Pentecost 2021

Pentecost 2021

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

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

‘But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them: ‘Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

“In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.
Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
and they shall prophesy.
And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”’

Acts 2:1-21

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

Seventh Sunday of Easter 2021

 

Seventh Sunday of Easter 2021

In those days Peter stood up among the believers [Greek: ‘brothers’] (together the crowd numbered about one hundred and twenty people) and said, ‘Friends, [Greek: ‘men, brothers’] the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit through David foretold concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus—for he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry.’

So one of the men who have accompanied us throughout the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us—one of these must become a witness with us to his resurrection.’ So they proposed two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias. Then they prayed and said, ‘Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place.’ And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles.

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

 

‘I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one. While I was with them, I protected them in your name that you have given me. I guarded them, and not one of them was lost except the one destined to be lost, so that the scripture might be fulfilled. But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves. I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth.

John 17:6-19

 

This coming Wednesday is our Annual Church Parochial Meeting, at which, among other things, we reflect on the past year and elect people to certain oversight roles, to serve as Church Wardens or as members of the Parochial Church Council (PCC). Such roles are important to the healthy functioning of the local church—of this local church. Just as our participation in Holy Communion, to serve in such a way is, or should be, a duty and a joy. It matters, how we go about this business. And so, today, I want to reflect on how our readings, from Acts and from John, might help us.

Jesus had appointed twelve of his followers to be his ekklesia, his council of representatives. Although his disciples included both women and men, these were all men, it would appear echoing the twelve sons of Jacob, symbolising the ordering of a new or renewed people of God. They had served together for three years, with some notable highpoints and low points, perceived successes, and devastating failures. And in time, it came to light that the treasurer had been embezzling, and, perhaps in greed or desperation or disillusion, had betrayed Jesus and then, perhaps in remorse, had taken his own life. Hardly the news one would want to bring in the Annual Report. And yet, these twelve or so men formed the council members Jesus had worked with, without whom—including Judas and the role he played in how he fulfilled his role—God’s will would not have been done on earth as in heaven.

But now, Judas’ place was vacant, and needed to be filled. As we, also, need to fill some places, albeit for happier reasons. One of our Wardens, Christine, is stepping down this year, because she has served, wonderfully, for quite some time, and together with her we have discerned that it is right that, for now at least, she should lay down that role, allowing for someone else to take it up—and, indeed, for Christine herself to take up other ways of serving, of being a blessing.

There was a place of oversight within the church that needed filling. And so, the church gathered together, and prayed about who should fill that role. And after prayerful deliberation, Peter proposed that it should be someone who had been with Jesus from the beginning, who had shared in his ministry and been a witness to the resurrection. They prayed some more, and two names were put forward. It is interesting to note that, in the four Gospels, or proclamations of the good news of Jesus Christ, we have never come across either of these candidates. They have been there for quite some time, but quietly, on the edges perhaps. And now one of them, at least, will be asked to step up, to step into a new-to-them role.

I want to say that I think Peter got it wrong when he determined that it had to be a man. I appreciate the symbolic reasons why Jesus appointed twelve men, looking back to the sons of Jacob, the heads of the tribes of Israel. But Jesus appointed Mary Magdalene to be the apostle to the apostles, the first witness to the resurrection. Mary the mother of Jesus had been with him even longer, from the very beginning, and both Marys were part of the church. As the church grew, and expanded to embrace Gentiles, a great many women were included in oversight roles in local churches, and in apostolic teams working across churches: women such as Phoebe and Prisca and Junia; Tryphena and Tryphosa and Persis; Euodia and Syntyche; Apphia and Nympha. The church in Jerusalem, however, remained a more strongly, narrowly, Jewish male-led environment. I do believe that Peter got that wrong, and I lament the impact it has had on the valuing of women in the church ever since. And yet, I am cautiously glad that God chose to work with their partial and compromised discernment, allowing other opportunities to arise in other places, because I know that all our prayerful deliberations will also be partial and compromised. God does not wait until we get it all right, but works with us where we are, to move us on. We need to see the whole church freed to serve, in ways that allow expression for their gifting and personality, bringing the resources of the full family of God to address the challenges we face.

So, it seemed good to the church to hold an election, and trust that God would work with and through whatever the outcome, just as God had done through Judas, despite everything, despite the obvious compromise. A ballot is held, and one candidate is selected. I wonder how he felt? The other candidate is not selected. I wonder how he felt? It seems to do with their hearts. I think it fair to say that either candidate was an appropriate candidate—it was not that one was pure of heart and the other harboured some secret sin they need God to reveal—but that taking up this particular role would, in some way, bring fulfilment to the person Matthias was made to be, and not the person Justus was made to be. I hope both felt relieved at the outcome, at the very least. We are not called to serve others in self-serving ways, but, if we offer ourselves to serve the needs of the church, and together we pray for discernment, our prayer is that each might serve in ways that are fulfilling for them—that are not only a duty but also a joy, made more complete.

 

There are opportunities, here, to serve in a variety of ways: as Church Wardens and deputy wardens; as PCC members, including deanery representatives, secretary, and, potentially, treasurer; but, also, as voices to read the scriptures aloud, or lead us in our prayers of intercession when we come together. And then, there are the ways to serve as our Care and Share lunches, our afternoon teas, and other ways of blessing the wider community start up again after the long disruption of the pandemic. For a variety of reasons, it will be right that some people who have served in particular ways need to step back or stand aside, and that others should step into the vacated space. And it may be that there are entirely new things that God the Holy Spirit wills to do in and through us, in this new season as our communities emerge from lockdown, calling some to roles we have not needed before. But in all this, our discernment should be prayerful; and corporate; and expectant that, in the very real challenges we face, God will continue to save and protect us from the evil one, will continue to call us deeper into holiness, and will continue to send us out into the world with joy.

And so, I commend the process of the APCM to you, inviting us all to prayerfully consider our hearts, and God’s call on our lives. Amen.

 

Sixth Sunday of Easter 2021

 

Sixth Sunday of Easter 2021

Acts 10:44-48

‘While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles, for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God. Then Peter said, ‘Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?’ So he ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. Then they invited him to stay for several days.’

John 15:9-17

‘As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.’

 

At the heart of Christian faith is the invitation and challenge to love the Lord our God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength; and to love your neighbour as yourself. We do not come to this table without reminding ourselves of this truth, that our participation in love ought to shape our shared reality. And then we go on to acknowledge that our failure to participate in love also and profoundly shapes our shared reality. We confess our turning away from love: because it is too costly, too unimaginable, too unrealistic; and, if we are sincere, we are, nonetheless, received again by the love that will not let us go.

In our Gospel reading we hear again Jesus, speaking, repeatedly, of love: as the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love…abide in my love, just as I…abide in his love…love one another as I have loved you…I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.

As he emphasises the love that flows between the Father and the Son and his friends, Jesus is fully aware that he will die within hours. I have loved you; abide in my love. Moreover, he is fully aware that, for the most part, these friends will fail to love him to the end, will desert him, unable to bear it. Abide in my love.

We are in that painful season of first anniversaries of those members of our church family who we lost, with or without Covid-19, during the first lockdown. We were not then, and are yet to be able, to mark those deaths as we would choose. But dying goes hand-in-hand with living, inseparable; and raises for all of us the questions:

how might we die well, loving those we will leave behind to the end? and,

how might we who remain, for now, continue in love—in the love of the one we have lost, and in the love of Jesus?

Of course, a sermon cannot do justice to these questions. That takes a community. But perhaps a sermon can offer some pointers. As well underlining love, Jesus emphasises four other themes, each rooted in himself, that help us to understand what love might look like: Jesus’ commandments, joy, friendship, and fruitfulness.

Commandments. There is something reciprocal, relational, about love shaped by commands and commands shaped by love, but also something that roots us in a bigger story. We learn how to love, how to live, how to die well as we ground our lives in that story, which reaches outward to bless, and reassures us that death is not the end. Where does the story of God and God’s people comfort you? challenge you? Is there a particular passage that you want spoken aloud at your funeral, or shared with family and friends in preparation for that day? And how might hymns, and other music, play their part?

Joy. Joy is a deep undercurrent of delight in those with whom God has joined us. Deeper than happiness, which is an appropriate response to certain moments and not others; deeper than sorrow, or anger, or confusion, all of which we shall know from time to time. Joy often bubbles to the surface at wakes, but its completeness is to be found in Jesus. How might you point others to him, by your example?

Friendship. Friends of Jesus speak to one another of what they have heard from God through him. Friends help one another do deeper into mystery, union with God, a present reality brought to completion, consummated, in death. Friends rejoice for friends who die in Christ, even while holding one another in our loss as those who still await that glory. In a culture that fears and lives in denial of death, how might we help one another rediscover that hope?

Fruitfulness. “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this wine to offer, fruit of the vine and work of human hands. It will become for us the cup of salvation.” I love a good grape, especially a fermented one, which speak of God bringing us through death to life. Most commonly when I sit with the next of kin to put together a tribute, that divine activity is a theme that has been present in the person’s life, but which needs to be drawn out, so that it can be seen. How might we lay down a wine-cellar, so to speak, of testimony to God’s goodness that our children and grandchildren can draw from in discovering God’s salvation for themselves?

Fruit, friends, joy, commandments, love. These intertwine in the life of faith, to form a rich tapestry. Or, perhaps more fittingly, combine to form a baptismal gown / shroud / wedding dress, made for us by God who first clothed Adam and Eve, made to be worn not just admired.

Today, may you know God’s love poured out upon you, drenching you more fully than the rain, yet enveloping you to shield you from all harm. And in all things, and especially in the face of death, whose sting has been drawn, may you know that love endures, victorious. Love wins.

 

Fifth Sunday of Easter 2021

 

Fifth Sunday of Easter 2021

‘Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go towards the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’ (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. Then the Spirit said to Philip, ‘Go over to this chariot and join it.’ So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ He replied, ‘How can I, unless someone guides me?’ And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:

‘Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter,
and like a lamb silent before its shearer,
so he does not open his mouth.
In his humiliation justice was denied him.
Who can describe his generation?
For his life is taken away from the earth.’

‘The eunuch asked Philip, ‘About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?’ Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, ‘Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?’ He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he was passing through the region, he proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.’

Acts 8:26-40

 

‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.’

John 15:1-8

 

We are still in the season of Easter, still reading through the Book of Acts paying close attention to the aftermath of Jesus’ resurrection, and this Sunday we come to a most amazing story. It concerns a court official from Ethiopia, not modern-day Ethiopia but the Aethiopia of antiquity, the Nubian kingdom of Kush. This was an advanced, cosmopolitan, urban society, to the south of Egypt, a major trade power exporting highly prized goods from the sub-Saharan continental interior across the Arabian Peninsula and the Mediterranean basin, and, in exchange, importing goods from those regions and beyond. Over many centuries, the kingdoms of Egypt and Kush had co-existed, at one time Egypt ruling over Kush and, later, a century of Kushite Pharaohs ruling over Egypt, their cultures overlapping while retaining their own distinctive features. Kush had its own writing systems, architecture, civil engineering technology, even advances in medicine. They had pyramids—smaller and steeper and many more of them than in Egypt, protected now as the world’s heritage. Moreover, theirs was a matrilineal society, and women played a prominent role in public life. The Kandake (kandaakey: Latinised, Candace) was the honorific title given to royal women, who at times were Queen Mother, at times queen co-regent, and at times ruled in their own name outright. The Kandake were the power behind the throne, kingmakers: it is claimed that they could even order their son, the king, to complete suicide—and that he would have to obey—if she decided to appoint another king, or take the throne for themselves. They were also warrior queens, leading armies into battle as well as bearing sons. The Candace referred to in Acts chapter 8 may have been Amantitere, who exercised some form of rule for over twenty years in the mid first century AD. At this point in history, Kush was independent of Egypt, independent of Rome, and centred on its third capital city, Moroë, half-way between the fifth and sixth Cataracts of the Nile.

Eunuchs played key roles in many civilisations in the ancient world, including the personal servants to royal households. They were castrated men, neither male nor female, but overlapping both genders in their distinctive features, sometimes considered a third sex. Their various duties included washing and dressing their master or mistresses, making their bed, cutting their hair, intimate moments giving them the ear to the crown. Castration was considered a necessary precaution, engineering a cutting off, or diverting, of their sexual desire. Not only were they, figuratively-speaking, seedless and fruitless, unable to insert a claimant to the throne; but, without household of their own, they were impotent to instigate a coup. They were simultaneously honoured and humiliated; the cost of being venerated, to be vilified; in order to be unquestionably depended upon, they were disposable without question. They were neither one thing nor another, but formed a different category of being altogether.

We meet this person because they have been to Jerusalem to worship a foreign god at a foreign temple. They have undertaken a journey of over 1,000 miles to do so, following the course of the Nile—past Thebes, and Memphis, sites where black Pharaohs from Kush had expanded earlier Egyptian temple complexes—opting, perhaps on account of physical size, for the Egyptian preference for a chariot over the Nubian preference for horseback. And now they are making the thousand-plus mile journey home again.

The text is as sparse as the wilderness, but we get the impression that this is a journey they have undertaken perhaps many times before. A habitual pilgrimage. And this, in turn, suggests a certain seniority within their court, even for a eunuch, to have the freedom, and the resource, to do so. Yet in the temple, their presence would have caused a certain level of anxiety, even in the outermost court of the Gentiles: a large, soft, effeminate, dark-skinned, queer body. Quite separate from their actions, they would be objectified, by some as ‘exotic’ and ‘alluring,’ by others as a defiling threat. Quite likely, they experienced open verbal aggression from some; the shame of parents pulling their children close as the eunuch passed by; the pain of being studiously ignored by others.

They have probably been here before, have probably bought home scrolls before, and this time, the treasurer who understands the value of trade has invested in the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. And this queer librarian is the one whom the Holy Spirit decides will make the perfect parent for sub-Saharan African Christianity. And so, the Spirit sends them Philip.

Why Philip? In its earliest days, the church was almost entirely Jewish, but it was composed of two overlapping but distinct groups: the Hebrews, who kept themselves as separate as possible from their Gentile neighbours; and the Hellenists, who assimilated as much of Greek culture as they could without losing their own identity. One of the earliest challenges the church faced was that, in the distribution of food to the widows among them—a serious obligation—the Hellenist widows were being overlooked. This was exposed as a systemic issue, not simply an unfortunate oversight. The apostles determined to appoint stewards to administer the distribution fairly. Had they been Anglicans, they would probably have sought to have the Hellenists represented on the task group, perhaps even aimed at (eventually) 50% (in all things, the middle way). But they were not Anglicans, and they felt prompted by the Holy Spirit that the way to secure a fair distribution for all was to appoint the task group entirely from among the wronged group, the Hellenists. The appointees included Philip, a Jewish man with a Greek name. In fact, the name Philip means ‘fond of horses,’ and suggests that the Holy Spirit is not only attentive to justice but also has a sense of humour, for, ‘Some take pride in chariots, and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God.’ (Psalm 20:7). Moreover, Philip had four unmarried daughters who exercised the gift of prophecy within the expanding Christian community: clearly a man at home with women exercising a prominent public role. Why does the Holy Spirit send Philip? Who else is better placed!

Philip approaches the eunuch’s chariot, and engages them in conversation. They are reading from Isaiah (chapter 53), a song of a servant who is familiar with suffering, who knows the stinging humiliation of justice denied, whose life is cut off, such that they can have no children, can leave behind no descendants on the face of the earth. Does the writer speak of himself, or of someone else, they ask—for as they read, they see themselves, seen, noted, recorded in the story of this foreign (to them) god and their people. And just a little further on, as they continue reading, with Philip, in the intimate space of their chariot, they are plunged into this life-changing hope:

‘Do not let the foreigner joined to the Lord say, ‘The Lord will surely separate me from his people’; and do not let the eunuch say, ‘I am just a dry tree.’ For thus says the Lord: To the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off. And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants, all who keep the sabbath, and do not profane it, and hold fast my covenant—these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt-offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. Thus says the Lord God, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, I will gather others to them besides those already gathered.’ (Isaiah 56:3-8)

And so, the eunuch is undressed, washed, and dressed again, in white linen—the servant becoming the master; the man who fathered four daughters becoming unsexed, a fruitful vine, pruned—and then Philip is removed without question or explanation, and the eunuch goes on their way, rejoicing. Much fruit will be born, to the Father’s glory, as is the way with the Spirit and the Son.

I wonder how the eunuch was received, on their return home?

I wonder how they were received, on their return to Jerusalem, searching for their place among the disciples of Jesus, now to be found in every corner of the known world?

I wonder whether, in subsequent years, they often broke their journey, and bread, with Philip and his daughters in Caesarea, part of the family; or whether their paths never crossed again?

And I wonder where the Spirit would direct us, today?

How the life coursing through the true vine might burst apart our cherished mausoleums?

Where the vine-grower might wield the knife to prune our hearts and minds and strength and will, that we might love our liberating Lord, and our neighbour as ourselves?

 

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 Easter 2021

 

Third Sunday of Easter 2021

‘When Peter saw it [the crowd that was gathering, after he restored a man lame from birth to strength], he addressed the people, ‘You Israelites, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk? The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected in the presence of Pilate, though he had decided to release him. But you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you.

‘‘And now, friends, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers. In this way God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, that his Messiah would suffer. Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out…’’

Acts 3:12-19

‘While they were talking about this [the claim of two disciples that Jesus had met them on the road to Emmaus], Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, ‘Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.’ And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.

‘Then he said to them, ‘These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.’ Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.’

Luke 24:36b-48

I need to write a sermon. Indeed, I want to write a sermon. But I lack the imaginative energy to write a sermon. And there lies a fitting irony, for my text is Acts 3:12-19.

Acts chapters 3 and 4 tell the first real story of the Jesus community after they are filled with the life-giving presence of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, in chapter 2. Peter and John are heading to the temple to pray, which was for them a habitual behaviour and spiritual discipline. And as they enter the temple, their attention is drawn to a man who sits at the gate, dependent on the compassion of others. Unable to walk since birth some forty years since, he has been carried here day after day for more days than anyone can keep track, brought by a close community of family or friends, lifted up on a sea of humanity. Again, habitual behaviour and spiritual discipline. These things are good, but they only take us so far.

Who knows how many times Peter and John have passed by this man before, have perhaps even donated to his cause? But on this day, God is doing a new thing. Peter reaches out his hand, and draws the man up, to stand on his feet. The man skips and skitters about like a new-born colt, the foal of a donkey. Then, like Peter once walking on the Sea of Galilee, he has a wobble, and clings on to this rock-like disciple. Meanwhile, everyone else is rowing against the wind, struggling to make sense of what their eyes tell them is happening and their minds tell them does not happen. And Peter asks them, ‘Why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk?’

Our own power or piety. That is the framework for life that is being called into question here. That is how we are trained to operate. It is the preferred modus operandi at work in our church institutions, in our fraternal organisations, in our political parties, in our constructions of race and class and gender and national superiority: so ubiquitous, in fact, that we do not see it until it is called out—and then, we resist. And it is this dynamic that defined the lame man’s life. He was carried to the temple by the power of others to lift his weight, where he depended on the piety of the temple-goers to provide for his material welfare. Moreover, there was a piety to the powerful—they took him to the temple, to God’s house—and a power to the pious—they had financial capital to bring to bear to address the situation. But God is doing a new thing.

I want to tread lightly here. I believe that God heals people all the time, an everyday occurrence, through the skill of doctors and nurses, of physiotherapists and psychotherapists, and by miraculous means. But not everyone receives physical healing. Sometimes the way in which the Holy Spirit leads us is to care for the marginalised, is to address accessibility and justice, is to carry the lame and to give our silver and gold. But it makes all the difference in the world whether we do those things in our own power or piety, or in and with and through Jesus.

Why? Because operating in our own power or piety kills life. Even if it cannot ultimately stop the life that flows from God, it resists it, to death.

Peter makes this clear in what he says to the gathered crowd. Operating in our own power—like Pilate, like Barabbas—kills life. Operating in our own piety—like the religious rulers—kills life. Regardless of how good our intentions are—let alone how muddied are our motives—when we, in our personal capacity or corporate identity, operate in our own power or piety, it results in death. (Notice the impulse writhing within you if I call out power and piety at play in the respectable institutions to which you belong.)

I cannot write the sermon I both need and want to write, in my own power or piety. Whichever way I try to lever these resources, my offering is dead.

Now, dead is not necessarily the final word, with God. Nonetheless, to act in such a way as to result in death—often metaphorical deaths, though actual homicide is surely included, as we only have to follow world news to be aware—to act in such a way is counted against us as sin, of which we are called to repent, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out. To die to self, and find ourselves raised up, caught up, in the glorious story being penned by the irrepressible Author of life, in flesh and bone, told in our scars and around our shared tables.

We are called to participate in the life of Jesus, who, having died once, now lives for ever. To participate in his transformative presence, his victory over death in the world; including in our institutions and associations, for, we are called not to withdraw from the world but to bear witness to what God has done in Jesus. By its very nature, such intimate relationship cannot be reduced to a formula, but, if you are looking for a recipe, for the right kind of ingredients, Jesus gives us some key principles in our gospel reading from Luke 24:36b-48

Be present. Fully present to others. As often as you are able (start small, start over).

Move towards, and not away from, those who have let you down. Make the first move in restoring peace, in returning to harmony. This takes time: like discord, peace produces ripples.

Recognise that those impressive-looking walls are put up by people who are afraid—and we are all afraid of something. Even the most defensive reaction hides within it a longing to be understood, to be embraced, for who we are.

Invited or uninvited, all the emotions turn up at the table together: fear and joy; trust and suspicion. Know that you cannot have one without the other, and commit anyway. Welcome the unwelcome, that it too may be transformed, finding its place in our healing-story.

When corona restrictions are lifted, invite appropriate (in most cases, non-sexual) touch. We are not digital ghosts, but embodied souls. Learn to be at home in the space your body occupies. Learn to respect, and honour, your body, and everyone else’s body. This is profoundly counter-cultural in so many ways, by which we objectify bodies, and seek to justify our objectifications. Save me, Jesus!

Be open, unguarded. Learn to be vulnerable, without being naïve.

Tell your story, show your scars. They are a reminder of the ways in which power and piety bring death, and of the ways in which God raises us to life in Christ.

Eat together, whatever is to hand. Not for favour or influence, but because simple food, received with gratitude in the presence of others, is fundamental to being fully human. ‘Give us today our daily bread.’ (Note also that food transforms our experience of place, breaking down walls and building bridges.)

Forgive, as generously as you are able. Ask for forgiveness, for yourself, if need be. And you will need to, often, many times a day.

These are the transformative practices of the resurrection body. In such ways we bear witness. They are startling in their simplicity, and terrifying, and take a lifetime to press into. Life in all its fullness. Given the choice between power and piety, or life, choose life. This Eastertide, choose life. Today, choose life. You will discover that the life that creates and sustains the universe, first chose you.

 

Easter Sunday 2021

 

Easter Day 2021

Lectionary readings: Acts 10:34-43 and John 20:1-18

Happy Easter! The great celebration of the Church, and chocolatiers. But what is it all about!? In our reading from John’s Gospel, we heard that Peter believed (pisteuó) but did not yet understand (eidó). That is, on the evidence he saw when he entered the tomb, he was persuaded that Jesus’ body had not been removed by grave-robbers but had, in fact, risen from the dead; but he did not yet appreciate the significance. Perhaps you can relate to that?

I want to suggest that Easter is an invitation to us to enter more fully into the life, death, and resurrection-life of Jesus. That, whether this is your first Easter or your ninety-first, the invitation of this great celebration is to be drawn ever deeper into Jesus, our Lord and Saviour, into participation in the mystery of divine love. And I want to illustrate this from our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, the account of the growth and spread of the early Church.

In our reading, we met Peter, again, and Cornelius. Cornelius was from Italy, a centurion in the Roman army, based at the headquarters of the Roman province of Judea; and his household will become the first gentiles (that is, not Jews) to be baptised in the name of Jesus—to symbolically be joined with Jesus in his dying and rising to new life.

Cornelius had had a vision of an angel, a messenger from God, telling him to summon Peter, and listen to what he had to say. When Cornelius invites Peter to address his household, Peter presents a summary of Jesus, as one anointed by God with the Holy Spirit and with power, who came to the people of Israel preaching peace; and went about doing good, and healing all who were oppressed by the devil. This was, however, too much for the people to bear, and so they had him put to death. And yet, the story does not end there: for God raised him on the third day, ordaining him judge of the living and the dead, and appointing Peter to testify to this.

Now, here’s the thing: how did Peter testify to this? Not only by words, but by doing the things that Jesus had done. In these early chapters of Acts, we see Peter and the other disciples anointed with the Holy Spirit at Pentecost (Acts 2). We see Peter, as one of ‘the twelve,’ preaching (establishing) peace between the Hebrews and the Hellenists: that is, finding a solution that addressed the tension between members of the church from a Jewish background that kept themselves as distinct as possible from the Greco-Roman culture of their occupiers, and those from a contrasting Jewish background that embraced whatever of Greek culture was not explicitly opposed to their faith (Acts 6:1-7). We see Peter going about doing good, and healing all who were oppressed by the devil (Acts 3:1-10, 9:32-42).

Peter has been drawn into participation in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. He is about to be drawn even deeper. And, in the end, he too, like Jesus, will be put to death for this.

But there is more. Now, we are introduced to Cornelius. Cornelius is not yet a believer in Jesus, and yet he is already someone who is participating in Jesus, and who is about to be drawn deeper into that life. Cornelius is a Roman centurion, one who upholds the Pax Romana, the peace imposed with violence; and yet, despite who he is and the geo-political-economic structures he is complicit in, he is genuinely concerned for the welfare of the local people. Preaching peace, as not merely the absence of war but the presence of the necessary conditions for human flourishing. Moreover, he is one who goes about doing good, generously funding the needs of the Jewish community. He takes the initiative to set aside the divisions between gentile and Jew, us and them, oppressor and oppressed, seeking to establish a new humanity. And he has been chosen by God to receive the anointing of the Holy Spirit.

Though this is the event by which the Church is opened up to embrace gentiles as well as Jews, we do not hear anything else about Cornelius in the account recorded in Acts. But tradition passes down testimony that he left the Roman army, but chose not to return to Italy; that he was appointed by Peter as the second bishop of Caesarea—the very community where he had come to faith, succeeding Zacchaeus the former tax-collector in office—and served as a bishop there and later in the region of Troas until old age, when he, like Peter, was martyred.

Jesus, Peter, Cornelius. Peter believed before he understood. Cornelius understood, before he believed. And what of you, this Easter? Is God calling you, with Peter, to testify to the kingdom reign of God in the world, exercised through Jesus, in whom is found reconciliation with God and neighbour? Or is God calling you, with Cornelius, to covenant relationship, to find your place in God’s family, the Church?

Having focused on the reading from Acts, I want to close by returning to the Gospel reading, and to Mary Magdalene. Jesus appears to her, and is made known to her when he calls her by name, “Mary!” Easter is not about answers to all our questions, but Love’s response to the longing of our heart:

for a community, like Cornelius (‘my Father and your Father’)

or a cause, like Peter (‘my God and your God’)

or simply, with Mary, to be able to declare, “I have seen the Lord”.

This Easter, may you also see Jesus, the Lord. May you hear him call you by name. And may that experience be both reassuringly familiar, and transform everything, for the rest of your days. Amen.