Sermon. Luke 2.41-52: Jesus goes missing on Mothers' Day

Luke 2.41-52

 

Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom. After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it. Thinking he was in their company, they travelled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.” “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” But they did not understand what he was saying to them. Then he went down to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. But his mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.

This is one of those Gospel stories we’ve all heard before: it’s a familiar text to most of us but I wonder if anyone knows what it is that’s unusual about it?

This is the only story of Jesus’ childhood recorded in the Gospels. Matthew, Mark and John don’t have it.

Our text not only tells us about the young Jesus, but also a lot about his parents. Earlier in the Gospel we learn that eight days after Jesus' birth he was circumcised and that as an infant he was presented in the Temple according to the religious custom and our text today begins by telling us that every year his parents would go from Nazareth to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover.

So, what do we learn about them? That they were a couple who were very devout in keeping the Jewish Law. Even though there is nothing else written about the young Jesus in scriptures, we know that he grew up with parents who made it a habit of obeying the Law so we can be pretty confident that he would have grown up learning good habits from his parents.

So, we begin today with the party travelling on foot to Jerusalem, probably covering about 15 miles a day, so their journey would have taken four or five days in all. That’s not a trip to be undertaken lightly, particularly as Mary and Joseph were taking their young son with them for the first time. They travelled as a large party because such travel was dangerous and there was safety in numbers. This may be one of the reasons Mary and Joseph were so anxious: it wasn’t just about the possibility of a lost son and Joseph being made to look like an irresponsible father: having had to return to Jerusalem, the family were now several days behind the rest of their kin and trusted neighbours and so were potentially in very real danger.

There’s a little theological gem hidden here too because this incident mirrors the later idea that leaving family and friends to follow Jesus is a potentially costly activity.

Look, we’re doing theology!

And we continue to do theology when we consider the paradox in the passage that Jesus is presented as both son of Joseph and Son of God. Mary asks, "Child, why have you treated us in this way? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” Jesus responds to his parents' concern with two questions: "Why were you searching for me?" "Did you not know that I must be in my father's house? These are the first words Jesus speaks in Luke and they are a real clue to what follows in Jesus’ ministry. Because of the amazement of the crowd focused on his answers to the religious leaders in the Temple, he is in effect teaching the teachers. We have to understand that back then biblical interpretation was a spectator sport. It was competitive exhibition. Those religious leaders wrestled with the text and verbally wrestled with each other. And Jesus was fully engaged in the process. He belonged there. Luke tells it like this: He was sitting among the teachers, listening to them and putting questions to them. And he wasn’t out of his depth, either. Twelve-year-old Jesus was no beginner when it came to interpreting the sacred words. Everyone who heard him was impressed by his understanding and his answers. He was holding his own.

And this is precisely the activity of Jesus that Luke emphasizes at the climax of his ministry before the passion narrative when Jesus again responds to the questions put him in the Temple precincts by Jewish leaders which Luke calls teaching in the Temple. It’s ironic that those who marvelled at his understanding as a child would be scandalized by his words and his teaching as an adult, by his interpretation of the very words of scripture that he’d read in their presence, threatened by the questions he continued to ask and threatened by the answers that he gave.  It was these same priests and Levites, the doctors, the scholars who’d been amazed by his wisdom as a child who’d whip up the crowd into a frenzy and demand that Jesus the man be crucified as a blasphemer.

Have any of you ever seen the film “Home Alone”? “Home Alone” and Jesus being left in the temple share the same basic plot.

In both stories, an extended family goes to a faraway place to celebrate a holiday. And because of a miscommunication, a boy is left behind. No one notices for a while, because everyone assumes he’s with other relatives. When they realize their son is not with them, his parents freak out and spend days frantically trying to get back to him. And when they find him, it turns out he’s taken care of himself just fine. In fact, he’s capable of holding his own with even the most wily of adults. The boy Kevin in “Home Alone” proves this by going head-to-head with two career burglars. Jesus proves it by going head-to-head with the Bible scholars in the temple.

Jesus was never lost. To his parents, he was missing. But he was never lost. He knew exactly where he was. And he knew why he was there. Jesus was right where he was supposed to be, doing just what his Father God put him here to do.

But Luke says that his parents didn’t understand.

From Luke’s perspective, if anyone was lost that day, it was Mary and Joseph. They didn’t know where Jesus was. They were confused. They didn’t know what was going on.

Sometimes who is lost and who is found is completely a matter of perspective.

Today’s gospel is a story about growing up but it is not Jesus’ growing up. It is about Mary and Joseph growing up. It is about you and me growing up. Growing up is not about how old we are. It is really about moving into deeper and more authentic relationships with God, our world, each other, and ourselves.

Jesus has put the Father at the centre of his world and asks Mary, Joseph and us to do the same.

But today is Mothering Sunday, so is there anything from today’s passage that we can learn from about Mary’s relationship with Jesus?

Well, we’ve already noted that Mary wasn’t above chiding Jesus when she felt he had crossed a line and I’m sure most of us are the people we are today because our own mothers, out of love, took us on one side and spelt one or two things out to us about our behaviour and attitude, especially when it was perceived to be disrespectful, selfish or thoughtless. Just think back for a moment. Can you recollect such an occasion in your own relationship with your mother? Try and think what the trigger was in your own behaviour and then think about your mother’s motives and concerns. Why did she tell you off then and why did she continue to do so as the circumstances demanded?

It’s easy isn’t it? Our mothers, like Mary in today’s Gospel passage, had our best interests at heart. It was about showing us what we’d done wrong and showing us a better way to behave or what better attitudes to hold. Why? To make us better, less selfish people; to instil in us life-skills that would help us to be better rounded and more independent people; more socially able adults who are better able to make good decisions and choices for our own welfare and the benefit of those around us.

But I think the main clue can be found in the concluding verses of today’s passage, “His mother treasured all of these things in her heart.” This is the second time in this Gospel that Luke uses this phrase and it says something about the nature of motherhood: our mothers remember everything!

Let’s be honest though: we didn’t always appreciate the reminiscences did we? My mother had this infinite capacity after one or two gins too many to regale us at family events with anecdotes from my childhood and teenage years but, embarrassing as those anecdotes were, they came from a deep pride and affection and I soon realised that not much had got past her. But as I got older I was able to see the funny side of her stories and to appreciate my own youthful foolishness and misunderstandings. It’s also worth remembering that if anyone tried to be critical or snide with me about those events she was the first one to leap to my defence – and she could be formidable when roused!

I think today’s passage also tells us something very special about that mother/child relationship: in the same way that Mary – and Joseph – had to adjust to their son’s developing maturity and his sense of self, so our mothers did too: our relationships with them as adults were very far removed from the ones we had with them when we were children. Just as Jesus helped his parents to change their views and attitudes and to see new perspectives, so it was with us as we also grew, matured, developed independence, distinct personalities and a sense of self, even if that wasn’t always easy for them: the balance in the relationship will have subtly shifted – maybe several times – as we got older and we can see this at work in today’s passage.

So, today we come not just to hear the Gospel, to pray, to take our communion  and worship but to celebrate our own Marys; to give thanks to God for them and to remember them with deep love and affection, for all their faults, understanding that we are who we are today because of them.

Sunday Sermon: John 3.1-17: the problem with John 3.16 and evangelism

John 3.1-17

 

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

 

So today I have probably the most famous Gospel text known to Christians to preach on.

 

No pressure then.

 

Last weekend I was at a residential with all the other curates I trained with. The subject was evangelism and when I was preparing for this morning much of what we discussed then fell into place.

 

But let me start with an anecdote which, to me, illustrate the problem we face with evangelism and with the key verse in this passage.

 

I used to have a teaching colleague, an African Christian. I would give him a lift home most evenings and it had become something of a nightmare because he insisted on talking to me about Jesus - and it really got on my nerves. This caused great hilarity amongst some of our other colleagues:

 

“Doesn’t he know you’re going to be ordained?”

 

“Yes, but that seems to make him worse.”

 

“This must be your Lenten discipline.” (That was a Muslim friend)

 

“Look, I gave up chocolate, cake, alcohol, biscuits and second helpings. They were my choice. I didn’t choose this.”

 

“Maybe it’s Allah’s will for you at this time.” (She’s very sharp, that one.)

 

I tried to analyse why this was becoming such an issue for me and I drew the uncomfortable conclusion it is because our Christianities were so different. His is a very black and white, literalist approach with no scope for nuance, areas of grey or holy doubt, whereas I am very much at the radical end of liberal.

 

“I’ve given up Alcohol for lent.”

 

“You drink alcohol?”

 

What followed was a diatribe against the laxness of the west.

 

“It is to do with low standards: with fornication and homosexuality.”

 

“Now let me just stop you there …”

 

Can I stop on the M621 and ask him to get out between junctions? Would that seem too inhospitable? I tried to bite my tongue, I really did, but sometimes I just couldn’t rise above it.

 

“… I’ve just read a very detailed biblical study of why the so-called traditional teaching on homosexuality is a gross misinterpretation of the various texts.”

 

Sounds of apoplectic gasping from the passenger seat.

 

“But it says in Leviticus and Romans …..”

 

“I know what it says, but that depends on whether you accept everything in the Bible as literally true, rather than seeking to understand the various types of holiness codes and laws to say nothing of the different genre, and whether you believe that we are the implied audience of the various passages rather than the people they were written to. We mustn’t assume that we are. Much of the Bible was written in a very specific religious and cultural climate which is not ours.” (Who’s on his soapbox now?) Note to self: triumphalism is not a nice characteristic in a trainee vicar ….. but it felt so good.

 

There was ominous silence for a while and I realised that I had been driving progressively faster.

 

There is a change of tack:

 

“What do you understand about the crucifixion?” he asked me.

 

I explained the theology of the atonement.

 

“Not all will be saved.” He says. “People who do not confess Jesus will go to Hell. It says in John 3.16…”

 

And here we have it: one of the most misunderstood and misused texts in scripture. This single verse has provided motivation for some of the most destructive and unchristian impulses in those who call themselves Christian.

 

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son so that all who believe in him may not perish but have everlasting life.”

 

Now some of you know that I am a bit of a keyboard warrior: “I’ll be up in a moment Love. I’m just telling someone on the INTERNET that they’re wrong.” There seems to be a recurring theme in this activity: every two or three months I seem to end up in strident cyber debate with some other Christian, usually from either the Anglican diocese of Sydney or U.S. Southern Baptists or Nigerian Christians. The “discussion” is usually about the nature of salvation and the fate of those who do not accept Jesus as Lord and Saviour.

 

I am clearly a masochist: here I was in my own car having the same discussion.

 

Taken literally this passage from John suggests that those who do not believe in the Son will perish.

 

It is difficult to overestimate the damage that has been done by a literal interpretation of this text. It is difficult to overestimate the hurt, harm and abuse that have been encouraged by this passage. It shapes the way Christians throughout history have treated people of other faiths and cultures and the outcome of that has been conflict and violence and the crushing of indigenous culture and languages in the name of Christ.

 

And yet I can (just) remember in those far off heady days of my late-teenage post-conversion years, when I was a lot more evangelical than I am now, that this text was one I learnt by heart and which informed my attitude to other people. It didn’t matter who they were: they were either saved or they weren’t. Simple as.

 

My movement away from that stance happened gradually as I matured in my faith and God took me in directions and into experiences where I began to question the old certainties. I will always remember one particular joke a wise vicar told me.

 

A new arrival at the pearly gates was met by St. Peter and shown round Heaven. At one point they came to a very high wall.

 

“What’s behind there?” she asked.

 

“Keep your voice down” said St. Peter. “That’s where the Anglicans are. They think they’re the only ones here and we don’t want to upset them.”

 

Actually, it wasn’t the Anglicans in the original –just trying to be topical - I’ll leave you to guess: suffice to say that it works with any Christian group.

 

I have a number of Muslim and Sikh friends. We often talk about religion and I’ve learnt a lot about them and from them. When other Christians berate me about mission and witness and how we must bring others to a saving knowledge of Jesus, I always think of them … and I always think that bringing them to Jesus sounds so simple but in reality is very far from it.

Of course it is never me who convicts and converts, it is the Holy Spirit. I know that and, yes, I sometimes wonder what the Holy Spirit makes of my witness by word and deed to anyone, not just Muslims and Sikhs.

 

But let me ask you two things:

 

·       What does it take for someone – anyone to come to faith?

·       What is it that we ask others to believe and accept as part of that act of faith?

 

You see I don’t think it matters whether you are Muslim or Sikh or Atheist or whatever: in order to come to faith you have to not only hear but to understand the Gospel, although if you come from a culture which is broadly Christian I suspect that it may be easier for you.

 

“How” I ask these other Christians “does a Muslim born and brought up in rural Saudi Arabia hear, let alone understand the Gospel? How does a Jew brought up in the most orthodox part of Jerusalem or a Sikh brought up in Amritsar, the Holy City? And yet you are telling me that God – my God, the God I believe in and follow – condemns to Hell a whole swathe of people for not following an injunction they could not possibly have known about. In terms of God’s justice, how does that work, then?”

 

“The Bible is clear.” I am told.

 

Right.

 

Taken literally John 3.16 becomes the foundation for the rejection of the “other” in society: the ones who are not like us. By that I don’t just mean race and religion, but gender, sexuality.

 

The irony here is that of the Gospel writers John was the one who was least likely to take a literalist approach to his writing and would most certainly have rejected that sort of literalist reading. The passage immediately before today’s Gospel reading is the encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus. This is the same John who tells us that Jesus was amazed that Nicodemus understood Jesus’ comment about being born again in a literal way. If the life and teaching of Jesus gives us cause to be literal in our reading of Jesus’ words it is not John 3.16, but John 3.17 that we should look to: “God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”

 

Neither Jesus nor John was interested in establishing a belief system based on rejection by God. What they were very interested in was the question concerning how one came to have faith and the supplementary question about how one grows in one’s experience of God.

 

There seem to be a number of positions in the New Testament and the one I favour is “Believe and be baptised.” (Mark 16.16) but that raises other issues such as “Believe what?” or “Believe in what?”

 

So, I think my challenge to you this morning, and perhaps as a Lenten discipline, is to think of those Biblical passages which most closely represent to you what the life of faith is about.

 Of course, there are many passages, but for me here are few ideas which sum it up: repent, believe, be saved by God’s grace, show the change in your life but recognise that you are still vulnerable to temptation. Be open to the spirit, continue to repent and seek the strength of the Spirit to grow more into the likeness of the Saviour.

 

Hang on, though. Weren’t you concerned about the Muslim in rural Saudi Arabia, the Orthodox Jew and the Sikh -  and the Hindu and the Buddhist who have no chance of hearing, let alone understanding the Gospel?

 

Yes. But we must leave that to God. My responsibility is not to go with John 3.16 without John 3.17. We may turn out, like the Christians behind the wall in Heaven in the joke, to be surprised by the extent of the grace of God, but it is most certainly not for us to second guess the mind of God on this or to seek to put limits on his grace. Remember, righteousness was ascribed to Abraham through his faith in God and he predated Jesus.

 

So, I’ll leave you with a tantalising insight into the theology of C.S. Lewis on this topic: a theology which has become known as the theology of the unknowing disciple.

 

For those of you who are unfamiliar with his writings, Lewis writes a series of what appear to be children’s adventure stories, set in the land of Narnia, the most famous of which is “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”. However, Lewis wasn’t simply a children’s writer but a perceptive theologian and the Narnia stories are a Christian allegory.

 

In “The Last Battle”, which is a story dealing with the end times and judgement, there is an exchange between Aslan the Lion, the Christian God figure, and Emeth, a follower of the God Tash. Emeth is surprised to find himself on the right side of Aslan’s judgement and says to Aslan: “Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine, but a servant of Tash.” Aslan answered “Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. If any man swears an oath to Tash and keeps the oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he knew it not and it is I who reward him.” Emeth replied “Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days.” “Beloved”, said the Glorious one, “unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.”

 

It is my personal challenge during Lent to concentrate on my own walk with God. I look beyond that to my immediate family. I must also continue to take responsibility for my witness through word and deed but it is also my challenge to let God be God and to work his grace where he will. It is not for me to misuse his word in a theology of exclusion.

 

Amen

 

Sunday Semon: Matthew 6.24-34 Worry and anxiety

Matthew 6:24-34

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

 I have a friend who lives with anxiety: the smallest thing can throw his equilibrium and lead him down paths of paranoia as he looks for some motive or outcome that’s designed to do him down. In his mind he has what I call the reverse Midas touch – and I won’t tell you what he believes everything he touches turns into. That’s not only emotionally challenging for him but it’s also draining for those of us he unburdens on. He looks inwards all the time and rarely seems to look outwards.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with that level of worry and yet I'm very much of the opinion that worry is a fact of life. Just take a moment to think about what your worries are.  It seems to me that worry is a continuum and we’re all on that line somewhere. Yes, of course significant events can push us further along that line but most of us live relatively worry-free lives in that we’re fed, we’re clothed, we’re housed, we’ve parented reasonable effectively and most of us have enough money to cope. We also live in a society that, whatever its shortcomings, has various social safety-nets in place for the most vulnerable. Where does that leave our personal concerns – the one’s we’ve just considered? How many of them I wonder, are just … well, a bit trivial in the wider scheme of things? So, I’ll share a couple of mine: we’re going abroad in the summer and I am worried how the falling value of the pound will affect our spending power. I’m worried because my younger daughter and her chap are moving back in with us for a couple of months and I’m worried that Ben-the-dog isn’t doing as well as his trainers expect in his guide dog training. They’re all valid worries but saying them out loud makes them seem what they are: a bit shallow.

Knowing that, of course, isn’t much of a consolation if you happen to be prone to anxiety or are going through a particularly difficult patch at work or with the family or have a serious health problem or an unexpectedly large bill. Being told to get a sense of perspective because other people elsewhere are much worse off than you is at best trite and at worst downright insensitive.

My mother’s mantra was always, “Remember the starving children in Africa.”

“O.K. I’ve remembered them. Strangely, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Now what?”

And how well do we take to the suggestion that we should count our blessings in times of personal trouble?

However true Jesus’ statement, “ … can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your life span?” may be, and it clearly is because medical studies suggest that prolonged anxiety significantly shortens our lives, I wonder how someone really burdened and careworn with worry hears such a passage as this today.

This is such a familiar passage that I suspect, with very little notice, most of us could cobble together some spiritual insight: and yet over-familiarity runs the danger of leading us into lazy thinking and trite analysis. After all, we've heard this before and we pretty much know what to expect, so I've decided to go out on a limb a bit and approach this text in a slightly different way.

On Friday I was talking to one of the lads who regularly comes to chapel in the prison. I’ll call him Terry. He’s had a very rocky couple of weeks: he lost his job in the prison kitchens for stealing food, and therefore his major source of income; his partner has gone off with someone else: he started using drugs again and lost his two front teeth in a fight. (Those of you who watched last week’s edition of Panorama will have some inkling of what I’m talking about.) His take on things was very interesting. “I’ve hit rock bottom because I took my eyes off the Lord.” His main worry was not all the woes he faces but the fact that, in his own words, he had ceased to be a pillar for the Lord but had become, instead, a pillock for the Lord. He’s stopped looking inwards and is looking outwards.

His troubles had driven him to some extreme behaviour but his main concern was for his compromised Christian witness. His concern wasn’t what people thought of him but what people thought of the God he follows because, he feared, people judged God through his discipleship. “Call yourself a Christian?” Of course, that’s another sort of worry for him – you’d think - but no, “I’ve given it all to the Lord. It’s my only option. I’m back on track and I’m going to use this as part of my testimony of what God can do in your life.”

“I’ve given it all to The Lord. It’s my only option.”

I am often surprised by the spiritual insights these men have.

I’ve been spending some time in the prison with a man who murdered his wife. I’ll call him Joe. I’ve never met anyone as remorseful, and he has attempted suicide so is on a constant watch because he may try again. At the moment he sees that as his only solution. However bad life is in prison she’s worse off, is his reasoning, and he can’t rationalise that while he’s fed, clothed and warm, she’s lying in the cold ground. “There is no punishment good enough for me.”

He asked if I could take him to the chapel at the very time of her funeral and there is a short liturgy in a book Brunel gave me for those unable to attend a funeral. Distraught as he was, it was a profound experience for him and it has shifted the way he sees things: he wants to start coming to chapel regularly; he is starting to understand that God has forgiven him and that’s the first step to being able to forgive himself. There’s a way to go yet for him, and I’d be grateful if you’d keep both these men in your prayers, the men I’ve called Terry and Joe, but I use these examples because for me they illustrate today’s Gospel in a way that most of our lives probably can’t. For both of them the way out of worry and anxiety and, indeed, self-loathing, has been to turn to God: either to turn back to him or to begin that journey. Out of the depth of their experiences, their pain, their guilt, the messed up lives – theirs and others - and their bad choices, is a sense that hope comes through faith in God. They have started looking outward rather than inwards.

Now, I don’t want to suggest that to experience what Jesus is saying in today’s Gospel needs each and every one of us to plumb the depths and I know that what I’ve said comes perilously close to saying, “Look, other people have it worse than you so get a grip”,  but the context of these stories shows how true Jesus words are when he says, “ … do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? …. You of little faith …. your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness ….”  The Kingdom of God: our spiritual lives and how we live as disciples should be the focus of our concerns. Instead of turning our worries inwards, we should have a wider concern for how we bring God’s Kingdom closer to others.

For Terry, the witness that he was so concerned he’d compromised is part of bringing the Kingdom of God to others: he is striving for it for himself and for others – and prison is not an easy place to be a man of faith. For Joe, it’s about learning that no one is beyond redemption in God’s eyes and, as he undertakes a listener’s course, he will become the go-to man for other prisoners who believe that no punishment is good enough or who are deeply remorseful, to speak to and gain support from. That too will serve the Kingdom of God.

Can we take a leaf out of their books? Can we trust that despite our woes and worries God is in control? And if we believe that, can we leave those worries behind and concentrate on the job at hand, our witness as disciples and the part that plays in bringing the Kingdom of God closer? Looking outwards and not inwards.

Amen

Sunday Sermon: salt and light. Matthew 5.13-20

 

 

Matthew 5.13-20

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

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

‘Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfil. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter,* not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks* one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

 

We start today part way through Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Prior to this passage, Jesus had been encouraging the poor and marginalised by telling them how blessed the downtrodden and powerless are in the section we call The Beatitudes, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled.”  This isn't written for everybody everywhere, whoever, wherever. Neither is it intended for people with a casual interest in God. It's meant for people who are committed: much of the Sermon on the Mount makes no sense unless you have already decided to follow Jesus. It's a text for pilgrims, for people on a journey of faith.

Paul, when writing to the Christians in Corinth says that he didn’t come using ‘lofty words’.  These words we hear Jesus using this morning are not lofty words: instead they’re down to earth words, down to earth images, salt and light, which convey, as Paul went on to describe it, “God’s wisdom, secret and hidden’ but now made known.”

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus says to his disciples. That’s a commonplace statement today isn’t it? “So-and-so is the salt of the earth”, we say. But I’m guessing most of us haven’t paid much attention to where that idea comes from and to me it seems an odd phrase. “Salt of the earth? Why is someone the salt of the earth? How is someone the salt of the earth? What does it mean, particularly at a time when health-conscious people are advised to avoid salt? We live in a culture – certainly in the West – where salt is seen as rather a bad thing: high blood pressure, strokes, heart-attacks etc. Nevertheless we instinctively know that when we describe someone as the salt of the earth we mean that he or she is a simple, down-to-earth, good person – someone dependable, approachable, reliable, and responsible: someone we can trust.

We need to dig a bit and, as twenty first century people, come to an understanding of some of the realities of the first century.

The Old Testament speaks of 'covenant of salt': in the book of Numbers we read, "All the holy offerings that the Israelites present to the LORD I have given to you, together with your sons and daughters, as a perpetual due; it is a covenant of salt forever before the LORD for you and your descendants as well".  'Covenant of salt' means a permanent relationship; eating salt with someone meant to be bound in loyalty. So there’s a significance that is lost to us today but might help us to understand what Jesus was driving at. The people of God, then as now, were, by agreement, in a relationship of loyalty.

In Jesus’ day, the primary use for salt was as a preservative as there was no refrigeration. People used salt to prevent food, especially meats, from spoiling. No doubt people also used salt as we use it, to enhance flavours and to add zest to our food but another thing about salt is that it gives us a thirst.  In the time of Jesus, salt was not purified in the way that we know but was collected from deposits left by the Dead Sea as it dried.  This salt was exposed to the elements and could break apart and lose its flavour.  In that respect salt is a very appropriate metaphor for discipleship, which can and does lose its vigour over time if care is not taken to keep it alive.

Is there a message for us there?

In the same way, Jesus says that his followers are to be a light in the world. No one can hide a city set on a hill, and no one lights a lamp and places it under a basket: that, too, would be foolish – trying to hide a city on a hill, or hiding a light makes no sense at all. Jesus’ friends are to let their light shine out in the world, so that everyone will see that light and glorify God. Why? Because the light is revealing God through the actions of his followers who are lighting the dark places and practices of our societies and working to bring God’s Kingdom closer.

I find these analogies of discipleship a real challenge because they talk of a distinctiveness about Christians and the Christian way of life that I don’t really see very much of in our society, and I include myself in that analysis. The saltiness and the light are there in us to make a difference: certainly a personal difference in the people we are: our attitudes and behaviours; our spirituality and so on, but we are also to make a difference to those around us by the very fact of our being who and what we are: disciples.

 You can’t hide a city on a hill.

Are we that visible as Christian witnesses to those around us? Are we really? I mentioned before about one of the qualities of salt being that it encourages thirst. Do we behave as if we are thirsting for what God wants for us and the societies we live in, or do we behave as if we are full? Full to our own satisfaction rather than God’s?

By our deeds, we who call ourselves disciples are to influence the world for good. We should no more escape notice than a city set on a mountain. If we fail in our discipleship, we are as useless as flavourless salt or as a lamp whose light is concealed.  By inviting us to be “light,” Jesus invites us to make him present in the world. 

The God we know is passionate about justice; the God we know is passionate about truth – it was a passion that took him to the cross, it’s a passion that the Holy Spirit fires up within us, it’s a passion that sends us to the world and to the church with the message that things should be different.  How can we be quiet when we’re so passionate?  How can we be quiet when there’s so much injustice around, how can we stop saying things until people hear, really hear, and are challenged to change as a consequence?

Being salt means that we bring out the true taste of what it means to be a Christian – that’s the taste of justice and righteousness, living in God’s way.  If we lose that then we lose our savour, we lose who we are and we’re good for nothing.

Bland. Food without salt is bland. Are we bland Christians?

Being light means that we’re a beacon in the church, not just locally, but nationally and internationally as well.  We radiate Christ’s light, divine light and that searching light shows up not just where individuals have to change, but where the church has to change and where society has to change.

Are we up for that?

And what does it mean in practice?

We live in interesting times: BREXIT; President Trump; politicians on both sides of the Atlantic not knowing the law and seeking to undermine it; arms sales to some of the most despotic regimes around; a growing tide of racism, anti-Semitism and Islamophobia fuelled by hate filled newspapers and the phenomenon of fake news and alternative facts; social inequality on the up for the first time in a generation with zero hours contracts - to name just a few nasty current issues. At the same time it seems to me that the sort of people that are disproportionately affected by these issues are the very people Jesus was talking about where we picked up this morning: the poor in spirit; the meek; the persecuted and the reviled.

Being a light surely means revealing these dark places and practices, otherwise what is our light as disciples for? Are our voices being heard? If not, why not? Are we speaking out? Are we being a prophetic voice to others over the issues of our age?

The German Theologian and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s life was shaped by the conviction that the church is only truly the church  when it lives for all God’s children in the world and that Christians fulfil their faith as Christians only when they live for others, and he called on Christians to “speak out for those who cannot speak”. When we realise that he said this in 1934, in the midst of deeply troubling times in Germany, it should make those of us who also live in deeply troubling times pause for thought, because he went on to say that the church has, “an unconditional obligation towards the victims in society even if they don’t belong to the Christian community.”

Is that us? Because it seems to me that that’s exactly what being salt and light means in practice: because Jesus described the downtrodden and marginalised as blessed in The Beatitudes, isn’t a free pass to inaction on their behalf for the rest of us. That, I think, is implicit in the reference from the book of Numbers I mentioned earlier: “ … a covenant of salt forever before the LORD for you and your descendants as well”. A covenant is an agreement. What’s our side of the agreement then? We know what God has done for us. What does he require of us in return?

When I was much younger, there used to be a question that regularly circulated like a spiritual checklist, it asked: if you were accused of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you? I do sometimes wonder whether we are in danger of going with the flow to the extent that we have become the very type of bland, saltless Christians that Jesus warned about.

We are in a covenant with God. What does God require of us in return? The prophet Micah gave us an answer that encompasses our dealing both with God and with our neighbours, “ … To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Perhaps our prayer as we approach the season of Lent should be to ask God to help us to look at our society and it’s marginalised and downtrodden, those who Jesus called blessed, and while we seek to walk humbly with God, to ask that we do indeed act justly and love mercy in our dealings with them: not in a passive, but in an active way as advocates for them.

Amen.

 

 

 

     

Sunday Sermon: Luke 2.15-21. The New Year, tradition, synergy and change.

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them. After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

 

 I don’t know about you but when Christmas is over, that’s it for me and I have to keep reminding myself that the Christmas season carries on for several more weeks in the church’s calendar. That conflicts me – and it’s probably an indication of how much I’m influenced by the secular approach to Christmas which seems to go forever with decorations still up and now looking rather out of place to me  – but it’s a discipline for us all to distance ourselves from the now rather empty vestiges of the secular Christmas season and to concentrate more on the spiritual elements. Even so, my heart sank just a little when I first read today’s passage. “Really? Haven’t we already done this to death?” It seems now strangely out of synch to be looking at the story of The Shepherds  –  again  –  when it’s been a week since we celebrated the birth of Jesus. So why does the lectionary deliberately give us this passage? What’s new in it for us to consider that we’ve not already forensically examined and sung about over a week ago?

Well, I think the answer is probably found in v 21 which, at least in my edition of Luke, is a separate little section; a bit of a link between the Nativity and the passage about Jesus’ presentation in the Temple, belonging perhaps more to the latter than the former. After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

Circumcision on the eighth day was a standard Jewish ritual and, easy as it is to overlook, it’s a reminder that Jesus was born and brought up in an observant Jewish household. Therefore it’s a useful reminder that the Jesus claimed by Christianity was a Jew, and an observant Jew at that, and the clues to support that are there to be found throughout the Gospels, sometimes to the surprise of many.

So, yes he was circumcised, but I suppose you could argue that this may have been a lip-service ceremony much as baptism has become for many today. But it didn’t stop there: Luke 2 talks about the twelve year old Jesus being taken to the Temple in Jerusalem. Why? Because this is about the age that Jewish boys go through the ritual of Bar Mitzvah, another significant rite of passage for observant Jews.

The Gospels are largely silent about Jesus’ early life but I think we can be sure from the other clues in the Gospels that he was brought up in a religious household: his Jewishness was part of his identity and shaped his spiritual and moral outlook.

Jesus was Jewish not only in a remote, abstract way, but he was Jewish in all the very concrete and particular ways of everyday life: He observed the Law; he went to the festivals; when he healed lepers, he sent them to the priests in accordance with the rules in the book of Leviticus; he paid the tax which supported the Temple in Jerusalem; he went to synagogue services regularly; he even taught people to do what the Pharisees said, although he was often critical of their interpretation of the law. He didn’t so much criticise their teaching as their application of religious law, which he thought was too literal and lacking in compassion. His criticism was that they were inclined in their worst moments to follow the letter rather than the spirit of the law but he held The Law of Moses in the highest regard. He taught that the Law of Moses would never pass away until heaven and earth passed away at the consummation of all things.

Even though the next generations of Christians gradually recognized that the Law of Moses was not binding on those who came to God through Jesus, they also knew that the Law was not bad, nor were those who obeyed it necessarily misguided.

So both in the life and teachings of Jesus and in the lives and teachings of the Disciples, the Evangelists and St. Paul, we find compelling examples of practicing one’s faith not only with good deeds, with moral behaviour, but at the same time through practicing the customs and expectations of their community.

How do we apply this today? Well, both Jesus and the apostles show us that as part of their Jewish experience, regularly taking part in the full range of Jewish ceremony, practice and ethics was a given, in the same way for us, part of the Christian life involves regularly taking part in the services and activities of our community, the church, based itself on the life and teaching of Jesus.

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that theirs was always a joyful participation or that sometimes the motivation wasn’t simply out of a sense obligation, because, after all, they were human, but they stuck with it, and perhaps for us that’s the learning point as we embark on another new year.

It may seem silly to suggest that our attendance at church, our observance of special feast days, a disciplined prayer life, even our membership of the PCC or various other committees, make some kind of difference to our spiritual well-being, but there are good reasons for thinking that these practices are quite important. Not only do we have the example of Jesus and his immediate followers; we have the evidence of our own lives.

I think it may be a legacy of my days as a teacher, but I’ve always argued that the habit of working on a particular skill or activity day in and day out, inevitably makes us better at what we are doing, even if sometimes it’s a struggle. If that’s true of our navigating the sometimes scary landscape of computer competence, which many in our congregations never thought they’d manage because their generation grew up before the computer was even a gleam in someone’s eye, then the same is true of our getting to grips with the more scary idea of a regular time of prayer with God.

As an example our own Lois Toulson didn’t become an Olympic standard diver without a great deal of effort and personal discipline and sacrifice. I’d argue that same level of discipline and self-denial might well be involved in our questioning the values of our age and society and seeking the mind of Christ over a wide range of ethical issues. I know that the “What would Jesus do?” approach is a mantra that sometimes sounds trite, but it is valid nevertheless – and I would add to that, “What would Jesus think (about such and such an issue)?” and “What would Jesus say (in reply to such and such a statement)?”

Now, not only is churchy behaviour important as practice for worship; it’s also important as a way of training ourselves in discipleship, to the new identity we are developing in the lifelong pilgrimage of faith that we’ve embarked on.

So here we are at the start of a new year when we traditionally make new resolutions – which very often fall by the wayside. Have you made any this year? I’ve not because I think I’ve given up on giving things up: I know I should eat more sensibly and exercise more. I also know I won’t. But as I was thinking about this it occurred to me that “giving up” is one side of a coin with “taking on” the other side. Taking on: perhaps this is the ideal time to follow in the spirit of Jesus’ example and seek to be more disciplined about our religious life, even when sometimes it feels like a chore.

Now I can’t offer you advice on this because I don’t know any of you well enough to presume to know what you personally could take on, concentrate on or do better or more of to more fully engage in the life of faith either as an individual or as a member of a community, this community. I can only do that for myself in the same way that only you can do it for yourselves. Is it a more disciplined prayer life? It might be. Is a more in-depth study of the scriptures? It might be. Is it being more willing to share the faith we hold dear with others? Perhaps. Could it be taking that scary step of making yourself available to be on the reading or intercessions rota? It might be. Could it be volunteering to be a member of a working party that takes a deep and searching look at our worship practice? Who knows? The question each of us needs to be asking ourselves at this time is what do we feel God is calling us to in this new year which would enrich our own spirituality and, through that, to enrich the life of the church? This is an ideal time for a personal spiritual audit and that can feel very threatening because it implies change – and change is something which we aren’t always good at. What are the gifts God has given each one of us that we could better deploy in His service?

But if we believe we have a living faith - as Jesus did, it is something which needs to grow and develop or we risk the disheartening prospect of staleness. Has God been laying something on our hearts that we’ve been holding back on? Have we discussed that with anyone?

Look at the demographic of our three churches. Why aren’t we growing if what we believe is so important that we would want others to share it? That’s an uncomfortable question and one that goes to the heart of our recent diocesan initiative Leading Your Church Into Growth. Another challenging question is what is it that others see in us, the church, and in Christianity in general that doesn’t have them flocking through our doors? And as a supplement to that, what is it that we could be doing better both as individuals and as a community to bring people in? Once we sense we have the answers to that, or at least some of the answers, is it then good enough to weakly say, “Well, we’ve always done it this way. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it”? Well, in my view it is broken and I don’t mean that in a personal way about us here because it’s a problem faced by the world wide church – or at least the church in the West. There is a general spiritual malaise that is dragging us down and belies our belief that what we have to offer is not just life-changing, life-affirming, but in a very real sense life-saving. “We’ve always done it this way. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” is the exact opposite of the way of Jesus as seen in the Gospels: his whole ministry was about radical change and challenge to the ways of being religious that characterised the staleness of the religion of his generation, both individually and corporately while staying faithful to the faith that underpinned that religion: rites, festivals, worship, prayer, a love of scripture, discipleship, ethics and so on. These changes didn’t undermine the faith. Quite the opposite, they enhanced it, turning something hidebound in tradition to something living and vibrant.

I remember having a conversation with my late mother about the environment and her reluctance to change to energy-saving light bulbs. A relatively trivial conversation in itself but her words stuck in my mind: “What difference can I make?” I think the technical answer to that is synergy: the interaction or cooperation of two or more agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects. We can’t change the world as individuals, but changing the world starts with small individual acts because none of us knows what little anonymous incremental steps others are taking which together contribute to real change - and that brings me back to my earlier question, what is God calling us to do better, to take on, to begin which would enrich our personal and communal spiritual lives and which could spread out into this deanery, this diocese and the wider church?

Think of the change we could unleash if every member of a Christian congregation made a resolution to take on something related to their spiritual growth and development in this new year.

Change begins with us.

Amen