Third Sunday of Trinity 2019

Lectionary reading: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

The question that I am asked more than any other is this:

How can we get more people to come to church?

It is the wrong question.

The question we ought to be asking, as my friend Keld recently asked me, is:

How many people do we expect to see come to faith in the next six months?

Now, that is a question we tend to shy away from, in the Church of England. It sounds presumptuous. People coming to faith is God’s business, not ours. Okay, leaving aside what Jesus says for a moment, how is God doing? How many people have we seen come to faith in the last six months? Or the six months before that? Indeed, when was the last time that we saw someone come to faith?

Jesus said, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out labourers into his harvest.’ Indeed, Jesus said this more than once, sending out first twelve more labourers and then seventy-two more (Matthew 9:37-38 and Luke 10:2). He even challenged them that they were in the habit of saying that the harvest was four months away—that is, always just out of reach, never actually arriving—but, in fact, they are to pay attention as he corrects them, declaring that the harvest is ripe now (John 4:35-38). There is always a harvest.

Note that Jesus doesn’t say, pray for a harvest. He says, pray for labourers. And he says that to those who are about to find themselves labourers. It isn’t a division of labour, where some are called to pray, and others are sent to harvest.

I shared some of these thoughts recently, and the question came back:

So how do we do that? How do we bring in a harvest?

How do we see people come to faith?

Well, it just so happens that Jesus has some instructions for just that scenario. Let’s take a look at them.

First, Jesus says, go in pairs. Now, I’m sure we’re all familiar with pairs turning up unannounced on our doorstep, perhaps wanting to speak to us about Jesus, perhaps collecting for Christian Aid Week. And you’ll breathe a sigh of relief to hear that I’m not going to ask you to go door-to-door, or even about the neighbourhood, in pairs. But each of us does go about the neighbourhood, sometimes in pairs, as spouses or good friends, and speak with people we meet. We listen to their stories, their struggles and joys right now. So, if we are moving, and meeting, why not offer to pray, there and then? Just a simple prayer, asking for God’s blessing, in the struggle or the joy. People are more open to that than you might think; and, if they decline, that’s fine too. No need to press them.

Of course, there are also those times when we are on our own. Perhaps much of the time. And that’s okay, too. But even then, I’d encourage you: is there a friend you meet up with regularly for coffee, Or, for those of us who are married, is there a time in the day when we might review our day together? To be accountable to one another about how our labouring is going. Not how busy we are doing things at church or for the community, but, having God-conversations. How might we creatively go in pairs?

Next, Jesus says, look for the person of peace. That is, look out for the person who is open to peace. They’re easy enough to spot, because they stand out from the angry people. Look out for the peacemakers. You see, anyone who is open to peace is evidencing the Holy Spirit already at work in their lives. They are reaping a harvest of peace, they are sowing peace into the lives around them, and they are ripe to know God more fully.

Then, Jesus says, say, the kingdom of God has come near to you. We’re not bringing the kingdom of God, where it was not until we arrived; we’re naming what is already there. We’re celebrating what God is doing in the world, and inviting people to join in. That concern for justice you clearly have, that care for creation, your ability to see the stranger as a person, or to recognise evil in the world, that love you know and share—these are signs that the kingdom of God has come near to you. And that kingdom has a king, and he’d like for you to know him. In fact, he’d like for you to know that you are his daughter, his son; that you are loved, yes, and commissioned. That this king has a purpose for your life, and can empower you to make a difference, for good, in the world.

And then, Jesus says, return with joy. Celebrate the harvest. When we come together as gathered church, tell the stories of where we have seen God at work this week. Joy changes our entire perspective.

This is our 80^th year, at St Nicholas’ and later in the year we will hold a flower festival under the banner 80 fruitful years. But the measure of fruitfulness is not flowers. The measure of fruitfulness is women and men, boys and girls, coming to faith and growing in faith and passing faith on. The flowers are the celebration of fruitfulness.

Allow me to return to the question: How many people do we expect to see come to faith in the next six months? These are, as it happens, the final six months of this decade. How many people do we expect to come to faith by Christmas, as we go out looking for people of peace, proclaiming that the kingdom of God has drawn near, and return here with joy?

It isn’t a rhetorical question. It is a commissioning to the mission field of our parish.

When you came in, you were given two pieces of card. Here is what we are going to do. You need to answer the question, How many people do we expect to see come to faith in the next six months? That will give you a number. I’d like you to write that number on both pieces of card. And then I’d like you to put one of those cards in your pocket or handbag and take it home and put it somewhere where you will see it every day. And I want you to pray that the Lord of the harvest would send you out into his harvest field. If your honest number is 0, God can work with honesty. Pray that your expectation would be exceeded, and that you would be surprised by joy. The other piece of card—on which you have written the same number—I’d like us to collect up in the bowl that will pass around, so that we can know what our expectation is, and how it might grow.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus, send us out, in the power of the Holy Spirit, as labourers in the harvest field, to love and serve you to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

Trinity Sunday 2019

Lectionary readings: Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31 and Romans 5:1-5 and John 16:12-15

“Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Romans 5:1-5

What is God like?

For some, that is an unanswerable question, because there are so many ideas out there that it is impossible to know which is right, or because their experience of the world leads them to conclude that no such being exists. Others tell me that they do believe in God, which interests me: which god, I am curious to find out, do they believe in? What is your god like?

For some, we come face-to-face with our god in the awesome wonder of the physical cosmos—whether our god is the creative King of the Universe, or sheer chance within big-enough probability.

For some, we come face-to-face with our god in the place of suffering. If God is omnipotent and loving, why does he stand by? Is God indifferent, and therefore not loving? Or impotent, and therefore a liability? Or, what?

It strikes me that many of us want, or think we want, an interventionalist God. But what would that look like? I’ve been struck, in this week when the world has remembered the D-Day landings, of the gulf between the rhetoric of the First World War and the testimony of those now-few remaining veterans of the Second World War. The rhetoric of the First World War is all king and country: ‘Your Country Needs You!’ But the veterans of D-Day don’t speak of fighting for king and country: they speak of acting for Europe and our shared freedom, our inextricably linked future. D-Day was an invasion, but it wasn’t an intervention. In contrast, the US invasion of Vietnam or of Iraq were interventions. British colonialism was intervention.

The God I see revealed in the Bible is a god who chooses not to pursue intervention, but who instead chooses to be with us and for us. A god who invades our world to be counted as one of us. To suffer with us, to endure with us, to demonstrate character in the midst of life, to hope alongside us. A god who shares peace and access and glory and love with us.

And this, in contrast with ‘the god of this world,’ whom the Scriptures call the Satan or Accuser, the head of legions that do intervene, promising to bring about an end to suffering by destroying all those who threaten our way of life. Once we are rid of the poor, or the immigrants, the Muslims, the gays—the parasites—we shall be free. Except, of course, we won’t be. For the Nazis in the 1930s and ’40s, the Jews, gypsies, communists and homosexuals were only the soft starting-point for the intended total ‘cleansing’ of the entire population of eastern Europe. Intervention is never satisfied until all are destroyed. No, God does not intervene in the world; God has invaded the world: first becoming one-with-us in the person of Jesus, the divine Word-made-flesh; and then, as we celebrated at Pentecost, by pouring out the Holy Spirit on all flesh.

The doctrine of the Trinity is not a big idea to be more fully understood, or a data set to be more fully interpreted, but a mystery to be more fully entered-into. The mystery of a relational being who goes to extravagant and self-sacrificial lengths to delight in the flourishing of others, to whom they have chosen to be inextricably linked.

This is what we are called into, to experience, to discover what God is like.

Seventh Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary reading: Acts 16:16-34

Notes:

There are five functions of human society, as given by God:

move—we are sent into the world, to bless;

listen—hear, O Israel;

share—the gospel, or good news;

care—the Lord is compassionate in nature;

learn—gain wisdom.

[The biblical terms for these five functions are apostolic, prophetic, evangelistic, shepherding, and teaching.]

Every time we gather, every time we reflect on scripture together, we are going to attend to these five functions, in order that we might learn how to live more authentically human lives, as a community of faith.

How does this passage move the story on?

Paul and his companions have planted the first church in Europe, the household of Lydia, whom they had met at the ‘place of prayer’ outside Philippi. Now we see them returning to the place of prayer for many days: probably to meet with Lydia’s network of like-minded friends.

Where do you regularly or habitually go during the week? Who do you meet? Crucially, what do you see?

‘Thy Kingdom Come’ is a call to every Christian to pray every day for ten days for five friends, by name, that they might come to know the love of Jesus, and his call on their lives. Who are your five?

Who speaks? Who listens?

A girl who is a slave, exploited by her owners for their profit. She sees Paul and his companions as also slaves of a god—a higher god than the being who controls her—and as offering a way of salvation. It is a relative gospel: choose the path that works for you. But, in fact, Paul holds out not a way, but the way—the only way—of salvation; and demonstrates it by liberating the girl from captivity.

Her owners also speak, motivated by the loss of hope of making money; and they whip up a crowd into hostility against a scapegoat.

Human trafficking and modern-day slavery are rife, including children forced to grow cannabis or sell drugs in our region. This passage could not be more contemporary or relevant!

Paul and Silas sing hymns in prison—focus on God, not circumstances—and God hears and answers.

The conversation between Paul and the jailer…

Is there any good news to share?

Yes, for the slave girl: freedom from captivity to a demon.

‘More than 200 years after the abolition of the slave trade there are still an estimated 40.3 million men, women and children trapped in modern slavery, and up to 136,000 potential victims in the UK alone.’ theclewerinitiative.org

see the ‘safe car wash’ app from the archbishops’ Council and the Clewer Initiative.

Yes, for the jailer: rescue from suicide—from a twisted honour code.

suicide the number 1 cause of death in men under the age of 50: further info at National Suicide Prevention alliance, nspa.org.uk

Yes, for his household: hope of a change of character?

How is the community nurtured?

The jailer washing Paul and Silas’ wounds; bringing them into his household; eating together. Reminiscent of the Last Supper. ‘New family’ formed around a shared meal. A second household of faith now planted in Philippi, building the church there.

How does this passage connect with what we already know?

It connects with Luke 4:18-19—Jesus’ ‘manifesto’—which in turn connects with Isaiah 61:1-2ff. “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight o the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” What might that look like in our parish?

Change of pattern of worship at St Nicholas’: second and fifth Sundays of the month to be more participative, built around listening to one another in relation to these five functions.

Ascension Day 2019

Lectionary readings: Acts 1:1-11 and Ephesians 1:15-23 and Luke 24:44-53

Back in 2007, I visited artist Antony Gormley’s Blind Light installation at the Hayward Gallery in London. A room-sized glass-walled box filled with cloud, and brightly lit, into which people were permitted to enter a few at a time. From the outside, you could make out those on the inside, looming out of the mist, whenever they approached the walls. From the inside, you could not see more than a foot in front of your nose; had to move cautiously so as not to bump into others. It was a profound meditation on walking by faith, not sight—which is, of course, how we all walk into the future, whether people of faith or not...

Today is Ascension Day, a principal feast of the Church. The era of Christendom made the birth of Jesus the pivotal point of history—BC/AD—but I would respectfully suggest that the ascension is the more fitting pivot-point, between ‘what Jesus did with his disciples’ [see the Gospel According to Luke, which ends with an account of Jesus’ ascension into heaven, forty days after he was raised from the dead] and ‘what Jesus is doing through his disciples’ [beginning with the Acts of the Apostles, Luke’s sequel, which starts with an account of Jesus’ ascension].

The pivot-point between what Jesus did with his disciples and what Jesus is doing through his disciples.

When the early church, including the writers of the New Testament, reflected on the significance of the ascension, they came to understand that we are caught up in it. Not in a standing-around-waiting looking-up-at-the-sky kind-of-a-way, but in a participating-in-the-rule-of-king-Jesus way. As the late American philosopher Dallas Willard put it, ‘Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you.’

This is mystery: that Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through ordinary women and men going about their ordinary business in the world, enabled by an extraordinary empowering. This is mystery, not a puzzle to be solved, or relegated to the Too-Hard-to-Understand category; but a wonder to be lived, with a sense of wonder.

Are you a scientist or an engineer, pioneering new solutions to the problems we face? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you an artist or an activist campaigner, enabling us to see the world from a new and life-affirming perspective? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you in marketing or promotion, telling good news stories about a place or product and connecting people to opportunities? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you a healthcare professional, enabling healing or supporting preventative well-being so lives can flourish? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

Are you a teacher or trainer, (or a parent or grandparent,) investing in the next generation? Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you.

And, of course, if you are retired, or if you have had to flee your familiar world and seek asylum so that you are currently living in a limbo, these circumstances simply mean that Jesus is exercising God’s reign of justice and joy through you in ways that might differ from your previous working life. Once caught-up in the ascension, you don’t drop out again. You—yes, you, my friend—are a gift of Christ to the world.

Today is the Feast of the Ascension. So, raise a glass to all the women and men caught up in the greatest unfolding drama the world has ever known, in a myriad of ways as they go about their lives. Beginning with the chalice of communion, the toast to Christ our risen and ascended king, and the being caught-up in him all over again.

Sixth Sunday of Easter 2019

Lectionary readings: Acts 16:9-15 and Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5 and John 14:23-29

It is good to be with you on this the Sixth and penultimate Sunday of Easter. This coming Thursday is Ascension Day, when we remember Jesus’ return to heaven forty days after his resurrection; and ten days later we celebrate the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Those in-between days are traditionally a time of gathering together to pray, and in recent years the Archbishops of Canterbury and York have called the Church to a renewal of this observation, under the banner Thy Kingdom Come. And so today I would like us to consider prayer, and what corporate prayer might look like here in this place over these days—and beyond?

Our first reading today, from the Book of Acts, recounts how the gospel first came to Europe. It starts with a vision, given to Paul by God. On the day of Pentecost, Peter had reminded the people of the words of 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.’ (Acts 2:17)

Now, I don’t know if there is an exact distinction, but I take visions to refer to those things God calls us to see come into being in our own time, and dreams to refer to those things we shall not see but will sow the seeds of: as Dr Martin Luther King said, ‘I have a dream…’ But Paul has a vision, and shared it with friends who would help him to act on it. And the first thing they search out is ‘a place of prayer.’ Now, it was Paul’s practice to go first to the local synagogue, to find those rooted in the story of God; and that they were searching for a place of prayer, outside the city gate and by the river, indicates that there was not, at that time, a synagogue in Philippi. And that, in turn, indicates that there was not, living in Philippi, the minimum thirteen Jewish men required to have a synagogue.

And I wonder how often, when we gather to pray, we can raise a minimum of thirteen men? Easily, on a Sunday morning. But at other times? As when the first church in Europe was established under the oversight of Lydia, so, often, it is our women who take the lead in meeting to pray. And while I want to affirm the women in that—unreservedly—I think it worth throwing out the challenge to our menfolk to step up and join in…

Our second reading, from Revelation, depicts the new Jerusalem. And again, it is a vision, not a dream. That is to say, this vision of a place where the gates never shut, where the river of life flows, where the tree of life bears its fruit and its leaves for the healing of the nations, is not primarily a glimpse of a far-distant future beyond the end horizon of history. It is, first and foremost, a vision of the triumph of God over the Roman Empire, and of the church, set free from persecution. It is a vision of what we are called to be. It is a vision of what we are, albeit imperfectly fulfilled. It is a vision—pray God, a vision, not only a dream—of what the church in Iran might soon be, freed from persecution. It is a vision depicted in our east window—a reminder to us of our calling every time we gather together. Gaze upon it: see the energy with which the river of life flows from the altar to the city and our entire wider region, symbolised by the coats-of-arms of the City of Sunderland and the See of Durham. And note the motto of our city: nil desperandum, auspice deo—do not despair; trust in God—or, as Jesus put it, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, “I am going away, and I am coming to you.”’

But perhaps we have yet to consider, what even is prayer? The former chief rabbi, Lord Jonathan Sacks, said [I paraphrase] that God sends his blessings, like rain, on all the earth; and that prayer is adopting the posture of a bucket, to receive and know we have received blessing and to carry that blessing to others. Or, to put it in a slightly different way, the river of life flows out to all the earth, and prayer is the posture of meeting by the river, of coming near, of being refreshed, perhaps of digging irrigation channels to carry this river—that does not run dry—to others. Like we see Lydia doing. And, as we see with Paul at the very start of or readings today, such a posture is possible even as we sleep. Prayer is a form of whole-of-life orientation. Nonetheless, it will involve gathering together with others to pray.

What might it look like to see that heavenly vision fulfilled in this place? Well, Carol and Adrian are helping us press into 24/7 prayer—gates never shut. We’re pressing into being a place of welcome—and as part of that, attending to safeguarding. We’re called to pray for those who experience the night of sorrow or bereavement; for those who exist but don’t experience the joyful energy of the water of life. We’re called to pray for and respond to those who hunger—spiritually, and physically—and to trust God that his provision will not run out, but bear fruit in regular season. We’re called to pray for the healing of the nations—including our own deeply divided nation—and to minister healing and reconciliation to our city.

And as we seek to live out such a vision of a corporate prayer life, Jesus, in our Gospel reading, gives us three things that should characterise our experience:

the presence of the Holy Spirit with us, as our Advocate and teacher;

the peace of Jesus, that our hearts might not be troubled, even in troubling circumstances;

and joy, that springs from sharing in the love of God.

Who wouldn’t want to be in on such a vision, being made our reality?

Thy Kingdom Come is a call to prayer, and specifically a call to pray for five friends that they, like Lydia and her household, might come to know Jesus. Five friends. Who might you pray for—and speak to—between now and Pentecost?

On Ascension Day—Thursday 30^th May (this year)—we will gather at 7.00 p.m. And then, on the weekdays between then and Pentecost—on the 9^th June—we will gather together for Morning Prayer at 9.00 a.m. and for an hour of prayer at noon. In the evenings, Carol and Adrian will host a time of prayer in their home, from 7.00 p.m. And from the morning of Saturday 8^th June there will be continuous 24hr prayer until our services on the morning of Pentecost. Finally, on the evening of Pentecost we will gather here at the Minster for a time of prayer and worship. So, come and pray, at whatever time and venue you are able. Since God poured out his Spirit at that Pentecost some two-thousand years ago, he has not stopped-up the flow. So, come.

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.