Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity 2022

 

Lectionary set for Holy Communion today: 1 Timothy 6:6-19 and Luke 16:19-31

The readings set for today are timely, given Friday’s mini-budget here in the UK. I want to reflect on the correspondence between Paul and his co-worker Timothy, and what it might mean for churches today.

‘Of course, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment;’

Godliness is devotion to God. Contentment, here, refers to sufficiency for all, or, that everyone has what they need to live. It does not mean, ‘Sit down, be quiet, and learn to cut your cloth according to your means.’ There is a rhetoric abroad in our nation arguing that enabling the rich to become even more wealthy benefits everyone—trickle-down economics—but when increasing numbers of people in work highlight years of real-terms pay cuts and demand this be rectified, they are accused of being greedy and unreasonable. Devotion to God is of little benefit without commitment to sufficiency for all. Likewise, commitment to sufficiency for all without devotion to God leads to ideological impasse. But there is great gain to be had in godliness combined with contentment, which is precisely the contribution our churches, working together across tradition and denomination, bring to political debate.

‘for we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it;’

Here, Paul is playing on the idea of carrying in and out, and that in the end we all get carried out in a box, whether we are given a State funeral or come to our local parish church. There are no self-made men, nor is wealth the consequence of hard work and poverty the evidence of laziness; but we are all carried by, and carry, one another.

‘but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these.’

Key, here, is food that is nourishing; and covering that is focused on, but goes wider than, clothing. Here, I want to commend the work of local churches not only to run food banks and clothing banks, but also to feed people—for eating together nourishes the soul, as well as the body—as well as working in partnership to identify warm spaces (not every church building is appropriate) this coming winter.

‘But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.’

Ruin, here, means being undone in the present; while destruction refers to being destroyed in the age to come, both in terms of the bright new era politicians love to proclaim, and in terms of eternity. As Christians, we believe that poverty is material, social—and spiritual. We believe that inequality is bad for those who are rich, as well as for those who are poor, for those who have more than they need as well as for those who have less than they need. Unlike Left/Right ideological difference, we do not see enemies to be destroyed, but enemies to pray for, whose souls we have care of.

‘For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.’

This verse is famously misquoted as ‘money is the root of all evil.’ In fact, the love of money, that is, avarice, excessive greed, is a root of all kinds of evil. For much of the history of the Church, avarice was seen as a deadly sin, a social evil. Reaganomics and Thatcherism proclaim avarice to be a social virtue.

How, then, ought we to respond? Paul addresses Timothy:

‘But as for you, man of God, shun all this; pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness.’

Man, here, means human: and while it is directly addressed to Timothy, a man of God, Paul’s instruction is for all who would consider themselves to be a man, woman, or child of God.

We are to shun the temptations of wealth. The original impact is, flee. One member of my family has such a phobia of spiders, they cannot remain in the same room as one: that is the import here.

Instead, we are to pursue, not wealth but true riches, chasing after these things, desiring to take hold of them. There is no half-hearted commitment to this.

Righteousness means justice. We are to pursue justice, working and praying for, advocating for, justice, for that society where each person has what they need to live well, free from fear or exploitation.

As already noted, godliness means devotion to God, giving all that we are and all that we have to God’s service. It carries a sense of responsive generosity: that we are to be generous because we have known God’s generosity towards us. We are to pursue generosity—traditionally, the Church has seen good works as the social virtue that heals us of the social vice of avarice: works that do not earn our salvation but, rather, are the fruit of our salvation. Here, I would commend the volunteer hours given by church members to their community, the number of neighbours served, the weight of food distributed. Here, I would thank those who give of their time, talents, and money. Here I would also want to encourage people to review their financial support of the church: to amend it as necessary; and also to consider prioritizing their giving to the church over (not instead of) their giving to other good causes, who draw on a wider pool of donors.

Faith refers to knowing God’s will. We learn what God’s will is through reading the Bible, with prayerful, communal discernment. It bothers me that many Christians read a daily newspaper, but don’t read their Bibles daily. This is where we learn what God’s will is, for how we order our society.

If faith is knowing God’s will, love is choosing what God prefers. Again and again in the Bible, God insists on justice for the most vulnerable among us, the widow, the orphan, and the alien living in our midst.

We are to pursue endurance. Jesus taught his followers to pray, ‘Our Father in heaven…your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in heaven…’ Why? Because God’s will is contested, opposed. We need endurance because we live in a society, a world, where injustice continues. We are called to pursue the endurance God gives; and prayer is the gift by which we receive that endurance afresh each day.

And finally, gentleness. Meekness, or strength under control. If we try to see the world changed in our own strength, we will become overwhelmed, exhausted, and bitter—and quickly so. We are called to participate in the transformation of society in God’s strength, not ours. As we face a difficult winter, we do not do so alone.

 

Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity 2022

 

Lectionary epistle: 1 Timothy 2:1-7

On Sunday afternoon gone, I stood on the square in front of the Minster as the Mayor of Sunderland, wearing her chain of office, delivered the Proclamation of Accession of King Charles III. This ancient process ripples outward, from St James’ Palace where His Majesty the King was formally proclaimed at the Accession Council, after which the Principal Proclamation was made from the balcony overlooking Friary Court at St James’ Palace by the Garter King of Arms, accompanied by the Earl Marsal, other Officers of Arms and the Sarjeants at Arms. The Proclamation was made in Scotland by the Lord Lyon King of Arms, in Wales by the herald of arms extraordinary, and in Northern Ireland by the Norroy and Ulster King of Arms. It was made in the City of London and in every county seat in England by the High Sheriff, in the presence of the King’s Lord-Lieutenants, and from there delegated onward to Mayors and was read out also in universities and cathedrals and, finally, if so desired, in every civic parish. The Proclamation was also made by senior officials across the Commonwealth nations.

The purpose, of course, is that this important news, that we have a new king, is carried to every citizen, to the furthest corners of the kingdom, and the farthest reaches of the Commonwealth. But this time, for the first time, we were able to watch the pebble be dropped into the pool, live, on our television scenes, long before the ripple reached us.

Between the formal proclamation at the Accession Council and the Principal Proclamation made by the Garter King of Arms, the King held his first Privy Council meeting, where he made a personal declaration which included these words:

‘I am deeply aware of this great inheritance and of the duties and heavy responsibilities of Sovereignty which have now passed to me. In taking up these responsibilities, I shall strive to follow the inspiring example I have been set in upholding constitutional government and to seek the peace, harmony and prosperity of the peoples of these Islands and of the Commonwealth Realms and Territories throughout the world…

‘And in carrying out the heavy task that has been laid upon me, and to which I now dedicate what remains to me of my life, I pray for the guidance and help of Almighty God.’

The King also read and signed an oath to uphold the security of the Church of Scotland:

‘I understand that the Law requires that I should, at My Accession to the Crown, take and subscribe the Oath relating to the Security of the Church of Scotland.  I am ready to do so at this first opportunity.

‘I, Charles the Third, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of My other Realms and Territories, King, Defender of the Faith, do faithfully promise and swear that I shall inviolably maintain and preserve the Settlement of the true Protestant Religion as established by the Laws made in Scotland in prosecution of the Claim of Right and particularly by an Act intituled “An Act for securing the Protestant Religion and Presbyterian Church Government” and by the Acts passed in the Parliament of both Kingdoms for Union of the two Kingdoms, together with the Government, Worship, Discipline, Rights and Privileges of the Church of Scotland.

‘So help me God.’

Paul writes that he has been appointed a herald and apostle. That by royal seal affixed, he is a town crier, charged with communicating news of critical importance to the public; and an envoy, commissioned by another to represent them to the nations.

His proclamation is this:

‘There is one God; there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself a ransom for all.’

This is the proclamation, ringing out around the Roman Empire, that the God who created all things has anointed Jesus as the one who guarantees the performance of all terms and conditions stipulated in the covenant God has made with humankind, in recognition that this Jesus had given his life to secure our freedom. Paul is making the public proclamation that Jesus will freely uphold the duties and responsibilities laid upon him. Indeed, in the person of Jesus, the responsibilities of God towards humankind, and the responsibilities of humankind towards God, are guaranteed.

That is far greater news than the accession of any earthly sovereign. And yet, we act as if it isn’t fit for proclamation, as if it is an entirely private matter of individual belief, personal choice between many gods (or none) and any number of mediators (or none).

Perhaps you think it isn’t your place, that, unlike Paul, you aren’t a herald and an apostle. You are, however, called to pray. Paul urges that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, including kings and those in high office. Supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings aren’t simply four different ways of saying the same thing. Supplications, or entreaties, refer to urgent personal need. Prayers include a recognition that we are addressing God, in community, in a place set aside for prayer. Intercessions refer to approaching a king, to receive his instructions, to know what his will is. And thanksgivings are the expression of gratitude for God’s grace.

We are called to pray, that all might know life free from disturbance, experiencing, instead, an inner calm; a life of reverence where all, whether those of high estate or lowly birth, are considered worthy of veneration, worthy of respect, possessing a gravitas and dignity of their own.

This is the prayerful life the late Queen modelled to her son and heir, and to all her subjects. And it is how we should pray for our new King, and for all people everywhere. For their urgent personal needs: for the Royal Family and for all families grieving the death of a loved one at this present time. That they might know the Spirit, the Comforter, draw near to them; even as we draw near to listen to any words the Spirit might give us to say to them. All the while, expressing our thankfulness for all that God has done for us in Christ Jesus, the forgiveness of sins and all other benefits of his passion.

This month marks a new beginning for us as a nation, whether we choose to embrace it or not. And, yes, it will take time to get used to; we shall find ourselves, to begin with, in a period of transition. Might it also be a new beginning for our prayer life? A learning to pray? The new King has made a personal declaration, concluding:

‘And in carrying out the heavy task that has been laid upon me, and to which I now dedicate what remains to me of my life, I pray for the guidance and help of Almighty God.’

May this be your prayer too, and mine. So help me God.

 

Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity 2022

 

Lectionary readings: Exodus 32:7-14 and 1 Timothy 1:12-17 and Luke 15:1-10

In our Old Testament reading, we see the Lord God and Moses in conversation. The Lord has appointed Moses to lead his people, whom the Lord has delivered from great distress in Egypt and brought out with the intention of establishing them in the land God had promised to Abraham’s descendants. But even as the Lord grants Moses a private audience, as our late Queen met with fifteen Prime Ministers in private audience, the people are quick to turn away from the One who had delivered them from evil. In the Hebrew, the Lord says to Moses something to the effect of, ‘Let me draw in my breath through my nostrils,’ the idea that we live because God’s breath is in our lungs and when the Lord breathes that breath back in, we are unmade. The Lord says, ‘Depart from before me, Moses, that you may be spared, for I am about to recall the life breath of the people.’ But Moses does not depart. Instead, he intercedes for his people before the Lord, pleads that they might be spared, and, indeed, flourish, to the glory of the Lord’s reputation.

It may be sheer coincidence that the Lectionary invites us to reflect on this portion of Scripture this Sunday, but it is deeply fitting, for Elizabeth II was a Queen who interceded on behalf of the people she believed God had appointed her to lead, at the end of every day, for over seventy years. At the time she came to the throne, it was the consensus that the Lord had delivered us from the horror of a second world war within a generation. By the time of her Silver Jubilee, that consensus was long gone; how soon we forget and turn away from the Lord. And yet, she continued to intercede for us; and we will never know what enormity of loss was held back on account of one prayerful woman not much more than five feet tall.

In our Epistle from the New Testament, we hear the apostle Paul reflect on his gratitude to Jesus Christ his Lord, ‘who has strengthened me, because he judged me faithful and appointed me to his service,’ despite his own deep awareness of his own shortcomings.

And, again, this was likewise the repeated public testimony of our late Sovereign Lady Elizabeth. In different ways, we are all called by Jesus into his service, however unworthy, unprepared, or unlikely we feel; and this can be your testimony, too.

But it is on the Gospel that I would like to focus today.

We are created to be integrated beings. When we read in the law that “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself” (see Luke 10:25-37) this is not an injunction, but a promise: you shall love, in this fully-integrated, all-encompassing, way, even if that is not yet your experience. This is the Word speaking something into being, just as that same Word declared, ‘“Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.’ (Genesis 1:3, 4).

We are created to be integrated beings. And yet, in our formative years, we might experience things that cause us to push away parts of the person God is calling into being, deep down into our subconscious; or to fragment ourselves, at the physical level of the connections within our brain. We are created to be integrated beings. But in these past few days, since the announcement of the Queen’s death, and the Proclamation of our new King, Charles III, many will have found themselves somewhat discombobulated. For most of her subjects, the Queen has been the only monarch we have known, a constant in change, including the change in our purses and pockets. Her passing has resulted in a slow-motion explosion in our common life, in which the weight and cost of the pandemic, and the cost-of-living crisis, and a nonstop news cycle, as well as our own personal losses of loved ones, are, also, all caught up. So, we may find ourselves, our heart and soul and strength and mind, blown apart.

The search for meaning, for an integrated life—whether looked for in work, or financial security, or pleasure; or in an ever-present monarch—is, ultimately, the search for God in our lives: the object of our love, around whom all our desires find their homecoming.

In Luke chapter 15, we see both observant Pharisees and scribes, and divergent tax collectors and sinners come to Jesus. Each, in their own different ways, live fragmented lives. One group is afraid of losing God’s favour; the other believes they do not deserve God’s favour. One group has known inconsistent care, perhaps through loss or hardship; the other, an absence of safety, perhaps through more and greater losses. One is risk-averse; the other, reckless. Both groups are intrigued by Jesus, and whether he is good for them or not. And when the Pharisees grumble on account of Jesus welcoming sinners and eating with them, he responds with stories, about sinners.

A sinner is one who falls short. Jesus tells a story about a shepherd, a story about a woman. The shepherd has a hundred sheep and loses one. The woman has ten silver coins and loses one. In each instance, their wholeness is broken. Not utter disintegration, but crisis enough to cause agitation and cry out for resolution.

Shepherds did not own sheep; they were responsible, for the sheep, to the owner of the sheep. The woman’s coins are her wedding dowry, and she was accountable to her husband. Each has fallen short. Each is a sinner. And each repents, or turns around, retraces their steps, finds what they have lost. Then each one calls together their friends and neighbours to rejoice with them. Both the shepherd and the woman are restored to wellbeing.

The tax collectors and sinners are finding Jesus—the lamb of God; the coin bearing the image of the king—and calling their friends and neighbours to rejoice with them, in joyful, celebratory feasts. The Pharisees and scribes are also searching, are so close to the end of their searching, and yet, there is something holding them back. They are not, yet, able to enter the experience of joy. Jesus goes so far as to imply that they ‘need no repentance’ to do so: it is they, themselves, holding themselves back from taking the final step to the table.

Telling them directly won’t help them: they’ll deny it, and walk away; or agree, but still be unable to find joy. Jesus needs to find a way to help them integrate their experience into a coherent story, for themselves. He does so through the telling of stories: stories that are quite open-ended, and thick with multiple layers. If their upbringing has caused them to see God as distant and austere, waiting to pronounce disappointment or disapproval, then here’s a story set in the wilderness, the austere place where God provided manna and quail day after day, week on week, month on month, year on year. Give them a story that allows them to take up the fragments of their own stories and present them as a coherent whole. If their upbringing has caused them to see God as a husband to be tip-toed around, here is a story open enough to see themselves as beloved, adorned, honoured. Here are stories in which you might search, until you find what you need: meaning—given by Jesus.

And this, according to Jesus’ stories, integrates all creation: heaven and earth, angels and humans, sinners and friends and neighbours.

Her Late Majesty the Queen knew that she was a shepherd, entrusted with the care of the Lord’s sheep. That she was a woman entrusted by God with a crown, just as the woman in Jesus’ parable had been given a string of silver coins by her husband to wear on her forehead. That she was a sinner, who fell short of what was entrusted to her care, but who nonetheless was determined to search until she found Jesus in every circumstance; Jesus, who strengthened her, having found her faithful in the service to which he had appointed her. And in this mutual trust, she found great joy—and threw a lot of parties. Over her ninety-six years of life, though touched by tragedy, she grew into God’s promise that “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.” You can know the same.

May God give you grace to gather up the fragments of your being, and of these strange days we are living through, and to know the wholeness found in being caught up by Jesus, as we draw near to him. Amen.

 

Twelfth Sunday after Trinity 2022

 

Gospel reading: Luke 14:25-33

Jesus said, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” Sorry, could you repeat that? It sounded like you said, hate. Surely you mean, love? ‘By this shall everyone know that you are my disciples: that you love one another.’ What’s all this about hate?

What, indeed? Well, here’s the context. Jesus is making his way towards Jerusalem. And everything that Jesus has to say in relation to Jerusalem is apocalyptic: that his coming announces the end of the world, at least as everyone has known it. Large crowds are travelling with him, convinced that he is the Messiah, the one sent by God to lead the people in revolting against their Roman oppressors, overthrowing the occupying forces, establishing a new Golden Age not seen since the days of kings David and Solomon.

But that isn’t how Jesus sees it. He knows that it is too late for that, and, in any case, that isn’t God’s plan. He reads the Scriptures differently, sees a suffering servant and a faithful remnant that will be vindicated on the far side of a terrible Day of the Lord.

And so, he turns around to the crowds following him, and speaks of legacy, of family lines and towering architecture and impressive armies, all of which end in death.

Thirty-three years after Jesus’ death and resurrection, the Jews rose in a Great Revolt against the Roman Empire. Rebels in Galilee were defeated and fell back to Jerusalem, but the urbane southerners did not welcome the rough northerners with open arms. Next, the Pharisees and the Sadducees joined forces, but they, too, had a history of falling out. In the Year of our Lord 70, the Romans laid Jerusalem to siege. According to the Jewish historian Josephus, the Jews set a fire to hold back the Romans; the Romans countered by setting a second fire; and a Roman soldier accidentally started a third fire that, coming together with the first two to form a massive conflagration, destroyed the Temple and much of the city. Now, Josephus is biased in who gets attributed with what—he knows which way the wind is blowing and wants to keep in with the Romans—but it is clear from his record and from archeological evidence that Jerusalem going up in a hell of fire was a perfect storm of farce and tragedy and apocalypse. The Day of the Lord.

When the fires burn themselves out, the Romans destroy whatever remains standing, leaving only three towers built by Herod the Great, to remind everyone how great Jerusalem had once been. Towers Herod had named in honour of his brother (Phaseal), his favourite general (Hippicus), and his favourite wife (Mariamne). Talk about rubbing salt in a wound. Nine hundred surviving rebels retreat to Herod’s desert fortress at Masada, which the Romans besiege for months, finally breaking through only to discover that the rebels had committed mass suicide the night before. In all, the eight-year war resulted in the death of over ten-thousand Roman soldiers, around fifty-thousand Jewish combatants, and, according to Josephus, over a million non-combatants. Truly, hell on earth, the end of the world.

Jesus says, if you try to secure the enduring future of your family, you will fail. If you try to secure your place in history, through impressive buildings and strength in numbers, you will fail. Those who seek to save their life will lose it. And those who want to follow Jesus to Jerusalem (and Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth) will also die. Not in the rather serene sense that we all die one day, but in the urgent sense that there are forces at work in the world that are hell-bent on destruction. Mammon, the god of money; and the nationalist gods of empire-building. Gods that devour and devour, and are never satisfied, never sated, never consume enough.

Today, there are millions of people in this nation who just don’t know how they are going to survive this winter, who can see their businesses going under like watching a car crash in slow motion and not being able to do anything to stop it. You may be one of them. And churches, trying to figure out, how are we going to be able to be there for our wider communities when we, ourselves, can barely keep going? And Jesus says, to follow me will cost you everything, and even then, it will not save you, because we are going to our death, trusting that the end of the world as we have known it is not the End.

If the gods of money and nationalism are going to destroy you, and following Jesus isn’t going to shield you from the onslaught, then why follow Jesus? Well, just as the crowds had the wrong idea, so, often, do we. The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ is at work to reconcile all creation in and through Jesus, the vindicated ever-Living one whom God has appointed to judge the empires and their gods. It is a long story, a big picture, a holding together of justice and mercy—of righting wrongs and healing wounds.

The way of God’s glory passes through suffering, through surrendering our lives—not because God desires that we should suffer, but because surrendering our claim to every other (and ultimately empty) promise of glory loosens the grip of the false gods, one life at a time. Even Death cannot hold us in its grip.

Maybe you are not ready to surrender yet. Perhaps you are hedging your bets, counting on your own resources, on being able to outrun the demons. I assure you that you cannot, and implore you to choose Jesus, and do not delay.

Maybe you already know the peace he brings, the simple trust in God’s grace, sufficient unto the day. The sure hope that nothing, past, present, or future, can separate you from God’s love, embodied in Jesus. May he bring to completion what he has begun in you. What you have left in his hands—family, buildings, nations—may you receive back tenfold.

Come, let us follow Jesus, and not turn back. Let us be his disciples.