Tenth Sunday after Trinity 2020

Lectionary Gospel reading: Matthew 15:21-28

Again and again, Matthew’s Gospel presents us with a stark contrast between those who recognise Jesus and those who reject Jesus, between those who submit their lives to him and those who set their lives against him. Here is one presented as being sent by God, by the god of the Jewish people, to call them back to living faithfully as a chosen people, the descendants of Abraham through whom all peoples will be blessed. And what we see is that those with power and influence, from Herod the Great at the time of Jesus’ birth to the Pharisees and Sadducees throughout his years of activity, seek to kill him, to silence him; while most unexpected people recognise him as the one sent by God, with authority. Magi travel from the east, from the empires who had carried Jesus’ ancestors off into exile, to pay homage. A Roman centurion, official of an occupying empire, appeals to Jesus to heal his servant. Two demoniacs in Gentile territory recognise him as Son of God. Crowds in Gentile territory bring their sick from across the whole region to be healed. And here in chapter 15, a Canaanite woman appeals to Jesus to deliver her daughter of demonic torment.

And so we find ourselves confronted by this strange exchange:

‘But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done to you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.’

What is going on here? I would suggest that Jesus is engaging this woman, and his disciples, in active learning. And there are four things we might also reflect on: what is, or is not, fair; who are the children; the food of those children; and who are the dogs.

First, what is or is not fair. The word Jesus uses here (kalos) conveys the sense of being beautiful, praiseworthy, of good that inspires others to do good. And he sets out the proposition that it isn’t praiseworthy or inspiring to give the children’s food to the dogs. It is an observation in search of a response.

Second, who are the children? The word Jesus uses here (teknon) refers to little children, dependent children, and is used to convey anyone—of any age—who lives in utter dependence on God. Not, automatically, every descendent of Abraham.

Third, the food of those children. The word Jesus uses here (artos) refers to bread, but conveys the sense of God’s provision for his dependent people. And crucially in the biblical narrative, God’s provision—whether manna in the wilderness or the feeding of 5,000 families having started with only five small loaves and two fish—God’s provision never runs short; there is always enough for everyone to eat and be satisfied, with excess left over.

Fourth, who are the dogs. The word Jesus uses here (kunarion) refers to a puppy, that is a dependent dog, in parallel with the dependent children. But a dog, nonetheless. And whereas the British consider themselves to be a nation of dog lovers, for whom there is little that is more adorable than a litter of puppies, for the Israelites dogs have an unhappy connotation. In three of the Psalms, David uses the imagery of a pack of dogs to describe those who attack him without cause, his enemies. But in the following generations this image is subverted, with dogs coming to symbolise agents of divine judgement. In particular, in the histories of successive idolatrous dynasties recorded in 1 Kings & 2 Kings, prophets declare that those who put their hope in wicked kings will die and their bodies be eaten by dogs, while in the very place of their wickedness the dogs will lick the blood of the wicked rulers. In Matthew’s Gospel, the Pharisees and Sadducees harass Jesus as the dogs harassed king David. But, also in Matthew’s Gospel, it is the Pharisees and Sadducees who are leading the people astray, and the Gentile dogs—the centurion, this woman—whose dependence on Jesus passes divine judgement on God’s own unfaithful people. Just like the parables, this account is working at multiple levels.

What, then, do we make of this contention that “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs”? The Canaanite woman rejects it, saying, yes, it is fair: there is enough. Jesus agrees.

On social media and in the news in recent days we have witnessed, yet again, the demonisation of desperate asylum seekers trying to cross the Channel in flimsy dinghies. They are, apparently, an invading army who are over-running us. It is not praiseworthy that we should have any empathy for their plight. It is not praiseworthy to suggest we might share our resources with them, because there is not enough to go round, and charity begins at home. We need to think about our own families first, for a change.

What would Jesus say in response to such a stance? In particular, what would Jesus say to those in this nation who call themselves Christian, who might agree with such nationalism?

No, you will not be praised for having empathy for asylum seekers. You will be unlikely to inspire too many others to join you. But, where do you want to invest your hope? With the rich, who warn that the immigrants want to steal your crumbs, while keeping the bread for themselves while others queue at food banks? Or with those who are utterly dependent on God’s faithful provision? With the powerful, who warn that immigrant whelps grow up to be vicious curs, while themselves devouring the flesh of the poor? Or with those sent by God to pass judgement on our indifference to the plight of our fellow humans? Will we share our bread, extend the bounds of God’s mercy? Will we live as those sent by God to preserve life, in a world in prolonged crisis?

Matthew’s Gospel presents us with a stark contrast between those who recognise Jesus and those who reject Jesus, between those who submit their lives to him and those who set their lives against him. Which choice will we make today?

 

Sermon for Third Sunday after Trinity 2020

On Thursday evening just gone, I attended a Black Lives Matter vigil in Keel Square. It had been organised at the request of community organisers within the BAME (Black, Asian and Minority-Ethnic) community in Sunderland. I went as their guest, and in response to their invitation to stand in solidarity with them at this time. I went to hear local Black and mixed-heritage speakers share something of their experience of living here, in the city where I live. About 200 people came to a well-organised and peaceful event, maintaining spatial distance, most wearing masks. Many local church leaders were present. As part of the vigil, we were invited to take the knee for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. A humble, prayerful posture that connects us to Martin Luther King, Jr, and the ongoing civil rights movement; and a length of time that remembers the murder of George Floyd by a police officer who knelt on his neck for that long.

 

Some say that it is humiliating for a White man to take the knee; which causes me to wonder why humbling ourselves should be seen as (is) humiliating by White people, and White men in particular? Some dismiss it is a token gesture, which causes me to ponder the difference between symbolic actions and token actions, and how action can sustain us and empower transformation or sedate us and disempower transformation. Some will undoubtedly dismiss it as ‘woke,’ which makes me wonder why alertness to injustice should be something to vilify people for, and whose interests that serves?

 

There was a small but vocal demonstration protesting the vigil. One man waved a Union flag. Now, to be clear, context is everything. Despite our colonial history, the flag is not inherently racist. Flanking a member of the Cabinet giving the daily Coronavirus briefing, not racist. Flying from public buildings, not racist. Waved at the Olympic Games, not racist. Fluttering as bunting at the village fete, or adorning tea towels and cushions, not racist. But held aloft in protest of a Black Lives Matter vigil, the point being made is, “If you are not White you don’t belong in this country: go back home where your people come from.”

 

Again and again, as Black and mixed-heritage speakers addressed those in the square, the protestors tried to drown out these not-White voices with chants of ‘All Lives Matter’. And yes, all lives do matter. But, again, context is everything. If your first response to Black Lives Matter is not to listen, to hear why it is that such a statement needs to be made; if your response is the paternalistic corrective, All lives matter, then what you are actually saying is, Black people need to get back in their box—and, they need to accept that it is a far better and more comfortable box than it used to be. And if your response is to stand on the pavement and attempt to drown out not-White voices, that reveals a desperate attempt to silence the Other, and, frankly, demonstrates just why we need to insist that Black Lives Matter. For if all lives truly matter, then by definition Black lives matter; and if Black lives matter, then we should listen to them. We should acknowledge the injustice people experience because of who they are, and, with them, seek to address it. And yes, if all lives matter, then White lives matter too; but no one in this nation experiences wearying prejudice on account of being White, just as no one experiences wearying prejudice on account of being ‘able-bodied’ or ‘straight’.

 

How incredibly apposite our readings this Sunday are to the upheavals we are living through! And what a gift to wrestle with these words, and the story they unfold, and our place within it.

 

Paul’s letter to the Christian community in Rome—Romans—was written to be circulated around multiple congregations. Some were predominantly of Jewish background, and others were Gentile-majority churches; and, while they were all Christians, the Jewish believers looked on the Gentile believers, and treated them, as second-class citizens in the kingdom of heaven. This was the issue Paul sought to address. And he did so with brilliant contextual theological reflection, which has often become problematic when read in other contexts.

 

Paul begins his letter by painting as black a picture of the Gentiles as is imaginable. He quickly focuses on sexual practices that, from a Jewish outlook were beyond the pale to the point of being unnatural in their desires and actions. He builds a caricature his Jewish audience would agree with whole-heartedly, until he springs a trap: the respectable Jewish Christians are by nature every bit as separated from God as the Gentiles. Indeed, Paul even ascribes unnatural desire and activity to God, saying that God has cut the Jewish people from the vine of their heritage, has grafted the Gentiles into that vine, and will graft Israel back onto the vine from which he had broken it. Throughout the letter, Paul labours the point that there is one new humanity, and seeks to deconstruct the divisions that exist in the minds of the believers, and to foster the construction of something new and mutually uplifting. A community that will ultimately subvert Roman civilisation not by revolt, but by a better alternative.

 

And in the passage before us today, Paul takes up the imagery of slavery, as an analogy that his audience would be familiar with. Around 90% of the population of the Roman Empire were slaves, owned by a master. This was not necessarily the most abject slavery the world has ever known, but all empires are built on the backs of slaves, on men, women and children seen as property. For the Jews, being a slave—certainly, being a slave to a Gentile—was especially demeaning. Even though they were a nation occupied by a foreign army, and ruled over by the Roman Empire’s local puppet king, they had won for themselves certain exemptions, and rejected the notion of being slaves. On one occasion, a group of Jewish community leaders, confronting Jesus, declared that as a people they had never been slaves to anyone. This is quite extraordinary, given how foundational the story of God liberating his people from over four centuries of slavery in Egypt was to Jewish identity. But then, when we are confronted with our present, we reframe our past to suit.

 

In this passage from Romans 6, Paul employs the language of sin exercising dominion over us, to make us obey those passions within us that separate us from God rather than the desire within us to please God. Paul goes on to state that, according to this analogy, we are all slaves to something, either to impurity or to righteousness. Recognising ourselves as enslaved to God does not imply that God is a tyrant, but that we are not masters of our own destiny. Even if we believed ourselves to be the ones who were free, we were only free in regard to righteousness: that is, our freedom was built on sin, on the breakdown of relationship with God and neighbour. A freedom that, pursued, ends in death, that is, in the very opposite of all that is life-giving in and to and for the world.

 

Paul also points out that the unexamined default of his audience was to present themselves—both personally, and as a deeply interconnected community—to sin as instruments of wickedness. That is, their unexamined way of being in the world was complicit and instrumental in wickedness. Instead, and in marked contrast, they were to present themselves—both personally, and as a deeply interconnected community—to God as instruments of righteousness. That is, by ongoing intentional choices and actions, they were to be instrumental in the mending of the world, the flourishing of human relationships.

 

And while Paul is addressing both Jewish and Gentile believers, the primary challenge in much of this letter is to the Jewish Christians regarding their view of their Gentile sisters and brothers—and, indeed, their overly-inflated view of themselves.

 

All this, as I say, feels very apposite, for a predominantly White Church of England needing to reconsider our relationship to BAME Christians, including Black Majority churches; and for White British Christians needing to relearn our history and its impact on the world as it is today, in terms of the sin of racism. For people needing to de-construct and re-construct our identity. Until and unless we face these things, we will be slaves of sin. We have nothing to lose except our chains.

 

In closing, let me return to our Gospel reading, those short verses from Matthew 10, the church sent out into the world. Jesus calls us to be prophetic—and to connect with other prophetic voices in the community—and to embody justice in our dealings—and to connect with others doing likewise—and not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the task or to dismiss the significance of starting where we are, with even the smallest of actions. It is not enough to not be racist, we must be anti-racist. We are not only set free from something, but also for something. This is a matter of our Father’s kingdom continually breaking into the world, of his will being done on earth as it is in heaven—and of that will being resisted.

 

And perhaps for us the starting-point needs to be that we welcome Jesus come-to-us in the BAME prophets—whether nurses or students or professors or church (and other religious tradition) leaders or asylum seekers—whom he has sent to Sunderland? There is an ongoing work of learning to see people through Jesus’ eyes that needs to be done, of which the recent vigil in Keel Square was a part. It isn’t easy; and we will get it wrong, as the Church has been getting it wrong from the beginning. Yet in the hope that, as from the beginning, God is at work to redeem, I commend it to you.

 

Third Sunday after Trinity 2020

Sunday 28 June: Third Sunday after Trinity 2020

 

Today, we meet from our own homes, from 10.20 a.m. for a 10.30 a.m. start via Zoom meeting ID: 664-485-330. You’ll also need a password code, which you can get from Revd Andrew Dowsett in advance by calling or texting him on 07783-760-012.

 

We greet each other in the Lord’s name

In the name of the Father,

and of the Son,

and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

The Lord be with you

and also with you.

 

We confess our sins and are assured of God’s forgiveness

Our Lord Jesus Christ said:

The first commandment is this:

‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is the only Lord.

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,

with all your soul, with all your mind,

and with all your strength.’

The second is this: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’

There is no other commandment greater than these.

On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Amen. Lord, have mercy.

 

God so loved the world

that he gave his only Son Jesus Christ

to save us from our sins,

to be our advocate in heaven,

and to bring us to eternal life.

Let us confess our sins in penitence and faith,

firmly resolved to keep God’s commandments

and to live in love and peace with all.

Most merciful God,

Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

we confess that we have sinned

in thought, word and deed.

We have not loved you with our whole heart.

We have not loved our neighbours as ourselves.

In your mercy

forgive what we have been,

help us to amend what we are,

and direct what we shall be;

that we may do justly,

love mercy,

and walk humbly with you, our God.

Amen.

 

Almighty God,

who forgives all who truly repent,

have mercy upon you,

pardon and deliver you from all your sins,

confirm and strengthen you in all goodness,

and keep you in life eternal;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

 

The Collect

God our saviour,

look on this wounded world

in pity and in power;

hold us fast to your promises of peace

won for us by your Son,

our Saviour Jesus Christ.

Amen.

 

We sing a hymn

 

We proclaim and respond to the word of God

 

Romans 6:12-23

Therefore, do not let sin exercise dominion in your mortal bodies, to make you obey their passions. No longer present your members to sin as instruments of wickedness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and present your members to God as instruments of righteousness. For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace.

What then? Should we sin because we are not under law but under grace? By no means! Do you not know that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God that you, having once been slaves of sin, have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted, and that you, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness. I am speaking in human terms because of your natural limitations. For just as you once presented your members as slaves to impurity and to greater and greater iniquity, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness for sanctification.

When you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. So what advantage did you then get from the things of which you now are ashamed? The end of those things is death. But now that you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God, the advantage you get is sanctification. The end is eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

This is the word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

 

Hear the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Matthew.

Glory to you, O Lord.

 

Matthew 10:40-42

‘Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.’

 

This is the Gospel of the Lord.

Praise to you, O Christ.

 

Sermon

 

The Creed

We believe in one God,

the Father, the Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth,

of all that is,

seen and unseen.

 

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,

the only Son of God,

eternally begotten of the Father,

God from God, Light from Light,

true God from true God,

begotten, not made,

of one Being with the Father;

through him all things were made.

For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven,

was incarnate from the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary

and was made man.

For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;

he suffered death and was buried.

On the third day he rose again

in accordance with the Scriptures;

he ascended into heaven

and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,

and his kingdom will have no end.

 

We believe in the Holy Spirit,

the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father and the Son,

who with the Father and the Son is worshipped and glorified,

who has spoken through the prophets.

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.

We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

We look for the resurrection of the dead,

and the life of the world to come.

Amen.

 

We pray for the Church and the world

 

We pray for strength to follow Jesus.

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

Jesus said: ‘Whoever wishes to be great among you

must be your servant.’

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

Jesus said: ‘Unless you change

and become humble like little children,

you can never enter the kingdom of heaven.’

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

Jesus said: ‘Happy are the humble;

they will receive what God has promised.’

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

Jesus said: ‘Be merciful as your Father is merciful;

love your enemies and do good to them.’

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

Jesus said: ‘Love one another, as I love you;

there is no greater love than this,

to lay down your life for your friends.’

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

Jesus said: ‘Go to people everywhere

and make them my disciples,

and I will be with you always, to the end of time.’

Saviour, we hear your call.

Help us to follow.

 

God of mercy,

you know us and love us

and hear our prayer:

keep us in the eternal fellowship of

Jesus Christ our Saviour.

Amen.

 

O God our creator,

whose good earth is entrusted to our care

and delight and tenderness,

we pray:

May those who sow in tears

reap with shouts of joy.

 

For all who are in captivity to debt,

whose lives are cramped by fear

from which there is no turning

except through abundant harvest.

May those who sow in tears

reap with shouts of joy.

 

For all who depend on the earth for their

daily food and fuel,

whose forests are destroyed

for the profits of a few.

May those who sow in tears

reap with shouts of joy.

 

For all who labour in poverty,

who are oppressed by unjust laws,

who are banned for speaking the truth,

who long for a harvest of justice.

May those who sow in tears

reap with shouts of joy.

 

For all who are in captivity

to greed and waste and boredom,

whose harvest joy is choked

with things they do not need.

May those who sow in tears

reap with shouts of joy.

 

Turn us again from our captivity

and restore our vision,

that our mouth may be filled with laughter

and our tongue with singing.

Amen.

 

We sing a hymn

 

We depart with God’s blessing

The peace of God,

which passes all understanding,

keep your hearts and minds

in the knowledge and love of God,

and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord;

and the blessing of God almighty,

the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,

be among you and remain with you always.

Amen.

 

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

In the name of Christ. Amen.

 

 

Common Worship: Services and Prayers for the Church of England, material from which is included in this service, is copyright © The Archbishops’ Council 2000.

New Patterns for Worship, material from which is included in this service, is copyright © The Archbishops’ Council 2002.

Common Worship: Times and Seasons, material from which is included in this service, is copyright © The Archbishops’ Council 2006.

Fifth Sunday of Easter 2019

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

Sermon notes on pigs in blankets:

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

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

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

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

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

We lose sight of the unity that underpins our diversity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity 2018

Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9 and James 1:17-27 and Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

On Thursday, Jo and the kids and I took the train to London to see the West End production of HAMILTON. HAMILTON is a musical about several of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America. It is a story about ideas, and identity. The first half is concerned with differing ideas about whether the thirteen states should continue to be a British colony or fight for their independence. The second half is concerned with competing ideas as to whether the newly-independent states should be essentially autonomous or be forged into a nation with a strong centralised government. At every point, the outcome is in the balance; the way forward, an experiment in what it means to be a good, a just, society. Oh, and by the way, I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Our readings today are also all concerned with what it means to be society worth living for. The first, from Deuteronomy, is set when the Israelites had been liberated from over 400 years of Egyptian ownership. But the question now is, what comes next? God gives them a legal framework, more, a constitutional framework guaranteeing freedom; and Moses prepares them to move on without him, to enter and occupy their promised land, by urging them not to forget their founding constitution: to make it known to the generations to come after them. It is, essentially, a matter of justice. And the Jewish law really is an embodiment of justice, not only as understood in its day, but that has stood the test of time.

The law is summarised in the Ten Words, or Commandments. They begin by warning against idolatry, the taking of something good and placing it on a pedestal: still relevant today, in a world full of idolatry, including the promise of salvation in the political left or right. Our contemporary idolatry includes humanism, the belief that humans are infallible, causing us to bay for the blood of anyone who lets the side down. We see the cost of that idolatry when the learning-journals junior doctors are meant to keep in order to help them become better doctors are used as evidence against them in their being struck off for making a mistake, paralysing many such doctors with fear. Another example would be neo-liberalism, the belief that salvation is to be found in the free market, through competition. But the free market is a god that enslaves and devours us all, bringing everything crashing down.

The Ten Words go on to attend to rest — we are not machines; to safeguard respect for and care of the elderly; to pursue the embodiment of loving your neighbour; and the essential importance of truth-telling — so relevant in our Age that has made a virtue of ‘post-truth’ relativism. And as this law is worked out in practice, we discover that it takes in sexual abuse — so relevant to our times of #metoo and #churchtoo and the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse (IICSA). We discover that it takes in public health and diet. We discover that it takes in the demolishing of sub-standard housing and the rehoming of people in adequate housing — still relevant down-wind of Grenfell. I could go on and on.

Some Christians speak of this law as if it needed to be swept away. But Jesus himself unambiguously stated that he had come not to abolish the law, but to fulfil it. And in our second reading this morning, Jesus’ brother James writes that this law is perfect, the law of liberty, and encourages his hearers to look into it deeply and often, for there we see reflected for us our identity in the world. Like Moses, James urges us not to forget that identity, but to live out in practice what it means to be a good, a just, society.

Now, just before I turn to the Gospel passage, let me return for a moment to HAMILTON. Its creator, Lin-Manuel Miranda, has described it as ‘a story of America then described by America now’. He saw, paralleled in the unlikely life of Alexander Hamilton, the complicated and unlikely lives of many Americans today. In response, he crafted a hip-hop retelling of history, hip-hop being a form of ‘writing about your struggle, and writing about it so well that you transcend your struggle’. And then a multi-cultural cast tells the story.

And that same process, I would suggest, is going on with Mark’s gospel. Mark is recording Peter’s memoirs, depicting the life of Jesus. But Mark is writing for a revolutionary community in Rome, Christians come together from Jewish and Gentile cultural backgrounds, trying to work out what the church should look like, what their identity ought to be.

The passage we heard read today describes an episode, the clash of two very different ideas concerning how the Jews ought to construct and protect their distinctive identity, in the context of military occupation by the global super power. But it also resonates with the same challenges the house churches in Rome were wrestling with, at the very heart of the Empire. Unfortunately, the Lectionary skips over those verses, but you can look them up for yourself later. All that said, let us turn to our passage from Mark.

The presenting issue is that Jesus’ disciples are eating without washing their hands. We’re not talking about the way your mother used to send you back from the table to go wash your hands when you’d come in from playing in the dirt outside. This is not a hygiene issue. The group challenging Jesus here were particularly concerned that it was possible to offend against God’s law even without knowing it. You sit down to eat bread, but you cannot know for certain the provenance of that bread. You cannot know for certain that the grain wasn’t harvested on the Sabbath, the day of rest. You cannot know for certain that the family who sold you the grain observed the Sabbath. Observant though you were, you might be inadvertently both flouting the Constitution and condoning other people bringing the Constitution into disrepute. And so, this particular party had come up with a million and one ways to make sure that they remained, by means of ritual, inside the law. A kind of legal loophole, as it were. Not to get around the law, but to stay within it.

Except, as we have seen, the heart of the law, the purpose of the law, was embodied justice. And these brilliant men had got themselves so caught up in their words that they were paralysed to act justly. In fighting-talk dripping with irony, in more verses the Lectionary skipped over, Jesus points out that they work so hard to keep the law that they break it. In contrast, Jesus was not so much concerned with the theory of the law, as with its outworking. Jesus regularly got his hands dirty, so to speak, rolling up his sleeves and laying his hands on the sick and the dead, restoring health and life. And here, Jesus brings us back to the law he came to fulfil, listing what it looks like to set the law of liberty aside. It isn’t good. When we do so, we defile both ourselves and others. As James puts it, we forget ourselves, we forget our identity.

What does this mean for us, today? Permit me to offer some initial thoughts to stimulate our thinking.

First, we are called to be a community that embodies justice, a people who model what it means to be a good, a just, society to the rest of the world. Moreover, we are called to do so confidently, not timidly. May be today some of us need to ask God for boldness.

Second, we need to recognise that we don’t always live up to that. We aren’t better at this than our ancestors, who also failed many times to live up to the ideal, but who didn’t give up. We need to examine our hearts regularly and repent where the Holy Spirit convicts us. Of what is the Holy Spirit convicting us today — whether personally; as families; or collectively?

Third, we live in a time of complicated interwoven stories and an age of competing ideas concerning how we ought to live; and, yes, in such a context we will lose our distinctive identity if we forget to tell our story, over and over again, refusing to forget, determined to pass the world we are called to create on to our children. We have done some of that Tuesday by Tuesday through August: how might we build on that moving forward? How will we include our children in our pursuit of a just society?

Fourth, how we eat and who we eat with is a justice issue. One that goes far beyond standing side by side to eat the bread of life and drink from the cup of salvation. It takes in projects such as the community gardens at St Peter’s and in Hendon that some of our congregation are involved in. It takes in the Community Kitchen that has just started here (to begin with) once a month, offering meals for whatever people are able to give as a contribution, and teaching basic kitchen skills. It takes in inviting strangers into our homes and to our tables, so that strangers are transformed into friends, into family. I commend these things to you, in whatever capacity you can support them. This is very much what it looks like to recognise that God has brought us together in this place to be an experiment in what it means to be a good, a just, society … and in response, to get our hands dirty, and be known for it.