Greater Love has no man... Easter 6

Gospel Reading, Easter 6, John 15.9-17

“There is no greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” John  15.13

I hope you enjoyed the great British Bank Holiday last Monday. If you were in London you will remember that it was cold, wet and dark.

Unfortunately I was entertaining a guest from out of town. So instead of staying indoors with books, films, fortifying spirits and unhealthy food, I found myself battling through the rain and heading for the Museum of London in the Barbican.

The Barbican is seen at its best I feel in driving rain under leaden skies.

So ever the cheery host and like thousands of families out on the streets with girning children, I put on a brave face and tried to take the scenic route to the Barbican from the Tower where I now live.

And that’s how I found myself in that little-known patch of grass called Postman’s Park, the old churchyard of St Botolph Aldersgate. It was next to the General Post Office and many postmen took their breaks in the park.

The park came into being when, to mark Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee in 1887, the aspirational Victorian painter GF Watts decided to build a Memorial of Heroic Self Sacrifice commemorating ordinary people who died while trying to save others.

There are 53 ceramic tiles, decorated and bearing a simple and often poignant sentence. Although nothing much was added after 1931, the Diocese of London gave permission for another tablet to be added in 2009.

That memorials reads: ‘Leigh Pitt, Reprographic operator, Aged 30, saved a drowning boy from the canal at Thamesmead, but sadly was unable to save himself. June 7 2007’

Some of the early memorials sound rather quaint to our ears – locally, across the roadhere, ‘William Drake lost his life in averting a Serious Accident to a Lady in Hyde Park whose horses were unmanageable through the breaking of the carriage pole. 2 Apr 1869’

Jesus says to his disciples in a phrase that has entered into our cultural consciousness, “There is no greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Now many of the incidents recorded in the tablets on the Memorial wall tell of men and women who laid down their lives for strangers, not friends.

And of course most of these heroic deeds were not premeditated. They were spur-of-the-moment decisions to take bold action without thinking too much about the consequences.

You stand and read the wall and can’t help but think: “What would I have done?” And of course you don’t know.

Maybe we would be heroic and act instantly. But maybe we might hesitate long enough to consider the possible outcome of any action and simply wring our hands.

Most of us recognise and admire those who take such actions. And of course the children and men and women who were saved will always carry a burden of gratitude to their saviours.

But what was Jesus talking about in today’s Gospel? He was certainly talking about the heroism that Watts sought to encourage by his memorial.

And he was certainly talking about his own impending death, which was to be a means of ‘saving’ his friends and indeed the whole world.

Yet the death of Jesus was different. It was not like these people listed on the tablets.

It was not like brave St Alban, the first English martyr, feigning to be the Christian priest he was protecting and executed by the Romans in the priest’s place.

No one was about to be killed when Jesus was crucified.

Yet still Jesus taught, and Christian theology has insisted, that it was necessary for him to die.

There’s a Jesuit theologian, Jack Mahoney who has recently attempted to look more deeply into the issue of Christ’s death and how it is traditionally interpreted.

Especially to look again at that idea of an angry God who will not forgive us unless blood is shed to appease him. It somehow doesn’t ring true to the God we see in Jesus.

This is a particular aspect of a doctrine known as penal substitution. Philip Bliss’s hymn, written at about the same time that Watts was planning his wall, has these lines: “In my place condemned he stood, sealed my pardon with his blood.” (Man of Sorrows)

The theology of the redemption of you and me through Christ’s sacrificial death is at the heart of Christianity and of this mass.

And as we ponder it there are always more layers of understanding to uncover.

So Fr Jack Mahoney in his book Christianity in Evolution: an Exploration (Nov 2011) develops what he calls "a Christian theology of altruism".

He emphasises that Christ’s death was not so much to deal with ‘original sin’ but that it was to teach us how to imitate Trinitarian altruism – giving ourselves for others.

We are "prone to self-concern and even self-obsession", he writes, but this is not attributable to "some primordial moral disaster" in a garden of Eden.

Christ by example shows us how to overcome these natural evolutionary characteristics so that his death and resurrection – and here I quote Mahoney -  "can be seen as a major evolutionary step in the moral advancement of humanity, and an indication that universal altruism is the moral invitation and evolutionary destiny of the human species." (The Tablet Blog.)

Well it’s an interesting book, but you’ll be relieved to hear that there are limits to what you can do in ten minutes on a Sunday morning.

Sufficient to say that Mahoney is encouraging a fresh understanding of living for others.

Not in that joyless way that CS Lewis describes: “She's the sort of woman who lives for others - you can tell the others by their hunted expression!” (Screwtape Letters)

A moment before Jesus spoke of laying down one’s life for friends he had said: “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” (John 15.11)

This talk with his disciples is all about joy and loving one another – giving ourselves to one another – laying down our lives for our friends.

It was the outspoken journalist and literatus Malcolm Muggeridge who said in a moment of candour:

I can say that I never knew what joy was like until I gave up pursuing happiness; or cared to live until I chose to die. For these two discoveries I am beholden to Jesus. 

 “There is no greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” John  15.13 

The Priesthood of All Believers (RIP John Stott)

“You have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God.” (Rev 5.10)

1 Samuel 3.1-10; Revelation 5.1-10; John 1.43-end

I was in a packed St Paul’s Cathedral on Friday morning - they were queuing before 8am – for the memorial service for John Stott, the long time Rector and Rector Emeritus of All Souls Langham Place. Both English Archbishops and our own Bishop were there as well as a host of other Archbishops and Bishops from around the world.

John was a remarkable, humble and faithful pastor, Bible scholar, mentor and friend. His simple life of study and prayer, preaching, writing and discipling, helped shape the face of 20th century evangelicalism in Britain and around the world.

It was a long service and as I sat watching the congregation and various participants, it was fascinating to see that while most of the overseas Anglicans wore clerical collars, most of the English Evangelical Anglicans did not.

And I reflected on the differing understandings of priesthood that have ebbed and flowed during the 60 years of John Stott’s ministry.

In the 70s and 80s, many churches used to have those big sign boards outside with a text or a little thought for the week painted on in dayglow colours.

“Don't let worry drive you to despair - let the church help.”

Some of them were quite witty, but all of them were subject to additions by anyone with a spray can.

So “The meek shall inherit the earth” had added underneath - “if that’s alright by you?”

And someone had supplemented the rather hopeful: “Are you tired of sin? Then come inside.” with “If not, phone Bayswater 7328!”

But I remember it was an Anglican Church in the vanguard of the charismatic movement which had the usual more discreet sign outside, which said: Vicar: The Revd So-and-so; Ministers: the whole congregation.

So what is the distinction between laity and priests, and why does our text from Revelation tell us that all believers are priests to our God?

I first began reading John Stott in the 1960s - a time when all distinctions of persons were being swept away and so it is hardly surprising that Vatican II addressed what was seen as the problem of clericalism - nothing could happen without a priest. Priests were to become just ordinary chaps! Nuns would knit their own cardies and wear sensible shoes.

I think it was that great 60s theologian Spike Milligan who said: “never trust a priest who wears a rollneck sweater and says ‘call me Ken’”.

The Vatican II document Ulterior temporibus in 1967, while recognising the increasing role of the laity still maintained that priestly ministry is ‘distinct from the common priesthood of all the faithful... in essence and not merely in degree.’

Many of my low church Anglican colleagues would disagree with this Vatican II distinction between ministry and priesthood.

They might rather agree with the famous Church of England evangelical WH Griffiths Thomas, who was very influential at the beginning of the 20th Century and sometime Principal of Wycliffe Hall, Oxford.

He said: “Christianity is a religion that is a priesthood and not one that has a priesthood.” This was seen as a strong part of Prayer Book, Reformation faith for many evangelicals.

John Stott was always more measured and biblical. Here he is in his commentary on the Ephesians:

“The New Testament concept of the pastor is not of a person who jealously guards all ministry in his own hands, and successfully squashes all lay initiatives, but of one who helps and encourages all God’s people to discover, develop and exercise their gifts. His teaching and training are directed to this end, to enable the people of God to be a servant people, ministering actively but humbly according to their gifts in a world of alienation and pain. Thus, instead of monopolizing all ministry himself, he actually multiplies ministries.”

There is still a fierce debate that divides the Christian church: is priesthood a matter of ontology (essence); or function? Does ordination change the very being of a priest, or does it just set a person apart for a particular ministry within the church order?

Well, however we view priesthood, clergy both model and mirror the priesthood of all believers or the priesthood of all the baptized as it is often stated.

We are all disciples, and we are all called like Samuel to listen to the call of God, and like Philip and Nathanael, to follow Jesus as loving disciples.

John Stott was once in a debate about the media with Malcolm Muggeridge. These were Muggeridge’s days of fervent faith when he had no time for the media and declared it rotten to the core.

John Stott rounded on him and said you don’t blame the meat when it goes rotten, you blame the salt for not doing its job.

Stott was convinced that unless Christians took their faith and discipleship into their spheres of work, then they were failing in their Gospel calling as salt of the earth.

And he didn’t mean setting up prayer meetings or Bible studies at work – not that I’m against those. He meant that Christians should think hard and biblically about the decisions they make at work and in whatever area of life God has called us to be salt and light.

And so the task of the priest and preacher is to help the faithful to reflect on their manner of living and working. And to live out their calling – for as Christians we all have a calling – to live that out with integrity and in such as way as is honouring to Christ.

Religious faith became very internalised in the last half of the twentieth century – it was all a matter of private belief. Many of my generation and older find it very strange when Christians assert that what they believe is a public truth. That the transcendent God has revealed himself to us in Christ, and that we are all called to respond.

Of course many will choose not to believe or respond and that is their absolute right. But any religion worth its salt must proclaim what it believes publicly and bring its contribution to all debates in the public square.

It was this sense of public ministry that fired the new democracies that sprang out of the Reformation in Europe. People realised that it was not just for clerics and the aristocracy to be civic leaders, but all Christians were called to serve their society - for the common good and not just for their own good.

Last Sunday I was worshipping in Miami Cathedral, and at the end of a very challenging sermon the preacher turned to the organist and said ‘thank you Matthew’ and launched into a song.

It was a moment of deep culture shock for me!

Well I will not be launching into a reworking of

I am the very model of a modern Vicar General
I’ve information biblical, synodical and clerical…

But without a song and dance, and in that very understated English way that was the manner of John Stott,

I urge you to take your Christian faith seriously in every aspect of your life and public service,

So that the prayer of the Elders might be true of all of us…

“You have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God.” (Rev 5.10)

Cost of Discipleship

Trinity 14

Deut 30.15-20; Psalm 1; Philemon 1-21; Lk 14.25-33

“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14.27)

After the Pope leaves Britain in a couple of weeks time, his next European visit will be to Spain - to Santiago de Compostela and to Barcelona.

I came back last week from a very enjoyable week in Barcelona and I would like to think that the Pope might follow in my footsteps along the beaches; into the wonderful restaurants and noisy bars and clubs;

the local festivals with their dangerous fireworks and human pyramids with small children defying every health and safety regulation known to the European Community; or perhaps a day out to the vineyards where they make Cava around Vilafranca. I remember the start of that day so well, but am much less clear about the ending of the day.

One place where he will certainly follow in my footsteps is into Antoni Gaudi’s magnificent Expiatory Church of the Holy Family, known to most of us who cannot pronounce Catalan as: Sagrada Familia.

On November 7th Pope Benedict XVI will consecrate the Temple as a Basilica.

Gaudi began work on the Church in 1883 and he devoted the last 15 years of his life, until he died in 1926, entirely to the venture.

There was a provisional completion date for 2026, the anniversary of his death. But others think the construction will last into the 22nd century.

When Gaudi was asked why he designed something that would take so long to build he remarked that his client was in no hurry.

Jesus says in our Gospel: “For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it?” (Luke 14.28)

In fact I think Gaudi had estimated the cost. He knew that it would take his entire life and energy and then some. For him, the cost of his Christian discipleship was to give all he had to laying the foundations of a building dedicated to the Gospel.

All the readings today are about major life choices; about the cost of discipleship.

In Deuteronomy, the People of God are on the edge of the Promised Land and faced with a significant choice:
“I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity… Choose life so that you and your descendants may live.”

The Psalm is about the simple choice of the company you keep. Are you nurtured by life affirming friends? Or are you constantly with people who bring out the worst in you?

Then Paul’s brief letter to the wealthy Philemon, who ran a house church in Colossae, is again about choosing the right way. Paul wrote from prison in about AD62 and within a few years he would be beheaded for his faith.

Onesimus (the name means ‘useful’) was a runaway slave who was converted and whom Paul was sending back to his master, Philemon. So Paul makes a little joke about his name: “Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me.” (Philemon 11)

Paul reminds them of his own choices which have led him to prison, and urges them to make the right choices – Onesimus to return to his master, and Philemon to welcome him as a Christian brother as well as his slave.

My sister was in Atlantic City yesterday, with crowds of others waiting for hurricane Earl to hit the East coast of America. They were glad that no one was hurt, but they were all a bit disappointed that there wasn’t more to see.

In the Gospel, the crowds are following Jesus, not just for his teaching, and not even just for the occasional miracle; but because they hoped he was the Messiah and was going to rout the occupying Roman army.

So Jesus makes it clear he is calling for recruits and not just spectators.

Using typical Jewish hyperbole, our Lord tells his disciples that their love and commitment to him must make their love for family look like hate in comparison!

Their love and commitment to him must mean that their possessions, their talents, their time are at his disposal.

(Although there are relatively few who are called to follow the way of sister poverty.)

So how does all this cost of discipleship work out for most of us in our western culture?

As with much of Christ’s teaching it is about the place of the heart: the root of our affections. It is about the attitudes that we carry through life.

So making the pursuit of possessions or the love of money is the ultimate folly. For we can’t take it with us, despite the misprint I once spotted in ‘Guide me O thou Great Redeemer… land my safe on Canaan’s side’.

So we work hard to make money, but knowing it is always at God’s disposal. We must be cheerful givers.

And of course we love our families, but we must not idolise them – turn them into gods.
Because they are not. They have feet of clay like us and will sometimes fail us as we sometimes fail them.

Our Christian faith gives us a bigger backdrop and wider concerns to protect us from self-absorption, or absorption by the immediate family.

Learning to listen to God is one of the hardest disciplines of the Christian life. But it is essential if we are to count the cost of discipleship and understand what God is calling us to do.

Mother Teresa died on this day in 1997 and I remember her being interviewed once by the American journalist Dan Rather. He said: “Mother Teresa, what do you say when you pray?”

She replied; “Sometimes I don’t say anything. I just listen.”

So Dan presses her further: “Well when you listen, what do you hear?”

Mother Teresa answered: “Well if I listen long enough and patiently enough, I begin to hear what God is calling me to do, and what it might cost me to do it.”

We come to the altar of God to remember what it cost Jesus.

The occasional inconvenience, embarrassment, generosity, or self rebuke for the sake of Christ is hardly too much to bear.

“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14.27)

True Righteousness - Anger

True Righteousness - Anger

Psalm 137; Matt 5.17-21
Lunchtime series on Psalms, King's College London

This is a sermon that didn’t quite go the way I expected. When I chose Psalm 137 I was going to elaborate on platitudes like ‘it’s alright to get angry with God’; and ‘bashing babies against rocks is wrong!’ And maybe give my own rendition of Boney M’s “By the waters of Babylon…” But then I thought, ‘you know all that’.

So that set me thinking about righteous anger, and that led me eventually to laughter. So let’s set out with a good Gospel text and see where it takes us in exploring raw emotions, which is what this series on the Psalms is about.

“Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Matt 5.20

And from my holiday reading, Euphemia MacFarrigle & the Laughing Virgin (Christopher Whyte, Indigo,1995 p144 - a refreshing and scandalously funny book especially for those who feel the Church has messed up their life):

“Her old beliefs and way of praying were obsolete, and she was uncertain whether this new force was an emanation of the devil or whether a saner, more mischievous and playful deity had entered her life.”

“the devil... or a saner, more mischievous and playful deity”

When you reflect on the straightforward reading of our Psalm, and don’t try to nicify it, it reveals one of the frightening but commonplace observations about religion: that is, it is sometimes hard to tell whether it is good or bad; whether it reflects the character of the devil or the character of God.

I have been a pastor for too many years not to know that people use Christianity constantly to screw themselves up - or others - or usually both!

And such people are often quite unable to see in the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, “a saner, more mischievous and playful deity.” Indeed, for many of them the very idea is blasphemous. God is austere and demanding, and never laughs. They are the sort who take the swing out of the budgie’s cage on a Sunday.

And those who worship this humourless God, constantly misinterpret the Bible’s call for righteous living.

They listen to the typically Jewish, hyperbolic language of our Lord in the Gospels, and are unable to supply the undercurrent of mirth which is present in all God’s dealings with the pride of man.

In taking themselves too seriously, they fail to take God seriously. I think Jesus might have agreed with Malcolm Muggeridge that: “Next to mystical enlightenment [laughter] is the most precious gift and blessing that comes to us on earth.”

So how does this assertion that the pervading humour in our human condition is a reflection of the playful creativity of God help us to interpret our text today?

“unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

“Righteousness” here in Matthew means faithfulness and obedience to the law of God. Our Lord said as much in the previous verse: “Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments… shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven…” (v19)

The Scribes (some of whom were also Pharisees) were the legal eagles: the solicitors and lawyers who developed the law and practised it in court.

The pharisees, on the other hand, made the law’s demands less demanding and the law’s permissions more permissive. They were casuists. They were spinners. They were like most of us.

And they were not popular with Matthew who probably agreed with the Qumran sect that they were ‘the seekers of smooth things’.

Nonetheless, they still only managed to narrow the Mosaic law down to 248 commandments and 365 prohibitions. And they kept most of them.

So what did Jesus mean when he told his followers that their righteousness was to exceed that of the scribes and pharisees?

That we should add a few extra prohibitions - Number 366: musicians may not slip out for a drink & a ciggy during the sermon… Or that if the Pharisees broke 5 commandments, we should go for a maximum failure rate of say, 4?

If this is what he meant, then what hope is there for any of us? Like the man standing in church staring at the Ten Commandments on the Wall, muttering: “well at least I haven’t coveted my neighbour’s ox…”

Jesus goes on to illustrate what he means by a ‘greater righteousness’ with six antitheses; six contrasts introduced with the formula: “You have heard that it was said… But I say…”

You will be relieved to hear that we are only looking at the first antithesis today.

“You have heard it said - thou shalt not kill (better - commit murder)…”

Now there’s a box we can probably all tick.

“But I say… Do not be angry with one another without cause”

This is not just getting angry. Our Lord became angry at times. Like the psalmist weeping in Babylon, we know that’s ok. This is that anger that stems from pride and malice, selfishness and spite, frustration, revenge and jealousy… It’s a killer and destroys families, communities, churches… not to mention the disintegration of the self.

And then there is the matter of insults. “Whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.”

Raca - the commentaries are full of possible translations of this Aramaic word: nitwit, blockhead, numskull, bonehead - I think most of the commentaries are too polite to use the obvious contemporary phrase for a man who thinks with an inappropriate part of his anatomy.

‘Fool’ is from the same root as moron. In fact the pair of words perhaps refer to someone’s intelligence and character. “You’re a stupid scoundrel.”

So may we not call each other names? How dull life would be. And lovers’ tiffs would be so colourless and unsatisfactory.

No. This is name-calling that stems from arrogant sneering. This is verbal abuse that wounds the soul. This is linguistic sadism. It corrupts both speaker and hearer. This is sarcasm – from the Greek sarx, flesh; the rending of the flesh.

So what is this righteousness that outdoes the pharisees?

It is a deeper obedience of mind and motive with a constant undercurrent of self-mockery, to save us from the deadly pride. It is honest about feelings, like the psalmist, but with a more Christ like understanding of ourselves.

It is not the abolition of the law. The Mosaic law informs many of our decisions and legal codes and is still the well-spring of our ethical choices. But in Christ’s fulfilment of that law, and with the help of his promised Holy Spirit, we enter more deeply into the loving heart of God and of his laws. And he enters more deeply into us to bring healing and wholeness.

We see that the way we live in a world still torn and disfigured with evil, is important. And it must be Christ like, especially in our relations with one another.

The Psalmist is right to express his anger and grief to God about the brutal Babylonians who had subjected his people. But as a stand-alone Psalm, he was wrong in proposing a solution that simply continues the cycle of violence.

The true righteousness which our Lord calls us to, is a deep inner orientation to love God and neighbour and not to treat enemies as they have treated us.

Like the Psalmist, we will sometimes get it wrong in the heat of the moment.

But as we reflect in God’s presence, as the Psalmist often does, for instance in Psalm 73: “When my soul was embittered... I was stupid and ignorant; I was like a brute beast towards you.” (vv 21f) - when we reflect on our outburst of anger, we see it requires a deep inner humility which is fuelled, in all the greatest saints, by the gift of self-mockery and laughter.

Let me end with a creation poem by Paul Bunday:

In the beginning… God laughed
And the earth was glad.
The sound of laughter
Was like the swaying and swinging of thunder in mirth;
Like the rush of the north on a drowsy and dozing land;
It was cold. It was clear.
The lion leapt down
At the bleating feet of the frightened lamb and smiled;
And the viper was tamed by the thrill of the earth,
At the holy laughter.
We laughed, for the Lord was laughing with us in the evening;
For the laughter of love went pealing into the night;
And it was good.

Wrestling with God

Wrestling with God

Baptism of Rex William Snow Armstrong

“I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Genesis 32.26

I thought I could do no better today than to start with those opening lines of that wonderful Alan Bennett sermon from Beyond the Fringe. It let’s me get the rugby done with and an introduction to Jacob and Esau all in one go. (I’ll try and use his mocking, parsonic voice.)

First verse of the fourteenth chapter of the Second Book of Kings: 'And he said, "But my brother Esau is an hairy man, but I am a smooth man."' Perhaps I might say the same thing in a different way by quoting you the words of that grand old English poet, W.E. Henley, who said:

When that One Great Scorer comes
To mark against your name;
It matters not who won or lost,
But how you played the game.

This is a wonderful and mysterious story of Jacob wrestling with the Angel. His name, Jacob, means ‘hold the heel’ and came to mean twister, or cheat. (Although in those name-your-baby books, they generously say it means Conqueror.)

He followed his twin brother, Esau, out of the womb, grasping his heel, and eventually cheated him out of his birthright as the firstborn.

Jacob’s parents, Isaac and Rebekah, and his grandparents, Abraham and Sarah, represented two generations of dysfunctional family life. Hollyoaks and Eastenders are tame in comparison.

Now 20 years after the grand swindle, Jacob’s returning to face his brother Esau. He’s become very wealthy by more cheating and lying and at the expense of his cheating and lying uncle, Laban.

Life with his two cheating and lying wives is not surprisingly complicated. Rachel stole the household gods when they ran away from uncle Laban’s boys; hid them in the saddle bags of her camel, sat on them and said she couldn’t get up to be searched because it was the wrong time of the month. (Gen 31.33ff.)

But now Jacob is afraid as he hears that his brother Esau is heading towards him with 400 armed men. It’s not looking like a kiss and make up party.

Jacob is a bad man; but strangely devoted to God. So he calls out to God, remembering the vision he had 20 years before at Bethel, when God showed him a glimpse of heaven and promised him the earth:

Deliver me, I pray thee, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau: for I fear him, lest he will come and smite me, and the mothers with their children. And thou saidst, I will surely prosper thee, and make thy descendents as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude. (vv 11,12)

He waits for an answer to his prayer, for another vision, for a voice from the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

And there is nothing.

So he uses his brains, charm and cunning. He sends plenty of bribes on ahead of him, and eventually, the women and children.

Finally he is on his own in the night, by the ford over the river Jabbok. He’s probably contemplating doing a runner at this point, but he knows he’d miss the money, the servants and the women.

And then, there is the Curious Incident of the Man in the Night-Time. It reads as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “So Jacob was left alone and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.” (v.25)

They are evenly matched and it’s looking like a draw, when the stranger cheats, and hits him below the belt. (Probably the meaning of this rather strange business about the hip or the thigh.)

Lets now go to the Tate Britain and take up the story. For there is the magnificent alabaster sculpture by Sir Jacob Epstein, Jacob and the Angel, created in the middle of the Second World War.

The two great seven foot, endomorphic, naked men, who look as if they have walked out of a Beryl Cook painting, are in an ambiguous embrace. We can clearly see that the Angel is holding Jacob up, and yet Jacob might suppose that he is clinging to the Angel.

The man wants to be off before the dawn reveals his identity. But Jacob is persistent. Like the woman with the unjust judge in today’s Gospel parable, he will not let God go until he blesses him. For by now he is realising that this wrestling match is the continuation of his apparently unanswered prayer to God.

Jacob is a cheat and a twister and now God has won by fighting foul. He has always wanted to bless Jacob, but Jacob would not let him. He would not become naked and vulnerable. He wanted to stay proud and independent.

The embrace of struggle is the embrace of love. It is a life-changing encounter that leaves Jacob both wounded and blessed.

And to remind him forever after of this, he is given a new name, Israel: Yisra’el, the one who sarahs — the one who strives — with El — with God himself.

Christianity has never been easy-believism. An encounter with the living God, now as then, leaves us both wounded and blessed.

Jesus makes this crystal clear in his teaching. We are to take up our cross and follow him.

For young Rex we hope a long, happy and contented life. But we know that that, however much we try to protect him, there will be the childhood scrapes and bruises.

And as he grows into a man, he will also gather emotional and spiritual bruises, which as he learns to handle them, will add to the richness of his life.

Our ability to grow mature emotionally and spiritually is determined by the degree of woundedness in our lives. And more than that; the degree to which we have processed and wrestled with those wounds.

Here at this Table we come to celebrate the wounds of the one who loves us and who was wounded for us.

I hope you read stories to Rex. And that sometime you might read him Oscar Wilde’s lovely story, The Selfish Giant. The Giant too has been searching for God, and like Jacob asks: ‘Who are you?’

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, "Who hath dared to wound thee?"

For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

"Who hath dared to wound thee?" cried the Giant; "tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him."

"Nay!" answered the child; "but these are the wounds of Love."

"Who art thou?" said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.

And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, "You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise."

“I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Genesis 32.26

Catholics, Alpha & Growth

Catholics & Alpha

"So if God gave them the same gift as he gave us, who believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I to think that I could oppose God?" Acts 11.17

I was at a very evangelical wedding yesterday – and a very good day it was – but whenever I said to anyone that I went to a church in Knightsbridge, they assumed it was Holy Trinity Brompton. It is famed abroad, even in Baptist circles.

The question I want to address this morning is this. Within the Church of England in London, why are Anglo-Catholics unable to produce the sort of thriving communities that we see in Holy Trinity Brompton, All Souls Langham Place or St Helen’s Bishopsgate?

Well part of the answer is explained in Rose Macaulay’s novel, The Towers of Trebizond, with that wonderful character ‘the Revd the Honorable Father Hugh Chantry-Pigg’ whom she describes as ‘an ancient bigot who had run a London church several feet higher than St Mary’s Bourne Street’. The narrator says:

“I too am high, even extreme, but somewhat lapsed, which is a sound
position, as you belong to the best section of the best branch of the Christian
Church, but seldom attend its services.”

And for a variety of reasons, many of our electoral role seldom attend the church.

The famous Alpha course is a part of the growth equation (although All Souls & St Helen’s use their own courses).

It originated 25 years ago in HTB - the course was actually written by Charles & Trish Marnham. He was then a curate, and is now Vicar of our neighbouring parish of St Michael’s Chester Square.

It is a method of introducing people to the Christian faith by way of informal discussion in groups of about a dozen, focused around a shared meal and some teaching input. It takes one evening a week for ten weeks and includes a weekend houseparty.

It is fashionable to slate Alpha, despite the fact that over 3 million people around the world have taken part in it. The British never like obvious success.

I led a course in my first church - in fact an Alpha+ course, designed for Catholics, with more on the sacraments, more quotes from the Fathers; and the Holy Spirit weekend replaced by a pilgrimage to Walsingham. Roman Catholics widely use Alpha as it stands, and then add four weeks at the end with specifically Catholic teaching.

In St Edmund’s it proved an excellent opportunity for Christians in the church (making up 75% of the group) to grow in their understanding of the faith; and for those on the fringes of the church to take a step closer to becoming followers of Christ.

Of course there is nothing new in the formula: a good meal, a few glasses of wine and a convivial group of people - this has always been conducive to discussion and personal revelation.

But success breeds success and the charismatic personalities of Nicky Gumbel & Sandy Millar at HTB, together with a well thought out programme has proved itself to be franchisable. This is why some have referred to Alpha as The McDonaldization of the Church (John Drane, DLT, 2000).

There have been a number of attempts to produce a more Catholic equivalent to Alpha, such as Emmaus, with varying degrees of success. Some have suggested that Fr Alan and I should don designer jumpers and create a course somewhat further down the Greek alphabet - a Pi group perhaps?

And after last week’s successful dinner, rather than the McDonaldization of the Gospel, we could pioneer the Mosimann-ization of the Church...

I would like to venture some generalisations on why there are no large Anglo-Catholic churches in London.

Firstly, there is the issue of what sort of church we are bringing new people into. Anglo-Catholic liturgy and devotion is not easily accessible to the completely unchurched – and that is now the majority of contemporary society.

And for traditional Anglo-Catholics such as St Paul’s and St Mary’s (as distinct from the modern Catholic liturgy of say St Peter’s or St Matthew’s), we fish in the relatively small pond of high culture, rather than the broad ocean of popular culture. There will always be more at the football match than at the opera.

Secondly, Anglo-Catholicism often lacks immediacy of experience.

Evangelical immanence is easier to convey than Anglo-Catholic transcendence – although both are part of authentic Christian experience. This is perhaps why for many Christians, a more Catholic expression of the faith is something they move to, rather than somewhere they start. Immanence is an easier way into faith.

If you go to HTB or All Souls, you can be swept up into a feeling of corporate joy and enthusiasm; the presence (immanence) of the Lord. You leave church with popular songs ringing in your head and a sense that you are part of a successful, growing movement. The feeling is infectious.

And that raises another point. In London Catholics are spread much more thinly. If you take our own Deanery as an example, there are about 20 broadly Catholic churches and two evangelical. If our 20 congregations got together one Sunday, there would be well over a 1000. We might arguably do better with fewer, larger congregations. But that is not the history of the Anglo-Catholic movement.

Fourthly, Anglo-Catholics form very open communities. Like evangelicals, we believe in propositional truths, such as we will affirm in the creed in a moment. But we don’t press too hard for adherence to those truths.

There has always been plenty of room for the Anglo-Agnostics, for the doubters, for the eccentrics and, let’s face it, for those completely off the wall.

Now it is a well-known sociological fact, that the more sect-like a religious movement is, the more chance it has of success. Sects have clearly defined dogma - you are either in, or out. They have clear moral boundaries - you are expected to adhere to the ethical code.

They are usually emotionally addictive and therefore very hard to leave. You join by a clear point of decision, rather than by drifting in. There is often a distinct moment of conversion, as there was for those Gentiles in the Acts reading today.

Evangelicalism exhibits all these features much more clearly than Anglo-Catholicism. Although nineteenth and early twentieth century Catholicism also exhibited these sect-like features during its period of rapid growth.

Fifthly, Anglo-Catholics don’t always give enough opportunities for people to integrate into a church community. This is partly because we tend to be people whose social centres are primarily outside of church. Our clubability is often exercised beyond the congregation, and we often only meet for Sunday worship, and even then hurry off after the service.

This often means for those exploring faith and the spiritual life, that there is little opportunity to get to know the way ordinary Christians apply their faith to everyday life; there is little opportunity for dialogue about the spiritual life. They could suppose that being an Anglo-Catholic was more to do with whether you liked the music & the liturgy than whether you loved and served Jesus and the people of God.

Sixthly, evangelical churches make fairly clear demands on people in terms of commitment to the church by attendance and giving. This is seen as a part of Christian discipleship. For fear of being too dictatorial, Anglo-Catholics have often become very undemanding. Take up the cross, but only if it suits you and you don’t have too much else on at the moment...

And seventhly, there is something in the training of Catholic clergy and the structuring of their churches which inhibits growth. This is a subject in itself that I will address on another occasion.

Now these 7 generalisations are not excuses, but they do explain in part why we are unlikely in the present cultural climate to see the emergence of Anglo-Catholic mega-churches.

And so we return to our text. The early church needed some convincing that the Gospel could be expressed in different ways and different contexts – the Gentiles, who didn’t use Jewish worship, were thought to be beyond the pale. God had to convince Peter that they were not, that they too could exhibit the presence of the Spirit, through the gifts and the fruit of the Spirit.
Whether we grow huge churches or not doesn’t matter so long as individual churches, like St Paul’s, are playing their part in the Dominical mandate to take the Gospel into all the world.

Are there ways in which we could be more welcoming, more supportive of those who are embarking upon a spiritual journey, so that they don’t wander in and wander away still hungry for truth? We need more ‘veni, vidi, velcro’ - ‘I came, I saw, I stuck around.’

And of course our Lord makes clear in today’s Gospel yet again, that loving acceptance is the hallmark of the Spirit’s presence, whatever the outward form. So we must beware of writing off those in our own communion who worship God in a different way – the gentiles next door! We must work with them in that same spirit of loving acceptance, playing our own distinctive part as the body of Christ.

For if we do not, then we are in danger of preserving religion and running a club, rather than proclaiming the Kingdom of God and working for his will to be done on earth as it is in heaven.

We must learn from each other and pray to see God at work among all is people.

"So if God gave them the same gift as he gave us, who believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I to think that I could oppose God?" Acts 11.17

Fishing - Acceptance

Fishing & Acceptance

Easter 3; Annual Parochial Church Meeting.

“Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast"”. John 21.12

I grew up on the river and the sea. Fishing was part of what you did as a boy. I remember going ‘treading’ in the shallow waters of the river at low tide. Flat fish would lightly bury themselves in the sand and as you walked slowly along, you trod on them; they wriggled; you resisted the temptation to jump off; you had in your hand a spear made of a six inch nail that had been filed into a crude barb and stuck in an old broom handle; you pushed it between your toes, and spiked the fish, hoiking it up and adding the flapping flounder to an old wire coat hanger stuck round your waist. I never liked this, or any other kind of fishing, but it was what we did.

Why is fishing a predominantly male occupation do you think? Perhaps it is because it’s a form of bonding, hunter gathering, that doesn’t involve much communication. You’re doing something together, or alone, but you can be lost in your own world of thoughts. You don’t have to say much.

The disciples had been through a bewildering week – the last supper, betrayal, denial, desertion, torture, death, and resurrection. Here was a turning point in history; pivotal events for the entire human race; the known world turned upside down by the appearances of the risen Christ.

And how does this group of seven men react? They go fishing!

Something to do together, while they struggle with their own thoughts and what the risen Jesus has already said to them. Their hearts are not really in it. They potter about all night and catch nothing. Then as day is breaking, a stranger on the shore calls out to them. ‘Try on the right hand side of the boat.’ Why not give it a go? They catch 153 large fish, scripture tells us.

There are many chapters in many books devoted to interpreting the number 153. It’s a triangular number – ie it is the sum of the numbers from 1 to 17. It is one of the few numbers where the sum of the cubes of the digits comes to the number itself. (1 cubed + 5 cubed + 3 cubed = 153). It’s part of the fraction 265/153 which is nearest to the square root of three, and interestingly known by the Greeks 3 centuries before Christ as “the measure of the fish”. And the church fathers have variously interpreted it as the numbers of nations, the numbers of species of fish, combinations of 12 and 3 for the trinity and so on and so forth…

I think it means that they counted them and there were 153 - no more than that! They wanted to tell the story right when they got home.

But fishing and the fish and number of fish and the breakfast are not really the point of this last chapter of the Fourth Gospel. It’s about the extraordinariness of ordinary life. It’s about how love and acceptance can change our perception of the world and those round about us; can transform ordinary life. It’s about recognising Jesus in places we least expect to find him, not least in the ordinariness of life.

If you read on through the closing verses of this Gospel, you see there are still petty jealousies among the disciples; John tagging along behind Peter so as not to miss out on anything; Peter miffed that even although he’s to be leader of the pack, John is still Jesus’ best friend, the one he asked to look after his mother as he was dying on the cross a few days ago.

And Jesus is still trying to bash it into their thick heads before he leaves them, that he loves and accepts them, despite their obtuseness, their denial, their doubting. And because he, God, accepts them, then they must accept and love one another. As he had said only a few days earlier in the upper room at the supper: “a new commandment I give to you: love one another, as I have loved you. By this, people will know that you are my disciples.”

It is still the hardest commandment for those of us who follow Christ to obey, and often that is because we still find it so difficult to grasp that we are truly loved and accepted by God. In punishing ourselves, we usually end up by punishing those we live and work with as well.

Paul is converted and chosen (in today’s epistle) as the first missionary to us gentiles, not because he is lovable, or clever or good, but because he is accepted and loved by God. This is what motivates his Christian zeal in the years to come. He regards himself as the chief of sinners, yet saved by grace.

Peter and Paul will both follow their Lord through the coming turbulent years to their own martyr’s death, and all because they loved him who first loved them.

As we come to this table, this altar, this breakfast with the Lord; and as we come to our parochial church meeting with one another; we come accepting one another, loving one another, despite our obtuseness, our denial, our doubts – because he accepts and loves us.

But not only does he love and accept us, he wants us to know, like Peter in today’s Gospel, that he trusts us to get on with the work of the Kingdom.

I’m reminded of the particularly saintly churchwarden who on a gloriously sunny Easter Sunday headed straight for the grumpiest PCC member during the peace. She knew he was a keen gardener, and so beamed at him and said: “May the sunshine of the Lord shine always up your path.” To which he replied: “And also up yours!”

PCC meetings are times when we can not only demonstrate our love and acceptance of one another – warts and all, but a time when we can move forward with the mission Christ has entrusted to us: to feed his sheep, to continue his work of building loving and accepting communities, nurturing and welcoming all.

As we enjoy fellowship with our Lord round this altar, so we must look for his presence in the ordinary business of our lives and of our church, whenever we sit together. For his invitation to be at the centre of our community is always there. However unworthy we feel, love bids us welcome. (George Herbert's communion motet - Love bade me welcome.)

“Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast"”. John 21.12

Christ the King 2006

Christ the King

“You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” John 18.37

An interesting letter caught my eye in the Independent yesterday: “Sir: I have just received my first invitation to a carol concert in which ‘Songs of a religious nature may be sung’. Can’t say I wasn’t warned.”

And of course MacDonald’s coffee cups warn us, sometimes optimistically, ‘contains hot liquid’.

It reminds me of the wonderful warning I saw when I was a boy in our local butcher’s shop. Mr Harmsworth was a bit of a wag and had written up: “Will mothers kindly refrain from sitting their babies on the bacon slicer as we are getting a little behind with our orders!”

The Feast of Christ the King reminds us that Christianity carries a life-time warning: becoming a follower of Jesus Christ requires the surrender of your will, your intellect, your money and possessions – in fact of everything.

In the stark words of our Lord himself: ‘Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.’ (Luke 14.26)


Jesus uses typical Jewish hyperbole here to show us that his Kingship is foundational to all other relationships and indeed to life itself. (Obviously, he doesn’t actually mean we should hate those close to us!)

But it all sounds a bit extreme. It smacks of fanaticism and it’s not very Church of England.

However, we need to understand what this Kingship of Christ means, and our unconditional surrender to him.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus has just explained what it doesn’t mean to Pilate. It is not a political kingdom; it is not the establishing of a Christian theocracy. It is not a bid to make Bishop Richard the Mayor of London.

So now, in our text, he finally tells Pontius Pilate what the Kingship of Christ does mean. In John’s theology, why the eternal King was born into the world. And it is simply this: that as King of the Cosmos, he came to testify to the truth – to testify to the truth. And truth, in this context in John’s Gospel, means ultimate reality.

In a world subject to unreality, illusion and self-delusion, Jesus has come to offer the reality of a personal relationship with the only true God, moment by moment and day by day; a truth that gives meaning to our deepest longings and hopes. And this truth sets us free; free to be ourselves and to know the love of God.

So here is a paradox. The prisoner, Jesus, offers his captor, Pilate freedom. But Pilate is too world weary and cynical to ‘taste and see that the Lord is good’.

As Francis Bacon (1561-1626), the Reformation philosopher put it: “‘What is truth?’ said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for an answer.” (Essays - Of Truth)

People often say they are looking for the truth, or for spiritual answers, but only want to listen to Jesus selectively – to pick the bits of his teaching that suit them. They don’t want to wait and listen – like Pilate they are too busy with the affairs of their own life.

Here in the United Kingdom, technically at least, we are not citizens; we are subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. We are not citizens with rights; we are subjects with privileges.

All good earthly monarchy is modeled on Divine monarchy. We have no ‘rights’ before the God who made us. But we have privileges that when we begin to grasp them, take our breath away.

In our text today, Jesus says ‘Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.’ Jesus and John are reminding us of another image of Christ: the Good shepherd whose sheep hear his voice. Christ’s Kingship is always a gentle rule. He is both totally demanding, and totally understanding and sympathetic to us.

The promises which Laura will make in her baptism today and which we will echo, are promises of complete obedience to our heavenly King.

The money that we give and promise today on this Stewardship Sunday are part of that obedience; they are recognition that the deep truth and reality which we pursue in Christ, make the pursuit of possessions or the love of money, the ultimate folly. For we can’t take it with us, despite the misprint I once spotted in ‘Guide me O thou Great Redeemer… land my safe on Canaan’s side’.

So although the demands of King Jesus are absolute and comprehensive, his promises and privileges to us his subjects are boundless in their grace, mercy and love. His service is perfect freedom.

And here is another paradox of the Kingship of Christ that we will presently rehearse at the altar. Although he is enthroned above in glory, as we have sung in our hymns, here on earth he reigns from a cross. He is a King who lays down his life for his subjects. There is no proud triumphalism in Jesus, only the assurance of loving companionship now and through death into the eternal courts of our King. Let us worship him with glad obedience and the fealty of hearts full of love.

“You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” John 18.37

Priesthood of all believers

Priesthood of all Believers

“My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples” (John 15.8)

In the 70s and 80s, many churches used to have those big sign boards outside with a text or a little thought for the week painted on in dayglow colours. eg “Don't let worry drive you to despair - let the church help.”

Some of them were quite witty, but all of them were subject to additions by anyone with a spray can.

So “The meek shall inherit the earth” had added underneath - “if that’s alright by you?”

And someone had supplemented the rather hopeful: “Are you tired of sin? Then come inside.” with “If not, phone Bayswater 7328!”

But I remember it was an Anglican Church in the vanguard of the charismatic movement which had the usual more discreet sign outside, which said:

Vicar: The Revd So-and-so
Ministers: the whole congregation.

So what is the distinction between laity and priests, and how do we carry out our common task as disciples of ‘bearing much fruit’?

Most of my working week at this time of year is taken up with organizing the ordinations of many new deacons and priests. There are about 60 in our diocese alone, which is most encouraging. We have 146 ordinands in training at present.

The 1960s was a time when all distinctions of persons were being swept away and so it is hardly surprising that Vatican II addressed what was seen as the problem of clericalism - nothing could happen without a priest. Priests were to become just ordinary chaps!

I think it was that great 60s theologian Spike Milligan who said: “never trust a priest who wears a rollneck sweater and says ‘call me Ken’”.

The Vatican II document Ulterior temporibus in 1967, while recognising the increasing role of the laity, still maintained that priestly ministry is ‘distinct from the common priesthood of all the faithful... in essence and not merely in degree.’

Many of my low church Anglican colleagues would disagree with this Vatican II distinction between ministry and priesthood. They would agree with the famous Church of England evangelical WH Griffiths Thomas, who was very influential at the beginning of the 20th Century and sometime Principal of Wycliffe Hall, Oxford. He said: “Christianity is a religion that is a priesthood and not one that has a priesthood.” This was seen as a strong part of Prayer Book, Reformation faith for many evangelicals.

Like Luther and the continental reformers they interpreted the Communio Sanctorum not in the medieval sense of being participants in the sacraments – the Communion; but in also being part of the fellowship of believers. They argued that there is nothing true of bishops, priests and deacons that is not true of the whole church.

So we must acknowledge that there is still a debate that divides the Christian church: is priesthood a matter of ontology or function? - does ordination change the very being of a priest, or does it just set a person apart for a particular ministry within the church order? (Eric Mascall gives one of the best and imaginative treatments of this in the last chapter of Theology and the Gospel of Christ, SPCK, 1977.)

Well, however we view priesthood, clergy both model and mirror the priesthood of all believers or the priesthood of all the baptized as it is often stated. We are all disciples, and in the words of our text, we are called to bear much fruit.

I want to suggest that we do this in two ways: by sign and by service. And these two ways reflect our Lord’s instructions to all Christians, priests and people, that they are to be a light to the world, and the salt of the earth.

I remember Bishop Richard saying at a deanery chapter as he looked round the room at those few not wearing dog-collars: “I want no anonymous priests in my diocese!”

But it is of course more than simply donning clerical dress, or for the laity, wearing a cross or some other Christian symbol, or carrying a large black Bible and reading it on the tube.

As lights to the world, we are to be signposts to the transcendent God. What does that mean?

At some social function this week I found myself, for the umpteenth time, trying to explain what a priest does.

People are generally happy with your doing good about the community, but what genuinely puzzles most of our contemporaries is any sense of devotion to God; of meaningful engagement with the Almighty through prayer and by the sacraments; of saying you can’t meet them for drinks till 7 because you are saying your prayers.

They don’t understand why I should spend so many hours in church every day or week. They do not understand that a priest’s engagement with the world is dependent upon his (or her) engagement with God.

It is especially in this way that the ordained are called to be the focus of transcendence; an archetype of the priesthood of all the baptized.

Our life in Christ should be a challenge to those round about us. It is a signpost to the transcendent God.

We must not hide our light under a bushel, or under some false humility that argues:
‘I’m such a poor disciple of Christ that I’d better keep quiet about.’ As the lady said to the Vicar on the door after a particularly fiery sermon: “Oh Vicar! We never knew what sin was until you came to the parish!”

Our involvement with church must be seen to be an involvement with a God whom we believe to be there; and not just as members of a local social club with nice music. Or as George Orwell put it: "choir practice in a jeweller’s shop".

Religious faith has become so internalised over the last 50 years - it’s all a matter of private belief - that many in western society find it very strange when Christians assert that it is a public truth. That the transcendent God has revealed himself to us in Christ, and that we are all called to respond. (The late Bp Lesslie Newbigin was very concerned with this.)

So we are a sign, lights to the world.

But secondly, we are to bear fruit by service. We are to be the salt of the earth. Jesus set us the example: “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Matt 20.28)

It was this sense of service which fired the new democracies that sprang out of the Reformation in Europe. People realised that it was not just for clerics to be civic leaders, but all Christians were called to serve their society - for the common good and not just for their own good.

Salt that remains forever in the saltcellar is of no use. As disciples of Jesus Christ we should have a strong sense of public service.

In the simplest of terms, we should be known to be people who are kind and who do good in society.

I was at a seminar this week on the theology of development projects. It was for those 80 or so churches in our Diocese who have major building projects on the go and about 40 attended. It was inspiring to hear how different churches were developing their buildings to serve Christ in their community, whether the £35m scheme of St Martin in the Fields, or our own more modest attempt to make our buildings more useful in our mission.

So as priests and people, disciples of Christ, we are all called to be signs and agents of the kingdom of God, to be a royal priesthood.

“My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.,” (John 15.8)

Priesthood - priesting Edmonton

Peter priesthood priesting

“And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.” Matt 16.18

I found myself chuckling again today over the biography of that delightfully eccentric priest, Brian Brindley, remembered with affection by many of us here.

Damian Thompson describes his memory of him striding through Sainsbury’s, dressed in all the finery of a Roman Catholic Monsignor – patent buckled shoes with huge scarlet heels, clip clopping across the linoleum in search of ever creamier puddings. His fatness was covered by a soutane with 39 red buttons. As Brian explained “one for each of the 39 Articles I don’t believe in!”.

Well I don’t think William will be following quite in Brian’s footsteps, but it raised the question again for me ‘what is a priest?’

We know what a deacon is: as one of my Sunday school children explained when another child asked what a deacon was: “it’s something you put on a hill and set fire to.”

But to be a priest in today’s world, indeed, in today’s church, is a high and difficult calling.

Of course there has been quite a movement in the last 40 years to try and make out that a priest is just an ordinary person like any other Christian.

I think it was that great 60s theologian Spike Milligan who saw through the shallowness of this: “never trust a clergyman who wears a rollneck sweater and says ‘call me Ken’”.

Paul Avis in his latest book A Ministry Shaped by Mission, has redressed the balance, and reminded us that although all Christians are called to discipleship, only a few are called to that onerous ministry of priesthood, which is a special gift to the Church.

Now I don’t want to get into a big debate about priestly identity. As Pope Benedict said when he was but a lowly Prefect in the wake of Vatican Two: “we are tired of discussing priestly identity!”

Rather I want to suggest that we display our priesthood in two ways: by sign and by service.

And these two ways reflect our Lord’s instructions to all Christians, priests and people, that they are to be a light to the world, and the salt of the earth.

I remember Bishop Richard saying at a deanery chapter as he looked round the room at those few not wearing dog collars: “I want no anonymous priests in my diocese!”

[Two priests decide to go to Hawaii on holiday. They’re determined to make this a real holiday by not wearing anything that would identify them as clergy. As soon as the plane lands, they buy some outrageous shorts, shirts, sandals & sunglasses.

The next morning sitting on the beach, enjoying a drink, a gorgeous blond in an imaginative bikini walks by. She smiles at them and says, "Good morning, Father, Good morning, Father."

They were both stunned. How in the world could she have known?

The next day, they bought even more outrageous outfits - so loud, you could hear them before you saw them. Well after a while, the same gorgeous blonde, this time accompanied by a stunning brunette, walk along the beach, turning heads as they go.

As they pass they both nod and say "Good morning, Father, Good morning, Father."
Astonished one of the priests shouts out “How do you know we’re priests?”

The blonde turns with a puzzled look and says, "Father, it's us, Sister Angela and Sister Monica!"]

But it is of course more than simply donning clerical dress, or for the laity, wearing a cross or some other Christian symbol, or carrying a large black Bible and reading it on the tube.
As lights to the world, we are to be signposts to the transcendent God. What does that mean?

At some social function this week I found myself, for the umpteenth time, trying to explain what a priest does.

People are generally happy with your doing good about the community, but what genuinely puzzles most of our contemporaries is any sense of devotion to God; of meaningful engagement with the Almighty through prayer and by the sacraments; of saying you can’t meet them for drinks till 7 because you are saying your prayers.

They don’t understand why I should spend so many hours in church every day or week. They do not understand that a priest’s engagement with the world is dependent upon his or her engagement with God.

It is especially in this way that the ordained are called to be the focus of transcendence; an archetype of the priesthood of all the baptized. Our life in Christ should be a challenge to those round about us. It is a signpost to the transcendent God.

We must not be tempted to hide our light under a bushel, with some false humility that argues: ‘I’m such a poor priest that I’d better keep quiet about it.’ As the lady said to the Vicar on the door after a particularly fiery sermon: “Oh Vicar! We never knew what sin was until you came to the parish!”

Our involvement with church must be seen to be an involvement with a God whom we believe to be there; and not just as president of a local social club with nice music. William has not chosen a career – he could find much more profitable ways of using his talents! – he is answering a calling, which has been recognized by the church, whose representatives are here tonight.

Religious faith has become so internalised over the last 50 years - it’s all a matter of private belief - that many in western society find it very strange when Christians assert that it is a public truth. That the transcendent God has revealed himself to us in Christ, and that we are all called to respond.

So a priest is, in a very particular way, a sign, a light to the world.

But secondly, and more briefly, we also exercise our priesthood in service. We are to be the salt of the earth.

In the threefold office of the church, we are ordained deacon first, then priest, and if the Prime Minister calls, bishop. But a priest or a bishop is still a deacon.

Often when we lay out the bishop’s vestments, we have a lightweight dalmatic which he puts on over his alb, and this is to remind him that he is still a deacon - a servant of the church.

Paul Avis again in his book makes the case that the Diaconate is the pivotal office of the Church. It is where we all started our ordained life; he calls it the flagship of ministry.
Jesus himself set us the example:

“the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Matt 20.28)

Salt that remains forever in the saltcellar is of no use. As priests and deacons we should have a strong sense of public service. In the simplest of terms, we should be known to be people who are kind and who do good in society.

In the history of the Anglo-Catholic movement we read time and again of great public funerals of priests in many of the deprived cities of our land. They were loved and honoured because they served Christ as salt in society. Of course we must shut ourselves away to say our prayers, but we must also be open to the world, ready to infect society with godliness.

Today’s epistle is a lovely story – the church are locked away praying fervently, and presumably believingly, for Peter’s release. An angel of the Lord releases him and he turns up at the door of the prayer meeting. When the door girl tells them all he’s there, they think she’s mad! Our prayers are to take us out into the world where God is already at work.

As salt and light, we will be following the example of Our Lord, and of the apostle Peter. And in so doing, what our Lord said of Peter, he will say to all of us – priests and people:

“And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.” Matt 16.18

Baptism, spiritual milk

Baptism – spiritual milk

“Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation.” 1 Peter 2.2

There’s a difference between the way that American Baptists baptize and British Baptists. Although both baptize adults by immersion in water.

In my former life as a Baptist minister, I would stand up to my waist in water and with one hand on the collar and one on the solar plexus of the adult candidate, I would propel the person rapidly backwards until the water closed over their face.

It was dramatic and messy and time will not permit me to tell of my adventures in trying to raise a 24 stone lady from the bottom of the baptistry, or of the very chic white cotton Italian trousers I decided to wear one evening. As I walked down into the pool, they turned completely transparent.

My first baptism in an American Southern Baptist church was a revelation. No unseemly dunking and splashing for them. The candidate held a cloth over their nose and mouth and were very gracefully and slowly eased back under the water as the lights dimmed and the organ played seraphic music.

The pastor of the church explained to me that, as baptism represented being buried with Christ, it was more appropriate to lower the candidate lovingly into the grave, than to throw them into it.

The NT imagery of Baptism is indeed of dying and rising in Christ; of being buried with him in death and reborn to a new life in his resurrection. This is why the language of the baptismal liturgy is so stark and uncompromising: ‘Do you reject? Do you turn? Darkness and light.’

And this is why traditionally we baptize during this Easter season in which we celebrate new life springing from the death of Good Friday and Winter.

It is a natural, and we would say God-given instinct to hope for personal continuation after death. In today’s Gospel, Jesus promises us that we will be with him in his resurrection life. Jesus shows us that our human instinct to hope for more after death, is not just whistling in the dark. Through his death and resurrection it is the Christian hope of glory. This is the faith of the church which Gus will join this morning through baptism.

But of course baptism is only a first step along the road to spiritual maturity. Peter reminds us in this letter, that just as babies quite naturally crave for their mother’s milk, so we should continue to long for spiritual nourishment throughout our lives.

We have all been given the gift of new life in our baptism. Do we pursue this spiritual life and feed it with these other sacraments of bread and wine? Or do we starve our spiritual life, until it simply withers away to religious sentimentality?

Baptism is a reminder to all of us of our baptismal vows. It is reminder that if we wish to live life fully, then we must live by the power of God and in loving dependence upon him.

“Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation.”

The Dishonest Steward

The Dishonest Steward

“Make friends of unrighteousness mammon; that, when it fails, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.” (Lk 16.9)

In one of my churches, the deacons (the Baptist equivalent of the PCC only with weaponry) [famously defined by the girl in my baptist baptismal class - I asked her ‘what is a deacon?’ And she replied, ‘something you put on the top of a hill and set fire to’ - if only...] - the deacons forbade me from going into local pubs.

It was leading the youth astray into a life of drunken debauchery. I was spending too much time with the sinners and not enough with the saints.

I was comforted then, by the accusation made of Jesus recorded in Luke’s gospel: “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them” (15.2 )

It is a grand irony that this wonderful Gospel truth, that Christ came for sinners, is expressed by the mealy mouthed pharisees, who are the self-righteous defenders of those who need no doctors.

However, the fact that Jesus spends more time with the sinners than the saints, doesn’t mean that he is uncritical of these “sinners” that he welcomes.

And that is the context of the parable in today’s Gospel. In chapter 16 of Luke there are two parables especially for the tax-collectors and sinners mentioned in 15.1. The murmuring scribes and pharisees of 15.2 have had the 3 lost-and-found parables of chapter 15 aimed at them.
So these 2 parables: The Shrewd Manager (more often known as The Dishonest Steward) and Dives and Lazarus, were specially for wealthy sinners. And such had been Matthew - the tax collector turned disciple. Matthew had exemplified the truth shown by Jesus in this rather difficult parable.

Before we look at the message of the parable, let us spend a moment on the method used by our Lord.

Jesus was speaking to Tax-collectors: “wealthy rogues who had made a good living from other people’s financial affairs.” Jesus shaped this parable to appeal to his particular audience - something we’re often not very good at doing in the church. As Jesus himself pointed out:

“…for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” (16.10)

The advertisers and spin doctors know how to communicate; how to target a particular group. Depressingly, I’m beginning to notice all those Saga adverts now. Victoria Wood has that wonderful observation that you know you’re getting old when you walk through Marks & Spencers and think: “Mmm, those look comfortable...”

Communication is the name of the game, and whether we like it or not, the church is caught up in that.

So compare these two church magazines: Tenn (for Epicentre) and Salve (for St Mary’s Bourne St). They are clearly aimed at two different audiences.

Tenn goes for a rather select, postgraduatey, Generation X, young professional.

Salve goes for a rather select, high culturely, professional independent thinker - some of them still alive.

It is a truism that our Lord expressed Gospel truths in culturally relevant terms.

Many people in Britain today are very sympathetic to the Christian message, yet often they are unable to hear it in clear terms which they understand.

I enjoyed the Philip Pullman books – the His Dark Material trilogy, but in them he is rejecting a Christian faith which I don’t recognise. Too many of our contemporaries have never really understood Christianity in any depth. They have rejected a childish faith along with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

The interviews in Third Way magazine are fascinating for similar reasons: Lord Puttnam, Melvyn Brag, Ian Hyslop, Polly Toynbee, Will Self.

There is not just one culturally relevant way - Jesus used a number of ways - parables - symbolic actions - argument; and often these related to the sort of people he was addressing. Think of that extraordinary exchange with the Canaanite woman: "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." (Matt 15.26)

Christian worship certainly reflects this diversity of approach, although there is always a tendency to regard our own brand as the preferred universal one. (“You worship God in your way. We worship him in his...”) But this is true not only in public worship. It is the task of every Christian to make Christ known, and to do so in language and with symbols appropriate to the situation.

We are used to doing this in other spheres of life. When you explain your job to different people: to children; to people who know nothing about it; to people who know a lot about it. (I remember explaining what Middle Babylonian was in very simple terms to a man who seemed not to be firing on all cylinders. He turned out to be a Professor of Assyriology.)

At a wedding last week I found myself explaining the Christian concept of free will in terms of quantum mechanics to a physicist.

So for each of us, with the help of the Holy Spirit, we can give a reason for the hope that is within us, in terms understood by our particular group of friends and acquaintances. And we can make use of our own particular backgrounds to defend the faith.

It requires some courage and not a little effort to do it, but it is part of our calling as followers of Christ. Matthew (whose Feast Day is this Tuesday) did it from the start of his life of following Jesus - he threw a party - something he was good at - and let Jesus meet his friends. We should all be exercising our version of Alpha courses.

Let’s turn from the method to the message.

It’s a compelling story that must have had maximum curiosity effect on the hearers - is the Good Teacher really saying what he seems to be saying?

For mismanagement of funds, the steward’s dismissal was immanent. So, working on the sound theological principle, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’, he makes a lot of dishonest people grateful for his dismissal.

“Make friends of unrighteousness mammon; that, when it fails, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.”
[Make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.]

There are only two certainties in life: taxes and death. We will all be ‘dismissed’, and in that striking Gospel platitude - you can’t take it with you.

[Notwithstanding the misprint I saw in an order of service which included the hymn Guide me O thou great Redeemer: ‘Land my safe on Canaan’s side.’]

The bottom line of this parable is quite clear: We should live now, before we die, in a way that invests in our future in eternity.

This does not mean that we become so heavenly minded that we are of no earthly use. CS Lewis wasn’t the first to observe that:

“If you read history you find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next.”

How do we invest in the future? It is a matter of focus. The world (unrighteous mammon) focuses on wealth, security, health... And there is nothing wrong in these. But they are unworthy objects of our desire and affection. And ultimately they are empty.

Christ is reminding the tax-collectors and sinners; you and me; that our focus should be living now in the light of the world to come; living to make a difference; to make the world a better place, to bring in the kingdom of God; to be naive enough to ‘do good’ and to be kind to strangers and asylum seekers; to invest in friendships and work for a just world and a just society, shot through with mercy.

It will not make us penniless, but it will be costly. These Holy Mysteries remind us of the Divine cost and the Divine joy. Happy are those who are called to the banquet feast of the Lamb.

Live now, before you die, in a way that invests in your future in eternity.

Or as Jesus put it:

“Make friends of unrighteousness mammon; that, when it fails, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.” (Luke 16.9)

Freedom in the Spirit

Gal 5:16 “Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.”

I remember listening to endless ‘testimonies’ when I was a teenager - people telling us how they had been ‘saved’. Many of them very moving and some quite remarkable. (Peter in front of TV in Australia - Neil in Fudpuckers) But there was a genre, usually recounted by burnt out looking thirty-somethings (I see a number of you here this evening), which ran along the lines: “There was no sin and debauchery to which I had not sunk (sometimes they went on to “and then at the age of five...”). But others would give you a tantalising glimpse of the sins and broad hints of the debauchery of their mis-spent youth. And I would sit and complain to God that I had become a Christian far to early to get a good crack at debauchery.

This passage from Paul’s difficult letter to the Galatians, contains this list, which even as a child you would mentally tick off as we ran the gamut of the sins of the flesh. [I was never sure what ‘lasciviousness’ was, but by the very sound of it, I’d committed it...]

The Scriptures, and Paul himself, use the word ‘flesh’ to convey a variety of meanings.

Fallen and perverse human nature - “the lust of the flesh”. Or if you don’t like the biblical imagery of the fall in the garden of Eden, then you can follow Richard Dawkins and his ‘Selfish Gene’ - we’re born that way - we’re part of nature, red in tooth and claw; or if you look into your own soul, you know that it is easier to be selfish and self-centred than to be generous and altruistic - that takes effort. This is what Paul has in mind in this passage, and he amplifies it.

His hit list covers three dominant areas of our lives: sexuality, spirituality and society.

Sexuality- fornication, impurity, licentiousness
- the pursuit of sex as an end in itself, regardless of the feelings, responsibilities and respect we owe to each other - and to society. That’s a more difficult point in our divided society where there are very varied sexual mores. And of course some would argue that what we do in the bedroom is nothing to do with wider society. This was Abp Runcie’s view expressed in his candid biography.

Spirituality - idolatry & sorcery - the need for human kind to worship
- the danger of worshipping of ‘other gods’ of our own making - eg
- the cult of self - the body beautiful and self-gratification - fuelled by the
- the cult of money - the love of which is the root of all evil -
consumerism - shopping mall temples - Tesco ergo sum - retail therapy
- the cult of ‘my church’ - pride, intolerance and lack of Xn charity
- the cult of others - worshipping the lover, the spouse, the children

Society - enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing
- the ills which fragment community life and lead to distrust, social isolation, pain and anguish

So what is the Apostle’s solution to this civil war within us - the backcloth of so much human history, literature and art; the backcloth of this war-riven century; the backcloth of our own experience of the messiness of life.

It is to walk in the Spirit, the Holy Spirit; to be what you are in Christ. It is to have that attitude which was in Christ Jesus.

Paul lists the fruit of this Spirit of Christ in relation to God, Others and Self
God - love, joy, peace - these should be our characteristics
Others - patience, kindness, generosity (To dwell above...)
Self - faithfulness, gentleness, self-control

We crucify the flesh: we make those moment by moment decisions to exhibit the fruit of the Spirit rather than to follow our demanding animal self - the lust of the flesh - the selfish gene. And we need not only the help of God’s Spirit, but of his Word and Sacraments, and of his people, and of the best of his world.

Then Paul talks of walking in the Spirit - ‘keeping in step’ with the Spirit.
Sailing - finding the wind - and the exhilaration of running before it. These are what the spiritual disciplines are for - church, devotions, confession, spiritual reading, retreat, pilgrimage (Walsingham)....

As we are led by the Spirit and walk in the Spirit so we will know the fullness of joy in the Spirit and the abundance of life in the Spirit.


Gal 5:16 “Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.”