Upon this rock

If you go into Pizza Express in Cathedral Square you can sit next to a big picture of their founder, Peterborian Peter Boizot. Written on the picture is a simple play on words ‘Peter’s Borough’. And of course we know that this city is named after a Peter, but not the founder of Pizza Express and local philanthropist. Rather it is named after St Peter, one of Jesus’ first followers. The legend for Posh, our local football team, is ‘Upon this Rock’  – it is written on the crest on their scarf. Our second reading (John 1:29-42) gave us the source for this. Simon has his name changed to Cephas, to Peter, the Rock. We need to know the other gospels because they tell us that Jesus goes on to say that it is upon this rock that he will build his church, upon people like Peter. So, we are a town built on a rock, a follower of Jesus. And, of course, that is true since the Abbey was founded both on stone at the edge of the boggy fens and also on the rock of being a community of followers of Jesus Christ.

John’s version of the calling of Peter is different to the other gospels. There is no mention of a seashore, of Lake Galilee, but rather John the Baptist sees Jesus pass-by and tells the group with him that this is the Lamb of God, the one they are really looking for. He goes on and gives the account of the Spirit descending on him, he gives evidence for his statement. Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, is one of those standing with John the Baptist when he says this. But note, it takes two goes. There is no hint of a response at the first statement, their first hearing. You can see them nodding wisely, thoughtfully, and taking it in, but not responding at that moment. Did they sit later that evening and think ‘that was a bit odd’, ‘what did he mean?’.

So, day two and John is standing about with two of his disciples and points to Jesus again. This time they follow Jesus, presumably to see where he is going, what he is doing, curious about him. Jesus sees them following and asks them what they are looking for? As ever with John this takes us to the heart of our souls. What do we desire, what do we really want? With it comes a hint at something further. If you really want this, what are you prepared to do to find it? As we know, because we have read the story so many times, when Jesus asks a question like that, he is asking how far they are prepared to go for it, will they bear the cost that will be required? And that cost will be everything that they are and have because he has the words of life, where else can they go?

Their response is not to say ‘here is the list of our hopes and dreams’, this is what we are looking for, but “where are you staying”. It is more cautious and keeps their desires a bit hidden just in case. These are dangerous times they are living in. If they say, ‘we are looking for the liberation of Israel from these Roman oppressors’, being overheard can lead straight to  being crucified by the roadside and they prefer to avoid that, understandably. So they need to know who they can trust. This is a quiet introduction. Jesus’ response is to invite them to come on a journey where they can ‘come and see’. He will show them what they are looking for and then they will have to make up their minds if their hearts are in the same place as he is. That is always a challenge for all of us. Andrew goes to find his brother and then off they go together and  so the adventure begins.

I want to concentrate on three things that come out of this passage. Firstly, Jesus is spotted by John the Baptist who realised who he is and points this out to his followers. John is not concerned about his following, how many friends he has on facebook or twitter reposts. For him the focus is on God and he is preparing the way for Jesus, so when he walks by, what else would he do. It is Jesus that is at the heart of this, he is the one to follow. And John has to be persistent, resilient and just not give up at this. It takes him two goes to get his message across. And these were people who were already on the way, on the journey because they had followed him, so they were thinking in the right direction. How much harder is it, and indeed was it, for those who are thinking in a completely different direction? Just because people don’t respond, or act or pick up on what we are saying does not mean we stop pointing to Jesus as the Way, the Truth and the Life. Stick at it, take heart and don’t give up. The community of Jesus is built on some strange rocks, but they are rocks. So when pointing, when being persistent the simple focus is to be on Jesus who is the true goal of everything that we do. And that is an important message for all of us in this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.

Secondly Andrew responds to John the Baptist’s signposting. He makes some initial enquiries to check out what he sees. John’s signposting is not taken without a few questions being asked. If Jesus really is the one, let’s see what he’s about. But for all the caution, there is a response. No one can do this for anyone else. There comes a moment when we all have to make it our own and make our own personal response. But our trust is that if what we are pointing to is genuine and holy, Godly, then it will attract and draw. 

Thirdly, Andrew goes to tell his brother. It is not Peter who tells Andrew, but the other way round. Peter’s place is brought about because his brother went to fetch him and brought him to Jesus so that he could be turned into a rock. The same is true for each of us. Even though we have made our own response, someone else has helped us in that journey of finding faith, of faith finding us. And as we know Peter turns into one of the first great leaders of the church. Who knows who we will help find faith, or have helped find it, but among them could be a future leader, someone who builds up the church and helps it find the vitality that it so needs. Peter is a rock, but he is one formed through the help of others.

So, this town, this city is named after Peter and built upon this rock. That rock is itself built on the help of others who guided his steps so that he could find Christ in the first place. And it is Jesus who is the true rock that we seek, that we show, and that we share as Christians together in this city built on the rock of our common faith. 

Sermon for Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, Westgate New Church, Peterborough, Sunday 19th January 2020

Baptism of Christ: heaven on earth

Baptism of Christ – window in Peterborough Parish Church

January is a time of new beginnings and also facing reality. With the hopes of New Year resolutions this is the week when sandwich shops know that resolve weakens, so they buy in more stock and the more tasty stock at that. It’s also the week when those credit card bills start to pile in bringing home the reality of Christmas spending. New beginnings are not always as new as we like to think because the consequences of past actions come knocking. Even when we think we are reinventing, starting from a blank sheet, we aren’t. Last year I heard Archbishop Justin Welby refer to ‘traditioned innovation’, which means our fresh thinking comes out of where we are. It comes from somewhere in order to get somewhere. It’s a phrase I quite like, because it is rooted and reminds us that all those leaps of the imagination are actually from what we know and can see to what we can imagine is possible, or probable. 

The leap of faith is one of these leaps – jumping from the world we see, the hopes we have, the signs of awe and wonder, to what we think could be. This requires a degree of humility – we might be spot on, we might we wrong, and the test comes with the dawning of each new day. Does it stack up?

Our gospel reading this morning gave us Matthew’s version of the Baptism of Jesus (Matthew 3: 13-17). This is the beginning of his public ministry. It is one that comes out of the hopes and dreams of all that has been and what could be. So Jesus walks out of the crowd, goes forward like everyone else to be baptised by John the Baptist. In doing this, Matthew says he fulfils righteousness. We might say he comes out of the tradition so that he can fulfil it. This makes what John the Baptist is doing a bridge between the old and the new. Jesus doesn’t just stand in line with the past, he also challenges it . The kingdom he brings is not quite what they are expecting. Humility will need to be switched on and this plays out in the coming pages. 

There is a dramatic moment with whatever is meant by Matthew’s statement that the heavens opened and the Spirit descended upon him like a dove. It’s an image that sites heaven just above the clouds. It’s an image we might scratch our heads over, having penetrated the heavens, the skies, into deep space and there are no pearly gates up there with St Peter on the reception desk. This is an image that speaks to a pre-scientific age about the realm of God coming down to be seen on the earth. Another way of looking at it might be with ‘Dr Who’ special effects and the separation between this realm and another being ripped open so that the heavenly can be seen. The fabric of the universe is split and another realm crosses through. Or with Philip Pullman’s ‘Dark Materials’ and the notion that you can go through a portal from one world to another – you need a gate. This echoes John’s gospel when it refers to Jesus as the gate, the way, the truth and the life.  Metaphor is powerful, we just have to find the language that speaks to our age.

The dove, which descends upon Jesus as he comes out of the water, takes us to the story of Noah, to his floating zoo and the longing for dry land, for a symbol of restoration and life. A dove is sent out and it returns with a twig. There is hope. A dove is sent out and it doesn’t return (Genesis 8:6-12). The dove is the messenger of peace, of hope of promise fulfilled. The tradition will move forward and the new beginning is one of blessing.

The voice that sounds echoes Isaiah’s in our first reading (42:1). There is delight in the child of promise. The Spirit is upon him to bring justice. and he will have resolve to see this through. This is no mere New Year wishful thinking. But there is resolve to make it happen. ‘The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this’ (Isaiah 9:7). Remember Matthew’s key theme, ‘God is with us’, so this resolution will happen. It will happen because God’s kingdom is here, ‘God is with us’, and it is his reign that is being announced. The heavens have opened and we see in him what we need to see.

In order to see this we have to look deeply into the story of Jesus. His call is to live as people who seek the kingdom of God, who aim to live in harmony with it. We are to be citizens of two worlds – the earthly but also with the barrier ripped open so that we live here in the light of God’s kingdom and heaven. This makes that word ‘justice’ become a much deeper concept than what happens in Law Courts, though these are heavily shaped by the Christian story. All judicial systems follow the principles of the culture which defines the laws, defines the rules of engagement. I am often very impressed by the reasoning whenever I read a  court judgement in full. Judges have a way of getting to the heart of the issue at stake; they weigh up the balance of the arguments using sound judgement.

There was an interesting post by the Bishop of Manchester during the week. He spoke about what we mean by the phrase ‘all things considered’. What he was arguing was that when there is a major weight of evidence, as with climate change, to give equal time to the deniers is ridiculous, it is to unbalance the evidence. The key question is to ask what is the evidence and  then to balance it so that the weight is given appropriately.  The Bishop of Manchester is the Episcopal Visitor for the Society of Ordained Scientists. Our concept of justice is based on a notion that it is something that enables all to flourish and this has a long history. If this is not the case, if we don’t all have a sense of winning through it, then in the often quoted phrase of Thomas Hobbes, life becomes “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short”. This happens when we lose our sense of balance, of what lies behind the principles of moral development, of what makes for justice. Justice needs to be based on who we are and how we understand that. This is shaped by our understanding of the kingdom of God, which we see in the story of Jesus, and our aim is to live in accordance with it. We are just when we do this.

When we want to see what this looks like, we have the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It doesn’t drop from the skies, but grows out of the Old Testament tradition and the journey of a people whose grasp has at times been firm and at others flimsy. It is radical in getting back to the foundation of the universe and in challenging when we have misheard and  when we have corrupted it through false perceptions.  So ripping open the heavens takes form in the ordinary; it becomes embedded so that we can recognise it and live it.

As we mark the Baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist at the River Jordan, we mark a moment when the tradition was both affirmed and challenged. Heaven breaks through into earth , a gate is opened, and we are invited to live in harmony with that radical call. This brings hope for both the eternal but also a challenge to bring about justice, where the good of everyone is advanced. “This is my son, in whom I delight.” Pay attention and you will live in harmony with heaven on earth.

Sermon for The Baptism of Christ, Peterborough Parish Church, Sunday 12th January  2020

Magi’s Gifts: Restoring balance with hope and thanksgiving

About a decade ago various groups came up with the smart idea of looking ahead and thinking what would life be like in 2020. They went on to ask what they needed to do in order to be ready for this and then the next stage was to plan the route to get there. They called this having 2020 vision, which was not only the target date but also a play on the Optician’s perfect score for eyesight, having 2020 vision – seeing clearly the road ahead. On a good day I have it with my glasses on, on a bad day, when my eyes are tired, or the lenses need cleaning, it’s not quite so clear – and that is probably a good metaphor for vision setting too. 2020 is a date that has been in the distance for such a long time, but here we are, in the words of the SatNav voiceover, we have arrived at our destination. I don’t know what you thought 2020 would look like, but this is it. 

The future is very difficult to predict and I think we would all find it rather hard to crystal ball gaze 10 years ahead from where we are now. The pace of change is so fast and so unpredictable that we need to set our sights a bit closer in front of us.  The best way to plan is, of course, to have a good sense of what it is we think we are here for, to be clear on purpose and for those of us of faith, of the faith of Jesus Christ, it is to be someone whose life is governed and guided by the good news of the gospel. How does the story of our faith inspire, ignite and give insight into what we do? 

Just before Christmas I came across a spiritual discipline for reflecting at the end of the day, and it rather appealed to me. It was to sit quietly and asked three questions:

• What has troubled me today,
• Where have I seen a glimpse of glory and 
• What do I hope for tomorrow?

What has troubled me, distressed me, been of concern? Where has the glint of sunlight broken through the clouds and made me aware of God’s loving presence and helped me see signs of God’s blessing? Looking to tomorrow, not ten years time or 20 years time, but simply what is my hope for tomorrow? If you are a journaller you can write this down, and according to mental health guides, this is a good way of helping with wellbeing. After I have downloaded the day, I have started asking myself these three things: what has troubled me, where have I seen glimpses of glory and what do I hope for tomorrow.

The other day I went through the photographs I’ve taken over the past decade and put together a selection. Looking back over these made me aware of the moments of God’s goodness blessing, things I had overlooked or forgotten. We are, according to an article I read on New Year’s Day, hardwired to see the negative because it is a defence mechanism. So spotting the blessings, the glimpses of glory and moments to be thankful for, was quite revelatory and restorative. 

These three questions fit with the three gifts brought by the wise guides who came calling on the infant Jesus which we remember today as we celebrate the Epiphany. Opening their treasure boxes they brought out gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Or to fit this reflective tool, in reverse, gifts of myrrh, frankincense and gold. 

Myrrh, as we know, is the medicinal compound. It heals, it cleanses, it soothes. It is perfect for the things that have troubled or distressed us. God brings to these healing and peace. What has troubled you, where do you need myrrh to pour over it and cleanse, soothe and heal? Each day will bring pains, small and great. It can be that these are the easiest part of the day to bring into the open, so the first treasure box to spring open. But we open it to seek God’s healing, possibly forgiveness, certainly grace. What has troubled you? What do you need myrrh for?

Frankincense, the sweet smelling odour of worship and adoration, brings us to bow down in worship. It is the perfect symbol for the glimpses of glory, for the moments when thanksgiving burst into song. It might be the catch on this box is a bit stiff and we have to ease it open so that we can see it, but persist, keep at it because there will be a gift in the day somewhere. Hard as it may be, it will be there. The film director Ridley Scott used the industrial landscape of Teeside’s chemical works as the inspiration for the opening shots of his 1982 film Bladerunner. He said, as he walked along the scene he found, there was a beauty in the darkness. In the most unpromising of places there can be signs of glory and blessing. It might be of course that this box springs open readily, and the signs of blessing are clear and easy. The song flows from a heart that is filled with joy. Be thankful for those signs, they are the gift to lift the heart and see us through the hours. Where have there been glimpses of glory? Where is the incense to burn for sweet fragrance of awe and wonder, worship and wellbeing?

Gold is money and money makes things happen. One of the desires many of us have, ambitions if you like, is to make a difference. The church is called to do this, to be an agent of God’s grace and sign of his Kingdom. Our hope for tomorrow, whatever timescale we have in mind as we look, is to live in the light of God’s kingdom present and active now. In the words of Matthew’s central theme in his gospel, ‘God is with us’, so living in the light of this realisation is all we can desire. What do we hope for tomorrow, what change to  see happen or to see dawning?  This box may have a temperamental catch on it. The temperament may be ours – glass half full or half empty and how you see that will depend on whether you think you’ve drunk half and enjoyed it or drunk half so you’ve nearly run out! Having hope for tomorrow is the reason we get up. The day is worth embracing because there is hope in it. Find that and we might find we face the day with more of a spring in our step. The most important hope is that God is with us, his presence brings purpose and a point, we are part of his loving holding of all that there is, and so we can walk in confidence that whatever, we are held. More down to earth we may well want something more tangible, a sign of hope where the new day brings promise. What do you hope for with the new day? What is the gold you bring?

So at the dawn of a New Year, I commend a reflective practice which helps us face the pain and trouble, embrace the glory and blessing, and walk on in hope and joyful expectation. Around  this church in the city centre, high up on the surrounding buildings, there are three characters, Anthony Gormley’s statues – one is looking, one has arms outstretched, and one is walking: looking to face the troubles, arms outstretched embracing the glory and blessing, and walking in hope into the new day. Our three magi in the city centre with their myrrh, frankincense and gold. All held in the overarching purpose of God, in whose love we live and move and have our being. These three magi can help us restore our 2020 vision, to get life into balance with hope and thanksgiving.

Sermon for Epiphany Sunday, Peterborough Parish Church, Sunday 5th January 2020

O come, all ye faithful

I don’t know what your favourite Christmas Carol is, but a popular one is the first one we sung this morning, ‘O come, all ye faithful’. It is a staple of Christmas services. It has a stunning descant loved by choirs and there is the final verse, which is only sung on Christmas day – for me one of the distinctive elements of today, not least having led so many Christmas services over the past few weeks – it is good to have something just for today. 

It is a carol that tells the story of Christmas. In the first verse, Christ is proclaimed as king of the heavenly beings, the angels. It bids us go on our journey to Bethlehem, to behold him and adore him. Then we reflect on who Jesus is, ‘God of God and Light of Light’, reflecting John’s great introduction to his gospel and his song of praise to Christ as God among us, the eternal Word or purpose of the creator, becoming flesh and dwelling among us. The middle verses tell of shepherds, magi and of Christ forgiving sins.  Visitors bowing down because this child will change the world for the better. Instead of being burdened and condemned, we are set free to live  with joy. Then the choirs of angels let rip, filling the air with their heavenly chorus. We are invited to join with them in this love-song of joy and hope. The final verse, only sung today, greets him on this morning, the day we celebrate his birth.

The hymn bids all come, but it has a somewhat less inclusive origin.  It was written in Latin in the eighteenth century, at a time when different factions of the church looked with distain on those who didn’t share their views. It comes from a time when those factions claimed they were right and everyone else was wrong, even dangerous for salvation. To be different was to be outside and wrong. The writer, John Francis Wade, has links to Roman Catholic resurgence, long before Catholics had freedom to worship and organise officially, so at a time when they were viewed with suspicion and effectively an underground community. With that, some think the carol contains a revolutionary code linked to the Jacobite rising of Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1745, and the plot to restore a Catholic to the throne. It was a time of political unrest. So the faithful are those who follow a particular faction of the Christian church, not all who share the name of Christ as we would see it today.

The irony is that a carol that may well have its origins in a rallying cry to a particular faction of the Christian Church has become a popular song embraced by all. What started as a partizan anthem has been adopted by all, bringing all together. It calls on all of us to adore Christ because his love is for all of us. When we want God for ourselves, to own him and pen him in, he breaks free and embraces everyone, makes our concern wider and brings others round the table too. Christ is not the possession of any particular grouping, rather we, in our great diversity, belong to him and we can find ourselves in surprising company.

Who were the first to worship and adore? In Luke’s gospel, which we heard a moment ago, it is the shepherds (Luke 2:1-20). These are the night-workers, the ones the powerful don’t see because they work while they sleep. These are the ones who are at the margins of society and so not likely to be counted in when the invitation list is being drawn up. The list of who they are today is quite wide, but it is everyone the rest of us don’t see. Who are the faithful we need to include this Christmas when singing the invitation to adore him? Who would we assume to not be on the guest list? And have they sung this too?

The carol is a reminder that this gospel is for everyone and does not belong to the church or any particular group within it. Strangers and pilgrims gather round this table, at his stable, and are joined together into a great company. We have welcomed so many people to worship over the past few weeks, people who have come to worship and adore. Some have crept in when the services have finished to pray and light candles and those of us who have been clearing up have the privilege of enabling them to use the space too.

When we think of a partizan anthem, there are divisions and hostilities today. The other evening there was a report on the BBC News Channel about churches being closed and demolished in Indonesia. There ‘to come and adore’ is to face persecution and threats. A report recently,  commissioned by the Home Secretary at the time and chaired by the Bishop of Truro, highlighted that Christianity is the most persecuted religion in the world and Bethlehem, which we sing of how still it lies, lies far from still today. We are free to worship and therefore responding to the invitation to come and adore is easy. When some sing ‘O come, all ye faithful’, it comes with a harder punch. 

So today we are drawn as strangers, friends, people of wide differences, to come as faithful followers of the child in the manger, to worship and adore him. May we be mindful of those we share our place with. Some look different and may express their praises differently, some will struggle against greater obstacles to be there. What started as a partizan carol is now one which bids us all come, and adore him, for Christ the Lord draws us together, united in him.  

Sermon for Christmas Day, Peterborough Parish Church, 25th December 2019

Love-song of the Angels

There was a phrase in the second carol we sang at the beginning of this service, ‘It came upon the midnight clear’. It came in the second verse and referred to the ‘love-song’ sung by the angels. They bring this love-song to the shepherds in their fields. Frightened and surprised as they are, in the familiar tale told by Luke, the angels tell them not to be afraid. The message of their love-song is peace on earth and goodwill towards all people (Luke 2:8-16). It is a love-song because what might be remote and distant, beyond access comes close. The angels tell of God so loving the world that he came among it in the child Jesus. That’s a phrase from later in John’s Gospel (3:16), from which our Gospel reading was taken (John 1:1-14). The passage about God loving the world goes on. Jesus does not come to condemn the world, but so that it might be saved (John 3:17). These are words to inspire, to hold to. They came at a time of deep political turmoil, so they can speak hope to whatever challenges we face.

It is through the love-song that the gospel reading comes alive (John 1:1-14). What could be deep philosophy for a midnight hour, about the eternal Word, God’s thought and whole rationale for creation, becomes not just pure maths and physics and chemistry but the poetry of music and the sparkle of dancing atoms. There is wonder, there is purpose, there is a love-song.

This past year has brought its moments of fear and hatred. Terrorist attacks, abusive tweets and threats to MPs and wars and conflicts have wrought their violence. And a few weeks ago a disturbed ex-prisoner unleashed a frenzied attack on two young criminologists at Fishmongers’ Hall, near London Bridge, killing Jack Merritt and Saskia Jones, aged just 25 and 23 respectively. Their funerals were on Friday last week. Both of them believed in this love-song, that love overcomes hate and rebuilds lives, that everyone deserves a chance at rehabilitation. One of those who tried to fight off the killer had benefitted from Jack’s work and spoke of how his life had been turned around. The love-song, which brings redemption, changes us.

When our thinking and planning become remote and distant, this is the time to hear the angels sing, to be brought closer to the love-song at the heart of creation and redemption’s tale. This love-song is no soft touch. It brings the pain and shame of the cross, it takes on the darkness head-on and as John’s wonderful prologue puts it, the darkness is not able to overcome it (John 1:5). Love is the strongest force there is. It is the source of life, of creation, and in Jesus Christ we see that it is its goal too.

The love-song challenges us when things may seem uncertain, when we may wonder where events are likely to pan out. It is our calling at Christmas to be so filled with this love-song that it colours how we live for the rest of the year. It is grace to embrace. And break down barriers, to overcome hatred. Just like a dog, the love-song is not just for Christmas but for life.

I came across a poem the other day, by Maya Angelou, written for President Bush for the White House tree-lighting ceremony in 2005. It contains words of hope, the hope of Christmas, when thunder rumbles and the sky threatens. It reflects on the love-song of this night.

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes

And lightning rattles the eaves 

of our houses.

Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, 

falls upon snow to avalanche

Over unprotected villages.

The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.

What have we done to so affront nature?

We worry God.

Are you there? Are you there really?

Does the covenant you made with us 

still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, 

Christmas enters,

Streaming lights of joy, 

ringing bells of hope

And singing carols of forgiveness 

high up in the bright air.

The world is encouraged 

to come away from rancor,

Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.

Thunder ebbs to silence 

and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.

Flood waters recede into memory.

Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us

As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children

It rides on the shoulders 

of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.

Hope spreads around the earth. 

Brightening all things,

Even hate which crouches breeding 

in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.

At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.

We listen carefully as it gathers strength.

We hear a sweetness.

The word is Peace.

It is loud now. It is louder.

Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. 

We are thrilled by its presence.

It is what we have hungered for.

Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.

A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.

Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands 

and welcome the Peace of Christmas.

We beckon this good season 

to wait a while with us.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.

On this platform of peace, 

we can create a language

To translate ourselves to ourselves 

and to each other.

At this Holy Instant, 

we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ

Into the great religions of the world.

We jubilate the precious advent of trust.

We shout with glorious tongues 

at the coming of hope.

All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices

To celebrate the promise of Peace.

We, Angels and Mortals, 

Believers and Non-Believers,

Look heavenward and speak 

the word aloud.

Peace. 

We look at our world 

and speak the word aloud.

Peace. 

We look at each other, then into ourselves

And we say without shyness 

or apology or hesitation.

Peace, My Brother.

Peace, My Sister.

Peace, My Soul.

(From ‘Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem’ by Maya Angelou.)

The love-song of the angels brings a transforming stillness on the world and into it.  It brings the love of the creator, which is hardwired into the purpose of life. The covenant made with humanity is cemented in Christ. God has not and will not abandon us. May this love-song, this amazing peace, at the centre of creation through the eternal Word, fill us this night and always.

Sermon for Christmas Midnight, Peterborough Parish Church, 24th December 2019

Advent 4: Jesus’ ‘Who do you think you are?’

Each of the Gospels approaches the story they want to tell about Jesus from a different place. For John, the Gospel for Midnight Mass, it is the deeply philosophical with the eternal Word and light shining in darkness. Mark plunges straight in with John the Baptist baptising in the wilderness and along comes Jesus to inaugurate his ministry as an adult at that point. Christmas does  not feature in Mark. Luke, on the other hand, starts with birth stories, first of John the Baptist and then Jesus. Both are miraculous – John to a woman beyond childbearing age and Jesus to a young woman miraculously through the Holy Spirit. Matthew has been watching BBC1. He sets out his own version of ‘Who do you think you are?’, tracing Jesus’ ancestry (Matthew 1:1-17). We tend to miss this out from our readings in church, presumably long lists don’t excite the ears of those who devise lectionaries, but it is an important list and it comes immediately before where our Gospel reading this morning would have begun if I hadn’t extended it (Matthew 1:1-3, 5-6, 16-25).

That genealogy at the beginning of Matthew’s gospel traces Jesus’ line back to Abraham in the Old Testament. The full version is in three sections, each with 14 generations in them and in that list there are a number of women who don’t fit the mould. There are also a few people missing, so we can assume that the symbol of the maths is more important than the complete list. Fourteen is double 7. Seven is the perfect number in Jewish thought, so three lots of 14 gives us 6 lots of 7, and if we are looking for significance, that is one short of the perfect number 7. So it might be that Matthew is playing a game with numbers. The list becomes a nerd’s highlighter pen. This Jesus will begin the age of the 7^th grouping, so we are into the perfect realm now. God’s grace has dawned and we know this because the numbers line up – kind of, if we ignore those missed out. The point of this is that for Matthew the key to the Gospel he wants to tell is that Jesus fulfils the hopes and dreams, the prophecies of the past. His is a gospel of fulfilment and so throughout it what happens is punctuated with: 

“this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet”, 

as in verse 22, regardless of whether that prophet meant what Matthew used their words to underline.

A case in point is our gospel reading this morning with the virgin conceiving and bearing a son who is to be named Emmanuel, God is with us (Matt 1:23). As we heard in our first reading the prophecy referred to was about being saved from a very different threat to the one Jesus saves his people from (Isaiah 7:10-16). This section of Isaiah has been dated around 8^th century BC and the threat was from an invading Assyrian army. Isaiah’s point is ‘don’t panic’, the threat will pass before the young woman’s child has been born and has been weaned. That might sound like it might take a while, but the point is the pregnant woman will deliver her child and it will grow. There is a future, there is hope, God is with us. This is the point that Matthew picks up on for how he chooses to tell the story of Jesus. Don’t panic, God has this, the plan is being fulfilled. We can trust in God’s enduring goodness and providence. God is with in this child to be born for us.

So what can look like a long, boring list for genealogy addicts, turns out to be a message of hope and surprise. The women included in the list are Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Bathsheba, ending with Mary. Tamar was a Canaanite or Aramean. She married Judah’s son Er. He died and she was passed on to the next son Onan, so he could raise up children for his brother. You begin to see where the question about marriage  and the unfortunate woman, put to Jesus later in the gospel came from (Matthew 22:23-33). He also dies and Tamar is told to hang about until the next son, Shelah, is old enough! Tamar is not impressed with this idea and goes off. Meanwhile  her mother-in-law, Judah’s wife, dies. He goes off to sheer the sheep. Tamar is nearby, but in disguise. Judah thinks she is for hire and offers her a kid goat from the flock and with that she is his for the night, though he still doesn’t know who she is. Tamar becomes pregnant and is about to be burned for this when she reveals what has happened. The child is Perez, who  also appears in Jesus’ genealogy (Genesis 38). Put that in EastEnders and you’d say the scriptwriters have gone over the top.

Next up is Rahab another Canaanite (Joshua 2 & 6). She was a sex-worker in Jericho, who shelters the Israelite spies before they capture the city and slaughter everyone in sight. The bible says nothing of her marriage to Salmon, with whom she gives birth to Boaz, so there is a mystery as to where that comes from. She is, though, incorporated into the story of salvation through her assistance at Jericho, a gateway to the promised land and perhaps a link to the fulfilment of this dream and place of residing. 

Boaz leads on to Ruth’s story. She is a Moabite who becomes the wife of Boaz after she seduces him on the threshing floor. She gets a book all of her own in the Old Testament.  Their child, Obed, is the grand-father of the shepherd boy David, the key figure in this Messianic sequence; an idealised ruler referred back to so that the Messiah is a new David, though he rather has clay feet. 

The fourth woman is Bathsheba, who was probably a Hittite and was spotted by King David while she had a bath on the roof top (2 Samuel 11). Bathsheba was married to Uriah who is described as a Hittite, so this gets awkward – though taking into account the previous stories it is probably on-message by now. Bathsheba becomes pregnant, so David’s response is to send her husband into the front line of a battle to ensure that he was no longer in the way. He is killed in fierce fighting. David is condemned by the prophet Nathan for this and the love-child also dies. Their second child is King Solomon, the one who is noted for wisdom and he succeeds David. 

This is quite a list of women but they each open up the story to include people from other nations, people whose stories are not exactly pure. The fulfilment of prophecy, so important to Matthew, comes through some surprising people. We are being set up from the beginning for a story that will bring plot twists and takes us to unexpected places. Buckle up, this is going to be quite a ride.

And the foreigners keep coming. Next up will be the Magi (Matthew 2:1-12) and in Mathew it is these star-gazers from distant lands who come to worship and adore, not shepherds from the nearby hillside. This gospel fulfils the hopes because it is for all people. The people Jesus saves is all humanity. 

At the end of the list is Mary, a young woman who could so easily have been given a similar story to Rahab, Tamar, Ruth and Bathsheba. Joseph assumes she has, because he proposes to put her aside quietly, rather than subject her to public disgrace, shame and probably destitution. It’s not clear what cover story they had lined up, but just as the others were used in God’s plan in the story of the people, so Mary is too and Joseph recognises this.

Matthew sets Jesus’ story in the context of a long unfolding story of a people, a story fulfilled in Jesus. At each point God chooses people others would discount and even uses those who would be disgraced and shunned by our PR conscious age. They show themselves to be more open to the Spirit than those who present a more shiny and pure image are. If there is hope for them, there is hope for us. There are surprises and the story of Jesus will surprise more than any before; it challenges preconceived ideas. This gospel is for everyone who opens their hearts to it, for God is with us.

Sermon for Advent 4, Peterborough Parish Church, Sunday 22nd December 2019

Advent 3: Good news for the poor

What do you hear when that Gospel is read (Matthew 11:2-11)? Which words stand out most? Is it Jesus giving an account of what he has been doing? Is it John the Baptist, languishing in prison and pondering if he’s backed the right person; having an understandable wobble in that precarious situation, wondering if Jesus is the real deal? Prison was a mere holding place while someone’s fate was decided and as we know it ends violently for John the Baptist, who is beheaded on the drunken instructions of a lustful ruler.  Is it the powerful being in palaces, wearing fine robes, driving smart cars? Jesus says this is not where you go to hear the good news. Rather, he says, it is with the poor.  The heart of this gospel passage is the announcement of good news to the poor. That is the proof for John the Baptist to trust his judgement. This gospel turns the world upside down and with it our expectations of where to find the vibrancy we so seek. This passage has similarities with Luke’s account of Jesus reading out his Nazareth manifesto, when he says that the Spirit of the Lord is upon him because he has come to bring good news to the poor. And it this being fulfilled that shows his credentials to John the Baptist so that he can recognise who he is (Luke 4:16-21).

As we enter a new phase of our nation’s story, with a new government, this is a timely message, not least when so many areas of the country have crossed what seemed an impossible divide and voted for a party many of them had blamed for all their ills in the past. Some think this is turkeys voting for Christmas, others that it shows just how alienated they have felt, even from the party that is supposed to have placed their interests first. What does ‘good news for the poor’ look like? Is it a package of policies? It will certainly involve some and hearing the Prime Minister speak on Friday morning, he seems to have recognised that votes have just been lent him, so he has to deliver. Let’s hope he does. Is  ‘good news for a the poor’ a radical change where those who serve at tables, clean cars and offices, polish nails and pack online orders in warehouses are given fair reward, seen and heard as people of equal worth and value? Is it drawing them deeply into participation in their communities so that they become part of the solution, which is by no means an easy task given how we have become so isolated and privatised as individuals over the years, persons on our own rather than in community? This has to go deeper than just trying to cover up budget gaps and might require funds committing to make it work, skilled people who can guide and encourage.

Each of these areas is easy to say but requires a change of heart and attitude for them to truly come alive. Honouring means regarding as an equal. Policies need budgets attached, funds committing to make change happen. Participation needs to be nurtured so that communities can make decisions for themselves and shape their own neighbourhoods. This is actually the principle behind local churches in local neighbourhoods. Where they are vibrant is where they are in touch, connect and reflect that neighbourhood. It is also the principle behind the Near Neighbours project, funded by the Church Urban Fund to support work in local communities to bring people together. This marked its first birthday last week.

Good news is not just announced for the poor, something given to, but as it honours, listens, draws into participation, good news comes back in the other direction. One of the remarkable things to come out of so many projects seeking to improve the lives of those at the lowest points is that as we bless we find that we are blessed in return. Those involved in the Winter Night Shelter find this as they sit round the table and hear stories. I found that as I was talking to an asylum seeker during my Sabbatical, a fellow guest at a Franciscan house. Over a shared meal, he spoke about his life, his story. He could have been bitter about the length of time his case was taking, but as he expressed it so simply, each day he was there he was still alive and not enduring what had led him to leave in the first place. It could have been worse, he might now be dead. Hosting Garden House in the Cathedral Precincts blesses an organisation, the Cathedral, that has been so weighed down by finances recently and needs to find large amounts of money to be sustainable. There is a poverty in riches and a wealth in poverty that can turn the world on its head, as we give so we receive.

We see lives being transformed because priorities are being re-set and the masks of security, which actually just hide a deeper vulnerability, slip away to reveal our ultimate utter dependence on God’s grace and love. As the cash registers ring out their seasonal greetings, today on this third Sunday of Advent rather than promises of riches to the already prosperous, we are brought good news for and from the poor. ‘What did you go out to see’, asks Jesus. ‘Fine robes?’ Those are in palaces and the irony is that is not where good news resides.

It could be easy to romanticise about poverty. But it is hunger, debt, inadequate funds, cold and it grinds people down. In a debate in General Synod earlier in the year, Philip North, the Bishop of Burnley, called it ‘the four horsemen of the apocalypse: Universal Credit, low-paid work, food poverty and austerity’ plaguing so many lives (Church Times 1 March 2019). These are injustices and they need challenging – the new government needs them at the top of their in-boxes, each of the new ministers’ red boxes. If they don’t the communities that voted them in will turn on them and that will not end well. So poverty is no easy place of blessing. Rather it is that light shines in this darkness bringing hope where there could so easily be despair.

A lot of effort has been put into how to grow churches over the past few decades and the result is that we have seen steady decline. The statistics are clear. Philip North has a theory as to why this is the case. It is, he says, because the church has forgotten the poor. Renewal, he says, comes from good news for, with and from the poor, not in shiny projects that appeal to consumer culture in a different guise. It takes longer to grow, to embed, but in time it changes everyone. Providing coffee drop-ins, as we do, where the coffee is affordable, where people can sit with friends or just sit and feel welcomed, addresses this head on. Our cafe serves quite a purpose. One of the things which always impresses me so much about the Franciscan houses I stay in is that everyone is round the same table, whoever they are. There is no distinction and we all meet, share stories and find ourselves humbled and blessed in equal measure because all are guests of the same heavenly Father who loves us each equally and expects us to do the same.

Good news for the poor is actually good news for everyone. Social action and evangelism belong together because the words have to be lived and the words should be about justice, setting people free and bringing lives to flourish in God’s love and grace. If they are not, then they are rather hollow and empty. Jesus announced good news to the poor. When we do the same, we find that good news is for us too, whether we count ourselves as one of the poor or not.

Sermon for Advent 3, Peterborough Parish Church, Sunday 15th December 2019