Sunday, 25 May 2014

Sixth Sunday of Easter


Last Sunday in our Gospel reading we heard Jesus say that he would do whatever his disciples ask in his name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. That is, Jesus will do anything that those who seek to follow and learn from and join in with what he is doing – his disciples – ask that will represent him – in his name – with the result that God our Father might be given glory. “If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.”

And we saw that Stephen, while being murdered by a crowd of zealots, asks Jesus to receive his spirit and to forgive those who were putting him to death, not holding this sin against them. A disciple of Jesus, in a situation Jesus had found himself in, responding in the way Jesus responded.

This week we see the evidence that Jesus did, indeed, do what Stephen asked, and that the Father was glorified in the Son. For the young man who held the coats of Stephen’s murderers and approved of his death would go on to have a change of heart, becoming the church-planter and letter-writer Paul, through whom the good news was - and continues to be – proclaimed across the world. On Paul’s first missionary journey, he too was stoned and left for dead by an angry mob who had pursued him from place to place. That took place in Lystra, in what is today Turkey. Unlike Stephen, Paul survived, and – incredibly – returned to Lystra on his second missionary journey, where he added to his team a young man called Timothy who would become like a son to him. Paul and his co-workers, Silas and Timothy, continue on their journey and are led by the Holy Spirit to cross into northern Greece, adding Luke to the team on the way. Their reception in Greece, as everywhere else, is mixed. Paul is again pursued from city to city and for his own safety is eventually taken as far as Athens, en route to the port of Corinth, travelling ahead of his team.

But Paul is a committed team player. When Silas and Timothy are delayed in joining him, Paul carries on to Corinth, looking for people to team up with. There he meets Aquila and Priscilla, who become his latest co-workers. But now we are ahead of ourselves.

For now, we are in Athens with Paul, and – cut off from his companions – Paul takes the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing. This is Athens, after all – the birthplace of Western culture!

But Paul doesn’t look at the world through the same lens as the locals. He looks at the world asking, what is God up to here? What are the connection-points I can use to help people move from a vague belief in the existence of a god they don’t know to a saving knowledge of the God who created the world and everything in it; who is at work behind the scenes in human history - both at the level of nations and at the level of each one of us; who moves towards us in the hope that we might move towards him; and who has appointed Jesus as the one who will arbitrate between the peoples and teach them to live together in peace?

Viewing the city with this lens, Paul looked carefully at the things they worshipped, at the things they produced as a response to the things they worshipped, and at the stories they told about themselves.

So, what is God up to in Sunderland? What are the connection-points we might make between the things people are worshipping, or the things that are produced as a result, or the stories they tell about themselves, and Jesus the one appointed by God to arbitrate between the peoples and teach them to live together in peace?

We’ve just had the outcome of the local elections and we await the results of the European elections, but I would suggest that there are some who worship nationalism, who produce fear and contempt, and who tell stories of being English that edit out the immigration that formed us. They are perhaps a minority, but they are putting forward their case with passion, and winning a hearing.

Rather than dismissing them, don’t we have something to say about the changing fortunes, boundaries and alliances of nations, or political groups – their being raised up, and being brought low? How might we speak of God being at work behind the scenes? We might ask whether the best goal of a people is to protect their own interests; or whether we might entrust our interests to God, and seek to work with other nations to see them blessed? We might tell the story of how God made all nationalities from one common ancestor – that we are all one family. We might tell the story of another ancestor, Abraham, the father of Jews and Christians and Muslims; a man who was an economically prosperous immigrant, through whom his host community was not undermined but blessed; a man whose descendants were economic refugees in a major power, who were dehumanised by their hosts, and rescued by God.

We might ask whether we are most truly described in terms of what we produce – which will always set us in competition with others, and enslave us to the god of Money – or whether we are more truly understood as works of art crafted by God?

We might ask whether we are rightly the judge over the motives of others, or whether we will willingly allow Jesus to judge our hearts now – before the day when he will do so whether we are willing or not?

But of course there are other things the people of Sunderland worship, other things they produce, other stories they tell – some of them weird and wonderful – from the Stadium of Light to the Lambton Worm!


Over June and July, I would like to work with you – as co-workers together – in two particular areas. The first is this: I would like to spend a day with members of the Minster family in the places where you spend the week. I would like to spend time with you, discovering what God is up to in Sunderland. And I would like to photograph you, on your own or with others, in that setting; and afterwards to display all the pictures as an exhibition in this setting – as a celebration of the life of Sunderland Minster beyond these walls and throughout the week.

I’m asking for invitations from young and old, to spend a day (it need not be a whole day) with you in your workplace; in the place where you study, or volunteer; with the people you play bowls or go out to lunch with; in your home: anywhere where you are during the week.

My hope is that this will help us to build up a picture of what God is up to, and the ways in which we are joining in; and a better idea of how we might support one another in that. If you would like to take part, I would love to hear from you.

The second area is this: we are hosting a civic service on Monday 4th August to commemorate the outbreak of the First World War. This is not a Remembrance Service, when we mark the cost of conflict; but an opportunity to tell stories of Sunderland and the War, and to make connections between then and now. Let me give you an example. In Sunderland, as well as the battalions that were raised, many men served the duration of the War in the shipyards. Among other things, they built landing craft that played a crucial part in the very successful withdrawal from the disastrous Gallipoli campaign. But these men were targeted by patriotic young women forcing white feathers on men who would not serve their king and country, until special badges had to be made identifying them as making a vital contribution to the war effort. Is it possible that we might misrepresent the contribution of others to the life of our city today?

Many of you will have family stories relating to the First World War, and not only concerning those who went off to fight but also those who stayed behind. If any of you would like to share those stories with me, so that they can be told – if not on the fourth of August, at some point over the next four years – I would be very interested in hearing them.

Two opportunities: a project recording our lives today; and a project commemorating our past – both of which might help us imagine our future. Together, as co-workers for the sake of the gospel, let us explore the breadth and depth of Sunderland, in order that the people of this great city might hear of the breadth and depth of God’s love for them.


Sunday, 18 May 2014

Fifth Sunday of Easter



Jesus, Lord of our imagination, would you take us to the table where, as Death stalked you, you tell your friends that anyone who has seen you has seen the Father; to the table where you tell your friends that those who believe in you will do the works that you do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because you are going to the Father and will do whatever is asked in your name [that is, in accordance with his character] so that the Father may be glorified in the Son?

Jesus, Lord of our imagination, would you take us [in Jesus’ footsteps] to the courtyard of the high priest’s house, where Stephen sees you, and in seeing you sees the Father’s glory? Would you take us to the place outside the city walls where as he lays down his life Stephen [echoing Jesus’ request on the cross] asks that those who put him to death be forgiven? [Saul’s unexpected future will be the evidence that Jesus has done what Stephen asks, and indeed more than he could ask or imagine.]

Jesus, Lord of our imagination, in the fear and the confusion, would we find ourselves in you...


This week we have heard the report that an inspirational young man called Stephen had his life cut prematurely short in the most traumatic of circumstances – circumstances that mark all of us with death, forcing itself upon us. Despite all the stories we tell ourselves to the contrary, Death itself refuses to die at the hands of human progress or ingenuity. We try to control Death (that is why we so love the contained experience of homicide fiction), but it comes for us all, and not only once, at our end, but over and over in countless anticipations.

Again and again, the question is asked, “Why him?” or, “Why me?” Again and again, the questioner falls back silent, under the morphine of distraction and entertainment, of going along with the crowd, or of telling ourselves that we stand alone observing something that happens to other people but won’t come for us.

And so we bury God, as we go about our lives as if we were super-human, when at best we are children wearing our underpants outside our trousers, with a tea-towel tied around our neck for a cape. Children, who can’t really fly. Children, beloved.

If God brings life out of death – which is the Easter assertion – then our deaths become places where God is found, where God enters in, where God transforms the world. Not just our physical death, but all the little deaths that foreshadow that death. The thief comes to kill and to steal and to destroy, and this is the context within which Jesus comes that we might know life in its fullest sense. Every time a relationship between a husband and wife or a parent and child is put to death by a thousand subtle acts of carefully planned robbery or mindless opportunistic vandalism. Every time our confidence is put to death by failure or humiliation or disappointment. Every gainful employment terminated by redundancy, by being ‘surplus to requirements’. Death runs right through life.

And God is right there. A worldly – horizontal, flat earth – perspective won’t see him. We need a heavenly perspective: we need to look up; to look up, and to point others to Jesus.

Our Easter hope is not that Death is of no consequence, but that the very thing that so terrifies us has been turned inside-out. Not that Jesus died so that we don’t have to face Death, but that Jesus died because we have to. That the thing that announces The Ultimate Separation from God has been turned, against its will, into the way along which Jesus leads us, rejoicing, into the Father’s presence.

We see it in Stephen’s martyrdom, which results in the Church being released into mission; but we also see it earlier, when he dies to a rising reputation in order to accept a menial task, submitting his spirit to God and receiving from God the Spirit of grace and power that works great wonders and signs through flesh and blood.

We see it afresh this week in the life of a young man whose dying, by degrees, opened a gate for God to move in and through those who looked on; and whose death, when it came, opened a floodgate of grace and power he could never have imagined.

Ironically, every time we deny or fight Death in our lives we unintentionally resist the God who longs to bring life out of death; we resist the Holy Spirit who filled Stephen to the full. This message is counter-cultural and counter-intuitive, because we fight so hard to keep Death at bay. But it is good news, because Death is universal.

So, where are you facing Death today?

And, what will you ask Jesus to do, in or through your present situation, by which the Father might be glorified?




For those who want to take things further:

Jesus calls us to repent and believe. Repentance means taking on a new perspective, embracing the perspective of heaven rather than that of the world. It involves initial observation, deeper reflection and lively discussion. Believing means living out heaven’s perspective in the world. It involves making a new plan, putting in place those who will help us to live this way, and then stepping out in faith...

Observation: Where are you facing Death today? It might be in big and obvious ways, or small ways.

Reflection: Can you think of anyone whose story is recorded in the Bible who had a similar experience of Death? Or someone known to you, whose faith you admire?

Discussion: In what ways have you experienced God bringing life out of death in the past? What did that new life look like? What has Jesus revealed to you through these times?

Making a Plan: What will it look like to embrace Death? For example, it might mean laying down a role you have served in – or taking up a role you have resisted. And, what will you ask Jesus to do, in or through your present situation, by which the Father might be glorified?

Being Accountable: Who will help you to stick to your resolve in the face of Death? Who will be there to weep with you over the pain of death...and there to rejoice with you over the new life God will bring to birth?

Taking Action: Depart in peace, having seen the Lord.


Sunday, 4 May 2014

Third Sunday of Easter


We are still in the Season of Easter, the season of getting to grips with what this life-out-of-death means – or rather, the season of life-out-of-death getting a grip on us. Today we find ourselves walking away from Jerusalem towards Emmaus, walking in the company of two disciples, part of the wider circle beyond the eleven apostles, walking from the highs and lows of recent days back towards the security of the familiar, of home. And as we walk, a fellow-traveller comes alongside us.

That in itself is also familiar. After all, if you are alone it is always safer to travel in proximity to others. Sitting on the Metro, taking in the people sat across from you – but not looking too closely, so as not to make them feel uncomfortable, so as not to attract confrontation. Glance up, and look away again. Slowly, though: too fast and you’ll look shifty. But you can’t help listening in to their conversation; laughing at the puzzling lines…

The man asks, ‘What are you discussing?’ Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? It’s on everybody’s lips.

The man listens. This thing they are discussing, they don’t really seem to understand. It is clear that Jesus is somehow important to them, but how following him relates to their life is harder to work out. They are familiar with certain stories, but the relevance eludes them.

The man listens. Hears them out, until their words run dry. Only then does he speak. And when he does, he shapes their history, their culture, around the person of Jesus. Not pulling out proof texts to argue a point-of-view, but showing how it all comes together in him. And more than that, showing them where they found a place within that story – “opening the scriptures to us,” they would later say; making room for us within his story.

And now it is time to part company. But it is getting late. If we are hungry, and tired, he must be too. As we reach the door to a house, we are invited in. However fragile their beliefs, there is openness here. The man accepts the invitation; and so shall we. Companionship – literally, the sharing of bread around the table. And as the man reaches out to take the bread, his wrists extend from within his sleeves. The pink rawness of newly-healed skin, not yet darkened by the sun.

And in this familiar action, our eyes are opened. The dramatic testimony of others – even women known well to them – was not enough. Neither was the most helpful Bible exposition ever given, even if it was deeply engaging. But in a simple act of hospitality shown towards a stranger, received with gratitude towards God and reciprocal service, a moment of revelation breaks in. Just a moment, mind you; and then he vanished from their sight. But a moment of revelation is all that is needed; is enough to respond to.

They thought that they had arrived at their destination for the night; but in response they get up and set out back to the very place they had walked away from, with new hope. Will we go too?

Some thoughts to ponder:

Are we learning to be a listener? If yes, what has proven helpful in this? Who might we ask, ‘What are you discussing?’

Are we open to change our plans for others? Are we learning to accept invitations? Who is open to us?

What is Jesus showing you? Where have your eyes been opened, perhaps through testimony, or teaching, or studying the Bible, or fellowship with others, or through simple everyday activities given a new light?

What are you going to do in response?