Evensong : Second Sunday of Lent

Numbers 21:4-9

Luke 14:27-33

The account of the people, the poisonous serpents and the serpent of bronze is a strange tale to our ears. The serpent wrapped around a pole is known to us as a symbol of medicine and healing, but this comes to us from Greek mythology, the symbol of the demi-god Asclepius; and while the Greek tale is much younger, it does not appear to draw on this event in the story of Moses.

It seems primitive to us: a God who strikes down his own people, before relenting and instructing his prophet to create a symbol which he will bestow with healing properties. And yet these ancient myths - these stories that transcend the time and place where they are set - persist because they reveal something of ourselves to us that we would be foolish to believe we have outgrown the need for hearing.

In the grumbling of the people, in their becoming numb to the gift of life God has graciously given them, a subtle but highly toxic poison is already abroad in the camp. In sending poisonous serpents among the people to bite them, God externalises what is already present in such a way that it is exposed, that the invisible is made visible. The people do not merely cry out to be rescued from the serpents, but come to their senses in relation to the internal poison, to their self-inflicted wounds.

God’s response is not the provision of a medicine to counter the snake venom; but, rather, to take that external visualisation one step further: if they would be healed, the people must gaze upon a representation of the serpent, which is itself a representation of their folly. They must confront their own rebellion, must gaze upon their sin. But they must do so in the way God has prescribed: for to do so is not to despair, but to dare to hope; for in the very place where we confront our sin, we are confronted by God’s mercy.

Moreover, God does not remove the serpents. They continue to be present in that place, and continue to bite people; but now the consequence no longer has to be death. In the serpents and the bronze serpent the people are continually reminded - and we with them - of our own toxicity.

This strange tale reappears in the New Testament, in the Gospel According to John, where Jesus tells Nicodemus that the serpent lifted up on a pole is how he understands his own destiny: to be looked upon by those who recognise their own sinfulness, and to be the means of healing for them. This, perhaps, in his years of ministry as well as in his hours on the cross.

But this is not our Gospel reading today. Today we have some other sayings of Jesus and these too concern our theme. The monumental folly of an unfinished tower, and history littered with predictable military humiliations, are both examples of internal attitude externalised. The unwise builder and the unwise king both seek to make a name for themselves without self-knowledge, without recognising their limitations, their falling-short of their aim. As we gaze on their ruin, we are meant to recognise ourselves reflected back at us. And yet, again, in the place of confronting our folly, we are confronted with God’s mercy. For as we give up all we possess - in its abundant lack - to God, in Jesus, he takes our identity upon himself and in exchange we are healed as the poverty of our nature is transformed by the riches of his grace (if I may be allowed to let Epiphany break into Lent).

Those things about ourselves which we cannot face - nor yet change, even if we could - we project onto someone or something other. Left to our own devices, we project them in violent ways - against those on benefits, or immigrants, or those of another religion; the most vulnerable groups being the most easily demonised. But in his great love, God has not left us to our own devices: instead, he has declared, ‘Project yourselves on me, project yourselves upon me raised up on an execution scaffold; for as you do, you will be healed.’

How, we cannot know, any more than we can fathom how Moses’ serpent could be used by God. Yet, if we dare to trust that this is somehow truth revealed, then gaze with me upon the cross - which is both ours and Christ’s. Amen.

Ash Wednesday

John 8:1-11

Here we are, once again, at the start of Lent. I wonder what your expectations of Lent are. Perhaps you see it as an austere season, even a severe season? Perhaps you see it as an endurance test? Perhaps you see it as a strange observance belonging to another time? Perhaps you have no idea what Lent is all about?

Might I suggest that Lent is a season of intimacy with the God who created you, and whose declared intentions for you are life in its fullness?

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. And God drew out the land from the waters of the sea. And God drew out the dustling from the dust of the ground, impressing it with God’s own stamp and seal, and breathing God’s own life into it. And God drew out all kinds of trees from the ground. And God placed the dustling he had drawn out from the ground in a garden, to take care of the ground and of the trees that grew from the ground: to help the ground to fulfil God’s intention for it, and to help that which sprang forth from the ground to fulfil God’s intention for it too.

And God took the dustling and drew out male and female; woman to correspond to man, two halves of one whole; the woman to be a warrior-deliverer for the man just as God would declare himself to be a warrior-deliver to humanity.

And God said, walk with me. But the serpent said, “God is hiding himself from you, is keeping all that you could be from you: don’t settle for that!” And the dustling was deceived, and tried to take what had already been given – a share in God’s identity. This catastrophic event cast a long shadow between God and the dustling; between male and female within the dustling; between the dustling and the ground from which they were taken, and the plants that also sprang up from the ground.

And yet, God sets clear limits on the consequences. The serpent is cursed, to eat dust. The ground is cursed. But the dustling is not cursed. Death will come as a release, not as the final word on the matter. In death, the dustling and the dust would be reunited. And from the woman would come life; a son who would avenge her, crushing the serpent’s head.

These ancient foundational stories of our humanity provide a backdrop as we turn our eyes to Jesus in the temple. He has been here since celebrating the Feast of Tabernacles, the annual act of remembering that God had drawn his people out of slavery in Egypt and met with them in the wilderness, where he had provided living water from the rock, and had shaped a broken rabble into a nation to be a light to the nations. Jesus is causing quite a stir, and while the people are drawn to him, the chief priests and the Pharisees are increasingly hardening their hearts towards him.

It is early in the morning, and Jesus is sitting in the temple courts, teaching, when he is rudely interrupted. The self-righteous drag a woman before him, a woman caught in the very act of committing adultery. It is a trap. In the Law, Moses commanded them to stone ‘such women,’ they say: will Jesus dismiss the Law?

Of course, they care little for the Law. The Law commands that both parties guilty of adultery, the man and the woman, be put to death. This woman is not suspected of promiscuity; she is, allegedly, caught in the very act of committing adultery. If these men were concerned about the Law, they would be bringing the man before Jesus too. The woman – reduced to an object – is merely a pawn: entrapped. For how would a gang of men happen to be at hand if not waiting? And if entrapped, possibly raped – in which case, the Law might require only the death of the man. But there is no man brought for judgement. Or rather, the man being accused is Jesus. God who said, ‘Do not commit adultery’ also said, ‘Do not bring false testimony against your neighbour’ – and in seeking to entrap Jesus, they are playing one commandment off against another.

Jesus ignores them. Instead, he writes on the ground with his finger – a common teaching tool. Perhaps he is going back to his teaching, bringing to mind his interrupted train of thought. The more the religious thugs demand a response, the more he carries on ignoring them, refusing to be drawn into their game – their game of pretending to be more righteous than the woman; their game of pretending to be more righteous than Jesus.

Until at last, the trap springs shut: but Jesus has sidestepped it, and rescued the woman with him; the fowlers caught in their own snare. “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Jesus was without sin. And yet he chose to so fully identify with sinners that he sides with those who do not dare throw the first stone. He chose to identify with the very men seeking to trap him, as well as with the woman who happened to find herself caught up in their hatred. He chose not to stone the woman, but to crush the serpent’s head. He chose to point his finger not in accusation, but to point towards freedom.

This is a story about creation, un-creation, and new creation. We are all dustlings, drawn from the ground, sharing a common humanity, made for unity, made to fight for one another not against one another. Stoning someone to death is the ultimate act of un-creation: taking stones from the ground to return a dustling to dust. Jesus is not looking for un-creation, but new creation. He is stirring something in the dust, writing a new story. Yes, the woman was entrapped, but it is likely that something about how she lived her life made her vulnerable to such a trap: perhaps she would not dare to speak out the truth of this situation, because her accusers held some other secret over her. Jesus does not condemn her, but neither does he say it does not matter. It matters greatly; enough to put his own life on the line. “Go your way, and from now on do not sin again” he tells her...and not only her, but those still close enough to overhear. Don’t collude with the treating of people as objects.

The season of Lent is an invitation to reacquaint ourselves with dust...

To rediscover our connectedness within God’s creation, where we have become disconnected...

To see our fellow dustlings with solidarity and compassion, where we have viewed them with suspicion and contempt, where we have viewed ourselves as above others...

To allow Jesus to draw patterns in the dust, our lives not set in stone but something altogether more dynamic, able to adapt.

It is a season to humble ourselves, but also to learn to love ourselves in yet another year of our decaying dustiness, our frailty and wretchedness; and to love our dusty neighbour as ourselves; as we are made new, not by our own efforts but by the One who loves us.

This Lent, may you find yourself in the dust at Jesus’ feet;

and may you wait there:

wait while he ignores the accusations brought against you, brought against him;

wait until the voices fall silent and the accusers turn away;

wait, until transformed by his grace, you are set free to go your way, and from now on do not sin again…

Author’s confession: due to other contraints, this sermon is a re-working of my Ash Wednesday sermon from last year.

Sunday Next Before Lent : Giving Sunday

Matthew 17:1-9 (Matthew 16:13-28)

Today we give thanks for the generosity of many people – a generosity of their time, their skill, their money - that enables the life and mission of this Minster community. As we think about being church in this place, I want to set the scene by looking at the events leading up to the Transfiguration.

In the previous chapter, Matthew tells us that Jesus took his disciples to Caesarea Philippi, a city built in honour of Rome, on the site of Banias, an earlier Greek city and major shrine to the nature god Pan, who had, it was believed, died and descended into the underworld. Indeed, the shrine was located at the mouth of a large cave known as THE GATE OF HADES; and the worship was reputed to involve the wildest of orgies. It was not the sort of place good Jewish boys would frequent. If the disciples’ mothers had known that this was where Jesus was taking them, they would have intervened.

As they approached this place of competing ideas, Jesus asked them, ‘Who do people say that I am?’ Several theories are put forward. And then he asks, ‘And what of you? Who do you say that I am?’ And Simon responds, ‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’ You’re the one who will rescue us from...all this.

Jesus replies, ‘You are blessed, because this has been revealed to you by my heavenly Father. You are known as Simon – as “Listen!” - the fisherman’s son; but I’m re-naming you Peter – “Rocky” - and on this rock I will build my church, and these intimidating Gates of Hades will not prevail against you.’ This place, the most inappropriate of places imaginable to be in, is the place Jesus chooses to introduce the very idea of his church.

From then, Jesus starts to tell his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem, suffer and die, and three days later rise again. And Peter - Rocky - takes him aside and rebukes him. Jesus responds with strong words: ‘You’re speaking as the Adversary, not for God! You are the rock, but rather than being a foundation on which I can build, right now you are a stumbling block for me.’ Peter goes from being affirmed to being rebuked, from feeling good about himself to feeling small, from Rocky back to Listen!, pay attention!

If Jesus is going to build his church, it will be built Jesus’ way. In this moment, where Peter goes from foundation to stumbling block, Jesus speaks about investing in what he is doing. He says that whoever invests all that they have in order to secure their own life will ultimately lose everything; but that whoever invests all that they have in what Jesus is doing will receive a great return on their investment. Jesus says that whatever we choose to invest in - fame, fortune - will cost us everything we have; but that the return in investing in what he is doing turns out to be the richest experience of life.

While the disciples are still pondering that, Jesus takes Peter and James and John, and goes up a mountain to meet with Moses and Elijah. Moses, the great prophet through whom God led his people out of slavery in Egypt and gave them the Law, the framework for becoming a nation. Elijah, the greatest prophet to call the people back to that covenant relationship with their God. Can you imagine?!

Peter has some making up to do. He steps forward and suggests that he might build three shelters, for Jesus, Moses and Elijah. After all, he’s a builder now, the one chosen to build the church. This time, God speaks from heaven, declaring his love for Jesus and telling the disciples to listen to him. And then, in a moment, Moses and Elijah are gone.

What has any of this to do with how we give of ourselves within the church? I want to suggest three things.

Firstly, we need to be reminded that it is Jesus who builds his church. It seems to me that Peter runs into trouble because he hadn’t quite heard what Jesus said, because he thought that he was being commissioned to build the church. The church in this place will not be built because of me, or because of our Church Wardens - wonderful though they are - or because of you. And that is good news: it takes a lot of pressure off! It doesn’t depend on us.

Secondly, Jesus challenges us, as a group of his disciples, to invest our lives in what Jesus is doing. I want to thank you for the different ways in which you give of yourselves to invest in what he is doing among us.

Some of you invest financially, towards our running costs.

Some of you invest your expertise, particular skills you have learnt.

Some of you invest your being present, serving on groups of one kind or another, when you could be somewhere else.

Some of you invest relationally in this community, as we care for one another pastorally.

Some of you invest your prayer - perhaps all the more so as you feel less able to invest in other ways.

Many of you have invested in several or even all of these different ways. Again, thank you. I know that at the point of making the investment - being present at a meeting, for example - it can feel like you have lost something of your life that you won’t ever get back...but, I hope, that overall our experience is that Jesus gives us a generous return on our investment. This church is full of life, full of people on journeys of faith together. This is a place of living stones being built together: among the parents and toddlers, and the six adults currently preparing for Baptism and Confirmation, to give just two examples.

I want to encourage each one of us to look at everything God has given us and to ask, ‘How can I invest my life in something that will last?’ As a guideline, the Church of England invites members to invest 5% of their disposable income in their own church community, and a further 5% to support other things Jesus is working through, such as charitable organisations. That might be a challenge to work towards, or to discuss further.

And might what applies to our money apply to other things we can invest? Perhaps you might consider joining us here for Morning Prayer on one or more mornings during the week, for half an hour from 9.00 a.m. Or, as my seven-year-old son has done, you might consider joining the Welcome team on a Sunday morning, investing friendliness.

Thirdly and finally, I want to return to the Transfiguration. Jesus, Moses and Elijah. Jesus, who takes Peter and James and John along with him, to learn from him. Moses, who took Joshua when he went up a mountain to meet with God, raising up his successor. Elijah, who raised up Elisha to take his place when Elijah was taken up to heaven. You see, Peter missed the point. He wanted to build a monument to the past. But God gives Moses and Elijah, two great prophets who invested in the next generation, the privilege of seeing the future, of seeing Jesus.

One of the things that can happen when we invest our lives in what Jesus is doing through his church is that we come to see our value as being found in what we do. The idea that someone else might help, let alone replace us, becomes threatening: as if we are no longer valued. I want to say this: you are not valued here for what you do, though what you do is appreciated. You are valued here because you are loved, because you are members of God’s family and our family. Old, young, and those in the middle: you are loved. You cannot be loved more or loved less, cannot earn it or lose it: you are loved.

To those who give in any way, I want to thank you. But I also want to challenge you to ask yourself, ‘Who can I invite to do this alongside me? Who can I invest in, who can I train up, to whom can I pass on the baton?’ That way, you won’t only be giving for now, but creating a legacy.

And as we invest our lives in what Jesus is doing, with attention to those who will be here after we are gone, the gates of hell in Sunderland are shaken, and we may glimpse Jesus’ glory as he builds his church.