Sermon – Trinity 6 2017
The Lord being my helper
This month has been a bit of walk down memory lane. Sunday 3rd July
1977 was the day of my ordination to the diaconate. And forty years on it
was a thrill to be involved at the cathedral when the new deacons were
ordained on 1st July. Squirrelled away in the attic I recently unearthed
papers from my ordination : the Deacon’s Orders, the Declaration of
Assent and Licence authorising me to serve as stipendiary curate. I even
found my first job description – hand written by my incumbent at our first
staff meeting. It listed what he saw to be the chief fields of activity.
Preaching happens to be at the top of the list. It states: “to achieve
effectiveness in communication with economy and concentrated use of
preparation time”. Well I can’t speak for effectiveness but as my wife and
family will verify the ‘economic use of preparation time’ is still very much
a work in progress!

But as I reacquainted myself with that job description and that staff
meeting, my mind went back to the ordination itself. I remember the
congregation was wonderfully welcoming - the extended family and
friends wonderfully supportive yet, as Margaret and I waved goodbye to
the last of our guests, I experienced the most profound feeling of anxiety
– of unworthiness - of self-doubt – of not knowing whether I could do
this!

In the ordinal there’s this list of declarations that the person to be
ordained must respond to.
Will you accept the discipline of the Church ?

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Will you be diligent in prayer … and the reading of holy scripture?
Will you fashion your life and that of your household according to
the way of Christ?
Will you promote unity, peace and love among all Christian
people?
And the response given is simply, or was then,
‘I will, the Lord being my helper’.
And it was that phrase ‘the Lord being my helper’, that I needed to learn
to trust as I launched out into the deep … unclear of the journey that lay
ahead.

That’s one reason why I enjoy hearing again the OT story of Jacob
and his experience at Bethel. This for him was a liminal moment, his
having reached a new frontier in his story of personal struggle.

To recap he had usurped his twin brother’s birthright and blessing and
a consequence of his ill-gotten legacy required him to leave Be'er Sheba
and journey towards Charan, to his uncle Laban's home where a
marriage was to be arranged. While traveling, Jacob encountered "the
place" (Mount Moriah) and since the sun had set, he lay down to sleep.

Here he dreamt of a stairway bridging heaven to the very spot where
he lay and of heavenly beings ascending and descending the stairway.
And when he awoke, was confronted by a deep realisation that this was
no ordinary place, rather it was a meeting place of two frontiers – “how
awesome is this place”, Jacob exclaims. And he lifted the stone where
he had been resting and made of it a pillar, anointing it with oil –

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“Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it … This is
none other than the house of God and this is the gate of heaven”.

And, in that place, Jacob made a vow to trust that God would fulfil in
him the promise made to his forefather Abraham and thus he resumed
his journey, leaving behind all that was familiar, going into a foreign
place and into a self-imposed exile, but not an exile without hope. He
was lonely, but not alone. Far from home, yet reassured. His misgivings
and self-doubt were no longer the only reality. At Bethel a new frontier
was traversed one that beckoned him into a deeper reality of meaning
and purpose.

This familiar narrative from Genesis 28 marks a time of crisis. Before
that, Jacob’s life had followed familiar paths, so he was less conscious
perhaps of his deeper needs and it becomes the disruption and jarring of
those familiar pathways that facilitates this liminal moment whereby he is
led to a relational encounter with the living God, the God of his
forebears.

In our life, too, fixed certainties have to be shaken sometimes, so that
we can unearth fresh meaning and purpose - conscious at times of this
to be no ordinary moment – for God’s spirit is in this space and that he
has dawn near in ways that we could not previously have foreseen, or
known, or understood. In ways that makes the journey ahead that much
more trusting and hope-filled.

And that’s what we are meant to notice in those enduring stories about
‘wheat and tares’ and ‘mustard seeds’ and ‘leaven in the dough’ that
characterise Jesus’ teaching about the kingdom. Jesus used familiar
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things to describe as the psalmist remarks ‘truths that lie hidden’: things
kept secret since the world was made.

NewTestament scholar, Tom Wright, speaks of Jesus’ parables not as
some friendly illustration about some abstract point of theology but a
means of describing the subversive truth of God’s kingdom
accomplishing that which it is purposed to accomplish.

And what Jesus is basically saying about the kingdom is: don’t despise
the small beginnings for what I (Jesus) am doing is planting seeds. They
may not look much in the total scheme but they have all the potential
necessary for them to grow and blossom and flourish.

Thus, if we take the case of Jesus’ earthly ministry it was time bound
by a few short years and restricted geographically to a few hundred
square miles. If we take the number of people to whom he ministered although considerable within a setting of first century Palestine - in
contemporary terms his reach was really quite modest. Yet (and this is
Wright’s point),
the yeast that he stirred into the loaf, the kingdom-work he
completed in a very short time and in a very small region has
leavened the loaf of the whole world in a most remarkable way .…
His way of love, forgiveness, humility and service, has woven itself
into the fabric of many societies, so that even where it’s ignored,
people know that something happened in his life and death that
changed the world.

And we are called, individually and collectively, to be leaven and seeds
of God’s kingdom and not despise the small beginnings that lead to
greater outcomes.

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We are called, individually and collectively, to embody that way of love,
forgiveness, humility and service.
We are called, individually and collectively, to follow pathways that may
seem unfamiliar and daunting but which lead to fresh moments of
encounter. Where, because we are confronted by anxieties - thoughts of
unworthiness, or self doubt, we begin to trust that we are not expected,
or able, to stand in our own strength alone, but in the strength of the
Lord and his capacity to be present at those frontiers of uncertainty; for
us to glimpse the reality that the Lord is in this place and I did not know
it; to be reminded of his gift of the Spirit and the promise of his grace
and the assurance that there is nothing in all creation that can separate
us from his love. Then, in the strength of that knowledge to go forth on
life’s journey ‘the Lord being our helper’.

Prayer
O Lord, you have searched me, and known me.
You understand my thoughts afar off.
You compass my path and my lying down.
And are acquainted with all my ways:
for there is not a word on my tongue, but lo you know it altogether.

O you who know me so utterly, help me to know you a little.
Amen

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Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Trinity

Texts: Genesis 18:20-32; Colossians 2:6-15 and Luke 11:1-13

The assumption that prayer is difficult is one of the greatest impediments
to Christian discipleship. But in our gospel this morning, the apostles
make exactly that assumption.
They watch Jesus praying, and when he’s finished, one of them pipes up:
‘Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.’

Lurking behind this request is the idea that there is a special knack to
praying: the idea that you need to adopt a particular form or words, or
cultivate a particular mental attitude, or even undertake a particular
physical discipline, before you can pray properly.

This assumption that prayer is a quite complicated business is deeply
rooted in many faithful people, I think. And it is only reinforced by the
constant babble of well-meant spiritual instruction that pours out in
countless retreat centres around the country. Franciscan spirituality;
Celtic spirituality; Ignatian spirituality; Evangelical spirituality; you name
it: almost every kind of devotional fashion is catered for somewhere or
other.

As a historian, of course, I can only approve when the disciples of today
find nourishment in the practice of the Church’s past. Ignorance of the
Church’s history and of her long-established patterns of devotion can
only impoverish her life in the present.

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Even so, I do worry that, by making prayer the kind of thing you go on a
little course for, we are at risk of turning it into an esoteric and
complicated activity, which only initiates can really undertake. And there
can be no better way of ensuring that people don’t pray, than that.

But in our gospel this morning, Jesus makes it clear that prayer is
perfectly straightforward. The disciples may have been looking for some
recondite spiritual instruction; but Jesus’s answer is entirely down to
earth.

He has three things to say: pray simply; pray persistently; pray
expectantly. Let’s deal with each in turn.
First, pray simply. ‘When you pray,’ Jesus tells us, ‘say: Father,
hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily
bread. Forgive us our sins as we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to
us. And do not bring us to the time of trial.’

If the disciples were anticipating an elaborate liturgical blueprint, they
were sorely disappointed. Jesus confounds their expectations with a
prayer that is direct, concise and utterly uncomplicated. Five brief
petitions and it’s over. How unlike the prolix and tedious intercessions,
which are one of the great plagues of modern churchgoing!

Of course, Jesus is not giving his disciples a formula, to be precisely
repeated, but an example, to be broadly followed.
It’s not that there’s anything wrong with using a set form of words. As
Anglicans, of course, we have long contended that prayer, which uses a
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set form of words, is likely to be rather more thoughtful, and certainly no
less heartfelt, than the spontaneous utterances of our Nonconformist
brethren. That said, no special sequence of words is ever necessary in
prayer, however helpful it might sometimes be for breaking the spiritual
ice, as it were, in our conversations with God.
Taking the Lord’s Prayer, then, as an example, it does provide some
useful guidance about prayer in general.
First, the form of address: ‘Father.’ To a First Century Jew, that was a
scandalously casual way to speak to God. And many devout people today
might be more comfortable with something more formal, and for
perfectly good reasons. God is infinite in majesty and power, far greater
and far more holy than anything in the universe which He has made. So it
is fitting for sinful creatures to approach God with awe.
But by inviting us to address God simply as ‘Father,’ Jesus is
encouraging us to participate in his own relationship with the Almighty.
As Paul reminded us in our second lesson, God has forgiven ‘all our
trespasses, erasing the record that stood against us with its legal demands.
He set this aside nailing it to the cross.’

As a result, we now stand beside Jesus, as his brothers and sisters
through faith, and we may address his Father as our Father. We can dive,
in other words, into the stream of love that flows endlessly between the
Father and the Son.

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Secondly, then, the balance of Jesus’s prayer: two things particularly
stand out here. It is a prayer that starts with God’s agenda not ours; and it
is a prayer that is honest about our own shortcomings.
As we heard, the opening petitions of the prayer are ‘Hallowed be your
name’ and ‘Your kingdom come.’ The prayer that God’s name be
hallowed, is a prayer that God’s nature be known. It is a prayer that God’s
boundless goodness and mercy might be recognised by all the creatures
who are capable of understanding it, and that they might, in turn, respond
with wonder and adoration.
The prayer that God’s kingdom may come, is a prayer that God’s
purposes might be accomplished within the world he has made. It is a
prayer that God’s just and gentle rule might extend to all people, bringing
peace and reconciliation amongst human beings, as well as between
human beings and God.

What Jesus is teaching us with these petitions, I think, is that prayer is
not primarily the assertion of our own wants and needs, but an attempt to
align our wants and needs with God’s redemptive purposes. As
Christians, we acknowledge that our own preoccupations, no matter how
pressing they are, exist in a wider context of God’s saving action in the
world; and our prayers should reflect that.
The second thing that stands out is the prayer’s honesty. Jesus wants us
to come to God, not hiding our shortcomings, but confessing them. We
are sinners who have been forgiven, but we are still sinners. And we
cannot progress as disciples unless we wrestle daily with that fact. That is

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why Jesus wants us to come before God confident in His mercy, but not
trusting in our own righteousness.
Jesus makes the same point later on in Luke’s gospel. ‘Two men went up
to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee, and the other a tax collector. The
Pharisee was praying thus, “God, I thank you that you are not like other
people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast
twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax collector,
standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his
breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” I tell you, this man
went down to his home justified, rather than the other.’

So: pray simply. Now, pray persistently.

Jesus underlines the need to keep praying with a story about a man who
wakes his friend up late at night. ‘I tell you, even though he will not get
up and give him anything, because he is his friend, at least because of his
persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.’
It’s important not to get the wrong end of the stick here. At first glance,
you might assume the story means that, if you keep on praying, God is
more likely to change His mind and do what you want. A little reflection
will show you why that must be wrong.

First off, God is omniscient, so we cannot present him with any
information He wasn’t aware of, or suggest a plan which He hadn’t
considered. Secondly, God is perfectly good and that goodness guides all
his actions and all his decisions. So even if we could persuade God to
change his mind, we would only be persuading him to do something less
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good than He had originally intended, and that wouldn’t be desirable at
all. Finally, as if all that were not enough, God is eternal, entirely outside
time. And since God is outside time, there is no such thing as before or
after in Him, as a result, there is no possibility of change.

It follows that the persistence in prayer cannot be about persuading God
to do something which He wouldn’t otherwise have done. It’s rather that
repeated conversations with God, enable us to understand his nature and
purposes better, and to reconcile ourselves to them.

This can be seen, I think, in our Old Testament reading. Here is a classic
example of prayerful persistence. And a casual reading of the story might
leave you with the impression that Abraham kept on at God, until God
agreed to do what he wanted. That isn’t what’s going on at all.

As we heard, Abraham gets told of the impending destruction of Sodom,
so he intercedes for the people there. ‘Far be it for you to slay the
righteous with the wicked! Shall not the judge of all the earth do what is
just?’ God then answers ‘If I find at Sodom fifty righteous in the city, I
will forgive the whole place for their sake.’ Abraham keeps praying, and
on each occasion, God answers in a similar way, until finally he tells
Abraham ‘For the sake of ten, I will not destroy it.’

Now this might sound as though Abraham has haggled God down to a
good bargain. But if you look carefully, there is no suggestion here that
God ever changes His mind. Abraham simply expresses the trust that God
is just, and God confirms that He is; so just, in fact, that if even a handful
of good people can be found in Sodom, the city will not be destroyed.

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In other words, the thing that changes in this story is not God’s decision,
but Abraham’s understanding of God’s nature. Repeated conversation
with God enables Abraham to grasp the full extent of God’s justice and
mercy, regardless of subsequent events.

And that is precisely why we must be persistent in prayer as well. We
should persist in prayer, not for God’s benefit, but for our benefit. Prayer
brings us into conscious contact with God, and enables us to perceive as
Paul puts it ‘the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God.’

So, pray persistently. And, finally, pray expectantly.

Jesus concludes his teaching on prayer by telling his disciples to expect a
response. ‘Is there anyone among you who, if a child asks for a fish, will
give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a
scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your
children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to
those who ask him.’

So Christians can pray in the confidence that their prayers will be
answered.

That answer may take a form that they anticipated, or it may not. The job
may be offered, or it may not. The sick relative may recover, or she may
not.
But in all cases, prayer strengthens the Holy Spirit’s presence within us.
It strengthens the Spirit’s presence not intrinsically, of course: because
once the Spirit begins to dwell in a believer, He never departs. Instead,
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prayer strengthens the Spirit’s presence, extrinsically, in terms of the gifts
which the Spirit has bestowed on us.

In other words, prayer strengthens those precious qualities mentioned in
Galatians, ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness,
gentleness, and self control.’ And it does so precisely because, as I have
said, prayer is an immersion in the love that flows endlessly between the
Father and the Son. And that love is, of course, none other than the Holy
Spirit.

So, inspired by the words of Jesus, may we all learn to pray more simply,
to pray more persistently, to pray more expectantly. And may we
discover through that prayer, the living embrace of the Holy and
Undivided Trinity.

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Sermon Trinity 7 – Cathedral Eucharist Sunday 14th July 2013
Luke 10 verse 28: ‘Jesus said to the lawyer: “You have given the right answer”’.
From TV panel games to public examinations to interviews to decisions on health
and education, this is just surely what we all want to hear: “You have given the
right answer!” Great, it’s the right answer – you’ve just won £30,000 pounds…….
Good, I wrote down all the right answers, it’s going to be10 A* GCSEs! And on it
goes. I don’t know how you are about it all, but I seemed to have spent my
whole life from being a toddler to my current great age trying to get it right and
wanting to hear those words “You have given the right answer!” quickly followed
by a longed-for pat on the head, a bit like an obedient dog, and accompanied by a
‘well done!’
The lawyer and Jesus of course had quite a complex and interesting array of ‘right
answers’. This is one of them: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your
heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind;
and your neighbour as yourself.” We know as Christian people that that that has
to be the right answer. The lawyer had quoted the law and got it right. Well
done, lawyer! But then, of course, comes the story of the Good Samaritan – the
answer to the lawyer’s question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ Quite often, you see,
right answers are enshrined in stories, especially when we are examining what it
means to love…… what love actually looks like.
Of course, a parable like this doesn’t describe the world the way it is. Nor does
the parable tell us what we can do. The parable tells us what God can do. Let’s
not get it wrong. The Bible gives us a vision of the kingdom that comes when
God’s will is done.
When we begin to think salvation is impossible, God does the impossible. In a
world nowadays where people remain bystanders as a woman is brutally
murdered, Jesus in his parable imagines a world in which someone is willing to
stop and help. In a world where Samaritans and Jews are at each other’s throats,
Jesus has the audacity to imagine a Samaritan who is good and binds up the
wounds of a Jew.
When we say “thy kingdom come, thy will be done” we should have no illusions.
We do not have the ability to bring in the kingdom, even in a small way. No
matter how hard we try it won’t work. But, in the scriptures and especially in the
life and ministry of Jesus we see a picture of how God’s will is done, what love
looks like … often in spite of what we do.

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I suppose we shouldn’t be overly critical of the Priest and the Levite who passed
by on the other side. There was a practical side to what they did. Getting
involved is dangerous. Compassion still carries a risk. But, sometimes, by the
grace of God, the unexpected happens. A Samaritan stops to help, and the world
is turned upside down.
All this of course is the Gospel, the Good News, which those of us who ‘stand 10
feet above contradiction’ in this pulpit are called to preach, in season and out of
season, when we arrive, when we’re in post and and when we depart. I hope I
have preached the gospel faithfully alongside my colleagues whose particular
preaching, I must say, has fed and nurtured my own, and for this I want to give
huge thanks. I had really longed for that when I came to Bristol Cathedral and I
found it.
However, I firmly believe that the Good News of God’s love in action can find its
expression in human stories, just like Jesus’s parables; stories of faith and
compassion that abound in Christian communities – and certainly it’s no different
in this Cathedral community I am pleased to say. Stories, for example, that you
won’t all know about….. of little heroes and heroines in our Cathedral Choir.
Some of them have overcome enormous odds to sing for us and have enabled us
all to draw closer to God in our worship. As we come to the end of the year and
you go on your holidays, I want you particularly to hear from your Precentor
what a privilege it has been to listen to you, day in, day out, year in, year out and I
want to say how proud of you I am, and a heartfelt ‘thank you’ and ‘Well done!
You’ve got it right!’ Along with Howells and Stanford and Mozart and Bach who
always get it right.
(Phew! I’ve just got through a potential tearful moment)
But it’s not just the children, although of course we know that whoever becomes
humble like a child is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven. It’s all of you, each
of you having your own story of faith. I’ve shared with so many of you over the
years as you’ve come to baptism or confirmation or made your communion after
a long gap or you’ve come to a crisis in your life that has brought you to the
conclusion that you can’t manage without God. All this goes deeper than just
casual conversations, doesn’t it? We’ve sat together in hospitals ; in the Chapter
Vestry; in my office; over the phone and cried and laughed and worried and
prayed. We’ve talked together in the Chapter House after worship or in the car
park after a meeting. We’ve even got angry together after some of those
meetings. We’ve worked side by side in committees. We’ve worked together at

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wedding services and your baby’s baptisms and your parent’s funerals. I’ve had
the honour of hearing many of your stories. Stories of hope, of perseverance, of
answered prayer, of faith in the midst of unanswered prayer, of living out what
you believe by helping others. Your stories are inspiring and moving and an
incredible testimony to the love of God in this world. ‘Well done! You’ve got it
right!’ And thank you for sharing those conversations with me.
So I want to encourage you today to keep telling that story. I think it is true that
“We become ourselves as we tell our stories.” And after all, that is where God
wants us to be.
The Chapter here has spent a fair amount of time thinking about the north west
doors and the west doors. It’s the same with most PCCs. We have all come to
realise that the doors to these great buildings mark that moment when people
change ‘status’ in a sort of way – they come from the world outside where they
experience all sorts of different pressures and enter a new ‘status’ – a place of
peace, of mystery, of love and inclusion. Least that’s the promise. There will be
people coming through those doors who don’t know your story, including your
next Precentor. And they need to hear it…..not so easy when you are part of a
cathedral congregation but not only is it your story, it’s God’s story. This
cathedral has a great story and I have felt honoured to be a part of it these last six
and a half years. And when I come to tell my story, you will have a special place
in it.
And now, this particular chapter comes to an end. This particular work that
we’ve done together. At the end of a prayer we always say ‘Amen’. Amen means
“let it be so” or, as they say where I’m going in Yorkshire, “Aye……’appen!” It’s
the sort of exclamation point at the end of a sentence that affirms the truth of
what’s been said and commends it to God.
There’s more chapters to come both for you and for me. I know there’s still so
much more to be done and so much I have left undone, but I’ll just have to hand
that over to God and say with confidence, trust, faith and so much love, goodbye
and Amen.

Canon Wendy Wilby
Precentor January 2006 – July 2103

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1 Kings 19:1-15
In the early 1930s a team of archaeologists excavated an isolated hill twenty
miles north of Jerusalem. They found what they had gone looking for; they
found the ruins of a three thousand year old palace. The hill was Samaria and
this was the palace built by Omri, the soldier king of Israel. Then the
archaeologists found something else, they found ivory. With every step they
walked on flakes of ivory, their trowels turned up ivory carvings. Too
sophisticated for the hill farmers of Israel, this ivory was Phoenician and it told
a story
Omri died in 869 B.C. and was succeeded by his son, Ahab. Ahab was another
soldier, good at that, but nonetheless, one of the most infamous kings Israel
ever had:
Ahab son of Omri did evil in the sight of the Lord more than all who
were before him.
He took a wife, a princess from Phoenicia called Jezebel. It was Jezebel who
brought the artists to decorate the palace on the hill. Those archaeologists in
the 1930s were walking in the ivory halls where fragrant, deadly Jezebel once
walked.
It was part of the story of Ahab and Jezebel that we heard in our reading about
Elijah. The problem was that Ahab was also an apostate, he did not serve the
Lord; instead he worshipped Jezebel’s Phoenician God: Baal.
If you have heard any of the story told in the First book of Kings you may
remember that there was a showdown, on Mount Carmel, where Elijah, took
on the prophets of Baal and called down fire from heaven. Elijah won that
contest and killed some of his opponents, but he was still outnumbered and
feared for his life. As we picked up the story, this morning, Elijah had fled
south, beyond the reach of Ahab and Jezebel. He sat under a broom tree and
despaired. O LORD, take away my life. An angel came to him and sent him on to
Horeb, the mount of God. At Horeb the Lord himself appeared to him.
It is a great story but you can miss what is going on here if you are not careful.
First of all you need to know that Horeb is another name for Sinai; so Elijah
has arrived at the mountain where Moses once saw the Lord pass by. In that
story Moses hid in a cleft in the rock just before God revealed himself and now
Elijah hides in a cave. It is quite deliberate, the story of Elijah is meant to sound
very like the story of Moses. We are learning something about God.

At Horeb the word of the Lord comes to Elijah and he is told to leave his cave
and to go and stand on the mountain because the Lord is about to pass by. It is
a fairly well known passage
Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains
and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in
the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in
the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not
in the fire
Now then, in the Authorised Version, the text continues
And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire:
and after the fire a still small voice 1 Kings 19:12
A still small voice; that is a memorable phrase and too good to waste. So, in the
hymn Dear Lord and Father of Mankind, we sing,
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, O still, small voice of
calm.
Lovely, really lovely and really wrong. The story of what Elijah heard and saw
has become a story about a God with good manners, a God you can bring to
tea who will speak gently and not frighten the cat.
It is not what the story is about; it is not what the story says. What happened
on Horeb was not just a bit of theatre, wind machines and lightning flashes and
then a gentle God. This was a different theology altogether. The references are
specific. The false God, Baal was a god the weather, a god of wind. If the wind
was blowing a gale, you thought Baal was about. So, when we hear that the
Lord was not in the wind we are being told very clearly that the Lord is not
like Baal. I Kings goes to some trouble to tell us that God is not a nature God,
the sort of God they worshipped in Phoenicia, not a God of special effects, or
earthquakes. Instead, God appears before Elijah and there is not still small
voice. Instead, as we heard this morning,
after the fire a sound of sheer silence 1 Kings 19:12
A sound of sheer silence. That is a tricky idea. There is a Eucharistic prayer we
do not use very often in the cathedral because I pull faces when I hear it. It is
prayer G. It says, ‘all your works echo the silent music of your praise’. I cannot

make sense of that. What is silent music when it is at home and how does it
echo? A sound of sheer silence is a real challenge, and it is meant to be. God is
not like the gods, nothing like a God who conjures up wind or a God whose
party trick is earthquakes. That is precisely the point that is being made here.
Not that God is polite, and softly spoken, but that God is not like the gods
who throw thunderbolts or turn into swans.
There is an important idea here and when we do not understand it we get into
difficulties. The gods, that strange figure Baal who appears in statues holding a
kind of mace posed to do some smiting; gods like that are gods who do things.
On Thursday they make it rain, when they are upset they send lightning. And
our God, the God of Elijah, the God we meet in Jesus Christ, is not like that.
The sound of sheer silence. We really do have to get it into our heads that
God does not do things.
God does not get restless and set off a volcano to keep things interesting.
There is an Eddie Izzard monologue in which he describes creation,
the second day [God] created fire and water and eggnog and radiators
and lights and Burma
It is very clever, but it depends on that idea that God is just the biggest version
you can possibly imagine of someone who does tricks and make decisions. Too
often we think God is the absolutely ultimate boss the person who fixes things.
We have God rushing in and out his own creation moving the pieces, curing
this person of gout, smiting the Philistines, providing a parking space in Clifton
when we have popped out to buy a paper. That is Baal I am afraid and really
not the sound of sheer silence.
God, says, John the evangelist, in the bible, is love. God is love and God is
nothing else. God is love, God is not cross sometimes, righteously indignant in
the mornings and merciful at tea time. God is love, unchanging, eternal love.
There is nothing God is about to do, no yesterday, no ‘after this’. God has no
agenda, no work in progress, no decisions to make, nothing that he might do.
From the beginning and forever God loved creation into being and loves in it
and through it. You cannot put on your spectacles and set creation over here
and God over there and see how they are different. All things exist in him and
for him.
Now that is perhaps enough doctrine for one morning though it is just the
point that story on I Kings was trying to make. There is though one question I

still have to answer. If I am right and God really does not change his mind or
make decisions. What on earth are we doing when we pray, why do we ask for
things? What will Margaret be doing, in a moment, when she begins the
intercessions? The problem we have here is that we get a bit distracted by
Margaret. Now let’s be clear that is really not her fault, she is not doing
anything wrong, actually Margaret is rather good at intercessions. The problem
is to do with us and our determination to think about who is doing things. We
like people to be in charge, we want God to be the boss; we like to notice that
Margaret is doing the interceding. So we notice Margaret and then we think we
join in what she is doing. But, we have missed something. All of creation,
remember, is in God and for God; everything happens within God’s love. So, in
the intercessions it is not Margaret praying and us joining in, it is God praying
and Margaret joining in. Prayer is the place where we go to connect with that
constant loving purpose that is God. If you like it is a bit like launching a little
boat into a mighty river. To begin with you are not sure which way the current
goes, not sure even which way you want to go. So prayer always starts with us
being honest and asking for what we want. Looking at the challenges we see
and then little by little we look for the love of God at work.
That is not easy. Listening for that sound of sheer silence is really hard. We
prefer the bells and whistles, the wind and the earthquake, we get that. Our
problem as T S Eliot once explained is that we have the experience, but miss
the meaning. The shootings in Orlando, the Referendum, IS, football hooligans,
Jo Cox, we hear the clamour; can we, can we really see beyond, listen through
these things and know that there is constant loving purpose? We are put to
the test at the moment. The news is bad. We are surrounded by the horror
and noise of terror. The men and women of terror want us to be distracted,
they want us to pay attention to the noise and the drama. They want us to live
in fear and give up on our commitment to hope, give up on our belief in love.
Prayer is an exercise in love, so is faith, so is life itself. We must not be
distracted. God is a God of love. At the heart of creation there is love. We
must not give way to fear, we must not be seduced into thinking that it is more
action that it is needed, more noise and fury. We will not be saved by anything
we do, our calling is just to receive and return the love that is the beginning
and end of everything.

2 Timothy 1:1-14
Years ago I led a retreat for a parish, a whole weekend. A good weekend, we all got on and gave glory to
God, but we were a bit different. They were guitars and Graham Kendrick and I was organs and Orlando
Gibbons. They were denim, I was linen. And they were demonstrative whilst I come from the sort of family
where you wear a tie to do the gardening. I am only demonstrative when I have a letter from my doctor
and another letter from your doctor and I know your mother’s maiden name. So, at the end of the
weekend, when they came to thank me, I hoped for a polite ripple of applause, but instead two very large
men came and put their arms around me and prayed for me - at length. Which was lovely, but when
people hug me in public I quite often do a passable imitation of a hat-stand.
Why am I telling you this? The reading we have just heard, from the Second Letter of Timothy, takes us
into tricky territory. It is important, but it is not easy, and it has to do with what being religious looks like
and feels like. Is it hugs, or is it hat-stands?
First I need to tell you about this letter; about Two Timothy. In your bibles it will say The Second Letter of
Paul to Timothy and you will find it after the First Letter to Timothy and after most of Paul’s other letters:
Romans Corinthians, Thessalonians… Clever people who write books and who like nothing better than
an unusual Greek verb, call the two letters to Timothy and the letter to Titus the ‘Pastoral Epistles’. That’s
because these are letters unlike Paul’s other letters. These letters are all about pastoral matters, they are
letters about the church and how it works. So, the First Letter of Timothy tells you what you should
wear, how you should say your prayers and it has a lot to say about bishops and deacons
whoever aspires to the office of bishop desires a noble task. (1 Timothy 3:1)
And there is something else that makes these Pastoral Epistles different from the rest of Paul’s letters.
These letters think that there is a problem, a serious problem. This morning we got a hint of that, towards
the end of the reading we heard
Hold to the standard of sound teaching that you have heard from me
Now, you only tell people to hang on to sound teaching if you think that there is a risk that they might
have some odd ideas. And that is exactly what is going on here. The First Letter to Timothy talked a lot
about ‘truth’ and ‘deceit’ and then wagged its finger and said
Have nothing to do with profane myths and old wives' tales (1 Timothy 4:7)
These are not letters about something; they are letters against something. There is a problem and the
problem is false teaching, heresy.
These letters really are not like the other letters Paul writes. In fact, they are so unlike the other letters
that those clever people with their Greek verbs are inclined to think that they were not written by Paul at
all. They may well have been written a little later by someone determined that we should go on
remembering what Paul told us when things get tricky.
But the important thing here is not whether this letter was written by Paul or someone close to Paul. The
important thing here is the problem this letter tackles. It has something to do with hugs or hat-stands. It
has something to do with what faith looks like. In these letters is the very beginning of what got takes us
from Calvary to College Green. How are we going to explain the fact that after Jesus told us to repent
and love our neighbour we looked at one another and thought it would be a very good idea to have deans
and vergers and apses and Finance Advisory Committees. We started with a gospel and we got a church.
Two Timothy is part of what got us from there to here.
Jesus preached something very simple, ‘Repent and believe, the Kingdom of God is at hand’. That is the
heart of what he had to say and his disciples kept asking ‘Excellent, but what exactly does that mean, what

do you want us to do?’ Paul came after Jesus saying ‘There is only one thing that matters and it is the
cross; you have to die with Christ and live with Christ’. And Two Timothy follows and tries to say
something about just precisely how you do that.
Jesus said ‘Repent and believe, the Kingdom of God is at hand’. That is the gospel. But the really
important thing we need to know was that he did not just tell us the gospel, he was the gospel. When
Jesus healed the sick that was the Kingdom coming, when he raised the dead, that was the Kingdom
coming. When Jesus taught us to love another that was the Kingdom coming, and when Jesus said ‘not my
will be done’ and died that was the Kingdom coming. The whole gospel is Jesus Christ. Paul was right the
whole of faith is found in Christ, it is to be like Christ.
And that is all at once dead simple and an overwhelming challenge. How do I live like Christ when the
question is about genetically modified humans, or Brexit, or the cathedral budget, or the argument with a
friend, or the person who is sick? What do I do, what do I say? That is hard and the church has lots of
answers and they are not all the same. For some it is hugs and some of us are hat-stands because the hugs
don’t do it for us. When the truth gets contested, when we disagree we need help and that is why Two
Timothy was written.
And it says two things that we need to hear. I told you that these letters tell us things about bishops and
deacons; in fact they tell us more about bishops than any other letters in the New Testament. And the
striking things is what they tell us. Listen to this:
Now a bishop must be above reproach… an apt teacher, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not
quarrelsome, and not a lover of money 1 Timothy 3:2-3
That is pretty good advice, none of us want a bishop waving a broken bottle and demanding money with
menaces. But it is not what we ask for now when we appoint bishops orb deans come to that. Now the
adverts talk about leading engagement in the public square, or facilitating mission, or financial management.
That was not what mattered in the Letters to Timothy. Instead of worrying what skills the bishop had
these letters want to know that the Bishop is authentic, that he lives out the holiness he talks about. That
is really important the question we need to ask of ourselves and of each other has much more to do with
what we are and rather less to do with what we say or put on a CV. What kind of life do we lead? We
talk about Christ can anyone else see Christ in us.
That is the first thing. The second is this business of telling the truth, knowing the sound teaching. That
really matters in Two Timothy. Later in the letter you come across one of my favourite verse in scripture:
The time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will
accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires
2 Timothy 4:3
This letter keeps asking do you know the truth? Do you know the truth or do you prefer opinions that
agree with your own? Do you know the truth or do you follow your nose? This letter wants us to live
like Christ, it wants us to be authentic. And it is absolutely convinced that we can only do that if ask
ourselves hard questions. We can only live like Christ if we learn and remember what Christ taught us.
We do not make faith up as we go along. It is not an instinct, a gut feeling, it is more than that; it is saying
our prayers, reading the bible, learning the faith. Of course it is love and joy and hope, but it is also
discipline and repentance. Sometimes you hug and sometimes you might be a hat-stand because there is a
deep conversation to be had about what the faith looks like and we come at that slowly throughout our
lives. 2 Timothy invites us to think about what real faith looks like and sounds like. We are perhaps
tempted to think we are most authentic, our faith is most real when it is spontaneous. 2 Timothy suggests
that what is real and authentic might be spontaneous and also informed and disciplined.

It is harvest festival and you probably feel cheated that I have not spoken about fields of corn or tins of
baked beans. The idea of harvest is deep in scripture, the Kingdom of God that Jesus preached gets
compared to the harvest. We are the harvest, we are what God gathers in. What we are, and what we
will be, depend on God, but remember what Jesus said when he preached about the sower,
these are the ones sown on the good soil: they hear the word and accept it and bear fruit
Mark 4:20
Hear the word and accept it; know the sound doctrine, remember the sound teaching. As followers of Christ
we offer God our lives, that is the harvest, but they are lives shaped by teaching, by truth, by the practice
of faith. We are summoned into truth because the truth is the one thing that will save us from ourselves.

Legal Service 2016
think about these things
(Philippians 4)
To the … Lord Hubert de Burgh, Justiciar of England, his always and everywhere
David, by divine permission Abbot of St Augustine’s of Bristol, Greeting.
That is the beginning of a letter written in 1220, and written here. This cathedral church
was then St Augustine’s Abbey, and David had just been made its abbot. 1220, you might be
a little vague about 1220, so here is a little history. England is divided and dangerous. King
John has died, in 1216, in the midst of a Baron’s War. His nine-year-old son, Henry III, has
been crowned in Gloucester in haste. Note the fact that it was Gloucester. The West
Country was loyal to the crown, and Bristol was especially so. This city was where you
imprisoned pretenders to the throne. England is regional, one community set against
another. By 1220 the royal party had actually won the Barons War, but they were losing
the peace. The king was still a minor, the Earl Marshall (his regent) had died and there was
no national government. Bristol was lawless, Abbot David's letter talked about people
adding ‘evil deeds to wicked ones’. Now, if a Dean gets really cross he can look at you over
the top of his glasses, medieval abbots had more clout. Abbot David wrote to announce
that he had put the keeper of Bristol Castle and the burgesses of the town under an
interdict. No public services, no masses, no marriages, no baptisms in Bristol. They were
allowed to hear sermons though; and that must have cheered them up no end.
David imposed the interdict because of
...those who demolish and destroy the laws of the kingdom in favour of their

own laws
They destroy the laws of the kingdom in favour of their own laws. The law mattered. The law
really mattered, being the people you are, you may not know about 1220, but you will know
about 1215. That was the year King John was brought to Runymede and set his seal to
Magna Carta. And Magna Carta was the defining moment in a story about what kind of
people we are and about the place of law in the life of the land.
'to no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice'.
Magna Carta is not just a document it is a statement of intent, it is direction of travel, it
describes and defines us, in Samuel Johnson’s words ‘it was born with a grey beard’. Magna
Carta set its face against all that was arbitrary, personal, particular.
Eight hundred years ago that was what we were talking about in Bristol. This year, in this
city, we have been telling the story again. That is because, according to a Kalendar drawn
up by the town clerk, Robert Ricart, in 1479, Bristol got its first Mayor, in 1216. What that
means is that we got our mayor in the midst of all this lawlessness. In that chaos we
committed to this kind of order. The scholars will tell you that our mayoralty was born out
of bloodshed, violence and competition. As one historian puts the powers of the mayor

‘came from desperation’. We did not get laws and mayors and judges and high sheriffs
because we are good, rational and wise. We got them because we are none of those things.
We got them because we were weary of our divisions.
Remember Abbot David’s complaint, they destroy the laws of the kingdom in favour of their
own laws. That was what really grated with him. The fickle, partial, personal nature of
justice, the lack of justice. That grates with all of us. Magna Carta put the king under the
law, one law for all of us. As we got our mayor England was establishing the common law,
determining its reach, justices in eyre, applying the same law. No more laws of our own.
As Lord Bingham so memorably put it when he tried to explain what the rule of law really
means,
if you maltreat a penguin in the London Zoo, you do not escape prosecution because
you are Archbishop of Canterbury,
It is a more serious point than you might think, in1156 Archdeacon Osbert was accused of
murdering William Fitzherbert who was the Archbishop of York, and Osbert was never
brought to justice owing, they said, ‘to the subtlety of the laws and the canons’. Eight
hundred years ago we set our face against that privilege, that exemption, that arcane
complexity. One law, one city.
Law is not just a practice it is a fundamental assumption about community. Law assumes
and determines that we should experience life in community. Law assumes we should be
looked at whole, understood as more than competing claims and rights. Law assumes a life
we hold in common, under common law, the life of a city and a nation.
We shall come back to the law, let’s do the theology. The High Sheriff chose the reading
that she read for us, Philippians 4,
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever
is pure, …if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think
about these things Philippians 4:8
This is a letter Paul wrote from prison. He is under pressure, choosing his words carefully.
He is writing about the things that matter. He is also writing to a community that is
divided, contentious and bad tempered. Chapter three is littered with warnings
Beware of the dogs, beware of the evil workers (3:2)
And chapter 4 opens, just before we heard the words that Helen read, with a curious bit of
detail
I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. (4:2)
These two women were leaders in the church community and they were fighting like cats.
It is not cities that get divided and dangerous, churches do it too. And Paul is determined
that the Christian community will not live like this. He looks for something else, something
other, stand firm in the Lord, my beloved he says (Philippians 4:1). It is a demand, stand firm
in the Lord. Don’t fight, don’t compete. That is what this letter says, it is a letter about
community, morality and living together. Now Christians can be a bit sly with morality.

Too often Christians tell you to be good because God says you must be good. Too often
we lay down the law and claimed an authority a power that cannot be checked or gainsaid.
Don't argue with the Dean because the Dean has power of attorney for the Almighty. But
Paul, notice, does not do that. Stand firm in the Lord. If you want to know what Christian
living is, says Paul, look at Christ. Stand firm in the Lord. And then he says what we heard
in our reading,
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is
pure, …if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think
about these things
Look to Christ, stand firm in the Lord and then live like that yourselves. Look to your own
lives, the lives you live together and commit to that experience. Whatever is true, whatever
is honorable, whatever is just… think on these things. Right at the heart of the Christian faith
is looking to the life lived in Christ and living that life together. Think on these things. It is
absolutely not an appeal to a mysterious higher power, a claim to know the will of God. It
is a life we know and share. It is a common inheritance, a common experience, a life lived
in common. That’s the benchmark for Paul, not some mystical experience, nor a blind
insistence on obedience to a distant deity, but a profound commitment to the life we can
share in Christ. Think on these things. The life we hold in common, the one in which
there is neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female. That is what he wants us to think about.
Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just… think on these things.
Three years ago our annual conference had the deans of the Church of England assembling
in Westminster. It is an odd business the deans’ conference, deans are like the nose on
your face, one is really quite enough. Thirty-six deans unsettle most people. Most people,
but not everyone, the three Justices of the Supreme Court who graciously gave us their
time, took us in their stride. We talked about law and faith. It was an interesting meeting
and I was struck that the justices really went out of their way to tell us that Christian faith
no longer has any bearing on the law. Christian assumptions can no longer offer any kind
of map or compass to justice.
I have no real argument with that. But we will be the poorer if we stop talking to one
another. This morning I want to suggest that when you bring together the legal profession
and the church at a service like this there is a fundamental assumption that we do hold in
common. We may get there differently but we have a shared reverence for a community
in which all are equal. We believe that we can test our conviction by the quality of our
common life. For you, if you are lawyers, it is a community in which all persons and all
authorities are bound by the same law, publicly made and publicly administered. For me it
is a conviction that there is a common life in Christ that is available to all, the same
promise, the same hope, for all. We both believe, because we believe in law, and perhaps
because we believe in God that we exist in relation to something else, and that other thing,
the law, the work of God in Christ, secures a common status. We think on these things.
And that makes us unusual. And that makes us serious. The clamour now is that we are
not the same and that the common life is not secure. Our faith in democracy is shaken,
majorities begin to frighten some of us. Our national life is fractured, we are getting
regional all over again, we are conscious of what divides north and south, rich and poor,
privileged allures and the excluded. Worse than that, we have grown anxious, we have
become suspicious. And our modern Caesars, of right and left, who want to build walls or

call people ‘migrant’ or just ‘foreign’ divide to rule they ask us to trust them and make their
own laws It is leadership we lack they tell us. Mr Trump wants to be president so he can
put Mrs Clinton in jail, you do not have to be her greatest admirer to find that sinister.
Abbot David must lie unquiet in his grave and he lies quite near. It is private laws all over
again.
Think on these things. We will be poorer if those of us who look to a common life under a common
law do not together assert over and again that public law publicly made will not give way to the
trolls and bigots who sit in judgement at an anonymous screen. We will be poorer if we surrender

the precious, redemptive conviction that it is a common hope we share, and a true
commonwealth that we seek. Think about these things, the Epistle to the Philippians
makes its appeal to,
whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure
It assumes we will know truth and honour and justice. Think on these things. It
assumes we can name truth and honour and justice. And that is whybwhat we do
here today is worth doing.

Ecclesiastes 11, 12
On Monday I had a meeting with the Bishop. We had a conversation about planning for the
future and we talked about things like strategy, and hope, and ambition. Then I drove just
beyond the edge of the diocese to visit my mother, who is now 86, and rather less than
fighting fit. We did not talk about strategy and ambition; we did not even talk about hope.
Instead, she told me, as she tells me every time I see her, that she does not like being old.
From that I turned to the reading we have just heard
Remember your creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come,
and the years draw near when you will say, "I have no pleasure in them"
Ecclesiastes 12:1
Ecclesiastes 11 and 12 is, at least in part, about being young and about being old.
It is an odd book, Ecclesiastes, there is nothing else quite like it in scripture. Most of us
know it for the famous passage in chapter three
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time
to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is
planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal…
Ecclesiastes 3:1-3
Notice that too is about times and seasons, about the need to do this now and do that
later.
a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace
Ecclesiastes 3:8
It is a presiding idea in Ecclesiastes. What we heard tonight was that when you are young
you must seize the day. It was slightly startling stuff: urging young people to break the
rules, to enjoy it,
Follow the inclination of your heart and the desire of your eyes
So, no surprise that in Ecclesiastes chapter eight we stumble across another familiar phrase,
the one that, in the Authorised Version, reads
a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be
merry
Ecclesiastes 8:15
If you think the phrase is ‘eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die’; you need to
know the bit about dying (after you have enjoyed the eating and drinking), is not in
Ecclesiastes; that comes from Isaiah. Ecclesiastes it seems just wants you to have fun.
Now before we all decide that we would be better off this afternoon in the Dog and Duck.
I need to explain that it is just a touch more complicated than that and try to explain what
is going on here. It is unusual and it is interesting and it worth taking note.

Books of the bible were written at different times. The oldest are three thousand years
old and there are stories in others that took shape even before that. The youngest books
in the Old Testament were written not that long before Christ was born. These books,
written at different times, were written in different styles. There are history books, there
are prophecies, there are laws and there is much more besides.
Ecclesiastes is a very particular kind of writing; it is called ‘wisdom literature’. This is the
book of the bible to accompany a glass of very dry sherry. It is slightly upmarket,
intellectual writing. Wisdom literature came out of the learned society near the royal
court, clever sayings, thoughtful observation, the sort of thing you talked about at the best
dinner parties in Jerusalem. And most wisdom literature sets out to tell you that being
wise is a very good thing to be. The wise know the world, they understand.
Happy are those who find wisdom, and those who get understanding, for her income
is better than silver, and her revenue better than gold
Proverbs 3:13-14
What Wisdom literature tells you is that, if you do look around you, you will see the world
makes sense and that you can be sure that God is good and God is just. That is what the
Book of Proverbs says, it is what will also you find in the Book of Wisdom. Wisdom
Literature tells the wise that they are happy and tells the rest of us to listen to them. The
wise know how it all adds up.
And Ecclesiastes begs to differ. In Ecclesiastes the wise are not happy, the world does not
make sense and the ways of God are past finding out. This is a radical, awkward,
interesting book.
Ecclesiastes was written late, after the Exile when things had not gone well for the Israel of
God. Ecclesiastes looks around and it does not seem obvious that everything adds up and
makes sense. It does not even seem that God is at hand. Ecclesiastes is riven with a kind
of nagging doubt. There is a phrase that keeps cropping up
all is vanity and a chasing after wind
Things go wrong, plans fail, we die, ambition will be frustrated just a chasing after wind.
That is why our reading tonight was so keen on youth and so pessimistic about old age. In
Ecclesiastes the more you know the less it all makes sense; the more you see, the worse it
looks. Ecclesiastes can sound very bleak indeed.
So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me; for all is
vanity and a chasing after wind
Ecclesiastes 2:17
This is the book of the bible that says what my mother says; knows what she knows.
Pleasures pass and old age brings grief. It expresses its sorrow beautifully, but it is very sad
indeed.
all must go to their eternal home, and the mourners will go about the streets; before
the silver cord is snapped, and the golden bowl is broken, and the pitcher is broken
at the fountain

Ecclesiastes writes out of an experience of failure and despair and it says something we
have to hear. I have sat with my mother old age; old age is hard and her wisdom is that the
world does not always make sense, and God does not always feel near.
Round about the time I saw my mother I finished the novel I was reading. It was the new
Robert Harris, set in the conclave meeting to elect a new pope. The story gets a bit
carried away with itself, but it is a hard book to put down. Without giving the game away, I
can tell you that, in this book, a sermon is preached and it is a sermon on the virtues of
doubt. The idea in the book is that a church that really knows doubt is a church that
commend faith. The cardinal commends a faith that engages with doubt. Let’s have more
doubt says the preacher. Now interestingly the Book of Ecclesiastes is also known by
another name; it is sometimes called Qoheleth, and Qoheleth means The Preacher. But
this preacher, Qoheleth, is not quite saying that we have to live with doubt. Doubt is
corrosive, if you live with doubt you live with anxiety and suspicion. It is a popular idea at
the moment that doubt is somehow commendable, grown-up, thoughtful, but change the
frame of reference for a moment. Imagine someone tells you that they love you. To
respond ‘I doubt that’ would be deeply damaging. It is quite legitimate not to understand
or comprehend how someone can love you, but doubting love is dangerous. Qoheleth
does not ask us to doubt, it says instead that we have to live with disappointment and with
mystery.
In part, this book tells us that we must seize our opportunities when we have them, for
nothing is certain. Qoheleth confronts us with a God we will never encompass, describe
and define. It throws open the curtains, pushes back the horizon, there is more than we
can see, more than we can know. It confronts us with the height and depth of things, the
mystery and the pain that unsettle us. That is a fundamentally religious lesson that we have
to learn. God is more than we imagine, truth is not easily bought. The church does not
preach doubt, but we are rightly humbled by the majesty of God and by the limits of our
understanding. Ecclesiastes, the Preacher, teaches that lesson powerfully. We might want
to say rather more than this Preacher says, but this is one of the things we need to say.
And hearing it we are reminded that whilst faith might bring joy and comfort, might
strengthen and reassure, sometimes it also invites us to be courageous and resilient.
When the golden bowl is broken, and the pitcher is broken at the fountain will still be faithful
and still just. But that does not mean that we will not have to acknowledge and deal with
the fact that life and old age bring disappointment as well as hope and joy.

Matthew 22:34-46
Sunday 29th

I have been in Milan. My son knows that you go to Milan to watch AC Milan. My daughter
knows you go for Prada, Versace, Gucci, and Dolce & Gabbana. My wife thinks you go for the
Duomo, Leonardo da Vinci and perhaps chicken Milanese. But I, sad man that I am, I believe
Milan is the place where, in 374, they showed us how to choose a bishop. When the Diocese
of Bristol has to choose a bishop, in 2017, committees meet, agendas are flogged through,
statements written, online surveys arranged, brows furrowed and pencils sucked. In 374, when
an election began in Milan, Ambrose, the local governor, went to a bad tempered meeting to
call it to order. While he was speaking, a cry went up ‘Ambrose for bishop’. He did not have a
degree in theology, he was not even baptized, but they made him their bishop. Now, it would
save us all a lot of time and stress if, at the end of this service, you could shout ‘Nicola for
bishop’ and carry her shoulder high to consecration. You would have to carry her all the way
to Lambeth and then persuade the Archbishop, and indeed the Queen, but that is just detail.
Ambrose, the bishop, became a great theologian. His background in politics also served him
well. He lived at a time when the church had local customs. In Rome, they fasted on a
Saturday, in Milan they did not. When asked, by a visitor, what he should do, Ambrose replied,
Si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more
Which, in time, became our saying When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Now, this business of how you behave, what you do in one place, and not another, is very
interesting. In our conversation about what sort of a bishop we are going to have, we have been
talking about whether Bristol has some local rules. You see the Church of England is committed
to something called mutual flourishing. What that means is that if I am someone who believes
that women can be bishops and you are someone whop believes that women cannot be bishops
we are both entitled to take a full part in the life of the church, we should both be able to
flourish. So, I can argue that the next bishop might be a woman, and you can argue, not just that
a woman should not be our bishop, but even that a man who will not ordain women could be
our bishop. That does happen, the Bishop of Chichester does not ordain women, and you may
remember a lively debate in Sheffield, when it was announced, last January, that the new bishop,
Philip North, would not ordain women. Would we welcome a bishop who does not ordain
women?
That is a complicated argument and this is not a sermon about ordaining or not ordaining
women. This morning, I am interested I the idea that you can have one rule in one place and
another rule somewhere else. I am interested in that because of the gospel reading we have just
heard
a lawyer, asked [Jesus] a question to test him. "Teacher, which commandment in
the law is the greatest?"
Let’s think about the story we heard, for a moment. Jesus is surrounded by a hostile audience,
there has been a sequence of trick questions. The Herodians wanted to know ‘Is it lawful to pay
tax to Caesar? Say No and you anger the Romans, say Yes and pious Jews hate you. Then
Sadducees (who do not believe in resurrection) ask him about a woman who married seven

times, ‘In the resurrection who will be her husband?’ Now there is a third question, equally
contentious. This time it the Pharisees, the experts on the Law
"Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?"
This was the question Pharisees always asked at their parties. It was the topic of conversation.
You are interested in law, but which law come first? Which is great and which small; which
demand is light, which is heavy? Jesus himself, seems to enter this territory. You may
remember him saying,
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cummin,
and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith”.
Matthew 23:23
The Pharisees will know what answer to expect, they are putting Jesus to the test. He answers
by citing the bible. His answer is a quotation, from Deuteronomy (6:5) and Leviticus (19:18)
"'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and
with all your mind.' This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is
like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'
Now, just to tidy up some possible misunderstandings, that business of heart soul and mind.
Jesus is not saying you will love with your heart AND with your soul AND with your mind. It is
not as if he says, you will love like this on Monday AND Tuesday AND Wednesday. Jews would
not think of heart soul and mind as separate things. Jesus just meant we must love God utterly.
Then, we need to notice too, that Jesus says that loving God is the greatest and first
commandment. Now, this time, he does mean it is both the greatest AND the first. There is a
greatest AND first commandment, which is to love God, but a second commandment, which is to
love your neighbor. Jesus gives a ‘both / and’ answer and he avoids the trap the Pharisees set.
What has all that got to do with Ambrose, doing as the Romans do and ordaining, or not
ordaining, women? Because we live in a morally complicated world we do accept the idea that
you can live with more than one way of thinking. In England, same sex marriage was legalized in
2014, the same year that in Nigeria they passed the same sex marriage (prohibition) bill. The
Anglican Communion lives in a very uneasy tension over that and over ordaining and not
ordaining women with different assumptions in different places. Which law is the greatest?
Now, one of the ways we get round this is to argue that law is a blunt instrument. If the law
says you must hang a murderer, but you think the murderer was acting under the influence of
drugs given by someone else, or deluded, or under duress you might argue that the law is one
thing and loving action another. There is a whole branch of ethics that says that laws do not
work, what matters, what really matters, is that we do the loving thing. Not always do this, never
do that; not even do as the Romans do; but do the loving thing.
And Jesus says Love God and love you neighbour. Jesus says, do both things. Jesus says you cannot
have one without the other. You cannot love God if you do not love your neighbour; you cannot
love your neighbour if you do not love God.
It is just possible, by now, that you feel a headache coming on. Let me put it another way, with a
nod to a friend who once explained this to me. Let’s imagine a game of rugby, Roger Dubois’
Verger XV against Canon Gainsborough’s Marines. That is a game we would all like to see. If

this game is to played well there are two things the players must get right. They must play well,
play with skill and they must play by the rules, they must not cheat. If they play without skill, if
they cannot kick well, or they cannot catch the ball in the air they will lose the game. If they play
outside the rules, if they think they can pass the ball forward. or go on playing outside the pitch,
well then, they are not playing badly; in truth they are not playing the game at all. A game in
which Glynn can throw the ball forward, or Roger can race up into stands pursued by a Royal
Marine Colour Sergeant is not rugby at all.
That is the point Jesus is making. Jesus knows that love comes from God. As the First Letter of
John puts it
Let us love one another, because love is from God1 John 4:7
I cannot love my neighbour, I cannot know what it is to truly love my neighbour, unless I know
what love is. And love is a gift of God. We do not make it up as we go along. If we think we
choose what loving looks like, what loving action might be, we have lost faith. We are doing
something interesting, but we are not people of faith. We are no longer Christian. The first
commandment, and the greatest, is to love God. You cannot love your neighbour if you do not
love God. And, of course, if you love God and do not love your neighbour, well then you do
not truly love God.
There is here, enough to be getting on with, a conversation I might continue another day,or you
might have over lunch. Today, I have just tried to explain what Jesus meant when he told us to
love God and love our neighbour. I think he meant that we are supposed to love another, but
understand that is a discipline. Love is not just nice feelings, the cosy reassurance that if I think I
am nice it all OK. Love is the gift of God that I am summoned to understand and accept. Love
is a practice, a mindset, a habit to acquire. Love has boundaries. Much to our surprise, there
are some rules, things we must, or must not, do.
To return to the problems that a church faces as it makes difficult decisions and tries to do that
in a loving way we begin to understand the dilemma. Compromise and accommodation feels a
reasonable way of proceeding, you blur the boundaries and keep pretending you are playing the
same game. The problem is that the love of God is not founded on compromise or
accommodation, it is absolute. Love does not make a series of compromises until we reach the
place that gives least offence, least often. Love is the furnace that fashions something new and
takes us where we never expected to go. We love God, then we love our neighbour and doing
that we see the world afresh.

Zephaniah 1:7-18
That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of
ruin and devastation
I have a friend whose great-great-grandfather was Rev. Dr Henry Harries, a
Welsh Baptist minister of the hell and damnation kind. My friend has the
manuscript of some of his sermons; which is rather splendid. Unfortunately,
they are in Welsh and he cannot read them. I thought about my friend as I
looked at our readings this Sunday
That day will be a day of wrath,
It is strong stuff. It is also unfamiliar stuff. In all my time here I have never
heard Nicola tell us that the Harbour will turn to blood next Tuesday. Not
once has Robert announced that death, riding a place horse, is shortly
expected to charge through the breakfast buffet at the Marriott Royal.
We do not talk like this; but the bible does. That quotation, about the day of
wrath comes from Zephaniah, but it was in our reading from I Thessalonians
too,
Then sudden destruction will come upon them 1 Thess 5:3
It is what the biblical scholars call apocalypse, which means uncovering. It is
supposed to show us something. The trouble is we are not sure what it is
telling us. It might as well be in Welsh.
It is high time we thought about the day of wrath… a day of trumpet blast and
battle cry. Now, the first thing to get straight is that kind of writing, all this
blood poured out like dust has its roots in our history. That is not what we
expect. Read passages like this and history is not what springs to mind.
History is hyperinflation in the Weimar Republic leading to the rise of the
National Socialists, all those essays you have to write about one thing leading
to another, causes, consequences, and progress. Apocalypse feels like a
different thing altogether, everything is out of proportion. It is as if you asked
you aunt if she wanted tea, or coffee and she has set fire to your trousers.
One thing does not seem to lead to another. Let me explain.
At Easter 1251 three men started to preach up a crusade. One of them was a
runaway monk, called Jacob. He always had a letter in his hand and said the
Blessed Virgin Mary had given it to him. She had reminded him that the news

of Christ’s birth was given first to shepherds. So he summoned shepherds to
his cause. He created an army of thousands. He said the sea was going to part
so they could march to the Holy Land. Then it all began to go badly wrong.
They marched to Amiens not Jerusalem, they started stealing food and then
they took to killing the clergy. It was all very bizarre. And it begins to make a
bit more sense when you know that in 1250, just a year before, the French
King had been captured on crusade and was being held hostage. There was a
crisis in France and this was the response to crisis. The story had its roots in
history.
It is the same story when we turn to Zephaniah. Zephaniah is one of the
‘minor prophets’. It is a bit harsh, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel are the
Champions League of prophecy and there are twelve minor prophets and it is
not a helpful label, they are not the same. Zephaniah begins his book
The word of the LORD that came to Zephaniah son of Cushi son of
Gedaliah son of Amariah son of Hezekiah, in the days of King Josiah son
of Amon of Judah. I will utterly sweep away everything from the face of
the earth, says the LORD
Zephaniah 1:1-2
What catches the ear and the eye is the drama: I will utterly sweep away
everything. We are, though, supposed to notice what he says first. Zephaniah
son of Cushi…son of Hezekiah, in the days of King Josiah. That is history.
Hezekiah was a king, so was Josiah. It is history that is red in tooth and claw.
Josiah died in battle, on the plains of Megiddo. His life and his death were part
of a titanic struggle in which the Babylonian Empire overwhelmed Judah.
When Zephaniah prophesied about
a day of trumpet blast and battle cry against the fortified cities and
against the lofty battlements
that was not once-upon a time language, that was the way things were. It was
history. Zephaniah is a way of making sense of destruction; of defeat and
death.
the sound of the day of the LORD is bitter, the warrior cries aloud there
We need to notice that scripture is not trying to tell ‘It’s OK, everything will
be alright really’. In the row about Thought for The Day, in the last few weeks,
Justin Webb suggested that the religious message is just

If everyone was nicer to everyone else, it would be fine
Zephaniah says he is wrong, so does Jeremiah, so does Amos. The message of
the prophets is that death, and war, and catastrophe are terrible to behold.
These are moments when the words fail us; you can only weep. There is no
explanation to give, no message of reassurance. Be silent says Zephaniah.
Nothing will save you, there is no sense to be made of this; there is nothing
that will help you see.
I will bring such distress upon people that they shall walk like the blind
We keep reading these passages of destruction and death as though they
provide us with an account of what will happen; this surely is the way God will
work it all out, make it better. That really is not what the prophets are saying.
The emphasis falls on the fact that everything goes dark. It is impenetrable,
mysterious. It is bewildering
a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness
Later, in different passages there can be words of reassurance, a new hope, but
it is not a story in which one thing sensibly follows another. It is
discontinuous. You shut one book. You pick up another. It is a new story.
It is, in fact, just the way we have to think about Jesus on the cross. Too often
we suggest that he was dead and then he was alive again, as though it was a bit
horrid and then he got better. We are supposed to hold two radically
different ideas in our heads, see two pictures at once. He died, he is dead and
he is risen. Death is real it still exists and there is something else.
This is one of those sermons where there ought to be ice creams and an
intermission a chance to lie down and rub the temples. We are nearly there.
The fundamental idea in all this is that we speak of things that are greater than
we know. Put very simply, we are not in charge of this story. Zephaniah’s
shattering prophecy of darkness and destruction announces that we are caught
up in something we do not control. We can make all sorts of statement about
how we think it is going, we can assess and we can tidy it up and make it
manageable, but at some point we have to let go.
To believe in God is to accept ultimately that there is a truth beyond our
words, a reality that burn so bright it is blinding. We have got dangerously
careless in the way we speak about our faith and it has happened because we
do not take prophets like Zephaniah seriously. All the casual talk about a God

who speak to us, gives us a word, a God who wants this or that, a God we can
meet; all of that fails utterly to convey what an encounter with the living God
might be like. In scripture, you cannot meet God; the experience would
consume you. There is no process we can work; no levers we can pull. We
do not drive this business of belief. We are not the pivot on which everything
turns.
You see, the story we tell is not about it being OK and making it a bit better.
The story we tell is about death and the sheer horror that has been unleashed
in Syria, or in senseless shootings in a church at Sutherland Springs. It is a
story from which we need to be rescued and redeemed. It is not a story we
tell as if we can make it add up; make sense. It is a story that has to include
Christ going to the cross. In Rowan Williams words Jesus has to leave himself,
his nature, his calling his mission and step into something else.
That is why Zephaniah is important. I would be a bit careful of saying that is
what Zephaniah means, because Zephaniah is telling us not to jump to that
sort of conclusion too quickly. This morning though it is a reminder that we
are people who need to be redeemed and that the real story about us is told
by Christ. Here we join in that story, we learn the story, become part of it, so
that when we leave we might just possibly have a little less to say about
ourselves and a little more to say about the Christ who comes to meet us
here.

1
Advent Sunday, 3rd December 2017
+ Advent marks the start of the church’s year and the start of the period of preparation, the need
for readiness, that our Bible readings have been hinting at for weeks. And the collect for today,
Advent Sunday, sets the scene:
Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness and to put on the armour of light, now in the
time of this mortal life, in which your Son Jesus Christ came to us in great humility, that on the last day, when
he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal.
As the words of the Advent Sunday collect state, we’re to be ready and prepared for two things: the
time in this mortal life when Christ came to us in great humility – which starts with his birth in a
stable, and, the lesser known focus of Advent, his return on the last day when he’ll come again in his
glorious majesty. Today’s readings reinforce the Advent imperative – be ready! These are
momentous events.
The OT passage opens with Isaiah’s cry: ‘Oh that you would tear open the heavens and come down,’
and in the Gospel Mark roars onto the scene like the lion that is his gospel symbol. Be alert, he
warns. In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light, and
the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see the
Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather the
elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. Little wonder the recent
readings have been cautioning us not to be caught unawares like the unready bridesmaids, to make
sure our lamps are trimmed, full of oil, not to be the ones left behind ‘sleeping in sin’. And then
today’s Gospel continues, with its warning that Christ might return at any time, no one knows when.
It might be in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or a dawn. But on that Day of Judgement
when Christ returns in glory the dead will be raised, the darkness of this present age will pass away,
God’s Kingdom will finally be established on earth and everything will be made perfect.
The opening words of today’s collect are reflected in much of our Advent worship, full of symbolism
as we strive to cast away the works of darkness, putting on the armour of light and new life. We’ll
experience this symbolic movement from darkness to light later today at the Advent Procession,
when a chorister carrying a tiny candle, a pinprick of light, will process the length of the dark
Cathedral. In the Eastern Lady Chapel behind me the choir’s candles will be lit and the light glowing
behind the high altar will symbolise the breaking dawn of a new age. Slowly everyone’s candles will
be lit, until the entire building is suffused with candlelight.
Over the next few weeks Christians the world over will build on this symbolic movement from dark
to light. In the company of the patriarchs, the prophets, John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary we’ll
recall the history of our salvation as we move together from the darkness of unknowing to the birth
of Christ, the Light of the World. In penitence we’ll be reminded that through his sacrifice on the
cross we are set free to shed the dark cloak of sin and become alive to new life, putting on the
armour of light, a new beginning with echoes of our Baptism. And at Christ’s second coming, on the
last day, the darkness of the world as we know it will disappear and bathed in the light of Christ, we
will rise to the life immortal, as all things are reconciled in God.
Our Advent task is to be ready for all this, as Isaiah says, God is our potter and we are the clay. We
must be prepared to be moulded, to be transformed.
This is complicated, deeply serious stuff, and a million miles from the ways most people today
choose to keep Advent. In a large department store last week the assistant at the till offered me the
chance to buy a pampering Advent calendar at a knock down price. She assured me it was excellent
value, each day would reveal another little box containing hand cream, a face mask, massage soufflé.
Wouldn’t it be lovely, she enthused, to enjoy these daily treats and spend Advent ensuring I would

2
be Christmas-ready, smoothly moisturised, soft-skinned, buffed and toned. Maybe, but as the old
adage goes, you should never judge a book by its cover …
Every year my Grandmother gave each of her grandchildren an Advent Calendar and I loved the
ones she chose. There was always a huge dark sky - with plenty of glitter - and a mysterious
shadowy stable with soft lamplight shining over the empty, waiting manger. Day by day the dark sky
changed and grew lighter, as windows were opened onto the usual mixture of the sacred and the
questionable: robins, snowmen, angels, bells, holly, even the odd duck and a reindeer. Then, on
Christmas Eve the final huge window would be opened and at last the entire scene was revealed,
there was a baby in the manger, the moment we’d been waiting for.
Fashions change and a recent newspaper article featured a Kindness Advent Calendar. The idea
being that each window opened suggested an act of kindness: Put an extra item in the food bank.
Allow a waiting car to go in front of you in a queue of traffic. Visit your elderly neighbour with a
cake. It’s a hopeful initiative in our consumer-led times. Let’s see if it catches on.
The pampering Advent calendar I was offered the other day might have brought me to Christmas
Day feeling superficially good, a skin deep improvement perhaps. But all those lotions and potions
would have done nothing to reveal what really matters: my spiritual readiness to celebrate the birth
of Christ, or my inner preparedness to cast off the works of darkness in penitence, anticipating the
day of judgement. Few of us like the truth about ourselves, none of us is without sin and daring to
cast off the works of darkness is revealing and potentially risky. God might tell us who we are – he
might demolish the dark veil we throw up to cover the bits of our relationships with others and with
God that we don’t like. At times our lives are dominated by insecurity and fragility, but paradoxically
the more we seek to defend ourselves the weaker and more vulnerable we become. Resolving to
remove those defences, those barriers we have erected, enables us to become stronger. The
triumph of Christ was his vulnerability. So opening the windows onto my soul will be challenging.
Standing back, and looking at myself from another perspective will take courage; what if I don’t like
what I see?
In his letter to the Corinthians, St Paul gives us advice as we embark on the challenging and daunting
demands of Advent preparation: I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God
that has been given you in Christ Jesus….He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be
blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Put another way, both St Paul and the Advent collect remind us that it’s only through the grace of
God that we will be given the strength to cast away the works of darkness and put on the armour of
light. God’s fingerprints are on our clay, he knows and loves us because he made us. Whatever is
revealed we must trust that God will be with us seeing us for who we are, and loving us. Amen.

Midnight Mass 2017
Luke 2:8-20
Let’s start in Lidl. I know you hoped that there would be no more supermarkets for a
couple of days, but let me take you back to Lidl. For Christmas 2017 Lidl gave us the
cavalier carver, the man who can really boss the turkey. And, in a separate advert, they
introduced the double dipper the woman at the party who takes a bite and then puts the
spring roll back in the chilli dip. Now, if you did not know it already, you really must not do
this if you are invited to a party in Clifton. It is slow motion horror all round. Christmas,
Lidl tells us, can be a challenge. Meanwhile, in an Aldi advert, which I really wish I could not
remember so clearly, we met a carrot. This was a carrot that had fallen in love (the way
carrots so famously do). To reach the carrot of its dreams, it had to make a terrible
journey across a laden Christmas table. Christmas, you see, can be a challenge. And,
because this is the cathedral and you may not be an Aldi, or a Lidl, sort of shopper,
Waitrose also had a story to tell. There, it was a group snowed in, high up, at the pub on
Tan Hill. How would they cope? Would they have food? Christmas really can be a
challenge.
Christmas adverts tell a story and the story they tell has a pattern. Christmas can go
wrong; there is a risk. Then, in the happy ending, Christmas becomes safe. The adverts tell
us that. Now, they have got part of the story absolutely right. We know the Christmas
story here. The story we tell, about a pregnant girl so nearly abandoned by her fiancée, a
perilous journey to Bethlehem, and no room in the inn, that story tells us that Christmas
was a challenge from the beginning. This is exactly what St Luke wants us to know. He
wants us to notice that all this nearly did not happen. It nearly went wrong. He keeps
telling us that. St Matthew makes the same point, Herod wanted to kill a child who should
really never have been born. Christmas, God’s great project was fragile from the first. It
was a risk. If what you offer is love you are taking a risk. It can go wrong.
Let’s stay with the adverts a moment longer. If you have seen the John Lewis version, you
will have met a monster under the bed (which may, or may not, belong to Chris Riddle). It
is a monster that nearly ruins Christmas, but rescues things at the last moment. At Marks
and Spencer, Paddington Bear is the savior.
That’s enough, you want me to take you to Bethlehem not down the seasonal aisle of
Sainsbury’s. But notice the story these adverts tell. Christmas is a risk, it needs saving.
And when it has been saved, by the monster under the bed, or by Paddington Bear, it ends
happily, indoors, with presents and round a table, with a turkey.
Part of that Christmas story is quite right. The risky part, the story about it all being about
to go wrong. And part of the story is absolutely wrong. So, now let’s set out for
Bethlehem.
What did we hear tonight?
…there were shepherds living in the fields

Notice, that they were living in the fields. New Testament scholars scowl at each other at
seminars when they talk about the shepherds. There is an argument about whether the
shepherds had court orders and a history of disorderly conduct, or, alternatively, were just
a bit short on the social graces. What is certain is that shepherds were outsiders, literally;
they lived outside. They could never be here, with us. They were not religious and they
were not reliable. You would not take them to that party where they are passing round the
chilli dip. They did not belong.
That is the first point. Whatever else we say about Christmas it really is not an indoor
feast. It does not draw the curtains and sit by the fire. The scene is a hillside, or it is a barn.
There was no room inside, remember. There never was, read on in this gospel and you will
hear Jesus remark that animals have homes, but he does not. Jesus is not an ‘insider’. This
story is never that contained, that cosy.
Then there is the bit of the story we nearly always overlook. The shepherds see angels
…the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified
They were terrified. The translation tidies it up, they feared with great fear. That is a theme
in the gospel. When Zechariah met an angel and heard he would be the father of John the
Baptist, he feared, in Greek, tarasso. When Mary hears the news she will give birth she is
troubled, in Greek, diatarasso. It is a word you can use for boats on a stormy sea. They all
had to be told not to be afraid. They were not wrong to be afraid, they were absolutely
right, they saw the seriousness of things, the difference between light and dark. They saw
what love and peace can really look like and knew how wrong we are about both. Thye
were right to be fearful, they had bene brought to the edge of the cliff for the best view.
They had to be told to manage that fear, to listen to what comes next.
The Christmas story we started with, thanks to Lidl, Aldi, Waitrose and all the others is
about a risk that can be managed, at least if you have help with the packing. The Christmas
story here is about risk and then it is about fear, something altogether bigger than risk. It is
not going to be managed. It is not going away. It never moves indoors so you can draw the
curtains on the cold. When the glory of God breaks out, fear is what you feel. It is what
you will always feel. The host of heaven appears on the hillside, the shepherds stare straight
into glory and they are afraid.
Up in the night sky, the angels sing about peace.
Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!
That is not cosy; that is politics. Peace where there is violence and repression. Peace for
some and not others. Christmas does not move indoors it is loos in the world and it wants
things different, sees things differently, it is a story that is not moving swiftly to a conclusion
it is story that has a long way to go.
Tomorrow, we will mitigate the risks, we will draw the curtains, and we should. I will do
that too. If we are lucky enough to be able to do it we should celebrate. Bring Christmas
inside and make it safe for a time. Make no mistake though, the view tonight is endless,
eternal. The love of God at risk in a world that always draws the curtains against the cold.
The peace of God hard to see and hear in Syria, Myanmar, Yemen, Iraq, Afghanistan, South

Sudan, That is what the Christmas story is about. It is absolutely an invitation to go
outside and look at the view. See what the angels saw and announce a change. God comes
amongst us to ask us to live in peace, to summon us to love one another. God comes
amongst us and tonight he is not at home he is on the streets and in the shelters. He comes
to make a difference and that is where it begins.

1
Epiphany Sermon 6.1.18

+ One hundred years ago, the year 1918 was to be full of promise: the end of the bloodiest war in
history was close, amongst other things, this was to be the year in which women’s suffrage made a
great leap forward. At the start of a year we can never tell what the months ahead hold, but the
2018 headlines haven’t given much cause for optimism so far: Michael Wolff’s deliciously scurrilous
but nonetheless troubling new book casts further doubt on the credibility of the most powerful man
on earth, the NHS is in crisis, teaching is in crisis, Brexit limps on, the Middle East is in perpetual
turmoil - and the media’s New Year advice is as ever limited to tips on how to become a
superficially new you: Buy a new bed and sleep better, go on holiday and de-stress. Eat less, drink
less, exercise more. Predictably at a much more profound level, Pope Francis in his New Year
message exhorts us to jettison life’s ‘useless baggage’, recommending we set aside a daily moment of
silence to be with God. Francis said this would help us by ‘freeing us from being corroded by the
banality of consumerism, the blare of commercials, the stream of empty words and the
overpowering waves of empty chatter and loud shouting’. By ditching ‘all sorts of useless baggage’,
we would rediscover what really matters, what is really significant in our lives.
Today, on the Feast of the Epiphany, we’re celebrating the hugely significant visit by wise men from
the East to the Christ-child. The word Epiphany means ‘showing’ or ‘manifestation’ and today’s
Feast is important because this was the first occasion Christ’s divinity became apparent to gentiles.
Though no-one can be certain exactly who they were, we do know that the wise men were not
Jews, they were not the expected beneficiaries of the birth of the one who was the Messiah. Their
presence represented an inclusivity which was to prove deeply troubling to those who expected a
traditional Jewish king. The birth of this child was pivotal, marking as it did the start of a
confrontation between the kingdom of God in all its apparent frailty, weakness and insignificance,
and the mighty power of Rome. This really mattered and it’s why, throughout Christendom today is
a major celebration, a public holiday. A Spanish friend told me that until very recently gifts were
exchanged on the Feast of the Epiphany, rather than Christmas Day, symbolising the gifts presented
to the infant Christ by the wise men - gold, frankincense and myrrh.
So today being a holiday in Europe, a Saturday and the start of a New Year, I decided to cheer
myself up by having a look for something light hearted for Epiphany. Googling Epiphany got me
nowhere, but wise men was more fruitful and predictably given the subject, the results were rather
sexist: the message found on a greeting card ‘If the wise men had been women, they would have
asked for directions and got there on time, helped deliver the baby, cleaned the stable, cooked a
meal and made arrangements for a return visit.’ Then slightly subtler: Two women were sitting at
the back of a church discussing their faith. One of them said to the other: ‘I totally get the Virgin
Birth, but three wise men ….’
The account of the Epiphany in Matthew’s Gospel has been embellished and our understanding of it
enhanced by myriad legends and local traditions. One such legend originates from the author Henry
van Dyck, who wrote of the fourth wise man who set off a little late and tried to catch the previous
three up. (An adaptation of his story) He was carrying his own gifts for the Christ-child: a precious
emerald, a blood red ruby and a luminous pearl. On his dash to Bethlehem, he was further delayed
by the need to tend a sick man, who needed water and food. The fourth wise man hurried on his
way as soon as he could. He arrived in Bethlehem and hearing a child crying, he went into the house
full of hope and found a baby boy of about the right age, but the young mother who was tending her
son told him that Mary and Joseph had fled in the night, rumour had it they’d gone to Egypt. As they
spoke they heard screaming, marching soldiers and the visitor went out to look. The bodies of little
boys were lying bleeding in the dust and the wise man blocked the door as a soldier with a bloodied

2
dagger tried to barge in. He held out his beautiful emerald and the soldier stopped. ‘Take it’, he
said, ‘and go on your way. There’s nothing for you in this house.’ The soldier pocketed the jewel
and continued to the next house, on his murderous search for the Holy Innocents.
The wise man continued sadly on his quest to find the Holy Family, travelling in hope to Egypt. On
the way he saw terrible poverty, illness, slavery and oppression which he couldn’t ignore. By selling
his beautiful blood red ruby he managed to help many people, but this meant he arrived months
after the Holy Family had left Egypt.
Not knowing where to go next, he journeyed on for several decades, until eventually – an old man
by now - he arrived in Jerusalem and learnt that he was almost too late, Christ was dying on the
cross. They told him that the child Jesus had become a great teacher, he’d healed, he’d performed
miracles, he’d brought light to a dark world that wouldn’t accept him and now he was being
crucified. Crushed, the wise man was standing gazing at his last remaining jewel, the luminous pearl,
when a young girl threw himself at him, clutching him and pleading with him in his own language to
save her from being raped and sold into slavery. He had no choice, her captors accepted the pearl
and let her go so now the wise man had nothing to offer. He made his way to Golgotha, knelt
before Christ in the dust and whispered that he had nothing left to bring, his gifts were gone. He
heard a voice: I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was
a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of
me, I was in prison and you visited me…. Just as you did it to the least of these who are members of my
family, you did it to me …. (Matt 25:35…)
HIs gifts had been accepted, his precious jewels had been given to Christ, through his acts of
kindness to those in need.
We have no idea how many wise men there really were, what they were called, whether they rode
camels or horses and where they came from. But we do know from Matthew’s Gospel that they
travelled to visit the child Jesus, on arrival they were overwhelmed with joy, they paid him homage,
they offered him gifts. Then they left. As far as we know they didn’t try to convert the Holy Family
to their religion, they didn’t become Christians, they didn’t try to negotiate a return visit to see how
this child grew up – in other words, they gave of themselves, with no expectation of anything in
return save that which really matters, the privilege of worshipping God. There was no side to them,
no desire for notoriety, power, no spin …. They had jettisoned all sorts of useless baggage, they had
spent a few moments in silence with God, and their actions played a part in conveying to the world
the greatest news it has ever known. News which has and will continue to eclipse the grim
headlines, the banality of consumerism, the blare of commercials, the stream of empty words and
the overpowering waves of empty chatter and loud shouting. The useless baggage.
The birth of our Saviour showed the world how to seek the Kingdom of God, and perhaps the
Epiphany message for us this New Year in our ever-troubled world is to seek out the wise men –
and women – in our midst who we so desperately need, but to be wary of those who struggle to
abandon the baggage of desire for earthly power and privilege. Amen.

Baptism of Christ
Mark 1:4-11
It rained on Tuesday. We had Storm Eleanor to thank for that. It rained so hard, and the
wind blew so strongly, that they closed the Thames Flood Barrier, and the Humber Bridge.
The Environment Agency issued flood warnings for the Avon between Pill and Shirehampton
and for Portishead. They do a good job the Environment Agency; they should be commended.
They did fail, however, to issue the flood warnings I needed to hear, the one for my spare
bedroom, or the second one, for my study, and the crucial storm warning, for my own
bedroom. I had running water in rooms that do not even have taps.
So, Tuesday night was a sharp and unwelcome reminder that water is not tame. Rain is fine
when it is beating on your windows and you are toasting your toes by the fire. It is not fine
when it is pouring in through the light fitting. If you think of water as something that gets
delivered in bottles by Sainsbury’s, or you imagine water in your bath, still and topped with
scented suds… well, you may be missing something and you are going to struggle with our
gospel reading today. You see, the story, we heard this morning, the story of Christ’s baptism
takes some very familiar concepts, water amongst them, and it turns them inside out.
It was Mark’s gospel we heard this morning, and it needs some unpacking. It tells you one
thing, but hints at another. Mark wants you to stumble; wants you to notice the difficulty.
This morning we need a bible study.
Mark’s gospel, it starts oddly. Years ago, I completely wrecked our understanding of the UK
series of House of Cards by putting on the dvds in the wrong order. Mark’s gospel has the
same feel. It starts in the middle, there is no Christmas, just John the Baptist suddenly
bellowing out prophecy in the wilderness. It begins before you are sitting comfortably. You
are off balance and that is how Mark wants you, This is unpredictable, dislocating, urgent.
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness
What, you should ask, is a baptizer doing in the wilderness? Baptizers need water. More
seriously, the wilderness is the place Israel left behind when Moses died. John is asking them
to come out of the cities God gave them and walk backwards into the story they thought was
over. And he is an awkward figure this John. His father is a temple priest; that means he
should become a temple priest himself. He has left that behind. He is also a radical. His
message is unsettling; they think he is dangerous. The king will kill him very soon.
He is preaching baptism. That too is tricky. Jews are never baptized, they are Jews by birth.
It is as if I have asked Mrs Hoyle to sit GCSE Home Economics, it is offensive. This is telling
the Jews that they lack religion, their faith will not save. He is preaching repentance; radical,
repentance. Repentance is not the same thing as feeling a bit shifty because you were rude
to the cat, or sorry you had the last of the mince pies for breakfast. Repentance is the
admission that you were wrong, looking in the wrong place, satisfied with the wrong answers.
Not this, but that, a change of heart, a different way of doing things.
They lapped that message up. The crowds came. Bizarrely, they came, back to the wilderness,
telling John and one another they had been wrong all this time. They came to John who was

dressed as Elijah used to dress. Elijah, the one who was supposed to return at the end of
days; the herald of the Lord. They came looking for a new beginning.
And then Mark offers us a really strange phrase
He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me”
John is describing Christ. He says, Christ will be more powerful, ‘stronger’ might be a better
translation - o` ivscuro,tero,j. Not holier, notice, not wiser, not even greater. Christ
will be stronger. He will need to be stronger. That is a really interesting idea. We rather
assume that religious people are sometimes a bit weird, fanatical even, or we think they are
polite, prone to saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and likely to express profound emotion by
singing a hymn. Mark thinks the defining characteristic of Christ, (and Christ is the person
who shows us how to be human) is that Christ is strong. Christ will need that strength. He
will fight evil, face prejudice, and endure agony. His strength will be generous, forgiving,
hopeful, and persistent. If you think strength is hostile, angry and comes loaded with weapons,
Christ will not seem strong. He will be resilient. He will be, above all things, himself. And
that is what he invites us to be – strong.
This is not what anyone expects. Mark has told us to expect something. He began with
prophecy; Prepare the way of the Lord he said. We were told to look for something. This
is what we see: Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee. It is all wrong. Everyone knew that nothing
good comes from Galilee.
Let’s just remind ourselves… not only are we in the wilderness where we are not supposed
to be, asking for a baptism we should not need… we have gone to see, John, and now John
turns tells us he is not the person we hoped he would be. When the right man does arrive
he is firstly anonymous in the crowd, and then we discover, he comes from exactly the wrong
place. He comes from Galilee, he is foreign, wrong, he is not religious.
And then, at last, we come to the water. John is baptizing with water. Don’t think of water
in a font, this is the kind of water that comes through the ceiling. Jews think that, before
creation, there was just water and it was terrifying.
the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep,
Genesis 1:2
Jews think water is the opposite of creation. It is chaotic and meaningless. It is also destructive.
Moses got through the sea and then watched it destroy Pharaoh’s army.
You blew with your wind, the sea covered them; they sank like lead in the mighty
waters. Exodus 15:8-10
That story, the story of Jonah and the whale, and the story of Paul’s journeys, all depend on
the special fear that is to be felt on the sea. When prophets describe a terrifying army they
compare it to the roaring of the sea. So, when Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee to be
baptized with water, when he goes down into the Jordan it looks a bit like dying. It also looks
a bit like a new creation, a challenge to the old chaos.

There is more. There are the heavens torn open; there is that voice, You are my Son, the
Beloved. By now, though, I think you may have heard the message of Mark. It is unsettling; it
is not what we expect.
In the lectionary, the cycle of readings we follow through the year, this Sunday is The Baptism
of Christ. We think we know about Baptism, it is a baby (possibly in lace) an uncle in a tight
fitting suit, proud parents, and brothers hoping there will be plenty to drink later. Baptism is
predictable and baptism is a routine. That is a set of associations that sets us off in the wrong
direction. Christ, who turns out not to be what we expected at all, goes out into the
wilderness and accepts a baptism he does not need. He is baptized into repentance. That, of
course, is all wrong too. Christ is sinless. There is nothing for him to repent. He repents
because not because he has bene wrong, he repents because we are all of us wrong; all looking,
in the wrong place, for the wrong answers. Christ repents; he renounces the culture he lives
in. Christ turns away from the way we do things round here. That, of course, is precisely
why he has to be strong. He will need the strength to resist doing things the way we always
do them, and making the judgements we always make. He will need the strength to hope for
something more.
If you want to know what Christian commitment means, what is expected of us, that is it. It
is very simple. Christians hope for something more. It does not always have to be the same;
the ‘way we do things here’ is not the creed. Christian vocation is very simple to understand;
it is less easy to live that vocation. It requires strength. Christ’s ‘repentance’, the course he
took from his baptism, put him at odds with all the assumptions made by religion and power.
This was a vocation that ended on the cross. He had that strength. He had the strength to
live a fully human life in which hope was never extinguished. He resisted all the tired
compromises that get the rest of us by.
Christian vocation is a call to live life fully. It is a lot easier to accept that you will never live
in that hope. It is a lot easier to settle for less. We get by if we settles for less. I had ten
minutes with the newspapers this morning and they pretty well demanded I settle for less. It
is not that the news is bad or gloomy. It is bad and gloomy, but there is a more significant
problem. The news is bizarre, governments struggle to govern, plans are frustrated, policies
are not delivered. There is no narrative any more, there is no sense that one thing follows
another and the only commentary is twitter. We settles for less.
Mark insists that there is a narrative, still. Jesus comes to the Jordan and there is hope in the
wilderness. Jesus comes to the Jordan and meaning rises out of the waters of chaos. There
is repentance there will be redemption. You need resilience to go on believing that, you need
strength to assert it, but that is the vocation of the baptized.

Deuteronomy 18: 15-20
Revelation 12: 1-5a
Mark 1: 21-28
This week, I began a new lecture series at the University – a course for
undergraduates on development, international development if you prefer.
So, I rather enjoyed the opening lines of our reading from Mark’s gospel (it brought
on a wry smile!):
“They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority”
I wish!
But Jesus, who is God, the One we follow as Christians, taught as one having
authority – not like the scribes, not like anyone else.
We heard that in today’s gospel.
How do we – I wonder – detect, discern those things that are of God in our world
today? Those who speak with an authority, which is of God.
The prophetic voice in a confusing world, where there’s so much clamouring for our
attention.
They say a few funny things about prophets and how to recognise them, and how
not.
(That’s what they are talking about in our reading from Deuteronomy.)
How do you know a prophet from a false teacher?
One of the things they say is that if a person keeps telling you they are a prophet,
then they are probably not. I knew someone like that once.
Self-publicising is probably not the hallmark of a prophet!
But it gets complicated – as the bible can attest. The prophet Micah in 1 Kings
claims that the other prophets have been intentionally deceived by God in order to
trick the King, with the implication that even a prophet who speaks in the name of
God, and genuinely thinks what they are saying is of God, may in fact be a false
prophet.
Tricky!
Our reading from Mark’s gospel, where we heard of Jesus’ casting out the unclean
spirit and our reading from the Revelation of John the Divine, where we have this
graphic image of a woman in labour, about to give birth, “clothed with the sun”, and
with a red dragon circling round…

These two readings have something interesting in common if we are thinking about
how we discern God at work in the world, in the communities of which we are part,
and in our own lives.
And what they have in common – remarkably – is convulsions, crying out. Birth
pangs (in Revelation) – the agony of giving birth.
And more disturbing still, Revelation speaks of the imminent birth of a child, with a
dragon standing by, waiting to devour it “as soon as it [is] born”.
New life at risk of being snuffed out.
It is strange. It’s edgy. It’s unnatural. It’s threatening.
So, what does this tell us about discerning God in the world?
What are the writers of both Mark’s gospel and Revelation trying to say?
We perhaps get a clearest sense of an answer from studying Revelation but it is
there in Mark’s gospel too.
In Revelation, there is a strong, strong sense of the corruption of the world – in stark
contrast to God’s heavenly realm.
And I don’t just mean ‘corruption’ in the sense that the World Bank or the British
government like to speak of it.
Those ‘nasty countries’ over there – not us, we’re clean, we’re beyond reproach,
which is how the contemporary corruption discourse operates.
No, what Revelation has in mind is a corruption of an entirely different magnitude,
where things really are warped.
Where truth is turned on its head.
Where powerful people tell us that the cat is white when we all can see the cat is
black.
It is the kind of corruption that is so ubiquitous that we scarcely notice it any more.
We are all tainted.
It is this kind of world that the author of Revelation is conjuring up, but envisaging
that when God’s reign comes, it will be swept away, reversed.
Mark’s gospel too.
The man with the unclean spirit – analogous to a disordered world, if you like. Cast
out. Reversed.

But this transformation, this move from the old order to the new one does not just
happen quietly, peaceably. Far from it.
What we are hearing is that it involves rupture…a wrench…struggle…birth
pangs…convulsions.
The old order – whether it is the things that hold us back in our lives or the deceit
and corruption of the world…
Its clings on, resists change, even if in the end the victory is assured.
And it is into this mire – with battle lines drawn – that the One who teaches with
authority, speaks.
And there is a profound connection between what he speaks and what he can do.
When Jesus speaks he sees through the untruths of the world, the deceits and the
lies. The things that are out of kilter.
That’s why his teaching is authoritative.
The principalities and powers hate it when Jesus speak because they are shown up.
Their darkness and deceit are brought into the light.
And there is nothing they can do about it when the One who teaches with authority
speaks.
“He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.”
And Jesus’ teaching is transformative.
The out of kilter world is righted.
That is the vision of the Revelation of John. It’s what lies behind Mark’s gospel too.
It is the Christian vision.
The power of Jesus to transform, to right our out of kilter world.
So, I wonder, whether when we seek to discern Jesus at work in the world today –
because he does work, he is alive – I wonder whether we look for the wrong things.
And perhaps even look in the wrong place.
We expect a warm fuzzy feeling. That’s what faith is about, we think.
When what today’s reading tell us is we should be looking for birth pangs,
convulsions, even agony. Fragile new life.

This week at the Cathedral we launched – fairly quietly, without great fanfare – our
outreach to the homeless in our immediate vicinity.
Simply showing compassion and kindness to people on the streets.
An offer of a hot drink, checking that their housing needs are being attended to.
We are not looking to cast judgement on people, to fix anyone, or solve their
problems overnight.
We are just trying to do what the Church does best.
And it’s probably true to say that as Bristol Cathedral we’ve taken a little bit of time to
get here.
We’ve struggled a bit with conflicting visions, voices of concern.
May be not agony and convulsions but birth pangs certainly!
And it is easy – certainly it’s easy for me – to find this irritating, annoying, a
distraction from what we really should be doing.
When in fact, my epiphany is to realise that may be the diversity of opinion, the
voices of concern, aren’t any of these things.
Rather, it is through them that we learn to be the body of Christ.
Surprise, surprise, the journey is as important as the destination.
And maybe, just maybe, what comes out in the wash – our homelessness work, for
instance – what comes out in the end, is better for the fact that it is co-created, even
created ex nihilo (created out of nothing)
More of God, on account of the birth pangs.
So, as you look out into the world, at your own life, the communities of which you are
part – this community, particularly those places and situations which are fraught at
the moment, which involve some element of struggle…
Ask yourself what might be being birthed?
May be not quite what you had imagined.
But which might just be of God, of the One who teaches with authority…
The one who shines light in the darkness.
And who puts our out of kilter world to rights.
Amen.

1

Bristol Ash Wednesday Sermon: 14.2.18
+ Yesterday we tossed pancakes, symbolically using up rich
ingredients in the pancake batter as we prepared to embark on the
fasting we associate with Lent. An odd choice of words then for
George Herbert, the seventeenth century priest and poet, who
wrote: Welcome, deare feast of Lent. Hardly a feast you might think,
without biscuits, or alcohol, or coffee, or over indulgence - even the
Points West presenter yesterday was weighing up whether or not
she could eat her Valentine’s Day chocolates. (You should be so
lucky, I thought!)
This deare feast of Lent Herbert refers to starts today, Ash
Wednesday, the day in the year when Christians are exhorted to
repent of our sins. Repentance is a recurring Lenten theme and to
the casual observer it may seem that Christians are unhealthily
obsessed with our sinfulness, and the attendant guilt.
Christian or not, I suspect many adults live with fairly constant,
nagging feelings of guilt about the things we have done which we
ought not to have done, and perhaps more commonly nowadays the
things we ought to have done and have not done. Thankfully most of
us don’t commit serious sins such as murder and theft. Less obvious
but nonetheless guilt-inducing are the easily-glossed-over sins of
omission: my failure to give generously, my tendency to avoid loving
others who are different, or difficult, or embarrassing. Succumbing to
the temptations of greed. Inappropriate images on the computer.
Drinking too much. And I’m sure we can all think of other examples
of human failing to add to that sad litany.
I had an interesting discussion with someone recently who wasn’t
prepared to even consider whether he had ever committed any sins,
because he refused to be made to feel guilty. He wouldn’t accept that
if we think we are without sin we deceive ourselves. Sin is real. Sin
has been part of our human condition since God created us, because
we alone of all his creatures are aware of the implications of our
actions. My cat attacks the local stray, who comes into our garden in

2

search of breakfast. This is his instinct, he could never be taught to
treat his furry neighbour as himself, and then feel guilty if he didn’t.
So on Ash Wednesday and week by week at the Eucharist, we
Christians repent of our sins, we try to do better and we crave
affirmation: did I do as I was supposed to, we check anxiously?
Needing to be told, yes, yes, you did really well. Did I do a better
job than him or her? Hoping for praise. Wasn’t I kind to that
irritating so and so? Yes you were, your halo must be shining
brightly! There’s nothing wrong with giving or receiving praise and
affirmation from one another, providing it’s given honestly, but we
should never expect to receive it from God. To the God who loves
us unconditionally we must surrender unconditionally.
There’s a story about a woman who had a strange dream:
The woman described the dream she had just woken up from. She’d
died and gone to heaven, dragging two bulging suitcases labelled,
“Good Deeds”. She rang the bell of God’s door. No answer. While
waiting, she checked her precious baggage, her passport to heaven.
The suitcases seemed to have grown smaller. Anxiously she pressed
the bell again. Still no answer. Once more she checked the cases.
They’d disappeared completely. Utterly distraught, she fled in
confusion from the one place she’d spent her entire life trying to
reach.’
Now I’m no Jungian analyst, but even to the psychologically illiterate
it seems to me that the interpretation of that dream points to this
evening’s Gospel – ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on
earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and
steal’. In other words, as we’ll shortly be reminded, there’s no point
in trying to store up my treasures on earth, because neither my
possessions nor my good deeds can be put into a suitcase and taken
with me when I die. Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall
return.

3

This is a hard lesson, we want God to see how well we’re doing –
even if we heed the advice not to practice our piety in public, we
want him to at least privately acknowledge our efforts. But God
loves us unconditionally, and he can’t be bought. Remember the
parable of the workers in the vineyard, some of whom toiled all day
and some for five minutes at the end of the afternoon. They were all
paid the same, because as they learnt, you can’t buy God’s love. Or
what about the Prodigal Son – the one left behind feels slighted when
his brother returns from his spree of dissolute living and is
welcomed home with great celebrations, but when he complains the
Father explains that he loves them both equally and is just overjoyed
to have his lost son returned to him.
Always more ready to love us than we are to love him, and needing
nothing in return, God our Father sent his only Son to live among us,
to experience our human condition – though he himself was without
sin. And by dying for us, Christ – fully human and fully divine –
became the bridge linking us, here on earth, eternally with God our
Father in heaven. But lest we forget, this hasn’t always been the case;
before that first Good Friday mankind was separated from God by
sin, there was an unbridgeable gulf between God and man. This is
not a good state to be in, because we human beings need proximity
to God in order to flourish. Christ died, that we might live.
By living, we don’t of course mean the mechanics of breathing,
eating, sleeping. This kind of Christian living means being the person
we were truly created to be. Flourishing. Becoming more Christlike. And sin is what so often prevents us from living like this, it
holds us back.
Some years ago I remember being with pilgrims at the Shrine of Our
Lady of Walsingham, watching a very elderly man slowly and painfully
making his way to the place where confessions are heard. No one
will ever know what it was that the old man confessed, but when he
came out his whole demeanour had changed. He held his head up
and walked tall. He said he felt as though he’d gained ten years. He
felt relieved of a burden he’d carried for decades and his only regret

4

was that he hadn’t jettisoned it long ago. Finally, better late than
never, he had received God’s forgiveness and been set free to live his
life as the person he was created to be.
In a few moments we’ll participate in the solemn penitential rite for
today, Ash Wednesday. As we prepare for that, we’ll hear the
hauntingly beautiful Kyrie Eleison from Allegri’s Missa che fa oggi il mio
sole. We may choose to use these four minutes to reflect on those
sins which separate us from God, giving thanks that we don’t need to
impress God with suitcases bulging with good deeds; God is always
ready to forgive those who turn to him in penitence and faith. Lent
is to be welcomed as a deare feast, because at its best it offers us
amendment of life, setting us free to live as children of God, created
in his own image and loved unconditionally. Amen.

5

1
Talk and Sermon for Evensong, 18th February, 2018
+ Our Lent theme this year is Remembrance, and amongst other important centenaries, a hundred
years ago in 1918 women were finally permitted to vote. Not all women, but the tide had turned
and within a decade men and women had equal voting rights. The right to vote was won at great
cost: Emmeline Pankhurst and her daughters Christabel and Sylvia went to desperate lengths,
campaigning relentlessly, going on hunger strike and being force fed. Their fellow campaigner Emily
Davison was tragically killed for the cause, when she stepped in front of a horse at the Epsom Derby
in 1913.
Their struggles were worthwhile: Since 1918 millions of women have exercised their vote, we’ve had
two female prime ministers and numerous female MPs.
In the Church, one of the last remaining glass ceilings for women in this country was smashed in
2015 when the first female bishop was consecrated. The campaign to ordain women priests and then
bishops was long and often acrimonious. It led to ill-feeling and like the suffragettes before them
activists were accused of being aggressive, un-Christian, ignoring Biblical teaching and going against
centuries of tradition.
The need for change continues. Most recently it’s become apparent that in many occupations
women are paid considerably less than their male counterparts for doing exactly the same job, and
the #Metoo campaign has uncovered the sad truth that women have been and are still being sexually
exploited by powerful men.
Throughout the world, girls are frequently either deprived of education or removed from school
years earlier than their brothers.
Sadly, inequality is still rife and we should be grateful to those women who over the centuries have
campaigned and continue to campaign for change. They are the ones we should urge our young
people to look to as role models: brave, courageous women who are determined to fulfil their
potential and make their voice heard. The sort of women who change lives, force political debate,
travel to dangerous, inhospitable parts of the world to report on current affairs, strive to make the
world a better place. Women who are prepared to push boundaries and take risks. Women who
have always been around, though for much of history invisible, and who though separated by
millennia, hold a great deal in common with the very first woman to live on earth, Eve, part of whose
story we heard in the reading from Genesis, and who I’d like to consider a bit more closely today.
Thousands of years after the account of creation was formulated in such a way that the people of
Israel could accept it and understand it, Eve continues to have a bad press. Eve it is still claimed went
badly wrong in the Garden of Eden and she is held responsible for humanity’s fall from grace. It’s
Eve’s fault that giving birth is so painful, she was a temptress and she is held up as an archetypal
example of female disobedience. Was Eve really that bad?
Even a superficially closer inspection of the reading from Genesis can help us to tell Eve’s story in a
completely different way. * God had told Adam, the first man, not to eat fruit from the tree but for
some reason the crafty serpent speaks to Eve, not Adam, asking her a leading question: Did God say,
“you shall not eat from any tree in the garden?” Somehow, although God had spoken to Adam, Eve
knows the answer – God told them that they mustn’t eat from the tree in the middle of the garden,
or even touch it, or they’ll die. The serpent reassures Eve that God has lied. They won’t die, they’ll
simply become wise, like God. Adam isn’t included in this exchange, though presumably he’s nearby.
Eve takes another look at the tree, a delight to the eyes with tasty fruit. The serpent has reassured
her that she won’t die if she eats the fruit and understandably she thinks that to be wise would be
highly desirable. So why not? She takes the fruit, eats it and gives some to Adam, who also eats.
Adam is a silent, willing partner in the action. He too is prepared to push the limits of their God-

2
given freedom. The results are tragic, ‘Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they
were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.’ Before they ate
the fruit they had no need for clothing – they were innocent and they had nothing to hide.
Over the centuries commentators have called for Eve’s unquestioning obedience. She should have
done what God said, even though God hadn’t spoken the command to her. Because of her actions,
all human-kind is sinful, and it’ll be a long time before humanity is redeemed. The woman has been
blamed, and so all women are condemned.
In fact, Eve as the first woman is portrayed as someone with initiative and courage. She pushes
against God’s boundaries and she tests his authority in order to understand her freedom. She
recognises the beauty of the tree and she is a seeker – she wants to be better, wiser. The serpent
doesn’t lie to Eve. It states its understanding, she listens and she makes a conscious choice. She eats
because the tree is beautiful and she seeks wisdom, not because she is wilful and wicked. She is an
adventurous risk-taker. She is courageous - she eats the fruit without really knowing what the
future will hold. Eve’s choice to eat the fruit is the first human act of independence. Eve is given
inferior status because she considered her options, made her choice, and acted on her decision. She
exercised power and became the scapegoat for humanity’s sin.
If Eve has become the archetypal disobedient, wilful woman, fast-forward a few thousand years and
we encounter the archetypal obedient, humble woman in the person of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Theologians compare these two women in what’s known as ‘reverse typology’. Typology is a way of
understanding scripture by comparing events or persons along a scale of time. So Christ is the new
Adam, Elijah is a type of John the Baptist, and so on. The reverse typology focussing on Eve and the
BVM is fascinating, because in it Mary’s correct actions reverse all that is wrong about Eve’s
disobedient actions. Mary doesn’t disobey God, she weighs up his request to bear a Son and makes
the right choice. Mary doesn’t tempt her partner, Joseph, to do wrong. Mary doesn’t aspire to be
greater, or wiser or more powerful – she submits to God: let it be unto me according to thy word.
Eve’s sinful actions lead to the death of humanity, Mary’s role as Mother of God give birth to
redeemed humanity.
There’s a prayer Ave Maris Stella (Hail Star of the Sea) dating back to the 9th century, which cleverly,
through a pun in Latin, puts this reverse typology in a nutshell:
Taking that sweet Ave, Which from Gabriel came, Peace confirm within us, changing Eva’s name.
Ave means Hail, as in Hail Mary, and Ave spelled backwards, is Eva, the Latin for Eve. So the poem is
saying that by accepting Gabriel’s message, Mary reversed all that Eve did.
The problem with all this ‘bad disobedient Eve vs good obedient Mary’ typology is that in life nothing
is that clear cut and, crucially, the theologians who have promulgated these views have been almost
exclusively male. Over the years it has suited patriarchal society and the church to blame a woman,
Eve, and it has suited them to place a woman, Mary, on an unrealistic pedestal. The reality is that
neither Eve nor Mary have been presented to us as real women, neither all good, nor all bad, but
human.
If change is to continue and women the world over are ever to become the true equals of men, then
we need more brave, courageous women to make a stand. Women who are willing to push
boundaries and take risks. Women like the suffragettes, like Eve, like the BVM, women who know
that like men they are made in the image of God and are equal in the eyes of God. Amen.
* Bad Girls of the Bible, The Pilgrim Press, 1999

1 Peter 3:18-22
Shortly after midnight, on 28th December, 1694, Queen Mary II died at Kensington Palace.
She was just 32, she had contracted smallpox. Her husband King William III was distraught
and planned at swift private funeral. There was an outcry, Mary was popular, the nation
wanted to mourn and William gave way. She was finally buried in March 1695. It was a
bitterly cold day, the Thames was frozen, musicians struggled with the cold as they played for
a funeral procession that marched from Whitehall to Westminster Abbey. And this morning
you will hear a piece of music, composed by Purcell, for that funeral. Thou knowest Lord, the
secrets of our hearts.
It is funeral music. A good choice for the first Sunday in Lent. Those of us marked with ash
on Wednesday had the words Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return, said over
us. It is what God said to Adam and Eve when sentence was passed in Eden for their sin. It
was an echo of the funeral service earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. One of the
old liturgies for Ash Wednesday pleaded with God to spare those that are penitent
Bless and sanctify these ashes that they may be a wholesome medicine to all them
that humbly call upon thy holy Name
Ashes were not just a symbol of the grave, when these customs began you might have used
ash as an alternative to soap. They are abrasive it can make you clean.
Do you see? On Wednesday we said something radical and disturbing. We died, we
repented, we were washed, we changed. We face in a different direction today.
We are changed. Let’s just explore that idea, with a little help from our second reading from
I Peter. Our reading plunged us into the middle of a conversation
For Christ also suffered for sins once for all (1 Peter 3:18)
But, if you want to know about a letter it is wise to begin at the beginning. I get letters that
start ‘Dear David, it was so good to see you…’ I get others - Dear Rev Hole, (which is wrong
on a number of counts) we invite you to an exhibition of vestments made entirely from hemp’.
These letters are not the same. The way a letter is addressed is significant. I Peter begins,
Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, To the exiles of the Dispersion in Pontus, Galatia,
Cappadocia…
Now, that is a very odd beginning indeed. Just occasionally, we get letters addressed to us in
a way that supposed to remind us of something. A charity will write ‘Dear Donor’ as a way
of telling us we have given to them before. If the Bishop writes to me ‘Dear Dean Emeritus’,
I will know I have just been sacked. You can address a letter to confer a status. That is what
is happening here. The letter is written to the exiles, or (closer translation) to resident aliens.
It is the author is saying you are people who do not quite belong; you are different. More
significantly these exiles live in something called the Dispersion. The Dispersion, also known as
the Diaspora, is a technical term, it describes Jews living outside Israel. And that is odd, I Peter
makes it sound as though it is written to Jews living outside Israel. It is not. This letter is

very clearly written to Gentiles, not to Jews. The letter begins by claiming that Christians are
exiles, different from everyone else. And Christians are cuckoos in the nest, they have
elbowed out the Jews, they are the new chosen race. Christians have inherited the old story
and made it their own. It is a way of saying the Old Testament now belongs to us. I Peter is
talking about status. Jesus has claimed us as his own and a story that stretches back to
Abraham and Noah is now our story. We are changed. Whatever we thought about
ourselves, Christ has made us something else, something more.
God has acted. Things are different. I Peter verse 3
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has
given us a new birth into a living hope…
Because we are changed, I Peter tells us we ought to behave differently. That is what most
of the letter argues. So, for example
Do not adorn yourselves outwardly by braiding your hair… 1Peter 3:3
Hair braiding, I can tell you, is not a temptation that I have struggled with much. Keeping my
tongue from evil (which the letter also demands), that has been more of a challenge. I Peter
is determined that we are changed. We are changed, we must know that and we must live
up to that.
But, and this is the big idea, the change is a gift. Suppose I really want to be slim and admired
and suppose we overlook the fact that I have left it a bit late. I could stop eating quite so
much cheese, I could buy shorts and run up Park Street. This is hypothetical, you will never
see me run up Park Street in shorts. I could make myself slim. I cannot make myself admired.
Admiration has to be given. In just the same way in lent we can learn to be penitent. Being
sorry is a discipline. It is actually quite hard to be properly sorry. We can be sort of sorry,
as in ‘I am sorry you were upset when I shouted at you’. We can be extravagantly and
meaninglessly sorry as in ‘I know I shouted at you I am useless and a worm and you should
ignore me’. Being properly and precisely sorry is much more difficult. I can work at that. I
can however only be forgiven by you and by God. I cannot make it happen.
I Peter knows that. Remember, this is the letter that begins
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has
given us a new birth into a living hope
God has acted and we are changed. God has done this and there are three things we must
notice. First, as our reading began
For Christ also suffered for sins once for all
God acts, but what we see is Christ suffering. I told you this letter is all about how we should
behave - no hair braiding no evil tongue. The letter has been arguing that we should behave
well
Do not repay evil for evil or abuse for abuse 1 Peter 3:9

We should do that even if we suffer for it. We might suffer for it, Christ also suffered for sins
once for all. The first thing that is being said is that we suffer and so does Christ. Christ was
no hero on a charger, nor a magician with a spell, Christ was one of us. That is important. If
all I have to say about God is that God does something and I am changed then that can leave
me feeling like a pawn on a chessboard. But, it is not like that. I have seen God act and what
I saw was Jesus suffering. I know something about God and the way God loves me, I feel
something. That is part of what I have to think about in Lent
There is more, I Peter then says that when Christ suffers, he suffers as, the righteous for the
unrighteous. That is another, a second, thing to say about the cross. First, we see the love of
God. Then, second, we see the justice of God. Make no mistake, evil is real and evil is
dangerous. Evil was abroad in Parkland, Florida where schoolchildren were gunned down.
That evil is scandalous and it cries out for healing. Blaming Nikolas Cruz or a weird, national
obsession with guns will not suffice. There are families in Florida in agony and redemption
needs to be meet that need. The second point about what God does, in Christ, is that he
takes our place, the righteous for the unrighteous. What happened in Parkland will only begin
to be bearable when we can look at it and tell a story that is not just about senseless violence.
That is what has happened on the cross, a different story was told about us. Not just love,
but sacrifice.
And thirdly, as I Peter explains,
He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit
Not just love, not just sacrifice, but a change. Where we saw death we meet life, despair
gives way to hope; sin meets redemption. I Peter really wants us to know this and that is
why there was a strange sentence in our reading
he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did
not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah,
What does that mean? Well it is a bit mysterious and if you are at a loose end next month
there are several PhDs to be done here, but it is probably a reference to a curious story in
the Old Testament (remember this letter says the Old Testament is now our book). Genesis
told a story about fallen angels who (in Noah’s day) had children by the women of the earth.
In Jewish literature, that turned into a great myth about the origin of evil spirits. I Peter knew
that story and now it tells us that Christ triumphs even over those spirits. There is nowhere
Christ’s victory does not reach, no power of evil Christ has not overcome.
I know this has been a bit dense this morning. If you have been listening, you are in fact ready
to start that PhD. I have not just been talking about I Peter, I have been talking about Lent.
We turn Lent into a trip to the spiritual gym. It becomes something I do. Do that and you
have Lent all wrong. We are changed, but it is God that does that. In Lent the story is not
that I have done three good things and avoided a bad thing before teatime, but that God has
given me hope. We do not come to the cathedral to be made slightly better; we come
because we have been redeemed. In Lent we have time to repent and time to pray to the
God who loves, acknowledge the Son who sacrifices himself and know the power of his
victory. In Lent we can be changed.

Genesis 17: 1-7 and 15-16
Romans 4: 13-25
Mark 8: 27-38
It is not difficult as a parent to cause embarrassment to one’s children.
Especially if they are of a certain age.
Suggesting, for example, that they might like a ‘discotheque’ for their birthday party
and that Dad might like to be the DJ, that would cause embarrassment.
And, of course, any mention of sex causes embarrassment.
I rather enjoyed the other day suggesting to our 11-year old that may be Mummy and
Daddy should have another baby.
That definitely caused embarrassment, bordering on horror, I would say.
(And, just for the record, we have no aspirations in that department!)
But our reading from Genesis chapter 17 takes things to a whole new level.
As God makes an eternal covenant with Abraham, promising that Abraham will be
‘exceedingly fruitful’ and that he will give rise to a ‘multitude of nations’, he says that
Sarah will give birth to a son.
The trouble is Sarah is 90 and Abraham is 100!
As good as dead, Paul says, rather rudely, in our reading from Romans.
And Sarah is barren.
It is surely a tricky one. No son, no covenant. God’s promises become empty,
hollow. And that’s no good.
Abraham’s reaction to the news that Sarah will give birth is rather lovely.
The relevant verse occurs just outside the passage that we heard.
But we hear in verse 17 that Abraham falls on his face, which seems about right.
After all, this is God who is speaking to him.
But then Abraham laughs, which seems somewhat lacking in decorum.
‘Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old?’, Abraham says to
himself.
‘Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?’, he goes on.

‘Reasonable questions indeed’, one might say!
And as one of the commentaries puts it, it is as if Abraham’s body knows what to do
– he falls on his face – but his mind hasn’t quite caught up.
Either way, it is clear that Abraham is at the very least uncertain as to how to take
what God is saying.
We get a similar reaction of incredulity – although this time laced with outrage – in
our gospel reading from Mark, chapter 8 as Jesus begins the slow process of
explaining to his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo ‘great suffering’ and ‘be
killed’.
It is so not what the disciples had anticipated.
How can such a death possibly be of God, possibly be victory?
Peter has answered the question about who Jesus is correctly – it would appear – by
saying that Jesus is the Messiah.
But then Peter shows that he has no comprehension whatsoever of what this means,
rebuking Jesus for speaking in this way, prompting Jesus in turn to give Peter a
dressing down.
‘Get behind me, Satan’, he says in that famous phrase.
(And in the Greek the language Jesus uses is the same as when he rebukes the
unclean spirit in Mark chapter 1.)
So, two reactions to the ways of God:
One doubting God. Surely this isn’t possible.
We see that in Abraham’s response to God’s promise that Sarah will give birth to a
son.
And another kind of response, which we see in Peter’s misunderstanding of the kind
of Messiah, the kind of King, Jesus is.
Failing to grasp where Jesus’ life on earth is heading, and, in turn, what this means
for anyone who wants to follow him.
Rejection, suffering, death.
The way of the cross.
And we can surely sympathise with both these responses.
How often the things of God seem impossible to us.

Death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more.
The guns will fall silent in Syria.
Homelessness will be no more.
Hunger will be no more.
Prejudice towards people who are gay or foreign or disabled will be no more.
And how often too we fail to grasp what a life of following Christ implies.
Or if we catch a glimpse of this – the glorious truth – we struggle to live it out.
We put self before others. We go after worldly things. We have to be in control.
I know I do.
The other day I was having lunch with a colleague and I chose my words poorly, they
belied an attitude which was inappropriate, and thankfully I was put right.
And suitably chastened, a little while later still smarting from the exchange, I heard
these words not directed at me at all but it felt as if they were.
‘If it is not of God, God will tell us. If it is, grace upon grace’.
But can we live a life of obedience like this?
Trusting in God. Not looking out for self.
It is not easy.
But, just as Sarah did give birth to Isaac and Abraham did give rise to nations.
And Peter, impetuous Peter, became the rock on which the Church was built.
So, there is hope for us, the ones that Jesus came to save.
Lent, as we know, is a time of self-examination, penitence, self-denial and study.
An opportunity for a spiritual MOT, if you like.
But it is easy to let Lent pass us by, to pay it scant attention amid all the other
pressures of life.
And arrive at Easter less prepared than we could be. And I speak for myself here.
So, can we all commit – even in the busy-ness of life – to do something however
small to mark the season?

We need to pray for faith – for ourselves and for others.
Let us acknowledge the times when we have not believed.
When we have failed to grasp what following Christ means or have chosen a
different path.
And with Abraham, let fall on our faces – even laugh – at the crazy promises God
has made to us…
The God, who out of love for the world, sent his Son to die for us…
The God that gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not
exist.
And let’s pray for those things that do not exist.
And let us recommit ourselves this Lent to a right relationship with God and with our
neighbour.
And these are not just pious words.
This is hard graft. Eye of the needle stuff.
Obedient love.
The kind of love which very often goes against all our instincts, fallen creatures that
we are.
Not my will but yours be done – this Lent.
It truly does require God’s grace, a leap of faith, trusting that Jesus points us to a
better path.
And that it is the way to life.
Amen.

John 19:25-27
Four days ago, I stood down there and watched my mother’s coffin leave the cathedral.
Thanks to Paul, who had to learn it, she was swept out on a surge of Wagnerian confidence,
the Prelude from Meistersingers. That was for her benefit, not mine. My mother loved Wagner,
she used to tell me that The Ring Cycle was the highest form of art, and I used to pull faces.
She liked her music big and romantic. I have been looking at the CDs I brought away from
her room – Mahler, Brahms, Prokofiev. She liked history with drums and flags, the Civil War,
The Armada, Prince Rupert, Wellington.
I have been thinking about my mother - of course I have. Actually, I have been thinking about
her again. I have been thinking differently. One of the odd effects of her dementia was that
it was not just her memory that was impaired. I could not show her a picture from fifty years
ago and ask her who was in it. I could not ask her about my childhood, or hers.
Before you begin to think this is all a bit close to the bone so close to her funeral, perhaps I
should explain. My mother had lost her past pretty comprehensively. She was married for
sixty years, but could not remember that. Telling her a story, three weeks I referred to my
father. She looked blank, I pointed at his photograph and said, ’Michael, your husband, my
father…’. She grinned, impishly, and said, ‘He was your father? So why were you keeping
that a secret?’ She was also losing the power of speech, she could not find the words she
wanted and conversations proceeded by guesswork or just petered out. Frankly it was pretty
miserable and my mother told me over and over again that she wanted to die. This was a
good death and a welcome death. It is not comfortable, of course it is not comfortable, but
this chapter in her story needed this ending.
And now, because we are both released from the small room she inhabited, from the life that
was getting smaller and smaller, I can think about her again. I can begin to see her more
clearly.
And this morning that business of seeing clearly, is really important.
Let’s change gear. The gospel reading today, one of the readings set for Mothering Sunday.
It directed our attention to Jesus’ mother, Mary,
standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the
wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.
Four women and one man, John, the beloved disciple, near the cross. Right under the cross
were the soldiers dicing for his tunic. John is writing carefully of the two groups - we are
supposed to understand that it is ‘on the one hand’ those soldiers and ‘on the other hand’
these women. Compare and contrast, the soldiers paying a game, the women absorbed in
the horror. They watch, they pay attention to the agony.
It is all about seeing.
Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved
Then our translation let us down a bit. What we got was Jesus saying,

"Woman, here is your son." … "Here is your mother."
What he said was ‘Look’. ‘Woman, behold your son… Behold your mother’.
John has already told us,
I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself." John 12:32
That has begun, these three women and one man drawn to the cross. What we have here is
the is the beginning of the church. Jesus drawing all people to himself. Here in this horrified
clutch of people near the cross. The church begins at the foot of the cross. That is one of
the things we are supposed to know. It is the journey we have to make, salvation lies the
other side of the cross.
It is something else, though, that we should think about today. It is this business of looking.
Jesus sees his mother, he tells his mother ‘behold’, look. Jesus, Mary and John caught in that
triangular gaze. Look, ‘behold’. They see each other, they really see each other.
I worry about mother’s day, it is a good thing to do, but there is a concern. On Friday, the
Church of England reported the results of a survey to find the ideal mother. We make
motherhood wonderful and then we make it impossible and unreal. Four per cent of those
asked named their own mother, as the ideal mother, but five per cent thought it was Diana
Princess of Wales. The Ideal mother? Really? What would the ideal Dean look like - for all
time and all places? And just suppose you found such a paragon which of would want to have
a cup of coffee with him or her? I had to preach to Rowan Williams a few weeks ago, it was
fine, but I did feel slightly second rate. I am very glad I never had the ideal mother.
It is not an ideal we need. What we do need is to see clearly. I am on uncertain ground here;
I am not any kind of expert on motherhood. I am a father and one of the things I remember
about my children - especially when they were small - was the intensity of their gaze. I think
it is that might be even more true of motherhood. Not always, but quite often, a mother and
a small child have looked at one another, they have really looked. Think of those paintings of
Virgin and child and their mutual gaze. The business of looking, the significant business of
seeing someone else, seeing otherness begins for many of us with our mothers.
There is a rather startling wedding sermon by Rowan Williams, startling because, given that
it was a wedding, it was serious and intense. He talked about the lifting of a veil, at an oldfashioned wedding, and about bride and groom looking at one another
Unveiling, undeception, clear and just vision… because there can be no love without
truth. Without clear vision love…is a fantasy. And there can be no truth without love.
Without trust and tenderness and courtesy, truth will vanish, behind the walls of fear
and pain.
That has to be right love and truth. Not an ideal mother, absolutely not the terrible conceit
of an idea mother, but love and truth. The steady gaze near the cross that takes in all that
could be seen there and does not turn away. Love and truth.
I know this is a slightly odd sermon for Mothering Sunday. This is an odd week for me. I do
think that our church began at the foot of the cross as Christ, Mary and John looked steadily

at one another. I do think I am free now to look at my own mother again. I can and will
remember that she loved me. I shall tell the truth about a relationship that was not frankly,
ideal. I am free to remember that she was not an ideal mother, but she did help me to see
that there is otherness in the world.
Children and mothers, children and fathers, brothers and sisters, lovers, friends, when they
see one another know that they are not the centre of the turning world. We can see and be
seen, not just by mother, but by God, who knows the truth of me and will love me still
Making my mother ideal, trying to be ideal myself is a fool’s errand, it will always be a lie. It
is truth that makes love possible and it is love makes the truth bearable. Truth and love for
my mother, for me, for you.
So on my first Mothering Sunday without my mother, thanks for the Wagner, and the drums
and flags of history, and the big piano concertos, and the books she read and let me notice
too her faults and foibles. The truth that makes love possible and the love that makes truth
bearable.

Jeremiah 31: 31-34
Hebrews 5: 5-10
John 12: 20-33
We wish to see Jesus.
So said some Greeks, as we heard in today’s gospel reading.
Among those in Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover although they may just
have been soaking up the atmosphere.
The Greeks spoke to the apostle Philip.
And I rather like what happened next.
Philip speaks to Andrew, and then Philip and Andrew decide that perhaps they both
ought to go and tell Jesus – ‘sorry, boss but there are some Greeks to see you’.
Canon Nicola and I do something similar when we need to speak to the Dean!
Today marks the start of Passiontide.
Lent continues on.
But we step up a gear, journeying ever closer to the foot of the cross, grappling with
what that means and what that implies.
We never hear very much about the Greeks.
Even whether they get their audience with Jesus.
But it appears that Jesus’ mind is on other things.
‘The hour has come’, Jesus says (which would probably just have confused the
visiting Greeks!).
‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.’
‘My soul is troubled’, Jesus continues.
‘Should I say: ‘Father save me from this hour?’
‘No,’ Jesus says, ‘it is for this reason that I have come’.
And then: ‘Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a
singe grain; but if it dies it bears much fruit.’
‘If it dies, it bears much fruit’.
What needs to die in us to bear fruit?

That’s my question: what needs to die in us to bear fruit?
Christ-like fruit.
This week – on Wednesday – as part of our social justice programme here at Bristol
Cathedral we held a public meeting on homelessness.
The Chapter House was packed.
It was the rowdiest meeting that I think I have ever been to.
(and as the chair, this was certainly challenging!)
Some of the people at the meeting were themselves homeless and in some cases
they arrived with all their worldly goods, and in one case I even noticed the face of a
dog poking out from a carrier bag.
It was good to see such diversity at the Cathedral!
At the meeting, we were specifically addressing the issue of how one strikes a
balance between compassion and kindness towards people on the streets – people
who are often vulnerable and the hard fact that at times rules and regulations
governing what people can and can’t do have to be enforced.
Tents on College Green, that kind of thing.
There is some controversy surrounding this.
And it falls to an organisation called StreetWise to enforce the rules although only
after all other ‘softer’ avenues have been exhausted.
But compassion and rules
How do we get this right?
And from the off, the meeting was volatile.
There was a lot of anger at the meeting.
‘Never mind the housing shortage,’ someone shouted, ‘what about all the empty
housing around now?’
‘Rich people don’t care. The rich people take everything. That’s the problem.’
And to the speaker from Streetwise: ‘Why are you moving on me when I’m just
selling the big issue…I’m not anti-social. What’s anti-social about selling the big
issue.’
And so it went on…interruption after interruption.

And for many of us present – all of us perhaps – the occasion was quite disturbing.
Unsettling.
Alarming.
And the temptation for all of us – surely – is to turn away.
To extricate ourselves from such an unruly and intimidating situation.
And to back off.
I certainly had an element of foreboding in the days leading up to the event, and as
the audience gathered on the night.
‘Father, save me from this hour’.
So I understand the temptation to turn away – as does Jesus.
But turning away, backing off, is not the path of discipleship.
It is not the way of the cross.
This week as I have talked and reflected with many of you about Wednesday’s
events, I have had a profound, profound sense that this is where God wants us.
Yes, it is messy.
Yes, it is disorderly, threatening, unsettling.
But it is where we need to be.
We need to hear the anger.
(And not rationalise whether it is fair or reasonable or whether it is right or wrong.
Just to hear it.)
And if we are unsettled, worried or anxious in this situation – or indeed other
situations you may be experiencing in your own lives – we need to ask ourselves
why this is.
Why are we unsettled, worried or anxious?
What needs to die in us if we are to bear fruit?
What needs to die in the institutional church if Jesus is to reign?
It is hard listening to anger.

When you are prosperous, live in a nice house, with carpets and soft furnishings,
central heating, and with food on the table.
It is hard listening to the anger of people who don’t have these things.
It is hard because though the issues are inevitably complicated – of course they are
– and individual lives are complicated – we know deep down that the anger is
justified.
That the things they are talking about are not right.
And people like you and me probably do sleep too soundly in our beds.
And yet, in the complexity of the world and the complexity of our lives, we don’t know
how to fix things, to make things better.
That is an uncomfortable place to be.
What needs to die in us to bear fruit?
What does?
And while it is not really for me to tell you what needs to die.
That is between you and your God.
I will tell you this.
For me, what needs to die is my sense that I can turn my face away.
I cannot – not if I want to stay faithful to Christ.
‘Father, save me from this hour.’
‘No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour’, Jesus replies to his own
question.
And what else needs to die in me?
What else needs to die in me is any sense that I am innocent.
I am not innocent.
I am complicit in the sins of the world.
I play a part in putting Jesus on the cross.
And what needs to die in me still?

What needs to die in me is any sense that I can sort matters out myself – whether it
be homelessness, refugees, Russia or anything else.
I cannot sort things out. I cannot.
And that place of powerlessness is not a comfortable place to be.
No wonder we want to run away.
But I believe – passionately – from the depths of my being that if we can remain
present, standing in that costly place that says we cannot turn away, that says we
are not innocent, that stops looking to cast judgement on the victims or the
perpetrators, or to defend ourselves, and if we can embrace that place that says I
cannot solve matters, then we will create a space where Jesus can come in.
And we will catch a glimpse of glory.
‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.’
I’ve just started reading a book by the theologian Miroslav Volf.
It’s called ‘Exclusion and Embrace’.
It reflects on the aftermath of the war in the former Yugoslavia and some of the awful
things that happened there as community turned on community.
And Volf says: take care with the language of victim and perpetrator, of liberation
and freedom.
(Don’t abandon it but take care; such language is not always helpful. It can get in
the way, prevent healing.)
And instead Volf says: open your arms wide for the other.
Open them wide.
And then wait. Wait.
May be they will come towards you, may be they won’t.
That’s not in your gift. It could take years.
But if they come towards, embrace them in all their strangeness, their strange
customs, their strange clothes, their strange smells, and their strange food.
And then release them.
Don’t hold them in bondage yet again but let them go…as a child of God unique and
precious in His sight.

Are we ready to do this at Bristol Cathedral?
Are we ready to embrace the homeless person in our midst or any other stranger in
our midst?
Are we willing to do this?
Remember it is a journey where death comes first.
But it is also the path to life, abundant life.
I sense we have drawn close to something precious this week here at Bristol
Cathedral.
Let us not turn away.
Let us listen for God’s voice in the days ahead.
May we listen to each other, people like us and people not like us, fellow disciples on
the road.
And may God give us strength this day and always. Amen.

1 Corinthians 12 and Luke 4 – Epiphany 4 2016
Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be
acceptable to you O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
Good morning everyone. I pray you have had a lovely week in spite of the changeable
weather and the many coughs and colds that have been circulating. I hope that you
have all been able to spend a moment or two this week focusing on God. I hope too that
you have been blessed with those little glimpses of God’s grace as you have been going
about God’s business in the world.
Our New Testament and Gospel reading today seem to both be tools for building up
Christ’s Body and offering us encouragement for living our Christian lives. How do we
ensure that we remain in touch with God’s grace? Where do we look to find strength in
our faith? Both readings seem to hold important advice.
St Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 12 are particularly poignant as we think about what it
means to be united in the body of Christ. As we read Paul’s letter they instantly speak
much common sense, and yet in our modern world, they are probably some of the most
challenging.
When I was about 20, I found myself amongst a group of about 10 friends who became
the core of my life. Every little piece of spare time, I found myself spending with them.
We went to parties, up the pub, to football matches, all the stuff that such friends
normally do. Tom and Tracy, two people at the centre of the group, began a
relationship. For many months their relationship only seemed to gel the wider group
together all the more. But then the inevitable happened. One day when were all having
a nice time, another member of our group, Gareth, began being rather unkind to a
polish gentleman who had only recently arrived in the country, for no other reason than
he was not British, not ‘one of us’.
Now we need to be mindful of the backdrop in order to understand a little about what
drove Gareth’s emotions. We were living on a fenland town. The local economy was
driven by agricultural farming and it was in the late 1990s when many Eastern

Europeans had begun moving into the area to work on the land. Gareth’s family had
been especially affected as his dad was a land worker who had found it difficult to find
work as a result of wages being driven down by the influx of migrants.
Nonetheless, Gareth’s actions were inappropriate and Tracey and I decided to confront
Gareth and stick up for the Polish gentleman. Gareth, to his credit, immediately
apologised for his actions and things soon cooled down. We all went home that evening
assuming that all was forgotten.
As it turns out, however, that night Tracy and Tom fell out because Tom felt the need to
defend Gareth’s behaviour. They split up. Over the next few weeks different people
began taking different sides and the explanation for the fall out began to be retold in
more and more embellished ways. Everyone was damaged by the gossip and the body
split. To our shame, however, instead of trying to mend the fall-out, we all decided to go
our own separate ways; after all, the advice of most people was that it was better to
walk away and start again than to waste precious energy trying to mend something that
was already broken.
Society encourages us to dump things when they become a struggle! St Paul strongly
challenges that approach.
Paul uses the metaphor of a human body to describe the Christian community. In talking
about the Church, he has a concern for how such a diverse group of people can live
together in a constructive fashion. In so doing he places the onus on each individual. He
associates each member with a particular part of the body, considering each body-part’s
particular and unique function and how it contributes to the good of the whole body.
Just because we are an ear and not an eye, does not mean that we are any less a part of
the body, just because we don’t have the particular gift of sight. We simply have
different gifts, gifts of hearing. To function to the best of its ability the body needs both
hearing and sight and so as an ear, we are just as important to the wider body. Equally,
if we are a foot we are just as valuable as a hand, our gifts are just used for a different

purpose. The metaphor can, of course, be followed through for every part of the body,
no matter whether large or small, prominent or discreet.
The main point is, that in order for the body to function to its full potential every single
part, small or great, needs to work according to its particular and unique function.
Pretty obvious and straightforward stuff. But Paul also tell us what happens when a
particular part of the body wishes to deny its place or detach itself from the rest of the
body. If an ear goes to such an extent as to physically remove itself from the rest of the
body, it not only causes the body damage, it also causes the ear itself to be cut off from
the very life source that feeds it, and eventually it withers and dies. A bit like cutting of
one’s nose to spite one’s face, you might say.
Paul’s purpose then is to highlight how each of us has an important part to play in the
life of the Church community, Christ’s Body on earth, and even if from time to time we
feel dissatisfied or frustrated with the role that God is currently calling us to, to detach
ourselves in response risks damaging both ourselves and the wider body.
Paul’s argument seems to rest on two important principles of the Christian life:
1) That we need each other and we are better off working together than simply
following our own passions.
2) That only together are we truly able to experience Christ working within us.
Paul says, “you are the true body of Christ and individually members of it”. To be a
Christian is to be a part of Christ’s body.
As individuals we are called by the Spirit to individual roles in order to help the Christian
community remain healthy and grow. This is why Paul goes on to talk a little about our
life together. He offers a warning about dissention within the body and encourages each
member to have a proper care for one another, stepping up in responsibility to ensure
every member is properly cared for. Differences of opinion, he says, must not sever the
body.
He outlines the truth we all know too well: “If one of us suffers, we all suffer. If one of us
is honoured, we all rejoice!” In good times and bad we are bound together.

We all know how painful it is when we lose a member of our body, either by death,
illness or people walking away. Just this week we have lost a special member of one of
our congregations, Bill. Bill has become dear to many of us, and sadly died on Friday.
Just a few months ago, we lost another life-long member, Burt, who had to be taken
into care due to illness. Such things fill us all with sadness. And yet, what a privilege to
be a part of a community who holds each other so dear.
The trouble is, sometimes our differences can divide us and it can seem all too difficult
to persevere. The most obvious example of this, is of course, our far too many church
denominations. Every split in the Church must make Jesus feel as though we are nailing
him back to the cross, because it shows our failure to rejoice in what he wishes us to be.
And yet the answer to overcoming our division is to be found in that very same Lord.
When we hear Jesus proclaiming in the synagogue that he is the fulfilment of Isaiah’s
words; the anointed one who sets us free no matter what our impingement, who brings
the Good News, releasing the captives as he does so and freeing us from whatever
oppression is keeping us down, Christ reveals to us the way life should be lived and
affords us the opportunity to live as children of God. In Christ we become the sons and
daughters of God.
There is no division in God. If we are to live up to our calling as his sons and daughters,
we aspire to live according to the example he sets – and that is an example of unity.
Where all parts work together to help goodness thrive.
Christ gives us the life-blood that enables us to be his people, and we have access to this
life-giving force through his body on earth, the Church. As Paul says in a different
passage: “by the one faith we were all baptised into the one body”.
Just know that each of you are dearly loved: by God, by me and by all those sitting
around you each Sunday. And we find the root of that love in Christ’s life, which indwells
us on account of our place within his body, the Church.
Amen.
R.T. Parker-McGee 2016

2nd Sunday Before Lent – Fr Rob’s Leaving Service
All week I have been trying to think about what to preach on this morning.
So many mixed emotions. It is difficult not to feel a sense of loss amidst
all the excitement of what we are being called to next. We have done so
much together and we have so many treasured memories. But we must
remember that this is not the end. What we have achieved these past four
years is not a pinnacle of church life, but only the beginning of what church
can be in this place. We have barely even scratched the surface. It will be
for you all, and the next priest, to continue building as best you can.
I have many conversations with people who are struggling to believe in
the love of God in the face of personal or impersonal suffering or loss.
Maybe they have come through the experience of watching someone die
horribly or tragically, maybe they witness the suffering of people further
removed because of starvation, war or inequality in the world. The
question always arises; ‘why would God let this happen?’ Many people
look around the world today and see it primarily in terms of absence and
loss instead of presence and blessing. They cannot see evidence of a
loving and intelligent purpose, only a set of random and meaningless
occurrences.
When we despair, the world all too easily begins to look dark and we
cannot help but measure existence according to what we have lost or what
we do not have. But there is another way to interpret what we see and
experience.
There is and always has been a force at work that has been moving all
things towards splendour and beauty. That beauty is not to be measured
in terms of material gain, but in terms of ongoing change, change that
moves us further and further into a peace and order that was present even

1

before the world began. Under this understanding, everything we have is
a blessing.
I wonder, how often do you notice coincidences happening in your daily
life? Things which seem beyond explanation and yet appear to reveal a
sort of destiny? How often have you found yourself in a difficult situation
only for an angel to appear in the guise of a stranger or friend with just the
right tools for the moment? How often have you looked back at an event
which happened many years earlier and realised how fortunate you are
that it happened in the way it did; how much more negative would life have
been had it not unfolded in that way? Coincidences are not just some
random turn of fortunate events. Coincidences are God’s unsuccessful
attempt at remaining anonymous. And I wonder how much brighter the
world would seem if we took note of them more often and recognised them
as moments of divine grace?
In our reading from the Book of Proverbs today, we heard of the wisdom
of knowing that there is a loving presence that operates outside of time.
Before even the world began it was there and it operates actively to keep
all things on track. When things go out of kilter, it intervenes to bring things
back to where they need to be.
Desmond Tutu comments that “despite appearances to the contrary, there
is evidence everywhere that we do live in a moral universe – that in the
end, justice prevails”. That is not to say that suffering is meaningless, but
that if we look at the world, suffering only has a set time, and over-time
things move back into balance. For our own lives, it is a case of having to
find and live in that balance as best we can, even when we find ourselves
in the most difficult of circumstances. Expressing a sense of positivity that,
no matter how bad things may seem, we always have hope and trust that
we are moving towards goodness. And each of us has our part to play.
2

According to all the Gospel narratives, and the ongoing belief of the
Church, Jesus comes from God and returns to God. Indeed, in Jesus we
see how that may be true for each of us too. But in Jesus’ case, this means
that he was a part of God in the very beginning, before the world was even
created. The love we see in Jesus is present eternally in God the Father.
Jesus mirrors the attributes of God, precisely because he is an eternal
part of God. In the first chapter of John’s Gospel, known as the prologue,
John tells us that: ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with
God and the Word was God…All things came into being through Him and
without Him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in
him was life’. John then tells us that: ‘the Word became flesh and dwelt
among us’. John is talking about Jesus. Jesus didn’t just appear in the 1st
century out of nowhere, he is the eternal Word and that becomes flesh in
his person.
In his prologue, John is drawing on the first chapter of Genesis from the
Old Testament. The Old Testament is of course written in Hebrew.
Interestingly, the Hebrew word for ‘beginning’ can also mean ‘sum-total’,
‘head of’, or ‘first-fruits’. The Hebrew word for ‘in’ can also mean ‘through’
and ‘for’. Our Bible translations do little justice to this diversity of meaning
in the original text. But if we apply them, as Paul does in his letter to the
Colossians, we find out something quite remarkable about the person of
Jesus. Christ is the one ‘in’, ‘through’ and ‘for’ whom creation and
redemption are accomplished. He is the ‘beginning’, the ‘sum-total’, the
‘head’ of all things.
Jesus, the Word, is the essence of life. But this Word doesn’t end when
Christ is killed on the cross. Because Jesus is eternally part of God, his
life cannot be extinguished nearly so easily and his resurrection is
testimony of the strength of his union with the Father. Once Jesus
3

ascends into heaven, it is him, the Word, that continues to keep all things
in balance, as he sends the Holy Spirit which continues to breathe new
life into the world; just as it did in the very beginning. In order to live in
justice and truth each of us must try and live in tune with the Spirit’s
promptings. We must stay in touch with Jesus, precisely because in him
is life. Jesus is the means by which all things continue to be ordered in the
present. In Jesus we find a way to live life in all its fullness.
Our Gospel reading today from John has us ending at verse 14. If we were
to skip forward to verse 16 we would find something even more inspiring
regarding the person of Christ. In verse 16 John says; ‘from his fullness
we have all received, grace upon grace.’ Imagine that, grace upon grace.
Grace overflowing grace. So much grace that it rolls like the morning mist
and runs over itself like a waterfall; so that all who discover it may receive
living water. And that water will refresh life in you for eternity.
As we all move forward into a scary new future, there will be endless
moments of grace bestowed upon us. It will be for us to recognise them.
We must not dismiss them as coincidences, as though there is no order
in the world; as though every event is meaningless; as though life is
meaningless. Remember that coincidences are just God’s unsuccessful
attempt at remaining anonymous – they are God’s little gifts to us. How
we respond is for us to decide.

4

Sermon for 2nd Sunday of Epiphany 17
May I speak in the name of the living God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Last week, we celebrated the feast of the baptism of Christ whilst also
having the privilege of being present at the baptism of the newest member
of Christ’s church in this place, baby Elouise. In one place, we
encountered the foundation of Christian baptism and its latest beneficiary.
Today’s reading from St John’s Gospel begins with the same focus. Last
week, we heard how, even before John the Baptist, spiritual cleansing of
an individual through bathing took place after some act of uncleanliness –
such as touching a dead body.
John the Baptist offers an expanded view of what separates individuals
from God and with it a broader approach to baptism. John, ever focussed
on what God will do in the future, has a deep metaphysical understanding
of the sinful capacity of all human beings to distance themselves from the
goodness of God. So John calls every person into ritual cleansing, to be
washed clean of their sins so that they may begin a new way of life living
towards God the Father once again.
But John is clear that he is only paving the way for the future and it is
John’s revelation about Jesus that really transforms things. In the middle
of a characteristic public statement, John makes clear that someone else
is being sent by God to save his people; the person on whom the Spirit
remains. This, God’s messenger, will not only cleanse their bodies with
water, he will also purify their souls with the Holy Spirit.
This is significant since it combines both the believer’s good intention to
turn over a new leaf with God’s response to that – the gift of the Holy Spirit.
From this point forward, this ritualistic act transforms into a new Christstyled cleansing that we call baptism. In it the individual recognises their
need to be more in tune with God, and as they turn to a new way of life,
the Spirit rests upon them and draws them into the life of Christ. This is
just as true for us today; It is certainly true of our baptism, but also
whenever we take the initiative and begin doing what we can to move
closer to God, so he rewards us with his guidance and comforter, the Holy
Spirit.
In the second half of today’s reading from John’s Gospel, we hear of the
calling of the first disciples. Foremost, we have two of John the Baptist’s
disciples, leaving John to follow Jesus. One of them, we are told, is

Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. Andrew then goes to find his brother and
tells him ‘we have found the Messiah’.
Jesus, upon meeting Simon, acknowledges the whole of Simon’s past and
exactly where he comes from; everything that he has ever done and been,
by identifying him as ‘Simon, son of John’. In one short statement and
acknowledgement, Christ peers into the depths of Simon’s soul and with
it deals with his past and all that might hold him back. With it, Jesus’ path
is clear to draw Simon into a new way of life in the Spirit. And as a mark
of that change in direction Jesus renames him Peter. Simon Peter begins
a new life as one of Jesus’ followers, and with it a new name to boot. This
tradition of name change continues today in our Christian tradition. A
person may change their name at baptism, when they become a nun or a
monk or at their inauguration if they are to become Pope.
These are just a few symbolic examples of what is true for all of us as we
take the steps necessary to accept Christ’s invite to follow him and find
out more about what he reveals. But for most of us, this is a regular
experience. Each time we slip away or take a wrong turn, this change in
direction becomes necessary. It is why we have holy water at the door to
the church – a reminder of our baptismal promises and our need to keep
returning to Jesus and keep working at making the relationship strong.
This is also why private confession is important in our tradition, because
it gives the individual to properly recognise where they have been going
wrong, own it and begin the serious business of making changes for the
future.
This is just what the first disciples in today’s Gospel reading are doing,
changing the direction of their lives and following Jesus. They are clearly
searching for something that only a deepened relationship with God can
heal. Jesus is the answer to that longing.
For the disciples, however, there is something about these encounters
that goes far beyond the physical, and completely re-orientates their
being. Jesus reveals something significant about our human nature; we
are human beings, not human doings.
If, like me, you are a task junkie; one who generally overloads the diary
and jumps from one task to the next, then I think we need to carefully
assess our style of discipleship. What we see as being the most important
traits of discipleship in the Gospels are not an ability to do lots of stuff in
God’s name, but attentiveness and awareness of God, and a desire to

listen, to learn and be taught. It is not that disciples don’t act or respond
to need around them, but action comes out of our attentiveness and
stillness; not the other way around. God speaks to us in the silence of our
hearts, if we are able to watch and listen. Only then, can we turn that into
action.
When the first two disciples meet Jesus notice how they ask him ‘where
are you staying?’. On the face of it, this is such a straightforward question
that it almost goes by unnoticed. They want to be where Jesus is so that
they can begin being his students. So they simply ask where he is staying.
But there is something deeper in that question too; ‘Where are you
staying?’. When we stay or settle, we quieten down, we become still, we
observe and listen. Jesus’ reveals a stillness at the centre of his psyche.
The disciples don’t just want to be in the same room as Jesus, they want
to be in the same place, both physically and spiritually. They want what
Jesus has. They want to learn his stillness and attentiveness to the Father.
They want to be in complete communion with God.
So their inner being is the key. That is the whole purpose of their journey.
They want to change from an existence separated from God to one of
attentiveness towards God. Jesus is the only one who can bring such
healing. They see in Jesus one whose entire being is transformative.
Jesus reveals a new way of being, with an implanted stillness at the core
of his soul – an attitude sufficiently free of the preoccupations of personal
ego, that it is set free in the Spirit.
Recently we have been running a church study group on Tuesday
evenings and we have been focussing on a book by Archbishop Rowan
Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury until a few years ago. We have had
great fun grappling with some very rich discussions. One such has been
about the very nature of discipleship. Rowan asserts that ‘what makes you
a disciple is not turning up from time to time’, or doing the odd good deed.
‘Discipleship literally means being a student’ for life;1 grabbing every
opportunity to grow closer to God and learn more about him.
So being a disciple of Christ, a Christian, is to be attentive to and aware
of all that God is doing in Christ; to be a follower, a listener and a life-long
learner. But more than that, discipleship brings a yearning for a stillness
at the core of our souls; a stillness and healing that only Jesus can
provide.
1

Rowan Williams, Being Disciples (London: SPCK, 2016), p.1-3

To conclude, discipleship is not a way of doing, it is a way of being. It is to
sit in Jesus’ presence, day by day, week, by week, and be attentive to
him. It is to want to know more about Jesus, to follow him wherever he
may lead and to allow him to find us when we are lost. It is an openness
to the future he has for us: the fresh experiences every new day brings,
the places he wishes us to go and things he wishes us to know.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

1

At the last Rugby World Cup, Dan Carter of the New Zealand national
team, who incidentally id reported to be a Christian, became one of the
most successful rugby players ever as he kicked faultlessly penalty after
penalty and conversion after conversion. When interviewed afterwards
he was asked if he had any tips for young players. He said; “dedication”.
At the age of 6 he had built a rugby goal in the small garden of his house
and kicked at goal, shooting small conversion after conversion. I believe
that Christianity is no different, a series of small conversions.
Sometimes Christian conversion can sound like a grand affair. For some
it excites, for others it daunts. But on a basic level, Conversion is that
moment when God moves us to recognise the error of our past and
commit to making a better future, starting with our own behaviour. This
is the moment when we stop blaming others and start changing
ourselves. Conversion is central to the Christian notion because to be a
Christian is to be committed to want to change constantly so that the
mistakes and misjudgements of yesterday may not determine the world
of tomorrow. To be a Christian is to want to change the world for the
better. We experience conversion when our eyes are properly opened
and, void of the film which distorts, we see the world in a transformed
light. This is what it is to live life in the resurrection.
On the face of it, St Paul has a huge conversion experience. On the
Damascus road his life is certainly transformed for the better. From this
moment on Paul embraces the challenge with open arms.

2

The story of St Peter, on the other hand, is far less of a grand conversion
and more a story of multiple small conversions. At his first meeting with
Jesus, as he is called out of his fishing boat, Peter is certainly captivated
and all too eager to become a disciple, but as the story unfolds, failure
after failure mature and condition Peter's expectations. At first Peter
begins with shallow hero worship of a Jesus who is doing wonderful
things, and he expects Jesus to do everything for him. Then, following
what feels like an endless number of painful learning experiences, he
finds himself standing on a seashore with the resurrected Jesus and is
almost ready to stride out and take responsibility upon himself for
building up the Church. As we hear about Peter’s journey throughout the
Gospels we can see that each painstaking misjudgement and error is in
itself a small conversion experience and slowly they form Peter into the
person Christ needs him to be. On the seashore we see this work almost
complete. Peter is to feed Jesus’ sheep and be the rock on which the
church is built. From this moment forward Peter embraces the challenge
with open arms.
For many of us, Peter's story may well resonate. The world bats us back
and forward. We have moments of spiritual elation but more often
struggle. We make mistakes, misjudgements, do wrong by others, just as
they do wrong by us. But ours isn't the blame game, it's the growth
game. We have had a wonderful example of what it means to overcome
the negative things that life can throw in our way this week. The
Archbishop, being confronted publically with the realisation that his true

3

father wasn’t who he thought it was and instead was a man his mother
had a drunken affair with, Justin Welby did not lash out, he did not
denounce, he simply accepted it with the grace he has become so well
known for and saw in it an opportunity to reach out to the hundreds of
millions who find themselves in the same predicament. If you haven’t
already, I invite you to seek out the Archbishop’s responses to these
recent revelations. Ours is not the blame game, it is the growth game.
Nonetheless, it can be hard and lessons difficult to learn. It is not always
easy to bounce back up.
Following the rugby world cup final, a commentator revealed how Dan
Carter came to be so good. He said that every year from the age of 6 Dan
would increase the distance of his kicking by 5 meters. When the garden
became too small he simply went around the front of the house and
kicked from the other side of the road and over the house towards the
goal. Occasionally he would go through a patch where he never seemed
to be able to get the ball through at all, or, in his teenage years, he would
get bored and drift away from it. But he always returned after a short
absence. He felt the key was persevering when it felt boring or became a
struggle.
Now I am not suggesting that we should all erect the spiritual equivalent
of full size rugby goals in our back gardens - I am not even sure what the
spiritual equivalent might be. Except to say that life is our practice
ground. We will miss the goal. We will get bored or fail to see the point
from time to time. But what matters is our perseverance even if it feels

4

like a struggle. For us as Christians, each life experience is a small
conversion moment if we allow it to open our eyes and use it to propel
us on to what needs doing next for the good of God's kingdom and his
people.
The final and most telling thing Dan Carter had to say, was when asked
about the secret to his success and what he would do beyond retirement.
He responded "I cannot consider myself successful until I have breathed
my last breath and looking back at my life say I gave everything to
change the world for the better. Life is more than Rugby. I guess I will
just have to grasp the next opportunity with open arms."
The thing that connects the examples of St Paul, St Peter and Dan Carter
(I am not advocating Dan Carter for sainthood just yet) is their clear
determination to keep moving forward and giving their all to build a
better world, in spite of the setbacks along the way. They refuse to rest
on the successes of their past and keep working to build a better future,
no matter how challenging.
Let us pray that God may inspire each of us with the attitude to
recognise each life-challenge as a mini conversion. Let us pray for the
same determination to undertake what God has in store for us. Let us
pray for the same bravery to respond positively to new opportunities as
they arise. All this, for the furtherance of God’s kingdom, the future of
his Church and the betterment of our world. Amen

1

17th April 2016 - Fourth Sunday of Easter – Life’s in the giving.
A plane gets into trouble flying over a tidal river. It nosedives
and crashes into ice cold water. As the wreckage floats
downriver, just 10 people are left alive, having crawled out
onto a wing. A helicopter hovers overhead lowering a rope on
which to winch people up. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, eventually there
are just 2 left, a man and a woman. As the rope is lowered, the
man suddenly scampers in front of the woman and grabs the
rope with aggression just as the wing begins to become
completely submerged. The woman falls.
Then suddenly, then man grabs her and ties the rope around,
only then can the helicopter see that she is carrying a baby and
could not get the rope without dropping her child. They winch
mother and child to safety. As the helicopter prepares to lower
the rope one final time, the plane disappears and the man is
gone. What is Christian service? What does it mean to give your
life to God?
Following a bishop’s sermon a young curate decided to
congratulate the bishop on the way out. He said, “great sermon
Bishop. Just one thing, I found it difficult to tell when you we

2

were talking about Jesus and when you were talking about
yourself”. The bishop lowered his glasses and replied: “My
young man, you would do well to blur that distinction”.
Actually, No. There is and always should be a distinction. Jesus
is our inspiration and guide, but we should never imagine that
we are in some way his equal.
The passage today from St John’s Gospel is a part of the
escalating conflict between Jesus and the Jewish establishment.
Throughout his Gospel we hear of how there can be no doubt
of who Jesus is. John continues to provide evidence for the fact
that Jesus is God’s own son – not just in the sense of being his
offspring and heir, but at a much deeper metaphysical level.
Jesus and the Father are one. In response to their mischievous
heckling, at verse 25, Jesus responds that he has already told
them who he is. As we witness the story unfolding we know
that he has indeed answered their questions in all he has said
and done since his arrival. If they cannot see what is in front of
their eyes, that is their failing, not his.
In the previous chapters, the Jewish establishment have seen
him perform the signs of God. They have seen Jesus’ miracles,

3

heard his teaching, questioned those whom he has healed, and
still they refuse to make up their minds. Through their learning,
they know enough of God to make them wary of rejecting
Jesus, for his signs speak for themselves. But they have kept
God at such a distance for so long that neither can they
recognise God when he comes. They keep hoping that he will
do or say something that will allow them with a clear
conscience not to believe.
But what is it that they hate so much? Is it the inescapable
choice that Jesus lays before them? Is it the stark reality of it?
Jesus challenges them to accept all that God wishes to do to
clean up the world. In their heart of hearts, they really don’t
want Jesus to be telling the truth. Because believing in Jesus
will be costly.
So they pay him lip service and carry on their same old lives
regardless. But Jesus won’t let people do that. People stand
face to face with God’s presence and he forces them to decide.
The terrible and painful fact that some people would rather do
anything other than believe in God runs throughout the Bible as
a whole. In fact, it is a truth that resounds through the

4

centuries. Look around and we see the same examples of
people who argue, cast blame, become aggressive, elusive,
manipulative anything other than accept God’s promptings.
The central lesson seems to be that those who close their
hearts to God’s new promptings will lose him entirely. Be wary,
then, of thinking you already have God in a box of your own
making. Be careful of saying to yourself, I am content where I
am, I know God already and I need do no more.
But we cannot do this on our own. God uses others to guide,
prod and enlighten us. You cannot see God alone in your
bedroom – there you will only get an image made from your
own reflection. God meets us in the face of others, in the body
of the Church, the foreigner, the refugee, the homeless, the
sick, the drunk, the drug addict, the widow, the orphan, the
criminal. When we open our hearts to the good-life of Christ,
service becomes everything and Jesus’ face shines from the
most unlikely of places.
The final chapters of Matthew’s, Mark’s, Luke’s and John’s
Gospels and the first chapters from the book of Acts, show us
Christ’s one plan for the salvation of the world – a united

5

society of believers, known as ‘the Body of Christ’, or ‘the
Church’. This body is to persevere with one-another and put
God and neighbour first. There is no notion of a plan ‘B’ in
anything Jesus or the Apostles give us. The New Testament is
entirely consistent that, to be saved and numbered among the
faithful, one must belong to this special society of believers and
commit to service to ensure its flourishing.
The entire book of Acts tells the story of the Early Church
growing up. The first eight chapters of Acts outline the Apostles
building that Church, according to Christ’s earlier instruction. So
aware of the great benefits that belief in Christ has given them,
they grow in confidence and roam from place to place serving
the poor and talking openly about their faith to others. More
and more respond and the Apostles bring them to be baptised
into the church body. They stop in each town and city and
slowly small churches begin to grow everywhere. Each of St
Paul’s letters is addressed to the entire congregation of one or
other of these churches. But Acts and Paul’s letters do not
unveil a story of teaching faith in a benign and neutral society
or worldview. They are not given an even playing field of ideas

6

in which to implant their philosophy of the good-life.
Everywhere they go, they meet staunch opposition. Many
people don’t like to be challenged in their thinking. How dare
this motley crew of so called Christians suggest that God is
challenging them to live a different and better way, a way
entirely based on self-giving service and love?
But in spite of the opposition, more and more faithful people
are added to the church’s numbers and they give everything
they have for the glory of God. And so, the church, against all
odds and under much persecution, grows up under the banner
of the Apostles teaching and service.
The story of Tabitha, which was the passage read from the
book of Acts a moment ago, comes right out of the centre of
this situation. Tabitha is a faithful follower and believer. She
belongs to the church in her village and she gives much in
service of others. It is her purity in the faith that leads to the
miracle of her rising from the dead.
Most of the church is persecuted at first, lots are martyred, but
faith has given them something not worth forfeiting, even
under the pain of death. You see once they begin putting God

7

and others first, living a life of service and giving everything
they have for the good of God’s work, all the pain and hurt of
this world seem as nothing compared to the love they
experience in God. It’s a love only found and experienced in the
giving.
Like the Apostles, we also live in a society where many
apposing agendas confront and appose what the Christian faith
teaches. When we feel ashamed of our faith or the temptations
of the world stop us from taking the next step to serve God and
others, let us draw inspiration from these early believers. If
they could hold faith in their time, then so can we.
Amen.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Hello, it is very nice to see you all this morning. Thank you for coming. It seems a long time in the waiting, but we
have finally managed to come together. Thank you for your kindness and warm welcome over the past few
weeks. You have made us feel very welcome indeed. But why have I come to this church? Apart from the fact
that you are all so splendid and bake such fine cakes?
Well, one especially quiet day in heaven, God went to St Peter and told him that he felt in need of a holiday and
commissioned Peter to look around for a package deal. A few days later St Peter reported back that he had
found a perfect location; “the moon”.
God replied “I couldn’t possibly go there; there’s no atmosphere!”
St Peter, a little perplexed said to God that he had also found a second option, ‘Earth’.
God responded, “Well I’m not going there. The last time I went there, I met a nice Jewish girl and they are still
talking about it!”
Well, of course we are still talking about it and it is our job to ensure that people continue talking about it in this
place for many centuries to come. That, I think, is principally why I am here! Like the many commendable parish
priest’s before me, I am here to work with each of you in laying foundations and to build upon all that has gone
before so that Christ’s legacy may continue in this place long into the future.

In our Gospel reading today we hear of St John the Baptist recognising the authenticity of Jesus. And having
done so, he is forced to tell others of this revelation. John sees in Jesus not just the one chosen by God, but God
Himself. God in human form. This is called the Incarnation, because in the person of Christ we see both humanity
and divinity in perfect union. God is Jesus and Jesus is God - God incarnate. Jesus is the Lamb of God; and
takes away the sins of the world. The Lamb of God who offers a route back to the Father. All we are required to
do is believe in Him, obey Him, follow Him, love Him.

St Andrew in today’s Gospel shows us more, because recognising Jesus comes at a price. As Andrew
recognised only too well, in our heart of hearts it is our belief in who Jesus really is that compels us to follow Him
and tell others about the wonderful thing we have found. So it is that Andrew not only follows Jesus but also tells
His brother, Simon Peter, that he has found the ‘Messiah’. The term he chooses is extremely important. To say
that he has found the ‘Messiah’ is to say that in Jesus, Andrew not only sees an important moral teacher, but the
fount of all goodness. He is not just some first century doctor, but the source of all healing. Jesus is the miracle
cure for a terminally ill world.

The unwell only have to touch him to be healed. The poor only have to believe in Him to become rich. The evil
only have to see him to be shamed into goodness. There is no doubt that Christ is the divine answer to a very
human problem, but how did he intend for things to pan out after His resurrection? Well like all good strategists
He provided evidence of a plan A and a plan B.

Plan A was the Church. It is clear from the way Jesus chose his Apostles, sanctioned them and sent them out to
make more disciples, that it was absolutely His intention to form a physical church, lead by chosen and ordained

individuals and made up of real people. It is also clear that He expected this Church to spend all its energies
growing and increasing in number. The genius of this first plan was that it would not rely on any individual alone,
but the power of Christ’s Spirit being given to the many. This Church would always be strong so long as it called
upon and stayed true to His Spirit – ever present in the Church’s words, its actions and the hearts of its people.
And if all this failed then He would resort to plan B.

And Plan B was even more ingenious. Plan B was simply to continue with Plan A. In all the scriptural and
historical evidence, Christ offers us no alternative than an ordered Church of diverse members spreading the
Good News and driven by His Spirit. This is ingenious, simply because it gives us no easy way out. Christ knows
our human nature too well and so to save us from our own tendencies, He gives us just one option – membership
of the Church.

As the body chosen to live out the legacy of Christ in every age and to reveal His Spirit by His grace, the Church
body becomes an extension of our Lord’s incarnation. We the church in this age are simply called to continue the
work He began, sanctifying the world through our presence. This places a huge burden upon our shoulders
because in order to sanctify the world we need to live both individually and corporately as if we believe we can;
portraying those same traits that we see in the life of our Lord. If we are to truly sanctify our world then we must
be open to the world. In the same way that Andrew could see in Jesus the fount of all goodness, we need to
make people see the Church as a place of goodness. Just as people could touch Jesus and be healed, people
need to feel that they can touch us to reach Him. Just as the poor only had to believe in Him to become rich, we
need to be able to give the poor something to believe in.

In our New Testament reading, St Paul is talking to the Church in Corinth which is being called to a new
beginning. Just like them, so are we. The future here is very bright indeed. St Mary Magdalene’s has huge
potential, but potential needs to be realised. We can only hope to achieve all that God has in store for us if we are
united in that same Spirit which abounds in our hearts and drives us on. To do so, each of us must not be shy in
giving what we can to increase God’s mission to our village. Time, talents, money: each one of us are able to
give so much. Don’t leave to the few to do all the work of the many; we are all called to live as Christ lives, giving
all we are able to. We are all called to live in His Spirit as one body; an extension of His body.

The efforts of people in this parish have been remarkable over the past few years. We really do have some
exiting things to build on. And build on them together – we must!
So if you have any gifts you would like to offer or any ideas for moving us forward or for making our church richer,
more open, more united, more Christ-like, let us know. Isn’t this exciting stuff? Because as St Paul reminds us:
“God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord”.
Can there be anything more marvellous? Apart from your baking, that is?

Amen

All Saints’ 2016
"How blessed are those who know their need of God", these are words from today’s
reading according to the New English Translation of the Bible. They sum up
sainthood perfectly. A saint could have lived hundreds of years ago or they could still
be living today. It is not the era they inhabited earth that distinguishes them, but their
example of faithful living. And it always starts with a simple recognition - their need
for God. This is why Jesus begins his sermon on the mount with this statement:
"How blessed are those who know their need of God"
One of the fine things about being a committed Christian believer is that we have set
before us a whole plethora of role models who have been recognised by the Church
for their special contribution to the faith’s flourishing in past ages. The lives of the
saints are a testimony to the endeavours of individuals and whole communities who
have put God first. This devotion to God then leads them to put others first and do
miraculous things, even at great personal cost. The history books are dominated by
such examples of Christian character, whether it be St Paul in the first century or
Oscar Romero in twentieth.
There is one era of British history that produced more saints than any other. The list
of Anglo-Saxon saints and their endeavours is a most inspiring thing for anyone of
even the most tentative curiosity about faith. These stories include people like St
Aiden, St Cuthbert, St Wilfred, St Hilda, St Beda, St Etheldreda... This group of
Anglo-Saxon saints were largely responsible for the growth of Christianity throughout
England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, at a time when there was constant waring
between different kingdoms and the invasions of the Danes and Norse made having
a faith a very risky business indeed. Nonetheless, it is difficult to imagine how
Christianity would have established itself in this country were it not for their deep
commitment and resilience in the faith at such a very difficult time in history.
But outside of this period the stories of the lives of the Saints are simply inspirational.
People like St Francis of Assisi, who lived in the twelfth century, was of noble
1

upbringing and whose father was extremely rich. Nonetheless, Francis became so
appalled at his father’s meanness towards the church and their work with the poor
and destitute, that, as a young man, he relinquished everything that his father had
given him, even the clothes on his back, and because he wanted no association with
it, he began wondering the countryside in a simple cloak praying, preaching the good
news of Jesus and helping the poor wherever he could. Soon many others joined
him. Today, the monastic order he founded, called the Franciscans, number
hundreds of thousands. His father died rich, hording his wealth, but is not
remembered apart from his greediness and miserliness.
Interestingly, in the Lady Chapel of this church, we have an effigy of our very own
anonymous saint. The style of the effigy dates from the late thirteenth century,
probably somewhere between 1250 and 1300 AD. He was clearly a priest and there
is strong evidence to suggest that people visited this church as a place of pilgrimage
and would come to touch the Saint’s face and hand; and praying for healing,
protection and benediction whilst dipping their figure in the holy water in the stoup at
his head and crossing themselves. We have no records of who this saint was, but
the effigy, with its tonsured head, elongated neck, holy water stoup and priests’
artefacts clearly point to this person being a significant holy person in this village and
beyond.
The bravery and fortitude of some saints is quite simply inspiring. One such person is
Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer was a German priest in the Lutheran Church in
Germany during the second world war. He opposed Hitler and was eventually
executed for his troubles. But Bonhoeffer is not unique and many faithful Christians
were murdered standing up to tyranny of the 1940s. Indeed this legacy continues in
some parts of our world today.
Saints from every era provide examples of remarkable self-giving Christian
character. How inspiring their remarkable example of fortitude and resilience in faith
can be. How easy it would have been for them, when the times got tough, to lay
aside their beliefs or let go of their Christian moral integrity. But their faith is what
2

marks them out. In fact, if it were not for the witness of these remarkable individuals
and communities in every era, the church simply would not continue to exist. And the
church desperately needs such strong Christian examples today if it is to continue to
flourish beyond the present age.
But what of today’s 'saints' of Geddington and Weekly? What is to be said of all of
you? How are you to be described - indeed, is it even possible to embark on so
precarious a venture?
But seriously though, sooner or later, our Christian character will be brought into the
spotlight, both for us as individuals and for us as Church communities. The future will
no doubt judge us, but more importantly, God will judge us too. So it is worth us
taking some time to seriously assess our own Christian character. Using the example
of past saints can be an excellent way of doing just that. Looking at the example of
the martyrs of the Second World War concentration camps, we may ask; when we
see appalling oppression and persecution taking place, do we sit back simply
regretting what we can see happening, or do we step forward and put ourselves in a
place of danger in the hope that others’ suffering might be eased as a result of our
actions?
Then looking at the example of the Anglo-Saxon Saints, we can ask; when we are
confronted with staunch opposition to our faith do we lay it to one side and allow the
secular world view to win the argument or do we resolutely hold firm to our faith
during the most difficult and challenging times?
And if we look at the example of St Francis of Assisi; do we feel closer to Francis or
his father? Do we resent giving to God what we owe him, or do we give without
counting the cost happy in the knowledge that his work is being done?
Whilst it has at its center important truths about the Christian way of life, today’s
message from St Luke’s Gospel can sound hard hitting. The passage we heard is
Luke’s version of the sermon on the mount and it carries a particular twist with its
3

warnings against comfort and indulgence in the present life. But they are warnings
worth heeding.
Desmond Tutu and the Deli Lama have just co-authored a brilliant book called ‘The
Book of Joy’. Joy, they claim, is the key to life lived in its fullness. But they talk about
how we can’t have joy without first experiencing struggle or pain. They suggest that
all of their combined experiences of life convince them that only through hard work,
perseverance and struggle can one experience true, deep, spiritual joy. Such proper
joy transforms the heart and builds character. The kind of joy that comes without
having to first work for it, isn’t joy at all, but some kind of shallow, bitter imposter that
does not last. The trouble is, our society today encourages us to crave this shortlived, shallow alternative.
In today’s reading from St Luke’s Gospel, this is exactly what Jesus is talking about.
If we have every comfort in this life and we sit on our treasure chests in our palatial
homes affording ourselves every luxury, then we should not be surprised if our
Christian character flees from us at the moment we most desperately need it. But if
we train ourselves to live in a more restrained way, giving what we have without
counting the cost, putting ourselves out for the sake of others, and making an effort
to sacrifice a little bit of self-indulgence in order to carve out time for God, then such
things will begin building our Christian character and transforming our hearts for the
better.
Such Christian character is what saints are made of, and our society desperately
needs such role models today. And it all begins with us and a personal recognition:
"How blessed are those who know their need of God".
Amen.

4

All Saints’ Day Sermon 2015
Angels, Archangels, Thrones, Dominions, Principalities, Powers,
heavenly Virtues, Cherubim and Seraphim; all Saints of God, holy men
and women: intercede for us, that we may be worthy to offer (these
words in) this Sacrifice to almighty God, to the praise and glory of His
name, for our own welfare and also that of all His holy Church. Amen.
A scientist talks to God and says, "God, we can now clone humans, make
life, and take care of ourselves. We don't need you anymore." God,
believing in free will (after all he created it) says; "ok that’s fine. But before
I let my beloved children go, I would like to set you one last challenge. If
you can complete it, it will prove that you don’t need me anymore and that
you can look after yourselves no matter what. Each of us has to create
our own human using nothing but dirt, and the first one to complete it
wins."
The scientist agreed and became very excited at the thought of being able
to finally aspire to the heights of God. He sat down and in all haste began
making his human. But immediately God stopped him and said, "Whoa
there, not so fast. Use your own dirt."
As people of God we claim to believe in a divine being, a God who orders
our universe, an all-powerful loving force that keeps us and all things on
track. Such an immense being is always going to be beyond our
understanding. But our God is not so careless as to reveal to us more than
we can bear. For his light would be all too dazzling were we to approach
it unprepared. That is of course what life is all about, preparing us to
receive the full radiance of God’s light and love. In all three of our readings
today, we get different insights into what stepping into that glory may feel

1

like. And it is the strangeness of the situation that will prove our greatest
challenge.
In our reading from Revelation this morning, we heard of a new heaven
and earth without death or pain or crying or mourning, but where everyone
drinks from the water of life.1 Isaiah 25 uses similar imagery and tells us
that this is what awaits us when the veil between us and God is removed.2
This is not just heaven, this is M & S Heaven.
Then in our Gospel reading, we get an example of what the result may
look like on earth – even the dead are raised.3 This is the power of the
glory of God. When we accept God’s all-encompassing goodness, even
death itself cannot hold us.
As Christians, there are two things that we must always hold on to
i.

First - our God is the ultimate Victor – he brings the victory against
evil.

ii.

Second - God, and his Saints, are always active in our world
securing that victory.

These, we must never doubt, because to do so is to nail Jesus firmly back
to the cross from which he has risen.
No matter how perplexing life may seem at any given moment; no matter
how deceptive and enticing the evil around us is, we know that God is
enacting his victory against it. God is already bringing all things into the
light and justice of his goodness. God has won the victory, through Jesus’s
cross and resurrection. His cross absorbs all the abuse and violence and

1

Revelation 21.1-6a

2

Isaiah 25.6-9
John 11.32-44

3

2

hatred and manipulation we can throw at it and his resurrection shows us
hope beyond what we deserve.
Through his goodness, God raises up faithful and saintly individuals.
Individuals who have lived lives devoted to him, in the service of his church
and in the goodness he brings. God’s saints are people who have made
his goodness manifest in the world. At their deaths God brings all such
individuals into his eternal goodness by raising them into what we call
heaven. It is this heavenly host, God’s warriors in his fight against evil,
who we celebrate today.
For today is All Saints’ Day, otherwise called All Hallows’ Day. The day
when all those hallowed under God are especially close to earth to draw
us closer to heaven in the process. Indeed, God’s eternal Saints are ever
active worshipping God in heaven, whilst frustrating the devil’s devious
demons on earth. Desmond Tutu reminds us that ‘if we had the right kind
of eyes, we would see the Saints of heaven all around us’.
‘If we had the right kind of eyes, we would see the Saints of heaven
all around us’
There is something about our life’s’ journey that includes developing that
right kind of spiritual sight. That is why our regular worship is so important,
it helps to focus our vision. As we persevere in faith and help to build up
God’s church on earth, our spiritual sight awakens and the eternal church
of heaven begins to move closer with every prayer and action.
God, with all his Saints, is ever active in our world securing his victory.
Despite the frustrations that the world puts in his way, God is bringing all
things to completion in his goodness. This is the glory of God. If we can
accept that God is in control, then all we can do is follow his lead.

3

So why do we despair? Why do we doubt? Why do we give up the race?
For if God is for us, who may be against us?4
God sends people to us for a time to hasten our progress on the journey
of faith; sometimes individuals and sometimes groups. Sometimes he
sends them for a moment, sometimes a season and sometimes even for
a lifetime. Sometimes they are folk just like you and me, but sometimes
they are spiritual beings mysteriously making our paths clearer or even
carrying us along the way when we are too tired to go on. Whoever he
sends, he sends them as his messengers. Is our spiritual sight strong
enough to recognise them as such? Do we respond with gratitude or
complaint?
God brings us to situations and encounters that offer us an opportunity to
deepen our faith in him and build up our Christian character along the way.
This stands us in better stead to be numbered among his saints in glory;
it gives us a better chance of adapting to the new heaven that he is calling
us to, where we will meet him unveiled, face to face - It focuses our
spiritual lens.
Are we willing to persevere on the journey even when God’s plans for us
do not fit with our own designs? Do we see every event as an opportunity
to deepen our faith and grow our Christian character?
In all of this, what we do in our worship and in the service of our church,
and the way we engage with it, is vitally important if we are to deepen our
spiritual sight. This is why the Church is the gateway to the glory of God.
Through our actions, prayers and joint focus, we glimpse God’s eternal
glory. And we view God’s glory through the widest lens when we are all
united in prayer and endeavour.

4

Romans 8:31

4

Help this Church to be a gateway to the glory of God. There are numerous
opportunities for you to grow your Christian character by serving this
church, in a whole host of ways, large and small. And you get the
satisfaction of knowing that you are also helping others develop their
spiritual focus at the same time. Why not let us know what roles you might
be interested in? What better way to serve God, his people and begin to
develop your spiritual focus for the good of God’s church now and into
eternity?
May the protection and guidance of the saints be with you and may you
be given the spiritual sight to recognise it.
Amen

5

All Saints Sunday 2017 - Blessed are those who simply love
spending time with other people
“Blessed are the peacemakers”
“Blessed are those who mourn”
“Blessed are the merciful”
These are all quotes of Jesus taken from today’s Gospel reading – But
we are meant to be celebrating All Saints’ Day, so why hasn’t the
Church given us readings that speak more directly about them?
Well, perhaps these statements have more to tell us about sainthood
than we realise. These statements all have relationship with others at
their centre. One could translate them this way: “Blessed are those
whose pleasure is in serving and trusting in others”… “Blessed are those
who simply love spending time with other people”.
Such people will never be lonely, they will always find somebody to be
with, after all there are plenty to go around.
As humans, we need each other to survive, and we need other people if
we are to find true fulfilment. We cannot be fully rounded human beings
on our own, we are designed to live together.
That may, in fact, give us a real insight into what heaven may well be. To
enter heaven will certainly involve being able to enjoy the company of
everyone else there. No place for envy or hatred or prejudice. There
certainly won’t be much privacy.
To be able to live for an eternity like that takes time and practice, it
doesn’t just happen on its own. As a child of the enlightenment born into

a western culture, the principles of personal privacy and autonomy have
been bred into me from a very young age – indoctrinated into me, if you
will. But if we take a step back a little and step outside of our culture, we
can see just how challenging principles of privacy and autonomy can be
to the building of community. That is why nations that do not hold these
principles so highly seem to find it easier to build stronger communities
at a local level, even if they are often poorer.
In the West, we have learned to allow a greater degree of privacy and
autonomy in an attempt to simply allow each individual to co-exist, but
often it means that if we can talk of living in community at all, it is often
fractured and only on our own terms. Community is not simply coexisting; it can only be built upon deep ties of relationship. Therefore, to
live in a real community, our needs and desires need to be balanced
with the needs and desires of everyone else in that community. When
communities go wrong, it is nearly always because one or more
members have forgotten the need for compromise and have pursued
their own will at the expense of other people. So to build a truly rich and
diverse community means letting go of our wilfulness. We simply can’t
have it all our own way.
Heaven is no different. Heaven gives us the ultimate model of
community and it is one that has to balance my will against everyone
else’s. I can’t be selfish about my desires or else heaven simply cannot
work. Heaven is a community where everyone is equal without privilege.
So to enter it means me having to share everything I am and give up a
little of my wilfulness and autonomy for the good of everyone else. Of
course, I can do this because I am in the full knowledge that I am safe in
heaven to do so.

In other words, Heaven will be the the place where I am finally able to
hand everything over into God’s care, just as everyone else has handed
everything over into God’s care. Then, what I am left with, is to just sit
back and enjoy everyone else’s company.
Blessed are those who simply love spending time with other people.
And that is how today’s readings become so poignant to today’s feast of
All the Saints.
The saints, all those currently living in heaven, are those people who,
irrelevant of their good or bad points on earth, now live in perfect
harmony with one another and God. This is far beyond any human
authority to judge. They number far more than just those who have
already been recognised formally as a saint by the Church on earth.
They include are all those who have managed to let go of the things
which get in the way. They have let go of all the pride and anger, all the
longing for power and control. They have handed everything over to God
to take care of. And now they bask together in God’s radiating presence.
Blessed are those who simply love spending time with other people! In
this way, we are all called to be with All the Saints too.

At Christmas 1914 soldiers took the risk, crossed a battle-line and kindled an
evening of friendship and football. It is the moment all have picked on this year,
whether in adverts or sermons. The truce illustrates something of the heart of
Christmas, whereby God sends his Son, that vulnerable sign of peace, to a weary
war-torn world. The problem is that the way it is told now it seems to end with a
‘happy ever after’.
Of course we like Christmas stories with happy endings: singing carols, swapping
photos, shaking hands, sharing chocolate, but the following day the war continued
with the same severity. Nothing had changed; it was a one-day wonder. That is not
the world in which we live - truces are rare.
Disease does not have any truce. Last week I was in Sierra Leone to meet faith
leaders struggling with a plague that has spread across three countries. But Ebola
will be as virulent today as it was yesterday, crossing boundaries defiantly. It will be
beaten by those courageous people treating and working, both locals and many from
this country, but the struggle is hard.
Today there is no Christmas truce in the Middle East, or in north-east Nigeria where
Christians are persecuted, with other minorities. The tension in the ancient lands of
Jesus’ birth rises by the day. Fear does not have a truce, nor the animosity and
hatred whose tangible outcome is increasing separation between Israeli and
Palestinian.
The Christmas story could be told simply with a happy ending where the gospel
reading ended. ‘Shepherds are cold, shepherds see angels, shepherds head into
town and see baby, and shepherds disappear into sunrise, happy’. If we end there,
Christmas removes us from reality. Christmas becomes something utterly remote,
about lives entirely different, fictional, naïve, tidy. That’s not Christmas. Jesus came
to the reality of this world to transform that reality - not to take us into some
fantasy kind of ‘happy ever after’ but to ‘Good News of great joy for all people.’
It is Good News precisely because God addresses the world as it is. Isaiah speaks of
warriors and garments rolled in blood, of yokes on people’s shoulders, of oppression.
We know that story; it is the lived reality of so many suffering today. Yet Isaiah
announces the news of God bringing light, joy, and exultation, through a child!

It is ‘good news of great joy’ because a helpless baby (who is God) becomes the one
who changes this world decisively. Differently to any other figure in human history
Jesus breaks in, not to help us escape, but to transform and take hold of our past,
our present and our future. This baby brings the promise of forgiveness, the
certainty of love and the hope of peace.
This means that whilst we must truly face the state of the world to which Jesus
came, we can - we must - be equally realistic about the difference he makes.
Jesus did not come for one day. Jesus changed things for ever.
He comes to the person who turns and calls to him, bringing forgiveness and new
life. That is an offer to all of us today, whether full of the joy of Christmas or in the
midst of a personal darkness of despair and hopelessness. If Jesus can be laid in a
manger there is nowhere that is not fitting for him to come, no person who is unfit
to receive him.
He comes to the person nearing death, whether that death is premature or after a
long life, and he brings the assurance of his presence, and the hope of eternity.
Jesus is the promise that ‘God is with us’, no matter what.
To the region caught up in war or to the family caught up in fights, he offers a
transformation of hearts so there might be reconciliation. He offers a stepping out of
the trenches, away from positions taken against enemies – and into new paths of
relating.
He comes to lives that can too easily get caught up in acquiring, amassing,
consuming and self-obsessing, bringing a shift in our horizon – beyond ourselves, to
those who don’t have what we have. If we hear this story properly we look away
from ourselves, from our life with its care and burdens. This is freedom: as our
perspective widens, so we are healed. This is good news of great joy for all people.
The epistle to Titus describes his impact, the creation of people and communities
that live out the reality of the love of God in Christ.
Yet because Jesus comes as child, as baby, we are not manipulated or forced, we
have freedom to choose whether to hear his story properly or not. This baby is love
so fierce it changes universes, love so gentle that the weakest is free to choose.
Rowan Williams puts it beautifully in his poem 'Advent Calendar',

'He will come, will come,

will come like crying in the night,


like blood, like breaking,

as the earth writhes to toss him free.


He will come like child.'
Jesus does not remove us from reality, he indwells it; and he indwells us if we invite
him. To be indwelt by Christ changes our understanding of reality, so that with his
eyes we may see the world and love it, overflowing with the love that he gives to us.
Last week I saw a young woman named Monica near Freetown [in Sierra Leone],
teaching a group of Ebola orphans to sing about Jesus building community. Her face,
her manner, her pragmatic Christ-likeness is before me in my mind as I remember.
That is the impact of the baby in the manger, the impact of the one who reaches out
to us and brings not a day-long truce but permanent peace with God, not escapism
but to a call to be a Church community of those who change the world in which we
live.
What an extraordinary God this is who makes all the difference in the world. Don’t
we all long for his reality rather than our make believe? The question is whether we
will have open hands and ears, hearts and lives to receive him, not just on
Christmas, but each day of our lives.
More than that, having received him, whether we will make it our life’s aim - like the
shepherds - for the sake of his world to be the difference Jesus came to bring.
Jesus is no mere 24-hour truce: he is joy forever.

Archbishop of Canterbury, J Welby 2014

Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Little Johnny and his family were having Sunday dinner at his Grandmother's house... Everyone was
seated around the table as the food was being served. When Little Johnny received his plate, he started
eating right away. 'Johnny! Please wait until we say our prayer,' said his mother. 'I don't need to,' the
boy replied... 'Of course, you do,' his mother insisted. 'We always say a prayer before eating at our
house.' 'That's at our house,' Johnny explained. 'But this is Grandma's house and she knows how to
cook!'
In all the excitement of our lives, all the fun things in store, all the wonderful ideas we have for moving
things forward, it is all too easy for us to get carried away just like little Johnny, and want to receive the
rewards without laying the necessary foundations. As Christians, it is important that before we eat, we
pray, because saying thank you to God for His gift of food makes it all the more delicious as we receive
it in gratitude and not expectation. There is no physical reason why we should do this, but spiritually it
transforms our outlook and our world.
Today we celebrate the Festival of the Assumption of Mary. In other words, we rejoice that the Mother
of our Lord assumes her rightful place at her son’s side in Heaven. Now, the precise nature of Mary’s
raising to glory has been the subject of much theological debate down the ages. But this morning, you
will be glad to hear that I will not attempt to answer questions about how exactly her bodily form may
have been raised to the side of her beloved Son. Such things are for God alone to know. To your relief
and mine, I shan’t attempt to teach you a physics or chemistry lesson. No. To do so would be to miss
the point entirely.
It would lead us down the road of obsessing about process, rather than admiring the person by lifting
our eyes to heaven. In our materially obsessed world, there are strong forces which encourage us to
focus on the empirical and worldly at the expense of the spiritual. But to do so hinders our ability to see
the wider truth. As Christians, we must always resist the temptation to hold material truth in higher
regard than spiritual truth.
So today is about the person of the Blessed Virgin Mary and how her moral and philosophical integrity
leads us into greater spiritual depth. That’s where our focus will be.
From this day all generations will call me blessed.
This is a very familiar line from the Magnificat, the Song of Mary found in Luke’s Gospel. Earlier in
Luke’s Gospel, when the Angel Gabriel visits Mary, she is terrified, but obedient and faithful none-theless. I don’t know about you, but I often pray that I may be a tiny bit as faithful as Mary during difficult
times – especially times when God is trying to lead me in a direction I am not sure I want to go.
Sometimes, I find myself wanting to run away instead of going where he leads, how about you?
Mary shows a remarkable amount of trust and maturity in her response to being told she is going to
become the mother of the Messiah, God’s own Son, daunting to say the least.

1

You’ll recall how Mary’s song of praise begins with her cousin, Elizabeth, calling her “the mother of my
Lord”. At that moment the earlier message of the angel takes on a meaningful living shape. Suddenly
Mary sees a vision of what she must become and her future begins to take a more identifiable form. So
Mary, obedient, prayerful, faithful, can’t help but glorify her Lord! She sings of the all-excelling
perfections of God; his power, his holiness, his mercy and his faithfulness.
The Magnificat, or the Song of Mary as it is often known, is almost wholly comprised of Old Testament
quotations, but the whole hymn is inspired by Mary’s promised Son, who is to be the Messiah, to whom
all those scriptures proclaim and point.
The Jews understood that the Messiah would bring in a new realm as foretold in Isaiah chapter 61.
Mary repeats this prophecy in her song of praise: Her son would bring a time of massive political
reordering and social reversal. The hungry would be filled with good things, and the rich would be sent
away empty. The proud would receive their comeuppance and the humble would have their day in the
sun! This affords us a glimpse of what heavenly values look like and they are spoken by Mary before
her son is even born.
Elizabeth refers to Mary as ‘blessed’ three times in just four verses. St Luke uses two Greek words
here1 –– but their meaning is essentially the same. The latter word, makarios, is the same one which
Mary uses in the Magnificat - From now on all generations will call me blessed (makarios).
Makarios means happy. But not a superficial, fluffy, short-lived pleasure, as we use the English word
‘happy’ today. Makarios is the deep religious joy of a person who has a share in divinely-given salvation;
a peace, blessedness, that transforms their very being into a peacemaker – one whose whole being is
now in tune with God and will not do anything that hinders his love transforming our world.
This is the key to understanding Mary’s blessedness. She has a vital and indispensable role to play in
God’s plan for the history of the world.
In our first reading from Revelation chapter 12, we heard about the image of the pregnant woman. ‘She
is clothed with the sun. The moon is under her feet, and she is crowned with twelve stars. She gives
birth to a male child whose destiny is to rule the nations’. Now the imagery of the Book of Revelation,
the Apocalypse, is notoriously challenging to interpret, but the Saviour, as we see him in the person of
Christ, is clearly the Redeemer of the whole world, the ruler of the nations. His mother, Mary, the Queen
of Heaven.
As with all the saints, we must remember, however, that every feast of Mary is also a feast of Jesus.
The Saints point to Jesus, just like scripture and worship always point to Jesus. Mary is blessed because
she is the mother of Jesus, and the saints in heaven are blessed, precisely because of their devotion
and relationship to Him. They point us towards our Blessed Saviour.
Now you will remember at the beginning that we reflected on the need to be open to spiritual as much
as material truths. What we have just discussed certainly registers on the spiritual end of the spectrum

1

eulogemene and makarios
2

as well as the material, and such spiritual truths are important to our Christian journey. Here is an
example as to why:
Maximilian Kolbe, was a Polish Franciscan friar of the early twentieth century. Kolbe was active in
promoting the veneration of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, and founding and supervising a
monastery near Warsaw. Kolbe saw in Mary, as with Jesus, an example of obedience, bravery, selfsacrifice and loyalty that stood as an example for all Christians to follow.
Early on in the Second World War, Nazi occupiers closed his monastery and placed Kolbe and some
of his brothers into a concentration camp, as a result of Kolbe’s refusal to recognise Nazi Authority.
Soon they were transferred to Auschwitz.
Continuing to act as a priest, Kolbe was subjected to violent harassment, including beating and lashings,
and once had to be smuggled to a prison hospital by friendly inmates. At the end of July 1941, three
prisoners disappeared from the camp, prompting the deputy camp commander to pick 10 men to be
starved to death in an underground bunker to deter further escape attempts. When one of the selected
men cried out, "My wife! My children!", Kolbe stepped forward and volunteered to take his place.
According to the eye witness testimony of an assistant janitor at that time, Kolbe regularly led all 10
prisoners in prayer to Jesus and salutation to Our Lady, Mary. Each time the guards checked on him,
he was standing or kneeling in the middle of the bunker and looking calmly at those who entered. After
two weeks of dehydration and complete starvation, only Kolbe remained alive. The guards wanted the
bunker emptied, so they gave Kolbe a lethal injection of carbolic acid. Kolbe is said to have raised his
left arm and calmly waited for the deadly injection. Rather fittingly, his remains were cremated on 15
August, the feast day of the Assumption of Mary.
It is undeniable, that for Kolbe, it was his devotion to Christ and his intimacy to Mary that gave him his
courage and composure when it really mattered. Mary stands as an example and aid to each of us too.
For she who is mother of our Saviour is matriarch of the body of all who are saved in her son, Our
Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Amen

R.T. Parker-McGee 2015

3

Sermon for the Feats of St Barnabas 2015
“Behold what we are: May we become what we receive”
Last week, we explored a little more meaningfully what we are as people of God, and in so doing we
began to understand more fully what it meant to be called blessed.
Today, we are celebrating the Feast of St Barnabas. Barnabas was certainly able to radiate
blessedness. For Barnabas, as with all the early church apostles, their walk in faith was a long journey.
Sometimes this journey was tough. They nearly all started from a different place, with different beliefs and
often finding Christ, meant giving up significant areas of their lives.
Much of the evidence we have for the apostles of the early church is found in the New Testament; the
Acts of the Apostles and the letters that follow. What we see there is a continual struggle to stand up
against a prevailing culture that would ridicule or dismiss the spiritual benefits that Christ brings. But the
apostles stand strong in the face of such opposition, because they recognise the bigger picture that, charity
alone cannot save the world, only relationship with God can do that.
This I guess is the point Jesus is making when he points out to Judas that: “You will always have the
poor among you, but you will not always have me”.1 It is not that we should ignore those who are less
fortunate, but that the only way to truly alleviate an individual’s suffering is to help them find spiritual
treasure and trust in God, whilst alleviating their practical needs – to help them recognise their
blessedness. For the early church apostles, this was their central aim and they could not afford to hide their
“light under a bushel”2 or else the Church simply wouldn’t grow.
The other thing we notice as we look through the recordings of their endeavours, is that they didn’t
always agree on how to go about this. In fact, often those who held greatest authority among them had to
make decisions that some of the others did not like. Arguing and bickering featured, sometimes this fighting
completely overshadowed their work and occasionally one or other would throw a tantrum and leave…
Often they would return a short time later once they had recognised their rashness and the damage they
had caused to the wider body and the Mission of God. This then is the story of normal humans walking a
bumpy ride together towards recognising more fully their own blessedness. The reason they nearly always
return to be in fellowship within the wider flock, is because they realise that this blessedness cannot be
lived out in exclusion, no matter how much they disagree or become annoyed at each other.
Barnabas’ story, like so many of the early apostles, includes all these elements. Barnabas travelled,
with his colleague St Paul, all over the known world to preach the good news and to grow God’s church.
Alongside Paul, he was a workaholic in the business of God. St Paul writes in his first letter to the
Corinthians, “are Barnabas and I the only two who are never allowed to stop working?”3 –no doubt by way
of complaint at the lack-lustre nature of the Corinthian Christians.
It would appear that Barnabas grew in grace as he increasingly began recognising his blessed core
more and more through the breaking of bread, healing the sick and preaching the Gospel of Christ. For

1

Mt. 26:11; Mk.14:7; Jn. 12:8
Mt. 5:15; Lk. 11:33
3 I Cor.9:5-6
2

1

Barnabas, the more he realised his blessedness, the more fruit he produced as a result. But, like us all,
Barnabas too had his moments and at some point he and Paul split – only to be reunited some time later. It
is thought that Barnabas was stoned to death in Salamis on a missionary trip to Cyprus and returned to the
Lord in all rejoicing, having fulfilled his calling to proclaim the Good News to non-Christians… and doing so
rather well.
I guess, for Barnabas, today’s Gospel reading from St John is especially relevant. Having trusted in
Christ all his life, never faltering in his balance of offering Charity alongside overt Christian witness and in
the end he came to epitomise one significant verse of our reading; ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay
down one’s life for one’s friends’.4
Last week, we discussed how when you and I were baptized in the name of the Father and the Son and
the Holy Spirit, we discovered the deepest truth about ourselves: that no matter what else, we are the
Beloved of God.
We should radiate God’s love, not in a naïve or sheepish way, but prominently and enthusiastically.
With no personal agendas, no arrogance, no manipulation, but patient, kind, loving, accepting and above
all else obedient to the people we truly are – a holy people, whose only agenda is the Lord Jesus Christ.
But we are only human, and sometimes our humanity can get in the way…
As we explored last week, thankfully in the Eucharist we behold what we are and we ask that we may
become what we receive.
In broken bread and wine outpoured we glimpse Christ’s broken body on the cross and see the lengths
to which God is willing to go for each and every one of us – an intimate love beyond measure. Every time
we receive the Eucharist, we are transformed -- or should be transformed -- a little more fully into the Body
of Christ. “Behold what we are: May we become what we receive.”
As we explored this further last week, we drew on the work of the formidable spiritual teacher Henri
Nouwen as he began to explore what the life of a Christian entailed. For him, the words “taken,” “blessed,”
“broken,” and “given” summarize the life of every Christian, in fact, he considered that they summarize our
lives as compete human beings.5 But especially as Christians, we are called to become bread for the world:
bread that is taken, blessed, broken, and given.
We discovered how to be “taken” meant to be chosen, to be precious to God who implanted his image
in each and every one of us at our creation. If we explore what that image might look like through the
example of Christ, we see an image of love. Not just superficial love, but love that is willing to make the
tough choices for the wider good, even if that leads to immense struggle.
Then we explored what it was to be called blessed; Nouwen’s second characterization. First, we must
recognise the fact that we are “blessed,” and to remember that “blessing” literally means to speak well of
someone. We are blessed, for God is always speaking a word of blessing in our hearts. When we train
ourselves to hear God’s blessing better, we can't help but speak good things to other people and call forth

4
5

Jn. 15:13
Henri J.M. Nouwen, Life of the Beloved, New York, NY: Crossroad, 1992

2

their beauty and truth. As Henri says, “No one is brought to life through curses, gossip, accusations, or
blaming.”
We are chosen and blessed. And we are broken, too. Everyone in this room is broken. We all have
places of loneliness or fear, places of disappointment, shame, hurt or grief. We all have feelings of betrayal
and we have all been the betrayer – both leave their scars. Sometimes we sadly project that brokenness
onto others and onto God or his representatives; especially sometimes onto God and his representatives.
We all know the pain of broken relationships, and we all face fear of death, often producing the most
destructive display of brokenness. We need to learn to accept and befriend our brokenness, before it
destroys us. We only do this by entrusting our whole selves to the care of God, so that, as St. Paul puts it,
we know that “whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's”.6 This is true self-knowledge and only
comes from confronting the parts of our lives that are broken, especially the most painful stuff. Doing so
takes real honesty and real bravery.
It is important to place our brokenness in the light of God's blessing, to experience it within the context
of God's love. This can be especially difficult if our brokenness includes an element of unbelief or anger
towards God. But it is essential that we overcome such destructive notions in order to help it to heal in the
only true healing presence open to us – God’s love as received through Jesus. When we know ourselves
as God's Beloved, we experience our suffering differently -- maybe as a kind of purification, or as a way to
enter a deeper communion with a loving God who, in Jesus Christ, allowed himself to be broken.
And finally, we are chosen, blessed, and broken -- to be given. Henri writes “Our greatest fulfilment lies
in giving ourselves to others.” Our humanity comes to its fullest bloom in giving, not because of individual
fulfilment, but because of the power it has to unite and grow communion with one another. We become
beautiful people when we give whatever we can give and share whatever we can share: a smile, a
handshake, a kiss, an embrace, an apology, a word of love, a donation, a present, a prayer, the Eucharist,
a part of our life... When Jesus says, ‘those who save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for
my sake will save it’,7 this is what he means. How different our lives become when we believe that every
little act of faithfulness, every gesture of love, every word of forgiveness, every prayer for peace or healing
or reconciliation, every gift for the good of someone else, every little bit of joy and peace will multiply and
multiply as long as there are people to receive it, until heaven breaks through and the earth is completely
healed from the sins that separate us.
The witness of Barnabas shows us that this is never an easy road, it has its ups and downs.
Sometimes, just like Barnabas, we might even lose a friend or a colleague along the way. But the building
of God’s kingdom requires us to not only believe we are blessed, but to confidently live so that others can
see it and see where it comes from - to help the rest of the world recognise that at the core of our
blessedness sits our loving God.
Once again, we behold what we are. May we become what we receive.8
R.T. Parker-McGee 2015

6

Romans 14:8
The Gospels of: Matthew 16:25; Mark 8:35; Luke 9:24
8 This sermon is based largely on text written by Society of St. John the Evangelist & Margaret BullittJonas
7

3

Sermon for Corpus Christi 2015
“Behold what we are: May we become what we receive”
Today is an extremely special day in the life of the Church, for two reasons. First, we have these
splendid little chappies being baptised, becoming the latest members of God’s Church, and with
God’s guidance and their parent’s perseverance, they will become dedicated members of Christ’s
body. Secondly, it is also a special day, because it is the day the world-wide Church requires us to
remember the most precious gift Christ gave us, the Eucharist – a never ending remembrance of his
body and blood. Over the generations we have chosen to call the Eucharist different things Mass,
Holy Communion, the Lord’s Supper… But the Eucharist it began and the Eucharist it shall remain.
An eternal banquet that draws us into Christ’s example of service and sacrifice.
This morning's Gospel, from St John, gives us a chance to reflect on how we are formed and
shaped by the Eucharist.
When you and I were baptized in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, as these
little ones will be in a moment, we discovered the deepest truth about ourselves: that no matter what
else, we are the Beloved of God.
That is our deepest identity: we are God's Beloved.
Yet it takes a lifetime of practice and prayer, of devotion and commitment to live into the truth of
our Belovedness, to make it embodied in everything we say and do, so that in the very nitty-gritty
details of our lives, from the moment we get up in the morning until the moment we fall asleep at
night, we not only remember in some remote way, “God loves me,” but overtime more and more fully
we become the Beloved, we become who we really are. We radiate God’s love. With no personal
agendas, no arrogance, no manipulation, but patient, kind, loving accepting and above all else
obedient to the people we truly are – a holy people. We can only pray that we may have the resilience
and the good fortune.
In some churches, after the Lord's Prayer, the celebrant breaks the bread and says: “Behold what
you are.” And people reply, “May we become what we receive.” These words can be traced all the
way back to St. Augustine, who, sometime in the 4th and 5th centuries, preached a sermon on the
Eucharist [Sermon 57, which surprisingly enough is called “On the Holy Eucharist”]. In this sermon St
Augustine says: “one of the deep truths of Christian faith: through our participation in the sacraments
(particularly in baptism and Eucharist), we are transformed into the Body of Christ, given for the
world.” In broken bread and wine outpoured we glimpse Christ’s broken body on the cross and see
the lengths to which God is willing to go for each and everyone of us – an intimate love beyond
measure. “Behold what we are: May we become what we receive.”
The point is that every time we receive the Eucharist, we are transformed -- or should be
transformed -- a little more fully into the Body of Christ, so that the divine love that made us and that
flows through us can become more fully expressed in the world.
So, how are we formed by the Eucharist? Henri Nouwen says, the words “taken,” “blessed,”
“broken,” and “given” summarize the life of a priest, because whenever a priest comes together with
members of this community and celebrates the Eucharist, he or she takes bread, blesses it, breaks it,

1

and gives it. But he goes on to say that These words also summarize our lives as Christians because,
as Christians, we are called to become bread for the world: bread that is taken, blessed, broken, and
given. Most importantly...they summarize our lives as compete human beings because in every
moment of our lives somewhere, somehow the taking, the blessing, the breaking, and the giving
should be happening.1
So what does it mean to say that we are “taken”? To be “taken” by God is to be chosen, to be
precious to God. As Nouwen puts it, “Long before any human being saw us, we are seen by God's
loving eyes. Long before anyone heard us cry or laugh, we are heard by our God who is all ears for
us. Long before any person spoke to us in this world, we are spoken to by the voice of eternal
love.” Claiming and reclaiming our chosenness is the great spiritual battle of our lives, for in a
competitive, power-hungry, manipulative world, it is all too easy to forget that God has taken us, God
has chosen us – its all too easy to slide into self-doubt and self-rejection. Knowing that we have been
taken by God, that we have been chosen, is the first thing we need to understand as we behold what
we are and become what we receive.
The second is to recognize that we are “blessed.” The Latin word for “blessing” literally means to
speak well of someone or to say good things about someone. We all have a deep need for
affirmation, to know that we are valued not just because of something we did or because we have a
particular talent, but simply because we are.
Henri Nouwen tells a wonderful story about the power of blessing in his community. For the last
ten years of his life, this renowned spiritual teacher and best-selling author who had taught at worldclass universities lived as a chaplain at a daybreak community in Toronto, a community for people
who are mentally and physically disabled. One day a handicapped member of the community, Janet,
asked him for a blessing. Henri was busy and distracted, and quickly and automatically traced the
sign of the cross on her forehead. Janet protested, “No, I want a real blessing!” Henri realized how
unthinkingly he had responded to her request and he promised that at the next prayer service, he
would give her a real blessing. After the service was over, when about thirty people were sitting in a
circle on the floor, Henri announced, “Janet has asked me for a special blessing.” He didn't know what
she wanted, but she made it crystal clear: she stood up and walked over to him. He was wearing a
long white robe with large sleeves that covered his hands as well and his arms, and when Janet came
forward and put her arms around him and put her head against his chest, Henri covered her with his
sleeves so that she almost vanished in the folds of his robe.
As they held each other, Henri said “Janet, I want you to know that you are God's Beloved
Daughter. You are precious in God's eyes. Your beautiful smile, your kindness to the people in your
house, and all the good things you do show what a beautiful human being you are. I know you feel a
little low these days and that there is some sadness in your heart, but I want you to remember who
you are: a very special person, deeply loved by God and all the people who are here with you.” As he
said these words, Janet raised her head and looked at him, and from her broad smile, Henri knew that
she had really heard and received the blessing.

1

Henri J.M. Nouwen, Life of the Beloved, New York, NY: Crossroad, 1992

2

After Janet returned to her place, another handicapped woman raised her hand -- she, too, wanted
a blessing. She stood up and put her face against his chest, and before long many more of the
handicapped people took a turn, expressing the same desire to be blessed.
How hungry we are for blessing! And we are blessed, for God is always speaking a word of
blessing in our hearts. When we know ourselves as blessed, we can't help but speak good things to
other people, and about other people, and call forth their beauty and truth. As Henri says, “No one is
brought to life through curses, gossip, accusations, or blaming... As the ‘blessed ones,' we can walk
through this world and offer blessings. It doesn't require much effort. It flows naturally from our
hearts.”
We are chosen and blessed. And we are broken, too. Everyone in this room is broken. We all
have places of loneliness or fear, places of disappointment, shame, hurt or grief. We all know the pain
of broken relationships, and we all face death, the destructive manifestation of brokenness. Accepting
and befriending our brokenness is part of the long journey of entrusting our whole selves to the care
of God, so that, as St. Paul puts it, we know that “whether we live or whether we die, we are the
Lord's”.2 And it is important to place our brokenness in the light of God's blessing, to experience it
within the context of God's love. When something ‘bad' happens to us, it can be tempting to let that
event fuel the fire of our self-rejection, to say to ourselves, “You see? Of course that happened to me.
I always thought I was no good. Now I know for sure -- the facts of my life prove it.” But when we
know ourselves as God's Beloved, we experience our suffering differently -- maybe as a kind of
purification, or as a way to enter a deeper communion with a loving God who, in Jesus Christ, allowed
himself to be broken.
We are chosen, blessed, and broken -- to be given. “Our greatest fulfillment lies in giving
ourselves to others,” writes Henri. “...Our humanity comes to its fullest bloom in giving. We become
beautiful people when we give whatever we can give: a smile, a handshake, a kiss, an embrace, a
word of love, a donation, a present, a part of our life... When Jesus says that, ‘those who save their
life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake will save it’, 3 this is what he means. How
different our lives become when we believe that every little act of faithfulness, every gesture of love,
every word of forgiveness, every gift for the good of someone else, every little bit of joy and peace will
multiply and multiply as long as there are people to receive it.
That is the promise of the Eucharist: that as we know ourselves to be taken, blessed, broken, and
given, we will become bread for the world. Our lives will feed and bless those around us in more ways
than we can ask or imagine. In our Eucharist this morning, we see a sign of God's desire and intent to
feed not only us but this whole hungry world, and in these baptisms, we see the next chapter of God’s
plan for sharing it.
Once again, we behold what we are. May we become what we receive.4
R.T. Parker-McGee 2015

2

Romans 14:8
The Gospels of: Matthew 16:25; Mark 8:35; Luke 9:24
4 This sermon is based largely on text written by Society of St. John the Evangelist & Margaret BullittJonas
3

3

Today's sermon for Candlemas 2015
In the 4th Chapter of Genesis we are told the story of Cain and Abel. Most famously Cain turns on his
brother in the end, but the event which begins building the tension between the two brothers is God’s
rejection of Cain’s offering. Have you ever wondered why God would reject Cain’s offering? Well, it is
rejected because they are not his first fruits. Abel is a shepherd and gladly gives God his first born lamb,
as a thank you for his many blessings and his promise of prosperity. But Cain takes what he wants first
and then only offers God a portion of what he has left over. He is reluctant and resentful that he should
have to give back some of what God has given to him. So because his heart is disturbed with ill motives
and misaligned intentions, God cannot accept what Cain offers. He thus becomes separated from God
and there is a severing of the sacred bond. This of course leads to his murderous actions and his
banishment.
It is so easy to become more like Cain than Abel? Does God comes first? Do we always offer him the
first of what we have, or is it a reluctant and resentful second?
This message continues throughout the Bible.
At the fall of Jericho, which we find in the book of Joshua chapter 13, God gives strict instructions that
no-one is to take from the spoils of Jericho. Jericho is the first city of the new kingdom and so everything
should go towards God’s work in building the new kingdom – the Community of the People of God.
When they steal the offering, it is no longer any good to God, because their hearts and their faith are
impure and disturbed by wicked and selfish intentions.
There was, however, far more than money at stake when Abraham offered his first-born son Isaac in
Genesis chapter 22. When God asked for his Son, Abraham was distraught at the thought of the huge
cost, but he did not wait to have 12 more sons first before offering one to God. Abraham offered his first
son despite his anguish at doing so. Of course, we never thought that God would allow Abraham to go
through with it, and he doesn't - he provides a ram to take Isaac's place. It was Abraham's unshakable
selflessness, faithfulness and trust in God that no only saw God intervening to save Isaac, but also
resulted in God blessing Abraham and all his descendants. It was Abraham’s faith that God respected
and blessed.
Then, in the first book of Samuel chapters 1 and 2, we are told how Hannah cannot have children, but
God hears her prayers and blesses her with a son nonetheless. In in gratitude for being blessed with a
child, Hannah offers her first-born son, Samuel, to God’s service, and Samuel begins a life learning to
be a priest of the Temple. God is so pleased with Hannah's faith and wholeheartedness that she is
blessed with three further sons and two daughters.
Today, is of course Candlemas, or the Presentation of Christ at the Temple. Just like Hannah, who
offers Samuel to God’s service, Luke’s Gospel tells us of how Mary brings Jesus to the Temple to be
placed in God’s service as her first-born son. It is a place where Jesus will dutifully return for worship
and teaching throughout his life. But this is a first-born with a very different fate. Jesus’ fate is not beyond
Mary’s insight, certainly not after Simeon tells her that as a result of this young boy’s destiny a sword
will pierce her soul too. But Mary is nothing if not wholehearted in her devotion to God and her faith
remains steadfast.
Mary allows her son to fulfil his divine destiny, and God gives his Son in faith. God gave us Jesus. He
gave his first in the form of his Son. His first and only begotten Son who was given to us while we were
still sinners. God gave Jesus in faith so that one day we would return the favour by giving our lives
completely to him. The gift of his Son came first, but the blessings he brings are still left incomplete in
us until we respond. Not reluctantly or resentfully like Cain, but wholeheartedly and gladly, full of
faithfulness and trust, just like Abel, Abraham, Hannah, Mary,.. God.
Before we see the blessings of God, we give in faith. Giving the first fruits of what we have, be them
time, money, resources; giving our whole lives, says to God, “I recognise you first. I realise that without
you I would not be alive at all. I am awestruck that you would be willing to give so much on the cross
for me. And so I am putting you first in my life and I trust you to take care of the rest, in ways that you
know best. Just as you have always done.”
Amen.

1

R.T Parker-McGee 2015

2

May I speak in the name of the Living God, Father, Son, and Holy spirit.
Today during this service, we are focusing on Christian Service, and what it means to
us. I must admit when I was asked to take this morning prayer service, I spent ages
scratching my head, thinking what I could base the theme on.
I read the two readings for inspiration, but nothing happened, I prayed for guidance,
but still there was no answer, and with little over a week away I had spent hours
staring at a blank computer screen hoping that something would come to me.
In desperation I re-read the readings for the forty fifth time, and suddenly Isaiah 1 17
leaped off the page : “ learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the
orphan, plead for the widow.”
And just I was about to dismiss the idea making an excuse that it probably wasn’t such
a good idea, Isaiah 18 gave me clear instructions:
“Come now, let us argue it out, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they
shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool”
That absolutely struck me at the core of my being, the the Lord pre-empts my doubt
and excuses and says directly to me “Come now, let us argue it out”.
I have to admit that this is something I wasn’t that keen on, sure I’ve screamed at the
Lord when I didn’t understand,
I’ve argued that this was not meant for me to do, but ultimately I have come to
understand that when the Lord prompts me to do something, it’s probably best to get
on with it, after all part of our Christian duty is service.
The next verse of Isaiah, 19 reads “If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the
good of the land”, so I accepted the Lords instructions and set about the task in hand.
Why is it that we often find excuses when it comes to serving the Lord, or doing things
for the Church? Matthew 26 – 27 reminds us
“whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever
wants to be first must be your slave”
Wouldn’t it be marvellous if we put so much commitment and intensity into the
Church and service as we do with sports and al l our other pastime,
how many of us have become so wrapped up in our life’s routine that we have no time
for God at all, let alone service?

How many of us set aside Sunday morning for Church, believing tha t that is enough
time for the Lord instead of involving him in all our life?
We can all be guilty of putting God into a box, and only opening it when it suites our
needs. In times of sorrow, need, and want,
how many of us fail to thank God for the times which are mundane, or good in our
lives? How many of us actually ask God how we can help to further his kingdom?
Instead we look to the world that defines greatness in terms of power, possessions,
prestige, and position, the media feeds us daily with the idea that we must put
ourselves first, and if there’s nothing in it for us, what’s the point? Acting as a servant
is not a popular concept for us.
Jesus, however, measured greatness in terms of servi ce, not status. God determines
our goodness by how many people we serve, not how many people serve us .
This is so contrary to the world’s idea of greatness that we have a hard time
understanding it, much less practicing it.
The disciples argued about who deserved the most prominent position, and 2,000
years later, people still jockey for position and prominence.
In fact if we are asked to do just about anything for the Lord the excuses start. “I’m too
busy, I’m already doing this, you probably need to get someone else because I can’t
commit to that”
I read a humorous story about some soldiers on furlough that I think illustrates this.
“The commanding officer was furious when nine soldiers who had been out on passes
failed to show up for morning roll call.
Not until 7 p.m. did the first man straggl e in. "I’m sorry, sir," the soldier explained, "but
I had a date and lost track of time, and I missed the bus back.
Being determined to get in on time, I hired a cab. Halfway here, the cab broke down. I
went to a farmhouse and persuaded the farmer to sel l me a horse.
I was riding to camp when the animal fell over dead. I walked the last ten miles, and
just got here."
Though sceptical, the Colonel let the young man off with a reprimand. However, after
him, seven other stragglers in a row came in with the same story
-had a date, missed the bus, hired a cab, bought a horse, etc.

By the time the ninth man reported in, the colonel had grown weary of it. "Okay," he
growled, "now what happened to you?"
"Sir, I had this date and missed the bus back, so I hired a cab ." "Wait!" the colonel
screeched at him. "don’t tell me the cab broke down."
"No, sir," replied the soldier. "The cab didn’t break down. It was just that there were so
many dead horses in the road, we had trouble getting through." Excuses !
Sometimes our excuses hold us back from accomplishing anything for God.
How often do we use excuses in order to avoid serving others? How can we further
Gods kingdom

God often tests our hearts by aski ng us to serve in ways we’re not comfortable with,
for my part I found it particularly difficult to be around children.
My wife and I had been trying to have children for over 10 years, we had been down
every route to conceive, but sadly it didn’t happen for us,
accepting the reality of the situation was one of the hardest things we have had to do,
my hopes of being a father and Karen a wonderful mother were dashed.
In my previous job as a Police officer I had only experienced the worse of humanity
when it came to dealing with children, so to say that I was uncomfortable when I was
around them was an understatement.
But God spoke to my inner soul, he recognised the hurt that I had been carrying, and
he prompted me to volunteer to take our Noah’s Ark, parents and toddlers group
leaders role,
you can imagine the inner turmoil I went through, I didn’t want to accept this c all, it
brought all the hurtful memories back to the fore, but eventually, begrudgingly, I
accepted the role which I have now been doing for over a year.
And its been inspirational for me, I have let go of the angst, my heart has started to
heal, and I love being around the wonderful parents, volunteers, and toddlers now.
God truly does heal all wounds, and challenge us in our daily Christian life.
So I ask you all now, how can you help grow Gods kingdom?
Can you talk to your neighbour and offer to help in some way, can you set a good
Christian example by the way you live your life for others,

can you pray for someone or the world, can you use your gift that God has given you
for the good of others?
It doesn’t have to be a big act, but perhaps in some cases it does?
Perhaps you could volunteer to help keep the Church café open, perhaps you co uld
add your name to the cleaning roster,
the lay rota for readings, serving, or teas & coffees, perhaps God calls you for some
other purpose, but unless we take the time to pray and listen, how are we ever going
to know.
So today I have set up some pra yer stations, and during the intercessions we are going
to have some time to move around the church and pray for some guidance on how we
are called to grow Gods kingdom.
Christ calls us to have the hearts of a s ervant, to listen to God and to obey, just as
Abraham in our second reading obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that
he was to receive as an inheritance,
he set out ‘ Let us set out on our journey today, without excuses.
Amen

‘Be Still and Know that I am God’.1 Christ the King 2016
May I speak in the name of the living God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Sometimes our paths cross individuals of great power. Power generated
through the position they have acquired in life. A power that comes as
the result of their own forcefulness and aggression. It might be a king, a
queen or a powerful politician. A military commander or a very
successful businessman. Such individuals can make us feel intimidated
or weak in their presence. Sometimes their projection of power can
make us feel powerless. This can promote strange reactions in us, we
may cower or we may put up strong resistance in their presence. We
may follow such individuals, but we do so out of fear or greed: fear that
they may use their power against us if we do not follow them, or in
greedy hope that they may pass a little of their power onto us if we do.
Very occasionally, however, we can come across an individual whose
power is of a very different type. An individual whose moral exactness
carries profound weight. Power that comes from their own concern for
others and willingness to serve. Such individuals speak with a force that
seems to shake the very foundations of our world. Mahatma Gandhi,
Martin Luther King, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa of
Calcutta all spring to mind. There is an attractiveness to their approach
that compels us to follow them. We do not follow such people out of any
hope of self-gain, except that we may also develop the same kind of
concern and moral grounding.

1

Psalm 46

Today is the feast of Christ the King, but Jesus is a king quite unlike any
other. He does not come with the power of the sword. His power does
not rest in nuclear warheads or an over inflated bank balance. Jesus is
quite unlike any earthly king. Jesus is the fulfilment of Jeremiah’s
prophecy, Jesus is ‘the Lord Our Righteous Saviour’,2 and he saves us
by the nature of his power. Jesus’ power is something far less tangible
and yet stronger than any other force on earth. Jesus’ power is limitless
love. And Jesus reveals the profound depth of that love through service
of others. That service leads him to be flogged almost to the point of
death and hung like a criminal to die on a cross; hung in the baking heat
of the desert outside the city walls. But Jesus’ love is so profound that
even at the point of death he is able to resist the temptation to self-pity.
Instead he becomes completely consumed with concern for another
person’s plight. First he prays for those who have done this to him to be
forgiven by the Father. And then, with an effort that must have
consumed him with pain, he lifts his head and says to the criminal
beside him on the cross, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in
paradise’.3
In Luke’s version of the crucifixion, this is Jesus’ last act before he dies.
Why does Jesus say this? There must have been so many other
concerns on his mind. What had the criminal done to justify Jesus
literally using his last breath to reassure him?
Well, by defending Jesus from the insults being thrown at him, the
criminal reveals a heart that is capable of receiving the true love Jesus
brings. This so called criminal is willing to open himself up to the abuse

2
3

Jeremiah 23:6
Luke 23:34,43

and ridicule of others in order to protect Jesus from the same. And let us
not forget that these would be the criminal’s final hours too. By his
actions, the criminal reveals his belief that Jesus, this lonely carpenter
hung naked and in agony on the cross, is worth protecting. At this
moment he believes that Jesus is indeed God’s son and declares with
one of his final acts on this earth that he is willing to follow Jesus’
example.
I wonder if it was his proximity to Jesus that influenced his actions? Like
any king, the closer we get to Jesus the more we are influenced by his
power. This is why we meet him in the Eucharist every week. By
listening to God’s holy word and receiving Jesus’ precious body and
blood in the bread and wine, we move closer to him and if we are open
to it, his power transforms us into a community of love.
But unlike all other kings, his gift is free. We don’t have to do anything to
receive it. It is not reserved for the good and withheld from the bad –
otherwise, as the writer of the Psalms notes in Psalm 130: ‘if you, Lord,
kept a record of our sins who could stand’? That is the marvellous thing,
Christ our King recognises that we are all sinful and fall short, but he
does not hold that against us. He knows of what we are made; he knows
we are but dust. He bestows on us his love, no matter what. Can you
believe that?
This knowledge transforms us, but for most of us there is something that
stops us short. We desperately want to believe that Jesus loves us and
offers that love freely, but something in our past or our present situation
stops us and makes us doubt whether this can really be true. “How can
Jesus love someone like me? Everyone else here seems so much
closer to him than I am. They look more prayerful. They read their bibles

more often. They talk so much more confidently about Jesus than I could
ever do.”
Bunkum! What a load of nonsense. Can you see into your neighbour’s
heart? Can you see into mine? I am thankful not. Can you know how
well I pray? When I kneel in prayer, I try to focus on the right things, but
all too often my mind wanders. I did not follow my calling to be a priest
because I can pray well, but because I have so much more I need to do.
We all have those dark places that we don’t want anyone to see. If we
feel that we are unworthy of God’s love, that is not Him doing that, it is
us.
“I know he sees every part of me, even the bits that I refuse to see
myself, and I can feel ashamed. I can struggle to believe that he can
truly love someone like me.”
But that is the King that Jesus is!!! He will not punish us unfairly. He
will not hold a grudge against us. He is not an earthly king! His
forgiveness is limitless so long as our heart is ready to hear it and
receive it. ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise’.4
So what stops our hearts from receiving it?
Do we really believe we can be forgiven? Do we really believe that love
can be that profound and limitless? Are we willing to forgive ourselves?
Are we willing to let others leave the past behind too? Jesus is.

4

Luke 23:43

Are you not swept away with the power of God’s love? You should be!
‘The Lord Almighty is with us, the God of Jacob is our fortress’, so ‘Be
still and know that’ he is ‘God’. Be still and know. Be still. Just Be.5
Be who God made you to be, people formed by his love, in his love, for
his love. A love found in service of each other. Is this not a king you wish
to be close to? Is this not a king you wish to follow? Is this not a king you
wish to serve?
So come close to him. Follow him. Serve him.
Amen.

5

Psalm 46

I would like to talk a little about chickens. My family have just acquired
seven new chickens to add to the one we had left after the winter had
done its worst to our previous small flock of three rather old ladies. The
interesting thing about introducing new birds into a chicken run, is how
they have to re-establish a pecking order. It matters not whether you
add one or seven, each time a whole new pecking order needs to be
established and sometimes the process can be disturbing and messy.
Often, if one bird is being picked on, others join in. So sometimes new
birds need separating from the old ones and very occasionally a new
bird will end up being rejected entirely. But eventually, one way or
another, things settle down. The old chickens begin being a little more
generous to the newcomers and the newcomers begin to feel less selfconscious and defensive. Eventually, they all accept each other and
begin laying eggs – a symbol of new life. Having observed all this over
the past few weeks, it struck me how alike chicken communities are to
human communities. Nations, towns, villages, community groups or
clubs can all respond negatively to newcomers and view them with
suspicion. But life lived in the full knowledge and hope of resurrection
overcomes this.
Creation and resurrection are mirror images of each other, they are
held together by the nature and purpose of God. At its simplest, God is
life-giver. That has endless implications, all of them glorious. In God
there is endless inventiveness that can bring newness out of what

appeared to be finished. In God, there are no dead ends, new doors can
open in what seemed to be brick walls.
God works in us most profoundly at moments of crisis – and one way or
another, God brings new life out of what appears to be dead. Whether
that new life touches us personally, all depends on our response. If we
are open to God’s prompting, it can transform our lives. If we approach
it with a closed heart, then God is simply left transforming the world in
spite of us.
Holy Week treated us to a unique insight into the events which show
this most deeply: the good news of Jesus’ life and death.
Christ does not allow evil to win the day - He does not betray those
around him, even when they are denying him, fleeing from him,
providing false witness against him or even selling him to his murderers
for 30 pieces of silver.
In the end, all alone, Jesus simply has to find a way to strengthen his
resolve and move deeper into God. At the moment of crisis Jesus
moves further into the Father’s goodness, not away from it. So Jesus
reaffirms his commitment to his loving Father and even at the point of
death he services the mission for which he has been called. To build a
people, a society, a Church built on faith and trust.
The story of Christ’s death and eventual resurrection shows us that in
God there is endless patience and resourcefulness that cannot be

defeated. In fact, that is the central message of Easter. You remember
those brick walls - well even the most uncompromising brick wall of all,
death, God transforms into a doorway to something miraculous –
eternal life. It is Jesus’ commitment to his Father, despite the worst the
world can throw at him, that secures his eternal life, and opens the
door for his followers to do the same.
What is more, Jesus’ resurrection brings new hope even for those who
have fallen away. We experienced on Good Friday the disciples fleeing.
They leave the scene of crucifixion filled with doubt and despair. They
are perplexed by a mix of complex emotions – their failure, the death of
their leader for which, some of them at least, are partly to blame, but
above all they are overtaken by immense fear for their own lives. They
lock themselves in an upper room in the hope that a tap will not come
at the door from a Roman soldier, or even worse a temple guard. Then
the truth of it all is revealed to them and it is revealed in the person of
Jesus Christ, risen from the dead.
In our Gospel reading today we see how the resurrection was just as
unbelievable to the disciples as it is to some of us today. They are so
caught up in their own self-obsession, fuelled by fear, despair and
cynicism, that they cannot see or believe what is in front of their eyes.
So much so, that they do not believe the testimony of the women

returning from the empty tomb. Only Peter is curious enough to run to
the tomb to investigate further.
If we hold Luke’s narrative alongside all the other accounts of Jesus’
resurrection we get a more rounded picture of the events as they
unfold. Later in Luke’s Gospel, we are told of Jesus appearing to some
of the disciples on the Damascus road, then he appears to all the
disciples in the upper room. Mark’s Gospel, retells the same events, but
in more brevity. Mark also includes Jesus giving the disciples a
commission to build up his church. In John’s Gospel, we hear again of
him appearing in the upper room to all the eleven and then later by the
seashore. Here he gives Peter his commission to ‘feed his sheep’. Like
the others, Matthew tells of Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene and
then to the other disciples in the upper room, and, like Mark, Matthew
reveals Jesus telling his disciples that they are to build his church so
that more may come to believe and inherit eternal life. Here he gives
his famous commission to all followers present and future. He says: ‘Go
therefore and make disciples of all nations baptising them… and
teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you’.
A few things are notable about these accounts. Notice how Jesus does
not accuse them or condemn them because of their denial or betrayal.
He simply offers all of them forgiveness and through it renewed hope –
he opens a doorway in the brick wall of their despair and guilt. All they

have to do is respond. Even Peter, who denied him three times, is
offered the renewed hand of friendship. This is not what Peter
expected nor deserved, but instead of punishment, this is the moment
Peter begins his new life lived in resurrected hope.
In the disciple’s repentance and sorrow, Jesus absolves them from their
sin and gives them a new life removed of the shackles of negativity and
sin. From this moment forward, eternal life belongs not only to Jesus,
but to all those who come to him in repentance and faith and are
committed to his charge.
What is that charge? Well as the Gospels outline it, Jesus charges all his
followers to build his Church and draw new believers into the
resurrected life. This all gives us an insight into faith today. Just like the
first disciples we can begin living eternal life now. Eternal life is not
some far off event. It happens now. If we can live as though we
continue to believe that, then our community will see new life, the eggs
of Easter, being revealed throughout the year. We are a community
living in resurrection hope, all we have to do is believe that we are!
Amen

Resurrection Dance – Easter Vigil Sermons 2015
Alleluia, Christ is Risen. Surrexit Alleluia.
Picture the scene: a middle-aged lady has spent years following faithfully in her master’s footsteps. She has
travelled all over the globe spreading the Gospel of Christ to different people and nations. She has faced tyrants
and chieftains, lords and kings in her bid to reveal the love of Christ to all she meets. After her exile from
Jerusalem, where the Christian Church was being persecuted, she finally ends up in modern day France and her
journey continues. She becomes an active missioner and preacher, before retiring to a cave and living as a
hermit in old age.
It was less than a century after this that Donatello carved a statue of Mary Magdalene in polychrome wood – he
casts her as an ascetic hermit, gaunt and old but still on her front foot and full of energy.
The story of Mary Magdalene’s missionary endeavours cannot be proven, but there is evidence to suggest that
Mary did die in France. The only other evidence we seem to have of her life after Jesus’ resurrection is the statue
that Donatello carved of her. Her relics are now placed in various chapels dedicated to her name – many in
France itself. But, the details are not important, because the overarching rhythm of this story fits perfectly with
what we know of her from the Gospel accounts.
We know that Mary was often one of the first people to recognise Christ – she was the first person through her
actions to show how Christ’s teaching had positively affected her. We know that she was attentive to His teaching
and dedicated to His cause. We know that she followed Him to the cross and then was the first person to see
Him rise. We know that Mary left the tomb and the place where she encountered her risen Lord in confusion and
joy and went off to tell the other disciples. And the way this story is told, we get the impression that she danced
all the way.
If Donatello’s depiction of Mary is to be believed, and there is no reason why it shouldn’t be, Mary, very advanced
in years, could not stop spreading the word of Christ. She could not stop striding, best foot forward, to do the
work of her Lord and continue that ‘dance’ that her Lord called her to. All who recognise the resurrection of Christ
end up partaking in this same dance, it would seem.
John, describes the resurrection of Jesus and his appearance to Mary Magdalene so well. But Luke’s Gospel
tells of another resurrection story detailing the walk to Emmaus. In it we are told of two very solemn fellows
making their way to meet their friends. They have dropped their heads in despair and they are dragging their feet,
which now feel heavier than ever. It feels to them as if this journey may never end. They had placed such great
expectation upon Jesus, he had given such purpose to their lives - and now he was dead and all hope seemed to
be lost.
Then they are joined by a person they do not recognise, but they value the opportunity to retell all that they had
seen and that Jesus had done. They do not know they are talking to Christ and He does not tell them, because
he recognises that they need to be brought slowly towards the truth.
Through the scriptures, He begins to reveal to them the true interpretation of recent events. We now begin to get
a sense that the two followers are becoming less morose and despairing. By the time they reach their destination,
the two disciples are positively dancing, and yet they still do not recognise that it is the risen Christ who has done
this for them. Only when Christ shares the Eucharist with them do they recognise Christ for who he truly is. And
with that Christ departs from them, leaving them to perform the dance He has given them to do - job done!
But, of course, the dance does not stop there. This dance continues with us today. Every Sunday morning in our
Eucharistic celebration, the risen Christ continues to make himself known to us, just as he did to his disciples at
the end of the Emmaus road. And having shared His divine offering with Him, we then depart to continue His
dance in the here and now. Everyone is invited to this dance and, long before we recognise the full truth of the
resurrection for ourselves, we begin slowly tapping our feet. Then we find ourselves working for the good of
others, radiating a joy and a loving kindness that is difficult to characterise. We get involved in all kinds of
activities on behalf of Christ’s Church and we feel a deeper desire to attend divine worship more regularly as the
resurrected Christ slowly reveals himself to us, just as he did to those disciples on the road to Emmaus. Our feet
stop tapping, just as our bodies begin to groove and bop, sway and rock.
Eventually the truth of the resurrection is revealed to us in all its radiating magnificence. A truth that cannot be
explained by human faculties, but which will be revealed at the time of Christ’s choosing. It cannot be proven or
uncovered by scientific endeavour or empirical evidence, but only through faith, goodwill and the grace of God.
Rather interestingly, recently in Egypt, a group of archaeologists uncovered some of the earliest forms of
chocolate in a tomb of one of the great Egyptian Pharaohs. Until this find, it was considered that chocolate, in the
form that we have it today, was a relatively recent invention.
An example of this chocolate find can now been seen in the British Museum. They have called it Pharaoh
Rocher.
Ecclesiastes tells us that ‘there is nothing new under the sun’. And every time we forget this pearl of wisdom we
are brought back down to earth with a bump. Christ’s resurrection is as real today as it was 2000 years ago and it
will continue to be true 2000 years from now. Doubt and scepticism cannot change that. Christ is the Lord of the
dance and He calls the tune. All we can do is allow ourselves to feel the rhythm.
I will leave you with the words of one of the 20th century’s greatest swinging gurus; so in the words of Baloo the
bear from Disney’s Jungle Book. ‘Come on Baggy, get with the beat!’
Amen
R.T. Parker-McGee 2015

Epiphany 2: 18 January 2015
It is good to be with you here at Geddington & Weekley once more, and now to share
in ministry with Rob as he begins his second year with you.
In our opening collect this morning Rob prayed:
In Christ you make all things new: transform the poverty of our nature by the riches
of your grace, and in the renewal of our lives make known your heavenly glory.
And again, after communion he will pray:
Fill us with your Holy Spirit that through us the light of your glory may shine in all the
world.
We are very bold in our praying – asking that we might be so transformed by God as
to manifest his glory to the whole world.
This is, of course, the Epiphany Season, the weeks following the arrival of the Wise
Men on the 12th Day of Christmas. In these weeks of the Epiphany Season, we
recall Jesus being recognised, and making himself known, for who he was, by his
very being as well as by the things he did – and today we reflect upon that selfrevelation being evident in his calling of some of his disciples, of which we just heard
in our gospel reading.
Before reflecting on that gospel reading itself, we might notice that the calling of the
first disciples is pre-figured in a number of instances in the OT, where God calls
individuals to specific tasks. We were reminded of one of them in our first reading this
morning – the calling of Samuel.
Samuel’s mother, Hannah, had been greatly distressed because she had no children.
She had come to the temple and prayed fervently that she might be able to have a
son, promising God that, if she did had a son, she would dedicate him to God’s
service.

Hannah did then give birth to her son, Samuel, and true to her word, when he was
old enough, she fulfilled her promise and brought him to the elderly priest, Eli, to
serve with him in the temple. The story ended even more happily for Hannah, for
having kept her promise to God with regard to giving Samuel to God’s service, she
then went on to have three more sons and two daughters, who remained at home
with her.
So young Samuel came to live and to serve in the temple and, as we were reminded
in our reading, as he lay down one night, he thought he heard old Eli calling him.
Samuel went straight to Eli, but Eli said: I did not call you; lie down again. Three
times this happened, until Eli realised that it must be God himself calling the boy, for
there was no one else there. So Eli told Samuel, if he calls you again, say:
Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.
So Samuel went and lay down again, and when God called out again, Samuel did
indeed say:

1

Speak, for your servant is listening.
The Lord spoke to Samuel that night, giving him bad news for Eli. Eli’s sons had
been stealing for themselves the gifts that people had been bringing to God, and so
they were unworthy to follow in their father’s footsteps as priests in God’s temple.
Old Eli was wise and holy. He realised that Samuel wouldn’t want to tell him this bad
news, but he insisted on hearing it, and it rang true for him. He knew that it was
indeed God who had spoken to Samuel.
So we, we who are so bold in our public praying – that we might be so transformed
by God as to manifest his glory to the whole world – are we equally bold in our
private prayers? Do we, like Samuel and Eli, do we listen for the voice of God?
Indeed, as a Christian community, as we come together in worship and at other times
to meet and reflect and plan: do we listen for the voice of God – do we genuinely
expect to hear from him and to be transformed by our encounter with him? Does our
encounter with the living God shape our life and service together?
In our gospel reading: Jesus calls Phillip, who immediately goes off in search of
Nathaniel, telling him:
We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote.
As sceptical Nathaniel approaches Jesus, Jesus recognises him for who he is – an
Israelite in whom there is no deceit – and also knows where he was when Philip
called him – I saw you under the fig tree, Jesus says.
Nathaniel’s spontaneous response to Jesus’ insight is:
Rabbi, you are the son of God, you are the King of Israel.
In Jesus’ calling of his disciples, they immediately seem to perceive something of
who he is: the lamb of God, the Messiah, the one written about in the law and the
prophets, the son of God, the king of Israel.
They immediately seem to perceive something of who he is, and of the significance
of his call upon their lives. Their response is immediate and it is total, and their lives
are changed forever.
Are we equally perceptive and responsive, as we wait upon God? - for just as Jesus
called them, so he calls us – just as Samuel and Nathaniel were called, so we are
called. We, as individual Christian disciples, and we, as Christian communities, are
called repeatedly to make a renewed commitment to the purposes of God.
As we follow Jesus, individually and together, we expect it to change us.
As Cardinal Henry Newman in the C19th said:
To live is to change, and to become perfect is to have changed often.

Later in John’s gospel, we hear Jesus say:
Abide in me as I abide in you

2

Abide in my love.
You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit
that will last.
May we abide, may we make our home in, our relationship with God and be attentive
to his call – the call of God on our individual lives, and his call on the lives of each of
our churches, to make a fresh commitment to his purposes, and to bear fruit that will
last.
In the church in this land, at this stage in its history, many of us perceive Jesus to be
calling us, in particular, to be his more effective witnesses. He is calling us to do as
Philip did with Nathaniel. He is calling us to invite others to come and see what we
have seen, to share with us in recognising Jesus for who he is.
May we be ready and willing, then, to be changed by Jesus. Through the action of his
Holy Spirit upon us, may we be ready and willing to be changed into that which he
calls us to be – a community, a body, united in his love and active in witness and
service.
May God bless you and make you ever more fruitful in these parishes as, individually
and together, you seek, we seek, to respond more fully to his call.
G Steele 2015

3

1

Ever since I refound my faith in my twenties, I have found great
enrichment in going on pilgrimages, retreats and quiet days. There is
something very rich in joining a prayerful community and sharing in their
prayer life and hospitality. But pilgrimages and retreats are not holidays,
they can be really hard work, because they are all about increasing our
awareness and attentiveness – two aspects of our discipleship that we
spoke a little about last week.
But we’re not often very skilled at looking for the divine. Take this other
short story from the Benedictine tradition:
A monk comes to his abbot, seeking enlightenment. He questions the
abbot eagerly and impatiently, firing questions at him. But the abbot
says, “Just look.” The monk is very disappointed. “I’m always looking,”
he says sulkily. “No, you’re not,” says the abbot. “In order to look at
what is here, you have to be here, and you are mostly somewhere else.”
I guess, life is so busy that we are often somewhere else and fail to be
properly attentive.
I remember once, going on retreat to a monastery in Worcestershire. We
all gathered in the dining hall for lunch. Served before us, sizzling on a
platter with its rich aromas wafting in the air was a roast chicken. Before
we began our meal, the Abbot stood up and began to pray. ‘Thank you
Jesus for joining us at this table and for providing this meal so that we
may be nourished by it. And thank you sister Chicken. You have given
all that you have so that we might receive the strength we need for
another day. As such you have walked the same path as our Lord
Jesus, in giving your very life, that we might live. Amen’.

2

This was all about attentiveness – recognising where God was and the
blessings he brings. In this one short prayer, the Abbot had recognised
three important truths. First; the blessing we had in being around the
common table together in Jesus’ presence. Second; that the life of God
runs through every living thing. Third; the great sacrifice that the chicken
had made in order that our physical bodies might be fed.
One of the central themes that often comes through attempts at
monastic living is the ability to recognise God’s hand in all things. Often,
monks and nuns are encouraged to live in a perpetual sense of
prayerfulness, where they recognise God in every aspect of their work,
recreation and prayer lives. So if they are gardening, they recognise
God’s hand in the soil, the water, the plants and even the utensils they
are using to do their work. If they receive a new guest, then they are
encouraged to recognise the face of Christ shining through the
newcomer. If they are driving a car, then God’s hand is to be seen in the
production of the machine, the resources that have been used to make it
work, and in the journey it is taken them on. In such ways, they are
encouraged to feel a closeness to God in everything they do, because
God is indeed present in it all.
Last week, as we reflected on St John’s version of how the first disciples
came to follow Jesus, we reflected on how discipleship was less about
what we did and more about what we were to be. Or to put it a different
way, discipleship was about our sense of being – resting in the spiritual
stillness of Christ. This, we suggested, required awareness and
attentiveness to our surroundings and God’s hand in it. This week, we
have a slightly different telling of those same disciples coming to follow
Jesus, this time from the account of St Matthew.

3

It begins with Jesus retreating into the wilderness following John the
Baptist’s arrest. The arrest of John must have troubled Jesus very
deeply, so where better for Jesus to go in order to refocus and still his
soul, but the countryside. As he observes nature in all of its wonderful
variety we get a sense of him feeling reaffirmed in his calling through the
words of Isaiah; ‘the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light,
and those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.’
Jesus, we are told, then goes out and proclaims ‘repent, for the kingdom
of God has come near’.
The greatest testimony that our God reigns is seen in and through
nature. There is something very Godlike to be one who appreciates,
cares for, preserves and rejoices in living things. When we become
obsessed with material possessions and economic gain, something dark
happens to our souls. Life no longer becomes our main focus, and it is
instead replaced by an obsession for wealth and comfort. As we hoard
inanimate objects and work at increasing our numbers on a balance
sheet, we are in real danger of ceasing to recognise the depth of our
blessings. In the words of Jesus; ‘A man or women cannot serve two
masters, God and wealth’, ‘for where your money is, that’s where your
heart will be also.’
It is no surprise then, that the first disciples’ hearts are not hardened or
corrupted, by wealth and personal gain. They are but simple fishermen.
These men already have a deep appreciation for nature. They respect
the power of the weather, they rely heavily on their equipment and have
a passionate care for the health of the aquatic environment and all its
wonderful biodiversity. When Christ enters their midst they seem to
recognise something familiar in him – almost like something they have

4

been involved with for a very long time. The first disciples appear to
have no trouble in simply stopping what they are doing and following
Jesus – almost as though this were a natural progression on from their
lives as fishermen on the lake.
After the section we heard today, the next few verses of Matthew’s
Gospel tell us about Jesus healing the sick and teaching in the
synagogues. The healings are, of course, further testimony of his
intimate relationship with nature and all living things. But so too is his
teaching about the kingdom of God. The two are inseparable. These are
examples of how Jesus corrects and cures wherever the divine design
for creation has been damaged and distorted.
This week, there has been wide publicity of a recent paper released by
Professor Jack Schultz, Professor of Plant Sciences at the University of
Missouri in Columbia. He claims that plants can see, hear and smell.
Whilst they might not have organs that we recognise as eyes, ears and
brains, he observes that plants do in fact exhibit all the same
behavioural traits as animals. They fight for territory, seek out food and
water, evade predators and trap pray. If true, and it sounds logical
enough, what this suggests is that far from being only good for our
furniture, plants are as alive and as responsive to their environment as
any other living thing. There is a life force in them that is not only
passive, but responsive.
Jesus carries within him the life of God. He heals the world through
teaching and restoration. He reconciles all things back to the Father. In
and through Christ, the whole universe is infused with the life of God. As
disciples of Jesus, we are called to recognise God’s hand in all things.
The very life of God pulsing through the veins of every human, as well

5

as every tree. If we love God, then we must love each other and every
living thing he has made. Not just a passing acknowledgement, but a
deep and attentive engagement with everything around us.
In giving thanks for that Chicken, the abbot in that Worcestershire
monastery showed a deep and holy awareness that God is in all things.
That no animal, plant or object is simply ours to do with as we choose
without care or appreciation. We can gaze at the face of a friend, the
orange in the fruit bowl, the car on the drive and observe the wonderful
hand of God within. In Christ everything is gathered up, healed and
renewed, and we see his mark in every part of nature, as well as the
stranger who next walks through that door.
Amen.

150th Anniversary of the Catholic Truth Society
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/150th-anniversary-of-the-catholic-truth-society/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Mass for the 150th anniversary of the founding of the Catholic Truth
Society on 19 th June 2018 at Westminster Cathedral
It is a great pleasure for me to celebrate with you, today, the 150th anniversary of the
Catholic Truth Society (CTS). I thank the CTS for their kind invitation, and in particular, I
thank all of you who have come to the cathedral, this afternoon, for your presence.
When we look back over the history of the Church in this country over the past couple of
centuries, we see how God has blessed us richly with so many men and women of great
stature and real faith. He has also sent them to us at the right time. The theological acumen
of Blessed John Henry Newman was perfect for the ecclesiastical and scholarly climate in
which he lived; the oratorical and literary flourish of Ronald Knox sat well in the earlier
years of the twentieth century. Cardinal Herbert Vaughan was another churchman wellsuited to the age in which he lived. He was, as we know, of a rather shy and nervous
disposition; he may not have thrived in the Church of the twenty-first century. But his life,
coinciding almost exactly with the reign of Queen Victoria, continues to show how
generosity of spirit, openness to the call of God, personal holiness and sacrifice, allowed
God to work great things through him.
I suppose that many people would say that Vaughan’s greatest legacy is this great
cathedral. They may not be wrong. It is indeed a building of faith, an ongoing inspiration to
all those who glimpse in its marble and mosaic, or hear in its music or in its stillness, a
whisper of the voice of God. But the beauty of Westminster Cathedral finds a counterpart in
Vaughan’s other great gift to the Church, the Catholic Truth Society.
A hundred and fifty years after its foundation, there must be few people brought up as
Catholics in England and Wales who have not heard of the CTS. Memories of the stand at
the back of the church, often faithfully tended by parishioners week in, week out, are fresh
to us. I am sure that many CTS parish representatives are here today, and I thank you for
your important ministry. The Simple Prayer Book, which sold as many as two million copies
in its first twenty-five years and countless millions more since, has helped many of us with
the language and quality of our prayer from our earliest days. As publishers to the Holy See
since 1964, the CTS has played a pivotal role in communicating the teaching of the

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Magisterium. More recently still, in 2011, the new translation of the Missal was introduced;
and so it is from liturgical books prepared and printed by the CTS that the prayers of the
Mass, that great pinnacle of our prayer, are proclaimed to this day.
Things might have been very different. Just four years after he had founded the CTS in
1868, Father Vaughan was made Bishop of Salford. The weight and breadth of episcopal
responsibilities diverted his attention from the Society, and it faltered. Thank God, a
relaunch in 1884 put it back on the path to success: an exhortation to perseverance if ever
there was one!
The two legacies of Cardinal Vaughan, cathedral and Society, fit together well. The CTS
motto ‘God’s truth, beautifully told’ hints at why. That Westminster Cathedral is beautiful is
beyond question, but its beauty is purposeful: it is there to lead us towards Jesus Christ,
who is our Truth. Those whose hearts are stirred by beauty may start to ask themselves
questions about the source of that beauty and wish to inform themselves more deeply
about it. The work of the CTS is there to provide a practical response to that desire.
In a similar way, the truth which the CTS seeks to disseminate in its publications is not
some sort of compendium of sterile facts; it is a truth that, for the believer, engages and
transforms. It points the way to Christ our Truth, who shows us the path of life, and how to
live it in its fullness. It echoes for us the invitation we heard in the First Reading to ‘turn our
hearts towards him so that we may follow all his ways and keep the commandments’. And
those who take time to understand the truths of our faith will be able to appreciate all the
more deeply its beauty, expressed not least in this cathedral, through the eyes of that faith.
Truth and beauty are two qualities of our being that traditionally go together with a third:
goodness. Listen again to those words of Jesus from today’s Gospel: ‘I commissioned you
to go out and to bear fruit, fruit that will last… what I command you is to love one another’.
Our Lord is reminding us that in our Christian life we must always have a care for the other.
Without that care, theological writing can be reduced to intellectual jousting. With this firmly
in mind, theology is evangelisation. Box-tenders and parish ‘reps’ of the CTS down the
ages were and are agents of evangelisation. Those who write the pamphlets did so and do
so, in the end, to kindle a flame of love for the things of God, to whet the appetite for more.
All of these themes, of truth, beauty and goodness; of history, evangelisation, and service,
are brought together in the most powerful of ways in this cathedral, in the hanging crucifix.
When Pope Benedict celebrated Mass here in 2010, he said, ‘The visitor to this cathedral
cannot fail to be struck by the great crucifix dominating the nave…. The Lord’s outstretched
arms seem to embrace this entire church, lifting up to the Father all the ranks of the faithful
who gather around the altar of the Eucharistic sacrifice and share in its fruits. The crucified
Lord stands above and before us as the source of our life and salvation.’ It is our privilege,
and our solemn duty, to ensure that all our writings, all our efforts at evangelisation, seek to
proclaim that message of life and salvation and encourage many to share in that life in
communion with Christ’s holy Church.
‘Always be thankful.’ So says St Paul to the Corinthians in the Second Reading. Today we
have so much for which to be thankful. And, as we look to the past 150 years of the
Catholic Truth Society with gratitude, it is our fervent, and confident, prayer that the truth to
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which the Society has borne such steadfast witness in past years will, in the years to come,
bring many to a deeper appreciation of the beauties of our Catholic faith, and inspire them
to live that beauty in the goodness of their lives. Amen.
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400th Anniversary of Vincentian Charism
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/400th-anniversary-of-vincentian-charism/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Mass celebrating the 400th Anniversary of the Vincentian Charism, at St
Charles Church, Hull, on Saturday 10th June 2017.
At the heart of our celebration today is thanksgiving to God for the Vincentian charism that
has been lived out for four hundred years this year. This is, therefore, a wonderful moment
and one that is truly to be celebrated. But, please note, that these four hundred years do
not take us back to the date of the birth of Vincent, nor to the date of his ordination as a
priest. No! They take us back to a story of a conversion. For the first thirty or so years of
his life, Vincent was happy to go along, rather anonymously, with the world as he found it.
He was a Christian, of course, but not particularly heroic; he was a priest too, ordained in
1600, but probably rather an unexceptional one. There is hope for us all!
Today, then, we are not celebrating human comfort and relative mediocrity; on this fourhundredth anniversary, we give thanks for all the gifts the Vincentian family has brought to
the Church and to the world. That it has done so is down to the conversion St Vincent
underwent, particularly in the year 1617. As we know, it was in that year, in Chatillon in
France, that Vincent became aware of the desperate situation of a poor family, dying of
hunger. He preached in the parish church about addressing their needs: the response was
overwhelming, and the family was saved. ‘The poor are dying of hunger and are
condemned’, he famously said. The Daughters of Charity of St Vincent de Paul, the
Congregation of the Mission, the Society of St Vincent de Paul, including the ‘Mini-Vinnies’,
and many other branches of the Vincentian family too, have all done so much over four
centuries to alleviate the sort of conditions that made Vincent first say this.
It can sometimes be difficult to describe what is at the heart of a particular charism. For the
Vincentian family, it’s maybe a little easier. Two words immediately come to mind: charity
and mission. There are those who see charity as almost a pejorative term: we all know
people, particularly of our parents’ generation, who struggled on in straightened
circumstances because they didn’t want ‘other people’s charity’. In the life of St Vincent de
Paul we see charity at its purest. Vincent was someone who could have been very
comfortable; but he looked outside himself to poor families, to prisoners, to those on the
galleys, to whom he ministered as a chaplain for many years. His service was not given as
a sort of lofty benevolence: he was determined that he and his followers must not appear
as ‘great lords’; instead, he identified with those who had nothing, and suffered with them.
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But charity alone was not enough for Vincent, at least, not charity as many people would
see it. He understood that charity is one of the theological virtues, alongside faith and hope.
These are the virtues that relate directly to God, and dispose us to live in a relationship
with the Trinity. Pope Francis understands this too. That is why he has famously and rightly
warned that the Church is so much more than a ‘compassionate non-governmental
organisation’. No, the charity of the Vincentian family, like the charitable efforts of the
Church as a whole, have their source in Jesus Christ, and look to him for their fruitfulness.
That, he, is what makes them distinctive and effective. ‘I was a stranger and you welcomed
me’ (Matt 25:35). These words from St Matthew’s Gospel lie at the heart of the Vincentian
charism, and of these 400th anniversary celebrations. Only a few words later, Christ
reminds us that ‘in as much as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine,
you did it to me’ (Matt 25:40). These are words we shall sing later at Mass today: they are
words we do well to take to heart.
Vincentian charity is rooted in and motivated by faith in Christ. That is why it is appropriate
that it is complemented so essentially by mission. Indeed, St Vincent de Paul was
particularly gifted at fusing charity and mission harmoniously. He once said to the
Daughters of Charity that ‘you must bring to the poor sick two kinds of food: corporal and
spiritual’ (SV IX, 593). This prescient saying is as relevant today as it was in the
seventeenth century. Modern technology and travel may have changed how we seek to ‘go
out to the whole world and proclaim the Good News’ (Matt 28:19), but the imperative to do
so remains. We need to be alive to the imperative of seeing mission as necessitating longdistance travel far less now than in the past; my neighbour in Hull, or in London, may need
to be introduced, or reintroduced, to the Gospel with greater urgency than many in remoter
parts of the world. Pope Francis has famously spoken of the need for us to be ‘missionary
disciples’ and I make no apology for repeating his words today. They are key to the vitality
of our faith in Jesus Christ in the twenty-first century; and, if we seek to respond to them
with generosity, we can be sure that Christ will richly bless our efforts.
All of us face times when those efforts at mission or at charity seem very tame. There can
be any number of reasons to feel discouraged: spiritual malaise, community difficulties,
times when the gulf between what the world offers and the demands of our faith seems
simply too large. These are times when the attractiveness of St Vincent can come to our
aid. I have a particular affinity with him, of course; my mother’s decision to name me
Vincent had much to do with St Vincent de Paul. But all of us can find something in St
Vincent’s life to sustain us. If we feel trapped, in a situation of sin, or hopelessness, we can
look to St Vincent: he knew slavery and imprisonment, and that time in the early years of
the 1600s was not wasted. If we feel discouraged in our vocation, feeling perhaps that the
secular world has more to offer than the Kingdom of God, we can look to St Vincent: his
lukewarm early years provided a backdrop for his later pastoral charity and missionary work
that were so valued and so effective. If we feel overwhelmed by the enormity of a task
entrusted to us, we might imagine how daunting his appointment as chaplain to the galleys
in 1622 must have felt. And then we might consider how much good came of it.
When Jesus went to the synagogue at Nazareth, the passage he chose to proclaim was
from the prophet Isaiah: ‘He sent me to bring the good news to the poor, tell prisoners they
are prisoners no more’ (Luke 4:8, cf Is:61:1-2). Early in his life, Vincent might have shied
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away from these words. By the time he died in 1660 he had taken them to heart in a way
that few others had, and had encouraged countless others to do the same. They remain
both his legacy to us, and his challenge, a challenge that the next words of Isaiah continue
to offer us: ‘Go, tell everyone the news that the Kingdom of God has come!’
May this exhortation, quoted by Jesus and enacted with such faithfulness by St Vincent de
Paul, guide us and inspire us as the next 400 years of the Vincentian charism are born.
Amen.
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3/3

Being a Missionary Disciple
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/being-a-missionary-disciple/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at First Vespers of St Cuthbert Mayne in the Diocese of Plymouth on 28th
November 2017.
There are words of St Paul that often gnaw away at my conscience, especially on
occasions as splendid as this. St Paul cries out: ‘Woe to me if I do not preach the Gospel’
(1 Cor 9:16). His warning troubles me, as I am sure it does many bishops, priests and
deacons, as we prepare our homilies and speeches, or sometimes skimp doing so. So a
somewhat troubled Cardinal stands before you this evening, knowing that there is a high
standard to be met.
But it’s not just the ordained who should listen to St Paul’s warning. Let me spread my
unease more widely! The great teaching document of the Second Vatican Council on the
nature and tasks of the Church, the Dogmatic Constitution Lumen Gentium, quotes these
very same words of St Paul in its second chapter, on the ‘People of God’. The chapter tells
us that ‘the obligation of spreading the faith is imposed on every disciple of Christ,
according to his state’ (LG17). Evangelisation, in other words, is not an optional extra for
any Christian person; it is integral to the living out of our faith. All of us are facing the same
challenge: Woe to us all if we do not preach the Gospel!
And that, of course, poses an obvious question. How? How can I bring others to know and
love Our Lord Jesus Christ? How can I do this in a culture that is so closed to many things
about our faith, seeing faith simply as a problem to be solved and not as a great resource to
be discovered afresh?
There are many ways to answer that question! Pope Francis is so helpful when he calls us
to that task. He presents it as a positive challenge reminding us first of all of its joy before
addressing the problems to be overcome. He writes: ‘The joy of the Gospel fills the hearts
and lives of all who encounter Jesus. Those who accept his offer of salvation are set free
from sin, sorrow, inner emptiness and loneliness. With Christ joy is constantly born
anew’(Evangelii Gaudium 1). It is on this basis that he gives us our positive self-definition,
the phrase by which we are to be known.
His title for each one of us is that we are to be ‘missionary disciples’. This is his
development for our own times of the vision of the Church as the ‘People of God’. This is
the way in which he unfolds that earlier definition, bringing something dynamic and
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outward-going to our very self-understanding. He is also reassuring, if we immediately feel
inadequate to the task. If we worry that our knowledge of the faith is too patchy to be of
much use in bringing others to Christ, he says, ‘anyone who has experienced God’s saving
love does not need much time or lengthy training to go out and proclaim that love’
(EG120).
So if we are to be missionary disciples, an experience of the love of God is an essential
pre-requisite. Our love of God cannot flourish if we do not pray. Prayer, the raising of the
mind and heart to God, is central to our encounter with him. As we spend time in prayer, we
open our hearts to his presence, and our minds to what he asks of us. Personal prayer,
built into the fabric of the day, keeps us constantly alive to the reality that Jesus
accompanies us always, through good times and bad. Prayer together reminds us that, in
baptism, we are bound together in this new identity, into the Body of Christ, and called to
holiness in union with Jesus and each other. So public prayer nourishes the Church,
nurturing us in this new calling. Indeed, through its beauty and evocative silence, the prayer
of the Church can itself become a means of spreading the Good News, especially when
there is a thoughtful welcome offered to the visitor.
Prayer opens us to the reality that missionary disciples are agents of God in their work: it is
God who begins the good work, and brings it to fulfilment.
Talk of ‘agents’ might take us back to earlier times when Catholics were agents in more
senses than one, to the days when holding fast to the faith was a clandestine and risky
business. Today’s celebration is a service of Vespers of St Cuthbert Mayne. Though he
lived long before the phrase became well-known, he was the embodiment of the missionary
disciple. Indeed, he was the first priest who was trained at the seminary that Cardinal
William Allen had founded at Douai in France in 1568, to suffer and die for the faith on the
English mission. He was executed on 30 November 1577, 440 years ago. He is rightly
remembered for the courage and fidelity he showed and the witness he gave.
Just one year ago, at World Youth Day in 2016, Pope Francis called on young people to be
the signs and carriers, the agents, of hope in our world. Then he gave this instruction: If
you want to be people of hope, then go home and talk to your grandparents. ‘A young
person who cannot remember’, he said, ‘is not hope for the future’.
There is much we can learn from our ‘grandparents’ in faith, not least St Cuthbert Mayne.
For him, and for all martyrs, their faith was not something they had as an accident of birth;
nor was it a cultural or social phenomenon. It was simply a relationship, a friendship, with
Christ. In St Cuthbert Mayne’s case, it led him to let go of the esteem and security of a
fellowship at Oxford University, and to embrace instead a path that he knew well could lead
to social ignominy and a horrible death. He could not, and would not, have done this without
such a deep and special friendship with Jesus Christ, cultivated and sustained in prayer.
For St Cuthbert Mayne, prayer and action were inseparable, even to the moment of his
execution. For us, as missionary disciples, it is so important that prayer does not exist in a
bubble. We should constantly guard against being ‘functional atheists’, our friendship with
God playing no part in our daily lives and choices beyond the hour a week we spend at
Mass.
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As we seek to avoid this sort of mindset, as we struggle with the calling to be missionary
disciples, we do well to remember three qualities that, traditionally, have helped many to
know God better. These are truth, beauty, and goodness. Our search for truth will,
inevitably, lead us to a desire to become more familiar with the truths of our faith: ‘we want
to have better training, a deepening love, and a clearer witness to the Gospel’ (EG121).
This pathway of truth is also becoming more urgent in our society, in which we now sense a
vacuum of shared meaning, the absence of any common narrative by which we make
sense and give shape to our lives. We are becoming weary of a shallow consensus that
tells us just to do our own thing, especially as we see how intolerant such a stance has
become when challenged by reasoned disagreement or alternative conviction.
The pathway of beauty has an increasingly powerful role to play in opening our hearts, and
those of our neighbour, to the reality of the transcendent, that ultimate horizon which we
sense, and against which we play out our lives. This is the reason why we should take great
care about the beauty and holiness of our public worship. We know well how a great work
of art or piece of music can take us out of ourselves, and lift us beyond our daily
preoccupations. Our worship must aim to do that too, if it is to be effective in fostering our
relationship with the Lord.
As for goodness, I am told that nearly 100,000 volunteer hours are offered by parishioners
across this diocese each year, in areas such as visiting the sick, helping the elderly, and
caring for the church. Such dedication is strong evidence of missionary discipleship. No
doubt there is more to be done. But this is an ancient and powerful witness and one which
is still very eloquent today: an argument and an invitation beyond words, yet, I trust,
containing within it a ready explanation for the hope which lies at its heart. Indeed, a lived
faith is a living faith.
This evening, as we praise God for the gift of our faith in his Son and for the enduring
example of so many, especially St Cuthbert Mayne, I offer some more words of Pope
Francis, characteristically direct and challenging. Speaking of the need for us to be
missionary disciples, he says ‘So what are we waiting for?’ (EG120). What indeed? ‘Woe to
me if I do not preach the Gospel!’ ‘So what are we waiting for?’ Go out to the whole world,
and proclaim the Good News!
Amen.
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take us to the heart of our faith; the celebrations and processions of To be before the
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4/4

Brentwood Centenary
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/brentwood-centenary/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Mass to celebrate the centenary of the Diocese of Brentwood at the
Cathedral of St Mary and St Helen on 22 March 2017
Two weeks ago, ten thousand young Catholics from across England and Wales were
gathered at Wembley for Flame 17, an opportunity to pray, to learn and to celebrate their
faith. While in their company, I remembered the stirring appeal of Pope Francis to young
people: ‘If you want to be people of hope, then go home and talk to your grandparents.’ He
added: ‘Ask them questions because they have the memory of history, the experience of
living, and this is a great gift for you that will help you in your life’s journey.’
Today, as we celebrate the centenary of the Diocese of Brentwood, we look to our
grandparents in faith. We look to them with gratitude for all that they have done in
establishing this diocese, and in nurturing the faith of Catholics in East London and in
Essex.
Now I don't count myself among the grandparents, although the deep links between the
Dioceses of Westminster and Brentwood could be cast in that mould. What I do treasure
are my personal links with this diocese, not least the Episcopal Ordination of Bishop Alan,
such a memorable occasion. But my link goes back much further, as the first titular
cathedral I was given was the Chapel of St Cedd, at Bradwell-on-Sea, a place much
treasured in this diocese and from where St Cedd first brought the Gospel to these parts.
Then, more importantly, I think of your first bishop, Bishop Bernard Ward and his fondness
for railways. It was from that love of the rail network that your cathedral is here in
Brentwood and that Brentwood is the very name of your diocese. So I smiled when I
received a letter from Bishop Alan, in preparation for coming to this Mass, which told me
which train to catch!
Every one of Bishop Ward’s successors had their particular qualities: it fell to Bishop Beck
and his successor Bishop Wall to rebuild schools and churches after the war; Bishop Casey
is remembered for his immense fatherly kindness, while Bishop Thomas McMahon brought
so many gifts to the diocese, not least in building this cathedral in which we celebrate Mass
this evening.
These are just a very few of the memories that provide the context for our celebration
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today. They must not be left in the history books. Indeed, as Pope Francis reminds us, they
can and must help us in our responsibility for the continued flourishing of the Catholic faith
in this part of the world.
Isn't it lovely, then, that the readings chosen for this Mass have a certain emphasis on the
future.
The First Reading, from the prophet Ezekiel, looks to what the Lord will do. ‘I am going to
look after my flock… I shall look for the lost one, bring back the stray, bandage the
wounded and make the weak strong.’ We are to cooperate in that work, lending our hands
and our hearts to its achievement, knowing it is always the work of the Holy Spirit. Indeed,
the great commission given by Christ to the Apostles in the Gospel to ‘go and make
disciples of all nations’ is only possible because he also makes this promise: ‘Know that I
am with you always, yes, to the end of time.’
This Gospel command gives the basis for another great theme of Pope Francis: that we are
always to think of ourselves, and to live, as ‘missionary disciples’. The Second Reading
gives us clues about how we are to go out and do it. St Paul reminds us that not everyone
is the best of teachers; not everyone has an instantly attractive personality; not everyone is
good with the sick. But, each of us does have a particular giftedness, not granted to
another. Discerning what that may be and how best it is put to service is essential to a
healthy Church. We are, thank God, rich in our diversity in so many ways. But, if we are
truly to flourish, that diversity must always be placed at the service of the fundamental unity
of the Church and of her mission, and never remain a cause of separateness within our
community.
In all our efforts to further that mission, faith finds a most eloquent expression when it is
grounded in the real circumstances of life. Pope Francis recently reminded us of this when
he said, ‘You learn to do good with concrete actions, not with words. With deeds… For this
reason Jesus… rebukes this ruling class of the people of Israel, because “they talk and
don’t act”’. Then he added that without this concrete action there can be no true
conversion. Action is the test of our faith.
Again, our efforts for the future can take inspiration from the memory of the past, of our
grandparents. Their extraordinary efforts at renewal in the face of the devastating bombing
of the Second World War are among the more tangible pieces of evidence of concreteness
in faith, sometimes even literally. And there are so many others, perhaps now faded into
history but still part of the fabric of this diocesan family. I think of the goodness of priests
who went the extra mile to support their parishioners in times of sadness or tragedy. In the
sight of God, and in many memories, this is never forgotten. I think of the ministry of so
many religious women, including my own Auntie Peg, Sister Thomas More of the Chigwell
Sisters (Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Mary), who played such a role in
education and in service of the poor. This is never forgotten. The practice of faith and
charity sustained by faithful Catholics in the face of daily challenges of many a sort: this too
is never forgotten. We must heed, with the utmost seriousness, this call to the practical
witness to faith if we are to succeed in our efforts at conversion, at spreading the Good
News, for the next hundred years.
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That is not to say, of course, that prayer and attentiveness to the Word of God become an
optional extra. Practicality and prayer are two sides of the same coin: if one spreads faith,
the other nurtures faith within us. Together they help us to see our responsibilities within a
context that is so vast as to be eternal. We sang at the start of Mass, ‘Praise to the Holiest
in the height, and in the depths be praise; in all his words, most wonderful, most sure in all
his ways!’ As we seek to hold together the faith we profess in word and the faith we express
in action, we strive always to mirror something of the surety and wonder of Christ himself
and always to the praise of our Heavenly Father.
The praise of God, for which we are gathered in the present, is rooted in thankfulness for
the past and hope for the future. In a hundred years, an entirely new group of people will,
please God, be gathered here for the bicentenary of the Diocese of Brentwood. Today we
pray that we, and our children and grandchildren in faith, may be worthy successors of
those whose memory we celebrate, and on whose witness we undertake to build.
May God bless richly this Diocese of Brentwood both now and in the years to come.
Amen.
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4/4

Called to Serve the Sick
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/called-to-serve-the-sick/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Pastoral Letter for Eighth Sunday of Ordinary Time, 26th February 2017
One of the great gifts of Pope Francis to the Church has been the Jubilee Year of Mercy,
which concluded last November. During that Year, we entered so much more deeply into an
understanding and acceptance of the mercy of God towards each of us, no matter the
circumstances of our life. We also refreshed the flow between the mercy we receive from
the Lord and the mercy we extend to those around us through the corporal and spiritual
works of mercy.
Now, for the next six months, I ask you all to focus on one particular corporal work of
mercy: caring for the sick. From now until the close of our Diocesan Pilgrimage to Lourdes
at the end of July, I hope that we can look again at how we respond to those in our midst
who are sick, in body or in mind, and how we support them and their families. The care we
extend will embrace not only sick members of our own family and our relatives, but also
those in our neighbourhood, those in hospital, and those who are burdened with chronic
illness or painful conditions. This special season, with the title ‘Called to Serve the Sick’, is
being led by Bishop Paul McAleenan. I thank him for all his work in this.
Caring for the sick is a daily, practical expression of the mercy we have first received from
God. This means that our caring for the sick arises from our faith in God and is most fully
completed when it takes its shape from that faith. The care we offer, then, is shot through
with a loving trust that this sickness, these special needs, which a person is carrying, are
capable of bringing that person closer to God, and of helping others through their own pain.
This is what we mean by ‘redemptive power of suffering’. I am sure you know the words of
that wonderful hymn which says: ‘Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee. E’en though it be
a cross that raiseth me, nearer my God to thee.’
The first reading of our Mass today expressed the feelings experienced by many in their
illness:
‘The Lord has abandoned me. The Lord has forgotten me’. Indeed this is often how we feel.
But the promise contained in that reading from Isaiah assured us that God’s love is stronger
even than a mother’s love. God promises: ‘I will never forget you.’ And God looks to us to
give practical expression to that promise. God wants us to say to those for whom we care:
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‘I, too, in God’s name, will never forget you!’ This is what St Paul means when he says that
we have been ‘entrusted with the mysteries of God’ and prays that we may be found worthy
of that trust.
My mother had a special way of approaching the presence of illness and suffering in her
life. She often remarked that the traditional saying ‘God never gives a cross without the
back to bear it’ was wrong. She insisted that it ought to say ‘God never gives a cross
without the backs to bear it’ for it is only by standing shoulder to shoulder that can we carry
the crosses which come our way from the Lord. Indeed, quite often it is the shoulders of the
sick persons themselves who help us to carry the cross together. Often it is the sick who
bless us with their courage, tenacious faith and enduring hope.
On Wednesday this week, we begin the time of Lent in which we try to follow more closely
Our Blessed Lord, especially in the sufferings he bore for us. This longer season of ‘Called
to Serve the Sick’, can start by our looking again, during Lent, at how we care for those
who are going through a time of illness, or indeed whose lives are coming to an end. It asks
us to see beyond all the necessary practical help and medical care to the very soul of the
person, seeing them as a precious daughter or son of our Heavenly Father, making their
way to him, coming closer, step-by-step, with Christ himself. As Cardinal Hume said: ‘The
journey to heaven always goes over the hill of Calvary.’ We can make that journey
together.
Please do look out for the steps and events of this season. Please do make a renewed
effort to remember the sick and the dying in your prayers. Please do not turn your back on
them, simply handing them over to professional care, important though that care is. The
mystery of the gift of life in each one of us becomes more precious at such times. Let us
treasure and serve that mystery, for it is the mystery of God himself.
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3/3

CCEE Symposium Barcelona
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/ccee-symposium-barcelona/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at Mass on 28 March 2017, at the CCEE Symposium on the accompaniment of
young people at the Seminario Conciliar de Barcelona
The first reading in our Mass this evening is one of the most beautiful and evocative
passages in the Bible. These words of Ezekiel flow throughout the Biblical texts. They are
echoed in the words of Jesus as he proclaims: ‘If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me. Let
him come and drink!’ (Jn 7.37). They appear in the Book of Revelation where we read this:
‘Then the angel showed me the river of life, rising from the throne of God and of the Lamb
and flowing crystal-clear down the middle of the city street. On either side of the river were
the trees of life’ (Rev 22.1-2).
Ezekiel’s vision of an issue of water flowing from the Temple came to him on a day when
the Temple of Jerusalem had been destroyed. It is, then, a vision of great hope, a vision of
a life-giving stream, that widens and deepens until it makes wholesome even the sea itself.
On the banks of the great river stand trees that are not only fruitful but whose leaves bring
about the healing of the people.
The Gospel of John gives us the interpretation of this vision: ‘As scripture says: From his
breast shall flow fountains of living water. He was speaking of the Spirit which those who
believed in him were to receive’ (Jn 7.38-39). Thus we can readily see that the side of the
Temple, of which Ezekiel speaks, is indeed the side of Jesus, from which flowed forth blood
and water (Jn 19.34), two of the three witnesses about which John speaks in his First
Letter. The third and invisible witness is the Holy Spirit, poured out afresh from the wounds
of Christ (1 Jn 5.7-8).
I have long been fascinated by a detail to be found in most images of Christ crucified. I am
no doctor, but I know that the heart is situated on the left side of our chest. Yet in all
classical crucifixes, the wound through which the heart of Jesus is pierced is to be seen on
the right hand side of his body. It is the visual expression of this same text: that the saving
waters, the gift of the Holy Spirit, flow from the right side of the Holy Temple, which is his
Body.
From the very first moments of his conception, which we have just celebrated, the life of
Jesus is the work of the Holy Spirit. It is as if he is being filled to overflowing with that
presence and power. Today’s Gospel is an example. It is in the power of that Holy Spirit
1/4

that Jesus cures the sick man and, in doing so, begins the process whereby he identifies
himself with the new Temple. The person of Jesus is like a jar, filled to the brim with the
Holy Spirit. It is only when this alabaster jar is shattered, during his Passion, that its
content and fragrance fills the whole house. And that house is, in the first place, the
Church.
Indeed, we can say that the last breath of Jesus is the first breath of the Church. As he
breathes his last, the Church breathes in the new life of the Holy Spirit that is to flow from
her, giving healing and life to all who come to those waters. These words are engraved
above the baptismal font at the Lateran Basilica: ‘This is the wellspring that cleansed the
whole world, having its source in the wound of Christ’ (Fons hic est qui totum diluit orbem
sumens de Christi vulnere principium).
Today, as we strive to live in the Church by that same Spirit, there is a solemn warning that
we do well to heed. It was spoken by the future Patriarch Ignatius IV of the Greek Orthodox
Church:
‘Without the Holy Spirit, God is far away, Christ stays in the past, the Gospel is a dead
letter, the Church simply an organisation, authority is a matter of domination, mission is a
matter of propaganda, the liturgy is no more than an evocation, Christian living a slave
morality. But in the Holy Spirit, the cosmos is resurrected and groans with the birth pangs
of the Kingdom, the risen Christ is there, the Gospel is the power of life, the Church shows
forth the power of the Trinity, authority is a liberating service, mission is a Pentecost, the
liturgy is both memorial and anticipation, and human action is deified.’
(Bishop Ignatius Hazim, Address to the Fourth Assembly of the World Council of Churches,
Uppsala, 1968).
As we ponder and explore the theme of this Symposium, accompanying young people, we
remember that our task is always to help them discern the will of God for them, the
greatness to which our loving Father is summoning them. As Pope Benedict said, we are
made not for comfort, but for greatness. Our stance, then, is always one of being open to
the Holy Spirit, of wanting, in humble obedience, to discern the promptings of that Spirit and
to respond, step by step, to that challenging call.
The Spirit is first poured out in the act of creation in which is first written the basic grammar
of our human nature. And it is, as I said this afternoon, a grammar of gift. We who receive
life as a gift, find the fulfilment of our lives when we give our lives as a gift, a gift made in
faithfulness and love. Yet we are also fallen creatures. Left to ourselves we lose our way in
the multitude of options and attractions which confront us. We stand in need, then, of
receiving the drama of our salvation, and that drama is so vividly described in that stream
of water, flowing from the right side of the Temple, becoming a great torrent of love, which
brings healing and growth to all who are caught in its embrace. The salvation offered to us
in Jesus is for the healing of our nature so that we may indeed attain the fulfilment for which
we have been made: the fulfilment that comes with the utter, unrestricted gift of ourselves.
This is the heart of every vocation. Today we strive to understand the dynamic of the Holy
Spirit at work in young lives, and to understand our part in serving that dynamic. At this
moment, during this Mass, we open ourselves entirely to that same Spirit, here as we stand
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at the foot of the Cross and partake afresh in the outpouring of the Spirit from the wounds
of Jesus, held before us in this Sacrifice.
We pray again the words of the ancient prayer:
Anima Christi, sanctifica me,
Corpus Christi, salva me,
Sanguis Christi, inebria me,
Aqua lateris Christi, lava me.
Soul of my Saviour sanctify my breast,
Body of Christ be thou my saving guest,
Blood of my Saviour bathe me in thy tide,
Wash me with water flowing from thy side.
Amen.
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Chrism Mass 2017 - Diocese of Westminster
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/chrism-mass-2017/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version

Chrism Mass 2017
Given at the Chrism Mass at Westminster Cathedral on Tuesday, 11th April 2017.
With this ceremony of the Chrism Mass, we are entering the holiest days of the Church's
year. Here we stand at the threshold, ready to step gratefully into the mystery of faith, the
vast landscape of the great plan of God for our human family. In these next few days, we
shall journey with Jesus, through the crowded streets of Jerusalem, to his last supper, his
arrest and trials, his suffering and death, coming finally to that glorious moment of his rising
from the dead! Never before or since, in all human history, has a man risen from the dead
by a power that was properly his own. Only here, in this event, do we grasp the true
meaning of our lives, of the whole of creation!
And, as we stand on this threshold, we know that all of this takes place out of the aching
love of God, who longs that his people find their way home, to him, with their wounds
bandaged up, their burdens laid down, their sins forgiven and a shout of exaltation on their
lips. This love of the Father has no limits. It is for everyone. Its landscape embraces our
whole world.
And, in this great work, God our loving Father calls for our help, our cooperation, the effort
of each one of us.
Today there is a powerful sign that we all have a part, many parts, to play. It is the sign of
the oil of Chrism, blessed during this ceremony, and flowing out from here across the
diocese and so into the whole world through the means of the Church’s work and ministry.
Chrism is the olive oil, mixed with spices, that is to be blessed for us today. Chrism is a
sign of the fruitfulness of God's creation, for in God's plan of salvation every created thing
has a part to play. Even the dove, which brought the olive branch to Noah announcing the
end of the Flood, has its part in this great adventure.
The prayers we say will tell us that Chrism plays a vital part in the story of all those who,
before us, have been called to serve God: Aaron, Moses, David, Samuel, and the whole
line of kings, prophets and priests.
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Then, in the fullness of time, Chrism has become the name of Jesus, for he is called Christ,
the Anointed One. As the very fullness of God, he is anointed, for he is the fulfilment of that
immense, all-embracing plan of God for the freedom and joy of all people. He is our
Saviour.
Like Jesus, the Christ, the Anointed One, we too have been anointed with Chrism: in
Baptism, in Confirmation and, for my brother priests and me, in Holy Ordination to the
Priesthood. All of us are to be part of this great work of God, bringing every aspect of
creation to the fulfillment for which God holds it in being. Today, on this great day of
Chrism, we all renew in our hearts our willingness to be workers for Christ, participants in
his project, dedicating again our desires, our wills, our hearts, our efforts to this great
mission, the only enterprise on earth that bears fruit in eternal profit!
There are two phrases, which describe this enterprise, which I wish to put before you all
today.
The first is this: the world is God's construction site! Everything that goes on in this world
which is not against the will of God, but rather which flows from all the fine and noble
instincts written into every human heart, contributes to this construction. Every moment,
every event in our lives and in the lives of others, all those ups and downs, joys and great
sorrows can be part of God’s work of construction. We are all part of this work. Use your
imagination! God's construction site needs the clever engineers and patient bricklayers,
and skillful scaffolders, visionary architects, bookkeepers, foremen, investors. I could go
on! All are needed!
But we, who are among these workers, each with our different skills, we are also anointed.
We are the priests of this construction site and our common task is to dedicate this work
each day to its true Boss, its ultimate Client. Our task is to bring our highest understanding
of the eternal destiny of this enterprise to bear on its daily decisions, in whatever part of
that enterprise we are involved. We are also to be there with the consoling words of our
Father when accidents occur, when injustices are to be confronted, when injuries happen.
We are the special presence of Jesus in this great construction site of God.
Then there is a second phrase: the world is God's dance floor! I heard it at the great youth
event, Flame ‘17. God's dance floor! It must be so, because Chrism is called the oil of
gladness, the anointing of a joyful family. It is the oil of celebration. Think of the parable of
the prodigal son: the Father embraces his lost boy and says: 'Let the party begin'!
Yes, the world is God's dance floor and whether we like ballroom or disco there is a part in
this dance for us all. Yes, it is our calling to be the promotors of the dance, to go and find
the shy and the clumsy of foot and encourage them to join in. Yes, it's true! We are
anointed with the oil of gladness. Yes, the dance! Yes, please do let your imagination run
riot!
And, we priests have received, as it were, a double dose of this oil of gladness, an
additional anointing with Chrism, which is our special delight, our treasured calling. Today
we priests rejoice afresh in this vocation, in the part we are given in this world, in this
construction site of God, and on his dance floor, although at this point we may indeed need
a very vivid imagination!
2/4

As we stand at this threshold of Holy Week, we remember that the work of Salvation,
costing nothing less than the precious body and blood of Christ himself, is done for the
sake of the entire world. That is the focus of our mission: not our own safety or salvation,
but that of every person, in every time and in every place. We will recall that this is all the
work of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit poured out so powerfully from the wounds of Christ
himself. It is this Holy Spirit who prompts every good initiative and effort in this great
construction site. It is the Holy Spirit who prompts every exuberant and truly joyful move on
the dance floor of our hearts, in our families and in our world, in which God himself is the
choreographer, the bandmaster and the leading dancer!
My brother priests, we have such a precious role to play, as spelled out in the words of the
promises we are about take. Always, in all these duties, we are to be particularly sensitive
and responsive to the promptings of that Holy Spirit, at work in unexpected ways and
places, yet always recognisable in her fruits. Pope Francis asks us insistently to be
accompaniers of the people entrusted to us and to be the discerners of the promptings of
the Holy Spirit among them. Let that call, and the dedication and generosity of time it
requires of us, the prayerfulness of life it presupposes within each of us, be powerfully in
our hearts as I ask you now to rise and renew, in this great assembly, the promises of your
priesthood.
Amen.
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4/4

Chrism Mass 2018 - Diocese of Westminster
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/chrism-mass-2018/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version

Chrism Mass 2018
Given at the Chrism Mass on 27 March 2018 at Westminster Cathedral
This Chrism Mass is my favourite moment in our year. It is so important and special. There
is something very wonderful about this full Cathedral, about the feeling of a gathered
diocese, a diocesan family. And I am always deeply touched by the support and love for the
priests that is so evident today. Thank you all for being here.
Now here is a question for you. Have you ever been to the source of a river? To the spot
where the water seeps up from the earth and wriggles its way down a hill or mountain side?
I have, just once. As I recall it was a desolate spot, high up, just below a peak, desolate and
a bit boggy. But I could identify a persistent flow of water, coming up through the ground
and quickly being joined by other tiny streams. I stood there, amazed that this tiny stream
was to grow, gradually at first but with increasing speed and power, into a strong river,
flowing inevitably into the sea.
On that occasion, I thought of the image of a stream, used by the Prophet Ezekiel (Ezekiel
47:8-12) and the Book of Revelation (Revelation 22:1-2). I remembered the description we
are given there of the 'river of life', flowing from 'the right side of the Temple', 'down into the
Arabah and to the sea; and flowing into the sea it makes its waters wholesome'. I
remembered the description of that river that gave wondrous growth and fruitfulness to the
trees that grew on its banks and 'whose leaves were medicinal for the people.' Indeed, in
the prophecy of Ezekiel we read: 'wherever the water goes it brings health and life teems
wherever the river flows' (Ezekiel 47:11).
Today, in this ceremony, we gather at the source of that stream, the river of God's grace.
From its source, this river flows into our world, bringing the promise of healing, of health, of
life in its fullness. Here too we see that the river flows from the right side of the Temple, that
is, from the wound in the side of the body of Jesus, the new and everlasting Temple.
Through his death on the cross, through his wounds, his pierced side, this great gift of

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grace, the transforming action of the Holy Spirit, flows into our troubled world and into our
troubled hearts. This is a place at which to stop, to be filled with wonder, to be filled with
joy.
Let us look more closely at the source of this river of grace. Our liturgy is made up of
actions and words. On their own they are indeed quite remarkable. But it is not our actions
and words on their own that matter. Indeed some find them rather clumsy! We have to
always see beyond these actions and words, not be constrained by them. We must see
with the eyes of faith and listen with the ears of a disciple. Then we can know that our
words and actions, whether simple or of great dignity, are the means that God chooses to
use to bring about this river of grace. Grace flows from here not because of our words
alone, but because in this liturgy, by the power of the Holy Spirit, there is a great coming
together of the human and the divine that produces a unique synergy, a radically different
source of power and change.
The human and the divine come together in a single unity, each in their fullness, solely in
the person of Jesus Christ, he who alone is truly God and truly man. Only Our Blessed Lord
can bring about our salvation, the forgiveness of our sins and the fulfilling of our potential
as children of our Heavenly Father, to be with him forever. This salvation can be achieved
only through the power of God, which is fully present in Jesus. It can be ours only because
Jesus is fully one of us and carries our human nature with him through his victory. If he
were not God, the victory is beyond his power; if he were not fully human, the victory is
beyond our reach. But he is truly God and truly man and, truly, he is our salvation.
It is from his side that this water of new life flows. It flows and is celebrated most fully in the
sacraments of the Church. Many of those sacraments are signalled and made effective in
the use of the oils, which we bless today: Baptism, Confirmation, Ordination of priest and
bishop, the Sacrament of the Sick. Today this oil flows, as it were, from the very side of
Christ into every parish, every home, every family and into every place of illness.
In each of these Sacraments, the use of this oil is accompanied by the words of the
ordained minister, priest or bishop. Together, word and action unlock for us the saving
power of God, enabling the 'water of life' to flow into our lives, bringing its healing and
renewing in us the fruitfulness of the Holy Spirit. This is the cause of our joy in our priests,
so vividly expressed in this Mass.
My brother priests, ours is an immensely privileged way of life. Despite our failings and
sinfulness, so many people give us their trust and look to us for encouragement as well as
to the grace of the Sacraments. This is the challenge to which we priests must rise: to be
worthy of that trust, to be gracious in our ministry, never to take for granted the position we
are given but always to strive to serve, not just the parish or particular ministry entrusted to
us, but also the greater good of the whole.
I thank God for every pair of anointed hands, which will administer these oils in the year
ahead. I thank God for the heart of every priest in this Diocese, a heart which has been
dedicated to this service of grace and which today seeks to be renewed in its purity of
intention and largeness of compassion.
I thank every one of you today. Thank you for your innate goodness, for your effort when
2/3

tired and for your patience when over-stretched, not least by me and my immediate
colleagues. Thank you for sustaining your clear identity of a priest of Jesus Christ,
witnessing to him, through your faithfulness and perseverance. I thank God for you all.
Now we must continue with this great liturgy. But first, I ask all priests present to stand and
be ready to renew the promises of your ordination day, sustained, buoyed up by your
faithful people, who, in their turn, promise you their prayers today. And please do not forget
to pray for me.
X Cardinal Vincent Nichols
Archbishop of Westminster
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Deceased Clergy Mass 2017
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/deceased-clergy-mass-2017/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Requiem Mass for deceased clergy of the diocese in Westminster
Cathedral on 10th November 2017.
There is one thing I ask of the Lord,
For this I long,
To live in the house of the Lord,
All the days of my life,
To savour the sweetness of the Lord,
To behold his temple.
These words from Psalm 26 are to be found on the inside page of our Mass booklet for this
Requiem Mass, immediately below the names of our brother priests for whom we pray this
evening: Canon John McDonald; Canon Charles Acton; Canon Peter Gilburt; Cardinal
Cormac Murphy-O'Connor; Mgr Augustine Hoey; Fr John (Bruce) Elliott; Fr Norman Brown;
and to those names I want to add one more, that of Seán O'Toole who also died in these
last twelve months.
The words of this Psalm capture vividly that ancient longing for fulfilment, written deep into
our nature and so vividly experienced in our lives. It is the fulfilling of this longing that is so
wondrously made possible in the mystery and grace of Jesus Christ. This is the faith in
which our brothers died. This is the faith in which we pray for them. This is the faith by
which we want to live each day, starting today and continuing until the Lord calls us, just as
he has called them.
The first reading we have heard encourages us to look at each other and to see in each
other the good things of the Lord. That is not as easy as it sounds, for we tend, rather, to
look at each other and see the flaws that each of us bears and the failures that characterise
our stories. May I even suggest, for I know it of myself, that we may well dismiss or
minimise the 'good things of the Lord' to be seen in each other, darkened as we are, so
readily, by the shadow of jealousy. Yet these gifts of the Lord are distributed, as St Paul
tells us, 'just as he chooses.' And each of those for whom we pray this evening was
uniquely gifted.
It may be that we can be more clear-eyed in appreciating these gifts when we look at the
way in which our brothers died. Then, we can learn from what we see.
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Here are my impressions, my vote of thanks, for each of them.
I think of John McDonald in the last years, months and days of his life. They were
powerfully marked by his practice of prayer. Often I would find him in the chapel in St
Anne's, quietly praying before the Blessed Sacrament. That is how he died, too, prayerfully
and peacefully.
Charles Acton: such an open heart and mind. For him there was joy to be found in so many
places and activities, especially in family and friends and in the clarity of mind, he both
enjoyed and sought to foster in his students. He died with humility and, I am sure, with that
longing to see the mystery he had faithfully contemplated throughout his life.
Peter Gilburt, whom I knew less well, for me, in his life and in his death, was a man of
faithful friendship, received and given. So he lived, thus he died, in the embrace of life-long
friends who loved his priesthood and his person.
Augustine Hoey! What can I say about Augustine? Somehow, he had the knack of holding
death at bay! He knew how to delay that day, pacing himself, preserving energy by focusing
on what was truly essential.
John Elliott: I learned that Bishop Nicholas recently asked John to write about the joy of
dying! What a project and what an example! He wrote: 'Moving on is simple; it’s what we
leave behind that is hard.'
Norman Brown: he lived with such kindness for so many; he died with a resilient hope very
much filling his heart.
And, Cardinal Cormac: to the end, Cormac displayed that lightness of spirit, with a ready
humour and great warmth. What I admired, too, was the simplicity and humility of his heart
in those days. He said to me that he no longer was concerned about what the obituaries
might say; and he made sure that his life savings were distributed to those whom he had
served, especially the priests of the diocese. In that he reminded me so much of his
predecessor, Cardinal Basil Hume OSB, who had said that it was of first importance that he
left this world empty-handed, with no wealth stored away and his award, the Order of Merit,
put to one side, and certainly not placed upon his coffin. Leave this world empty-handed, a
beggar before God, ready to be filled with his glory, for we know that nothing can compare
to that and that it is for such glory that we have from the first been created.
There are so many gifts for us here, gifts for which we thank God and gifts from which we
are to learn.
It is said, and with some truth, that as a man lives so a man dies. So if we too want a good
and holy death, then let us start now. Let us ask ourselves again, what is it that we can
learn from the lives and deaths of those for whom we pray this evening?
Who, or what, is it in whom I put my trust? Where does carefully accumulated wealth,
whether large or very small, fit into my sense of security? How can I repay the Lord who has
been so generous to me?

2/4

Or, to whose judgement do I give power over my life? Whose opinion really matters to me?
Is that concern rightly focused? There is only one whose judgement really matters and
before whom I need to have only a simple, loving humility.
Faithful friendship, steadfast prayer, opened heartedness to people and to learning: are
these the marks of my living that they may fashion my dying?
Kindness towards the lowly and closeness to the Lord: These will make his summons a call
of joy. These too are offered to us for our imitation.
What rich testimony we are given by those for whom we pray. Let us not be reticent to act
on their example and depend on their fraternity, even now, for they are a great support for
us all.
In the Gospel of St Luke, which was also read at the Memorial Mass for Cardinal Cormac,
we heard the passage of the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24.13-16, 28-35) so beloved of Pope
Francis. He has often pointed out that Jesus comes to walk with the disciples even as they
are walking away from Jerusalem, away from the place which represents the presence of
God among us, the Church. He knows that they are moving away because disappointment
has taken hold of their hearts, the sense of being let down by those they had most trusted.
Jesus, please note, does not summon them back to Jerusalem. He walks with them, stepby-step, in that same direction. In doing so, he shows them his heart, opening their hearts
to a new realisation of the as-yet hidden truth of redemption. Only then do they willingly turn
back, and go with haste to the community of disciples that they had left behind.
This is so important. The call to conversion can only be offered heart-to-heart. How often
we see Jesus offering his most demanding teaching, the highest moral precepts, to those
he loves and who are already learning to love him. The stranger cannot understand. A
journey must first be made.
These are the pathways of discipleship. It is our task to walk with those entrusted to our
care, even when they are heading away. As we walk, we try to speak heart-to-heart,
sensing their sadness, maybe their anger and disappointment, taking one step at a time.
This is the discernment that lies at the heart of our ministry, a ministry that has as its
horizon the gateway of heaven, knowing that the journey can only be made step by step,
seeing what it is that the Lord is asking of each person, knowing full well the limitations of
their freedom as well as the deepest desires of their hearts.
I have a lovely memory of a kitchen conversation, many years ago now, with Fr Séamus
Fullam, in Grahame Park. When I arrived, he was trying to fill in a 'parish handover'
document. He was stuck at the question which asked him to list his key priorities in the
parish. 'What do I put there?' he said to me. 'What are you trying to achieve here,
Séamus?' I replied. 'Well', he said, 'to get people to heaven, I suppose.' 'Then please write
that down'. And that was the answer he gave, a good and patient priest who understood the
human heart and the journey of faith we all must take. And his answer, of course,
represents a bottom line that is not easy to measure!
Today, we pray earnestly that our brethren have already entered those heavenly gates,
3/4

welcomed by the Lord, in his mercy and goodness. We trust that they now truly behold his
temple, savouring in its fullness the sweetness of the Lord. For our part, we strive to
glimpse that greatness, having a foretaste of that sweetness, especially here in the
Eucharist, until it is our turn to receive that same summons. In the meantime, let us live as
we wish to die, as empty-handed as we can, trusting in the Lord, caring for each other and
finding the joy in his presence that will carry us through even to our last hour.
Eternal rest give unto them O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest
in peace. Amen.
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On Friday 13 The centre is open every Thursday for refugees and asylum seekers,
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Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
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repose of his s...
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4/4

Diaconate Ordinations June 2018
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/diaconate-ordinations-june-2018/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
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Given at the Mass of Ordination to the diaconate of Alex Burke, Kingsley Izundu and
Colin Macken at Westminster Cathedral on 23rd June 2018.
In this ceremony, these three men, Alex, Kingsley and Colin, your friends, colleagues,
indeed husbands and fathers, will receive a gift of the Holy Spirit, making them sharers in
the Sacrament of Holy Orders, Deacons of the Catholic Church. For all of us, this is a
precious moment, the unfolding of a vocation, a call from God, which has been sensed by
them and now fulfilled by the Church.
In the first reading (Acts 6.1-7), we heard of a moment like this in the very first years of the
Church: the choosing of the seven men who were to assist the first Apostles of Jesus. We
will come back to that text, and what we are to learn from it, in a few moments.
But first I would like to dip into the Acts of the Apostles a few chapters later. The scene has
moved from Jerusalem to Antioch. The Church is spreading. There, in Chapter 13, we read
these words: 'While they were offering worship, the Holy Spirit said: “I want Barnabas and
Saul set apart for the work to which I have called them”.’ (Acts 13.2)
This is the language of the Church. Through ordination, men are 'set apart' for the work of
God. That is what we do today: 'set apart' these three men for their work in the name of
Jesus. But we must understand properly the meaning of that phrase. 'Set apart' does not
mean 'set above', in some kind of higher state. Nor does it mean 'separated from' as if they
will suddenly live in a separate world. These ways of misunderstanding the words 'set apart'
is what leads to the superiority and aloofness that some call clericalism. We want no part in
that.
Rather, the Gospel tells us what 'set apart' really means. It is like being 'salt' and 'light',
distinctive things without which life is diminished, if not impossible. Without salt, food
become tasteless. Without light, life becomes confusion. But salt is no use separated from
the rest of food, and light is no use in a world of its own. No, today's ceremony 'sets apart'
these three men so that they can indeed be salt, mixed into the fabric of life, and light,
positioned so that they can cast light on many darkened situations.
Of course, these words of Jesus in the Gospel are not addressed only to those in Holy
Orders. No, He is speaking to every one of us, all who have been 'set apart' by his first gift
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of baptism. It is baptism that first sets us apart and gives us the calling to be salt and light,
in the name of Jesus, in every situation.
So, today no-one loses these three men who are 'set apart'. Rather we embrace them more
closely, knowing their special calling and their new role in service of us all.
Now, more precisely, what is this 'special calling'?
The first reading tells the story of a row! In Jerusalem, there were Jewish Christians who
had come to the city from different parts of the world. Devout Jews often wanted to spend
their later years in that Holy City. So among these incomers (I could even say immigrants),
there were many widows. In our reading, these are called the Hellenists. The other group,
the Hebrews, were the local Jewish Christians, speaking not Greek but Aramaic. These
were the home team. And there certainly was tension between them over the provision of
assistance to the elderly.
So, seven men were chosen to assist the twelve Apostles, who were all from the home
team, so that the Greek speakers were not neglected. Perhaps, then, it is not surprising
that the chosen seven were all from the Hellenists, as we can tell from the list of their
names.
Through this decision, the twelve were now assisted by the seven. This assistance included
not only 'serving at tables' but also the proclamation of the Word. This we learn almost
immediately, in Chapter 8, in the account of the conversion of the Ethiopian, by Philip, first
in the list of the seven. The seven were going to reach places the twelve were not getting
to.
This development in the early Church, this emerging partnership has a long history. To cut
it short, it has developed into the particular roles of deacon, priest and bishop as we know
them today. It goes like this:
The Sacrament of Holy Orders gives a character to the inner reality, the soul, of the man
receiving it. In the deacon, that character is one of service; in the priest, it is the imprint of
the work of sanctification, effected especially through the offering of the sacrifice of the
Mass and through the forgiving of sin; in the bishop, it is the charism of the 'governing
Spirit.' Please note, however, that the charism of service is at the basis of the entire
sacrament. A priest always remains a deacon, a man of service. Today I wear a dalmatic,
for the bishop does not cease to be a deacon. But this charism of service, this character,
this imprint of service is to shine most clearly and brightly in the person of the deacon. In
this way, the deacon makes present in the Church, in the profile of its Holy Order, a living
and personal sign of Christ the true and total servant.
The deacon, then, is to foster the work of service in the Church, cultivating a spirituality of
service, enabling that service to flow more freely through the entire body of the Church.
And, as we all know, this service has a primary and deliberate focus on the poor among us.
Such is the command of the Lord. That is the calling, the work, for which Alex, Kingsley and
Colin are 'set apart' by this gift of the Holy Spirit today.
But, forgive me, I have one last point to make, and it is important.
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The deacon is called not only to foster and develop service to every kind of poverty but
also to service at the altar. Why is that? It is because our service of the poor, our service of
one another, finds its source and shape precisely in the Eucharist, celebrated at the altar.
The Eucharist is the life-blood of the Church. We come to Mass with the burdens and joys
of life. We make of them an offering to Jesus so that he can present them to our Heavenly
Father, bringing in return God's grace and holiness to our needy world. The place to which
we come and from which we are sent out, is the Cross of Christ, his sacrifice, made present
again on our altar.
It is symbolically powerful that the gifts of bread and wine, which represent our lives, are
placed on the altar by the deacon and prepared by him for the sacrifice of the Mass. The
gifts we are given from the altar, the precious Body and Blood of the Lord, are the mandate
we receive to serve, in the love of Christ, our brothers and sisters. The deacon assists in
their distribution. In this way, the altar holds the key to a full understanding of the ministry of
the deacon: the ministry of service, always rooted in Christ, always flowing from his allpowerful gifts, always reaching out to those most in need.
May God bless our actions this day. May God bless these deacons always. May their
ministry, through his grace, be a cause of joy for us all. Amen.
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Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/divine-liturgy-of-st-john-chrysostom/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom at Westminster Cathedral on 28th
October 2017
It is my pleasure to welcome you all to Westminster Cathedral, for this Divine Liturgy of St
John Chrysostom, surely a highlight of the gathering of the Bishops of the Eastern Catholic
Churches of Europe. I welcome in particular His Beatitude Archbishop Sviatoslav
Shevchuk. To have here in our midst the Father and Head of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic
Church is a real honour. I welcome too His Excellency Archbishop Edward Adams, the
Apostolic Nuncio, who is representing His Holiness Pope Francis, as well as Bishop Hlib
Lonchyna, Bishop of the Eparchy of the Holy Family in London, all my brother bishops of
Eastern and Latin rite, and all the priests, religious and faithful present in the cathedral this
afternoon.
It is sixty years since, in June 1957, the Apostolic Exarchate of the Holy Family in Exile was
established for the faithful of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church in England and Wales.
This is a significant anniversary: one we do well to celebrate. Yet how the political and
religious situation across Europe has changed since then! These changes, not least in the
eastern parts of Europe, have brought with them great hope after years of darkness: yet
great challenges face the Church. Here, a major development has been the establishment,
in January 2013, of the Eparchy of the Holy Family in London, followed by the SyroMalabar Eparchy of Great Britain in October 2016.
These Eparchies have been established in a land where for centuries priests ministered
without the support of a hierarchy, where a careless word could, literally, cost a life, where
the faith itself seemed to be hanging by a thread. There are indeed points of contact in the
history of our churches. The development from Exarchates to Eparchies has brought both
continuity and change. How good it is that the Ukrainian Greek Eparchy remains under the
patronage of the Holy Family. But the Holy Family ‘in Exile’ no longer.
Today there is, for you all, I trust, a real sense of homecoming. Something familiar to the
Holy Family themselves, as they made their way back from fulfilling their civic
responsibilities to the Romans in Bethlehem to their home in Nazareth. That homecoming
was not an end in itself; instead, it provided the context in which Christ grew to maturity.
Our Christian communities and families can and must take their inspiration from this
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example. Blessed Pope Paul VI made the point well on a visit to Nazareth in 1964:
‘Nazareth is the school in which we begin to understand the life of Jesus. It is the school of
the Gospel…. Here we learn the method by which we can come to understand Christ. Here
we discover the need to observe the milieu of his sojourn among us – places, period of
time, customs, language, religious practices, all of which Jesus used to reveal himself to
the world.’ Today, as we Latin rite Catholics witness and take part in liturgies not so often
seen in this cathedral, we pray that they can bring us to a deeper understanding of the
things of Christ. Though I am reminded that this is not the first time there has been an
Eastern liturgy in Westminster Cathedral: in October 1926, the then newly-established
Society of St John Chrysostom arranged a Divine Liturgy in the Byzantine-Slavonic rite, as
the culmination of an Eastern Liturgical Week, with Cardinal Bourne in attendance.
The liturgy of the Church, properly and reverently undertaken, can be among the most
powerful of catechetical methods. Indeed liturgical catechesis is, rightly, something of a
priority to your church life and this synod. The reverence we show for the things of God is a
barometer of our reverence for God himself; those who see the love and care we put into
our liturgical celebrations are, we pray, the more likely themselves to grow in knowledge
and love of him towards whom our praise is ordered. More than that, liturgy gives what it
teaches, drawing those who live and experience it deeper into the life of grace, in word and
gesture, in symbol and sacrament. In the Gospel today, we hear of the reaction of the ten
lepers to their cleansing. Nine were healed and went on their way; we hear no more of
them. But one reacted by praising God, falling at the feet of Jesus and giving him thanks. It
was this one who was rewarded with consoling words from Jesus. ‘Rise and go; your faith
has made you well.’ The liturgy, performed with care and reverence, makes us well. It can
teach us to go and do likewise. It is valuable catechesis indeed.
Catechesis would not be worthy of the name if it did not have one eye on evangelisation.
We do not learn of the things of faith to keep them to ourselves. Looking outward is so very
important. History teaches us this again and again. We might think of the mission of Saints
Cyril and Methodius, brothers and monks from Constantinople, that immersed the Eastern
Slavs in the faith and liturgical tradition of the Christian East. We know how, in more recent
times, the faith, kept alive of necessity in secret under oppressive regimes, has had the
opportunity to flourish afresh: we give thanks for all those who kept the faith in hard times,
and have given witness more openly as Christianity has been reasserted in the public
sphere.
All efforts at catechesis, all initiatives of evangelisation, make no sense unless viewed in
the context of the Passion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The victory of Christ, won in
the face of what seemed on human terms an impossible defeat, is the wellspring of our
hope. That hope is evident in the Eastern Catholic Churches today. In Ukraine, confidence,
faith and optimism are evident. We might think of the new Catholic university, the
seminaries full of young men testing their vocation, the social programmes. In Belarus,
which I was privileged to visit recently, there is a similar story, with the restoration of so
many churches and the re-emerging of Catholic life. It can be no accident that the rich new
Catholic catechism produced by the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church is called Christ our
Pascha. A church that was outwardly non-existent in 1991 is now indeed in resurrection: a
resurrection that is a powerful image of the Christian mission to ‘restore all things in Christ’.
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May God bless the gathering of Eastern Bishops, of which this Divine Liturgy is such a
central part. May you be the ‘watchful guardians of communion’ and ‘servants of ecclesial
unity’ (Ecclesia in medio oriente 39) of whom Pope Benedict and Pope Francis have both
spoken. And may we all allow the beauty and holiness of today’s celebration to lead us on
to a deeper, ever more outward-looking faith in Jesus Christ.
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Easter Sunday - Diocese of Westminster
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/easter-sunday-2/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version

Easter Sunday
Given at the Mass of the day on Easter Sunday, 16th April, 2017, at Westminster Cathedral
Last night there was a fire in the Cathedral. It was strong and powerful and it spread very
quickly. We did not call the fire brigade. It was the Easter fire, the fire of the Resurrection of
Jesus from the tomb of death. It spread until every person present was holding its flame, at
the tip of the candle that each held high.
Today we celebrate that new fire, the new life brought to us from beyond the doors of death
for he is risen from the dead!
We have heard from the witnesses to this event: Peter, who was first to enter the empty
tomb and who met, walked and talked with the Risen Christ; John, who was also present
and who stepped aside to allow Peter to enter first; Mary of Magdala who first raised the
astonishing news; Paul, whose life was so dramatically changed by his encounter with this
Jesus and who says to us that the glory which is Christ’s will be ours also!
The fire of faith, ignited by this unique event, burns brightly today throughout the world.
It burns in the hearts of the people of the villages of Qaraqosh and Karemlash in the plain
of Nineveh, where today Mass will be celebrated in churches damaged by ISIS. There
Christians will again gather now that this reign of terror has, at least in those places, been
brought to an end.
It burns brightly in the hearts of so many Christians, in Egypt, in many countries in Africa,
and in other parts of the Middle East, where many have been martyred for their faith in this
Risen Lord. For them, life in Christ is worth more than life without him. These are no suicide
deaths. They love life and die only because it is taken from them because of their faith.
Theirs is the true meaning of martyrdom.
This Easter fire burns strongly in the hearts of so many people in this country who dedicate
time and effort, in the name of Jesus, to providing food, shelter, comfort and hope to
millions of the world’s poor, both here and in many nations around the world.
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This faith sustains the long, slow work for peace. Patriarch Louis Sakho, speaking about
peace in Iraq, said: ‘Peace must be achieved by us religious leaders as well as politicians,
through courageous initiatives and responsible decisions.’ With other religious leaders, he
will take forward the process of seeking the rebuilding the 12,000 damaged homes and
churches, ‘in the land’, as he said, ‘where we were born and have lived for 1400 years,
together with our Muslim brothers and sisters, sharing one civilisation’. We too must
sustain this work, starting here with our neighbours in this land.
Today we pray for peace in our troubled world, as confrontations harden and threats
increase. We pray for wisdom and prudence in world leaders and an unwavering
determination for cooperation rather than conflict.
This Easter Day is a call for us to renew, in our lives, the pattern of this faith. In the days of
Holy Week we have learned again what that means. There are four aspects, four facets to
this pathway of faith we are to walk. They come to us directly from the Risen Lord.
We are to honour him, day by day, with our prayer, especially in the prayer of the
Eucharist, for he told us: ‘Do this in memory of me.’
We are to follow him in service of those in need, the forgotten ones. This is his Royal Road
of service, which he told us to take, freely offering respect and reverence to the poor for in
them we encounter the Risen Lord himself. They are not recipients of our gracious charity.
They are the face of the one whom we love. This is why our efforts will never cease, for this
love is stronger even than death.
Thirdly, we are to bring to him the burden of our sin and the sorrows of our broken world.
He wants us to be free of that load. He soaks up the anger and evil of our world, without
retaliation, as he dies on the Cross of Good Friday. Only there will we find the peace and
salvation for which our hearts and our world aches.
And, finally, we are to keep fresh in our hearts the readiness to see beyond death, to the
vista he opens for us. We are never to lose these eyes of faith, which take us beyond the
agony of suffering and tragedy, beyond the pain of the injustices of this world, beyond the
darkness of death that awaits us all. In his Resurrection is our hope. His Resurrection is
true. Our hope is not deceptive. It is strong and firm and utterly reliable.
The light of this Easter day, the strength of this fire of faith, is the true antidote to the
corrosive cynicism of aspects of our public culture that wants to belittle what it cannot
comprehend and undermine what it may reluctantly admire. Today we celebrate the true
victor, the one whose triumph entails no losers except sin and death, in which all who wish
share the victory and find in it the true fulfilment of their souls.
Christ is Risen. Alleluia. May he reign in our hearts and bring us his peace. I wish you all a
most joyful Easter indeed!
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3/3

Easter Vigil of the Holy Night
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/easter-vigil-of-the-holy-night/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Easter Vigil of the Holy Night, 15th April, 2017, at Westminster Cathedral
Today in these words of majesty and in this sumptuous music we celebrate and we sing of
his new life. We read of echoes of his victory in the past, in the history of Israel. We hear
that it is ours to share. As we strive to make ourselves one with Christ, we receive our
mission.
St Paul says to us: ‘You too must consider yourselves to be dead to sin but alive for God in
Christ Jesus.’
Yet there is one symbol that we have used uniquely in the Church’s year: a fire. We lit a fire
to help us to understand the brilliant, life-changing newness of what we celebrate. And from
that fire we all received a part, the fire at the tip of the candle we hold.
To understand the significance of this fire, we look at the story of Moses. Moses is saved
from certain death as a child. One day as he is tending the flock, he sees a burning bush in
the desert. ‘Funny,’ he thinks, ‘it’s on fire but not burning up.’ As he approaches, God
speaks: ‘Take off your shoes.’ There he comes, as it were, face to face with God. There, he
receives his mission, as we do, gathered round this fire.
Moses is told to go to Pharaoh and demand the freedom of his enslaved people. ‘How can
I?’ he asks. ‘I will be with you always,’ the Lord replies. Moses asks, ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am
who am,’ comes the reply.
Our mission seems as impossible: to bring to this troubled, war-torn, exploiting world, the
peace and new life of Christ; to bring to our wayward hearts, with our capacity to misuse
people, to belittle them, to cast them aside, the mercy and gracefulness of Christ. Surely,
this is impossible, unrealistic!
Yet, in the majesty of this Easter fire, in the light of this Easter candle, in the summons of
the candle that each one of us holds, Jesus says the same to us: ‘Yes you can, for I am
with you.’ And who are you? ‘I am who am. I bear the Divine title, for I am God. I have
conquered death, and I will set you free!’
Over the days of this Holy Week, we have learned what he wants of us. He wants four
things.
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First, he wants us to offer our prayers to him, most of all the prayer of the Mass: ‘Do this in
memory of me.’
Second, he asks us to offer our service to one another, especially to those most in need,
for this is his royal road, the pathway to true dignity as taken by him, the Lord and Master
when he washed his disciples’ feet.’
Third, he wants us to bring to him our sin and brokenness, for this is why he died on the
Cross, to bear our burden and bring us his mercy.
Fourth, he wants us to hold firm to the life beyond death, beyond suffering and pain, and
never to lose heart, for he has both overcome that last enemy and given us a share in his
victory.
In a moment, we will welcome and baptise those who want to know and share this way of
life. They will receive a lighted candle. Ours will be burning again.
On this holy and wondrous night, let us hold up our candle with pride. See in its tip of fire
the burning bush of Moses, the sign of God’s power and presence now given to you, that
you too may live in God’s freedom and be his witnesses in your way of life, today and into
life eternal.
Amen.
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Ecumenical Service at Liverpool Cathedral
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/ecumenical-service-at-liverpool-cathedral/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Ecumenical Service in Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral on the
Solemnity of Pentecost, 4th June 2017
'Thy Kingdom Come!' These three words stand at the heart of Christian prayer. Thankfully,
they have stood at the heart of much prayer in these last eight days, a prayer shared
openly and deliberately by many Christians of different churches and traditions, in many
parts of the world. We thank God as we bring to a close this Octave of Christian prayer for
our shared Christian mission, which has helped to make these three words resonate afresh
in so many hearts and minds.
'Thy Kingdom Come!' This is at the heart of Christian prayer because it is at the centre of
the ministry of Jesus, our gracious and loving Lord. His coming was announced by John
the Baptist in this manner (Mk 1.15). He himself broke the silence of his early years with
the words: 'Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is close at hand' (Mt 3.2).
The coming of his Kingdom is his promise and, as his disciples, it is our hope. For this
coming, we pray every day.
The texts of the Gospels affirm this focus. The Kingdom of Heaven, or the Kingdom of God,
is mentioned 61 times in the Gospel texts, yet its precise meaning is hard to pin down.
At times it has been taken to indicate the coming of a visible reality akin to, or replacing, an
oppressive political order. Perhaps this was the first thought of the disciples. It has been
entertained many times since then. Yet the phrase has also been taken to mean a truly
'spiritual kingdom', a kingdom of the heart, an inner moral ethic. Perhaps this has been part
of a particularly liberal vision, which has seen humanity progressing on a pathway of
continual growth and goodness. Then the 'Kingdom of God' has an eschatological meaning,
pointing to the close of history and the restoration of all in Christ. But the meaning that is
surely most clearly reflected in the prayer the Lord gave us is that his Kingdom will come,
his will be done 'on earth as it is in heaven'. The Kingdom is a reality both already secured
for the eternal future and still to be realised step by step, in our lives, both individually and
in the way we fashion our communities and societies.
This Kingdom, then, this conformity to the will of the Father, is central to our Christian
endeavour, to our discipleship. But here I think we benefit from one firm clarification: that
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we are not primarily called to build the Kingdom as to seek to enter it. We are not so much
its prime movers as its recipients. Our radical quest is to enter the Kingdom, to dwell in it
and to be shaped by it, both now and in the fullness of time: our limited, personal time and
in the fullness of all created time.
The unfolding of this Kingdom, and of these intertwining histories, is the work of the Holy
Spirit. Of that there can be no doubt, for it is this Holy Spirit who hovered over the chaos at
the emerging of time and rendered that chaos into an ordered world, a cosmos. So too the
final eschaton will be achieved by the power of the same Holy Spirit, when all things are
rendered whole and pure and brought into the presence of God. And now, each day, the
Holy Spirit refashions our nature, in as much as we permit, into an image of the life of God,
seen in its fullness in Christ Jesus.
So, there cannot be a better day than this day of Pentecost on which to pray anew these
same three words: 'Thy Kingdom Come!' For on this day we seek to be in the place of the
first apostles, gathered with Mary, to receive afresh this gift so that we too may be heralds
of this Kingdom, now and in the days to come. This is the pattern of the coming of the
Kingdom, even as we have heard in the words of the Gospel: 'As the Father has sent me,
so I am sending you. Receive the Holy Spirit' (John 20.20).
St Cyril of Jerusalem, writing in the fourth century, provides us with such a beautiful
commentary on the work of the Holy Spirit among us. His words are both reassuring and
challenging. He refers first to the image of water, used by Jesus himself 'on the last and
greatest day of the festival' when he said that we were to come to him and drink for 'from
his breast shall flow fountains of living water' (John 7.37-38). Then Cyril asks: 'But why did
Christ call the grace of the Spirit water?' And his answer is wonderful:
'Because all things are dependent on water...... Water comes down from heaven as rain,
and although it is always the same in itself, it produces many different effects, one in the
palm tree, another in the vine, and so on throughout the whole of creation. It does not come
down, now as one thing, now as another, but while remaining essentially the same, it
adapts itself to the needs of every creature that receives it.'
He continues: 'In the same way the Holy Spirit, whose nature is always the same, simple
and indivisible, apportions grace to each person as he wills. Like a dry tree, which puts
forth shoots when watered; the soul bears the fruit of holiness when repentance has made
it worthy of receiving the Holy Spirit. Although the Spirit never changes, the effects of his
action, by the will of God and in the name of Christ, are both many and marvellous.'
Then he says: 'The Spirit makes one person a teacher of divine truth, inspires another to
prophesy, gives another the power of casting out devils, enables another to interpret Holy
Scripture. The Spirit strengthens one person's self-control, shows another how to help the
poor, teaches another to fast and lead a life of asceticism, makes another oblivious to the
needs of the body, trains another for martyrdom. His action is different in different people,
but the Spirit is always the same. In each person, Scripture says, the Spirit reveals his
presence in a particular way for the common good.'
St Cyril, then, assures us that today too we need not fear our differences if we are truly
open to the same Holy Spirit. Nor should we feel hesitant in our task of mission 'for the
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common good', for that is precisely the purpose for which this Spirit nurtures our different
gifts and reciprocal relationships. We should be fearful if we are not repentant, for as Jesus
himself said, the first purpose of this great gift is for the forgiveness of sins, and we can
hardly be ready to receive this gift if, at heart, we do not acknowledge and repent of our
sins and of our divisions. This too should be the fruit of our prayer.
'Thy Kingdom Come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven!' This prayer has inspired
so much Christian endeavour across the centuries and continues to do so. Surely, it has
sustained the long and costly effort of the construction of these two great cathedrals, built to
the glory of God and as a sign and place of his realm and the peace it gives. At the
Metropolitan Cathedral, we celebrate our 50th birthday. May this occasion and this prayer
reinforce our commitment to each other and our deep desire to work side by side, in a
profound unity of spirit. We pray that as we seek to enter the Kingdom the will of the Father
and the power of the Holy Spirit may indeed be seen in our lives and revealed to be at the
source of so much good in our society today, for we know that the Spirit always blows
where he wills. And for this too, this utter freedom of the Holy Spirit, we give thanks today
and always.
Amen.
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Blessed Sacrament, to share in the Mass, to be filled with a profound...
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On Friday 13 The centre is open every Thursday for refugees and asylum seekers,
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Cardinal Vincent mourns death of Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran
Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
Cardinal said: 'With sadness I receive the announcement of the death of His
Eminence Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauron. This morning I celebrated Mass for the
repose of his s...
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4/4

Emmanuel: God-with-us
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/emmanuel-god-with-us/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Christmas Reflection 2017
The journey of the Magi to Bethlehem was not easy. As TS Eliot wrote: ‘A cold coming we
had of it, just the worst time of the year for a journey, and such a long journey: the way’s
deep and the weather sharp, the very dead of winter.’ The shepherds, too, in their journey
to the crib had a mountain to climb, the mountain of social exclusion, for they were the
lowest of the low, not welcomed anywhere. Yet both shepherds and scholars found their
way to the manger and to the person of Jesus whose coming remains the hinge of human
history.
Many aspects of our society today are distanced from this saving truth of Jesus of
Nazareth. We live in a culture that wants to push religious belief out of sight, into the
margins. Now we have a long journey to make, finding our way through these barriers,
through this thickening forest, to the true source of our joy and stability, Jesus, the one
alone who is the truth of God fully expressed in our flesh.
It is his coming which we celebrate in the holy season. We can do so with a profound and
lasting confidence that he who conquered death itself can also penetrate our darkness. His
coming tells us that such is his deepest desire: to be Emmanuel, God-with-us, no matter
how far we may have wandered. He summoned the shepherds, in their place of work, with
music and brightness; he called the wise men through their scholarship and desire to know.
He calls each one of us, if we have the sensitivity to recognise that summons!
We read that the wise men returned to their ‘old dispensation’, no longer feeling at home
there. In the presence of this Christ-child they discovered something that remained in their
hearts, an enduring peace and joy which they could no longer push to one side. We believe
that they went home as men more wise, as men more peaceful in themselves, as men
more poised in their lives. The shepherds, too, we know, went home full of song and
gladness for what their eyes had seen.
This is the invitation offered to us this Christmas. And its fruits can be the same for us too!
Latest news

1/2

Adoremus: A time of special grace
by Cardinal Vincent Nichols The days of the Eucharistic Congress The Eucharist
take us to the heart of our faith; the celebrations and processions of To be before the
Blessed Sacrament, to share in the Mass, to be filled with a profound...
more
Cardinal Praises JRS Refugee Work
On Friday 13 The centre is open every Thursday for refugees and asylum seekers,
who are welcomed to a safe space staffed by volunteers, where they can talk and
share their difficulties over a meal. Upon arriving, the Cardinal was taken on a ...
more
Cardinal Vincent mourns death of Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran
Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
Cardinal said: 'With sadness I receive the announcement of the death of His
Eminence Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauron. This morning I celebrated Mass for the
repose of his s...
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2/2

Fatima Chapel of Apparitions
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/fatima-chapel-of-apparitions/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
We are here today, in the Chapel of the Apparitions, one hundred years after the three
children of Fatima were given the great gift of seeing Our Blessed Lady, on this very spot.
We have to use our imagination to visualise the scene. This was a place of rough land, full
of stones, with trees, like the one we see just here. It was a place that was good only for
grazing sheep. And that was why they came. It was here that Mary chose to appear to
them, in a pattern of appearances about which you will have read.
The children’s names were Lucia, Francisco and Jacinta, two of whom are already
beatified. Now, Francisco and Jacinta will be declared saints of God, on May 13th, by Pope
Francis, here in this place. Lucia's life, which was much longer, is now being studied for her
possible beatification, too.
When, in 2000, Pope St John Paul II declared Francisco and Jacinta to be blessed he said
that they were 'two candles whom God had set burning to illuminate humanity.'
What can we learn from the shining light of these two young lives?
Firstly, we learn that God chooses us because of our love for him. God does not choose us
for the gift of faith because we are clever, or attractive of personality, or successful in what
we do. No. He chooses us because we are ready to give him our love. He chooses us
because of the simplicity and openness of our hearts.
Secondly, we learn that with that choice of God, hardship will enter our lives. When God
chose these three children to be blessed in this remarkable way, they entered into a
pathway of suffering. No one believed what they had to say about what had happened.
They were isolated and punished. They were rejected. They were not believed.
This can happen to us too. In our society, those who believe in God, who trust in God, who
live by God's word will often be ridiculed, or mocked, or treated with contempt. We don't
mind. It doesn't matter. We know what is important: that our hearts remain open and
trusting of God. That God remains the centre of our lives and of how we try to live.
Thirdly, from these three children, we learn how best to respond to the choice of God, to
the gift of a loving faith. We learn from them that our response is to be that of prayer,
penance and self-offering. We learn that the best way to begin each day, and to end each
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day, is with a time of prayer: a morning offering, an evening prayer of thanksgiving and
praise. We learn to be ready not to seek always our own comfort or ease, but to deny
ourselves and put the needs of others before our own. We learn also to see our lives as an
offering to be made to others. We understand that all that is best in our lives comes to us
as a gift and that the best way to use our lives is to make of them a gift, a self-offering, in
imitation of Jesus.
Then there is a fourth lesson we learn. It is this. In the hearts of these three children was a
longing for God, a longing to be with God, a longing for heaven. They experienced this as a
burning desire. They wanted so much to be fully with God. Indeed, Francisco and Jacinta
asked Our Blessed Lady if they could go to heaven soon. She said that they would and
indeed both of them died at a very young age. When she heard this, Lucia cried out: 'Am I
to stay here alone?' Mary answered her: 'Don't lose heart. I will never forsake you!'
In our lives too there is to be a longing for heaven, a longing to be in our heavenly home, in
the presence of God forever! And there is also to be a quiet confidence that even when
those we love have died and gone before us, we are never forsaken. Mary is with us
always, guiding us home too.
Mary's message here in Fatima addresses directly our quest for peace, our longing for
peace, and for peace in our troubled world. She tells us repeatedly that the part we are to
play includes constant prayer for peace, a prayer in which we seek to unite ourselves to her
Immaculate Heart. This is important because, as Pope Benedict explained, the Immaculate
Heart of Mary is 'nearest to the Sacred Heart of Jesus'. This is our pathway of prayer,
especially here in Fatima, prayer united with the Immaculate Heart of Mary because she is
nearest to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. And today, as we pray, we think especially of all
those who are persecuted for their faith, who are killed because of their faith in the love of
that Sacred Heart of Jesus, a faith which they treasure more than life itself.
Today, here in this place made holy by the presence of Our Blessed Lady, we consecrate
ourselves again to her. In doing so we use the words first used by Pope St John Paul II
here on 13 May 1982:
'Therefore, O Mother of individuals and peoples, you who "know all their sufferings and
their hopes", you who have a mother's knowledge of all the struggles between good and
evil, between light and darkness, which afflict the modern world, accept the cry which we,
as though moved by the Holy Spirit, address directly to your Heart. Embrace, with the love
of the Mother and Handmaid, this human world of ours, which we entrust and consecrate to
you, for we are full of disquiet for the earthly and eternal destiny of individuals and
peoples.
'In a special way we entrust and consecrate to you those individuals and nations which
particularly need to be entrusted and consecrated.
'We have recourse to your protection, holy Mother of God: reject not the prayers we send
up to you in our need. Reject them not. Accept our humble trust and our act of entrusting.'
The Holy Father continued with a litany of intercession, which we repeat today:
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'From famine and war, deliver us.
From nuclear war, from incalculable self-destruction, from every kind of war, deliver us.
From the sins against the life of man from its very beginnings, deliver us.
From hatred and from the demeaning of the dignity of the children of God, deliver us.
From every kind of injustice in the life of society, both national and international, deliver us.
From the readiness to trample the commandments of God, deliver us.
From attempts to stifle in human hearts the very trust of God, deliver us.
From sins against the Holy Spirit, deliver us.
'Accept, O Mother of Christ, this cry laden with the sufferings of all individual human beings,
laden with the sufferings of whole societies.
'Let there be revealed, once more, in the history of the world your infinite power of merciful
Love. May it put a stop to evil. May it transform consciences. May your Immaculate Heart
reveal for all the light of true hope.'
Amen.
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On Friday 13 The centre is open every Thursday for refugees and asylum seekers,
who are welcomed to a safe space staffed by volunteers, where they can talk and
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Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
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4/4

Feast of the Holy Family 2017
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/feast-of-the-holy-family-2017/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Pastoral Letter for Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, 31st
December 2017
Dear Brothers and Sisters in Jesus Christ,
I hope that during these last few days you have managed to visit the crib. It's still there,
waiting for you to make that visit, especially today, on the Feast of the Holy Family.
Come with me and let’s take a look at this new and tiny family, in Bethlehem, a long way
from home and in circumstances of real hardship.
See, there is St Joseph, the good and faithful servant, entrusted with Jesus, the Word of
God made flesh. He reminds me of my father, whose name was Henry Joseph. He was an
unfailing point of stability and wisdom for our family. He gave us a sense of order and
purpose. A bit like St Joseph, I think. But I also know, too well, that not every family is so
blessed.
Next, look, there is our Blessed Lady, Mary, the mother of Jesus. She gave her body to be
the first home of Jesus, who was conceived in her through the direct power of the Holy
Spirit.
My mum's name was Mary, too. She gave her entire self to us as a family. I must admit, a
little sheepishly, that she did most of the work around the house, especially at Christmas.
She made it a time of graciousness, welcome and generosity. That's what mothers do; and
not only mothers, of course!
This is the heart of the Holy Family, the heart of family life. In families, loving hands create
places of safety and joy, just as God's loving hands hold all creation together, giving every
moment its meaning and purpose. The rhythm of everyday family life, of food, rest and play,
watched over by a loving parent, no matter its simplicity, is a parable of that deeper love, a
reflection of God's own work of creation.
I find it most reassuring, in this time of uncertainty and stress, to see how family life
continues to create well-springs of selfless love. So much of the true goodness in our
society comes by way of the family, so many marvellous young people, so many generous
neighbours! And this is true not only of stable family life, but also of families who face their
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difficulties with faithfulness and courage, and of families who find forgiveness after a
breakdown, or who bear tragedy with dignity and fortitude. Family life is so often our saving
grace. As a society we neglect the support of family life at our peril.
Today, let us thank God for the life of our family, whether we are close together or scattered
to the four winds; whether we are in harmony with each other, or marked by discord and
discontent. Thank God for the grace we have received, the maturity and wisdom into which
we are growing in our homes, through joys and trials alike, just as Jesus did in his home in
Nazareth (Lk 2:40).
As we approach this New Year and ponder on the resolutions we are going to make, we
can do no better than to heed the words of St Paul:
'You are God's chosen race, his saints; he loves you, and you should be clothed in sincere
compassion, in kindness and humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with one another;
forgive one another as soon as a quarrel begins. The Lord has forgiven you; now you must
do the same. Over all these clothes, to keep them together and complete them, put on
love. And may the peace of Christ reign in your hearts' (Col. 3:12-15).
Now these are resolutions in plenty!
Recently a member of staff at Heathrow said to me how much he admired Pope Francis.
'What difficult journeys the Pope makes!' he exclaimed. Then he added, 'He teaches us all,
he teaches the whole world, so clearly by what he does, by his actions!'
May that be said of us, too. In every home, in every family, may our actions speak more
eloquently than our words!
May I wish you all a very happy New Year and may God bless you always.
Yours devotedly,
Cardinal Vincent Nichols
Archbishop of Westminster
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Blessed Sacrament, to share in the Mass, to be filled with a profound...
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share their difficulties over a meal. Upon arriving, the Cardinal was taken on a ...
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Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
Cardinal said: 'With sadness I receive the announcement of the death of His
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repose of his s...
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3/3

First Anniversary of Grenfell Tower Tragedy
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/first-anniversary-of-grenfell-tower-tragedy/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Mass commemorting the first anniversary of the Grenfell Tower Tragedy
at St Francis of Assisi Church, Notting Hill on 13 th June 2018.
Who can ever forget the images of the burning Grenfell Tower? They are seared into our
imagination. They touch our hearts so deeply. Indeed, they break our hearts. With the
passing of time, they do not lose their power. What we see, in reality, in the eye of memory,
reaches our hearts, bringing dismay, sadness, anger and sheer horror.
There is also a pathway to our hearts in what we hear.
Day by day, at present, we hear stories of those whose lives were changed forever by this
fire. We listen to their accounts and their emotions, and our hearts almost stop beating,
such is the immensity of what happened. In listening we are again overwhelmed by the
horror of this tragedy.
This evening we gather to pray. We pray for all who have been caught up in this
unforgettable disaster. We pray for all who did their best, even if with hindsight it wasn’t
well judged. We pray especially for those who died, the 72 whose names we shall hear in
the courtyard after Mass, remembering the 15 members of this parish among them. We
pray for those who mourn their loss. We pray for all whose hearts were broken one year
ago today.
What, you might ask, is the point of this prayer?
Prayer, too, is a pathway to the heart. Prayer is a way of reaching and touching the deepest
part of our own hearts. Prayer is also a way into the heart of God.
In prayer, we strive to express that which is often inexpressible. Indeed, as St Paul teaches
us, we ask the help of the Holy Spirit who 'expresses our plea in a way that could never be
put into words, and God who knows everything in our hearts knows perfectly well what he
means' (Romans 8:26).
In this way, our prayer not only arises from our deepest hearts but also reaches the heart of
God. With Jesus, in prayer, we simply whisper into the ear of God all that burdens us so
much. And our whispering reaches the heart of God, carried there by his only beloved
Son.
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This prayer, our prayer this evening, takes us to the very heart of the mystery of our living
and dying. We live within the embrace of God. We die, falling into that same embrace, but
now without encumbrance or limitation.
In the Gospel passage we have heard, St John tell us of the faith of Martha, the faith by
which she lived through the death of her brother. When Jesus says, 'I am the resurrection.
If anyone believes in me, even though he die, he will live' Martha replies, 'Yes, Lord. I
believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into this world.
(John 11:25-27). This is the faith by which we too are invited to live through this time, this
experience, this tragedy.
In the other two readings, from Isaiah and the Book of Revelation, our faith is expanded
beyond this realm. Remember the two great images of heaven, given for our immense
consolation? When we are immersed in sorrow and dismay, even through our tears, we
can glimpse that 'new heaven and new earth', the 'holy city coming down from God out of
heaven, as beautiful as a bride all dressed for her husband' (Revelation 21:2). When our
hearts are broken, or consumed with resentment and anger, we do not lose sight of the
vision of the heavenly banquet 'of rich food, a banquet of fine wines' at which God will
'remove the mourning veil covering all people and the shroud enwrapping all nations'
(Isaiah 25:7).
It is the power of prayer to open again our hearts to this hope, this steadfast and reliable
promise given by God and sealed in the precious blood of his Son. It is the pathway of
prayer, which we take again this evening, to equip us to live together even through the
worst of times, as has been shown in this parish, in this neighbourhood, in the very worst of
those times.
And there is one more pathway opened up by prayer. Prayer takes us into the heart of our
family, for in prayer we learn again that we are all children of one Heavenly Father. This is
only one source of life and all those who lift up their hearts to that one source of life, no
matter what words they use, are bonded together. Prayer defines the true shape of our
human family. This is more profoundly true, more powerfully so, of those who lift up their
prayer in, through and with Jesus Christ, who leads us in our faith and is our supreme high
priest (Hebrews 4:14) and who never ceases to intercede for us before his Father. He is
the way, the truth and the life, for his entire life was the pathway of supreme prayer and the
safe passage that we can all take.
Not only does Jesus carry our prayer to the heart of the Father but he also gives us, as our
companion in this vale of tears, our most Blessed Mother. We are always encouraged,
then, to pray to Mary, to pray with Mary for in such prayer we come together in her
embrace. This too is for our great consolation. This we will do in our prayers after Mass.
Now let us take up again this pathway of prayer, carrying to our Father all our sadness and,
above all, all those who lost their lives in the tragedy of the Grenfell Tower.
Eternal rest grant to them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in
peace. Amen.
Latest news
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Adoremus: A time of special grace
by Cardinal Vincent Nichols The days of the Eucharistic Congress The Eucharist
take us to the heart of our faith; the celebrations and processions of To be before the
Blessed Sacrament, to share in the Mass, to be filled with a profound...
more
Cardinal Praises JRS Refugee Work
On Friday 13 The centre is open every Thursday for refugees and asylum seekers,
who are welcomed to a safe space staffed by volunteers, where they can talk and
share their difficulties over a meal. Upon arriving, the Cardinal was taken on a ...
more
Cardinal Vincent mourns death of Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran
Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
Cardinal said: 'With sadness I receive the announcement of the death of His
Eminence Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauron. This morning I celebrated Mass for the
repose of his s...
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3/3

Funeral Mass of Fr Patrick Sammon RIP
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/funeral-mass-of-fr-patrick-sammon-rip/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Funeral Mass for Fr Patrick Joseph Sammon, RIP at St Anthony of
Padua, Edgware, on Thursday 14th June 2018
In the five years, so far, of the time of Pope Francis, one remarkable initiative stands out:
his decision to call the Church to observe a Year of Mercy, from 2015 to 2016. What a
response that had! It revealed, all over the world, a great hunger to understand and take to
heart that, in Pope Francis' own phrase, 'the name of God is mercy!'
In fact, in his very first address given from the balcony of the Apostolic Palace on Sunday
17th March 2013, Pope Francis spoke about the mercy of God and how it endured beyond
all our waywardness, and how our loving Father never tires of pouring out his mercy, even
when we become weary of asking for it. He urged us to constantly show mercy towards one
another, explaining that we can do so only when we have been 'caressed by the loving
mercy of God ourselves.'
My brothers and sisters, as we celebrate this Funeral Mass for Fr Patrick Sammon, we do
well to ponder on this mercy of God. It is to this mercy that we turn as we commend his
soul into the hands of our Father. And it is also a focus for our thanksgiving for, as we
heard at the beginning of Mass, in Mgr Martin's eloquent obituary, Fr Pat had his own very
special way of making the mercy of God something present and tangible to so very many
people. He had a deeply compassionate heart and a knack of conveying that compassion in
a manner which gave encouragement and strength to those in need. We thank God for that
graceful gift which brought comfort to many and which was a hallmark of the life of the
much-loved priest.
At his ordination on 13th May 1978, Pat's inner being and his daily life were given a gift of
grace so that he could be, in that special way, a disciple of Christ, a man 'of Jesus'. So it is
so fitting that he was a man of mercy, for Pope Francis has reminded us that 'Jesus Christ
is the face of the Father's mercy’, adding, 'Jesus of Nazareth, by his words, his actions, and
his entire person reveals the mercy of God.’ (Misericordiae Vultus)
Now, this is what we have heard in this morning's Gospel passage taken from St Luke (Lk
24.13-35). The two disciples are making their sad journey away from Jerusalem, a name
that is used to represent the presence of God among his people, the Church. They are
walking away from the Church, disappointed in all their hopes, disillusioned by what they
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have seen and heard. Now we must notice what the Risen Jesus does: he goes to walk
with them, continuing their journey away from Jerusalem. Only gradually does he get
beyond their sense of being lost and speaks to their hearts. Even when he sits ‘at table’ he
does not tell them to return to Jerusalem. That is the decision that they make, compelled by
the compassion they have found in him.
In this account, then, we see the mercy of God at work, in the person of Jesus, coming to
us in our every dismay, in the prison of sin which we construct around ourselves, and
opening for us a door through which we can retrace our steps back to him.
Every time I hear the reading from the Prophet Isaiah, the First Reading of our Mass this
morning (Is 25.6-9), my imagination conjures up a quirky thought. We heard of the promise
of a banquet of rich food, indeed of fine wines. I can’t stop myself from imagining that as I
approach the throne of God, undoubtedly fearful, I am consoled by the wonderful smells
that come from heaven's kitchen! Yes, there is such a welcome awaiting us, if only our
hearts are open to receive him. He longs to 'remove the mourning veil', 'the shroud
enwrapping all nations'. God reaches out to 'wipe away the tears from every cheek' and,
most powerfully of all, he 'takes away his people's shame, everywhere on earth.' That is the
promise awaiting us. That is the ultimate gift for which we pray this morning, for dear Fr
Pat.
This means that we, together with St Paul, will not be 'like other people who have no hope'
(Thes 4.13). Rather St Paul tells us that we are to be confident in our faith that God will
bring all who have died to be 'with him' and that 'with such thoughts as these we should
comfort one another’ (Thes 5.11). And so we do!
This morning, we also pray in a particular way for all who died in the terrible fire in the
Grenfell Tower one year ago today. We remember at this moment the 72 people who have
been identified as dying as a result of that inferno and pray for all who mourn them and live
with the lasting effects of that terrible trauma. May they rest in peace.
Fr Pat loved this parish of St Anthony's here in Edgware. He was not the only priest to find
fulfilment in the priesthood here. I am
sure that the wonderful traditions of prayer in this parish lie at the heart of that truth. So I
take this opportunity of thanking this parish for its faithfulness and for its love of the
priesthood. It is a generosity which is repaid over and over again. I thank all who supported
Fr Pat in every stage of his life, and I mention in particular Sr Clement who not only cared
for him day by day in his time of greatest need, but who also had a deep understanding of
the goodness in his heart. I offer my sincere condolences to his family, both those present
and those at home in Ireland. May these words of comfort reach you all and may the mercy
of God touch your lives each day.
But now, I can hear the trumpet of God calling out that I should continue no longer, for there
are far more important, more powerful, words to be said: the words of our prayers, the
words of the Mass by which Jesus himself comes among us in this great Sacrament. For it
is he, by his all-powerful word who will bring us home. It is he who in this Sacrament gives
us the promise of future glory, the promise of our heavenly home which we pray is now
enjoyed by our brother and priest, Patrick Joseph Sammon.
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Amen.
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Golden Jubilee of Liverpool Cathedral
rcdow.org.uk/cardinal/homilies/golden-jubilee-of-liverpool-cathedral/

To have eyes for the good things of the Lord is to live by faith, to see life with the eyes of
faith

Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster
Cardinal's AppealClick Here to Donate Now
Email to a friendPrintable version
Given at the Golden Jubilee of Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King, Liverpool
on the Solemnity of Pentecost, 4th June 2017
Golden jubilees are a time for memories. And today is no exception as we celebrate this
bold and magnificent Cathedral of Christ the King.
This cathedral enjoys a one-hundred-and-fifty-year history. Its first design was presented in
1853 by Edward Welby Pugin (1834-1875) and became Our Lady Immaculate Parish
Church, in Everton. Then came designs by Edwin Lutyens (1869-1944) and by Adrian
Gilbert Scott (1882-1963), the brother of the architect of the great Anglican cathedral, in
Liverpool (Giles Gilbert Scott, 1880-1960). Then we come to 1959, and the competition for
‘a cathedral in our time’ with 299 entries and the winning design by Sir Frederick Gibberd.
So today, we celebrate a history, which discloses much of the story of this city and its
Catholic population, always wanting a cathedral landmark and proudly cherishing this
cathedral, the largest place of Catholic worship in England and Wales.
But memories, if they are to warm the heart, have to be more personal. As I look around
today so many memories come into my mind and heart: the presence here of Her Majesty
the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh on 22nd June 1977, and the chairs specially made
for her visit, her first ever visit to a Catholic cathedral in this country; the gathering of the
National Pastoral Congress in 1980; the visit of Pope St John Paul II, in 1982. I remember
too, so vividly, the atmosphere in this cathedral, filled to overflowing on the Sunday evening
of 16th April 1989, as we waited for an hour, in total silence, for the arrival of Bishop David
Sheppard so that we could begin our solemn prayer for all who had died at Hillsborough
Football Stadium the previous day, that fateful Saturday. On that day, a bond was formed
between the people of this city and this place in a story never forgotten. In its short life, this
cathedral has seen so many remarkable events.
And not just events, but people too. Archbishops and Bishops: the fiat of Archbishop
Heenan, the joy of Bishop Augustine Harris who consecrated this cathedral, in the
presence of Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret (14th May 1967), the dedicated
service of Archbishop George Beck, followed by the most remarkable Archbishop Derek
Worlock, keeping an eye on us from just over there. Then, of course, Archbishop Patrick
Kelly, keeping his eye, very much alive indeed, on us from over there and Archbishop
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Malcolm who presides over this great church with such grace and perception. Artists and
musicians: John Piper, Patrick Reyntiens, Elizabeth Frink, Sean Price, Sir James
MacMillan, Roger McGough and the Duffy brothers, Terence and Philip. There are others
to recall: Sister Anthony and her transforming skills and workshop, the Cathedral
Administrators who have borne the burden of everyday effort, and their army of helpers.
One other person, too. 1967 saw not only the opening of this cathedral but also the release
of the record, Seargent Pepper. One track comes to mind: 'I'm fixing a hole where the rain
gets in and stops my mind from wandering......' The repairing of the roof and stabilising of
this cathedral was a remarkable achievement, fruit of the determined partnership between
Archbishop Derek and Mgr Michael McKenna. It was a great effort, which I hope, is never
forgotten.
In the Golden Book of the cathedral, which records the names of all who have contributed
to it and promises them prayers, my name can be found, back in the early fifties. We
thought that one day the great cathedral might rise. I remember being told that, with a
typical Liverpool pride, it would be just a few feet shorter than St Peter's Basilica, in Rome,
a gesture to due deference, you understand! I also recall as a boy, singing with great gusto
the hymn 'Hail Redeemer King Divine', without a doubt my boyhood favourite. It was, of
course, written for the ceremony of the laying of the foundation stone of the great cathedral
in 1930. Its verses still express today our faith in Christ, who alone stands at the centre of
all this great history and endeavour.
For us, however, the word memory has a far deeper and more remarkable meaning. Here,
in this cathedral as in every Catholic church, we not only remember, but we make real
again. Our ‘remembering’ of the person of Jesus, makes him present to us in his words and
actions, in a real and vivid way. At the focal point of every church, seen so vividly as in this
cathedral, lies the altar, the place at which the sacrifice of Christ in his death on the Cross
is not only remembered but made again a living reality. Here we gather at the foot of that
Cross. Here we receive again its fruits: the Father's mercy, our forgiveness.
This living memorial, this memory which makes present, comes about only through the
power of the Holy Spirit, whose coming upon the Apostles we celebrate on this day of
Pentecost. We heard of that coming and its transforming power in the reading from the Acts
of the Apostles and in the Gospel. This power of God first brought order to creation and still
sustains all living beings. This power of God changed fearful fishermen into powerful
witnesses to the Gospel of Jesus. This power of God which, though his gift, we invoke,
changes the bread and wine we place on this altar into the Body and Blood of Christ, our
food and drink for the forgiveness of our sins, for the sustaining of our lives as his disciples
and for our eternal life. It is this power of God, his Holy Spirit, which is so wonderfully
portrayed in that burning, red, stained glass window, whose light floods this altar of
sacrifice.
This same Spirit, as St Paul tells us, is poured into our hearts so that the different gifts we
have been given may be used for a good purpose and in a manner which is not only
harmonious but for the benefit of all. The refracting of this light of the Holy Spirit, into the
corona of light and colour of the great lantern here above us, speaks eloquently of how the
Holy Spirit is to flood out from here to this city and this County of Lancashire in a spirit of
service offered always in the name of our Beloved Lord Jesus.
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At the end of this Mass, as at every Mass, we will be sent out to fulfil the task given to us by
the Lord. Today as you leave, glancing back towards this great cathedral, please remember
that it is built on the site of the Liverpool Workhouse, which stood here from 1771 to 1928.
In 1900, for example, over 4,000 poor people were housed on this site, in conditions which
were very harsh, even if not quite punitive. Remember, too, that Catholic priests were often
refused entry and could not fulfil their ministry to the poorest of their people. These
foundations can serve to remind us that our first mission is to those who today are poor and
forgotten, who are on the margins, the very ones who are indeed the most beloved of
Christ our King. In fulfilling this mission no obstacle, misunderstanding or hostility should
ever deflect us from our purpose.
In our thanksgiving and celebration in this Cathedral of Christ the King, we pray that God’s
Holy Spirit, which transforms base material into divine substance, may fill us and work in
our lives, transforming our humble humanity into a noble instrument of God's purpose in our
world. In this we will be faithful to our great mission, so well symbolised in this cathedral, an
icon of our endeavour and, more importantly, of our faith.
Amen.
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3/4

Following the announcement 6 In a statement released on the same day, the
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4/4