Pentecost 2022

 

Lectionary readings: Acts 2:1-21 and John 14:8-17, 25-27

Once [according to the historian Josephus] there were two brothers, named Anilai and Asinai, part of the Jewish diaspora living within the Parthian empire. They were poor, fatherless boys, and their widowed mother found them apprenticeship to a weaver. Whether they were indolent, or their master unjust, who can now say; but when he punished them for laziness, they ran away to become outlaws, hiding out in the marshlands of the great Euphrates River. Other discontented Jewish boys flocked to them, and they organised themselves to extort protection money from the semi-nomadic shepherds of that region, in time establishing a small bandit state.

This displeased the Parthian governor of Babylonia, who determined to defeat them by means of a surprise attack on the Sabbath. It may be clear by now that these were not the most devout of Jews, and they fought back regardless, humiliating their attacker. Impressed, the Parthian king Artabanus III, having had enough of putting down rebellions among his own satraps, made a treaty with the brothers, recognising their control over the territory they anyway occupied.

And so, it might well have continued, had Anilai not married the gentile widow of a Parthian general he had killed in battle. This divided his camp, even coming between the brothers themselves. For Asinai was vocal in condemning his brother’s actions; so much so that the general’s widow murdered her bandit brother-in-law by poisoning him. Anilai limped on, alone, until his resources ran out. Around 33AD—as, in far-off Jerusalem Peter was addressing a crowd of gathered diaspora pilgrims—the bandit state came to an end. Of course, that state did not represent most of the Parthian Jews, but nonetheless its presence had kept them safe, after a fashion. With its demise, Babylonian discontent with their Jewish neighbours rose-up with renewed vigour, the diaspora community fleeing, yet again, in search of peace.

Some of those Parthian Jews were there on the day of Pentecost.

In truth, similar stories and more could be said of all the territories and diaspora peoples listed that day: the Parthians, Medes, and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene; visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes; Cretans and Arabs. In every direction around Jerusalem, contested lands, contested identities. Surrounding nations who had enslaved the Jewish people: the exodus from Egypt, the Babylonian exile. Tribes of distant relatives we don’t speak about in polite company. Nations, such as Rome, who had invaded and occupied the long-promised land. This is not so much a list of tricky place names or exotic holiday destinations as a summary of every ebb and flow of the story of God’s people, and every high tide mark they had washed up on.

Messy stories of human lives, both personal and collective. People doing whatever it takes to get by. And of God, who is not impressed by our heroic adventures, nor it transpires repulsed by our shabbiest dealings, but who sees us and who wants to be with us, wherever we find ourselves. Who, by God’s very nature, comes as Jesus to save us, to restore us, to bless us, by God’s own transformative presence, being with us—and to send us out to be a blessing, God’s own transformative presence in every place, however broken and full of ghosts it may be.

You must go looking for the stories, or else stumble across them by chance, of lives transformed by the Holy Spirit poured out on all flesh, such that the elderly sowed dreams of a future worth hoping for, and the young generation spoke truth to power in the face of whatever stood opposed to that dream. Though most of the stories are lost to time, held only now by God. But the Spirit has been poured out continuously since that day, giving rise to dreams that birth visions that mature into dreams that birth vision anew, in unbroken succession down to our own day, and far beyond.

Every Spirit-empowered, Spirit-encouraged, dream-vision-movement-reality that has changed the face of the world by drawing those on the margins, the oppressed and left-behind, to be enfolded and honoured; these are the works of Jesus, done through his sisters and brothers, of which he said, ‘these works are greater than the ones I began with.’ No longer confined to one forgotten corner of a now long-dead empire: freedom for slaves, civil rights recognised, equality for women, inclusion for those with disabilities, healing for the sick, a welcome home for the refugee. Precious things that cannot be taken for granted, and work yet still to do—new visions and dreams rising in every generation; new crises of judgement to be faced, by which all that opposes the love of God in Christ Jesus is humbled and all that shares in his glory is honoured. And all with the purpose that as Jesus is with the Father, so, by the Spirit, the Father and the Son are with us. God with us. What a time to be alive. Come, Holy Spirit.

 

Pentecost 2021

Pentecost 2021

‘When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

‘Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.’ All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, ‘What does this mean?’ But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’

‘But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them: ‘Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through 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.
Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
and they shall prophesy.
And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”’

Acts 2:1-21

 

‘When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. You also are to testify because you have been with me from the beginning.

‘I did not say these things to you from the beginning, because I was with you. But now I am going to him who sent me; yet none of you asks me, “Where are you going?” But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your hearts. Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgement: about sin, because they do not believe in me; about righteousness, because I am going to the Father and you will see me no longer; about judgement, because the ruler of this world has been condemned.

‘I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.’

John 15:26,27; 16:4b-15

 

Today is Pentecost. But what is Pentecost? At its heart, it was a harvest festival. The ancient near east civilisations were built on grain. As such, they were vulnerable to famine, and the successful completion of a harvest was a cause for major celebration. In Israel, as in Egypt, there were two main grain crops: barley and wheat. The earlier barley harvest was celebrated at Passover; the wheat harvest, fifty days later, at Shavuot, or Pentecost. The Jewish people had tied two key events from their history to these harvest celebrations: at Passover, they celebrated God delivering this people from slavery in Egypt, parting the sea and leading them out into the wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula; at Pentecost, they celebrated God giving them the Commandments, through Moses, at Mount Sinai some several weeks later. Harvest festivals take on a deeper significance. As Jesus insisted, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ (Matthew 4:4, citing Deuteronomy 8:3) For Christians, these Jewish celebrations take on yet another layer of meaning. Jesus’ crucifixion, and resurrection—his passing from death to life, taking us with him—take place around the Passover. The risen and ascended Jesus sends the Holy Spirit from heaven fifty days later, at Pentecost.

Some five hundred years before Jesus (give or take a century or two), Judah had experienced a particularly disastrous invasion of locusts, an utter catastrophe in the life of the nation. The grain crops, both barley and wheat, had been entirely wiped out before they could be harvested. The storehouses and granaries were empty, awaiting a refilling that would not now happen. The urban population of Jerusalem, fed by the surrounding territory of Judah, were facing starvation; relatively secure and prosperous lives, thrown into turmoil. And the prophet Joel asked, ‘does this remind anyone of anything?’

A thousand years earlier again, God had delivered this people from a hard-hearted Pharaoh, sending a succession of ten plagues on Egypt. The seventh plague had been hailstones, so large they had destroyed the barley crop before it was ready to harvest. The wheat was late in coming up that year, and survived untouched. It would, however, be devoured by the eighth plague, an invasion of locusts beyond number. Moses presented himself before Pharaoh, and demanded that his people, young and old, sons and daughters, be allowed to go out of Egypt to celebrate the Lord’s festival. Pharaoh would permit only the old men to go. A ninth plague followed—three days of dense darkness—and a tenth—the death of the firstborn of every household, even livestock.

‘Does this plague of locusts remind anyone of anything?’ asked Joel. Surely God’s hand is in this, for judgement, of God’s own people who have become as proud and hard-hearted as ever Pharaoh was? Surely, we must repent, and call on the Lord for mercy, lest we suffer what comes next? (Indeed, there was no lasting repentance, and ultimately the king in Jerusalem had his eyes gouged out—darkness—and his firstborn son killed, while he himself was carried off into the Babylonian exile…)

But Joel continues. We are being humbled, but God will restore, will not forget us forever, will repay what the locusts have devoured. And then, God promises, ‘I shall pour out my spirit on all flesh’ and after that the nations shall be summoned to gather in Jerusalem, and be judged for having scattered God’s people among them, for carrying God’s treasured possession away from the land. And in the Valley of Decision, all who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved.

‘This is that’ says Peter. This is the pouring out of God’s Spirit on all flesh—young and old, sons and daughters. This is the gathering of the nations for judgement. This is the Valley of Decision…

One way of thinking about this pattern—this revelation, by which we come into a deeper knowledge of the kind of world we live in, a deeper knowledge of the nature of God and humanity—is as disruptive grace. That is to say, sometimes God breaks into our hard-hearted indifference in shocking ways. It is grace, because it comes from out-with us, as divine initiative. And it is disruptive, because this untameable force seeks to break us free from the things that hold us captive. By our indifference towards animals and their habitats and towards other people, especially the poor, we brought a pandemic on ourselves; but God folds this judgement in on itself, like origami, transforming it into grace, troubling and starkly beautiful. What opens up in this space is the possibility of a new future, of hope, that is big enough to embrace young and old, sons and daughters, those close by and those far from us, a diversity of life experiences [1]. For those with eyes to see, God turns up, in the pressure and pain of a pandemic; half-hidden behind a mask and fogged glasses on the bus, or peeling a mask off at the end of a work shift. Grace is held out to us, but must be received; and the longer we resist, the more pain we bring upon ourselves and others. Still, I wonder how many people have experienced a fresh appreciation of the need for and/or presence of God in their lives, over the course of the past year? Perhaps more than we can imagine. Perhaps you have discovered this for yourself? Or perhaps I have drunk too much communion wine.

This Pentecost, may the place of our deep collective loss become the place of breakthrough, the very place we experience the transformation of the Holy Spirit drawing us from death to life. Come, Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

[1] When the Spirit of God, poured out on all flesh, moves to bring forth a new world from the ruins of a dying world, it is ushered in by the prophetic call of the young and the old, sons and daughters, from many nations and for the nations, empowered to speak to us concerning where we have gone astray, and leading the way in how we might life our lives better, according to God’s justice and mercy and love for all creation. I think of the partnership between Greta Thunberg and David Attenborough, calling out our death-cult attitude to our planet, the Swedish girl who is dismissed for being young and naïve and not understanding what she is talking about, and the English man put in a box labelled ‘national treasure’ so we can ignore him too. The Spirit of God cannot be contained in a box; but, if we want to know where that Spirit is blowing against us, in disruptive grace, and where that Spirit is heading, we need to listen to the children and young people among us, and, as older men and women, invest our dreams in the vision God has given to them. Do you hear the sound, like the rush of a violent wind?

 

Pentecost 2020

This Sunday - 31 May - is Pentecost, the third of the great festivals of the Church along with Christmas and Easter. And so, this Sunday, our meeting together for worship will look somewhat different. We’ll still connect via Zoom* but we will be joining with other congregations across Sunderland in a pre-recorded Wearmouth Deanery service. You’ll need a candle to hand, and, if you like, paper and pens/pencils/crayons.

*From 10.20 a.m. Meeting ID 664-485-330 text Revd Andrew Dowsett on 07783760012 for the Password

Choral Evensong, Pentecost 2018

Psalm 139 and Ezekiel 36:22-28 and Acts 2:22-38

One day back in April 2015 I was taking the lunchtime Communion service when I felt a pain in my chest. It was severe enough to take my breath, and to prompt me to pay a visit to my GP. She got out her stethoscope and her blood-pressure cuff and reassured me that everything was fine…but went on to say that, at my age, I really ought to consider doing some regular exercise. And that is how I got into running.

There is a theme to our readings this evening, and it is the heart.

‘Search me out, O God, and know my heart; try me and examine my thoughts. See if there is any way of wickedness in me and lead me in the way everlasting.’ (Psalm 139:23, 24)

‘A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my spirit within you, and make you follow my statutes and be careful to observe my ordinances. Then you shall live in the land that I gave to your ancestors; and you shall be my people, and I will be your God.’ (Ezekiel 36:26-28)

‘…therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; moreover my flesh will live in hope.’ (Acts 2:26)

‘Now when they heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other apostles, “Brothers, what should we do?” Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptised every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”’ (Acts 2:37, 38)

In Scripture, the heart is the seat of the will: the place from where we exercise our will; we make choices. Those choices might be informed by our mind—the seat of both thoughts and emotions, for the two go hand-in-hand, whatever pop-psych personality tests might claim—and might be informed by our strength, our physical bodies—that experience hunger or fatigue. But it is our heart that moves us, closer towards or further away from God and neighbour. What should we do, the crowd asks Peter. What the heart was made for: choose; repent and choose life.

God gives us a will of our own in order that we are free; and life-giving, life-enabling wisdom, in statutes and ordinances: the distilled life-lessons of an entire community. But all of us have had our heart broken, one way or another, and on many occasions. You see, a broken heart has to do with our will. The child whose fledgling will is crushed—most likely, quite unintentionally, and to their own mortification—by their parent. The young- or not-so young-adult whose will is squashed by unrequited love. The marriage-partners whose twice-shy wills must find courage to yield in mutual submission. The parent whose child is making choices that do not lead deeper into life in all its fullness, or at least, not as far as the parent who loves them can see.

With the best will in the world, our hearts become calcified over time, as we try to protect them, only to discover that we are going through the motions, existing rather than living.

Ezekiel’s vision is millennia ahead of its time, for he foresees the heart transplant. Spiritually-speaking, that is what God has done for us: removing a heart that can no longer beat and giving us a new lease of life. Removing a will so calcified it struggles to choose right from wrong and replacing it with a will that is sensitive to the prompting of the Holy Spirit—who, in Ezekiel’s incredible vision is both internal pace-maker supporting our heart and physiotherapist training us back to full mobility.

So come, all those who need healing of heart.

Let your heart be glad, and your flesh live in hope.

Pentecost 2018

Ezekiel 37:1-14 and Acts 2:1-21 and John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15

Today is the Feast of Pentecost, the day the Church celebrates that, after ascending to the Father, Jesus sent the Holy Spirit. And today I want us to consider one thing Jesus said that the Holy Spirit would do; but first, some context.

There is a recurring story in Scripture concerning the people of God. It goes something like this. Having experienced God as Saviour, the people fail to trust God as Lord. They adopted ‘God, plus’: God, plus various other gods; God, plus monarchy; God, plus a certain set of ritual or moral behaviours. God, with an insurance policy on the side. But far from adding security, this half-hearted approach inevitably led them to a place of defeat. Again, they would cry out to God as Saviour; again, God would save them; and again, they would fail to trust God as Lord. Yet, God still held out the hope that they might know him as both Saviour and Lord, who not only set them free but in whom they might live in freedom.

Ezekiel’s vision of the valley of dry bones sits within this recurring pattern. In the vision, the people have been utterly defeated. There was no one left to bury the dead. Once the jackals, the carrion crows, the flies had stripped the bones of meat, and the ants had picked them clean, the unrelenting sun had bleached them. Yet, even so, the breath of God can bring new life together, resulting in the vindication of his previously-judged people.

The Day of Pentecost puts flesh on the bones of Ezekiel’s vision, with devout Jews drawn- and knitted-together from the four corners of the world and animated by the Spirit of God. It enacts what Ezekiel envisioned.

Against that backdrop, listen again to what Jesus said that the Spirit of truth—the Advocate—will do:

“when he comes, he will prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgement: about sin, because they do not believe in me; about righteousness, because I am going to the Father and you will see me no longer; about judgement because the ruler of this world has been condemned.”

Sin and righteousness and judgement. Those are our three words for today.

Jesus says, the Holy Spirit will prove the world wrong about these things. Or, convict the world of them. The original Greek conveys the sense of both a negative and a positive: that the Holy Spirit will show you where you are wrong, and what is right, about these things.

The world is wrong about sin and righteousness and judgement. The world says, there are good people and bad people. The world generally tells us that we, and people like us, are good; and that people who are not like us are bad. The world tells us that we deserve good things, and that they deserve their comeuppance. You need only look at the media or social media to see these things; though you will also hear them expressed as self-evident truths in conversation with our neighbours, and, if we are honest, often on our own lips.

Sometimes, the world flips the game. When we are at our most vulnerable, we may hear the whisper of Accusation telling us that we are a bad person, one of the ‘them,’ an outsider. The unloved child in the family; the constant disappointment; the person with no friends. Or, the imposter, living in fear of being found out for who we really are; and then the judgement will be swift, and unforgiving.

But either way round, the world is wrong; and the Holy Spirit brings us to Jesus.

What does Jesus have to say about sin? Remember the woman caught in adultery? Adultery is a serious betrayal, a breach of trust that tears the very fabric of society. And causes us to hide, from others, and from God. Sin matters; and Jesus does not dismiss it. But what does he say? To the crowd—to the ‘us’ circling one of the ‘them’ like a pack of hyenas—he says, let whoever is without sin cast the first stone. And when they fall away—starting with those who are older and wiser—Jesus says to the woman, neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.

What does Jesus say about sin? Firstly, that we are all in the same boat: not good people and bad people; just, people. Secondly, that the separation from God we experience as a result is not permanent, at least from God’s side: Jesus reveals that God is not hoping for our comeuppance. And thirdly, that we can be empowered by God to resist sin, over and over again.

What does Jesus have to say about righteousness? As it happens, not a lot, at least explicitly. Matthew records him as saying that those who hunger and thirst for righteousness are happy, because they shall be filled, their appetite fully satisfied. And that happy are those who are persecuted for their longing, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Righteousness, then, is a good thing: we are commended to pursue it; without it, we cannot know God’s good reign. But it belongs to those who recognise the gap between their longing and their reality: to ache with hunger and thirst is to know a lack of food and drink, over some time. Indeed, Jesus is quite provocative towards those who saw themselves as righteous, who trusted in their own righteousness, those who thought of themselves as a good person, respectable, upright. Those who didn’t need God. Jesus came for those who knew that they did need God—who alone Jesus called righteous: Righteous Father.

Indeed, Jesus explicitly says that he has come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance. Righteousness is something we might see in others but can never claim to possess for ourselves. The paradox is that only those who know themselves to be sinners can know the good things that God shares with those who are undeserving. If others experience it in meeting us, it flows from closeness to our heavenly Father, time spent in the secret place of prayer that overflows into our days.

What does Jesus have to say about judgement? He says that the ruler of this world—satan, the Accuser—has been condemned. That is, the overturning of the order of the world. Speaking of his own death and resurrection, Jesus declared now is the judgement of this world, now the ruler of the world will be driven out. In a decisive clash of empire and kingdom, God’s oppressed people will be liberated and decisively vindicated: dry bones brought to life; a people scattered far and wide brought together and filled with power from on high. Judgement matters—God does not stand by, impassive, immune to our cries. It takes place in history. It is costly. And yet, and yet. God’s judgement is for a glorious vindication on all who would call on Jesus as Saviour and Lord, for the building of a new society, to be a light to the nations. Of this, the Holy Spirit gives us—keeps giving us—confidence.

Today is the Feast of Pentecost, and the Holy Spirit fills this place, lighting on each one of us here. And of what is the Spirit convicting you? Does the Spirit come to lift the burden of sin that has been weighing you down? Or, as a strong wind, to drive you beyond the rules of respectability to the table where your hunger is fully satisfied? Does the Spirit come to free you from fear of judgement? Or to renew you when you have given up hope that you will see God’s judgement?

What is it that the Spirit saying to your spirit today? May we respond, Maranatha! Come, Holy Spirit! Amen.

Pentecost 2017

Acts 2:1-21 and 1 Corinthians 12:3-13 and John 20:19-23

Today is Pentecost. And I would like to talk about the person of the Holy Spirit. There is so much that could be said, far more than any sermon can cover. The Holy Spirit is active in the world, and in the life of every person you meet, to bring hope out of despair and harmony out of chaos. Indeed, the fruit of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22, 23)—can be evidenced in the lives of those who are Christians and those who are not. But the Holy Spirit is also active in a distinctive way in the lives of the baptised—those who are the Church—and I want to focus on one aspect of this today.

In our reading from Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth, he writes about the gifts that the Holy Spirit distributes among the Church. Paul begins by making a connection between gifts, service, and activity. These are gifts from God to equip us for acts of service; and servant activity is our response to receiving the gifts. Moreover, Paul describes these gifts as manifestations of the Spirit: that is, making the invisible, visible. These gifts tell us something of the giver—what God is like—and they are the evidence that God exists and is actively involved in the world. When people say, ‘If God exists why doesn’t he reveal himself to us?’ this is (part of) God’s answer, ‘I do.’

Paul writes, ‘to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.’ ‘To each’ means that every member of the baptised is included—the many, not just the few. ‘For the common good’ indicates that they are given to the Church for the benefit of the wider community beyond the Church—the common good being ‘the sum of those conditions of social life which allow social groups and their individual members relatively thorough and ready access to their own fulfilment’ (Gaudium et Spes, #26, 1965).

So let us consider the gifts Paul lists as examples; and as we do so, let us ask:

do we have, between us, experience of any of these?

and, are we in need of any of these gifts at this present time?

the utterance of wisdom: like all the gifts that follow, this is a supernatural gift; it goes beyond the acquired wisdom of age and experience. There are times when we are faced with complex situations, where we desire to do the right thing but where it is not necessarily apparent what the right thing to do is. Seeking the common good is not simple. We have recently appointed a new PCC. Though I hope we will conduct all our business prayerfully, there will be times when we get stuck and will need to stop and pray and ask the Holy Spirit to give us wisdom that gives clear direction—even if only a next step. That word might come through any one of us—not just the clergy—and be weighed by all of us. And whereas natural wisdom shows us that God is wise and loves to share wisdom, these moments remind us that God loves to set his people free when we find ourselves captive.

the utterance of knowledge: I wonder whether you’ve ever had a sudden and clear sense of the Holy Spirit telling you something about another person, something that you would have no other means of knowing? That’s a word of knowledge. We all carry secrets in our hearts: hopes, dreams, disappointments, fears we have not shared with anybody. But God knows the secrets of our hearts; and wants us to know that we are known and that we are loved. Sometimes the Holy Spirit prompts us to take a specific and very personal message to someone else, to reveal that care to them. It’s also a sign that God trusts us to care for one another.

faith: again, we’re talking about faith in a specific context, rather than the general sense. Jesus spoke of faith that throws mountains into the sea. In the Bible, mountains signify encounters with God, and the sea signifies chaos. To move a mountain into the sea is to transfer an experience of God’s presence in the past into a present experience that threatens to overwhelm us, giving us somewhere firm to stand. Like God calling dry land out of the waters in the beginning, the gift of faith is the ability to call out what will be from what is. If you have ever felt faith rising in the most challenging of circumstances, you’ll recognise this gift, that sees difficulties as opportunities for God to provide. Where have you known God’s faithfulness in the past? What do you have faith for, today?

gifts of healing: our experience of life includes wounding and falling apart, whether that be a broken part of our physical body or a hurt inflicted on our spirit by the actions of another, or ourselves. God loves to heal. All healing comes from God, including the limited but powerful ability of our bodies to self-heal, and the vocational work of doctors, nurses, and counsellors. But sometimes the Holy Spirit brings supernatural healing, as a sign that points to the day when all things will be healed. It is our present practice to set aside opportunity for prayer and anointing for healing on the second Sunday of every month—but the Holy Spirit is not confined to one day a month, or to certain individuals. Can I encourage you to be open to the possibility that the Holy Spirit might prompt you to pray for healing (perhaps through a word of knowledge) at any time? Be bold (if necessary, ask for the gift of faith).

the working of miracles: God is king of the universe. He has established laws by which creation is governable, laws that allow the possibility for life to not only exist but flourish. God is reliable, and good. But God is also free, and there are times when the Holy Spirit exercises that freedom, through the lives of God’s people, in ways we describe as miraculous. Some miracles have scientific explanations, and describe a sense of wonder and gratitude: the miracle of birth, for example. Other miracles defy our explanation. Just as much as observable laws, miracles point to a good God. And sometimes, we get to join in. My parents were missionaries in the Philippines. At one time, my mother was in a coma in the hospital, and the doctors told my dad (though, indeed, he was not yet a father) that he needed to prepare himself for being a widower. When my mother came out of the coma, she said that she knew she was going to recover, because the white doctor had come into her room, looked at her chart, and told her everything would be alright. But according to the medical staff, there were no white doctors working in the hospital. It must have been an angel. Not, directly, a member of the church: but, I am sure, God answering their prayers. Perhaps you have your own stories?

prophecy: refers to hearing and speaking-out words from God, words for a group or an individual, spoken for their upbuilding and encouragement and consolation (see 1 Corinthians 14:3). In a world that is full of voices tearing people down, saying discouraging things, and inflicting loss, everyone is in want of being built up, encouraged, and consoled. This is a work of the Holy Spirit, through us, the Church. Let’s be known for it, among our neighbours, in our city.

the discernment of spirits: there are many voices in the world, calling to us. The book of Proverbs speaks of wisdom and folly both calling out in the marketplace, competing for our attention. There is the voice of the Good Shepherd, and the voice of the Satan—the Accuser. Human voices are influenced by both. Sometimes a message that originates from God seems foolish. Sometimes a message that seems wise originates from the Accuser. Do you remember, Peter declared that Jesus is the Messiah; and Jesus said that this was revealed to Peter by God. And then, almost immediately after, Peter rebuked Jesus; and Jesus responded, ‘Get behind me, Satan.’ Sometimes we need divine discernment to understand what is going on beneath the surface in our city or nation.

Finally, in this list, various kinds of tongues and the interpretation of tongues: again, let me tell you a story about my mother. Once, in her younger days, she was at a conference for Christian students, in Norway. She had been having a conversation with a Norwegian girl, and asked where the girl had learnt to speak English so well. The young woman didn’t speak any English, and wanted to know where my mother had learnt Norwegian. My mother didn’t know any Norwegian; and yet, each heard the other in their own tongue and were able to conduct a meaningful conversation. God is a god who communicates, who speaks and who listens. Beyond the God-given gift of natural ability to translate languages—which we are so blessed with in our multi-cultural church family—the Holy Spirit enables us to express what we cannot express—in heavenly tongues, and earthly ones—and to understand what we do not understand. In a divided world, that is freedom.

The things I have been talking about are distributed and activated by the Holy Spirit, not our own ability or training. Paul speaks of these gifts being exercised in a complex, interdependent system that can be described as a body—as the body of Christ—and which are to be exercised in love, honouring and delighting in one another. There is truth and beauty in our formal liturgy; and God-given gifting in our choir; and may be the Holy Spirit even speaks through the sermon. There are selfless acts of service in preparing the building for our worship, in serving refreshments, and washing the linen. These are good and faithful. But, what of the supernatural gifts of the Holy Spirit, made manifest in our midst, day by day? What stories do we have, that we can share? What gifts have you experienced? What gifts would you like to experience? How might our young men and women grow in confidence in exercising the gifts; and our old men and women remain active?

Today is Pentecost. Come, Holy Spirit. Come and be made manifest in your people, for the common good. Come and move among us, as you see fit.

Evensong on Pentecost

Exodus 33:7-23 and 2 Corinthians 3:4-18

‘Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.’

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a man whose name was Moses. Every morning, Moses would get up and go out to visit his friend, the LORD. And every day, everyone else would stand and look on from a distance, because it was at-one-and-the-same-time a very strange idea to them that you could be friends with God, and yet a deeply compelling one.

The LORD and Moses would meet; and afterwards, Moses’ face would shine. It shone so brightly, after they parted, that no-one else could bear to look on Moses’ face, and he was forced to hide the glory-halo behind a veil until the radiance faded. That strange-and-compelling idea kept niggling away at them, disturbing their thoughts.

‘…if I have found favour in your sight,’ Moses asked the LORD, ‘show me your ways, so that I may know you and find favour in your sight.’ Or, ‘if you would like to be my friend, tell me about yourself – what you like, and what you are like – in order that I might get to know you better, and so be a good friend to you.’

And again, ‘Show me your glory, I pray,’ Moses asked. To which the LORD responded, ‘I will make all my goodness pass before you, and will proclaim before you the name, “the LORD”’ … ‘But,’ he added, ‘you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.’ Or,

Moses: ‘Show me what really makes you tick, what gets you out of bed in the morning.’

The LORD: ‘That’s easy: what does that is the opportunity to show goodness to others, to bless their lives with unexpected gifts and to lighten their load … But, you can’t see me for whom I am without dying to yourself – that is the cost of true friendship.’

On the Day of Pentecost, Jesus’ disciples were gathered in the upper room – where, fifty-two days earlier, Jesus had told them that he no longer called them servants, but friends – when the LORD turned up. The LORD; Moses’ friend. The one who had brought his people out from slavery in Egypt, into freedom.

The one the people stood at a distance to see when he came calling on his friend was back. And in case anyone was in any doubt, the encounter left his new friends’ faces shining with the reflection of his glory, as if tongues of flame were dancing round their heads. Like Moses. And, indeed, like the bush where Moses first met the LORD, which burned without being consumed.

What is the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on all flesh at Pentecost for? Whatever else, it is the invitation to be friends with God – an invitation extended to those nearby, and those standing far off.

Now, that is massive. Here in the north east, where men don’t speak with their best mates about anything of consequence, but bottle things up inside until they can’t cope and it takes a toll one way or the other, it is almost unbearable. Alright for the vicar, perhaps, so long as he hides it; but not for the likes of ordinary folk. Except that ordinary folk are exactly who Pentecost is for: young and old, men and women. All of us, being transformed from one degree of glory to another, as we continue in our friendship with the LORD.

What does it mean, to have and to be a friend?

What does it look like?

What does it do in, and for, us; and through us, for another?

What does it do to us, not having friends, or at least, not having friends with whom we can speak openly, face to face, about the deep and true and often shunned things that make us who we are?

How might we grow together, as friends of God?

How might we do that in a way that is both appropriately authentic to the culture of the north east and yet at the same time counter-cultural and transformative, where our culture is not serving us well?

I don’t have the answers to those questions. But we have been given one another, male and female, young and old. And we have been given the Spirit of God, come out to meet us day by day. And where the Spirit of the LORD is, there is freedom. Freedom, to live into, over the course of a lifetime.

Pentecost (sermon 2: preached at Sunderland Minster)

John 16:4b-15

Listen.

What do you hear? Can you hear the sound of the Spirit moving in our midst?

Moving in the midst of men and women, young and old, people gathered together from diverse countries and cultures? Each with their own God-breathed vision and dream of what we long to see birthed in our midst? Visions and dreams that, on the surface, can seem to pull in different directions. One comes in search of breathing space, a precious retreat in order to return to demanding families and workplaces refreshed, renewed; another, in search of human connection, an oasis in a desert of disconnection from our neighbours. One comes looking for us to be stretched beyond our comfort zones; another, looking for the comfort of the familiar. To borrow a Pentecost-al image, we come from different places and speak different native tongues, or first languages.

Listen, again. What do you hear? Can we hear one another? Or are we so excited to share our vision, our dream, that we drown one another out?

I want to suggest that the primary work of the congregation is to listen. To attend carefully to God’s voice. To listen deeply to one another, in order to hear what we are really saying when we say what we think we are saying. Hear, O Israel…

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus says that the Holy Spirit, as our Advocate, ‘will prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgement: about sin, because they do not believe in me; about righteousness, because I am going to the Father and you will see me no longer; about judgement, because the ruler of the world has been condemned.’ (John 16:8-10) What does that even mean? And how might it help us to hear one another?

Firstly, sin. The world says that sin needs to be punished – and so usually encourages us to believe that ‘I am not a sinner’ or, at the least, ‘I am more sinned against than sinning’ (though sometimes, when we are vulnerable, tells us instead that we are the worst of sinners and deserve punishment). The world says, ‘Your actions have made me feel smaller, in relation to you; and so I must counter-act to make you smaller, in order to redress the balance.’ But the world is wrong. Jesus says, sin needs to be forgiven. Only those who recognise themselves as sinners can receive the forgiveness that is in him.

Sin; then, righteousness. The world says, ‘I justify my actions, I determine that I am in the right’ – and, by extension, whether you are in the right or in the wrong. Jesus says, I do not need to get my own way for the Father to be glorified. Being in right relationship with others flows from going to our Father, day by day, in the hidden place no one else sees, not the public arena. Are we doing that?

Sin; righteousness; and lastly, judgement. The world says, ‘Who is God to judge me?’ or, perhaps, ‘God judges in my favour, and against you.’ Jesus says, who is the one who has usurped humanity’s position under God as ruler of this world to judge you? For the Father sent the Son into the world not to condemn but to save; and the Father and the Son have sent the Spirit into the world, poured out on all flesh, as our Advocate. As Paul also writes, God is for us, corporately, and nothing can now separate us from God’s love (Romans 8).

When the Spirit comes, the perspective that I must pursue my vision at all costs is proved wrong. Instead, we find ourselves speaking in new languages – in the native tongues of others. We discover vocabularies of praise we had not known; and we come to recognise that our own native vocabulary of praise is inadequate for enabling others to join in. And in this encounter – which is nothing less than a sign and wonder revealing that God is in our midst – we discover that there is unity in our diversity, and that God is able to do more than we can ask or imagine.

Look around.

What do you see? A company of sinners, come in need of forgiveness? Sisters and brothers, beloved children of God? Those for whom the Spirit advocates? If we can see these things, as we are gathered together in this place, then our visions and dreams are being woven together, to the glory of God.

Come, Holy Spirit!

Pentecost (Sermon 1: published, but not preached)

In England today there is a marked divide between those who live on the land – who tend to vote Blue – and those who live in the cities – who tend to vote Red. Perhaps this divide is universal; it certainly features in the Bible. But however badly the city-dwellers and the rural peasants related to each other in practice, the Jews lived-into their Story through a bringing-together of the Land and the Temple. Jesus, his disciples, and everyone we read about in the Gospels, would have known and in some form taken part in three annual pilgrim festivals. Each one told part of the foundational Story of God’s people; and each one was tied to a particular harvest.

The land they lived in was famous for bearing two grain crops – barley, and wheat – and five fruit crops – grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates. The first two festivals belong together, marking the seven week period over which the grains ripened, from the bringing-in of the barley at Passover to the bringing-in of the wheat at Pentecost. In other words, Pentecost marks the completion of something begun at Passover. The third festival, the festival of Tabernacles, took place later in the year, marking the bringing-in of the fruits.

Here, then, is the story that unfolds from Passover to Pentecost:

A long time ago, the brothers from whom the tribes of Israel would descend sold one of their number, Joseph, into slavery in Egypt. They meant it for evil, but God meant it for good. Through this Joseph, God saved the Egyptian Empire from a catastrophic seven-year long famine. But, far from gratitude, the Egyptians enslaved all of Joseph’s family for four hundred and fifty years. Then God sent Moses, to proclaim judgement on Egypt if they did not repent, and to rescue his people. Pharaoh and all Egypt hardened their hearts; and their world came to an end when they awoke to find every first-born son had died in one night. Those Israelites who listened to Moses – and not all of them did – were led out of slavery on that night. Seven weeks later, the refugees now camped in the wilderness at the foot of Mount Sinai, God spoke with Moses, giving the Law that constituted them into a new people.

(Like the Egyptians, they turned out to be an ungrateful people. God allowed them to wander the wilderness for forty years; living in tents; the whole generation he had led out of Egypt – with the exception of one man, Joshua – dying, before their children inherited the land God had promised to give to Abraham’s descendants. This is why they needed the third festival – but that is not our concern today.)

Seven weeks ago, Passover. Jerusalem was full of pilgrims, gathered to give thanks for another harvest; gathered to eat roast lamb and unleavened bread, and to remember that God had brought them up out of slavery in Egypt; gathered, wondering when God would set them free from the Roman Empire. A potent mix of past and present and future; of celebration and lament. And Jesus, re-interpreting the Passover. Jesus, sent to Israel as Joseph and Moses had been sent to Egypt; rejected, by those who in rejecting him had sealed their own judgement; believed in, by those who in believing in him had secured their deliverance, their survival of the end of the world.

Seven weeks later, and Jerusalem is once again full of pilgrims, gathered to give thanks for the harvest; gathered to hear the Law of Moses being read out, and to remember that, at Sinai, God had constituted them into a people. Still asking, when, O Lord, will you overthrow Rome and restore David’s kingdom? Except that this is not going to happen – at least, not obviously, not any time soon. Within the lifetime of many of those pilgrims, Israel would rise up against Rome and be utterly destroyed, the very stones of the temple thrown down on to the pavement below. The end of the world is coming. What Jesus and his first followers are acting out is this: that God has rescued a remnant from the coming destruction; and that God is fashioning them into a new community.

In the first act, a hundred and twenty are rescued. In the second act, the Church explodes from Jerusalem to every corner of the Roman Empire, from where she will grow until Rome is overthrown not by might nor by power but by the Spirit of God.

The end of the world happens all of the time. Ask any member of our congregation who has sought asylum in the past twelve months. Ask any member of our congregation who has been bereaved in the past twelve months. Ask any member of our congregation who has received a life-changing diagnosis in the past twelve months. No wonder post-apocalyptic dystopias are so prevalent a theme in young adult fiction at present. In the midst of life, we are in death.

Pentecost says, the end of the world is real; but it is not The End. Pentecost is the Spirit of God giving birth to a community that will survive the end of the world: and not a community that can survive the end of the world once, just about limping along; but a community that can survive the end of the world over and over again, and give rise to the world reborn; a community that carries within itself the seed of the world made new. Jesus said, unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it remains but one seed; but if it falls to the ground and dies, it bears a harvest. Pentecost is our carrying to God the first-fruits of that harvest, with great celebration.

Pentecost is where we gather together – old folk and younger folk; men, women, and children; from England, and West Africa, from the Middle East, from the Indian sub-continent, and South East Asia – and start dreaming God-inspired, God-empowered dreams of what life after death looks like, here in our midst, at Sunderland Minster. Visions of a new world for the asylum seekers – and everyone who steps inside this building is seeking asylum from this world, within the world that is coming among us.

We all get to play: the young in faith, and the elders among us; the women and the men. It doesn’t happen overnight; happens, mostly, by tiny almost imperceptible degrees; but it changes everything.

So go: Go, and have visions and dreams. Go, but gather again, often; and when we gather, share those visions, those dreams. Speak them out for others to hear. And together we will see what God will do with us, and for us, and through us. Amen.