AI, Poetry and the Eye of the Needle

 20th Sunday after Trinity Year B Proper 23

 Eucharist – 13.x.2024

 (Amos 5.6-7, 10-15; Hebrews 4.12-16; Mark 10.17-31)

I was in Hartlepool yesterday to take the opportunity of a dry morning to cut the grass in the garden of my family home. I’d almost finished when my neighbour turned up from walking her dog. She’s in the early stages of writing the dissertation for a Master’s degree, and we discussed her progress, techniques and the approach she’s expected to take. I was a bit surprised to hear that not only is the use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) permitted, it’s actually encouraged – and then I remembered hearing something on the news about hopes that AI will allow doctors and researchers in the Health Service to accomplish far more than they can by present means. “I’ve never used it,” I said – and when I wrote my Master’s dissertation technology hadn’t advanced any further than Netscape Navigator. “I’m doubtful whether it could pull off a sermon.” “Well,” she replied, “it can write poems. I’ll get it to write you one about cutting the grass. She pulled out her phone, spoke into it and ten seconds later said, “There you are.”

This is the poem that AI wrote about me:

Martin’s out with his new mower,

its hum a morning song,

cutting lines so neat and even,

he’s been at it all day long.

(actually not true – it took less than an hour but that’s poetic licence)

He starts with pride, his shoulders back,

as the engine roars to life,

blades slicing through the stubborn grass,

sharp as any knife.

The lawn beneath him bends in waves,

green clippings whirl in air,

his mower hums like it’s alive,

both working with such care.

I watch from where I sit and sip,

as Martin makes his way,

with each pass, a bit more perfect,

each inch a brighter day.

He smiles as if this patch of green

is all he needs to own,

and when he’s done, his mower purrs,

like it’s claimed the lawn as home.

So what do you expect?... After that I went into the house, fired up the laptop, found an AI app called “Copilot,” and instructed it, “write a sermon with reference to Amos 5.6–7, 10–15; Hebrews 4.12–16; Mark 10.17–31.” In less than five seconds it did! And it got the point to a certain extent; and it was short, so maybe I should have just let you have what it delivered.

But I’m afraid it was also rather prosaic. Anything that starts:

Today’s sermon explores justice, compassion, and the power of divine truth, referencing Amos 5.6–7, 10–15; Hebrews 4.12–16; and Mark 10.17–31.

And then it goes through each passage in turn using phrases like, “the prophet Amos speaks of the importance of seeking the Lord to live and thrive…” “The message here is clear…” “This is a timeless reminder….” It gets worse when it gets on to the reading from Hebrews: 

It emphasizes the active and discerning nature of God’s word, 
encouraging us to be introspective and sincere in our faith journey.

It ends with a summing up that begins, “In synthesis…” and concludes:

Let’s strive to live a life that reflects these divine principles, becoming a beacon of God’s love and justice in our world. Amen.

So… I want to say that if you’re stuck for something to preach, don’t rely on AI to write your sermon!

But meanwhile… my neighbour had written me another poem. I don’t know why, but I’d told her that we’re having to advertise the proposed Pastoral Scheme which will bring us together with our neighbouring parishes into a Team Ministry. I didn’t need to tell her, but I have to tell you – and some people have actually read the whole thing and noticed that the Pastoral Scheme says I will be retiring in 2026. That’s not necessarily true. That’s simply the year when, because of my age, it’s expected that I will have to retire. Anyway, this found its way into the new AI poem:

Oh Martin, vicar, wise and kind,

perhaps it’s time to free your mind.

You’ve preached your share of peace and grace,

but there’s a new path you could embrace.

For when you mow, the world is still,

no sermons, prayers, or souls to fill.

Just blades of grass beneath your feet,

each row you cut, a calm retreat.

The hum of mowers beats the bells,

no weekly rush, no vestry smells.

The parish can find peace anew,

but, Martin, the lawns—they call for you!

Each blade you trim, each line you make,

is peace that sermons rarely stake.

The stripes you leave, so straight and true,

might be the gospel meant for you.

So hang the collar, shed the vest,

and trade your robes for mower’s zest.

The lawns are waiting, fresh and wide,

retire, Martin, mow with pride!

This is not the announcement of my retirement – but it’s enticing!

And what does it say? It says that poetry can express better what needs to be said than turgid exposition of scripture and moralising conclusions.

So – you guessed it – I asked AI to write a poem about today’s readings. It was better than the sermon – but not great:

In the shadow of the ancient prophets' call, 
Where justice flows and bitter judgments fall, 
Seek good, not evil, let the light unfurl, 
For in the hearts of men, a chance to whirl.

Note the non-inclusive language, and the archaic forms – the second verse didn’t say anything in particular so I’ll miss it out.. It goes on to the Gospel:

A ruler rich, a seeker of the way, 

Asked of the path, and Jesus dared to say, 

Sell all you have, give to the ones in need, 

For treasures in the heavens, plant the seed.

And it ends:

Oh, Kingdom sought, with undivided heart, 

Where mercy, love, and justice never part,

In faith, we stride, in grace, we stand tall, 

Embodying the greatest love of all.

Not a success, I think. If you want to find what’s fresh, stick to Scripture itself, and the response we’re called to make.

What’s going on when we find ourselves listening to those words which speak to us from the Bible? I found myself thinking about that on my day off when I went up the coast to Newbiggin-by-the-Sea. Just after Sandy Bay – and before you go into the town – there’s a signpost to the “Needle’s Eye” Car Park. I’d never noticed it before. It turns out that the Needle’s Eye must be a feature on the map. There’s a “Needle’s Eye” Café too. But I don’t know where the name comes from. Except we’ve got Jesus’ words about the challenge of faith: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” People have argued about whether there was a gate in Jerusalem called the “Eye of the Needle,” which might have been too low for a camel laden with goods to pass through. The merchant on his way to market would have to unload all his wares before the camel could get through. But actually there’s no evidence for such a gate. There’s just the question: what is Jesus talking about when he comes out with these words: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” We don’t know. But it makes us think, just as I found myself thinking about the Needle’s Eye near Newbiggin – just as we all need to think about the riches we take for granted, wealth that might be weighing us down and stopping us from going where we should.

Those AI poems made me think about what I’m doing when I’m mowing the lawn. My neighbour wanted me to think about that in relation to my day job – what I’d call my vocation.

But I come back finally to those words of scripture which challenge us today. That eye of a needle which the camel can’t pass through. “The word of God (which) is living and active…” as Hebrews tells us. The call of the prophet Amos: 

Seek good and not evil, that you may live;… 

Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate.

Coming up soon!

 

Harvest festival

 

Angels

 Feast of St. Michael & All Angels     Eucharist – 29.ix.2024

 (Genesis 28.10-17; Revelation 12.7-12; John 1.47-51)

7 War broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, 8 but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. 9 The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world – he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.

These words from today’s second reading – from the Book of Revelation – first captured my imagination as a child. It wasn’t about reading the words themselves – I hadn’t read the Book of the Revelation of St. John then, and I suspect that most people never get round to reading it for themselves. But the scene is depicted in Jacob Epstein’s great sculpture outside Coventry Cathedral. I saw it while on holiday visiting part of the family who lived in the Midlands. It's a huge sculpture made of bronze, standing 7.6 metres (25 feet) high and it’s intended to depict the victory of good over evil. St. Michael the Archangel stands with a huge spear in his hand, arms and legs spread out – and he stands above the bound figure of the horned devil lying supine. Satan lies defeated, bound in chains. The triumphant angel is all the more impressive for his huge wings with a span of 7 metres, almost as wide as the statue is high.

You can understand why the sculpture was commissioned. The Cathedral itself is dedicated to St. Michael, so the angel was an obvious subject. More than that it was a new sculpture put in place to mark the building of a new Cathedral, consecrated in 1962 alongside the ruins of the church which had been destroyed by Nazi bombs during the Second World War. So it was about the hope that good will finally defeat evil – a reference to the promise that God will beat down Satan under our feet, just as that bronze devil lies beneath the feet of St. Michael the Archangel.

The sculpture certainly made an impression on me – probably at the age of nine or ten. But nearly 60 years later I look at it again, and I read the words of scripture that we hear today – and I wonder. Satan is bound in chains, but Epstein’s devil is not dead – he’s still struggling to get up. Revelation tells us that Satan, “the deceiver of the whole world,” is thrown down – but thrown down to earth, and it doesn’t say that he’s totally vanquished here. And when I look up my own reference to the promise that God will beat down Satan under our feet, I find different translations of that Bible verse from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans: that God will crush or defeat Satan, or as the King James Version puts it – that he will “bruise” him. The devil is cast down, but is still a force for evil in our world – defeated by God and his angels, but still a reality for us to grapple with in our day to day lives.

The triumphant angel in Epstein’s sculpture declares hope for the triumph of good in a world which so much needs it. But while the devil is put in chains just as Nazi Germany had been defeated, there’s always the threat that it may struggle free. Bruised - but not destroyed.

I’ve been thinking about this as the news from the Middle East becomes more and more horrific. Each side is fighting for what it considers right – and for the rights of its people. But the means used inflict ever more atrocities from the initial attacks by Hamas across the border with Israel, through the taking, torturing and killing of hostages – and then the reprisals in repeated bombings, invasion and occupation, the loss of homes in Gaza, Israel and Lebanon; and the deaths of more than 40,000 people in Gaza, and approaching 1,000 in each of the West Bank and Lebanon, and still more amongst the Israeli population. Each side demonises the other. The avowed intention of the Israeli government is to destroy Hamas and now Hezbollah – but even after laying waste almost an entire country the perceived evil still remains to be defeated. Even after targeting the users of enemy pagers and walkie talkies, the firing of thousands of missiles into Lebanon leaving so many more killed, wounded and homeless - and now the death of Hassan Nasrallah – the stated war aims of Israel seem just as far away from being achieved.

I can’t offer a way forward to solve the problems of the Middle East. I’ve lived in Jerusalem and heard bombs go off. I’ve known people living in Northern Israel who have had to shelter night after night from rockets fired from southern Lebanon. I’ve also known people who have endured discrimination and loss of their homes because they are the wrong race, seen people humiliated in checks by border police because they hold the wrong passport, and met with people – both Israeli and Palestinian – who have lost children to the violence inflicted indiscriminately by bullet and bomb.

So we need caution when we read words such as those in Revelation and try to apply them to our own situations. What do we mean by good and evil? How do we achieve the defeat of one by the other? 

St. Michael the Archangel stands as an emblem for what is right – but fighting in the sense of violent conflict is not the way to achieve it. And we should be careful in what we say about angels. Important that we recognise the place they hold in telling us of our relationship with God, but avoiding sentimentality.

Say the word “Angels” – and I’ll bet that a lot of people will think of the Robbie Williams song:

When I'm feeling weak
And my pain walks down a one-way street
I look above
And I know I'll always be blessed with love 

And as the feeling grows
She brings flesh to my bones
And when love is dead
I'm loving angels instead 

And through it all she offers me protection
A lot of love and affection, whether I'm right or wrong
And down the waterfall, wherever it may take me
I know that life won't break me
When I come to call, she won't forsake me
I'm loving angels instead

Maybe that’s what people think Guardian Angels are about – and there’s a real hope that life shouldn’t get us down, that there’s something might help us break out of all that holds us back, gives us strength when we need it. But that something is love – and the people who can show us that love.

The other song that came to mind for me is by the Eurhythmics: 

No one on earth could feel like this
I'm thrown and overflown with bliss
There must be an angel
Playing with my heart, yeah 

I walk into an empty room
And suddenly my heart goes boom
It's an orchestra of angels
And they're playing with my heart, yeah

Annie Lennox sings it wonderfully, but we don’t need an orchestra of angels to play with our hearts. We need hearts that recognise how love can open us to something beyond our day-to-day preoccupations. Hearts are not to be played with. But when we recognise that love is at work, then that may open us to something bigger than we are – it may open us to God and his purpose.

And that’s what we find in our First Reading and today’s Gospel. They use almost exactly the same words: a ladder set up to heaven in the vision given to Jacob, “and the angels of God were ascending and descending upon it;” and Jesus’ promise to Nathanael – “I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

Angels when we see them at work in the Bible are those creatures that remind us of our connection with God and with a world beyond human sight. The word angel translates as “messenger.” What’s the message or question we need to hear? That’s going to depend on who we are but should always be something that opens us to the deeper mystery of God. When angels appear something new is revealed about our relationship to God. It’s not that our questions are given definitive answers. It is about God’s initiative as he reaches out to us. 

The danger of what we take from today’s reading about St. Michael in the Book of Revelation is that we think we can sort things out in some sort of fight between good and evil. It’s more complex than that. Abraham finds his outlook changed by three strangers who come to him to share a meal and then go off leaving him with God’s purpose still fully to be revealed – they are his angels. Another angel will come to hold back his hand from using a knife in violence – and to declare that there is another way. The angel Raphael comes to bring healing to Tobit in the midst of a bizarre journey where human persistence and love are the outcome. 

And most importantly the Archangel Gabriel will come to Mary to say that she will be the Mother of God’s Son. “How can this be?” - Mary will reply. The message she receives will take nine months of pregnancy and then a lifetime to work out. But the point is in that first dialogue. The angel comes. Heaven speaks to humanity but then the human responds. How will God speak to us? What will we reply? The vision we are given is the truth of that ladder set up between heaven and earth where the angels ascend and descend – and by which we are connected to God and his purpose.

Should I stay or should I go?

 13^th Sunday after Trinity     Proper 16       Year B

 Eucharist – 25.viii.2024

 (Joshua 24.1-2a, 14-18; Ephesians 6.10-20; John 6.56-59)

“Choose whom you will serve…” That’s the invitation in both the Old Testament reading and the Gospel today. In the Old Testament reading, Joshua has led the people of Israel through the waters of the Jordan into the Promised Land. They’ve defeated the inhabitants of a land they are now taking by force. Now they can settle down and enjoy the fruits of conquest. But, he asks them, will God still be part of the picture? Will they continue to serve the God who has been their companion and guide since the days of their slavery in Egypt? Or will they now forget him? Along with all the busy-ness of tilling the fields which have come into their possession, will they find themselves switching to the worship of the gods served already by the people of that land which they have taken? And of course they join in chorus together, “Far be it from us that we should forsake the Lord to serve other gods…”

Jesus puts his disciples on the spot too… in our Gospel reading. We’ve been reading in recent weeks how the crowds have come out in their thousands – literally – and Jesus has not only taught them, he’s fed them in that miracle of the loaves and fishes. But after the works of wonder, there’s the teaching, things to learn, things to reflect upon and take in as to who this man really is. The disciples themselves say: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” After the first flush of enthusiasm, the simple fact is that many of them can’t. John’s Gospel tells us, “Because of this, many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.” That’s when Jesus asks the original Twelve, “Do you also wish to go?” As elsewhere in the Gospels, it’s Peter who makes the reply: “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life…”

Joshua’s words: “Choose whom you will serve….” Jesus’ words: “Do you also wish to go away?” We have to answer questions like these. Where would we rather be? Listen to your heart – where does it direct you?”

There’s a prayer which might strike a chord with us:

Dear Lord, So far today, I’ve done all right. I haven’t gossiped, haven’t lost my temper, haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or over indulgent. I’m very thankful for that.

 

But, in a few minutes, God,… I’m going to get out of bed. And from then on, I’m probably going to need a lot more help.

It can be easy to serve God in the right situation… lying in bed first thing in the morning; when we’re hearing the message we want to hear; when we’re with people we agree with, people we want to be with. It can be more difficult when the circumstances are different – which is nearly all the time. So in the Church’s Office of Morning Prayer, we pray every day:

The night has passed, and the day lies open before us;
let us pray with one heart and mind.

And we keep silence before we go on to pray...

As we rejoice in the gift of this new day,
so may the light of your presence, O God,
set our hearts on fire with love for you;
now and for ever.

We can make the decision to be Christ’s people each and every day.

Where else can we go? asks Peter. Not just, there’s nothing better on offer, so we’ll stick around. Peter finds himself saying those words which the Gospel writer wants us to hear: “You have the words of eternal life.”

We need to remind ourselves of that. What drew us first to Christ? What remains true and life-changing for us? What are those “words of eternal life”?

Famously the writer G K Chesterton, author of the Father Brown books, said “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.” What can draw us on to try again? We need something to warm the heart, to rekindle our faith.

Fr. Flor McCarthy suggests these are some of the words recorded in Scripture that can bring us back to Christ. Just take time to ponder them. To let them draw us on though prayer into life. Words like these:

·        Go in peace. Your sins are forgiven.

·        I am the bread of life. Anyone who eats this bread will live for ever.

·        I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in darkness, but will always have the light of life.

·        I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep…

·        I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will never die…

All words of Jesus, which may seem to be chosen rather arbitrarily. But they raise the question, what draws us to Christ? What will keep us traveling with him? There’ll be other words of Scripture which you might find for yourself…

People who know me know that I don’t think you can prove anything just by quoting passages of scripture. But we need “words of eternal life” which will  tell us a truth that has meaning for our lives. We need words which we can reflect upon and live by. We need God as our companion, Christ as our guide, and we need to make the decision that it should be so.

The Gospel passage we use today comes from the end of chapter 6 in St John’s Gospel. We’ve been reading that one chapter for the last five weeks, since the middle of July! So much of it is about bread: Jesus taking bread and fishes to feed the five thousand; Jesus speaking about himself as the bread of life or the true bread from heaven; Jesus inviting his hearers to eat this bread.

But now as Jesus goes on speaking there’s a change of place. This sixth chapter of St. John’s Gospel begins in the open air with the crowds thronging to hear Jesus speak. Now it ends in the synagogue in Capernaum – John tells us that Jesus “said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.” I think this shift in location is significant. We’ve moved from the place where people are drawn eagerly and with enthusiasm to discover something new… to another place where religious debate is the focus and where people bring out the teachings which have been rehearsed over hundreds of years. It’s in this second place where Jesus seems so often to come into confrontation over issues of religious authority that the going is much tougher: hard for Jesus who finds so many of the synagogue adherents unsympathetic to his message; hard for people who have so far gone along with Jesus, but now find his teachings too difficult.

But each location has its necessary place. We all need the conditions where a message can come to us fresh as it did to the crowds, a place where emotion and enthusiasm can kindle new faith. But we need also the readiness to work hard at faith, to ask what it means in the light of what has gone before, to recognize what it means as we seek to work it out day by day.

Jesus’ question to his followers, “Do you also wish to go away?” is not just a plea that they stick around with a weary attitude for want of anything better to do. It’s to ask us all to see where we are on our journey of faith - where Christ is in our midst. We may need our inherited assumptions to be challenged – the things we took for granted, not least a faith which needs to mature. We may need to ask again what we expect out of our faith – the Israelites tell Joshua that they will stick with their God because he had driven out the people from their land and wiped out the Amorites; surely after months of devastation and death wrought in Gaza, southern Lebanon and the borders of Israel there must be a better reasoning than this! And day by day we need to be able to make our affirmation of Christ a part of our worship and prayer, and a transforming presence in our lives.

In all this I find the words of one of John Keble’s hymns coming back to me in its challenge to recognise God’s place in our lives even as we start each day:

New every morning is the love
our wakening and uprising prove;
through sleep and darkness safely brought,
restored to life and power and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,
hover around us while we pray;
new perils past, new sins forgiven,
new thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

But then, as the hymn reminds us, this is more than a spiritual pick-me-up or a pious hope. This is a faith worked out in the midst of daily life:

The trivial round, the common task,
will furnish all we ought to ask:
room to deny ourselves; a road
to bring us daily nearer God.

 

 

Being Hungry

 Homily for Trinity 9 (Proper 12) 28th July 2024 Year B

2 Kings 4.42-44; Ephesians 3.14-21; John 6.1-21

The feeding of hungry people is an imperative. I was reminded just the other day that we need to start planning for our Harvest Festival. This year we hope not only to collect gifts of food, clothing and toiletries for the work of the People’s Kitchen with homeless people in Newcastle, but also to raise money for the work of Christian Aid. Their work of development and relief is essential – reaching out to people threatened by starvation, who live without clean water supplies that we should take for granted, who lack medical provision or even the most basic form of shelter. I realise that actually we can’t these days always take clean water for granted in this country: there are too many instances of sewage discharges into our rivers and along the coast; and our National Health Service is not what it should be. Millions of people have that experience of not being able to get on the so-called property ladder – so many experience sub-standard housing. These are matters which Government needs to tackle. But there’s a responsibility given to us as well. “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink…” Do we measure up to that test of our Christian faith? We need to be able to respond to people’s need wherever we find it.  All the more necessary, then, that we should support those Christian agencies which exist to do that on an international level.

It's in a time of famine that the prophet Elisha finds himself with a hundred people to feed and only 20 loaves of barley in his sack. “How can I set this before a hundred people?” Elisha’s servant enquires. But he receives Elisha’s reply: “Give it to the people and let them eat, for thus says the Lord, ‘They shall eat and have some left.’” He does what he is asked: “He set it before them, they ate and had some left.”

This is a story about relieving people in their need. We hear it today because it’s a sort of Old Testament parallel to our Gospel reading and the feeding of the 5,000. But there’s a difference of scale: 20 loaves for a hundred people – that’s quite different from finding you have just five barley loaves and two little fish for several thousand! 20 loaves between a hundred people… Perhaps you could do something with them if only people were ready to share. But with so little between so many in our Gospel reading, that tells us that this is not a story about what you can do if only you’re prepared to share. That would be quite impossible. Today’s Gospel is a story instead about being hungry and discovering where you are going to be fed.

The feeding of the Five Thousand is not a miracle staged by Jesus for the sake of impressing the crowds. It’s not a lesson in what you can do if only you look out for each other and are prepared to share. Jesus didn’t even count on having that huge number of people with him. In his version of the story St. Mark tells us that Jesus is actually trying to get away from the people to what he calls “a desert place,” a place where he can rest. St. John’s Gospel tells us that he has gone up “the mountain” with his disciples – something we know he does when he wants to pray. But the crowd keeps following. Matthew, Mark and Luke tell us how Jesus then sets about teaching and healing the people – until the disciples say to Jesus that he should send them away before it’s too late for them to find something to eat. In St. John’s account, which we read today, it’s different. John doesn’t tell us anything of what Jesus does with the crowd. He simply sees them, he recognises their huge numbers and he recognises their need. Most especially he recognises their hunger. 

Jesus puts the question, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” But it’s a test: the Gospel writer says that Jesus knows already what he will do. They don’t have enough money. There don’t seem to be any shops if they had. Sharing isn’t going to be enough – even when they find a boy with five loaves and two little fish. It’s Christ himself that makes the difference – and he will make the difference when we recognise our need, our need of him.

Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury, has said that what we need above all if we wish to be nourished by Christ, is to recognise that we are hungry. We are not called to be self-sufficient. Even sharing can’t satisfy everybody. But in this gathering of the huge crowd we have people drawn to Christ because they recognise their need of him. That’s where we start: by admitting that we are hungry, that we need to be fed. What Jesus offers is far beyond our understanding. The disciples find the boy with his five loaves and two fish – but at the same time they can’t see what use they will be: “But what are they among so many people?” they ask.

“Make the people sit down,” says Jesus. He can take the smallest offering. It’s Jesus himself who will make the difference: giving thanks, sharing it, giving people as much as they want. There are no limits here. “What do you need?” Jesus is asking – and he gives it. “What are you hungry for?” – and he feeds them.

The difference is Christ. It may seem odd after this miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 to add on the story of Jesus walking on the waters of the lake. But the point is in Jesus’ words: “It is I; do not be afraid.” It’s enough that Jesus is recognised, seen to be who he is. When Moses hears the voice of God speaking from the Burning Bush, it’s with the words, “I am who I am.” Now Jesus is saying, “It is I.” That’s all we need to hear.

St. John’s account of the Feeding of the 5,000 tells us that it happens near to the Jewish Festival of the Passover. It’s the Festival which speaks of how God delivered his people from slavery in Egypt; it’s a Festival celebrated with a meal; and for Christians the occasion of the Last Supper at Passover time was to be Jesus’ gift to us of his Body and his Blood, shared in bread and wine. He takes the bread and gives it saying, “This is my Body, given for you.” He asks if we can share his cup – and with the wine he shares tells us “This is my Blood, shed for you.”

It's nothing we do ourselves that will nourish us with spiritual things. Jesus wants us to be fed. We need only to be hungry – and to bring that hunger so it can be satisfied in him.

Choral Evensong