Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity 2020

Lectionary Gospel reading: Matthew 18:15-20

As we continue on our journey—our pilgrimage—through Matthew’s Gospel, this Sunday morning we find ourselves in chapter 18. The context is Jesus, not for the first time, teaching on the nature of the kingdom of heaven, or what it looks like to live under the kingship of God in this world. And in verses 15-20, Jesus talks about discerning and participating in the will of our heavenly Father. The presenting issue is one of separation between brothers in need of reconciliation, and there is a process—a sequence of practices—that will help us get from where we find ourselves to where we need to be.

“If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one.” In other words, if someone has acted wrongly [and some of the ancient manuscripts include ‘against you’ while others omit ‘against you’ which suggests to me that this applies whether the wrong is directed towards me or not] arrange a time to speak with them face-to-face in private. Not in the heat of the moment of being wronged; not in (self-) righteous anger vented across (anti-) social media. This is the first step, and, if it works, it works: the matter is resolved.

“But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses.” In other words, if at first you don’t succeed in reconciliation, bring in a couple of mediators who can help you. Remember, the goal is not that I am vindicated in my sense of having been wronged, but that we are reconciled, and so the primary role of these witnesses to every word is making sure we have heard and understood one another.

“If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church;” In other words, if reconciliation cannot be reached through mediation, the next stage in the process is to attempt to reach reconciliation communally, the whole church community seeking to discern what needs to happen.

“and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.”

At this point we had better pause and reflect on what Jesus has been teaching his disciples, his apprentices, about how they should relate to Gentiles and tax collectors. We should ask, what has Matthew—whose livelihood was collecting taxes within the administrative structures of the Roman (Gentile) empire—wanted the community for whom he writes to understand here? Let us look back over the Gospel.

In chapter 4:12-17, Matthew quotes the prophet Isaiah, to locate Jesus’ light-bringing vocation in ‘Galilee of the Gentiles,’ and, in this context, Jesus summarises his mission by proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

In chapter 12:15-21, Matthew again quotes Isaiah to describe Jesus’ activity as proclaiming justice to the Gentiles, thus being the one in whom the Gentiles will hope.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus confronts the self-righteousness of those who saw themselves as being a divinely chosen and special people, pointing out that they are no different to—and certainly no better than—the Gentiles and tax collectors they looked down on (Matthew 5:43-48).

In chapter 9:9-13, we hear about Jesus calling Matthew the tax collector to follow him, and see Jesus eating in the house [as guest, as host?] with tax collectors. When asked why he is doing something so scandalous, his response is, I am practicing mercy.

In chapter 10:1-4, Matthew the tax collector—that is, not to distinguish him from Matthew the fisherman, but, rather, to underline and circle and highlighter pen that he was a tax collector—is one of the twelve apostles, or sent ones.

In chapter 11:7-19, Jesus reminds the crowds that he has been derided as a glutton and drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners—and yet, wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.

All this, we have already come across before arriving at chapter 18. And, just to bring the point home, in chapter 21:2346, Jesus tells a hostile assembly of chief priests and elders of the people, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and prostitutes are going into the kingdom of heaven ahead of you. For John [the baptiser] came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.”

“and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.” In other words, if you have spoken with them face-to-face, and with mediators, and, ultimately, the counsel of the church has not persuaded your brother or sister that they have wronged you, perhaps you are the one who is in the wrong.

I’ll say that again: if it has got this far, and they have stood their ground, perhaps you are the one who is in the wrong. Maybe you are the one—indeed, by this stage, the community—who needs to repent. Because maybe, just maybe, the brother you think has wronged you has gone ahead of you into the kingdom of God while you refuse.

If, at no point in the process of discernment they have come to see things as you do.

Jesus continues:

“Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

The goal is to be free of the things that prevent us from entering the kingdom of heaven. The warning is that Jesus takes our agency seriously enough to allow us the chains we bind ourselves in. The good news is that Jesus takes our agency seriously enough to allow us to free one another. And that, whether in chains or free, he is with us.

Where the church has chained herself—to those who promise earthly power, to patriotism, to institutional racism, to any dogma opposed to the kingdom of heaven—Jesus shares our chains. He has been here before, a light dawning on those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, proclaiming justice, keeping hope alive, practicing mercy.

That is, I think, what Matthew would have us realise today.

 

Twelfth Sunday after Trinity 2020

The Gospel reading set for this coming Sunday is Matthew 16:21-28

To recap: in the verses immediately prior to these (Matthew 16:13-20), Simon Peter has declared that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God; and Jesus, in response, has declared, “You are Petros, and on this petra (rock) I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

‘From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling-block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”’

Wow. That is quite a reversal. And that is the necessary point.

And here, I want to note two observations on stumbling-blocks. First, hear the prophet Isaiah:

‘But the Lord of hosts, him you shall regard as holy; let him be your fear, and let him be your dread. He will become a sanctuary, a stone one strikes against; for both houses of Israel he will become a rock one stumbles over—a trap and a snare for the inhabitants of Jerusalem. And many among them shall stumble; they shall fall and be broken; they shall be snared and taken.’

(Isaiah 8:13-15)

Second, hear Peter himself, writing towards the end of his life:

‘Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For it stands in scripture: ‘See, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious; and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame.’ To you then who believe, he is precious; but for those who do not believe, ‘The stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the corner’, and ‘A stone that makes them stumble, and a rock that makes them fall.’ They stumble because they disobey the word, as they were destined to do. But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

(1 Peter 2:4-10)

God is the rock of sanctuary and the rock of stumbling. Jesus declares that Peter—and by extension, the Church—is a rock of sanctuary and a rock of stumbling. Peter comes to see this as a participation in the life of Jesus, the rock of sanctuary and rock of stumbling.

A word of warning: Jesus is elsewhere outspoken (as are the writers of the New Testament who follow him) against anyone who places a stumbling-block in the way of the young and/or young-in-the-faith. But stumbling itself appears to play a necessary role in growing in faith. That is a recurring theme in Scripture. We do not set out beyond the familiar, without falling into it. This is true even of Jesus: in Mark’s Gospel, he is driven into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit; in Luke’s Gospel, he is driven out of Nazareth by his neighbours; in John’s Gospel, he is thrust into public ministry before he is ready (no one is ever ready) by his mother, Mary; and here in Matthew’s Gospel, he must stumble over Peter in order to set out for Jerusalem, and all that he knows awaits him there.

The arc is this: undergo great suffering, be killed, be raised. This is the invitation Jesus holds out to all who would follow him. This is the secret of life: formation (being formed in the likeness of Christ, by sharing in his sufferings) leading to transformation (sharing in his resurrection, in a life that is at once in genuine continuity with its earlier stages and yet as different as a butterfly from its caterpillar). In the Greek, this is morphoo and metamorphoo.

And the ego will throw every resource at our disposal into resisting this call. Which is why it needs to be broken before we can receive mercy.

I am a runner. The very first time Jo and I went along to the running club, I tripped over an uneven paving slab, was thrown through the air to land sprawling on the pavement, later discovering that I had cracked a couple of ribs which would take six to eight weeks to heal. We had only set off minutes before; were still on the warm-up run, not even the session itself. To add to my humiliation, the whole pack we were running with stopped, and gathered around. There was no escaping attention. Then one of them insisted on walking me back to the clubhouse, getting me a drink, and waiting with me until the others returned, sacrificing her run so that Jo did not have to abandon hers.

That was the night I knew that I wanted to belong to the club. I have had one other fall since, so jarring that my body still carries the trauma, still physically shudders when I recall it to mind. And all I can say is that you are a different runner after you have stumbled and fallen. Not, in fact, a more cautious runner; but freer; more fully present in the act of running; more appreciative of, and closer-knit with, those you go running with.

It is not possible to grow beyond the point you have already reached without stumbling; and only those who have known what it is to stumble can truly offer sanctuary to anyone else. That is the lesson Peter had to learn; and, with him, the Church.

 

Eleventh Sunday after Trinity 2020

 

Lectionary Gospel reading: Matthew 16:13-20

Once upon a time there was a man named Jonah. Not the Old Testament prophet who was swallowed by a whale. Our Jonah lived some seven hundred years later. This Jonah was a fisherman. He had a business partner, Zebedee. Business was doing well. Jonah’s sons, Simon and Andrew, and Zebedee’s sons, James and John, were all in the family business, and there were hired men as well. The boys were already taking on more of the responsibility, and, of course, one day Simon and James would take over from Jonah and Zebedee, and carry on the tradition. Except that, well, it hadn’t quite worked out like that. First, Andrew had gone off to be a disciple of John ‘the Baptiser’—who, by the way, had ended up losing his head. Literally. Don’t get me wrong, Jonah was proud of his boy; the lad had an aptitude for learning, and opportunity his old man never had. And yet, well, he did worry at times. And then, to make matters, not worse exactly but certainly more complicated, Andrew had got involved with this new rabbi, and caught Simon up in it all too. Both boys—and Zebedee’s sons. All the rabbi’s disciples now. Proud as punch, the families were. And yet. It’s a hard thing to put down your expectations, of the life your children are going to lead, and of the life you envisaged for your own old age. Family around you. Daughters-in-law and grand kids. The business in safe hands, doing well. The way things looked to be going, he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the boys ended up killed, dead before their time, like the Baptiser had been.

Jesus, meanwhile, had taken the boys off somewhere. Caesarea Philippi, where the immigrants lived, with their strange ways. They call it the Gates of Hell. And there he says, Simon, what have you heard? It’s a play on words. Simon, or in Hebrew Shimon, from Shema, to hear: Hear, O Israel, the Lord your one God: you shall love the Lord your God with all of your heart and all of your mind and all of your strength, with your whole being, and you shall love your neighbour as yourself. What have you heard about me, Shimon? And what Simon has heard, Jesus declares, you have heard from God.

And in this moment, Simon is able to hear from God again, this time about himself: your middle name, Petros, rock? On this rock, I will build my church, my community, and the gates of hell—the portal for all the fears that would overwhelm you—will not prevail against you.

Like Jonah, like Simon Peter, who we are, who we think we are and the life we anticipate, gets shaken to the core, several times over in life. Anything we might ground that in—career, family, a nice house, nationality, money in the bank—will need to laid down, sooner or later, before the one person who can give us our true identity in any moment, regardless of circumstances around us, and in the very face of our fears.

So, where are you coming undone? Or, where are you resisting becoming undone? What imagined fear terrorises your sense of self? In the place where that fear yawns open like the mouth of a big, black cave, the very gate of hell, may our eyes and ears be opened to perceive Jesus stripping us back to the rock, in order to build anew.

In the words of the song Build My Life, by the band Housefires,

“And I will build my life upon Your love

It is a firm foundation

I will put my trust in You alone

And I will not be shaken”

 

Tenth Sunday after Trinity 2020

Lectionary Gospel reading: Matthew 15:21-28

Again and again, Matthew’s Gospel presents us with a stark contrast between those who recognise Jesus and those who reject Jesus, between those who submit their lives to him and those who set their lives against him. Here is one presented as being sent by God, by the god of the Jewish people, to call them back to living faithfully as a chosen people, the descendants of Abraham through whom all peoples will be blessed. And what we see is that those with power and influence, from Herod the Great at the time of Jesus’ birth to the Pharisees and Sadducees throughout his years of activity, seek to kill him, to silence him; while most unexpected people recognise him as the one sent by God, with authority. Magi travel from the east, from the empires who had carried Jesus’ ancestors off into exile, to pay homage. A Roman centurion, official of an occupying empire, appeals to Jesus to heal his servant. Two demoniacs in Gentile territory recognise him as Son of God. Crowds in Gentile territory bring their sick from across the whole region to be healed. And here in chapter 15, a Canaanite woman appeals to Jesus to deliver her daughter of demonic torment.

And so we find ourselves confronted by this strange exchange:

‘But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done to you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.’

What is going on here? I would suggest that Jesus is engaging this woman, and his disciples, in active learning. And there are four things we might also reflect on: what is, or is not, fair; who are the children; the food of those children; and who are the dogs.

First, what is or is not fair. The word Jesus uses here (kalos) conveys the sense of being beautiful, praiseworthy, of good that inspires others to do good. And he sets out the proposition that it isn’t praiseworthy or inspiring to give the children’s food to the dogs. It is an observation in search of a response.

Second, who are the children? The word Jesus uses here (teknon) refers to little children, dependent children, and is used to convey anyone—of any age—who lives in utter dependence on God. Not, automatically, every descendent of Abraham.

Third, the food of those children. The word Jesus uses here (artos) refers to bread, but conveys the sense of God’s provision for his dependent people. And crucially in the biblical narrative, God’s provision—whether manna in the wilderness or the feeding of 5,000 families having started with only five small loaves and two fish—God’s provision never runs short; there is always enough for everyone to eat and be satisfied, with excess left over.

Fourth, who are the dogs. The word Jesus uses here (kunarion) refers to a puppy, that is a dependent dog, in parallel with the dependent children. But a dog, nonetheless. And whereas the British consider themselves to be a nation of dog lovers, for whom there is little that is more adorable than a litter of puppies, for the Israelites dogs have an unhappy connotation. In three of the Psalms, David uses the imagery of a pack of dogs to describe those who attack him without cause, his enemies. But in the following generations this image is subverted, with dogs coming to symbolise agents of divine judgement. In particular, in the histories of successive idolatrous dynasties recorded in 1 Kings & 2 Kings, prophets declare that those who put their hope in wicked kings will die and their bodies be eaten by dogs, while in the very place of their wickedness the dogs will lick the blood of the wicked rulers. In Matthew’s Gospel, the Pharisees and Sadducees harass Jesus as the dogs harassed king David. But, also in Matthew’s Gospel, it is the Pharisees and Sadducees who are leading the people astray, and the Gentile dogs—the centurion, this woman—whose dependence on Jesus passes divine judgement on God’s own unfaithful people. Just like the parables, this account is working at multiple levels.

What, then, do we make of this contention that “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs”? The Canaanite woman rejects it, saying, yes, it is fair: there is enough. Jesus agrees.

On social media and in the news in recent days we have witnessed, yet again, the demonisation of desperate asylum seekers trying to cross the Channel in flimsy dinghies. They are, apparently, an invading army who are over-running us. It is not praiseworthy that we should have any empathy for their plight. It is not praiseworthy to suggest we might share our resources with them, because there is not enough to go round, and charity begins at home. We need to think about our own families first, for a change.

What would Jesus say in response to such a stance? In particular, what would Jesus say to those in this nation who call themselves Christian, who might agree with such nationalism?

No, you will not be praised for having empathy for asylum seekers. You will be unlikely to inspire too many others to join you. But, where do you want to invest your hope? With the rich, who warn that the immigrants want to steal your crumbs, while keeping the bread for themselves while others queue at food banks? Or with those who are utterly dependent on God’s faithful provision? With the powerful, who warn that immigrant whelps grow up to be vicious curs, while themselves devouring the flesh of the poor? Or with those sent by God to pass judgement on our indifference to the plight of our fellow humans? Will we share our bread, extend the bounds of God’s mercy? Will we live as those sent by God to preserve life, in a world in prolonged crisis?

Matthew’s Gospel presents us with a stark contrast between those who recognise Jesus and those who reject Jesus, between those who submit their lives to him and those who set their lives against him. Which choice will we make today?

 

Fourth Sunday after Trinity 2020

Sunday 5 July: Fourth Sunday after Trinity 2020

 

Today, we meet from our own homes, from 10.20 a.m. for a 10.30 a.m. start via Zoom meeting ID: 664-485-330. You’ll also need a password code, which you can get from Revd Andrew Dowsett in advance by calling or texting him on 07783-760-012.

 

We greet each other in the Lord’s name

In the name of the Father,

and of the Son,

and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

The Lord be with you

and also with you.

 

We confess our sins and are assured of God’s forgiveness

Our Lord Jesus Christ said:

The first commandment is this:

‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is the only Lord.

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,

with all your soul, with all your mind,

and with all your strength.’

The second is this: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’

There is no other commandment greater than these.

On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Amen. Lord, have mercy.

 

God so loved the world

that he gave his only Son Jesus Christ

to save us from our sins,

to be our advocate in heaven,

and to bring us to eternal life.

Let us confess our sins in penitence and faith,

firmly resolved to keep God’s commandments

and to live in love and peace with all.

Most merciful God,

Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

we confess that we have sinned

in thought, word and deed.

We have not loved you with our whole heart.

We have not loved our neighbours as ourselves.

In your mercy

forgive what we have been,

help us to amend what we are,

and direct what we shall be;

that we may do justly,

love mercy,

and walk humbly with you, our God.

Amen.

 

Almighty God,

who forgives all who truly repent,

have mercy upon you,

pardon and deliver you from all your sins,

confirm and strengthen you in all goodness,

and keep you in life eternal;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

 

The Collect

Gracious father,

by the obedience of Jesus

you brought salvation to our wayward world:

draw us into harmony with your will,

that we may find all things restored in him,

our Saviour Jesus Christ.

Amen.

 

We proclaim and respond to the word of God

 

Romans 7:15-25a

I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.

So I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

So then, with my mind I am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin.

 

This is the word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

 

Hear the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Matthew.

Glory to you, O Lord.

 

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

‘But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the market-places and calling to one another,

“We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;

we wailed, and you did not mourn.”

For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, “He has a demon”; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax-collectors and sinners!” Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.’

 

At that time Jesus said, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.

‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’

 

This is the Gospel of the Lord.

Praise to you, O Christ.

 

Sermon

 

The Creed

We believe in one God,

the Father, the Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth,

of all that is,

seen and unseen.

 

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,

the only Son of God,

eternally begotten of the Father,

God from God, Light from Light,

true God from true God,

begotten, not made,

of one Being with the Father;

through him all things were made.

For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven,

was incarnate from the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary

and was made man.

For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;

he suffered death and was buried.

On the third day he rose again

in accordance with the Scriptures;

he ascended into heaven

and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,

and his kingdom will have no end.

 

We believe in the Holy Spirit,

the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father and the Son,

who with the Father and the Son is worshipped and glorified,

who has spoken through the prophets.

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.

We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

We look for the resurrection of the dead,

and the life of the world to come.

Amen.

 

We pray for the Church and the world

 

We pray for God’s faithfulness to be known in our world.

Faithful God

glorify your name.

 

In a world of change and hope,

of fear and adventure;

faithful God

glorify your name.

In human rebellion and obedience,

in our seeking and our finding;

faithful God

glorify your name.

In the common life of our society,

in prosperity and need;

faithful God

glorify your name.

As your Church proclaims your goodness in

words and action;

faithful God

glorify your name.

Among our friends

and in our homes;

faithful God

glorify your name.

In our times of joy,

in our days of sorrow;

faithful God

glorify your name.

In our strengths and triumphs,

in our weakness and at our death;

faithful God

glorify your name.

In your saints in glory

and on the day of Christ’s coming;

faithful God

glorify your name.

 

Make your ways known upon earth, Lord God,

your saving power among all peoples.

Renew your Church in holiness

and help us to serve you with joy.

Guide the leaders of this and every nation,

that justice may prevail throughout the world.

Let not the needy be forgotten,

nor the hope of the poor be taken away.

Make us instruments of your peace

and let your glory be over all the earth.

 

We depart with God’s blessing

The peace of God,

which passes all understanding,

keep your hearts and minds

in the knowledge and love of God,

and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord;

and the blessing of God almighty,

the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,

be among you and remain with you always.

Amen.

 

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

In the name of Christ. Amen.

 

 

Common Worship: Services and Prayers for the Church of England, material from which is included in this service, is copyright © The Archbishops’ Council 2000.

New Patterns for Worship, material from which is included in this service, is copyright © The Archbishops’ Council 2002.

Common Worship: Times and Seasons, material from which is included in this service, is copyright © The Archbishops’ Council 2006.

Sermon for Third Sunday after Trinity 2020

On Thursday evening just gone, I attended a Black Lives Matter vigil in Keel Square. It had been organised at the request of community organisers within the BAME (Black, Asian and Minority-Ethnic) community in Sunderland. I went as their guest, and in response to their invitation to stand in solidarity with them at this time. I went to hear local Black and mixed-heritage speakers share something of their experience of living here, in the city where I live. About 200 people came to a well-organised and peaceful event, maintaining spatial distance, most wearing masks. Many local church leaders were present. As part of the vigil, we were invited to take the knee for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. A humble, prayerful posture that connects us to Martin Luther King, Jr, and the ongoing civil rights movement; and a length of time that remembers the murder of George Floyd by a police officer who knelt on his neck for that long.

 

Some say that it is humiliating for a White man to take the knee; which causes me to wonder why humbling ourselves should be seen as (is) humiliating by White people, and White men in particular? Some dismiss it is a token gesture, which causes me to ponder the difference between symbolic actions and token actions, and how action can sustain us and empower transformation or sedate us and disempower transformation. Some will undoubtedly dismiss it as ‘woke,’ which makes me wonder why alertness to injustice should be something to vilify people for, and whose interests that serves?

 

There was a small but vocal demonstration protesting the vigil. One man waved a Union flag. Now, to be clear, context is everything. Despite our colonial history, the flag is not inherently racist. Flanking a member of the Cabinet giving the daily Coronavirus briefing, not racist. Flying from public buildings, not racist. Waved at the Olympic Games, not racist. Fluttering as bunting at the village fete, or adorning tea towels and cushions, not racist. But held aloft in protest of a Black Lives Matter vigil, the point being made is, “If you are not White you don’t belong in this country: go back home where your people come from.”

 

Again and again, as Black and mixed-heritage speakers addressed those in the square, the protestors tried to drown out these not-White voices with chants of ‘All Lives Matter’. And yes, all lives do matter. But, again, context is everything. If your first response to Black Lives Matter is not to listen, to hear why it is that such a statement needs to be made; if your response is the paternalistic corrective, All lives matter, then what you are actually saying is, Black people need to get back in their box—and, they need to accept that it is a far better and more comfortable box than it used to be. And if your response is to stand on the pavement and attempt to drown out not-White voices, that reveals a desperate attempt to silence the Other, and, frankly, demonstrates just why we need to insist that Black Lives Matter. For if all lives truly matter, then by definition Black lives matter; and if Black lives matter, then we should listen to them. We should acknowledge the injustice people experience because of who they are, and, with them, seek to address it. And yes, if all lives matter, then White lives matter too; but no one in this nation experiences wearying prejudice on account of being White, just as no one experiences wearying prejudice on account of being ‘able-bodied’ or ‘straight’.

 

How incredibly apposite our readings this Sunday are to the upheavals we are living through! And what a gift to wrestle with these words, and the story they unfold, and our place within it.

 

Paul’s letter to the Christian community in Rome—Romans—was written to be circulated around multiple congregations. Some were predominantly of Jewish background, and others were Gentile-majority churches; and, while they were all Christians, the Jewish believers looked on the Gentile believers, and treated them, as second-class citizens in the kingdom of heaven. This was the issue Paul sought to address. And he did so with brilliant contextual theological reflection, which has often become problematic when read in other contexts.

 

Paul begins his letter by painting as black a picture of the Gentiles as is imaginable. He quickly focuses on sexual practices that, from a Jewish outlook were beyond the pale to the point of being unnatural in their desires and actions. He builds a caricature his Jewish audience would agree with whole-heartedly, until he springs a trap: the respectable Jewish Christians are by nature every bit as separated from God as the Gentiles. Indeed, Paul even ascribes unnatural desire and activity to God, saying that God has cut the Jewish people from the vine of their heritage, has grafted the Gentiles into that vine, and will graft Israel back onto the vine from which he had broken it. Throughout the letter, Paul labours the point that there is one new humanity, and seeks to deconstruct the divisions that exist in the minds of the believers, and to foster the construction of something new and mutually uplifting. A community that will ultimately subvert Roman civilisation not by revolt, but by a better alternative.

 

And in the passage before us today, Paul takes up the imagery of slavery, as an analogy that his audience would be familiar with. Around 90% of the population of the Roman Empire were slaves, owned by a master. This was not necessarily the most abject slavery the world has ever known, but all empires are built on the backs of slaves, on men, women and children seen as property. For the Jews, being a slave—certainly, being a slave to a Gentile—was especially demeaning. Even though they were a nation occupied by a foreign army, and ruled over by the Roman Empire’s local puppet king, they had won for themselves certain exemptions, and rejected the notion of being slaves. On one occasion, a group of Jewish community leaders, confronting Jesus, declared that as a people they had never been slaves to anyone. This is quite extraordinary, given how foundational the story of God liberating his people from over four centuries of slavery in Egypt was to Jewish identity. But then, when we are confronted with our present, we reframe our past to suit.

 

In this passage from Romans 6, Paul employs the language of sin exercising dominion over us, to make us obey those passions within us that separate us from God rather than the desire within us to please God. Paul goes on to state that, according to this analogy, we are all slaves to something, either to impurity or to righteousness. Recognising ourselves as enslaved to God does not imply that God is a tyrant, but that we are not masters of our own destiny. Even if we believed ourselves to be the ones who were free, we were only free in regard to righteousness: that is, our freedom was built on sin, on the breakdown of relationship with God and neighbour. A freedom that, pursued, ends in death, that is, in the very opposite of all that is life-giving in and to and for the world.

 

Paul also points out that the unexamined default of his audience was to present themselves—both personally, and as a deeply interconnected community—to sin as instruments of wickedness. That is, their unexamined way of being in the world was complicit and instrumental in wickedness. Instead, and in marked contrast, they were to present themselves—both personally, and as a deeply interconnected community—to God as instruments of righteousness. That is, by ongoing intentional choices and actions, they were to be instrumental in the mending of the world, the flourishing of human relationships.

 

And while Paul is addressing both Jewish and Gentile believers, the primary challenge in much of this letter is to the Jewish Christians regarding their view of their Gentile sisters and brothers—and, indeed, their overly-inflated view of themselves.

 

All this, as I say, feels very apposite, for a predominantly White Church of England needing to reconsider our relationship to BAME Christians, including Black Majority churches; and for White British Christians needing to relearn our history and its impact on the world as it is today, in terms of the sin of racism. For people needing to de-construct and re-construct our identity. Until and unless we face these things, we will be slaves of sin. We have nothing to lose except our chains.

 

In closing, let me return to our Gospel reading, those short verses from Matthew 10, the church sent out into the world. Jesus calls us to be prophetic—and to connect with other prophetic voices in the community—and to embody justice in our dealings—and to connect with others doing likewise—and not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the task or to dismiss the significance of starting where we are, with even the smallest of actions. It is not enough to not be racist, we must be anti-racist. We are not only set free from something, but also for something. This is a matter of our Father’s kingdom continually breaking into the world, of his will being done on earth as it is in heaven—and of that will being resisted.

 

And perhaps for us the starting-point needs to be that we welcome Jesus come-to-us in the BAME prophets—whether nurses or students or professors or church (and other religious tradition) leaders or asylum seekers—whom he has sent to Sunderland? There is an ongoing work of learning to see people through Jesus’ eyes that needs to be done, of which the recent vigil in Keel Square was a part. It isn’t easy; and we will get it wrong, as the Church has been getting it wrong from the beginning. Yet in the hope that, as from the beginning, God is at work to redeem, I commend it to you.