Guest sermon, St Ignatius, Hendon

Scripture readings: Isaiah 8:23-9:3, 1 Corinthians 1:10-13, 17 and Matthew 4:12-23

The Way of the Sea, or Via Maris, was a well-worn trade route: an elongated S, that ran from Egypt, in the south, northward along the Mediterranean coast ...

before cutting inland, across the territory of Zebulun where you will find Nazareth; and on, northbound through the territory of Naphtali where you will find Capernaum ...

on, round the top of the Lake where Jesus would call his first disciples ...

heading northwest to Damascus. There, the Way of the Sea met the King’s Highway, coming up out of the wilderness to the east of the Promised Land, on its way round the fertile crescent, through Assyria and Babylonia, and Persia beyond.

The Way of the Sea begins in Egypt. Among a people who forgot their story; forgot that they had been saved by Joseph; forgot their debt of gratitude to his family. And where his family, too, the children of Israel, had forgotten their story — forgotten that Yahweh had promised to give them the land their forefather Abraham had sojourned in — and, tired of the nomadic life, had settled for the land of Goshen instead. And there, for a long time, they were captive to comfort. It took pain to remind them who, and whose, they were. When Moses led them out of Egypt, it was not along the Way of the Sea, but across Sinai towards the King’s Highway — though, even then, it took them a generation to learn the way.

Coming in from the wilderness, the twelve tribes settled the middle-section of the Way of the Sea. In time, they became a kingdom; then two kingdoms. By the time Isaiah spoke, a metaphorical sea had swept in from Assyria, sweeping Syria and Israel away. By the time Jesus called his disciples, Jerusalem had been breached by Babylon, another wave. After seventy years of exile, the people had returned, in three successive waves led by Ezra and Nehemiah and Zerubbabel, along the King’s Highway and the Way of the Sea. But then the Greeks had swept in, and, in the wake of Alexander the Great, had parted the Way of the Sea between two dynasties, at its southern and northern ends. And then came the mightiest wave of all, Rome.

By the time Matthew wrote, Jesus had lived and died, risen and ascended, and his disciples had started to spread out from Jerusalem, south along the Way of the Sea through Judea; north along the Way of the Sea through Samaria, and beyond, joining routes heading off to the ends of the earth. And at the northern-most staging-post on the Way of the Sea, a zealous young man named Saul was stopped in his tracks by a bright light, the glory of the Lord blazing on him.

The Way of the Sea cuts through the Holy Land — and through Holy Scripture. Travelling its length, we retrace our steps through the exodus and exile, the great defining moments in the history of God’s people. And in proclaiming the gospel of peace, Matthew records that Jesus moved from Nazareth to Capernaum — from Zebulun to Naphtali — to fulfil the promise spoken through Isaiah. It was a deliberate act, by a man who was familiar with scripture and who understood his own life in the light of it ...

... and not only his own life, but the lives of others, too. There on the shore of the Lake on the Way of the Sea, Jesus invites Simon and Andrew and James and John to step into a bigger understanding of life. At first glance, it looks like the disciples give up fishing to follow Jesus; but the more you read the Gospels, the more you see that it wasn’t a clean break, that the earthly business of catching fish and the heavenly business of catching-up men and women and children into the kingdom went hand-in-hand, in their vocation, their call. But they were invited to locate their story within the story of God’s mission in the world, to bring freedom to the captives and homecoming to the exiles, and to be a blessing to all peoples. And Jesus extends the same invitation to us, too.

Today has been designated, by Pope Francis, the first annual Sunday of the Word of God. A day devoted to “the celebration, study and dissemination of the Word of God”. A day to reflect on the gift of Holy Scripture, entrusted to us, and its place in our lives. And today, I would encourage you to read scripture, eagerly and diligently. Read it privately, asking, where are there parallels in my life? You see, trade routes such as the Way of the Sea and the King’s Highway weren’t single roads, like the M1; they were more like parallel routes running in broadly the same direction, like the M1 and the A19. It doesn’t matter that your life isn’t identical to that of Isaiah or Jesus or Paul. Learn to see how your life sits within the bigger story, by familiarising yourself with the big story. Read scripture privately, but in conversation with others who know your story and the big story, and can help you discern where they intersect.

And read scripture publicly, so that as a community we are caught-up in that story. Ask, where are we, as a congregation? Where is our wider community? Are we in Egypt, having settled for the familiar, having forgotten the promises God has made, in danger of forgetting our story? Or perhaps you are holding on to the promises of God, even though there is little to suggest that they might be fulfilled in this place imminently? If so, bless you for your faithfulness: you stand on the shoulders of giants. Then again, perhaps we are on the road to Damascus, utterly and graciously confronted by Jesus? Or is it time for us, like John, to lay our lives down; or, like Jesus, to embrace a new season of activity, and seek others to draw into that alongside us? I don’t know how your communal story intersects with scripture; but I know that they do intersect, and that the gift of scripture is map and compass for our journey.

More locally, the Bishop of Durham has designated 2020 a Year of Pilgrimage for the churches of Durham Diocese, of which our deanery is part. Four new pilgrim routes have been commissioned: one, the Way of Learning, passes through Sunderland on its route from Jarrow, via Monkwearmouth, to Durham Cathedral. Some of us might walk some or all of it together. Or find other ways to journey on the Way together, diverse in our expression of church but one in Christ Jesus — ways such as inviting me to preach here this morning.

May my words have been an encouragement to you. And, again and again through 2020, may you discover, afresh, the living Word revealed in the written Word.

Second Sunday of Epiphany 2020

Gospel reading: John 1:29-42

For the churches of Durham Diocese, 2020 will be a Year of Pilgrimage. A year to walk together, with God, with purpose and without hurry, and to discover what that experience might bring about in and through us.

At the diocesan Waymark conference back in October, our keynote guest speaker bishop Emma Ineson spoke about ambition and success. The Latin root of the word ‘ambition’ is ambulare, ‘to walk,’ from the Roman practice of canvassing for votes. The Latin root of the word ‘success’ is successus, meaning both ‘approach’ and ‘outcome,’ from which we also get ‘successors,’ or those who follow after. Ambition and success, then, are concerned with where and how we walk, and who and what follows.

Bishop Emma also noted the difference between counting and measuring. Counting is concerned with amount; measuring with change. Numbers matter, because people matter. We should count the number of people we have fed, body and soul, through the Care & Share lunches. We should measure the increases and decreases, attending to trends and patterns, to understand whether there is still a need, or when it is time to redirect our focus. Counting helps us give thanks for what God has done in us and through us. But we are called to be ambitious to proclaim the good news (Romans 15:20), to please God (2 Corinthians 5:9), and to live an unhurried non-anxious life (1 Thessalonians 4:11), and not to be anxious about numbers or timescales.

Our Gospel today is concerned with counting and measuring.

It is concerned with counting amounts:

John’s disciples decrease by two, or possibly three; while,

Jesus’ potential disciples increase by (the same) two or three.

And it is concerned with measuring change, or, recording outcomes:

John says that he did not know who he was looking for, until the Holy Spirit revealed it to him; and from then, he could say, I myself have seen;

the disciples go from following Jesus at a distance, to accompanying him and passing time with him;

Jesus sees something in Simon that is waiting to be affirmed and called out of him. ‘You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas’ (which is translated Peter). You are Listen! Well, pay attention! You are to be called Rock.

Our Gospel today is also concerned with ambition and success.

For John the Baptist, his ambition is that somehow, through his activity, Jesus might be revealed to the people. Success looks like stepping back as Jesus steps forward; looks like giving away two of his disciples to become disciples of Jesus. For John, ambition takes him to the edge, to the people on the margins, to be misunderstood by the respectable professionals and powerholders. Success is turned on its head, as he recognises that the one who follows him was before him.

The disciples are also ambitious. They have literally gone on a purposeful walkabout, down the river, to canvas opinion on what it is that God is up to. That has successfully resulted in them having become disciples of John. They are ambitious to find the Messiah; and successful in starting to follow Jesus.

For Jesus, his ambition to please God has brought him to the moment where he has been proclaimed the Anointed one, in a muddy river on the edge of the lonely places. Success will look like taking upon himself the sin of the world and carrying it away. Being the scapegoat. Jesus is walking along, secure in his identity as the Son of God, the anointed king, not in fact needing to draw any attention to himself at all. And he turns and sees that there are two people following him; and he asks, ‘What are you looking for?’ And success, that day, looks like just spending time together. And as a result of the invitation to ‘Come and see’ one of them, Andrew, brings along his brother.

Note that the counting and the measuring relate to the ambition and the success.

Jesus asks, what are you looking for? We might be looking for an increase in the number of people who worship here on a Sunday morning. Certainly, that is easy to count, week by week, and easy to measure change. But our ambition could be godly or selfish: wanting more people to meet Jesus, or wanting to feel better about ourselves. And if our ambition is to see more people meet Jesus, success might not be measured in terms of more people here on Sunday morning. It could be measured by more of the people who are here on Sunday mornings being involved in Care & Share, or Messy Church; or in those who are already involved taking a next step and having conversations with the people who come.

In John’s case, the answer to the question, what are you looking for? would appear to be, I am looking for the beginning of the end of my role here. Perhaps your ambition should be to discern who to hand the baton on to; with success being the laying down of a faithful ministry and affirming the one who takes it up after you?

What about the disciples? The thing that intrigues them about Jesus, that scratches where they itch, is that John has described him as taking away the failure of the world to hit the mark. Dealing with the shortfall between ambition and success. But when Jesus asks them, what are you looking for? they express their answer in terms of a longing for companionship. Isolation is literally a killer for young, active men, in work, looking for direction in the challenges of life. Perhaps our ambition might be to engage with that; with success being measured by people seeing us as faithful friends, who don’t offer glib answers to life’s questions but draw on ancient wisdom to venture deeper into mystery and away from despair?

I don’t want us to rush to answers. This is a long walk, not a parkrun. But we will already have ambitions for the future of St Nicholas’ church, and they will spring from both godly and selfish motives. A mixed bag, or backpack, we would do well to unpack, examine, and repack carefully before we go too far.

As we set out on the diocesan Year of Pilgrimage, walking and following, let’s engage in honest, hopeful, meaningful conversation about our ambitions, and see what flows from that.

Epiphany 2020

Lectionary readings: Isaiah 60:1-6 and Ephesians 3:1-12 and Matthew 2:1-12

Matthew and Luke record events surrounding Jesus’ birth and infancy. Luke tells us about shepherds; and Mary treasuring the words they spoke in her heart, keeping them close together under guard in order to take them out at a later time. Matthew tells us that her son shall be a ruler who is to shepherd God’s people Israel; and about exotic visitors who opened their treasure-chest and offered up gold, frankincense and myrrh. Today we celebrate the Epiphany, the visit of the Magi. In our crib, the shepherds have returned to their flock, making room for the Gentiles; but there are wandering sheep and treasure-troves in both Matthew and Luke.

We don’t know how many men, potentially woman, perhaps even children followed the star. We don’t know the size of the delegation, or the community they represented, or with any precision the length of their journey. Some say they were Persians, carrying the weight of ancient empire; some, including the earliest Christian testimony, that they were nomadic tribesmen from the Arabian peninsula. Certainly, they were wealthy. They had the means to dream beneath a desert sky, to trade with merchants, and to travel along trade routes. They came, and returned home, carrying with them a portable storehouse for precious things. They gave tribute of gold, incense, and myrrh. Each of these gifts have symbolic value, but don’t imagine they were token gifts, souvenirs with no practical use. These are treasured resources for living in a world in thick darkness. Gifts that would have come into their own when, in the wake of these visitors, Herod would force Joseph to flee with his family, by night, seeking refuge among the Jewish diaspora in Alexandria, Egypt.

‘What can I give him, poor as I am? if I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb, if I were a wise man, I would do my part, yet what I can I give him, give my heart.’ So wrote Christina Rosetti, In the bleak mid-winter. But that heart, as Mary reminds us and as Jesus often taught, is a storehouse of treasure. And the treasure therein comes from God in the first place, given to equip us on our pilgrimage through life. That is why, when we gather together, we begin by acknowledging ‘Almighty God to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hidden ...’

So, when we ask, What can I give him? we are really asking, What have I been given that I am withholding? Jesus taught that those who seek to hold on to their lives shall forfeit them, but those who lose their lives for the sake of the good news that is in him will find life in its fullness. Perhaps, this morning, we need to ask and receive, in order that we might bring our lives in tribute to the king? Or, is it possible that we have kept the storehouse of our heart locked tight so long that we have forgotten the treasures that lie within?

Gold symbolises purchasing power, our ability to acquire what we value. It includes privilege, the associations and investments-in-us that multiply our opportunities. It includes givens, such as natural abilities we might invest in, and more liquid currency such as the extent to which we might take risks or exercise caution. We are all traders, all give something of our gold to those we believe it will be advantageous to align ourselves with, the thing we worship whether that be the stock market or the Son of God.

Perhaps 2020 is the year you need to acquire something new, to you, and valuable. That might be new learning, through reading spiritual authors; or discovering the joy of loving your neighbour, through voluntary service. It might be embarking on an adventure — that thing you always said you would get around to doing some day — with eyes open to signs of God’s salvation in whatever you see and whomever you meet. The chances are that God has already given you the means to take at least the first steps — and who knows where that might take you? Sometimes we need to set out from the familiar, and return to it by another route, transformed by the journey.

Frankincense symbolises prayer, a recognition that, regardless of how much privilege we may enjoy, life involves chance, and forces — some benevolent, others malign — outside of and beyond our control. There is more to life than I can handle alone. We seek a covenant partner to stand alongside through thick and thin, and who will come to our aid; and we get to choose who that partner will be.

Perhaps 2020 will be the year you rediscover the art of praying with other people, fellow travellers on the road. The next six-week stage of the Pilgrim course, starting this Tuesday, will explore the Lord’s Prayer. But perhaps God has put a desire to pray on your heart, and we need to explore how we might gather those prayers up and offer them to God throughout the week, and record how they are answered? Or perhaps it is about trusting that we don’t earn or lose God’s approval by doing things the right or wrong way, but that God hears and responds to the cry of our hearts.

Myrrh symbolises romantic, erotic love. It was also used to embalm the dead. The desire to know love, to love and be loved in return, to give passionately of ourselves to another person or to a great consuming cause, is almost universal. Sooner or later, the experience of loss, of death and walking the valley of the shadow of death, is truly universal. Certainly, you cannot know the first without the second, for they go hand-in-hand.

Perhaps 2020 is the year you need to rediscover or experience for the first time a deep love for Jesus, that mystical union between Jesus the bridegroom and his bride the Church. Perhaps you believe that God exists, even that God loves you, but you have never or not recently known the intimacy of the presence of the Holy Spirit? Or perhaps 2020 will be for you a year of loss, touched by death, and needing to know the comfort Jesus promises to those who mourn. Hope in the dark night.

Gold, frankincense and myrrh represent the treasures that are locked away, kept close together and under guard, in all of our hearts. Gifts given, for living life well. We all make choices in relation to all three. And Jesus is the key that unlocks the storehouse, that enables us to share what we have received, and so find it to be true treasure: to find that we are enough, for others as well as for ourselves. Enough for God, however inadequate we might feel.

I would be happy to have a conversation and to pray with you about anything that has affected you today. But this Epiphany, may your heart be unlocked. And may you leave here for your own country — for the life that is yours — by another road, walking the Way that is Jesus. Amen.