Fourth Sunday of Easter 2021 (Vocations Sunday)

 

Fourth Sunday of Easter 2021

‘The next day their rulers, elders, and scribes assembled in Jerusalem, with Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander, and all who were of the high-priestly family. When they had made the prisoners stand in their midst, they inquired, ‘By what power or by what name did you do this?’ Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, ‘Rulers of the people and elders, if we are questioned today because of a good deed done to someone who was sick and are asked how this man has been healed, let it be known to all of you, and to all the people of Israel, that this man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead. This Jesus is

“the stone that was rejected by you, the builders;

it has become the cornerstone.”

There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.’

Acts 4:5-12

‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.’

John 10:11-18

‘There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.’

 

In the ancient world, a name was more than a label by which to identify one person from another, though it did do that, often rooted in lineage or place of origin. To declare someone’s name before others was to speak of their reputation, to reveal their character. To invoke a name was understood as the manifestation of that person’s character, as if it were that person themselves who was speaking or acting through another. Our reading from Acts chapter 4 begins with several names: Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander. We will return to them; but first, some other names.

Aided by powerful Roman allies, Herod the Great had deposed the Hasmonean dynasty and established himself as Rome’s client king in Jerusalem. On his death, in AD 4, his will provided for his kingdom to be divided between his sister Salome I (the west), and three of his sons: Archelaus (the south), Herod Antipas (the north, and the east), and Philip (the far north-east). Although this was not in Herod’s gift to give, the emperor Augustus chose to respect the will. However, Augustus quickly judged Archelaus—whose portion had been disputed by his brothers from the outset—to be incompetent, removing him and imposing direct Roman rule on Jerusalem only two years later.

In AD 6 Quirinius, the Roman governor of Syria, appointed an ambitious twenty-six-year-old named Annas the first High Priest of the newly created Province of Judea. A decade later, in AD 15, a newly arrived Roman prefect, Valerius Gratus, seeking to establish himself, removed Annas from office, and appointed someone else. Historically, the role of high priest had been a position for life; hence, Annas would always bear that title if no longer officially the role. Having lost none of his ambition, he would become Jerusalem’s eminence grise, despised by the populace for the greed and violence of his household.

A year after removing Annas, Gratus removed the successor, and appointed Annas’ son Eleazar high priest. One year later, he removed Eleazar. Eleazar’s successor held the post for less than a year, before Gratus removed him, appointing Annas’ son-in-law Caiaphas high priest in AD 18. Caiaphas was, apparently, a particularly adroit ally to Rome, retaining his position when Gratus was replaced by Pontius Pilate and remaining high priest until Pilate’s departure in AD 36. Over the following thirty years, four more of Annas’ sons would serve as high priest: Jonathan (AD 36-37, and 44) (this might possibly be the John mentioned in Acts 4; of Alexander, there is no other record), Theophilus (AD 37-41), Matthias (AD 43), and Annas the Younger (AD 63-66) who was assassinated for calling for peace with Rome, in the early stages of the First Jewish-Roman War, a war which would eventually see the destruction of the temple in AD 70.

For sixty years, from AD 6-66, the household of Annas exercised their influence over Jerusalem, trusting in the power of their name to bounce back every time their rivals succeeded, temporarily, in displacing them. And at the very mid-point, they make the prisoners stand in their midst (Greek: mid-point), and Peter declares to them the name of Jesus.

These were the same men who, just weeks before, had made Jesus stand in their midst and had named him ‘blasphemer’ on account of assuming the title Son of God. Of course, this was not blasphemy at all, but the title claimed (Psalm 2) for David, and the Davidic line of kings, many of whom proved to be unfaithful sons, the dynasty abruptly ending at the deportation to Babylon (it is interesting to note that Peter quotes Psalm 2 on their release, see Acts 4:23-31). The clear message of the title Son of God is that Jesus’ followers saw him, not as a Rome-appointed Herodian king, nor even a previously Roman-recognised Hasmonean king, but as a God-appointed Davidic king. Jerusalem was swollen by tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of pilgrims looking for just such a restoration, to overthrow Roman rule. In such an uprising, the entire, widely despised household of Annas would surely be put to death as collaborators: they had no choice but to act decisively to ensure their interests.

Jesus, for his part, named the house of Annas ‘hired hands.’ They were supposed to be the shepherds of Israel, but, instead, these Rome-appointed hired hands—in league with the wolf—looked to their own good. Before them, Jesus would lay down his life in order to take it up again.

The writer of the New Testament Letter to the Hebrews tells us (that is, those for whom the New Testament forms part of our community library) that Jesus is our high priest, and that we are his household. There is, therefore, a direct parallel between Caiaphas, operating in the name of Annas, and Peter, operating in the name of Jesus. Peter, who would end his days, at around the same time the dynasty of Annas came to an end, as bishop of Rome. Each holds up a mirror to the other.

Like Caiaphas, Peter belonged to a family of privilege, enjoying the patronage of Rome. Dried fish from the inland Sea of Galilee was a delicacy on the most refined of Roman tables. Jonah and Zebedee were partners in a fish export business successful enough to employ workers beyond the extended family: hired hands. Between the two families, four sons—Andrew and Peter, James and John—were disciples of a rabbi, an honour reserved for those students with the greatest aptitude, and economic freedom to study. These were not uneducated men, even if the ruling elite of the nation’s capital saw them as such. But Peter embraces what Caiaphas rejects. Note that even as a re-directed fisher-of-people, Peter continues to oversee workers and export the new family business as far as Rome; whereas Caiaphas, the hired hand who does not care, is left behind as the story of salvation unfolds.

Peter, however, is not only an historical figure, like the rest, but also the representative figure for the Church. And the Church designates today, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, as Vocations Sunday. Vocation is often understood narrowly, to describe a call to ordained ministry, as deacons, priests, and bishops, or a life set apart, as a monk or a nun. But vocation refers to the call of God on our lives, and everybody has one. Vocation catches up our background, our family history and place of origin, along with our gifts and skills, our opportunities, and our constraints, and calls us to put all this into loving the Lord our God with all our heart and mind and soul and strength, and loving our neighbour as ourselves.

Your vocation may be as a teacher, or an ambulance driver; a hairdresser, furniture-maker, shopkeeper, pint-puller; working in a lab developing vaccines, or being a foster parent; leading the gathered congregation in our prayers of intercession, or decorating the church to the glory of God; serving as treasurer on the Parochial Church Council, or creating space for teenagers to discover themselves. Your vocation will overlap, and engage with, various spheres of life and influence: paid and unpaid roles, in domestic, ecclesial, and societal settings. Not simply what we do, but how we inhabit that. At times set aside for others, and taken up again, for others. Often, we try to hold on too tightly, too long—like Annas—disempowering others, instead of laying our lives down in order that they might be raised up.

To step into our vocation is to learn to know and respond to the voice of the good shepherd, who knows us more intimately than we know ourselves, and seeks us out and draws us close. It is to find our place, as a living stone, in the rebuilt temple, space and form held together by Jesus, the cornerstone. It is to be set free, not only from that which holds us captive but for the good we were created to do, as God works to make the world new in and through and with Jesus Christ his Son our Saviour. It is to renounce the way of Annas, and to proclaim, instead, in thought and word and deed, the name of Jesus.

It is to be and do, in and with our lives, what Jesus would be and do, if he were me, or you.

As we emerge from the profound dismantling of the past year, Vocations Sunday takes on a fresh significance. It may be that this Eastertide the Holy Spirit is prompting your spirit, to respond to the call of God on your life: to step into a new season; or to lay down some role that has been undertaken for so long that it has become mistaken for your identity; or to take up your laid-down life once again. If so, I would love to talk with you about that.

But for each one of you, know this: you are known, you are loved, you are called, you are saved—not least, from yourself—you have been given a voice, and empowered to fulfil your vocation. Where the Church has sought to silence you, or been complicit in that silence, on behalf of the Church, I apologise; may God give us the grace to repent and believe anew, for the kingdom of heaven has drawn near. And may we all, together, filled with the Holy Spirit, press into our vocation—neither resisting nor running away—today and every day. Amen.

 

Third Sunday of Lent 2018

Exodus 20:1-17 and 1 Corinthians 1:18-25 and John 2:13-22

Today, across Durham Diocese, the clergy have been asked to preach on the theme of vocation. I’ll come back to what ‘the clergy’ means; but first, what do we mean by ‘vocation’? Vocation refers to the call of God on someone’s life. It implies that we are neither the masters of our own destiny, nor slaves to fate. We might even learn to hear Jesus calling “follow me!” at many different times and in many different places over the course of our lives, but if we do, it is as commentary on our primary vocation, which we receive at our baptism. That vocation is to be a royal priesthood.

If you have been baptised, whether you were brought to baptism by your parents or came under your own volition, then, male or female, young or old, you have been ordained a priest by Jesus.

Peter puts it like this: ‘let yourselves be built into a spiritual house [household], to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ…But you [in contrast to those who do not believe] are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.’ (1 Peter 2:5, 9).

If you have been baptised, you are a member of a holy and royal priesthood. If you are preparing for baptism, that is what you are being prepared for. That is your primary vocation: to offer spiritual sacrifices to God on behalf of the world, and to proclaim God’s mighty acts to the world.

Other than Jesus’ own priesthood, that is the only priesthood [Greek: hierateuma] the New Testament letters to and for the Church speaks of. So why do we refer to certain people as priests, and not others? Well, that has to do with the story of the church and the story of language. The Church is the people of God: in Greek, the laos, from which we get the word ‘laity’. For a long time, whenever the local church gathered around the Lord’s table, they drew lots to determine which one of them would preside. The Greek word for casting lots is kleros, from which we get the word ‘clergy’ for the one chosen by the casting of lots. In time, the pattern of practice became simplified and codified, and ‘the clergy’ became those members of ‘the laity’ set apart by the Church for a specific role, to facilitate the whole church in their offering of spiritual sacrifices and proclaiming of God’s mighty acts. Although this hadn’t yet happened when the New Testament was written, the trajectory is already there, where we find servants [Greek: diakonos], elders [Greek: presbuteros, of the council of elders, and pertaining to being a representative] and overseers or guardians [Greek: episkopos]. In time, these roles formalised as those of deacons, elders, and bishops; and in even longer time, through what can happen to words as they pass through different languages and cultures, elders became known as priests.

The simplest way that I can describe it is to say that Jesus ordains every member of his household to a priestly role; and that the household, the Church, ordains certain members to a very particular expression of that priestly role. That might sound complicated at first; but our lives are lived in a dynamic relationship with history, and language, and culture, and in partnership with God.

Let’s turn to our readings, and ask how they might help us think about vocation?

Our first reading today is familiar to us as the Ten Commandments. But what might be less familiar is that, from first to last—from not comparing our God against other gods, to not envying our neighbour’s lot—they frame the vocation to be a priestly people. [i] Proclaim the mighty acts of Yahweh, who delivered his people from slavery to the gods of Egypt. [ii] Acknowledge his authority, over gods and humans. [iii] Represent the Lord your God faithfully in the world. [iv] Rest from your work, as those who are no longer slaves; take time to recognise creation as holy. [v] Honour the elderly, and your heritage. [vi] Do not be like Cain, who of envy murdered his brother. [vii] Do not hold fidelity in contempt. [viii] Do not steal. [ix] Do not bear false witness in court. [x] Do not covet the blessings your neighbour has received from God’s hand. For you were called out of darkness, and the deeds of darkness do not befit you. They are not acceptable sacrifices, nor are they true proclamation.

Our second reading reminds us that this vocation does not depend on our wisdom or study or eloquence, for God has chosen foolishness and weakness to demonstrate his wisdom and power, in Christ, crucified.

Our Gospel reading reminds us that it is Jesus who is foundational, his actions that are foundational; and that human action, however glorious, however well-intended*, is always provisional, must remain open to his challenge and his invitation. (The Jewish elders set themselves against Jesus, which should serve as a salutary warning to all those called by the Church to be an elder, or presbyter, or, priest.)

So, on this Vocations Sunday, the question is not, ‘Are you called to be a priest?’ but, ‘What kind of a priest are you called to be?’ Are you called by Jesus (yes!) or are you called by Jesus and by the Church (perhaps)?

As a priestly people, we proclaim the story which is both God’s and ours. When we gather, different people take turns reading from the Bible; and then one of us—acting under the authority of the bishop—offers some thoughts on what the story we have heard might mean for us today. And then, we go out into the world, carrying that story with us to our homes and workplaces and leisure activities and social media pages; reflecting on it; reflecting it; seeking to live-into it. We make connections between our lives, and the lives of our neighbours, and the story that speaks to us of all the hopes and dreams and joys and sorrows and longings and frustrations and failings and miracle of human life.

As a priestly people, we gather around the Lord’s table. And one sets out bread and wine; and another brings the bread forward, and yet another brings forward the wine. And then one—acting under the authority of the bishop—asks God to bless what we have brought with thankful hearts; and distributes the bread; and others carry the wine to the people. And then, we go out to the world, taking-up other ordinary things like a farmer’s seed and a fisherman’s net and a merchant’s pearl and a baker’s dough—or a nurse’s blood pressure cuff and a teacher’s white board pen—asking God to bless them, for the blessing of others. We go, lifting to God our families, our neighbours, our colleagues and customers in prayer; seeking, somehow, to be part of the answer.

This is what we are called to. This is our vocation. All of us. And it may be that today the Holy Spirit is stirring your heart to see what you do and how you do it—and, indeed, who you are—in a new light. If so, I’d love to speak with you, because my time is set aside to walk with you in that commonplace wonder.

But it is just possible that your spirit is stirring at the possibility that the Church may be calling your priestly vocation to be expressed through a specific role or office: as a Reader (an authorised preaching and teaching ministry), or to ordination by the Church, or to the Religious life as a monk or nun (a communal life set apart for prayer: whether for a season of a year, or for life). If so, I’d love to speak with you, too.

You’d be surprised how often I have such conversations here, at the Minster. With women and men; younger than me, and older than me, and of a similar age to me. Some of those conversations get put on hold, to be returned to at a later time; some reach the conclusion that being ordained by Jesus at their baptism is call enough in the world; some go on to further conversations with representatives of the wider Church. All of them are conversations that involve other people one way or another, because it is through one another that the Church tests the call.

At the present, we are looking to encourage these calls among those aged 18-30; but we are actively open to those who are older, even those already of retirement age; and actively open to calling women and men from a variety of backgrounds. Some will be stipendiary, like me; some, self-supporting, like Jacqui; some in chaplaincy, like Chris.

Perhaps, in the future, it should be you stood here, or somewhere like here; preaching, or presiding. Perhaps wherever it is you live out your royal and holy priesthood right now is not the most appropriate location, after all.

May God build up his household in this place. And as we respond, may we, the Church, identify those we will call to reader training, ordained ministry, and the religious life. Amen.

*The selling of animals for sacrifice in the temple was motivated by the need to address the problem of how to help people, who were no longer nomadic farmers, bring the necessary offering before God. However, the marketplace was set up in the outer-most court of the temple complex, the Court of the Gentiles, or, the only part of the temple that non-Jews were permitted to enter. This action therefore robbed the ‘god-fearing’ (those Gentiles who recognised Yahweh as the supreme god) of the provision made for them to take part in public worship, or, prayer.

Appendix:

These words, taken from the Commission and Sending Out in the Baptism service (Common Worship), give shape to the priesthood of all believers.

Those who are baptised are called to worship and serve God.

Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?

With the help of God, I will.

Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?

With the help of God, I will.

Will you proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ?

With the help of God, I will.

Will you seek and serve Christ in all people, loving your neighbour as yourself?

With the help of God, I will.

Will you acknowledge Christ’s authority over human society, by prayer for the world and its leaders, by defending the weak, and by seeking peace and justice?

With the help of God, I will.

May Christ dwell in your hearts through faith, that you may be rooted and grounded in love and bring forth the fruit of the Spirit.

Amen.

Ninth Sunday after Trinity

1 Kings 19:9-18 and Romans 10:5-15 and Matthew 14:22-33

Well, it is good to be with you today, having been away for our summer holidays. We spent a week sightseeing in Amsterdam, an amazing city drawn out of the sea by channelling the waters, and filled with creativity; followed by a week with 15,000 other people attending week 2 of New Wine, which is one of the major Christian gatherings in the UK. In fact, this evening’s Songs of Praise was filmed at week 1, if you’d like a taste of what we were up to. And in that second week I’ve been listening to and reading a young American pastor called John Mark Comer, and reflecting on what the Bible tells us about work and rest.

In the beginning, God created, and then took the time to enjoy the fruit of his work. And God made humans to share in that pattern. To take the raw materials of the world and bring creation to its fulfilment. To cease from work at the culmination of each week, on a day God blessed—that is, gave the ability to create life. And we came up with tools and agriculture and architecture and music. But we failed to trust God, and so we also came up with murder and rape and war and slavery. The blessing of work was frustrated, cursed, to limit destruction and in the hope that it might bring us back to God. And every so often, God would intervene to re-set the world, as in the story of the great flood. But it never lasted.

Later, in the writings of the prophets such as Isaiah, we see glimpses of a day when God will act decisively, once-and-for-all, after which the people will experience work and celebratory rest from work as God intended, without frustration.

Elijah, exhausted from his work and finding nothing life-giving in his rest, is graciously given a foretaste of the future. The earth—or at least that bit of the earth on which he stood—is scoured clean by fire that consumes everything in its path; and then, after stillness and silence—after rest—God begins again, choosing new humans to exercise their rule over creation. But this is not yet the decisive, for-ever, new beginning. It is only a foretaste.

Jump forward with me to our Gospel reading. The disciples are in the boat surrounded by a stormy sea. The imagery resonates with that of the flood story: God saving a few people with whom to begin again. But the episode also contains a revelation of who Jesus truly is, the human faithfully ruling over creation for God.

Years later, in a letter to the church, Peter looks back to the flood event and forward to a future day when God will visit not with flood but fire, to consume all miss-rule—all exploitation of the earth’s resources, all injustice and oppression, all that is sorry and sad and scary in the world—and reveal the earth as it has not been seen for millennia, in all its beauty.

Then Jesus, who is the first fruits of the Resurrection, will return; and with him in the Resurrection all those who have died and rest in him. And we will rule with him, as kings and queens, working and resting, for eternity.

And no, I don’t believe that God needs a helping hand—or, his hand forced—a nuclear Armageddon.

But I do believe that the church is also meant to be a foretaste of this future. The church upon which fire fell at Pentecost. We are not yet brought to perfection, nor is the world. But we are called to live in the present in the light of the future.

It is easy to lose focus, like Elijah, like Peter on the water. But we are all called to live in such a way that glorifies God and serves our neighbour, by joining in the divine narrative, through our work and our rest, through our witness and our investing in others.

Writing to the church in Rome—the very centre of a civilisation built on military technology and endless cheap labour—Paul says we are not called to be demi-gods who ascend the seat of the gods or descend into the inner pit of hell reserved for monsters, to fetch or rescue Jesus. No, we are already kings and queens; and it is through Jesus that God not only rescues us but recommissions us.

What you do matters, not only now but, potentially, into eternity. Tomorrow I am conducting the funeral of a woman who was a seamstress. In the Age to Come, our imperishable resurrected bodies will need clothes, not made by children in sweatshops or women working in firetraps so that a man can be rich; but the skilful work of taking materials and making something beautiful. This is a story worth telling, a hope worth living into. Will you step into it? Will you go, to tell others?