Ascension Day 2019

Lectionary readings: Acts 1:1-11 and Ephesians 1:15-23 and Luke 24:44-53

Back in 2007, I visited artist Antony Gormley’s Blind Light installation at the Hayward Gallery in London. A room-sized glass-walled box filled with cloud, and brightly lit, into which people were permitted to enter a few at a time. From the outside, you could make out those on the inside, looming out of the mist, whenever they approached the walls. From the inside, you could not see more than a foot in front of your nose; had to move cautiously so as not to bump into others. It was a profound meditation on walking by faith, not sight—which is, of course, how we all walk into the future, whether people of faith or not...

Today is Ascension Day, a principal feast of the Church. The era of Christendom made the birth of Jesus the pivotal point of history—BC/AD—but I would respectfully suggest that the ascension is the more fitting pivot-point, between ‘what Jesus did with his disciples’ [see the Gospel According to Luke, which ends with an account of Jesus’ ascension into heaven, forty days after he was raised from the dead] and ‘what Jesus is doing through his disciples’ [beginning with the Acts of the Apostles, Luke’s sequel, which starts with an account of Jesus’ ascension].

The pivot-point between what Jesus did with his disciples and what Jesus is doing through his disciples.

When the early church, including the writers of the New Testament, reflected on the significance of the ascension, they came to understand that we are caught up in it. Not in a standing-around-waiting looking-up-at-the-sky kind-of-a-way, but in a participating-in-the-rule-of-king-Jesus way. As the late American philosopher Dallas Willard put it, ‘Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you.’

This is mystery: that Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through ordinary women and men going about their ordinary business in the world, enabled by an extraordinary empowering. This is mystery, not a puzzle to be solved, or relegated to the Too-Hard-to-Understand category; but a wonder to be lived, with a sense of wonder.

Are you a scientist or an engineer, pioneering new solutions to the problems we face? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you an artist or an activist campaigner, enabling us to see the world from a new and life-affirming perspective? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you in marketing or promotion, telling good news stories about a place or product and connecting people to opportunities? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you a healthcare professional, enabling healing or supporting preventative well-being so lives can flourish? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you a teacher or trainer, (or a parent or grandparent,) investing in the next generation? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

And, of course, if you are retired, or if you have had to flee your familiar world and seek asylum so that you are currently living in a limbo, these circumstances simply mean that Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you in ways that might differ from your previous working life. Once caught-up in the ascension, you don’t drop out again. You—yes, you, my friend—are a gift of Christ to the world.

Today is the Feast of the Ascension. So, raise a glass to all the women and men caught up in the greatest unfolding drama the world has ever known, in a myriad of ways as they go about their lives. Beginning with the chalice of communion, the toast to Christ our risen and ascended king, and the being caught-up in him all over again.

Sixth Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary readings: Acts 16:9-15 and Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5 and John 14:23-29

It is good to be with you on this the Sixth and penultimate Sunday of Easter. This coming Thursday is Ascension Day, when we remember Jesus’ return to heaven forty days after his resurrection; and ten days later we celebrate the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Those in-between days are traditionally a time of gathering together to pray, and in recent years the Archbishops of Canterbury and York have called the Church to a renewal of this observation, under the banner Thy Kingdom Come. And so today I would like us to consider prayer, and what corporate prayer might look like here in this place over these days—and beyond?

Our first reading today, from the Book of Acts, recounts how the gospel first came to Europe. It starts with a vision, given to Paul by God. On the day of Pentecost, Peter had reminded the people of the words of the prophet Joel:

‘in the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.’ (Acts 2:17)

Now, I don’t know if there is an exact distinction, but I take visions to refer to those things God calls us to see come into being in our own time, and dreams to refer to those things we shall not see but will sow the seeds of: as Dr Martin Luther King said, ‘I have a dream…’ But Paul has a vision, and shared it with friends who would help him to act on it. And the first thing they search out is ‘a place of prayer.’ Now, it was Paul’s practice to go first to the local synagogue, to find those rooted in the story of God; and that they were searching for a place of prayer, outside the city gate and by the river, indicates that there was not, at that time, a synagogue in Philippi. And that, in turn, indicates that there was not, living in Philippi, the minimum thirteen Jewish men required to have a synagogue.

And I wonder how often, when we gather to pray, we can raise a minimum of thirteen men? Easily, on a Sunday morning. But at other times? As when the first church in Europe was established under the oversight of Lydia, so, often, it is our women who take the lead in meeting to pray. And while I want to affirm the women in that—unreservedly—I think it worth throwing out the challenge to our menfolk to step up and join in…

Our second reading, from Revelation, depicts the new Jerusalem. And again, it is a vision, not a dream. That is to say, this vision of a place where the gates never shut, where the river of life flows, where the tree of life bears its fruit and its leaves for the healing of the nations, is not primarily a glimpse of a far-distant future beyond the end horizon of history. It is, first and foremost, a vision of the triumph of God over the Roman Empire, and of the church, set free from persecution. It is a vision of what we are called to be. It is a vision of what we are, albeit imperfectly fulfilled. It is a vision—pray God, a vision, not only a dream—of what the church in Iran might soon be, freed from persecution. It is a vision depicted in our east window—a reminder to us of our calling every time we gather together. Gaze upon it: see the energy with which the river of life flows from the altar to the city and our entire wider region, symbolised by the coats-of-arms of the City of Sunderland and the See of Durham. And note the motto of our city: nil desperandum, auspice deo—do not despair; trust in God—or, as Jesus put it, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, “I am going away, and I am coming to you.”’

But perhaps we have yet to consider, what even is prayer? The former chief rabbi, Lord Jonathan Sacks, said [I paraphrase] that God sends his blessings, like rain, on all the earth; and that prayer is adopting the posture of a bucket, to receive and know we have received blessing and to carry that blessing to others. Or, to put it in a slightly different way, the river of life flows out to all the earth, and prayer is the posture of meeting by the river, of coming near, of being refreshed, perhaps of digging irrigation channels to carry this river—that does not run dry—to others. Like we see Lydia doing. And, as we see with Paul at the very start of or readings today, such a posture is possible even as we sleep. Prayer is a form of whole-of-life orientation. Nonetheless, it will involve gathering together with others to pray.

What might it look like to see that heavenly vision fulfilled in this place? Well, Carol and Adrian are helping us press into 24/7 prayer—gates never shut. We’re pressing into being a place of welcome—and as part of that, attending to safeguarding. We’re called to pray for those who experience the night of sorrow or bereavement; for those who exist but don’t experience the joyful energy of the water of life. We’re called to pray for and respond to those who hunger—spiritually, and physically—and to trust God that his provision will not run out, but bear fruit in regular season. We’re called to pray for the healing of the nations—including our own deeply divided nation—and to minister healing and reconciliation to our city.

And as we seek to live out such a vision of a corporate prayer life, Jesus, in our Gospel reading, gives us three things that should characterise our experience:

the presence of the Holy Spirit with us, as our Advocate and teacher;

the peace of Jesus, that our hearts might not be troubled, even in troubling circumstances;

and joy, that springs from sharing in the love of God.

Who wouldn’t want to be in on such a vision, being made our reality?

Thy Kingdom Come is a call to prayer, and specifically a call to pray for five friends that they, like Lydia and her household, might come to know Jesus. Five friends. Who might you pray for—and speak to—between now and Pentecost?

On Ascension Day—Thursday 30^th May (this year)—we will gather at 7.00 p.m. And then, on the weekdays between then and Pentecost—on the 9^th June—we will gather together for Morning Prayer at 9.00 a.m. and for an hour of prayer at noon. In the evenings, Carol and Adrian will host a time of prayer in their home, from 7.00 p.m. And from the morning of Saturday 8^th June there will be continuous 24hr prayer until our services on the morning of Pentecost. Finally, on the evening of Pentecost we will gather here at the Minster for a time of prayer and worship. So, come and pray, at whatever time and venue you are able. Since God poured out his Spirit at that Pentecost some two-thousand years ago, he has not stopped-up the flow. So, come.

Fifth Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary readings: Acts 11:1-18 and John 13:31-35

Sermon notes on pigs in blankets:

Our reading from Acts is about food, and listening to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, and unity and diversity.

In our reading, Peter recounts the vision he was given from heaven in which he is instructed to prepare for himself a meal, using unfamiliar ingredients.

Eating is a universal need, one that speaks to us of our dependency on others. Food is a gift from God, to be received with gratitude and enjoyed with pleasure. That gift is for all: unity.

Food is also an expression of culture: diversity. For the Jews, what they ate and didn’t eat, and how they prepared what they ate, were markers of identity, means of knowing themselves as distinct from all other people. And that, too, was a gift from God: of all the peoples, they were called to know a particular blessing and to be the means by which God would bless everyone else; and so, it was important that they didn’t lose that distinctive identity. The rules relating to food helped guard that identity.

But here, in Peter’s critics, we see a pattern that recurs over and over again. The good gift that helps us to know who we are in the world becomes more important to us than the thing it signifies. And then it becomes the basis by which we progressively judge other people. They don’t eat the way we eat, so they are different…they are inferior…they are bad…they are our enemies…

We lose sight of the unity that underpins our diversity.

We live in a deeply divided society. Consider voting. We have moved from a society in which democracy is valued and it is recognised that people vote for various parties, to a society where we are encouraged to believe that people who vote differently to us do not deserve the vote. Democracy is undermined, not by a considered process that replaces it with something better, but by a process of dehumanising the other.

Through the vision he was given from heaven, Peter came to believe that God was including the gentiles within the new humanity. And the first step was to ask Peter to sit down and eat with people whom he would never have thought to sit down and eat with. To step from his world (Joppa) into theirs (Caesarea Maritima).

We should note that this works from both sides, and in complex ways. In Luke’s Gospel, of which Acts is the sequel, we hear about a centurion, very much like the one who sent for Peter, approaching Jesus for help. But this centurion won’t invite Jesus into his home, not because Jesus is the enemy but because the centurion does not believe himself worthy to have Jesus come into his home. The reality that he is by virtue of being a Roman centurion, the occupier—even if, by personal conviction, not the oppressor—is almost certainly at play here.

Food matters. What we eat, and how we eat, and who we eat with are issues of justice, questions that we need to attend to as the new humanity living within the old.

As a family, we are on a journey with food. We seek to be attentive to fair trade. To air miles. To seasonality. To packaging. We do so imperfectly, because there is no other way. We’ve gone from an omnivorous diet to a low-meat diet, and since Easter, as part of pressing into life in its fullness for ourselves and our neighbour and all creation, we have gone vegetarian at home. But we have chosen to eat meat when we are guests in someone else’s home, as a principle of receiving their hospitality. Because it isn’t about judging other people, it is about our all being on a journey, from different starting-points and at different speeds. We haven’t arrived at a destination. Some of my friends are vegan, and I can’t go there yet…but it may be that the Holy Spirit leads us there at some point on the way that lies ahead. It is not that eating meat is wrong in itself, but it is about attending to the impact of our current eating habits on the environment and on the lives of our fellow human beings around the world, and especially in poorer nations. The world cannot sustain our present levels of consumption, including but not restricted to, food. Nor can it sustain our present levels of division.

This week, we will eat many meals. Some, alone, with God. Some, with family, or friends. Some, perhaps, with people we don’t know and may not even be sure of. But we begin, gathered around the Lord’s table, sharing bread and wine.

Fourth Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary reading: Acts 9:36-43

As the risen Jesus lives his life in and through us, the body of Christ is meant to move, listen, share, care, and learn. And so, as we continue our journey through the Book of Acts—the continuation of Luke’s account of what Jesus is doing in the world—we do well to read the story through these five aspects of Jesus’ life and mission. When I read the Bible, I ask the following five questions:

First, how does this passage move the story on? Well, this passage moves the story on in two ways. Last week, we fund ourselves in Damascus, at the convergence of the Silk Road to China and the Spice Road to India. The launch-pad for carrying the good news of Jesus, east. And now, today, we find ourselves in the port of Joppa, another launch-pad, this time west around the Mediterranean, as far as Spain. The story is moving, geographically. But it is also crossing cultural boundaries. Today’s story concerns a woman known by name in two languages, Hebrew and Greek. Known, by name, in two communities. Now, these communities lived side-by-side, and interacted on a daily basis. But a point is made of telling us that this woman is known by name by both communities, in their own language. A Jewish woman whose Gentile neighbours have given her a name among them. She is a bridge between two worlds; and, as we continue the story, we will see that she brings Peter a step closer to discovering that Jesus was calling the gentiles into the kingdom of God...

Second, in this passage, who speaks—and who listens? Well, Tabitha’s friends speak of her, to Peter; and Peter listens. He is moved by their loss. And Peter speaks; and Tabitha listens, she hears and responds, even though she was dead. Now, everyone dies; and only a few are brought back, only a few must die more than once. This is not the norm; but it is given in order to reveal that Jesus is Lord of the living and the dead, and that death itself must bow before him. Death has its say, but it does not get to have the final word.

Third, is there any good news to share? Well, yes. There is the raising of Tabitha—and as that good news is shared, many come to faith. But there is also the good news of her faithful life, the grace-filled way she blessed her community. There is plenty of good news in this passage.

Fourth, a question of care: how is the community nurtured? Well, it is built up as many people come to believe in the Lord.

And fifth, a question of learning: how does this passage connect with what we already know? Well, in the first book of Luke’s Gospel, we see Jesus raising the dead son of a widow in Nain (Luke 7) and the dead daughter of a leader of the synagogue in Capernaum (Luke 8). Peter raising Tabitha closely parallels this account. It is clear that he has observed what Jesus had done in just such a situation, and was learning to be Jesus in the situation he found himself.

Which brings us to this statement by the late American philosopher, Dallas Willard:

‘Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you.’

Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you. That is what we are called to. So, what might this passage have to say to us about that?

Well, it is clearly a passage about raising up. But we will probably resonate with that in different ways. Which, I wonder, do you most resonate with?

Firstly, raising up women in the community. There is a clear body of evidence from around the world that when we raise up women—who make up half of humanity, and half of the body of Christ—their whole community benefits. Whereas, where only men are raised up, they tend, consistently, to keep any benefit within a small group of similarly privileged men. Sadly, this is often also true in the church, where men are more visible and more vocal—and will fight for what they perceive they have to lose. But there is nothing to lose when all God’s children get to play.

Secondly, raising up cross-community peacemakers. Tabitha, also known as Dorcas. We live in a pluralistic society and a multi-ethnic neighbourhood; a community that is very different from when housing first expanded into this area. And we live in very divisive times; and with a strong urge to return to a rose-tinted past. How might we, in our eightieth year, best play our part in supporting the community as it is, and as is emerging? Which voices from the margins do we need to quieten ourselves in order to hear?

Thirdly, raising up the spiritually dead. Unless you are a first-aider, a paramedic, nurse, or doctor, you might never bring someone back to life, physically. But there are plenty of people who can testify that the circumstances of their lives had left them dead on the inside; and that Jesus has brought them back to life, in a beautiful way. Perhaps you’ve known that. Perhaps you’ve been instrumental in that. Perhaps you long to be.

Fourthly, raising up graceful lives. Tabitha, Dorcas, means gazelle; or, figuratively, graceful. And she certainly lived-into the calling conferred upon her. There is something beautiful about the way in which she set about blessing her communities. While others sang her praises, she clearly didn’t demand such attention or gratitude: such people might be admired, but aren’t loved the way she clearly was. This is a matter of character, shaped by the Holy Spirit, as she chose to partner with God, to be formed. To die to self and be raised to new life in Jesus, as Jesus lived his life through hers.

Fifthly, raising up purposeful skills. Tabitha had skill as a seamstress, and put it to good use. Whatever natural ability she had, she must have invested in it to become so proficient; and it is easy to imagine others coming to her when they ran into difficulty, for her to show them what they were getting wrong, and what they needed to do to get it right. What skills do you have? What purpose are you putting them to? And, given that one day we will all die, who are you passing them on to? It is always quicker and easier to do the job ourselves; but that is how skills die with us.

Third Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary readings: John 21:1-19 and Acts 9:1-20

Our reading from Acts began with Saul searching for the church in Damascus. And this begs the question, how would you know you had found what you were looking for? Or, to put it another way, what makes the church the church?

How would you answer that question?

You still hear people speak of a Damascus road experience, to describe a moment that stopped them in their tracks and resulted in their setting out on a different direction. But the original Damascus road experience was more than that. It was fundamental to Paul’s understanding of the church from thereon in:

that the risen Jesus chooses to fully-identify with the imperfect community we call the church, and to live his life through them.

That is to say, what makes the church the church is Jesus living his life through us. We are the body of Christ.

Now, this is a suburban church of suburban people. And the suburbs shape us in particular ways:

the suburbs unconsciously shape us to be overly-settled;

they shape us to be cocooned from social injustice;

they shape us to live isolated behind our own front doors (an Englishman’s home is his castle—in which he may find himself a prisoner);

they shape us to be fearful of others, to see them as competition;

and they shape us to become deeply invested in unquestioned privilege.

I’m not saying that these things are inevitable. Nor am I anti- the suburbs. But I am saying that over time suburbs shape community in these ways. And because we are called to be the church in the suburbs—people who live here but are shaped, instead, by Jesus—we need to be aware of these processes at work.

Within the body of Christ, we discover the antidote:

living among an overly-settled community, the body of Christ is a body that moves;

living among a community that is cocooned from social injustice, the body of Christ is a body that listens;

living among endemic isolation, the body of Christ is a body that shares;

living in a competitive community fearful of losing out to others, the body of Christ is a body that cares;

and living in the midst of unquestioned privilege, the body of Christ is a body that learns.

The church is the church when the body of Christ is a body that moves, listens, shares, cares, and learns.

a body that moves

Jesus said, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” (John 20:21) and “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19). Our Gospel passage today ended, “Follow me.” and we see here today that the early church was known as those who ‘belonged to the Way’. A people on the move. They had already spread from Jerusalem to Damascus; and Damascus was the crossing-point of the Silk Road and the Spice Road: the jumping-off place to go and make disciples all the way to China and India.

The church doesn’t say, you need to come to us. Where is God calling us to go next, within the parish? What doors are open to us?

a body that listens

The disciples in the boat don’t recognise Jesus immediately, but as they listen and respond, they realise, ‘It is the Lord!’ And in Damascus, as the church prays in the face of persecution [fun fact: ‘Saul’ means prayed for—and he was!], Ananias hears the Lord’s voice, and responds, ‘Here I am, Lord.’

When might we come together to listen to God in corporate prayer? For a start, let’s join in with Thy Kingdom Come, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York’s national call to pray between Ascension Day and Pentecost. We have resources to help us do that as families at home and together, gathering here.

a body that shares

After a frustrating night’s work for them, Jesus called the disciples to share breakfast with him. Ananias is sent to Saul in order that he might regain his sight. The good news is good news. We’re not meant to keep it to ourselves. It is for sharing.

Who will we tell about Jesus? Part of the Thy Kingdom Come movement over recent years has been to choose five friends to pray for and share the joy of knowing Jesus with.

a body that cares

Jesus’ repeated instruction to Peter, drawing on the imagery of the Good Shepherd, is to care for his people. Did you notice in our reading from Acts that Ananias calls his would-be persecutor Brother Saul? That is stunning care. Many would see Saul’s new-found vulnerability as an opportunity to exploit to take revenge.

Who are we coming alongside and spending time with, perhaps to our surprise?

a body that learns

Jesus calls both Peter and Paul to learn, and in particular to notice and come to hold lightly the privilege they enjoy. In both cases, suffering—that which we experience as done to or for us, rather than those things we do to or for others—is key. It is no different in the suburbs where we pride ourselves in our independence and competence, and struggle as these things are stripped away by growing old. But in our vulnerability, God is glorified.

What are we learning about Jesus now, and how is that re-shaping our lives?

What makes the church the church? Jesus, moving, listening, sharing, caring, learning, in and through us. I wonder which of these five functions of the body of Christ each of us most identifies with, and how we might grow to maturity of faith together?