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.

Fourth Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary reading: Acts 9:36-43

As the risen Jesus lives his life in and through us, the body of Christ is meant to move, listen, share, care, and learn. And so, as we continue our journey through the Book of Acts—the continuation of Luke’s account of what Jesus is doing in the world—we do well to read the story through these five aspects of Jesus’ life and mission. When I read the Bible, I ask the following five questions:

First, how does this passage move the story on? Well, this passage moves the story on in two ways. Last week, we fund ourselves in Damascus, at the convergence of the Silk Road to China and the Spice Road to India. The launch-pad for carrying the good news of Jesus, east. And now, today, we find ourselves in the port of Joppa, another launch-pad, this time west around the Mediterranean, as far as Spain. The story is moving, geographically. But it is also crossing cultural boundaries. Today’s story concerns a woman known by name in two languages, Hebrew and Greek. Known, by name, in two communities. Now, these communities lived side-by-side, and interacted on a daily basis. But a point is made of telling us that this woman is known by name by both communities, in their own language. A Jewish woman whose Gentile neighbours have given her a name among them. She is a bridge between two worlds; and, as we continue the story, we will see that she brings Peter a step closer to discovering that Jesus was calling the gentiles into the kingdom of God...

Second, in this passage, who speaks—and who listens? Well, Tabitha’s friends speak of her, to Peter; and Peter listens. He is moved by their loss. And Peter speaks; and Tabitha listens, she hears and responds, even though she was dead. Now, everyone dies; and only a few are brought back, only a few must die more than once. This is not the norm; but it is given in order to reveal that Jesus is Lord of the living and the dead, and that death itself must bow before him. Death has its say, but it does not get to have the final word.

Third, is there any good news to share? Well, yes. There is the raising of Tabitha—and as that good news is shared, many come to faith. But there is also the good news of her faithful life, the grace-filled way she blessed her community. There is plenty of good news in this passage.

Fourth, a question of care: how is the community nurtured? Well, it is built up as many people come to believe in the Lord.

And fifth, a question of learning: how does this passage connect with what we already know? Well, in the first book of Luke’s Gospel, we see Jesus raising the dead son of a widow in Nain (Luke 7) and the dead daughter of a leader of the synagogue in Capernaum (Luke 8). Peter raising Tabitha closely parallels this account. It is clear that he has observed what Jesus had done in just such a situation, and was learning to be Jesus in the situation he found himself.

Which brings us to this statement by the late American philosopher, Dallas Willard:

‘Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you.’

Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you. That is what we are called to. So, what might this passage have to say to us about that?

Well, it is clearly a passage about raising up. But we will probably resonate with that in different ways. Which, I wonder, do you most resonate with?

Firstly, raising up women in the community. There is a clear body of evidence from around the world that when we raise up women—who make up half of humanity, and half of the body of Christ—their whole community benefits. Whereas, where only men are raised up, they tend, consistently, to keep any benefit within a small group of similarly privileged men. Sadly, this is often also true in the church, where men are more visible and more vocal—and will fight for what they perceive they have to lose. But there is nothing to lose when all God’s children get to play.

Secondly, raising up cross-community peacemakers. Tabitha, also known as Dorcas. We live in a pluralistic society and a multi-ethnic neighbourhood; a community that is very different from when housing first expanded into this area. And we live in very divisive times; and with a strong urge to return to a rose-tinted past. How might we, in our eightieth year, best play our part in supporting the community as it is, and as is emerging? Which voices from the margins do we need to quieten ourselves in order to hear?

Thirdly, raising up the spiritually dead. Unless you are a first-aider, a paramedic, nurse, or doctor, you might never bring someone back to life, physically. But there are plenty of people who can testify that the circumstances of their lives had left them dead on the inside; and that Jesus has brought them back to life, in a beautiful way. Perhaps you’ve known that. Perhaps you’ve been instrumental in that. Perhaps you long to be.

Fourthly, raising up graceful lives. Tabitha, Dorcas, means gazelle; or, figuratively, graceful. And she certainly lived-into the calling conferred upon her. There is something beautiful about the way in which she set about blessing her communities. While others sang her praises, she clearly didn’t demand such attention or gratitude: such people might be admired, but aren’t loved the way she clearly was. This is a matter of character, shaped by the Holy Spirit, as she chose to partner with God, to be formed. To die to self and be raised to new life in Jesus, as Jesus lived his life through hers.

Fifthly, raising up purposeful skills. Tabitha had skill as a seamstress, and put it to good use. Whatever natural ability she had, she must have invested in it to become so proficient; and it is easy to imagine others coming to her when they ran into difficulty, for her to show them what they were getting wrong, and what they needed to do to get it right. What skills do you have? What purpose are you putting them to? And, given that one day we will all die, who are you passing them on to? It is always quicker and easier to do the job ourselves; but that is how skills die with us.

Third Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary readings: John 21:1-19 and Acts 9:1-20

Our reading from Acts began with Saul searching for the church in Damascus. And this begs the question, how would you know you had found what you were looking for? Or, to put it another way, what makes the church the church?

How would you answer that question?

You still hear people speak of a Damascus road experience, to describe a moment that stopped them in their tracks and resulted in their setting out on a different direction. But the original Damascus road experience was more than that. It was fundamental to Paul’s understanding of the church from thereon in:

that the risen Jesus chooses to fully-identify with the imperfect community we call the church, and to live his life through them.

That is to say, what makes the church the church is Jesus living his life through us. We are the body of Christ.

Now, this is a suburban church of suburban people. And the suburbs shape us in particular ways:

the suburbs unconsciously shape us to be overly-settled;

they shape us to be cocooned from social injustice;

they shape us to live isolated behind our own front doors (an Englishman’s home is his castle—in which he may find himself a prisoner);

they shape us to be fearful of others, to see them as competition;

and they shape us to become deeply invested in unquestioned privilege.

I’m not saying that these things are inevitable. Nor am I anti- the suburbs. But I am saying that over time suburbs shape community in these ways. And because we are called to be the church in the suburbs—people who live here but are shaped, instead, by Jesus—we need to be aware of these processes at work.

Within the body of Christ, we discover the antidote:

living among an overly-settled community, the body of Christ is a body that moves;

living among a community that is cocooned from social injustice, the body of Christ is a body that listens;

living among endemic isolation, the body of Christ is a body that shares;

living in a competitive community fearful of losing out to others, the body of Christ is a body that cares;

and living in the midst of unquestioned privilege, the body of Christ is a body that learns.

The church is the church when the body of Christ is a body that moves, listens, shares, cares, and learns.

a body that moves

Jesus said, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” (John 20:21) and “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19). Our Gospel passage today ended, “Follow me.” and we see here today that the early church was known as those who ‘belonged to the Way’. A people on the move. They had already spread from Jerusalem to Damascus; and Damascus was the crossing-point of the Silk Road and the Spice Road: the jumping-off place to go and make disciples all the way to China and India.

The church doesn’t say, you need to come to us. Where is God calling us to go next, within the parish? What doors are open to us?

a body that listens

The disciples in the boat don’t recognise Jesus immediately, but as they listen and respond, they realise, ‘It is the Lord!’ And in Damascus, as the church prays in the face of persecution [fun fact: ‘Saul’ means prayed for—and he was!], Ananias hears the Lord’s voice, and responds, ‘Here I am, Lord.’

When might we come together to listen to God in corporate prayer? For a start, let’s join in with Thy Kingdom Come, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York’s national call to pray between Ascension Day and Pentecost. We have resources to help us do that as families at home and together, gathering here.

a body that shares

After a frustrating night’s work for them, Jesus called the disciples to share breakfast with him. Ananias is sent to Saul in order that he might regain his sight. The good news is good news. We’re not meant to keep it to ourselves. It is for sharing.

Who will we tell about Jesus? Part of the Thy Kingdom Come movement over recent years has been to choose five friends to pray for and share the joy of knowing Jesus with.

a body that cares

Jesus’ repeated instruction to Peter, drawing on the imagery of the Good Shepherd, is to care for his people. Did you notice in our reading from Acts that Ananias calls his would-be persecutor Brother Saul? That is stunning care. Many would see Saul’s new-found vulnerability as an opportunity to exploit to take revenge.

Who are we coming alongside and spending time with, perhaps to our surprise?

a body that learns

Jesus calls both Peter and Paul to learn, and in particular to notice and come to hold lightly the privilege they enjoy. In both cases, suffering—that which we experience as done to or for us, rather than those things we do to or for others—is key. It is no different in the suburbs where we pride ourselves in our independence and competence, and struggle as these things are stripped away by growing old. But in our vulnerability, God is glorified.

What are we learning about Jesus now, and how is that re-shaping our lives?

What makes the church the church? Jesus, moving, listening, sharing, caring, learning, in and through us. I wonder which of these five functions of the body of Christ each of us most identifies with, and how we might grow to maturity of faith together?

Second Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary reading: Acts 5:27-32

Let me begin by saying, happy Easter! I say that, in part, of course, because I was not with you on Easter Day; but, also, because today is the second Sunday of Easter. There are in total seven Sundays of Easter, and as the church gathers on these occasions, we will hear a selection of passages from the Acts of the Apostles, the sequel to the Gospel According to Luke. Why these particular passages? Because they invite us into the ‘so what?’ of the resurrection, discovering how Jesus’ disciples, led by the Holy Spirit, came to understand the significance of this incredible event.

There is a recurring pattern in the early chapters of Acts: Peter preaches in the temple, is arrested, imprisoned, brought to trial, gives his defence; is later re-arrested, imprisoned, escapes prison with angelic help, preaches in the temple, is brought to trial again, and gives his defence. And this is where we find him in our reading from Acts this morning. And the crux of his defence is this: that God has exalted Jesus as Leader and Saviour.

The word our Bibles translates as ‘Leader’ is the Greek word archēgon. It is a word that means founder, or author; the first in a long procession, the captain who pioneers the way for others to follow. It is used in the Greek translation of the Old Testament—the translation Luke and the community he wrote for would have used—to speak of the heads of the families of the tribes of Israel; to refer to men held in high esteem, with this same word often translated into English as ‘princes’ of the people. They are the men who give a lead that others follow. When God sends Moses to lead his people out from slavery in Egypt, it is these princes he must first persuade, because the people will follow them. When there are gifts to be brought, as for the rebuilding of the fallen walls of Jerusalem, it is these princes who go first.

The irony would not have been lost on Luke’s audience that Peter has been brought to trial before the senate of the sons of Israel [NRSVA ‘the council and whole body of the elders of Israel’], who demand to know why Peter and the other apostles have not followed their lead when they had, at the previous trial, ordered the apostles not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus (Acts 4:18)? After all, they are the princes, and where they lead—with strict orders, no less—others should follow.

Peter, however, does not recognise their authority in this matter. Why not? Well, we need to remember that Acts is the continuation of Luke’s account of the gospel, the good news about Jesus. Towards the end of Part One, at the last supper, Luke records Jesus as saying to his disciples:

‘“You are those who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer on you, as my Father has conferred on me, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.’”

(Luke 22:28-30)

Moreover, we recall that in his account of the crucifixion, Luke records:

‘And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders [archontes: rulers, or princes] scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”’

(Luke 23:35-38)

Though the leaders of the people refuse to acknowledge it, Jesus is the Prince, appointed by God; and he, in turn, has appointed Peter and the other apostles to be princes. But Jesus’ rule is made manifest on the cross. The nature of his lead, the lead he called Peter to follow, bringing others with him, is through trial and suffering.

Peter declares that God has exalted Jesus as Leader and Saviour. That is, Jesus is the one, raised up by God, who goes first leading a long procession of followers through trial and suffering; saving them from sin and death by delivering them beyond suffering to freedom and glory. First death, then resurrection. First suffering, then glory. As the one who has gone first, Jesus is able to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins ...

... and this ties-in with another theme of Peter’s early sermons. Peter, and his companions, see the Psalms as pointing to the kind of Leader and Saviour Jesus is. They cite psalms 16, and 110, and 2, psalms that speak of a leader set on the throne of David by God, through whom the nations that surround and threaten Jerusalem will be judged. Peter’s message is this: the resurrection of Jesus gives the people of Israel a second-chance to turn back to the God of their ancestors—to accept the gift of repentance—and so to experience forgiveness of sins, or, having their debts wiped clean by the prince seated at the right hand of God. Judgement over-ruled. Consequences, transmuted from death to life. The implication, of course, is that if the leaders of the people persist in fighting against God, those surrounding and threatening nations would overthrow Jerusalem.

The council were enraged, and wanted to kill the apostles, to silence them once and for all. But one of their number, the Pharisee Gamaliel, stood up and cautioned that they do nothing, in case they find themselves fighting against God; and, instead, simply wait and see what would unfold. Tragically, doing nothing was not enough. Repentance was what was necessary. Within the lifetime of many of them, the Romans besieged Jerusalem and destroyed the temple. And what survived The End Of The World as they knew it? The community that confessed Jesus as Leader and Saviour was well-placed to pass through suffering to glory. In time, after much more suffering, the emperor in Rome would bow the knee.

What, then, does his have to do with us, two-thousand years later? Everything, as it happens. As our sisters and brothers around the world celebrated Jesus’ rising from the dead last Sunday, churches in Sri Lanka were torn apart. When the dust settled, and the bodies had been counted, whole villages processed out to new mass graves. Unimaginable horror; and yet, this is the Way on which we walk, following Jesus, trusting that The End is not the end.

Here at the Minster, our brother Abbas is detained at an immigration Removal Centre, awaiting deportation. If you are Iranian, and you convert from a Muslim upbringing to Christianity, and refuse to recant, you face imprisonment and the real threat of the death penalty. Like Jesus. Like Peter and the other apostles—almost all of whom were eventually martyred for their faith, walking in procession behind Jesus, the Way made possible because he had pioneered it. It is not scaremongering but sober reality that some of our sisters and brothers in this international congregation may experience unjust trial and punishment, imprisonment, and even execution because of their baptism. And if so, that is normative Christianity. If we are comfortable, here in Sunderland, we are the aberration.

Peter’s message was to the elders of Israel. They did not listen, and died in debt before God. History has moved on. What ought our Easter message be? That Jesus is still Leader and Saviour, in order that he might give repentance not only to Israel but—as we shall see as we continue reading through Acts—to the Gentiles also, cancelling the debts we have incurred against God and our neighbour.

For now, we find ourselves in England, surrounded by other nations, some of which are hostile, including fragile peace agreements between uneasy allies. And we find ourselves in the Church of England, a community that is, in some ways, a shadow of its former days, once at the very heart of society but now on the margins, surrounded by other worldviews, some of which are hostile. Nations rise and fall. Local and even national churches are planted, grow old, and die. We live in precarious times, for the nation, for the church, indeed for the future of civilisation as we know it and the planet on which we live. We have amassed unpayable debts, to those we have wronged in the past, to future generations, to global ecosystems. Some elders advise caution, that we wait and see. Other voices advise us to rise up and overthrow our oppressors—whoever they might be.

And what of us? “God ... raised up Jesus [and] exalted him as Leader and Saviour that he might give repentance ... and forgiveness of sins. And we are witnesses to these things, and so is the Holy Spirit whom God has given to those who obey him.”

So, go, Church, and bear witness to these things. Jesus is Leader and Saviour: join us as we follow him on the Way of Suffering and, on its far side, Glory.

Fifth Sunday of Lent 2019

Gospel: John 12:1-8

This is a transcript, written after the event, of a sensory sermon preached at St Nicholas’ church. It is too hard, today, to come by ethical, sustainable spikenard; so, I have used patchouli essential oil as a near-enough substitute.

It had become apparent to all that time was running out.

And so, Jesus embarked on a series of last suppers; the first of which with his dear friends Martha and Mary and Lazarus. Ironically, it was the raising of Lazarus that had sealed Jesus’ fate: he was now simply too dangerous to live. Rumours had circulated. Well-meaning neighbours offered hushed advice, that the family distance themselves from Jesus. Instead—and, of course, I speculate a little here—Mary went from door-to-door raising a collection; then to the market, where she bought an alabaster jar of perfume from an Egyptian merchant. A jar to open in Jesus’ tomb, to mask the stench of decomposition.

Now they were gathered. Martha, serving—just as she had done the first time that we met her, the first time they met Jesus. But Martha is no longer burdened by anxiety that all be perfect or else shame would fall on the family; no longer resentful of her sister. Martha has encountered Love, and responds now with love of her own.

Lazarus is at the table with Jesus, side-by-side. Can you imagine the conversation? If you knew that days from now you would be dead, and you were at a dinner party seated next to someone who had come back from the dead, what would you ask?

In the ancient world, at a formal meal, you did not sit on high-backed chairs as we would do; but reclined, lying on your side, elbow propped up on a low table, feet stretching out behind you. Mary assumes the role of a servant, approaches Jesus and washes his feet. As she does so, her tears mingle with the water. And then she stops; fetches the jar of perfume; pours it out.

Judas is horrified. He, too, knows that time is running out. He hopes that at these farewell dinners, the common purse will swell; that, when it comes to the end, he will be able to get away with the lot. He is from the south; the other disciples, from the north: their paths need never cross again.

Why does Mary change her mind? She had bought the perfume for the day of Jesus’ burial: so, why pour it out now, ahead of time? Did she panic? Or…had the penny dropped? As she listened-in on the conversation between Jesus and her brother, had she realised what Jesus had told the men three times now, without their comprehension? Had she realised that Jesus would be walking out of the tomb?

Was this act her secret way of letting Jesus know, ‘I know’? Or, at least, ‘I have an inkling’? ‘I have a hope!’