Dismissiveness and Discipleship: Eucharist – Epiphany 2

Preached by the Vicar in St. Cuthbert's and St. John's Churches

(and written before President Trump went rather further than Nathanael)

(1 Samuel 3.1-10; Revelation 5.1-10; John 1.43-51)

Jesus calls to his first disciples - and to us - with two simple words, “Follow me.” First, according to St. John’s Gospel, he calls Simon Peter and Andrew. The next day - where our Gospel reading starts - he calls Philip, who’d been a neighbour of Andrew and Peter. Then Philip tries to make an introduction and takes Jesus along to meet his friend, Nathanael. This is where it seems to go wrong… because Nathanael’s reaction is anything but gracious. Philip tells him, this is the man we’ve been waiting for, the man who’ll really make a difference, it’s all there in the Bible… and he’s called Jesus, and he’s from Nazareth! But all Nathanael can do is to harrumph: “Nazareth!! Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

The first disciples of Jesus are not a promising lot. A couple of fishermen, one of whom will always prove to be impetuous, rash and useless at living up to promises; a former tax collector; a failed freedom fighter; a couple of ambitious place-seekers; a thief and traitor; and a number of them who never really seem to do much including Nathanael who comes across as the first curmudgeon of the New Testament and then re-appears only briefly in one verse of John chapter 21 (verse 2, if you want to check it) on a fishing expedition. What did Jesus think he was doing? Andrew Greely, American priest, sociology professor and novelist, put it this way:

 Jesus had [a] peculiar taste in friends. You put the whole crowd together and they were not as smart as one of the third rate philosophers in Rome. Maybe some of them could read and write. They were perhaps street smart, but [if] you were going to announce the nearness of the kingdom of God would you surround yourself with folks [like these]? They were utterly insensitive to Jesus’ spiritual message and interested only in the power and prestige they were going to have in his kingdom (which they didn’t understand at all). One of them was a thief and ten of them cowards. Surely, even if he had decided to limit his choice to Galilee, Jesus could have done better? Why these sluggards and nerds? Why indeed? And why do we pretend that our leaders today are better than they were? Patently the first Pope and the first bishops (if we want to use that analogy) were not sacred persons, but inept, often stupid human beings? Why do have to pretend that their successors are any better? Why should they be immune from criticism? Have we missed the point somewhere along the line that the leaders of the church and the followers in the church are fragile, imperfect human beings and that Jesus chose them precisely because he wanted a human church? If he wanted something better, he should have turned it over not to the philosophers in Rome but to the Seraphim.

But, of course, that’s the point. Jesus doesn’t come preaching the Gospel simply so that he can have a Church made up of angels, saints and seraphim. He doesn’t even want a Church where the philosophers have got it all worked out. He wants a human Church, followers who are ordinary people like you and me - like Andrew and Peter, Philip and Nathanael.

There is a point in Jesus calling people like them. Philip himself is not someone that most of us could name as being of prime importance in the Gospels. But right from the start we see his contribution. He might not be able to articulate the finer points of what he believes, but he wants to share it anyway with other people. He takes Jesus to meet Nathanael; he gets miserable old Nathanael up on his feet from under his tree, and he pushes him towards Jesus despite his protests. Later we’ll find him bringing Gentile visitors to Jerusalem to meet Jesus. Still later we get confusion with probably a different Philip in the Acts of the Apostles preaching to Samaritans, reaching still further beyond the fringes of belief as he helps an Ethiopian pilgrim to understand the scriptures; and at the end of the Acts of the Apostles we see this Philip with his family, creating a welcome for St. Paul, and with his church community around him, a testimony to a life of faith-sharing. Whether or not these Philips are the same person, the point is the same. Jesus needs ordinary people who can carry his message - and being clever or articulate isn’t the first qualification. All that’s needed is a willing heart.

But with Nathanael, even that seems to be lacking. Don’t bother me, he seems to be saying to the enthusiastic Philip. And his dismissiveness could be hurtful. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael is blunt about feelings we may harbour: I’m comfortable where I am; I’m comfortable with what I know already… And that can mean, I’m comfortable with my ignorance, and I’m comfortable with my prejudice.

But Jesus needs people like Nathanael, he needs people like us - and thank goodness he uses people like Philip. Philip persists: “Come and see…” He gets Nathanael onto his feet and takes him to Jesus. And even before He reaches him, Jesus hails him: “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.” Other translations have it, “Here is an Israelite worthy of the name…” Jesus recognises him as someone who speaks plainly, who doesn’t cover up what he thinks. The name Israel, which was given to Jacob, son of Isaac, is a word that means “he struggles with God.” Jesus can see this straight away. Nathanael - beneath the blunt gruffness - is a man with a good heart, who struggles to know the way... How does Jesus know that, Nathanael asks. And the answer is strange - it’s because “I saw you under the fig tree.” That’s enough for Jesus - and it’s enough for Nathanael to be told. Jesus knows about Nathanael, he knows he can use him, because he was in the right place. But what does that mean?

Can God use me? Am I in the right place? We can convince ourselves that we’re of little use to anyone, never mind to God. We don’t know enough, haven’t got the right skills, have so many commitments, and need to be just where we are now - these can be our excuses. But where is God going to find the people he needs? Where does Jesus find his followers? The answer we get in today’s first reading is that God finds the greatest of the Judges of Israel, Samuel, while he’s still a young boy, and he makes himself heard while that young boy is in bed. Surely God can’t be speaking to Samuel - wouldn’t he speak to Eli the priest first? Samuel can’t comprehend it, until Eli realises what is going on: stay where you are, stay in your bed; know that God has a message which requires not priests and the Temple but which needs you and your open heart - so let him speak to you where you are. That’s why Jesus can call disciples who were simple fishermen working with their nets. He can call us. And he calls Nathanael from under a fig tree. Some commentators say that a wise student of the Jewish Torah would study while sitting under a tree, so that seeing him there gives Jesus the measure of the man. But perhaps Jesus is simply saying, I’ve seen you there - I know you; I need you. The fig tree is what will sum Nathanael up, in the same way that it’s enough for the Gospel writer to say that Philip comes from Bethsaida, and Nathanael thinks he can be simply dismissive of Jesus when he hears that he comes from Nazareth.

But now Nathanael recognises something new: “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” He realises that Jesus has the authority of a teacher who can be called Rabbi - and it’s not just that he comes from Nazareth… he comes from God.

And Nathanael comes from under a fig tree… The question for us is, where are we coming from? What is it that sums us up, what are the ignorances and prejudices that we need to leave behind us? Do we realise that already Jesus sees us and calls us? - just as we are…

Perhaps what we need above all in today’s society is to recover our human identity as spiritual beings. We need to recognise that we are more than the sum total of the molecules and atoms from which we are physically created. We are more than all the stuff which we cling to as material possessions. We are made by God, loved by God, and called by God to be his people. We simply need to hear his call, feel his touch, let ourselves respond. It’s not that we should let go of our reason, but it’s to recognise that there are things beyond rationalisation. Believing is not something to be ashamed of. Praying is not something we need to apologise for. We don’t need to worry if we don’t have all the answers, and a faith which expresses itself in humility has much more going for it than the arrogance of certainty. 

Listen... from Samuel and Nathanael to Benedict and us

The Bible readings we have today are about asking and listening - about being ready to ask and being ready to listen.  What’s going on with this young boy Samuel, an apprentice priest at the Israelite shrine of Shiloh in the days before the building of a Temple in Jerusalem? What does Nathanael have to learn from Jesus? Are we ready to ask and listen?

I started thinking about this because I wanted to know more about Samuel - like what does his name mean? There’s some uncertainty… What we have is the story of how he came to be born. His mother, Hannah, hadn’t been able to have children - and it caused her real pain. In her desperation she’d been to pray at the sanctuary in Shiloh. She promised that if she had a child she would dedicate him to God’s service, but she was so upset that she wept as she prayed - and Eli the priest thought she was drunk. But she told him what she was asking for, he blessed her and she had a son. “She named him Samuel, for she said, ‘I have asked him of the Lord.’”

There’s some disagreement whether the name “Samuel” does mean “asked of the Lord.” But I wonder if it matters. The “el” bit of the name in Hebrew does mean God. And Hannah had certainly asked God for help - and she persisted with her prayer even when things seemed hopeless and people thought the wrong thing about her.

But there’s something more. In Hebrew the name Samuel is Shmuel. The first words used by Jews in prayer are Shema Israel… “Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your might…” They’re the words which Jesus uses when he sums up all the commandments of the Law. Love God… love your neighbour… but first, Hear - Listen.

Samuel’s mother had asked for his birth - she had listened for an answer from God. And Samuel needs to learn how to listen for the voice of God and to ask what he should say and do if he is to be faithful as his servant. Hannah learns the way of sacrifice - she gives up Samuel for the service of God. Samuel needs to learn how to say hard things. We discover that if we read on beyond the point at which today’s reading ends: Eli the priest needs to be told that things are not right in what he is doing - nor in the way his sons are living. And Samuel can only play his part if first he learns to listen - and to ask of God how he should act. So three times he hears his name called - three times he gets up and goes to Eli. But only then does he realise that it is God who is speaking to him - only when he asks does he find out what he must do.

The story of Samuel is one of those Old Testament stories which I learned as a child. Perhaps you did... But we need to see that it’s not merely a story from the past - 3,000 years old. It invites us to look at ourselves - what do we hear? It invites us to ask - what does God want from me?

As part of my prayer discipline this year, I’m trying each day to read part of the Rule of St. Benedict. It’s an ancient Rule drawn up in the middle of the 6^th Century for those monks who followed Benedict in the community life which he established. It’s a way of life still followed by many thousands of monks and nuns - but it has a still wider application to any Christian who wants to ask, how can I serve God and get on with other people? Actually that’s the whole point of the Rule - serve God and manage to live in harmony with other people, even the most irritating of people. The Rule has 73 chapters - but it’s also divided up so that you can read a short section each day and get through it in four months. The idea is that those who follow it should read it three times a year. We’ll see how I do…

But actually all I want to do now is tell you what the first word of the Rule is. It’s “Listen…” “Listen, child of God, to the guidance of your teacher…” That’s where we all need to start. Be faithful in this says Benedict, and you’ll realise his aim:

“… what we mean to establish is a school for the Lord’s service.”

Benedict sees that if we’re to grow as Christians we need to be faithful as disciples - and that starts by listening so that we may learn.

Today’s Gospel reading takes us to the first chapter of St. John’s Gospel. Jesus is calling his disciples. We’ve missed the call of the first three. They’re Andrew and another disciple whose name we don’t know. Jesus simply invites them to come and spend time with him - and they go… they listen. Then Andrew goes and gets his brother Simon and takes him along too. At the point we reach today, Jesus has found Philip and called him to follow him - that means to be a disciple, to listen and learn. And he does. It’s something that Philip wants to pass on, so he goes looking for Nathanael and asks him to come and meet Jesus. But Nathanael is doubtful - he wants to write Jesus off: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip has to persist: “Come and see.” It’s a simple encounter which brings Nathanael to recognise how God is at work in Jesus. He simply needs to place himself before Jesus. And then he realises how Jesus already knows him - Jesus is looking already into his heart.

How ready are we to make that encounter? - to be ready to be quiet and listen? The priest and psychoanalyst, Maggie Ross, has just published a book called, “Silence - a user’s guide.” She has her own way of living - as a hermit, not in a desert or out in the wilds, but at the top of a house in a city. It’s her way of trying to understand her life and the lives of others. What are we doing when we come to church? She says of herself:

“I go to the eucharist as often as I can find one that isn't just a lot of noise. This is extremely difficult to find; so often I have to settle for the least worst of the options.”

And she goes on:

“There are a lot of hungry people out there. The churches are full of noise. There is an idolatry of spiritual experience. The situation is dire.”

I think hers is a pretty extreme position. Hermits themselves are probably not the easiest people to live with - and that’s a good reason for them to be hermits. But there’s a valid point in what she says. Do we just go out looking for what is superficially attractive? Do we stop to ask ourselves what we are truly looking for? Have we already made up our minds - like Nathanael - as to what we want to find? Are we taken in by the words, the music, the warm feelings… what she calls “the noise”?

I hope people come here to St. Cuthbert’s / St. John’s and find warmth, music which they like and words which speak to them. But there’s that other element also which is so important - that I bring myself here to meet God.

What am I looking for? Who am I looking for? Am I ready to listen?

 

 

 (1 Samuel 3.1-10; John 1.43-51)

 

 

 

Here is the Lamb of God - recognising Christ

 

 

“Look! Here is the Lamb of God,” says John the Baptist in today’s Gospel reading (John 1.35-42). Actually he says it twice.

First he sees Jesus coming towards him and says, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” And from that he goes on to speak about the Baptism of Jesus - how the Holy Spirit coming upon Jesus at his Baptism shows him to be the Son of God. John has seen it for himself - and he wants to tell people about it.

And then John says it again the next day. “Look! Here is the Lamb of God!” This time Jesus is walking past while John is standing there with two of his disciples. John points out Jesus and the two people with him decide to find out more. They leave John and follow after Jesus.

What does it mean to you to hear those words, “Here is the Lamb of God!”? We use them Sunday by Sunday, even day by day at the Eucharist. It’s the invitation which we normally use in this church to come to the altar to receive Christ’s Body and Blood - and we are reminded “Blessed are those who are called to his Supper.” Blessing is to be found by recognising Jesus and knowing him for who he is.

Perhaps though, we hear those words so often that we just take them for granted. Or we’ve never really thought through what they mean. On altars and in stained glass windows you’ll sometimes see a depiction of a lamb holding a cross. It can look cutely fluffy and pretty innocuous. But look more closely and you might see blood flowing from the lamb’s neck and into a chalice. This is about the lamb as a sacrificial victim, its blood shed and offered for a purpose.

There’s something new about the “Lamb of God” pointed out by John. Lambs and sheep were not the obvious offering for sacrifice in the Jewish Temple. Bulls and goats were offered to take away the sins of the people on the Day of Atonement. Offerings of grain and other fruits of the earth could be made especially at Harvest-time. Incense was burned as a sacrifice declaring that earth is joined with heaven in the praises of the Temple. The sacrifice of a lamb was something else - and for Jews sacrificing a lamb was not about taking away sin. It was about people and their place before God. Abel, the son of Adam and Eve, makes a sacrifice of the first-born of his flocks of sheep - and his offering is approved by God, whose lack of favour shown to Abel’s brother, Cain, leads to the first recorded murder. Abraham is turned by an angel from sacrificing his son Isaac instead to offer a ram in his place. And the Book of Leviticus made it a law that every first born son should be redeemed by the offering of a ram - though in the case of poor families like that of Jesus it could be replaced by sacrificing two doves.

Each of these sacrifices is about a personal offering - and one where the lamb stands in for an individual. The whole person needs to be redeemed before God. Except there is one particular time when the sacrifice of lambs meant something more. It's at the time of the Feast of the Passover. Lambs were offered and their blood smeared above the door of Jewish households as a sign of God’s love for his people, his care and rescue of the Israelites as he freed them from slavery in Egypt before leading them to their own Promised Land.

Now John the Baptist points out Jesus and says, “Here is the Lamb of God!” God is doing something new for his people - and in the course of things we will discover it’s not merely another Exodus, God’s care for people of one particular race and nation. It’s a new Passover which shows God’s redeeming love for the world - for all its people. “Here is the Lamb of God!” Are we going to recognise how God is at work in Jesus?

You can miss it through a sense of familiarity… “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” We sing about that every Sunday before we come to Communion in the words of the Agnus Dei.  

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world, grant us peace. 

Do we take in what we are saying and singing?

For some people, talk about “sin” is a bit of a turn-off. Its reality escapes us. It’s something we might see in other people rather than ourselves - or it gets associated with sexual wrongdoing, and these days pretty well anything between consenting adults is reckoned to be OK. Problems that many people have in recognising what is entailed by talk about sin have led to proposals for some changes in the Baptism service. Predictably some parts of the media (notably the Daily Mail and Bishop Michael Nazir Ali) have started shouting about the Church getting weak about its own convictions through the proposal to drop the word “sin” itself in the Decision made before Baptism. Talk of “dying to sin” and the question, “Do you repent of your sins?” get removed from the text.

But that doesn’t mean the Church is getting wishy-washy. The attempt is to produce something more meaningful than those bits of the service which provoke a response of blank, bored looks. Something more than words is necessary. Baptism is God’s way of addressing us as whole people and asking for a response which will change the whole of our lives.

The first followers of Jesus discover this when John the Baptist points out Jesus as “the Lamb of God.” First time round he declares “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” - but we just hear John talking; no one does anything about it.

But the next day when he again points Jesus out - “Look! Here is the Lamb of God!” - there’s something that moves two of his disciples to do something that will lead to their being changed for ever. They follow Jesus. Jesus asks them, “What are you looking for?” - and they don’t know. But they ask “where are you staying?” And then they take up the invitation, “Come and see.”

“Come and see” is Jesus’ invitation to us as well. His first followers spend the day with him. Then they go and tell other people about Jesus - and they come to find out for themselves.

That’s what we need to do.

The new proposals for the Baptism service don’t drop sin and its consequences. They require the rejection of evil as “all that destroys” - not just “evil” as a short word you can easily say, but “all its many forms” and “all its empty promises.” The challenge is to make the response, “I turn to Christ” - and to keep on doing so: “And to put my trust in him… And to promise to follow him for ever.”

That’s a challenge to anyone who is thinking about being baptised or having their child baptised. It’s a challenge to all of us here. “Look! Here is the Lamb of God!” Are we ready to learn more about this man, Jesus? Are we prepared to take the trouble to spend time with him? How will we respond to his invitation? - “Come and see.”

 

The Last Words of Jesus...

It’s worth thinking about these words. And of course it depends which Gospel you look at. St. Mark’s Gospel doesn’t record any speech of Jesus following the Resurrection - at least if you follow the view of most scholars that the original end of his account is Mark 16, verse 8. St. Luke has two cracks at it - not only the last words of the Gospel which bears his name, but also his account of the Ascension   as we find it in the first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. The gist here is that the disciples need to stay in Jerusalem, to wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit - and to recognise that the Holy Spirit will empower them in the lives they are to lead as Christians. As we celebrate the Feasts of both the Ascension and Pentecost this month, it’s a vital reminder of how we should live - waiting on God, dependent on his power and ability to guide us.

St. John’s Gospel ends with a conversation and even a note of dispute. Here Jesus’ words are spoken not to any group of Christians or to a crowd, but to one man - the apostle Peter. But they are words that he speaks to anyone who wishes to be faithful in discipleship, “Follow me.”

Take a look at these “last words” - ask what they say to you.

I started reflecting on them myself because of the last words which St. Matthew’s Gospel records: Jesus’ assurance that he will be with his disciples “to the end of the age” - and an instruction: “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit...” That seems to be a large part of my calling at present. We may not record any baptisms for this month of April in St. Cuthbert’s, but there were three baptisms on Easter Day in St. John’s - and more before the month’s end. And in May I’ve booked six baptisms in St. Cuthbert’s with more in St. John’s. We know that Baptism is something people want for their children. But - as people ask me - when will we see them again?

In Jesus’ last words baptising goes along with “teaching people to obey everything that I have commanded you.” I can only do my best in encouraging parents and godparents to take seriously the responsibilities they take on at Baptism. And all of us do well to reflect on what we see in Baptism. Something fundamental going to the core of our relationship with God - vows we renew at Easter and affirm in Confirmation. How can we live out the message of Baptism? - and share it with others so that they live it out with real meaning?

 

(From the May issue of St. Cuthbert's Parish Magazine - now available online)

The hands that build can also tear down

"Six days before the Passover, Jesus went to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whome he raised from the dead..."

In today's Gospel reading, St. John goes on to tell how - at dinner - Lazarus's sister, Mary, came in to anoint Jesus' feet with costly ointment and to wipe them with her hair. "The house was full of the scent of the ointment..."

Yesterday's Gospel of the Palms, read in St. Mark's account, tells how Jesus began approach to Jerusalem "at Bethpage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives." The two villages of Bethphage and Bethany are only a short distance apart - it would take minutes to walk between them. But now they are divided by the euphemistically-named "Security Wall." In Bethany it cuts literally across the main street. To travel from Bethany into Jerusalem now requires a diversion of several miles around an illegally-built huge Jewish settlement - and then its Palestinian residents would still have to negotiate the Israeli checkpoint.

In Bethany the church depicts Christ's start of his journey down the Mount of Olives. Inside there's a large rock which he's said to have used to get on the donkey - so large it would probably be easier to get straight on!

But the sense of his Passion continued into our own day is still more graphically depicted by the adjacent Palestinian house, demolished by the Israeli authorities - and the other side of the wall.

"For those who still make Jerusalem a battleground, let us pray to the Lord."

Another Thomas - and a small room

In this morning's Gospel reading (John 14) it's the disciple Thomas who speaks out: “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

If there's a temptation to associate Thomas with a tendency to doubt, then first I would want to say that the key thing about him is his honesty.

Reflecting on this and Jesus' promise that "in my Father's house there are many dwelling places / rooms" - or indeed "mansions" (AV) - I found myself talking about the priest and poet, R. S. Thomas:

... His final reputation was that of reclusiveness mixed with a tendency to venture onto the public scene with some outrageous political views. His Welsh nationalism was mixed with a keen regret that he found himself able only to write poetry in English. For all his long ministry as an Anglican priest he was not immune to uncertainty in matters of faith. But he would not hide from the contradictions he recognised in himself. Not least as a man of words, he relentlessly explored the silence he perceived: silence in which he prayed, but also silence which could denote the terrifying absence of God, silence in the refusal of answers to appear, a silence which he might long to find broken, but in which he had the courage to dwell. It would be rash to state any final conclusions as to the sort of faith with which he ended his life. But we do have some clues from his own words….

R. S. Thomas concludes what he calls his Autobiographical Essay with a picture of himself kneeling in a room furnished with chairs and books, seeing Orion and Sirius above the bay, and knowing it ‘difficult to hold the two in proportion.’ It is an image he reproduces in a poem from his last collection, ‘At the End’:

Few possessions: a chair,
a table, a bed
to say my prayers by,
and, gathered from the shore,
the bone-like, crossed sticks
proving that nature
acknowledges the Crucifixion.
All night I am at
a window not too small
to be frame to the stars
that are no further off than the city lights
I have rejected….

Thomas never comes to easy conclusions about God. He resists the temptation to domesticate a God he finds strangely revealed in the created order, a God who so often eludes him in prayer. But at the same time he finds the reality of God meeting him just where he is – living amongst the few possessions which are necessary, in a small room, with a window not too small to frame stars which seem so near. It’s a poem of maturity after a life of searching – and it points to God in utter simplicity, and says, “We meet him here. We know God because he reveals himself in those things which have become familiar to us.”

Just an excerpt of what I had to say. Click here to find the whole of it.

Turning the other cheek - going that extra mile...

Yesterday we celebrated the 3rd Sunday before Lent. Because of the way the Church's Calendar is worked out it was the first time we've done so in "Year A" since the present Lectionary came out in 1998. Hope I got that right! - my point is that more often than not, we miss a critical piece of Jesus' teaching from the Sermon on the Mount as to how people should relate to one another. The Gospel reading was Matthew 5.38-48. It's required reading if we're to do anything about making relationships healthy. Why do we read it so seldom?

I wonder if as a society we've become over-influenced by soap opera, where the story-line is driven by the deliberate creation of misunderstanding. People don't hear what other people are saying - and they don't hang around to listen again or work out what was really intended. Are we any better? The whole of my homily is to be found by clicking here. And this is an excerpt:


... I suspect that many people think I’m supposed to go around “liking” everyone. The Vicar should go about with a smile on his face, spreading goodwill, never taking offence, being agreeable to all. When adverts appear in the Church Times from parishes seeking a new priest, quite commonly they say that he or she should have a good sense of humour. What they rarely say is “should have a good sense of humour, because you’re going to need it!” Maybe they could say “should have a back like the proverbial duck, so that the water and any other mess that occasionally comes your way can readily flow off it.” But actually that’s not what you need - because that would suggest that you’re rather impervious, hardened-up or deaf to what people say. And priests need to be vulnerable - so they can be easily wounded.

If that’s true of clergy, it’s true of lay people too - ordinary Christians trying to get on with lives of loving service. And that’s what today’s Gospel reading is about…

It’s part of the Sermon on the Mount, and in the section we read today you may hear an echo of the Beatitudes with which Jesus begins this so-called sermon:

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Now Jesus turns his attention to the person who lashes out at you - “strikes you on the right cheek.” It needn’t be physical hurt that’s inflicted - what people say can be even worse. And what do you do about people who always seem to be wanting from you - and never giving - whether it’s wanting something that’s rightfully yours, dragging you along to do something you just don’t feel up to, or borrowing yet again when they could easily go out and buy whatever it is they need for themselves.

Does it ring a bell for you?

When we can’t think of an answer to give, then we can start to feel guilty - and it’s all quite irrational! When we feel that I’ve really done my best and people can’t see it, then we feel hurt. When we feel we’ve just got nothing more to give, then we rightly wonder when someone’s going to give something to me…

What we find in today’s Gospel reading is that those feelings about which we may feel so guilty are nothing new. A first step in facing up to them is simply to admit how I feel.

I’m glad to say that I find myself in a community where there’s lots of support and friendship. We should really value what we have here in this church, this parish, these villages in which we live. Love is the calling of the Christian - that’s what we need, and that’s what we need to share. “Love your neighbour as yourself.” The words are in today’s Old Testament reading - on the lips of Moses as the Israelites wandered all that time in the desert, 3,000 years and more ago. “Love your neighbour…” becomes the second great command of Jesus. But remember to love your neighbour as yourself. We need a sense of self-worth if we’re to do the loving properly. We need to be free of hurt, pain and guilt. But because we’re human there are those times when people cause us hurt - and times when we wound other people too. Admit how we feel, and we’ll get a better sense of our own need, our own worth, and how we can respond.

Jesus tells his disciples, “Love your enemies.” That’s tough, but I wonder if the first step is when we have to recognise who we are setting up to be our enemy? When we pray for those we dislike, there are different things to be doing. We have to ask if there is anyone in the first place that we really do dislike; then to ask why; then to explore whether that’s a real cause for feeling that way. Then as we pray we recognise their humanity - and our own. How does our humanity relate to what the Bible tells us about our being made in the image and likeness of God?...

The Big Society - and on being salt...

I'm not sure when we last had a "5th Sunday before Lent" - never in my record of Year A lectionary cycles... and that's a shame because it means that we're only rarely going to have last Sunday's lections as set reading.

Any one of the readings for the day (Isaiah 58.1-9a; 1 Corinthians 2.1-12; Matthew 5.13-20) offered a wealth of opportunity for reflection. Not least the call to be "the salt of the earth" and "the light of the world." And before that to hear Isaiah's words:

Is not this the fast that I choose:

to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

In my reflections at the 8a.m. Eucharist I couldn't help but make the connection to present-day calls to work for a Big Society, but also to wonder just how many of us are willing to look beyond our own selfish pre-occupations. Getting home I found Alain de Botton giving his Point of View on Radio 4 - and from his secular standpoint admitting that individualism and libertarianism have brought society to a point where there is little to underpin any sense of cohesion; something which can be learned from a religious tradition lost to most. And then our Reader, Rosie Junemann, preached on the Gospel and the Big Society at our Sung Eucharist - find her sermon here.

How do people grasp such a concept as a Big Society if they haven't a common vocabulary / understanding / faith / moral imperative? And how does the Government think it is going to work? Obviously the hope is that it will make good for those gaps where previously there was provision  by government spending. But might not the cuts simply make people more desperate and self-focussed, even selfish? And when charities find their funding cut, and churches and community groups find grants for their work dried up, who will organise people into action for the greater good?

Candlemas - and the beginning of February...

I've been "up the road " in Consett, celebrating the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple at Christ Church. I think it was the first experience of the Feast for most of the (midweek) congregation - at least with full use of candles, procession and responsories. Hopefully a good time for all!

At St. Cuthbert's we kept the Feast on Sunday. You can find my homily for the Feast by clicking here.

And since I've been remiss about posting recently, here is my previous offering of a homily for Epiphany 2 back on 16th January.

We're hoping that the recent improvement in the weather is here to stay. A new discussion group met yesterday - back again next Tuesday. It's only a short burst, cut off by a Deanery Synod meeting the following week... But we'll be back in full flow with Lent meetings in March.

To find out what is going on this month, have a look at our new Parish Magazine, which you can find by clicking here.

Christmas - Why did God put me where I am?

A very happy and blessed Christmas from all of us at St. Cuthbert's!

My question, "Why did God put me where I am?" was provoked in part by the struggle we've been having keeping open the access to our church, set as it is in the middle of a steep hill made treacherous by the snow and icy weather. It's very beautiful as well of course.

In the event there was pretty much a full house at our Christmas Eve service of Carols, Christingles and the Blessing of the Crib. And people have been coming back for the Midnight Mass and this morning's Eucharist.

My sermon for Midnight Mass sermon is now online to be found here - and I'm posting it here as well in full.

Best wishes for every blessing of peace and joy!


Homily for Christmas Midnight Mass

Someone asked me the other day, “Who decided that it was a good idea to build St. Cuthbert’s Church in the middle of such a steep hill?” It’s a question that I’ve been asking myself quite a lot recently as we’ve struggled with ice and snow on our one in seven hill with its one in five approach at the steepest point. Perhaps St. Cuthbert’s Church is here because the man who gave the land in the middle of the nineteenth century couldn’t think of anything else to do with such an inconveniently situated site. Whatever his motives were in giving it, the fact is, however, that the people who wanted to build the church accepted the land and got on with the building. I don’t know if there is any record of early regret being expressed after a couple of hard winters, but 160 years later we are still here doing what we can as we worship in this place, as we use it as a focal point in seeking to serve this community around us and in trying to witness to our faith. And you are here tonight - I’m thankful that you are, when it’s such a struggle in such seriously bad weather to get here.


Why did God put me where I am? That’s a question we could ask ourselves at any time - whether the going is tough or easy. It’s often only when life is hard that we ask questions like this. If we did it more often - in good times as well as bad - then we’d be better placed to see how God has blessed us in so many ways. Ask the question more often and perhaps that might be for you the beginning of a process in which you can cultivate a sense of thankfulness. I wish people would do this, because the voice of complaint is so frequently louder than the spirit of thankfulness… the response to God of gratitude. Why did God put me where I am? If I ask that on a sunny day in May on one of those rare occasions when I get to sit in my garden and feel that I’m on top of things, then I might quite possibly give a different answer than on a day in December when I can’t get the car out onto the road and I spend my time cancelling events which we’ve looked forward to - and which are important especially to people who might not easily be able to get out at the best of times. Against the sense of frustration I’ve encountered so much during the last month, I have to hold up again and again the knowledge of just how much we are able to do as Christians in this place, blessed with our church and its facilities in such a beautiful location. And then I can be thankful for those who do turn out again and again to offer their support for others, who struggle to get here to maintain this place and its life, and who go out of their way to help other people when they could say that life is tough enough for themselves.

Why did God put me here? We have to ask that question on the good days, so that we don’t get the wrong answer when we ask it on a bad day. There is a school of thought that Christians in this country are becoming something of a persecuted minority. But when a British Airways employee is told that she can’t wear a cross with her uniform… or a nurse is reported for offering to pray for a patient, we have to weigh this against the reality and harshness of persecution where Christians are discriminated against day by day, where they are fearful of false accusation, where they become the victims of bloodshed and violence, sometimes imprisoned, even murdered. As we celebrate this Feast of Christmas and have only the weather to contend with, we can think of those who gather tonight in Bethlehem - and who first have to contend with a security wall and identity checks simply to get there. A little further to the east, Christians gather in real fear in Iraq where in recent weeks and months congregations have been taken hostage during worship and murdered by indiscriminate gunfire and grenade attack - and tens, probably hundreds of thousands have felt that they have no alternative but to flee their homeland to find safety elsewhere. Still further to the east in Iran, a Christian pastor has been given a death sentence for apostasy - his parents had been nominally Muslim, but he felt he had had no religion of his own until he became a Christian as an adult, and for that decision of faith he now stands condemned. And in too many other countries Christians are subject to severe restrictions - in some even forbidden to practise their faith.

Do Christians in these lands ask, Why did God put me where I am? They live with real fear and apprehension - and yet they continue to practise their faith and to celebrate it.

Why did God put me where I am? It’s a question we should ask ourselves regularly.

Last weekend I went to see the film “Of Gods and Men.” It’s the story of a community of Cistercian monks in the Atlas Mountains region of Algeria. During the 1990s they became aware of the increasing pressures of Islamist extremism. For decades they’d lived alongside the local Muslim community. But that community itself was fearful. Foreign workers were being murdered by terrorist groups. And then one night at Christmas the extremists came to them, demanding that the doctor in their community should come to treat a wounded fighter, demanding that they hand over their medicines. The monks refused. The doctor himself was too frail and the medicine they had was scarce and used in the clinic they ran for the villagers. The terrorists were persuaded to leave, but from then the pressure increased. The monks had to decide whether they should leave or at least accept protection from government security forces. But they refused the help of a government they knew to be corrupt and oppressive of the people they were seeking to serve. And while some at first wanted to flee to safety in France, gradually they had to recognise the reality for them of that question, Why did God put me where I am? It was not that they were there to make converts - whenever they worshipped it was just them, the monks alone. And they didn’t attempt to make converts. But they were there to live out a vocation. Their calling was not simply to offer medical treatment to villagers who would otherwise be without it - nor to offer some employment to local people who worked alongside them in their fields. Their calling was simply to be - to live a particular way of life as Christians in a particular place; to be a presence. Where else could they go without giving up their vocation?

The Prior of the Monastery, Dom Christian de Cherge, wrote this testament:

If it should happen one day—and it could be today—that I become a victim of the terrorism which now seems ready to encompass all the foreigners in Algeria, I would like my community, my Church, my family, to remember that my life was given to God and to this country. To accept that the One Master of all life was not a stranger to this brutal departure. I would like them to pray for me: how worthy would I be found of such an offering?


I would like them to be able to associate this death with so many other equally violent ones allowed to fall into the indifference of anonymity. My life has no more value than any other. Nor any less value. In any case, it has not the innocence of childhood. I have lived long enough to know that I share in the evil which seems, alas, to prevail in the world, and even in that which would strike me blindly. I should like, when the time comes, to have a space of lucidity which would enable me to beg forgiveness of God and of my fellow human beings, and at the same time to forgive with all my heart the one who would strike me down.

The monks asked the question, Why did God put me where I am?... where we are? and knew that his will was for them to be there, a presence which could not be denied. And in 1996 seven of the community of nine were taken hostage and then murdered. They could have fled, but they stayed - and being there they lived out their calling.

What did they achieve? Were they noticed for what they did? In fact millions now know their story and have seen the film about their lives. It’s a film that requires patience of the viewer. There’s a lot of silence and stillness. And that’s something we could all do well to seek.

Tonight we celebrate the birth of Christ in the stillness of the night in Bethlehem. The story tells us that shepherds ran from their fields to worship - and later there were strange visitors from the East. But how many people at the time noticed? The Nativity of our Lord is the birth of God’s Son into the world, but he comes secretly - not with any display. He is born in the vulnerability of weak human flesh in a backwater of the Roman Empire - to a couple who didn’t really count for much according to worldly standards. But his birth is a presence, unrecognised yet real. This child would grow into a man who would change many lives, who would bring hope in the midst of despair, healing in brokenness, and the promise of new life and salvation for all who would follow him. By this birth God enters into our human picture as profoundly as is possible.

What was barely seen at the time is now known throughout the world. Tonight we bring ourselves once more to worship at the crib. We come to receive him who gives us his Body and his Blood. From apparent insignificance we learn the way of sacrifice and love - and a challenge to our calling. Why did God put me where I am?

Good Samaritan at St. Cuthbert's

What I omitted to say in my last post and in my sermon last Sunday is that the Good Samaritan is depicted in the central window behind the High Altar in St. Cuthbert's - here it is! Above it is Christ depicted as the Good Shepherd. We'll keep that for another time...