Christmas Fair approaching!

 

Remembrance Sunday

 Preached at the Eucharist in St. Cuthbert's & St. John's Churches

(Jonah 3.1-5,10; Mark 1.14-20)

The Revd. Martin Jackson

The Gospel reading today gives us the call of Jesus to his first disciples: “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” The modern translation doesn’t have quite the resonance of the older version, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” But they’re saying the same thing. The urgency of the cause - recognising that the Kingdom of God has come near - and the need for people who will proclaim it, even if it means leaving their livelihood, home and family. 

Fish and fishing play a large part in the Gospels. Jesus calls those first disciples from their nets – from their day-to-day work of catching fish. The final time we see Jesus meet with those disciples in St. John’s Gospel, it’s by the Sea of Galilee, where he feeds them with a breakfast of fish.

In a few hours that I was able to take off the other day, I went for fish and chips on Hartlepool Headland – very near the fish quay where the daily catch is landed and processed. Afterwards I walked through the Sandwell Gate in the Town Wall, across the Fish Sands as they’re known, then back onto the Promenade to the lighthouse and the Heugh Battery. A cannon stands there pointing out to sea – taken from the Russians at Sebastopol during the Crimean War. But more poignantly, this is a place of memorials to those who died in what is described as the only United Kingdom Battleground of the First World War – memorials also to those who perished in the battle against the German fleet that day and in the days following. German ships fired on Hartlepool and West Hartlepool on Wednesday 16th December 1914. A clock can be seen in the local museum, the time of the bombardment recorded as shrapnel stopped it. Fire was returned from the Heugh Battery and the adjacent Lighthouse Battery. A town built on fishing and shipbuilding became a battleground.

You can still visit the Heugh Battery with its lookout tower, gun emplacement, a tank parked on the car park and other reminders of past wars. The entrance at this time of year is decorated with poppies, wreathes will be laid at the nearby memorial today. The names on them will be looked on and recited.

Today in our community here, we do what goes on in cities, towns and villages throughout the country – Acts of Remembrance from the Whitehall Cenotaph to the memorial in Castleside Churchyard and Memorial Cottages in Shotley Bridge, as well as in our churches. The names on those memorials are often familiar names: local people, members of families who still live here. To remember them is not merely to look back to long-ago past events. It’s to remember that we are one with them. Loved-ones who we know were our grandparents, great-grandparents or still more distantly removed but whose blood we share – those who, like my great-uncle, would never have a family of their own, but whose name is now recorded amongst hundreds of thousands of others on a more distant memorial in a Belgian battlefield. For people, like me, from Hartlepool - the reminder of how a peaceable community suddenly found itself made into a battleground.

I know so many people these days are reluctant to turn on the News. The uncertainties and fears of the last week with the brashness and braggadocio of a new re-elected President of the world’s most powerful nation – with all the weaponry which is put at his disposal – after a campaign fuelled by hatred, dismissiveness and the wildest of claims. The ongoing strife in the Middle East and inflicted upon Ukraine – as well as all those conflicts which go unreported. We look back on the wars of the Twentieth Century and see houses destroyed in the Blitz. We look at pictures from Gaza and see almost an entire country reduced to rubble – over 44,000 dead, so many of them women and children. We add that to more than 1,200 Israelis killed in the October 7th massacre, the hundreds of hostages and those who have since died in the ensuing conflict – and still more thousands of Palestinians on the West Bank and Lebanese in their own country.

When I was living in Jerusalem in 1978, Israeli forces entered Lebanon for the first time. We didn’t hear much of what was going on. The conflict seemed contained. I was actually on the Lebanese border in the town of Metulla on the day when many of the forces were withdrawn. I remember it as a quiet, warm, early summer’s day – though a press photographer warned me as to where I was pointing my camera. Everything seemed quite peaceful. In fact, several hundred thousand Lebanese had been displaced. In the present conflict over a million Lebanese have had to leave their homes and about half a million have fled to Syria. We see aerial bombardment destroying huge swathes of residential areas in their capital, Beirut. Imagine if that were London or any other major city! And the Israeli town of Metulla like most of the border area has been evacuated of its residents.

War kills – and it kills people like us, people who love like us. If we think of them as different, if we categorise them as the enemy, then we have no ground on which agreement and reconciliation may be built. And the result is cities, towns and villages destroyed, lives and livelihoods wrecked, children deprived of parents, communities without schools and hospitals – how can the children who have been so afflicted ever expect to grow with a fully-formed vision of humanity?

To go back to today’s Gospel: “The Kingdom of God has come near… believe the good news,” says Jesus. But how can we make it a reality? That’s Jonah’s question - who resists the call of God to preach to the people of Nineveh. He doesn’t believe that he can be heard. He doesn’t believe that he can bring any positive change for good. Yet when he finally goes to them it makes a difference - we’re told they repent and turn from their evil ways. We cannot give up on our resolve that this world should be a better place, that there should be moral purpose, justice and peace for all.

Jesus sees Simon and Andrew casting their nets, and calls to them - and they follow. Further on he calls to James and John, the sons of Zebedee. The Gospel tells us that they were in their boat, “mending the nets.” I’m struck by this observation. The call to us as Christians - as disciples of Jesus - as people who work for a better world - is not merely to cast the net, to be at the sharp edge of things; it’s also to have patience, to be net-menders. And that way we may honour those who have gone before us in their task.

Celebrating All Saints - Come & Sing!

 

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.