Sermon for Christmas Day 2014 at St Andrew’s, Cobham
Isaiah 9:2-7, Titus 2:11-14, Luke 2:1-14

Happy Christmas! This is a special time, a time to celebrate. I’m not going to give you a hard time about being too preoccupied with presents and shopping, the razzmatazz of Christmas: I’m sure that a little of what you fancy does you good – provided you don’t spend more than you can really afford, as the Archbishop of York pointed out on the Andrew Marr show last week.

No, what I want to talk about is the baby Jesus. ‘Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder’. That looks almost like a contradiction. On the one hand, he is a baby: the most vulnerable, the least powerful form of humanity. On the other, he is a king – ‘the government shall be upon his shoulder’.

Is the prophet Isaiah imagining a figure like Edward VI, a boy king? Jesus never became a king, even in that sense. There was only the ironic inscription on his cross, ‘This is Jesus, the king of the Jews’ [Matt. 27:37 and in all the other gospels]. There are scholars who have claimed that he was some kind of rebel leader, a Zealot, and certainly one way of understanding Jesus’ passion and death is that he was seen by the establishment, both in the Jewish client administration and in their Roman overlords, as being a potential troublemaker, almost a terrorist.

But really there’s no tradition, in the Bible or since, that Jesus was a powerful, secular leader. He wasn’t a general, he wasn’t a king in the tradition of the Jewish kings. Isaiah’s prophecy, ‘Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it and establish it with judgement and with justice… ‘, certainly doesn’t square with the circumstances of Jesus’ birth, life and death.

So much of what we learn from Jesus goes against the exercise of power. ‘The first shall be last, and the last shall be first’. ‘Love your enemies,’ and so on. But nevertheless, even though He didn’t throw His weight around or behave like a mighty warrior, He was the Son of God. How to show this: quite apart from the miracles in Jesus’ life – the virgin birth, His resurrection from the dead – another miracle is that Jesus hasn’t gone away.

Christianity is still huge; still the biggest religion, with the greatest number of believers worldwide, 2,000 years on. Apparently 3 million people in this country will go to their local parish church this Christmas – and then there are the Catholics, Methodists, Baptists, URCs and all the other denominations. I can’t think offhand of anything else which happened 2,000 years ago which still has the power to draw people out in such enormous numbers all round the world in celebration, in the same way as Christianity celebrates the birth of Christ.

Something clearly is going on. Arguably something more than we can hope to understand or explain. Any kind of collective hysteria or craze would have played itself out within a few years. This is God at work. We are celebrating the birth of the Son of God. Someone who was at the same time a man, human, and also divine: ‘Begotten, not created’.

We can understand what it is to be human – we understand babies. We like babies. A rather awful maiden aunt of mine once said, ‘I love babies – but I couldn’t eat a whole one!’ No, seriously. We know what a human being is.

But what is it to be God? I think if we think about it, we know more about what God does than about what God is. God is the ultimate creator, the creator of everything from nothing. We infer from that that God is all-powerful and all-knowing – omnipotent and omniscient.

So far, so good. But then if we try to work out what God is like, what God is, it’s much more difficult. Obviously as a result of the word-pictures in the Book of Revelation, and indeed as a result of the various pre-Christian myths – the Greek myths, the gods on Mount Olympus for example – the idea of God or gods, as supernatural beings living above the clouds or on the top of a very high mountain, was very commonly held. There is a lot of imagery in the Bible about God in heaven. We talk about our ‘Heavenly Father’.

So there is this picture of a benign old man with a great white beard in a golden throne room above the clouds. But of course, as our understanding has deepened – and certainly after man conquered space, and didn’t bump into God – there has come a realisation that God is not a benign old man with a white beard, sitting on top of the clouds. Indeed if he were located in time and space in that way, that would not square with his being the ultimate creator, omniscient and omnipotent, outside the laws of physics.

That’s where ‘In the beginning was the word’, gives an insight. ‘In the beginning was the word’ is a pretty clever way of talking about a pure principle, an essence of creation. No good to talk about a first man, or a supernatural man, some kind of superhero who started everything off – because then there is the question who started him off.

So it’s easier to identity what God does than what God is. Manifesting Himself as a baby meant that God rejected the idea that He was going to be a powerful general or a warlike king. Instead Jesus stood the concept of being God on its head. St Paul described him as having ’emptied himself’, emptied himself of all the trappings of His being the Son of God, and becoming instead a servant – the ‘Servant King’ as the hymn puts it. [Phil. 2:7]

How does this all work? It’s all very well us talking about the nature of God, but how does it affect our lives in practice? If we still have the idea that God is ‘deus ex machina’, a sort of Tardis which comes to the rescue of Dr Who when he’s in a sticky spot, then I think we’re always going to be disappointed.

If we pray to God simply that He will favour us, that He will fix everything for us, then clearly that won’t always work. Both the armies in the First World War were praying to the same God, and making the same prayer. As a matter of logic, one of them was going to be disappointed.

I think there’s a danger that, if one continues along those lines, one’ll end up disappointed and disillusioned. It’s noticeable that, at the end of the First World War, there was a rise in atheism. How could God allow the dreadful things which happened? Didn’t He listen to all those prayers? But the first chapter of St John’s Gospel gives us a clue. ‘In the beginning was the word’ – and that’s not a man with a white beard above the clouds.

When I was preparing the prayers for the Nine Lessons and Carols at St Mary’s in Stoke D’Abernon the other day, I started off by writing prayers for peace, for all those people who are unwell or in difficulty, who are suffering hunger, being refugees or homeless. In that first draft of the prayers, I was calling on God to fix things. I didn’t know how He was going to fix things, but I was sure that He had a way of doing it.

Then I thought about it: I thought about the baby. How could a baby leap in and tackle all those intractable problems? I changed my prayers. Instead of asking God to do things, I asked Him to help us to do what was necessary. We have the wealth to feed the hungry; we have the medical skill to heal the sick; we have spare rooms and spare houses to shelter the homeless.

All we need is the Holy Spirit to come and inspire us, to fill us with God’s love. ‘Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire’; ‘Make me a channel of your peace’. ‘God be in my head’. St Paul talked about being ‘in Christ’ – meaning, having Christ in you.

I wish you a very happy Christmas, with lots to eat: but I want you to have some Jesus in there too. Remember my maiden aunt. Love that baby – could you – at least in a Eucharistic way – eat a whole one? Draw near with faith!

Sermon for Mattins on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, 21st December 2014, at St Mary the Virgin, Stoke D’Abernon
Romans 1:1-7. Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle,… To all that be in Rome, beloved of God, called to be saints …

Sixty years after Jesus’ death and resurrection, St Paul is writing to the Romans, giving them his version of the Gospel: ‘… the gospel of God, … Concerning his Son Jesus Christ our Lord’.

We know that there was a strong Christian community in Rome, which itself was a massive city, over a million people even 2,000 years ago, which had become the centre of the ancient world. In 64AD, the emperor Nero blamed the Christians for the great fire which took place in that year in Rome. It’s in the Roman historian Tacitus, in his Annals, 15.44.2.

The Christians in Rome, by definition, knew the gospel – otherwise they wouldn’t have been Christians. Paul goes on, in his letter to the Romans, to set out most of his understanding of Christianity: he deals principally with what he calls ‘righteousness’: whether the Jews, as the chosen people of God, are righteous, and the Gentiles are not; how God has righteously dealt with Israel, and how righteousness shows itself in the lives of true believers.

‘Righteousness’ may not be an adequate word for what St Paul is talking about; the opposite of righteousness, sin, is being separated from God, being forsaken by God. To be righteous is to be in tune with God.

St Paul distinguishes between Jesus as a man, and Jesus as the Son of God. Divine Jesus is ‘a spiritual being, transcendent, something altogether greater than a human being’. He says that the evidence for that, the sign by which one recognises Jesus’ divinity, is the fact that he was raised from the dead.

But that’s really the Easter message; now at Christmas, we are just about to embark on the Christmas story: God with us, Immanuel. ‘Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.’ That’s what St Matthew says in his gospel: it refers back to our first lesson, the passage from the prophet Isaiah, ch. 7, which says, ‘The LORD himself will give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.’

That sign, Isaiah’s sign, was given not about a messiah, but in the context of Jerusalem being threatened by two warlike kings: King Rezin of Syria and King Pekah of Israel. A saviour, a great leader, will come to protect Jerusalem.Six hundred years later, St Paul pointed out that the gospel, the ‘good news’ of Jesus Christ, was forecast in the Jewish holy scripture, the Old Testament: he wrote about ‘The gospel of God, .. Which he had promised afore by his prophets in the holy scriptures’.

So what Isaiah prophesied, as a sign given to the people of Judah, of Jerusalem, to indicate that their God was with them, and that the two kings threatening them would come to a sticky end, was reinterpreted by St Paul, and the early Christians. It moved on to being taken as a sign, a prophecy, of the Messiah, the Son of God. St Matthew also, in his gospel, linked Isaiah’s prophecy with Jesus.

In the letter to the Romans you have a skeleton outline of Christianity, from the earliest prophecies in Isaiah to Jesus’ death and resurrection, as recounted by St Paul.

I wonder what it would look like, if St Paul was writing today, writing a letter setting out the gospel to the saints in Stoke D’Abernon.

We here today are not particularly concerned about some of St Paul’s themes. Whether you need to be Jewish, to be circumcised and so on, in order to be saved; it doesn’t really bother us.

But some things that Paul was writing about to the Romans are still relevant to our lives today. Righteousness, justification, being all right with God, is still a big thing – not being separated from God, not being cast out into the outer darkness. To be saved from that terrible fate, St Paul emphasises the need to believe and trust in Jesus.

St Paul preaches justification by faith; not by good works. Believe first, then do good. He says that, if you truly believe, then that will change your life. You will do good things: good deeds will come naturally.

But the story in Isaiah has a bit of it which St Paul didn’t refer to, which raises another question which is also relevant today. Isaiah says that Immanuel, the virgin’s son, will eat ‘butter and honey …., that he may know to refuse the evil, and choose the good.’ (Is. 7:15)

Does this mean that butter and honey have special properties which enhance one’s ethical sensibilities? Before considering that, we should note that this passage gets translated differently in different Bibles. If we had been using the New Revised Standard Bible (Anglicised edition), which we use at other services here, the passage says, ‘He shall eat curds and honey by the time he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good.’ The New English Bible says, ‘By the time that he has learned to reject evil and choose good, he will be eating curds and honey.’

So God-with-us, Immanuel, will get to know the difference between good and evil, but probably not as a result of eating butter and honey, or curds and honey, if you like. I prefer to think that it’s butter. I’ve always thought that Little Miss Muffet, sitting on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey, was, at least so far as her diet was concerned, a particularly disgusting vision – but I know that many people do like those sort of puddings. For my taste, butter and honey is just a step away from the land of ‘milk and honey’; and when I was little, ‘milk and honey’ was the name of a very nice biscuit.

Is it the idea that the boy will get to an age when he can recognise certain luxury food as being particularly good? Or is it just a rite of passage, that he will graduate to eating these luxury foods, at the same time as he learns to distinguish between good and evil?

But just a minute – Immanuel is God-with-us. God. It seems a bit odd that God should grow into knowing how to distinguish good and evil. Surely God would know good and evil right from the start, wouldn’t he?

This is an important question for us even today. This is, I would suggest, one of the things that St Paul would be writing to us about, if he was writing to the saints at Stoke D’Abernon. Think of the very sad – and very shocking – story of the US Senate report which has just come out, detailing the way in which numbers of people were tortured by the CIA; or, as they described it, were subject to ‘enhanced’ interrogation techniques.

Is it justifiable to torture somebody if, by so doing, you will elicit information from them which will save lives? Or is torture always wrong, by its very nature? Or are there circumstances where torture is, in fact, permissible? Are there circumstances where doing something wrong is preferable to not doing anything at all: because by doing something wrong you may avert some other, possibly greater, harm?

You would think that Immanuel, God-with-us, would always have known what was the right thing to do, because He is God. But there are philosophers and theologians, called deontologists, who argue that good and evil are, by their very nature, good and evil, and they don’t depend on being declared to be good and evil by God or by a prophet: that God, who knows everything, will recognise that good and evil are absolute concepts, not dependent on somebody’s interpretation.

What do you think Jesus would have done? The grown-up Jesus, able to distinguish between right and wrong, that is. It doesn’t look as though Jesus did in fact get involved in calculations of the relative merits of different courses of action. Think of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus’ radical interpretation of the 10 Commandments. In Matthew 5:[43-44]:

‘Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’

Jesus never says that it is OK to do harm, if to do so would prevent a greater mischief.

So I think that, if St Paul were writing to the Saints at Stoke D’Abernon, he would be reminding them of what Jesus said about right and wrong. As we go into the happy times of Christmas week, think about all the terrible things that are going on in the world today – children killed in Pakistan and in Australia; the siege of the café in Sydney, with more people killed; people not having enough money to buy food and having to turn to food banks; all these things are subject to moral judgements.

The heart of the gospel message is God-With-Us, God in the form of a man, a baby in a manger. What difference that makes to us, how it affects our behaviour, our judgment of right and wrong, is the important question. That’s what St Paul would be writing about, to us, the saints at Stoke D’Abernon.

I do wish you a very happy Christmas – but I do urge you to reflect a little bit on what Jesus would say and do, if indeed he came and saw how we are today.

Sermon for the First Sunday in Advent, 30th November 2014, at St John’s Episcopal Church, West Hartford, Connecticut

Isaiah 64:1-9, Psalm 80, 1 Corinthians 1:3-9, Mark 13:24-37

Yesterday I asked your Rector and her Assistant, Hope and Bill, ‘Is today still part of the Thanksgiving season? Or is it the beginning of the run-up to Christmas – Advent?’ I needed a bit of technical advice – both on the Thanksgiving part, and of course also on the theological side.

As you will realise, I can claim to be at all qualified only about the theology. As a mere Englishman I don’t know enough about Thanksgiving – although, as this is my third Thanksgiving here in Hartford, I am getting the hang of it. It’s a lovely time. I have to tell you that at home in England, a supermarket chain, Waitrose, in their in-house newspaper, are claiming that 17% of Brits – yes, Brits – are now celebrating Thanksgiving – or at least having turkey dinners on Thanksgiving Day. Perhaps – and I hope this is not too cynical – this is some variation on the idea of turkeys voting for Christmas, but this time promoted by the farmers.

Hope preached a lovely sermon here on Thursday about remembering: looking back at the year and giving thanks for all the blessings we’ve received. At our Thanksgiving dinner, she went round the table and we all had to tell the others about something we wanted to give thanks for. Both the lovely thoughts the sermon brought out, and our stories round the table, were gentle and kind and good. Good memories, good feelings; real thanksgivings.

But now, as members of Christ’s church, we are called to be in a different mood. The secular world and the Christian one have different calendars here. If we’re not churchgoers, Christmas marks the end of the year, and Christmas, not Thanksgiving, leads to the new year.

But as Christians, Episcopalians, Anglicans, we mark the end of the church year and the beginning of the new one now, just after Thanksgiving, at the end of Ordinary Time, as it’s called in the Lectionary, at the beginning of Advent, today. This is the beginning of a new church year.

And Advent is a season not of unmixed jollification, but of penitence. As Isaiah says, we have rather forgotten God. ‘There is no one who calls on your name.’ We are caught up in Black Friday, and in ‘so-and-so many shopping days to Christmas’.

But if we change our point of view, and see things through the prism of our Christian faith, then Advent is the beginning of a new year, the time of anticipation, looking forward to the Christmas story, to the momentous events which show that God is with us. With Isaiah we say, ‘You are our Father, we are the clay, and you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand’. But God is not just the divine watchmaker, a creator who has simply wound up the mechanism, put it down and let it run, without any further interference. Instead God has become incarnate, become flesh and blood, become a man like us.

So in Advent we are waiting to celebrate the coming of Jesus, the coming of God as a man, that was His first coming. That is certainly something to look forward to, and surely it’s all right to be quite jolly about it. Of course the children – and maybe some of us grown-ups too – get pleasure out of thinking about the nice things they hope to get as presents. But for us the biggest present, the most generous gift, is the one from God, the gift of Jesus.

That should also make us pause and reflect. In the face of this, in the face of the fact that God didn’t just make the world and then ignore it, didn’t just leave it to get on by itself, we have to reflect on the fact that God knows about us, God cares about us. What do we look like to Him? What sort of shape are we in to meet God? That’s why Advent is a time for reflection, for penitence.

Just after my sermon we will say the Creed together. We will say, ‘He will come again’. Jesus will come again. We will pray in the Lord’s Prayer, ‘Thy kingdom come’. In both cases, we will imply that Jesus, and Jesus’ kingdom, haven’t come yet. The coming of the Kingdom, the Second Coming is still ahead.

Jesus talked about these things in his sermon which we heard in our Gospel reading today. ‘Lo! he comes, with clouds descending’ as Charles Wesley’s great hymn, which we just sang, puts it. The last trump, the Day of Judgment, the end of the world.

Now I suspect that for most of us that’s a vivid image, a powerful picture – but nothing really more than that. In any case Jesus must surely have been mistaken when He said, ‘Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place’: even if we don’t actually contradict that, or reject it, we are tempted not to try to understand it at all. It’s too far-fetched.

But Jesus clearly did want us to keep it at the front of our minds, not at the back. ‘Wachet auf! (‘Keep awake!’) as the music at the beginning and end of the service says. ‘Keep awake, the voice is calling’. There might even be a contradiction between Jesus’ first statement, that ‘this generation will not pass away’ until the end time has come, and His second statement that ‘about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.’

What would you do if you encountered the risen Jesus, now? To put it another way, are we right to keep all this talk of the Kingdom of God conveniently separated from our normal lives? Are we right to think of it as something that might happen in thousands of years, but definitely not something that will happen to us? Can we be absolutely sure about that?

Jesus definitely wanted to make us less certain. I would suggest that He wasn’t necessarily talking about a Second Coming which was all in the future. Remember the wonderful passage in St Matthew’s Gospel, chapter 25, when Jesus has come in his glory to judge the nations, dividing the sheep from the goats; and He says to the righteous people, the good sheep who are going to heaven, to eternal life, ‘I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in.’ They didn’t understand. ‘When did we do all this?’ they asked. ‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, “… Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”‘

How really important that is. It means that in one sense, the Second Coming, the Kingdom of God, has actually happened already. Jesus is with us. He is in everyone we meet. If you do it to someone else, you do it to Jesus. You may have difficulty believing in some kind of supernatural Flash Gordon riding on the clouds. But you’d be far less wise to rule out seeing the Holy Spirit in the people you meet.

So do keep awake. Look out for someone who is ‘an hungred’, hungry; someone who has no clothes; who is sick, or in prison. But I would dare to say, don’t worry about the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. No-one knows when they will be coming. Have a happy and blessed end to the Thanksgiving holiday, and I pray that this time of Advent will be for you a time of prayerful – and joyful – expectation.

Sermon for Evensong on the 25th Sunday after Trinity, the Feast of
Christ the King
2 Samuel 23:1-7, Matt. 28:16-end

The other day in the Guardian there was an extended article, in a section which they now call ‘the long read’, about Prince Charles, and what sort of a king he would be when eventually he accedes to the throne. Apparently it’s not something he likes to talk about, because to do so would necessarily mean that he would have to be thinking about the death of his beloved mother, the Queen.

I think that’s rather endearing. I read the article with extra interest, knowing that I was going to be preaching tonight, on the Sunday when we celebrate Christ the King. It’s a relatively new festival in Christianity – it began in the Roman Catholic Church in 1925. Pope Pius XI instituted the Feast of Christ the King as a reaction against what he perceived as a rising tide of secularism. People had forgotten the importance of God.

Actually I preached only last week about the text from the Gospel according to St Matthew which was our New Testament lesson tonight, Jesus’ Great Commission, to go and make disciples of all the world.

It isn’t the Gospel reading which one most readily associates with the idea of Jesus as King. This morning the lesson was Matthew 25, ‘Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you for the foundation of the world: For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat, …’ You remember, when they asked when they had done this, Jesus replied, ‘inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ – one of the most powerful social justice and charitable love messages that Jesus ever gave.

Jesus the King was King in heaven, and He was dividing the sheep and the goats in the Last Judgment. The Gospel writer expected Jesus to be an absolute monarch, splendid in majesty and power.

We are not used to absolute monarchs now, today in England. After Magna Carta our kings are ‘constitutional monarchs’ with powers constrained and restricted. The will of the people, expressed in Parliament, is sovereign.

King David, the greatest king of the Jews, in his last words, in the first lesson, from 2 Samuel, affirmed that God had told him that ‘One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of the morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land.’ That’s the poetry of the man who wrote the Psalms, describing kingship in a similar vein to Magna Carta. The king is subject to higher authority, and, respecting that higher authority, he must rule justly: not capriciously or cruelly.

Reading the article about Prince Charles,[http://gu.com/p/43dtt, ] I found that the author was concerned that perhaps Charles, who has a habit of writing to people in public life and expressing very forthright views, would be much more assertive in public than the Queen has been, and is. The thrust of the article was to ask whether Charles would throw his weight around in an anti-democratic way.

I confess that I was somewhat uneasy about the Monarchy when I was a young man. What was it that made the Queen and her family better than you or me, so that we owed her respect – reverence, almost. What was her strength? Why would we go through elaborate rigmaroles when she was about?

That feeling in me changed completely, when my Father got the OBE. My mother, my brother and I went with him to the investiture in Buckingham Palace. We sat no more than a few feet away from where Her Majesty was standing. She had someone standing next to her to pass her the medals, but no notes or prompts.

She bestowed medals on about 75 people. What was amazing was that she seemed to know about every single one that she was giving a medal to. She spoke to my Father for a couple of minutes – which felt much longer, of course – and clearly she had carefully researched all that Dad had been doing.

She had done this thorough preparation for every single person that she decorated that day. It must have been a big task of preparation – and just think, she must have to do a similar job several times a year. It speaks volumes that, after so many years, the Queen still takes it upon herself to prepare and get to know exactly what her loyal subjects have been doing, the reason why they have been awarded the medals.

The Queen is reported to say that this hard work is just part of the job. She has a very strong ethic of service. The Queen is modest enough to do masses of homework, so that she can serve her people in a professional way. My Dad was really impressed. Although he was dying, the whole thing really bucked him up. He really did walk taller after getting his OBE from the Queen.

And I ceased to have republican leanings. In a minute we will pray for our Queen; I will lead the prayers; and I’ll really mean it.

I do hope that Prince Charles will be similarly imbued with an ethic of service. He has had to lead a rather odd life so far. In the article which I read, for example. It describes Prince Charles visiting Chester Cathedral.

‘Inside the cathedral, the strangeness of Prince Charles’s life came into focus. … Some modernist choir stalls, installed 15 years ago, caught his disapproving eye. “Doesn’t quite go,” the prince announced, locking eyes with the senior churchman. “It may be time for a review.” …. Finally, in the cloister, Charles was invited to hold Grace the golden eagle, a magnificent bird who, moments earlier, had evacuated her bowels explosively on to this reporter’s notebook.’ A close shave for the Prince.

Apart from the eagle, Charles seemed to act as though he was in charge. Telling the Dean of a cathedral that his seating ‘didn’t quite go’ and that it was ‘time for a review’ doesn’t sound like someone whose prime object is to serve.

But that is it. The Servant King. That is a modern hymn which we can like. Think of the passage in St Mark chapter 10: ‘You know that among the Gentiles [in the context, it must mean, among the Romans], those whom they recognise as their rulers [their kings] lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But …. whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, …’

Jesus’ kingship was not like a Roman emperor’s. Not even like Herod, the puppet king, king of the Jews, who would soon condemn Him. These men had considerable power in the secular sphere, we say, ‘on earth’. They had the power of life and death. Jesus, Jesus the man, didn’t have that kind of power.

‘Pilate said to Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?”… Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” So Pilate said to him, “Then you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world,to testify to the truth.”‘ (John 18:33b, 36-37).

So we come back to this question, what makes a real king. King David said that he must fear God and deal justly; our Queen is giving her service, committed and faithful to her people. Prince Charles already does a great deal of charitable work – but he must not stray into autocracy. He needs to be a Servant King, just as his mother is a Servant Queen.

And the Servant King, the original Servant King, will be with us till the end of the age. As Bob Dylan sang, ‘You’re gonna have to serve somebody.’ Christ the King. Let us indeed serve Him.

Sermon for Mattins on the Twenty-Second Sunday after Trinity, 16th November 2015, at St Mary the Virgin, Stoke D’Abernon
Daniel 10:19-21, Revelation 4

At the end of St Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says to His disciples, ‘Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.’

People are always telling us that we’re doing rather a bad job of making disciples of all the world. Because in the UK at least, the churches are declining in numbers. According to statistics that I was reading, the Church of England is losing 1% of its members each year at present.

But Canon Giles Fraser in an article yesterday [‘Loose Canon’, The Guardian, 15th November 2014, http://gu.com/p/43bvq%5D pointed out that about a million people go to a Church of England church every week. That compares pretty well with quite a lot of other important organisations.

Compared with the total membership of the Conservative Party, which is 134,000, with the Labour Party, 190,000, and the LibDems at 44,000, as Giles Fraser says, if you add all the political parties together and even throw in UKIP, you still don’t have half the number of people who go to church. He adds, ‘More people go to church on a Sunday than go to Premier League stadiums on a Saturday.’

I bore that all in mind as I went to the St Andrew’s PCC ‘away-day’ yesterday. This was set to consider a Church of England statistical study called ‘From Anecdote to Evidence’, [The Church Commissioners for England, 2014, http://www.churchgrowthresearch.org.uk ] which had identified all the various things which made for growing churches rather than declining ones.

Incidentally, you’ll be very pleased to know that as far as I can see, St Mary’s does have ingredients identified in the study for being a successful church. There’s a emphasis on having young people and children (we’ve just had a great family service with nearly half those attending being kids or young parents); on having a clear mission and purpose; and on having strong leadership. I think that St Mary’s does meet the criteria identified.

I was intrigued because this week, now at Mattins and tonight at Evensong, there are lessons from the Book of Revelation which offer a counterpoint to the Church statistical study.

This morning there’s the vision of heaven – ‘a voice which said to me, Come up hither, and I will show thee things which must be hereafter.’ This was a vision of a throne in heaven, and a figure on the throne surrounded by 24 elders – a vision of God.

And this evening, going backwards, the lesson is from the beginning of the Book of Revelation, introducing John’s vision, John’s ‘apocalypse’, as it’s called. Αποκάλυψις, ‘Apocalyse’, is the Greek word for ‘revelation’ – lifting the veil, revealing what is hidden underneath.

I don’t think that the Book of Revelation is meant to be taken literally, but it does contain a lot of powerful metaphorical images, covering a world which is way beyond our comprehension. We can’t know what, in Revelation, is in any sense ‘true’, but I think we can agree that there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be as good a description as any other, more prosaic, description of a heavenly world there might be.

Revelation Chapters 2 and 3 – your homework before lunch today – contain the passage which I think is directly relevant to the question what makes a good, effective church. John reports that Christ appeared to him and instructed him to write letters to seven early churches. In each letter Christ, though John, identifies particular characteristics which marks out that church, and which distinguishes it in good and bad ways. It is a sort of early Ofsted report.

So the church at Ephesus is noted for its love; the church at Smyrna for being long-suffering; at Pergamum for not denying their faith; at Thyatira, there is love, faithfulness, good service and fortitude; at Philadelphia, he writes, ‘Your strength, I know, is small, yet you have observed my commands and have not disowned my name.’

He lists their faults as well. He writes to the church at Sardis, ‘though you have a name for being alive, you are dead. Wake up, and put some strength into what is left,..’; and to the church at Laodicea he writes, ‘I know all your ways; you are neither hot nor cold. How I wish that you were either hot or cold!’

Those early churches, which had been started by St Paul or by others of the Apostles, were being assessed by Jesus Christ, through the mystic seer John, for various aspects of their faith. Were they keeping fast to the true faith, or were they in error?

There’s not much about falling numbers – except perhaps the call to wake up at Sardis. There’s not much organisation theory: what the proportion of young people in the congregation is, whether they are open to new ideas and new types of worship, whether they give new people responsibility for church activities. None of those techniques seem to have worried the earliest churches.

In the church research document ‘From Anecdote to Evidence’, the work is prefaced by St Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 3:6, ‘I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow’. God made it grow. I can’t help feeling that, certainly in the early history of the church, whether the church prospered or not had nothing much to do with the management skills of the early ministers.

The biggest break that the early church had, of course, was in the fourth century, when on the eve of the battle of the Milvian Bridge, the Roman emperor Constantine had a vision of Christ telling him to paint the sign of the cross on his soldiers’ shields, and he would win the battle: and they did, and they won the victory. It doesn’t sound a very Christian story; but there it is.

As a result, Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire. All of a sudden, Christianity stopped being more or less a secret sect of small cell churches subject to persecution, and became the Catholic Church, the church throughout the world.

Huge growth; but nothing to do with management skills or growth strategies. If we look at where the church is growing in the world today – and Christianity is the fastest-growing religion of them all, today – in Africa, in South America, in China, in Russia – there is still huge growth: and I wonder what it is that is bringing that growth, at the same time as the Church of England is gently and gradually declining.

I think that a clue may be in today’s lessons. You may say that the pictures of heaven and the pictures of the Almighty which are in the Book of Revelation are too far-fetched to be anything other than picturesque stories. ‘Immediately I was in the spirit, and behold a throne was set in heaven, and one sat on the throne. And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone: and there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald.’

And in the first chapter of Revelation, ‘I turned to see whose voice it was that spoke to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lamp-stands, and in the midst of the lamp-stands I saw one like the Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across his chest. His head and his hair were white as white wool, white as snow; ..’

‘Look, he is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him … “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the ending, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty’.

Now we may well not believe that God is a man with a big white beard in heaven, (which is above the clouds). We may well decide that that is just a picturesque metaphor: but I think we do still find great significance in ‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending’.

The point about an ‘apocalypse’, a revelation, an unveiling of ultimate truth, is that we are confronted by God. Perhaps the reason that our church here at home is not growing as fast as in the other places in the world is precisely because people’s eyes are closed to God: they are not seeing the revelation; they don’t see what its immediate importance could be.

Many people, I think, would agree that there is a God, in the sense that there is somebody or something which made the world, a creator. But a lot of people, I think, today, don’t give it much more thought than that. Perhaps people no longer really worry about the story of Jesus Christ. They rule out the possibility of His resurrection from the dead.

People in England are conveniently blind to the way in which, in many other places in the world, the Good News of Jesus, the story of His life, death and resurrection, still has legs, still has huge power, because it is an indication that the God which Revelation portrays, the God, the Lamb on the throne of heaven, (however picturesque these images are) still has power, has significance, today.

These revelations are revelations that God does care for us. The fact of Jesus, the fact of His time with us, is in itself a revelation, it is an uncovering of the deepest truth.

Perhaps these days you need to be ‘strangely warmed’, like John Wesley, or to be ‘born again’ at a Billy Graham meeting. Perhaps not: but once you have ‘got it’, once you have realised what the revelation of Jesus Christ is, then your life will be changed, and there will be no danger that you will drift away from the church.

Let us pray that we will all be given that revelation: that in the church, those of us who are tasked with preaching and evangelism – as John in Revelation puts it, those of us who are ‘in the Spirit’ – surrounded by the Holy Spirit – let us pray that we will be able to bring a vision of heaven, a vision of the Son of Man, the Son of Man who was at the same time the Son of God, into our lives, so that we can no longer just take Him or leave Him.

Discussion Note given to Revd Sir John Alleyne’s Modern Church Group at Guildford Cathedral on 10th November 2014

My topic is homosexuality and the Church of England. It is whether it is sinful to be gay: whether gay marriage is sinful: whether the church can join gay people together in marriage: whether gay clergy ought to be bishops.

There are to be ‘facilitated discussions’ within the Church of England following the Pilling Report, to try to achieve some agreement between those who reject gay marriage and the ministry of homosexuals, and those who would accept either or both.

In this paper I haven’t tried to reach very definite conclusions, but rather to mention what I think are relevant things which ought to be considered in this context. You are invited to use my thoughts as prompts for further discussion.

I have just had staying with me a Nigerian Anglican priest. A delightful man, but his views on homosexuality are challenging.

He says – and I think his views are pretty standard in much of Africa – that to be homosexual is a sin. The Church can forgive the sinner, but must condemn the sin.

The reason for this, he says, is what is said in the Bible, which is the Word of God. One must not contradict God’s word in the Bible.

For the record, I’ll list below some anti-gay Bible references, and then we can talk more about each one later. Suffice to say at this point that they are all said to support the proposition that gay sex is sinful.

Genesis 19:4-5 – a bad end befalls the young men of Sodom, the eponymous Sodomites, who called to Lot to bring out his companions ‘so that we can have intercourse with them’.

Lev. 18:22 – ‘You shall not lie with a man as with a woman: that is an abomination.’ The context suggests that it is addressed to a male: and that it is addressed not in the context of his permanent sexual orientation, but on the contrary, that he is basically heterosexual – he must be, in order for some of the other prohibitions in this passage to bite on him – e.g. ‘You shall not approach a woman to have intercourse with her during her period of menstruation’ – and that the homosexual acts prohibited are deviant acts rather than expressions of a basic sexual orientation.

Mark 10:7-9 – Jesus’ saying (quoting Genesis), ‘God made them male and female ‘.

Romans 1:26f – It is a sign of godless depravity that ‘… their men, … giving up natural relations with women, burn with lust for each other.’

1 Cor. 6:9 People who won’t get into the kingdom of heaven include μαλακοι, malakoi, soft, effeminate people, and αρσενοκοιται, arsenokoitai (there is no transliteration, despite appearances) men who ‘go to bed with men’.

Against this are other readings:

2 Sam. 1:26 – David and Jonathan: homosexual love is rated more highly than hetero.

Genesis 2:18-25 – the creation of woman from Adam’s rib. She was to be a ‘partner’ for the man. No mention of procreation: no shame in nakedness – this came before the Fall.

Ephesians 5:23-33 – wives, be subject to your husbands. Man is the head of the woman, as Christ is the head of the church.

Cf. The Song of Songs, often said to symbolise Christ’s love for his church! [See, esp., 1:13 and passim in the KJV, which is less bowdlerised than more modern versions!]

See also Matt. 19:11-12. Whether it is better not to marry at all. ‘… there are others who have themselves renounced marriage for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. Let those accept it who can’.

Martin Bucer, the great Reformer of Strassburg, argued from Genesis 2 and Ephesians that God’s intended purpose in marriage was not procreation, but companionship; and that the simile between Christ’s love for his church and the husband’s relationship with his wife ‘gave a glimpse of the divine’ (MacCulloch p649).

In analysing, applying reason to, these Bible readings, I suggest that one can distinguish the questions

what we are, what is our nature, how we were created; and
what we do, how we behave.

Questions of nature, how we are created, are questions of fact. Science ought to be referred to. Our Nigerian friend, however, when I suggested this – for example suggesting that a number of people are born with sexual orientation which is not, or not exclusively, heterosexual, immediately raised the question ‘what is truth’? Science’s conclusions change, he said, but God’s word is immutable.

So one question is the relationship between God and truth. It’s relevant in that context to mention Plato’s dialogue Euthyphro, and the dilemma in it. If God says that something is good, is it good because God says so, or because there is some independent standard of goodness which God recognises?

Even if the former is right, that something is good because God says so, how can we be sure that God is saying so?

Further questions of nature, how we are made, include questions of sexual orientation: maleness and femaleness. Is this simply to be decided by reference to the possession of genital organs of a particular type?

If so, what about people who have sex change operations, or who otherwise adopt apparently contrary sexual identity?

Even within physically homosexual relationships, one partner is ‘male’ and the other is ‘female’. In making love, one is giving and the other receiving.

I would suggest for consideration that therefore texts such as Genesis 2 or Mark 10 – God made them male and female – could in fact cover gay relationships. If maleness and femaleness can be understood independently of physical, genital characteristics, then same-sex couples can nevertheless be ‘male’ and ‘female’ within the ambit of the Scriptures.

Next, as opposed to how we are made, is how we behave. In this area questions to consider include questions of equality. The golden rule in Leviticus 19:18 – ‘you shall love your neighbour as a man like yourself’ as the NEB puts it, which Jesus adopted as his second commandment, implies equality. Therefore sexual relations which rely on inequality, such as rape and pederasty (‘child sex abuse’), are wrong.

Note that this is where the Judaeo-Christian tradition differs from the customs of classical antiquity, of Ancient Greece and Rome, where the love between men and beautiful (handsome) boys was often praised as being the highest form of love.

There are also questions of reciprocity: in any sexual context, do both parties agree? A positive answer implies equality, and also equality of bargaining power – which is why pederasty is wrong. In this relationship, we both want to do it; neither of us is being forced into it.

Behaviour, in this context, involves both nature, being disposed to feel sexual attraction, and action, actually feeling such attraction; and further action – making love. Greek terms are useful here – Έρως, ‘Eros’, Φιλία, ‘Philia’ and Αγάπη, ‘Agape’.

One suspects that Victorian Christians, if none others, thought that only ‘agape’ could be Christian. Eros was permissible, but only within the confines of marriage, for the purpose of procreation. In this they were clearly heavily influenced by St Paul, and the Jesus of Matt. 19.

But that is clearly unrealistic. Young people (if not older ones!) will find the words of the Song of Solomon highly evocative. It is not about trying to start a family! It is about desire, lust, even. That is the currency, the language, the toolbox, of sexual behaviour. One must fancy someone, in order to have sex with them. As Martin Bucer pointed out, in Genesis 2 Adam and Eve had no shame in being naked together. The Fall came later. He argued that therefore there is nothing wrong with sex, with sexual desire, Eros.

Homosexuality of circumstance, where people, who are usually oriented heterosexually, get into situations where they also feel homosexual attraction and act homosexually – examples are boarding schools and prisons – may fall more squarely under the apparent prohibitions in the Bible. Perhaps it could be argued that they are going against ‘nature’: but again, I believe that scientific research has indicated that many people are not exclusively oriented either hetero- or homosexually. At one extreme are bisexuals, and at the other, there is the supposedly ‘normal’ person who is all one or the other.

My Nigerian friend did not accept that homosexuals could ever represent ‘normality’, though. He did not accept the commonly-stated figure of 10% of the population being homosexuals. Only freakish abnormalities would account for homosexuality. Apparently he felt that Christians could, indeed should, love and care for such freaks of nature – but that they were by their nature sinful. This seems to me that, notwithstanding the stricture, he acknowledges that God made them that way. But do we believe that sin depends on how you are, rather than how you behave?

Is there anything intrinsic in marriage which would make it impossible for homosexuals to be ‘married’? It would seem that this question really depends, in a Christian context, on whether one can understand maleness and femaleness in a wider way than simply by reference to the possession of genitalia. As a matter of language, there is at least one gender-unspecific use of the word ‘marriage’, on a car factory assembly line, where the body and power train or chassis come together.

I haven’t talked about failures of sex such as rape or divorce. Equally, I haven’t mentioned the ways in which homosexuals have been persecuted. I am simply taking it for granted here that we are looking for ‘good’ sex: sex without prohibition or hurt to anyone. ‘They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.’ (Isaiah 11:9)

Can there be agreement about gay marriage and gay bishops? I suggest that the discussions should focus on whether a common understanding can be reached about what it means to be male and female (creation, our nature), and how Jesus’ teaching about how to behave, how to love our neighbours, should be applied to that understanding. As a preliminary, some agreement about the nature of truth would be useful.

I invite your thoughts and comments.

_____________________________________________________________

References – in preparing this note, I referred to the following.

The Holy Bible – KJV and NEB

Η Καινή Διαθήκη, the Greek New Testament, with the readings adopted by the revisers of the Authorised Version, 1882, Oxford, The Clarendon Press

MacCulloch, D., 2003, Reformation; London, Allen Lane – see chapters 15 and 16

Childress, J. F. and Macquarrie, J., eds, 1986, A New Dictionary of Christian Ethics, London, SCM Press – see articles on Marriage (Helen Oppenheimer), Homosexuality (James B. Nelson)

Hornblower, S., and Spawforth, A., eds, 1996, The Oxford Classical Dictionary, Oxford, OUP – see article on ‘Homosexuality’ by David M. Halperin

Vardy, P., 2010, Good and Bad Religion, London, SCM Press. See chapter 3, The Euthyphro Dilemma

Review of “More Perfect Union?: Understanding Same-Sex Marriage” by Bishop Alan Wilson

Sermon for Evensong on Remembrance Sunday, 9th Nov 2014
John 15:9-17 – Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

I wondered whether tonight I should just read you some of those stories of heroism and self-sacrifice which perhaps we all know, and which Remembrance Sunday reminds us of. They are almost sermons in themselves. For example:

Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish priest imprisoned in Auschwitz, who volunteered to take another prisoner’s place when the Nazis selected ten men at random to be starved to death after someone had escaped; or

Jack Cornwell, the boy sailor, ‘Boy’ Cornwell, who was only 16 when he was mortally wounded at the battle of Jutland in 1916, who stayed at his post by the ship’s gun which had been hit and put out of action. He stayed there, although all the rest of the gun crew were dead, ‘in case he were needed’, as he said before he died. Or

Robert Leiper Lindsay, the superintendent of the Anglo-Persian Oil Company oil-well compound in ‘the side of Persia that slopes down into Mesopotamia’, as the story in Arthur Mee’s Children’s Encyclopedia [Arthur Mee, ed., c.1922 (undated), London, The Educational Book Company Limited, vol.9, p.6194] puts it, who died shutting down an oil leak to a furnace and saved 300 colleagues. This was one of my favourite stories when I was about ten, and it still moves and shocks me.

‘The quick mind of Lindsay sees at once that the pumps must be stopped and the supply of oil feeding the furnaces must be cut off; so he calls to his assistant to shut off the pumps, and sets off to cut off the furnace supply. But to get to the furnaces he must pass through the fountain of streaming oil, and arrive at the furnaces with his clothes saturated with petroleum. He knows what the end will be, but he does not shrink. He passes through the oil shower, turns off the oil tap of the furnaces, and then turns away, and falls, a blazing torch.’

Terrible stories. So moving. Would we be so brave, we ask ourselves. The first two stories were from wartime: Father Kolbe in the Second World War, and Jack Cornwell VC in the First. Robert Leiper Lindsay was in 1918. As you will know, the Anglo-Persian Oil Company, that he worked for, became BP.

Jesus’ great saying, ‘Greater love hath no man ..’, is about love. He has said, ‘This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you’ [John 15:12]. It isn’t the sort of soft love, companionable love, that Jesus means here. This is sacrifice, violent, painful. Like Lindsay, a ‘blazing torch’.

We can say amen to that. We know what terrible sacrifice Jesus went on to make, how He suffered.

But the mention of Jack Cornwell and Maximilian Kolbe, those wartime martyrs, and the fact that we are remembering those who made the ultimate sacrifice in wars, makes me think, what is the point of all that undoubted bravery in war? What was it for?

It is reported that, before Jack Cornwell, Boy Cornwell, died, he was told that the Battle of Jutland had been won; and he was pleased. ‘The strife is o’er, the battle done.’ He had died for his friends.

Similarly Maximilian Kolbe and Robert Lindsay, by their sacrifice of themselves, saved others. They died in order that others might live.

Now there are two other sacrifices which we have to consider today. First, our forces – now in harm’s way again in Iraq. Who will their sacrifices save? It is very difficult to be sure. We have seemingly moved a long way from the Ten Commandments and ‘Thou shalt not kill’. Even back in the 13th century, Thomas Aquinas restated the ancient Roman doctrine of the ‘Just War’. He suggested three criteria (Summa Theologiae vol 35, 40(1)):

war must be waged by the ‘due authorities’;
The cause must be just; and
Those waging war must intend to promote good, and avoid evil.

Right authority, just cause, right intention. Even so, Thomas must have reflected that his concept of a ‘just war’ didn’t sit very easily with what Jesus had said, notably in the Sermon on the Mount: ‘But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also’ (Matt. 5:39).

Thomas wrote, ‘The Lord’s words, “I say to you, offer the wicked man no resistance”, must always be borne in mind, and we must be ready to abandon resistance and self-defence if the situation calls for that.’ That begs the question when ‘the situation’ would call for resistance to be abandoned. What could be such a situation?

Why would one make war in the first place, why would one feel justified in going against Jesus’ command of peace and non-violence: His commands, not only ‘thou shalt not kill’, but also ‘turn the other cheek’?

St Augustine, Augustine of Hippo, writing, in the fourth century, much earlier than Thomas, identified another reason for which a Christian might be justified in using force, which I think is perhaps the only really good reason – as a matter of charity: to go to the aid of his neighbour who was being attacked.

This is clearly a really difficult area; when it isn’t a case of going to the aid of Poland, when it isn’t a case of a threat to our own independence, but a bloody dispute between governments whose legitimacy is in some cases questionable, and who have shown brutality and a contempt for the rule of law, on the one side, as, say, may be argued to be the case in Syria and Iraq, and opposing factions upholding a particularly vicious and intolerant type of militant Islam – who are killing Christians and other non-Moslems simply for not being Moslems, unlike their opponents, the dubious governments, so unsatisfactory in so many ways, but who at least allow freedom of religion. Where is the ‘just war’ in this context?

But I have left to the end the biggest self-sacrifice, Jesus himself. Greater love hath no man. ‘This is my blood of the New Testament, which is shed for you and for many for the remission of sins’ (The Communion, at p.256 in the Book of Common Prayer). Greater love hath no man, than that he die for his friends. Is it, die instead of his friends? That was Maximilian Kolbe. Or was it to help his friends? That would be like Jack Cornwell or Robert Leiper Lindsay.

The idea is said to be like taking someone else’s punishment for them – again like Maximilian Kolbe. We are sinful; instead of punishing us, as He could, God put up His own son, and punished him instead. ‘Who of thy tender mercy didst give thine only Son Jesus Christ to suffer death upon the Cross for our redemption; who made there (by his one oblation of himself once offered) a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world’: that’s what the Prayer Book says, in the Prayer of Consecration on p. 255.

I hope that God isn’t really like that. The language of human sacrifice – or of blood feuds: having ‘satisfaction’ is the language of D’Artagnan, the language of duels – ‘redemption’, paying the price, the price of sin, does not really square with the idea of a loving God. The idea of ‘substitutionary atonement’, as it’s called, seems to me to be very barbaric.

We may be fallen people. We may indeed be sinful. But what does that really mean? It surely doesn’t mean that we have a price on our heads, which has to be paid, or else we go into the fires of Hell.

‘Sin’ isn’t a question of persistent badness, or criminality, or just plain evil. All those things might be signs of sin, but they aren’t sin itself. In the New Testament, ‘sin’ is the translation of the Greek ‘αμαρτία, from the verb ‘αμαρτάνω, I ‘miss the mark’, I don’t hit the target. It has a connotation of distance, separation from the goal. So sin is separation, distancing, from God’s kingdom. ‘Remission’ of sins is forgiveness, release from prison.

I would like to emphasise not only the sacrifice, Jesus’ greater love, on the Cross, but also the Resurrection. God is assuring us that not only are we grateful for Jesus’ taking upon himself the punishment that perhaps we might have deserved, but also that it isn’t a story with a sad and pointless end – like the story of so many wars.

Here ‘The strife is o’er, the battle won’; but instead of a posthumous VC, we have a living God, who raised Jesus from the dead. What a sign! Let us indeed remember them: let us remember those who gave their lives in order that we might be free. But let us always remember that biggest, that most meaningful, sacrifice. Greater love hath no man – Jesus had that love, and it was for us.

29th October 2014

Dominic Raab, Esq., MP
House of Commons
London SW1

Sent by email to dominic.raab.mp@parliament.uk

Dear Mr Raab

Search and Rescue of Refugees in Peril in the Mediterranean

As a former marine insurance underwriter and member of the British Maritime Law Association, and as a Christian, I am horrified that the Government has refused to support search and rescue missions to save refugees in danger of drowning in the Mediterranean.

This country has ships and helicopters which could be used in this vital work, and is sufficiently wealthy to commit military resources to bombing campaigns seemingly with little hesitation.

The reason given for our failure to support this vital humanitarian work, that it would ‘operate as a pull factor’ is grotesque, and intellectually insulting.

We have a clear humanitarian duty, as a leading maritime nation, to save life at sea. I hope that you will agree with me and make representations urgently that this immoral and inhuman policy be changed forthwith.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours sincerely

Hugh Bryant

Sermon for Evensong at St Mary’s on Bible Sunday, 19th Sunday after Trinity, 26th October 2014
Isaiah 55:1-11, Luke 4:14-30

It’s been a challenging week to be a Christian. The other night I was listening to The Moral Maze on the radio, when a panel of people, including the Reverend Giles Fraser and Melanie Phillips, who is Jewish, were discussing the footballer Ched Evans, and the question whether he should be allowed to rejoin his former club and play football again. Had he paid his debt to society and therefore was he entitled to be rehabilitated into society and continue his normal life, or was he in some way disqualified from his previous career because of the nature of the crime that he had committed?

I heard stories about the terrible virus Ebola in Africa. This week we were worried by a couple of instances where people appear to have caught the virus and come to areas which have not so far been affected, in Europe and also in the United States.

We had a report from the new chief executive of the National Health
Service, on what the health service in this country is going to need if it is to survive and continue to give the wonderful service which we expect.

There was a very sad story, here in Cobham, of a 21-year-old boy who was in the middle of a glittering career at university, with great prospects ahead of him, from a wonderful family, who suddenly dropped dead with a heart attack.

I listened to the debate on The Moral Maze about Ched Evans the footballer – and one of the things that rather surprised me was that neither Canon Giles Fraser not Melanie Phillips, the two expressly religious people on the panel, mentioned the Bible. Neither of them tried to relate what had happened and the punishment process which Ched Evans had been through to any passages in the Bible or anything which Jesus or the prophets had said.

In relation to the Ebola virus I have been struck by how it is very much a story about third world countries and poor people. Up to now none of the big drug companies had decided to put any money behind trying to find a cure or trying to develop a vaccine – I hope I’m not offending any of those companies by saying this – until it looked like becoming a threat to the developed part of the world. All of a sudden we now have the hopeful development that GlaxoSmithKline is claiming to have to developed a cure and a vaccine and that they will very fortunately be ready for use very shortly after Christmas; but the observation remains that it does look as though it matters more if you are a rich person in the northern hemisphere rather than a poor person in Africa, if there is going to be an epidemic.

Nearer to home, of course there is the whole question of the future of the National Health Service. The great thing that we all love about it is that it is free at the point of need: in other words it doesn’t matter whether you’re rich or poor; it’s just a question whether you are a human being and whether you are sick as to whether or not you are going to get treatment under our health service.

And finally, the poor chap who died just at the beginning of an adult life, which which probably was going to be very successful and very happy, clearly prompts the question, how could a loving God allow something like this to happen?

To add to those general challenges to Christians, I personally had an interesting thing happen to me this week, which was that I went to attend the inaugural lecture of the new Regius Professor of History in Oxford, Professor Lyndal Roper, an Australian scholar whose speciality is Martin Luther. Her lecture was all about Martin Luther’s dreams. I never knew that Martin Luther had dreams.

I hope it’s not a reflection on the quality of teaching in the diocesan ministry course, but the only revelatory experience involving Martin Luther which I could remember having been taught about was what was called the ‘Turmerlebnis’, the ‘Tower Experience’, when Martin Luther, who apparently was said to suffer dreadfully from constipation, had had to go to the loo in the tower in the monastery where he was, and was said to have experienced spiritual and physical release at the same moment.

Funnily enough, Prof. Roper didn’t mention the Turmerlebnis. It obviously didn’t count as a dream. He had apparently had five other experiences which she counted as dreams, including a vision of a giant quill pen, writing on the door of the church in Wittenburg, where his 95 Theses were subsequently pinned up, and another dream about a cat in a bag, which fortunately did not come to a bad end, but was not simply a question of letting the cat out of the bag.

If we were addressing the task, which Giles Fraser and Melanie Phillips addressed on The Moral Maze, as Christians here at St Mary’s, surely we would have gone to our Bibles. ‘Judge not, lest ye yourselves be judged’: ‘The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons’: ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’; and what Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount and elsewhere, on the question of adultery.

If we looked at Ebola and at the National Health Service as Christians we might remember what it says in the Acts of the Apostles: ‘From each according to his ability and to each according to his need’. We would worry about the huge gap between the rich and poor, the verse which we no longer sing in ‘All things bright and beautiful’, ‘… the rich man in his castle and the poor man at his gate’.

The fact that we are so keen on the NHS and we think it is so special is surely all to do with the fact that it does not distinguish between the rich and poor. It’s not perhaps so much a question that we don’t approve of the gap between the rich and the poor, but we certainly do approve of something where there is no distinction between rich and poor.

What would Jesus do? Remember what he said to the rich young ruler, that he should give away everything that he had to the poor and follow Him – and indeed he then went on to make the famous remark about it being harder for a rich person to get into the kingdom of heaven then for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

Shall we quote to the parents of the poor chap who has died, ‘Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?’ [Romans 8:35]. Will that hit the spot with them? Will they listen to that? Will it mean something properly to them? Does it sound realistic to them that that is what God is like?

Well perhaps the first thing to say in relation to all these challenges for a Christian is that in each case I am coming up with a quotation from the Bible. I am going to my Bible first, in order to try to find out what Jesus would do, what God feels about this particular situation.

The difficulty, of course, is that the Bible does not give you straightforward answers; it’s not a textbook in that sense or an instruction manual for life. It’s not a guidebook to the divine. It’s not a description of God and how he works.

We believe that God is omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent: the creator and sustainer of everything we now about, of our entire life. But we can’t be said to know much about God, in the same way as I know for example how many people there are here in church.

That’s deeply frustrating, because we could easily say that the most important things that we could possibly know would be the things that we can find out about God: but he is the one thing that we can probably know least about! What we can say is that what we do know, what we can infer, starts off with what we read in the Bible. Holy Scripture is the beginning of our experience of God and as such there is nothing more important than what we can learn from Holy Scripture.

There are so many questions – starting with, of course, what is Holy Scripture? What is the criterion by which we decide which books are in the Bible and which books from the same era are out, are apocryphal, or just not part of the canon of accepted books?

Right from the very earliest times Christians have debated what the Bible, the gospels and the various letters of St Paul and the Acts of the Apostles all really mean. What did Jesus say and what did he mean by it? What would Jesus do in particular circumstances? Who was Jesus really? Was He the son of God, and if so, is that the same thing as being God, in some way?

Terribly important questions, because, depending on the answers to them, we are talking about the most important things that we can possibly have in our lives today: that’s why I was particularly fascinated to go to the lecture about Martin Luther.

The Reformation may have happened in the 16th century – and we’re now in the 21st century – but all the various questions, which are relevant to the problems that I was looking at earlier, were around in Martin Luther’s time and he tried to understand better the message of the gospels in order to deal with them.

Was God ‘judge eternal’, inclined to condemn us, stern and unbending, or is he a loving God who forgives us despite our imperfections and our sins? Can we earn his forgiveness by the way we act? What happens to people who don’t know about Jesus and God and are good nevertheless? Are they saved or are they condemned because they are in ignorance?

We all know the story of Martin Luther pinning up his 95 theses on the door of the church in Wittenburg, mainly aimed at the Pope and his sale of so-called ‘indulgences’: that you could in fact buy yourself a shorter time in Purgatory, which was supposed to be the kind of antechamber to heaven, where you had a chance to make amends for all those dreadful things that you had done, all the sins you had committed in your life, so as to have a sort of second chance to get into heaven.

The Pope was selling the right to shorten your time in Purgatory by making charitable gifts to the church. It all sounds very far-fetched, if not slightly corrupt, now and we’re not really surprised that Martin Luther was against it.

We should perhaps not be too hasty to condemn the Pope because the background to the sale of indulgences was the need to raise money for Saint Peter’s in Rome. It was in fact a parish fundraising campaign by another name.

Who was right? Was Luther right or the Pope right? Was Henry VIII right? Was Cranmer right? Who has the authoritative statement of what Jesus would do in all these various circumstances?

Who has an authoritative view on what the correct interpretation of the Bible in relation to any given instance is? Because you can find contradictory things in the Bible.

Professor Roper had a thesis behind her lecture that in fact whereas John Calvin, the other great reformer, would say that his inspiration was ‘sola scriptura’, only Scripture, only Holy Scripture alone, and whereas the Pope would point to his apostolic succession from St Peter and the tradition of the holy Fathers, Luther could point to revelation, revelation from God, in the various dreams which he had had.

I have to say that I rushed to my copy of Diarmaid MacCulloch’s great book ‘Reformation’, and couldn’t find any reference to Luther’s great dreams – although the lavatorial experience, the Turmerlebnis, was quite well covered!

The point is, on this Bible Sunday, that whatever view you take and however you fit in with church history and the various strands of theology that have grown up over the ages in dealing with this incredibly important but terribly difficult topic, the important thing is that everything starts with the Bible: nothing is more authoritative.

It may not be the be-all and end-all, and it may not be literally the result of God dictating to somebody, but it is the word of God in the sense that it is the best source we have for our knowledge of God and Jesus; so let us never stop reading our Bibles; never stop wrestling with the words in them and trying to understand them.

Sermon for Mattins at St Martin’s, East Horsley on the Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity, 19th October 2014
Matt. 22:15-22

None of us really like the brown envelopes which periodically come through from the Inland Revenue. For some reason we never think of our tax bill as the price we pay for a fantastic bunch of goods and services. We are kept free and safe by our armed forces; we’re kept healthy by the National Health Service; our streets are safe because we have police, and so on. But we tend to forget all that when we see our tax bills. We just see it as a sneaky way the government cuts down our income.

I don’t think it’s really the case that we think that we would be able to spend that money better, better than the government has done, if we’d kept it. Perhaps we’d spend more on schools and hospitals, less on bombs and rockets for foreign wars. But others, of course, would have different priorities. As you go to the post box with your tax return, if you bump into a friend who sees the brown envelope going out again from you, you will shrug your shoulders, perhaps, and say, ‘Well, I’ve got to render unto Caesar’.

What Jesus was talking about when the Pharisees tackled him was perhaps not really about paying taxes. The question was, are we permitted to pay taxes to the Roman emperor – to Caesar? The Holy Land was occupied territory, which had been conquered by the Romans. The Jews had a certain amount of self-government, but they did have to pay tax to the Roman emperor. That tax was greatly resented.

You will remember all the references to ‘publicans and sinners’, meaning ‘tax-gatherers and sinners’, in the Bible. Jesus was accused of consorting with ‘publicans and sinners’ (for example at Matt. 9:11), instead of being always with virtuous people. Publicans, tax-gatherers, were hated. They operated under a sort of franchise system, whereby they acquired the right to collect taxes and pass them on to the emperor. They would charge a gross amount, to include their fee, and pass on the net amount which the Roman authorities had set for the tax. There was no limit to the mark-up which a tax-gatherer could charge. It was a good system from the point of view of the Romans, but it did make the tax-gatherers themselves very unpopular, hated.

Indeed the question was, Is it possible to pay taxes to Caesar? The catch was that Roman emperors counted themselves as gods, and there was a state religion, so paying tax – the word in Greek is κηνσος, census, so the sense may really be of registering for a census, rather in the way that Mary and Joseph went, before Jesus was born, to Bethlehem in Judaea to be ‘taxed’ (Luke 2:1f). The Authorised Version of the Bible says ‘taxed’, and other translations talk about ‘registration’, taking part in a census.

I don’t know whether it’s a little bit irreverent to say that it occurred to me that this was rather the same procedure as asking the faithful – this congregation, for example, in this church – to join the electoral roll of the parish. Nothing wrong with that – it helps to keep the church family together, makes sure that everybody gets the news, gets invited to the parish picnic.

But of course it also allows the Planned Giving Secretary to send you a banker’s order form and ask you to consider regular giving.

So censuses do have a taxation aspect to them. And the catch, of course, was that in the eyes of the Pharisees, Jesus was going to be wrong whatever he said. If he said it was OK to go and sign up for the census, paying a token amount to signify that you were in the scheme, it would involve using a Roman coin, a denarius, a ‘penny’ sometimes so-called, but also reckoned to be a day’s wages.

This would be tantamount to acknowledging the authority of the emperor – as a god – which of course would be blasphemy. If on the other hand, Jesus could be caught out advising people not to pay, then he could be condemned as a revolutionary engaged in sedition against the emperor.

And the answer that Jesus gave was pretty mysterious. By asking to see the coin that you would use to pay the tax, it looks as though Jesus wasn’t familiar with foreign exchange. These days, I’m sure the Revenue are very happy to receive money’s worth in any currency which is exchangeable. But Jesus says here, ‘Show me the currency that you would have to pay the tax in’, and because that currency has a picture of the emperor on it, he says, in effect, this is a matter for the emperor: it’s nothing to do with us here in the Temple.

It was actually pretty shocking that the Pharisees had brought a Roman coin, with its purported image of a god, the Roman emperor as a god, into the sacred space of the Temple. So not surprisingly, Jesus didn’t want to have anything to do with it. But it does seem to be a slightly odd idea of Jesus’, that tax is payable only if you have the right currency.

What about the other side of what Jesus said? Render unto God the things that are God’s. The third-century scholar Tertullian said that this meant ‘us’, human beings. We are the things that belong to God. We are made in God’s image. So Tertullian argues that we are the things that are God’s. We belong to God. So Jesus is saying that, in a narrow sense, those things which bear the image of the emperor belong to the emperor: and those things, which bear the image of God, belong to God – and that is us. It still needs some careful consideration. Is there, according to Jesus, a hard distinction between the temporal authorities, the state, and the spiritual authority, the realm of God himself? You certainly can take what Jesus says to mean very simply, that we should be law-abiding citizens, obeying the laws that government has laid down for us, but also worshipping God and reserving our ultimate allegiance for him.

But St Paul, in his Letter to the Romans (13:1-7), pointed out that actually God is the supreme authority, over everything. Even governments are subject to the will of God. That is a reason for obeying the government; because the government actually derives its authority ultimately from God.

There is in fact no conflict between obeying the government and obeying God. That of course immediately begs the question what a Christian is to do, if the government is a bad government. Effectively it is the same dilemma which the Pharisees were challenging Jesus with. It’s the dilemma which Christians living in Nazi Germany faced, and it’s the dilemma which faces Christians in many parts of the Middle East today.

The government may ultimately be subject to the will of God, but that doesn’t by itself, necessarily, make it a good government, or worthy of our assent to it. As with all other aspects of the problem of evil, a bad government is nevertheless free to carry on making bad decisions and engaging in sinful acts.

We are so fortunate, that all we may find relevant in the story of Jesus and the denarius, ‘Render unto Caesar,’ and so on, is a fresh look at paying tax. No-one is trying to kill us because we aren’t swearing an oath of allegiance to a government which regards our Christian belief as blasphemy, as some of the radical Moslem opposition groups in Iraq and around would do. For those people, ‘Render unto Caesar’ has extra poignancy.

So let us, in our prayers, ask for God’s blessing on the people who are threatened today by militant Islamists all over the Middle East: let us call to mind the goods and services which our taxes pay for, and ask for God’s blessing on the people who physically deliver the benefits. And let’s pay our taxes with a good grace. Let’s also remember that our taxes buy a huge amount of benefit for all of us, and not begrudge paying our fair share.