Workplace sermon series 2 : Feast of St Matthew

Matthew 9:9-13

Last Sunday, I introduced a five-part sermon series on work. Today, I’d like us to think about a particular aspect of work that came up again and again in the conversations I’ve had as I’ve spent time with some of you, and that is frustration. Frustration at not being able to do as much as you would like to do, to serve and to bless others through your work – often because of a bureaucratic burden in addition to your primary focus, or as a result of the cutting of funds or some other resource. And perhaps a frustration that what you do is not really understood, its value is not appreciated by others.

One of Jesus’ closest friends wrote an account of their friendship, and today we’ve read the excerpt where Matthew recalls their first significant meeting. It took place at Matthew’s place of work.

Matthew was a tax collector. Now, the people were living under a puppet-king, who raised taxes, who sat under the patronage of the Roman Emperor, who also raised taxes. It is likely that Matthew was one of the tax collectors for the local ruler rather than the imperial occupiers; but nonetheless, tax collectors were hated. Everyone knew that tax collectors took a cut for themselves – just like everyone knows that all politicians are liars, or that teachers work short days and have long holidays but still complain about their work conditions. I’m suspicious of things that ‘everyone knows’, but there we are …

Jesus takes the time to notice him. Not as a tax collector but as a person. And then Jesus makes him an intriguing offer: ‘Follow me.’

Where is Jesus going? To eat a meal. To share bread, from which we get the word companion. With other people like Matthew. People that respectable people worked hard not to notice. Only, now they can’t help but notice, and they demand to know what is going on.

One of the big ideas in the Bible is that of being a sinner. It is such a big idea that it is explored – that attempts are made to express it – in many different ways. There is wilful rebellion against God, certainly; but it is much bigger than that. A big part of it has to do with falling short of a target – of our own target as much as God’s. One time, Paul writes of his utter frustration at not being able to do the good things he desires to do, and cries out, who will set me free from this body of death? – thanks be to God, who has done something about it, sending Jesus!

And while the Bible speaks of how God transforms us so that we are drawn less and less to that wilful rebellion, there is a really positive sense to being a sinner. We see it in that short story Matthew recounts for us. It is the recognition that we are not self-sufficient, the recognition that we cannot do what we are called upon to do in our own strength. And it is those who recognise themselves as sinners who are open to that encounter with Jesus. Those who believe that they are doing just fine have no need for him. The Pharisees had learnt only to see sin in negative terms, and so it was hard for them to receive grace.

Like the other Gospel writers, Matthew took all the stories he might have told about Jesus and thought about which ones to include, and which ones he would have to leave out, and what order to put them down in. They aren’t strictly chronological. And he records the time Jesus invited him to supper right in the middle of a collection of accounts of Jesus healing people and restoring them to their loved ones, to their community. Indeed, Jesus even uses the analogy of a doctor here. You see, the grace of being recognised and of being blessed with companionship is a healing, albeit not a physical one.

We are sinners, and – whether people recognise that description of themselves or not – that is the only kind of person there is. We will always have that frustration of not being able to do all that we would like to do to serve and to bless others through our work. We know what it is like to have 10 things to do today and only manage to get 8, or 6, or sometimes 3 of them done … and for the back-log to accumulate so that we fall further and further behind. We know what it is like to get it all done, only for someone else to add number 11 to the list. But when we own our sinfulness, we also get to be saints: friends of Jesus, companions at the table, experiencing rest from our labour, experiencing the recreation that empowers us to work well and to God’s glory.

Frustration, and grace. May the one bring us to the other.

I’m going to invite Richard up now, and interview him about his experience of work. [Here followed a short interview with Richard Davison.]

Workplace sermon series 1

Philippians 2:6-11

This morning, I am beginning a five-part sermon series on work, and today we’ll explore what we might mean by work. The backdrop to the series is that I have been visiting members of our church family in the places where they work through the week. I intend to keep doing so through the autumn, and the Minster will be holding an exhibition of photographs celebrating our congregation as it is dispersed across the city – watch this space.

In the ancient world, there was a belief that the gods did what they liked, and that mere mortals were slaves, were workers. The exception were kings or emperors, who, as living representatives of the gods, as bearers of the divine likeness and partakers in the divine nature, god-like, did as they chose.

Of course, we are much more advanced today. We don’t believe in pantheons of gods, in whose image the great and the good are made. Or do we?

One of the things that has become even clearer to me as I have spent time listening to members of the congregation in work contexts is that our society has come to devalue work that does not generate money. That we find ourselves in a self-perpetuating system of slavery to money, where people are seen primarily as economic units, net contributors to generating money (high earners, financial sector) or a net drain on money (children, though they are a necessary investment; pensioners, the disabled or ill). We might be aware of a tension, in the public rhetoric of such a system, between affirming the voluntary sector as easing the financial burden and decrying the same people for perpetuating inefficiency in the machine. It seems to me that our advanced society hasn’t advanced anywhere since Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites, or the Emperor sat in Rome.

And like the Israelites, it is easy to fixate on the negative, on the problem we can do nothing about rather than look to the God who has set us free.

Let us turn to the church in Philippi. Philippi, in Greece, was an ex-pat retirement city for the Roman army, a place where those who had served the system might reap the rewards of their labours. (Not dissimilar to the English ex-pat enclaves in Spain?) It was the place of the first church Paul planted in Europe, a church composed of the household of a merchant-woman and the household of a prison governor. Their livelihoods were dependent on the Pax Romana – just as ours are dependent on western democracy and the free market economy. And Paul sends them a hymn. Paul sends a hymn, because those words that we rehearse over and over shape us, and he wants our attitude to be conformed to that of Jesus Christ.

This hymn is in fact a proclamation of the gospel, as the early church understood it: Because Jesus had faithfully represented God to his unfaithful people, God had overturned his unjust death at the hands of those who had rejected him; and had established this Jesus as Lord over a renewed people of God, composed of Jews and – surprisingly – Gentiles scattered across the Roman Empire, who would survive the imminent judgement of national Israel (this took place in AD70) and guarantee God’s ongoing intention to form a people through whom the nations would be blessed. And in the end, this servant-king would be acknowledged as faithfully representing God by all other claimants to God’s throne (in the context of the Church scattered throughout the Roman Empire, this was ‘fulfilled’ when the Roman Emperor Constantine submitted to Christ).

But what has this to do with work? Well first, in the verses preceding our reading, Paul contrasts work as a means of taking (verse 3) and work as a means of giving (verse 4). And against that backdrop, we are shown that the nature of God revealed in the humanity of Jesus is this: God is a slave, a worker (verses 6, 7). That is revolutionary. God, who does not need to work, chooses to work, to serve, to bless.

Work, then, might be understood as what we do, as an expression of ourselves, for the common good.

That might be paid or unpaid. It might be based in an office, or the open air. It might be as the primary carer of a relative. It might be, for the retired, the work of attending to community among those who would otherwise find themselves isolated – the work of keeping body and mind and heart and soul active – the work of going to the cinema and on to lunch.

Work, as what we do as an expression of ourselves for the common good. Such an understanding of work involves a self-humbling – it is for the common good – but the act of self-humbling finds us not only working for God but also working with God, partnering with the God who works to serve others in order that they might be blessed.

And in that sharing in the obedience of Christ – in the faithful representation of God’s likeness – we will also share in the liberating victory of the servant-king over the tyranny of false gods.

So what might it look like to recognise Jesus Christ as Lord over our lives, for the blessing of all people? Let me tell you some stories.

I have spent time with Liz, serving a hot meal to homeless men and women.

I have spent time with Sarah, a student of art, someone who challenges how we see the world. In shaping a vase, she reveals potential in unpromising clay. In fashioning a lightshade from plastic cups, she imagines new purpose for something considered ‘disposable’. Our society needs artists, who might tell an alternative story.

I have spent time with married couple Hollie and Graeme. Solicitors working in the same firm, Hollie is one of the directors, Graeme the office manager. Through Legal Aid, they insist that justice is a righteous and universal principle and not a commodity to be controlled by those with wealth. And yes, they live with the tension of cuts to Legal Aid and the need for their firm to provide for its family, but it is a tension they are committed to wrestling with. Likewise, they are committed to investing in the legal training path for local people. To blessing others.

I have spent time with Gillian, before she retired, at Age UK, where she has helped those considered ‘surplus to requirements’ to remain human in a society that would de-humanise them. Again, it is a constant struggle, in which we need to be reminded that Jesus is Lord.

I have spent time with father-and-daughter Chris and Becca on an archaeological dig, where Becca has been a team leader and Chris a volunteer. Our society has a very short memory, and needs those who reveal the past, who might reveal how flawed some of the stories we tell about ourselves are. It might sound like a strange way to bless a people, to tell a different story. But stories shape cultures: they can lock us in prison cells, and they can shake the prison foundations and burst open doors. At the dig at Binchester, a ring was found this summer that testifies to faith in Jesus as Lord. The political landscape has been drawn and redrawn many times since, and peoples come and go: but through the ages, God has kept his promise to secure a people for himself through whom the nations will be blessed. And we, in our turn, are part of that people.

And we take part in God’s intention in diverse ways, both together and dispersed. But as we do, we need to be encouraged, and my hope is that over this autumn, you will be. Over the coming weeks, we’ll be looking at particular workplace issues. Alongside the sermon series, there will be an opportunity to explore things further on Tuesday evenings, at a discipleship class I will be starting on the 23^rd. If you’d be interested in taking part, pick up a flyer this morning.

As we work out together what it means to be God’s new people in the world, may our attitude be increasingly conformed to that of Jesus Christ. Amen.

First World War Centenary Commemoration

Isaiah 2:2-5

John 12:23-28

Written over hundreds of years, and witness to the rise and fall of many empires, the Bible is well-placed to reflect on war. In one of the greatest poems in world literature, the Teacher writes that there is a time for every activity under heaven, concluding his illustrations with ‘a time for war and a time for peace.’ This ought to give us hope: no war, however dreadful, will go on forever. At the same time, we are advised not to take peace for granted: for no peace, however glorious, will last indefinitely.

Two biblical visionaries – Micah, a peasant farmer; and Isaiah, from within the corridors of power – point to a time when weapons of war will be adapted into agricultural tools. But another visionary farmer, Joel, calls on the people of his day to the very opposite, to beat their ploughshares into swords and their pruning-hooks into spears.

This suggests to us two things. Firstly, that we do not have unlimited resources. We cannot accumulate dedicated tools for every eventuality. Changes in circumstance may call for a more creative response, the taking of one thing and re-fashioning it for a different purpose. Secondly, it is possible to do this, at least to some extent, without breaking the thing in question. Allow me to offer you some examples, from Sunderland’s experience of the First World War.

After initial success in driving the German army back, the Western Front had become embedded. In 1915, the decision was taken to open up another Front by attacking the Ottoman Empire. 200 motor landing craft were commissioned, to be known as X Lighters. The starting-point was the Thames barge, with its spoon-shaped bow and flat bottom, and most were built here in the North East. Working from a common design, our yards adapted the template, fashioning barges into landing craft according to materials already in stock or readily sourced, and local methods: speed was of the essence. Though not ready in time for the Gallipoli landings, the ‘Black Beetles,’ as they were unofficially christened, played a key role in supporting the costly campaign and in the successful evacuation in early 1916.

People are not things, and are easily broken when treated as if they were. Nonetheless, people too are an adaptable resource. At the outbreak of the War, George Maling was a medical student at St Thomas’ Hospital in London, not a holder of the Victoria Cross. At the outbreak of the War, George Thompson was a Vaux drayman, not the inspiration for War Horse. At the outbreak of the War, did Emily and Mary Vaux imagine that they would turn-over their large, private houses to the Red Cross, for soldiers to recuperate in; or oversee Voluntary Aid Detachments of make-shift nurses? At the outbreak of the War, was Annie Goodall already dreaming of driving a Corporation tram?

After the War, ships and buildings were re-fashioned again, in some cases several times over. And men and women returned to their pre-War roles, though less easily: those wartime experiences, positive and life-affirming as well as negative and damaging, never left them – and changed the shape of life, perhaps not for them, but for future generations of women and men in Sunderland.

The Army Reserve carries on this noble tradition of taking men and women and putting them to another purpose; one where their civilian experience brings something beneficial to the Army, and their military service brings something extra to how they continue to serve others in their civilian roles. We would do well to listen to their experience of creatively making something so much more than second-best with limited resources.

And this brings us to our Gospel reading [read by the Commanding Officer of 5RRF], for the verse ‘except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit’ is inscribed on one of the War Memorials gathered to this building, that of the Bishopwearmouth Flour Mill. One of those mill workers, Albert Bell, joined the Lancashire Fusiliers, part of the family tree of the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers.

The Church declares that the person of Jesus Christ is ‘…God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one being with the Father…’ Yet in Jesus, God fashions himself into human form, in order that we might know God-with-us. The greatest transformation. This Jesus, voluntarily giving himself to us, taken and broken by us, his life cut short, his mother left to mourn. This Jesus, raised to life by the Spirit of God, ascended and praying for us. This Jesus still-human as well as divine, because so fundamental a transformation cannot be undone. This Jesus, in and through whom God is at work to reconcile humanity to one another and to himself, transforming enemies into friends, sustaining human goodness and redeeming human wickedness in order to bring forth good in ways we could not imagine. In this Jesus, the tragedy of the First World War, the struggles of the Home Front, and the complex challenges we face in our own day, are not meaningless, but taken up into God’s will for life and light and love to flourish and vibrant diversity to emerge from every chaos.

Each one of us present here today will die, though for the most part our names will not be recorded for future generations. We can live for ourselves, and fall, leaving a bitter harvest. Or we can live for others, and leave behind a legacy of fruitfulness that will benefit generations to come. The very act of your presence here today, as public servants, and as people of goodwill, suggests to me that you do not need to be persuaded of this truth. My task today is not to convince you, but to encourage you to hold fast, to point to the past and declare hope in the face of the gathering darkness of our own time and the challenges facing us, as a city, a nation, and a global community, today. We will need imaginative transformations and self-sacrificial courage, and both are possible only with hope.

The testimony of the people of Sunderland, well-established by the outbreak of the First World War, tested by that War and yet found to be true, as true today as it was then, is this:

NIL DESPERANDUM AUSPICE DEO.

There is no cause for despair, living under the guidance of God.

May we know this for ourselves, and declare it to the next generation.

Sixth Sunday of Trinity

Genesis 29:15-28

Romans 8:26-39

As I read through the Old Testament and Epistle readings, I was struck by the contrast between people, who withhold from one another, and God, who does not withhold but gave up his own Son for us and with him also gives us everything else.

The story told in Genesis is that of the family chosen by God in order to bless all the families of the earth. It is worth reminding ourselves of this, because as the story unfolds, that family does not show itself to be especially promising raw material. Abraham’s grandson Jacob is a cheat and a deceiver, who exploits his twin brother for personal gain, withholding food to him in order to extract privilege, and at his mother’s encouragement goes on to exploit his father’s disability in order to secure a position over his brother. This Jacob then flees from his brother’s anger, runs for his life, runs to the house of his uncle Laban, his mother’s brother. Laban welcomes him, but proves as scheming as his sister Rebekah, exploiting his nephew in order to secure a husband for both of his daughters.

This account is problematic for us, as to our minds it presents women as mere property. We need to look past our own sensibilities in order to see this very different, ancient culture; and if we can do so, we will see that both women are loved, and that both men take seriously the need to secure a future for Leah and for Rachel. Nonetheless, there is deception upon deception going on here, and as the story unfolds the sisters will continue to vie for the attention of their shared husband.

And nonetheless, God will work through all of the mess of human relationships, of men and women acting out of their insecurities and self-interest. God will work in and through all this to turn a family into a nation of tribes, and will work through the mess of the rivalry of twelve brothers to save the great Egyptian empire and surrounding peoples from seven years of severe famine.

It is a story of human unfaithfulness and God’s faithfulness, and it is our story.

‘We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose,’ we heard read out today. This is a difficult verse to translate. In a footnote the alternative possible translations are offered: ‘God makes all things work together for good…’ or ‘in all things God works for good…’

One rule of thumb where a verse can be read in more than one way is to hold all possibilities as revealing different facets of truth. If all things work together for good, it is not immediately apparent. Nonetheless, God is committed to working through the struggling of humanity against humanity in order to reconcile all people in and through his Son Christ Jesus, the Nazarene who was handed over to a scheming humanity who would condemn him to death, handed over in the ultimate expression of God being for us not against us, raised from the dead and interceding for us.

Because death could not contain him, we can be confident that nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Not being forced to flee our homes, as our brothers and sisters in Mosul are being forced to flee their homes. Not being shot out of the sky. Not the First World War whose centenary we are about to mark, or the wars that rage in our world today. These things are not good – they are not God’s good and pleasing and perfect will for his children and his world – and yet God is at work to enfold those who have died, and those who have taken life, together within his loving purposes.

God's goodness is so good that it not only sustains human goodness but also, ultimately, redeems human wickedness. Both are necessary in our world.

While we wait, while we live in the midst of the unpromising raw material of grace, we find ourselves at times, and certainly at times like today, not knowing how to pray. There are no words. Here, too, God does not withhold himself from us, but pours out his Spirit in our hearts. The Spirit interceding on our behalf with and within us. Christ Jesus interceding for us at the right hand of God in heaven. And God, creator and judge of all, for us not against us.

Scripture is very honest about the human condition and experience of suffering. These things should not surprise us. Yet, however dark the world becomes, despair does not get to have the final word. For the final word is that word-made-flesh, God-with-us. That word is Love.

So today let us renew our daily decision not to withhold ourselves from God or from our neighbour, but to give ourselves, generously,

to love our enemies,

to work towards the reconciliation of divided communities,

to give love voice.

Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 17:22-31

Last Sunday in our Gospel reading we heard Jesus say that he would do whatever his disciples ask in his name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. That is, Jesus will do anything that those who seek to follow and learn from and join in with what he is doing – his disciples – ask that will represent him – in his name – with the result that God our Father might be given glory. “If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.”

And we saw that Stephen, while being murdered by a crowd of zealots, asks Jesus to receive his spirit and to forgive those who were putting him to death, not holding this sin against them. A disciple of Jesus, in a situation Jesus had found himself in, responding in the way Jesus responded.

This week we see the evidence that Jesus did, indeed, do what Stephen asked, and that the Father was glorified in the Son. For the young man who held the coats of Stephen’s murderers and approved of his death would go on to have a change of heart, becoming the church-planter and letter-writer Paul, through whom the good news was - and continues to be – proclaimed across the world. On Paul’s first missionary journey, he too was stoned and left for dead by an angry mob who had pursued him from place to place. That took place in Lystra, in what is today Turkey. Unlike Stephen, Paul survived, and – incredibly – returned to Lystra on his second missionary journey, where he added to his team a young man called Timothy who would become like a son to him. Paul and his co-workers, Silas and Timothy, continue on their journey and are led by the Holy Spirit to cross into northern Greece, adding Luke to the team on the way. Their reception in Greece, as everywhere else, is mixed. Paul is again pursued from city to city and for his own safety is eventually taken as far as Athens, en route to the port of Corinth, travelling ahead of his team.

But Paul is a committed team player. When Silas and Timothy are delayed in joining him, Paul carries on to Corinth, looking for people to team up with. There he meets Aquila and Priscilla, who become his latest co-workers. But now we are ahead of ourselves.

For now, we are in Athens with Paul, and – cut off from his companions – Paul takes the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing. This is Athens, after all – the birthplace of Western culture!

But Paul doesn’t look at the world through the same lens as the locals. He looks at the world asking, what is God up to here? What are the connection-points I can use to help people move from a vague belief in the existence of a god they don’t know to a saving knowledge of the God who created the world and everything in it; who is at work behind the scenes in human history - both at the level of nations and at the level of each one of us; who moves towards us in the hope that we might move towards him; and who has appointed Jesus as the one who will arbitrate between the peoples and teach them to live together in peace?

Viewing the city with this lens, Paul looked carefully at the things they worshipped, at the things they produced as a response to the things they worshipped, and at the stories they told about themselves.

So, what is God up to in Sunderland? What are the connection-points we might make between the things people are worshipping, or the things that are produced as a result, or the stories they tell about themselves, and Jesus the one appointed by God to arbitrate between the peoples and teach them to live together in peace?

We’ve just had the outcome of the local elections and we await the results of the European elections, but I would suggest that there are some who worship nationalism, who produce fear and contempt, and who tell stories of being English that edit out the immigration that formed us. They are perhaps a minority, but they are putting forward their case with passion, and winning a hearing.

Rather than dismissing them, don’t we have something to say about the changing fortunes, boundaries and alliances of nations, or political groups – their being raised up, and being brought low? How might we speak of God being at work behind the scenes? We might ask whether the best goal of a people is to protect their own interests; or whether we might entrust our interests to God, and seek to work with other nations to see them blessed? We might tell the story of how God made all nationalities from one common ancestor – that we are all one family. We might tell the story of another ancestor, Abraham, the father of Jews and Christians and Muslims; a man who was an economically prosperous immigrant, through whom his host community was not undermined but blessed; a man whose descendants were economic refugees in a major power, who were dehumanised by their hosts, and rescued by God.

We might ask whether we are most truly described in terms of what we produce – which will always set us in competition with others, and enslave us to the god of Money – or whether we are more truly understood as works of art crafted by God?

We might ask whether we are rightly the judge over the motives of others, or whether we will willingly allow Jesus to judge our hearts now – before the day when he will do so whether we are willing or not?

But of course there are other things the people of Sunderland worship, other things they produce, other stories they tell – some of them weird and wonderful – from the Stadium of Light to the Lambton Worm!

Over June and July, I would like to work with you – as co-workers together – in two particular areas. The first is this: I would like to spend a day with members of the Minster family in the places where you spend the week. I would like to spend time with you, discovering what God is up to in Sunderland. And I would like to photograph you, on your own or with others, in that setting; and afterwards to display all the pictures as an exhibition in this setting – as a celebration of the life of Sunderland Minster beyond these walls and throughout the week.

I’m asking for invitations from young and old, to spend a day (it need not be a whole day) with you in your workplace; in the place where you study, or volunteer; with the people you play bowls or go out to lunch with; in your home: anywhere where you are during the week.

My hope is that this will help us to build up a picture of what God is up to, and the ways in which we are joining in; and a better idea of how we might support one another in that. If you would like to take part, I would love to hear from you.

The second area is this: we are hosting a civic service on Monday 4^th August to commemorate the outbreak of the First World War. This is not a Remembrance Service, when we mark the cost of conflict; but an opportunity to tell stories of Sunderland and the War, and to make connections between then and now. Let me give you an example. In Sunderland, as well as the battalions that were raised, many men served the duration of the War in the shipyards. Among other things, they built landing craft that played a crucial part in the very successful withdrawal from the disastrous Gallipoli campaign. But these men were targeted by patriotic young women forcing white feathers on men who would not serve their king and country, until special badges had to be made identifying them as making a vital contribution to the war effort. Is it possible that we might misrepresent the contribution of others to the life of our city today?

Many of you will have family stories relating to the First World War, and not only concerning those who went off to fight but also those who stayed behind. If any of you would like to share those stories with me, so that they can be told – if not on the fourth of August, at some point over the next four years – I would be very interested in hearing them.

Two opportunities: a project recording our lives today; and a project commemorating our past – both of which might help us imagine our future. Together, as co-workers for the sake of the gospel, let us explore the breadth and depth of Sunderland, in order that the people of this great city might hear of the breadth and depth of God’s love for them.

Fifth Sunday of Easter

John 14:1-14

Acts 7:55-60

Jesus, Lord of our imagination, would you take us to the table where, as Death stalked you, you tell your friends that anyone who has seen you has seen the Father; to the table where you tell your friends that those who believe in you will do the works that you do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because you are going to the Father and will do whatever is asked in your name [that is, in accordance with his character] so that the Father may be glorified in the Son?

Jesus, Lord of our imagination, would you take us [in Jesus’ footsteps] to the courtyard of the high priest’s house, where Stephen sees you, and in seeing you sees the Father’s glory? Would you take us to the place outside the city walls where as he lays down his life Stephen [echoing Jesus’ request on the cross] asks that those who put him to death be forgiven? [Saul’s unexpected future will be the evidence that Jesus has done what Stephen asks, and indeed more than he could ask or imagine.]

Jesus, Lord of our imagination, in the fear and the confusion, would we find ourselves in you...

This week we have heard the report that an inspirational young man called Stephen had his life cut prematurely short in the most traumatic of circumstances – circumstances that mark all of us with death, forcing itself upon us. Despite all the stories we tell ourselves to the contrary, Death itself refuses to die at the hands of human progress or ingenuity. We try to control Death (that is why we so love the contained experience of homicide fiction), but it comes for us all, and not only once, at our end, but over and over in countless anticipations.

Again and again, the question is asked, “Why him?” or, “Why me?” Again and again, the questioner falls back silent, under the morphine of distraction and entertainment, of going along with the crowd, or of telling ourselves that we stand alone observing something that happens to other people but won’t come for us.

And so we bury God, as we go about our lives as if we were super-human, when at best we are children wearing our underpants outside our trousers, with a tea-towel tied around our neck for a cape. Children, who can’t really fly. Children, beloved.

If God brings life out of death – which is the Easter assertion – then our deaths become places where God is found, where God enters in, where God transforms the world. Not just our physical death, but all the little deaths that foreshadow that death. The thief comes to kill and to steal and to destroy, and this is the context within which Jesus comes that we might know life in its fullest sense. Every time a relationship between a husband and wife or a parent and child is put to death by a thousand subtle acts of carefully planned robbery or mindless opportunistic vandalism. Every time our confidence is put to death by failure or humiliation or disappointment. Every gainful employment terminated by redundancy, by being ‘surplus to requirements’. Death runs right through life.

And God is right there. A worldly – horizontal, flat earth – perspective won’t see him. We need a heavenly perspective: we need to look up; to look up, and to point others to Jesus.

Our Easter hope is not that Death is of no consequence, but that the very thing that so terrifies us has been turned inside-out. Not that Jesus died so that we don’t have to face Death, but that Jesus died because we have to. That the thing that announces The Ultimate Separation from God has been turned, against its will, into the way along which Jesus leads us, rejoicing, into the Father’s presence.

We see it in Stephen’s martyrdom, which results in the Church being released into mission; but we also see it earlier, when he dies to a rising reputation in order to accept a menial task, submitting his spirit to God and receiving from God the Spirit of grace and power that works great wonders and signs through flesh and blood.

We see it afresh this week in the life of a young man whose dying, by degrees, opened a gate for God to move in and through those who looked on; and whose death, when it came, opened a floodgate of grace and power he could never have imagined.

Ironically, every time we deny or fight Death in our lives we unintentionally resist the God who longs to bring life out of death; we resist the Holy Spirit who filled Stephen to the full. This message is counter-cultural and counter-intuitive, because we fight so hard to keep Death at bay. But it is good news, because Death is universal.

So, where are you facing Death today?

And, what will you ask Jesus to do, in or through your present situation, by which the Father might be glorified?

For those who want to take things further:

Jesus calls us to repent and believe. Repentance means taking on a new perspective, embracing the perspective of heaven rather than that of the world. It involves initial observation, deeper reflection and lively discussion. Believing means living out heaven’s perspective in the world. It involves making a new plan, putting in place those who will help us to live this way, and then stepping out in faith...

Observation: Where are you facing Death today? It might be in big and obvious ways, or small ways.

Reflection: Can you think of anyone whose story is recorded in the Bible who had a similar experience of Death? Or someone known to you, whose faith you admire?

Discussion: In what ways have you experienced God bringing life out of death in the past? What did that new life look like? What has Jesus revealed to you through these times?

Making a Plan: What will it look like to embrace Death? For example, it might mean laying down a role you have served in – or taking up a role you have resisted. And, what will you ask Jesus to do, in or through your present situation, by which the Father might be glorified?

Being Accountable: Who will help you to stick to your resolve in the face of Death? Who will be there to weep with you over the pain of death...and there to rejoice with you over the new life God will bring to birth?

Taking Action: Depart in peace, having seen the Lord.

Third Sunday of Easter

Luke 24:13-35

We are still in the Season of Easter, the season of getting to grips with what this life-out-of-death means – or rather, the season of life-out-of-death getting a grip on us. Today we find ourselves walking away from Jerusalem towards Emmaus, walking in the company of two disciples, part of the wider circle beyond the eleven apostles, walking from the highs and lows of recent days back towards the security of the familiar, of home. And as we walk, a fellow-traveller comes alongside us.

That in itself is also familiar. After all, if you are alone it is always safer to travel in proximity to others. Sitting on the Metro, taking in the people sat across from you – but not looking too closely, so as not to make them feel uncomfortable, so as not to attract confrontation. Glance up, and look away again. Slowly, though: too fast and you’ll look shifty. But you can’t help listening in to their conversation; laughing at the puzzling lines…

The man asks, ‘What are you discussing?’ Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? It’s on everybody’s lips.

The man listens. This thing they are discussing, they don’t really seem to understand. It is clear that Jesus is somehow important to them, but how following him relates to their life is harder to work out. They are familiar with certain stories, but the relevance eludes them.

The man listens. Hears them out, until their words run dry. Only then does he speak. And when he does, he shapes their history, their culture, around the person of Jesus. Not pulling out proof texts to argue a point-of-view, but showing how it all comes together in him. And more than that, showing them where they found a place within that story – “opening the scriptures to us,” they would later say; making room for us within his story.

And now it is time to part company. But it is getting late. If we are hungry, and tired, he must be too. As we reach the door to a house, we are invited in. However fragile their beliefs, there is openness here. The man accepts the invitation; and so shall we. Companionship – literally, the sharing of bread around the table. And as the man reaches out to take the bread, his wrists extend from within his sleeves. The pink rawness of newly-healed skin, not yet darkened by the sun.

And in this familiar action, our eyes are opened. The dramatic testimony of others – even women known well to them – was not enough. Neither was the most helpful Bible exposition ever given, even if it was deeply engaging. But in a simple act of hospitality shown towards a stranger, received with gratitude towards God and reciprocal service, a moment of revelation breaks in. Just a moment, mind you; and then he vanished from their sight. But a moment of revelation is all that is needed; is enough to respond to.

They thought that they had arrived at their destination for the night; but in response they get up and set out back to the very place they had walked away from, with new hope. Will we go too?

Some thoughts to ponder:

Are we learning to be a listener? If yes, what has proven helpful in this? Who might we ask, ‘What are you discussing?’

Are we open to change our plans for others? Are we learning to accept invitations? Who is open to us?

What is Jesus showing you? Where have your eyes been opened, perhaps through testimony, or teaching, or studying the Bible, or fellowship with others, or through simple everyday activities given a new light?

What are you going to do in response?