Archives for posts with tag: Cobham Fellowship

Sermon for Choral Evensong on Whit Sunday 2019

Exodus 33:7-20; 2 Corinthians 3:4-18 – see

‘O King of Heaven, thou the comforter and spirit of truth,

Thou who art everywhere and bringeth all things to perfection,

Treasury of goodness and life-giver,

Come and dwell in us, cleanse us from all our sins,

And save us, O Lord.’

This is the prayer, originally from the Orthodox church, one of the so-called ‘trisagion’ prayers, ‘thrice-holy’ prayers, which Godfrey uses as a vestry prayer before all our services at St Mary’s. It is a prayer for the Holy Spirit to come; it is in effect a restatement of that great line of the Lord’s Prayer, Thy Kingdom Come, which has been the subject of the ‘wave of prayer’ from Ascension Day until Pentecost. The prayer movement called ‘Thy Kingdom Come’ was originally started by our Archbishops, Justin and John, in 2016, and has spread out all over the world.

Even now, at the same time as we are worshipping at St Mary’s, there is a big outdoor service taking place on Stag Hill outside the Cathedral in Guildford, bringing to an end the nine days of prayer and celebrating the coming of the Holy Spirit among the disciples, the tongues of fire on their heads and the ability, all of a sudden, to speak in a variety of languages; so that each person who heard them thought they were speaking in his or her own native language. It was described in Acts 2, one of the lessons this morning.

It is a time to celebrate; a time to be close to God. Being close to God, in the Old Testament, at the time of Moses, meant not being allowed to see Him, so great was the splendour of the Almighty. He led the Israelites, concealed in a pillar of cloud: and he showed himself to Moses in the burning bush; but the splendour, the glory of the Lord, was so great that Moses’ face reflected the glory of the Lord so brightly that nobody could look straight at him. He had to cover himself up, be veiled, when he came out of the tabernacle when he had been meeting the Lord. As we heard in our first lesson from the book of Exodus, no-one apart from Moses could look on the face of God and survive.

But now, as St Paul says, in our second lesson from his second Letter to the Corinthians, the veil has fallen away, because of the presence of Jesus. It’s no longer the case that no-one can look at God and survive; because God is with us, God is in us. St Paul has this great idea of our being ‘in Christ’, which is a sort of upside-down way of saying that we have Christ in us – and the Christ that is in us is the Holy Spirit.

We pray, ‘Come and dwell in us; cleanse us from all our sins, and save us, O Lord.’ Thy Kingdom come. That Kingdom really has two sides to it. There is the Holy Spirit coming and dwelling in us, so that we are in Christ, which is a personal salvation for us as individuals: and there is the coming of the Kingdom which we pray for in the Holy Communion service, when we pray for that day ‘when your kingdom comes, and justice and mercy will be seen in all the earth’ [Common Worship: Holy Communion Order One, Eucharistic Prayer E – p 197]: where we pray for a public salvation, we could say. Being in Christ is private salvation, and when ‘justice and mercy rule in all the earth’, that is public salvation.

The Holy Spirit is everywhere, public and private. ‘Thou who art everywhere and bringeth all things to perfection’. Christians receive the Holy Spirit in various ways. We here are cool Northerners, I don’t mean ‘North of Watford’, but Northern Europeans. Singing a Moody and Sankey hymn, and responding ‘Amen’ with feeling after a rousing sermon, is as hot as it gets for us.

But not far away there are ‘house churches’, Pentecostal churches, where they invite the Spirit to come, literally to inspire the worshippers, to get them to speak in tongues and reach heights of ecstasy. Gerald Coates and the Cobham Fellowship, which evolved into the Pioneer People and the Pioneer churches, had its origins around here, and Pioneer still attracts many people to worship in this charismatic way.

But still, we in the Church of England are cool customers. Just as Martin Luther wasn’t keen on what he called ‘madness’ or ‘Schwärmerei’ in other parts of the Reformed church, so in the 18th century in England, during the evangelical revival, at the time of the start of Methodism – which was, after all, originally an Anglican movement – Sermon 32 of the 44 collected sermons of John Wesley, (which all Methodist preachers have to familiarise themselves with during their training) is called ‘The Nature of Enthusiasm’, and is a sermon on that line in the Acts of the Apostles, 26:24, when Festus, the Roman governor, was questioning Paul, after Paul had explained the Gospel to him and explained how he had been converted to Christianity, Festus ‘said with a loud voice, Paul, thou art beside thyself’; that is, you are mad.

John Wesley says, “… if you aim at the religion of the heart, if you talk of ‘righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost’, then it will not be long before your sentence is passed, ‘Thou art beside thyself.’” People will think that you are mad. [Revd John Wesley, A.M., 1944, ‘Sermons on Several Occasions’, Peterborough, The Epworth Press: Sermon 32, Paragraph 1]

The term ‘enthusiasm’, in this context, is supposed to come from Greek origins, but John Wesley pours cold water on this supposed etymology. He sums up by saying, ‘Perhaps it is a fictitious word, invented from the noise which some of those made who were so affected.’[Paragraph 6].

If he was being too sniffy about this, and ‘enthusiasm’ was in fact derived from the Greek εν θεω, ‘in God’, and so, metonymically, ‘in Christ’, the word was perhaps coined to distinguish a sort of religious ‘madness’, as opposed to being completely bonkers. People could be perfectly normal and rational in the rest of their lives, but behave irrationally when it came to religion: in this they were being ‘enthusiasts’.

This was, of course, the time of Reason, the time of the Enlightenment, the time of John Locke and David Hume, of Descartes; a time of great challenge to Christianity as well as a time of evangelical revival. Today, as we look back on the Novena of prayer, nine days of prayer between the Ascension and Pentecost, today, if you have been following in the online app [, or website] which the Church of England has provided, you will have been enjoying some lovely short videos of various church leaders talking about the implications of the prayer ‘Thy Kingdom Come’.

One of these videos is one of our two Archbishops, who between them dreamed up the idea of praying ‘Thy Kingdom Come’ in order to fill up the emptiness after the Ascension with a ‘wave of prayer’. That great wave is breaking now, on Whit Sunday.

There’s a video by John Sentamu, our Archbishop of York. [See]

He recommends that you should write down the names of five friends, five friends who are not churchgoers, and whom you pray for, ‘Thy Kingdom come’, so that they come to ‘know Christ’, as Archbishop John says. I suspect that Archbishop John is a little bit ‘enthusiastic’, in John Wesley’s terms. I would say, as a cool Northern European, that I can’t ‘know’ Christ in the same way that I know any one of you. But I can know about Christ, and I can be open to perceive the operation of the Holy Spirit in my fellow-Christians and in our church.

Indeed, we often do say that we can see the Holy Spirit at work in our church. Why did Revd John Waterson stick out for the really beautiful and grand Frobenius organ, when the Diocesan Advisory Committee sanctioned only something far more modest? It was to the greater glory of God, and this wonderful organ has enabled us to make more music, more beautiful music, ever since. Again, it was the Holy Spirit at work in this and the other churches in this area in the Churches Together in Cobham and Oxshott meeting, which led to the creation of the Foodbank. Who knew? Who knew that, under our noses, there are dozens of people who have to face the choice between paying the rent and buying some food. Right here in Stoke, in Cobham and Oxshott, in the Horsleys, Effingham and Downside. In all these prosperous areas – who knew? The Holy Spirit knew, and inspired us to do something about it. Where will the Spirit lead us next? We must watch and pray. We must pray, ‘Thy Kingdom Come.’

Sermon for 10.30 Holy Communion at St Andrew’s, 25th August 2017

Ruth 1; Matthew 22:34-40 – click on for the readings


What a lovely story the Book of Ruth is! ‘Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.’ Such a loving, trusting thing for Ruth to say to her mother-in-law. It didn’t matter where Ruth had come from, that she was a foreigner: she had become ‘family’ to Naomi, and their bond was based on the two greatest commandments, love of God and love of neighbour. Nothing to do with nationality, or citizenship. They might even have been referred to as ‘economic migrants’, as they’d gone to Moab in search of a better life, and food to eat, in the face of a famine at home. It’s something to think about today.


When Ruth talked about ‘your God’ being ‘my God’, she was saying something very interesting. I know that people say ‘my God’ these days very carelessly, as a sort of low-grade swearing. I’m not talking about that.


In Old Testament times, in the ancient world, the Jewish idea of the One True God was by no means accepted wisdom generally. The Persians, Egyptians and Greeks all worshipped several gods; and worshippers would cultivate one or more of a variety of gods. One would be devoted to Artemis – like the Ephesians (‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians!’); others, if they were Greeks, would worship Jupiter, or Mars, or Dionysus, or Mercury. Egyptians or Babylonians had their gods too: Marduk and Baal, for instance.


But the Jews – our theological ancestors – worshipped just one God. When Jesus came along, the Jewish idea of God as one developed among Christians as Three in One, the Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.


But in both cases it seems as though the idea of ‘My God’ might have come through the worshippers looking outside themselves. For them, there was something ‘out there’, something which created the world and sustains it now.


Or perhaps their God is inside them; if there is no benign figure with a white beard reclining in comfort in the heavens, if there is no God ‘out there’, then He has to be inside us, if He is anywhere in particular.


But there’s another sense in which I think people use the expression. ‘My’ God connotes, brings with it, a type of ownership. My God is better than your God, as soldiers have hopefully said. But I think we can only say that sort of thing because God is not physically present with us. If Jesus were walking about among us, bumping into us, we couldn’t think of Him as some kind of pocket deity, a god who looks and behaves like we want him to.


In a way, because God is not there, because we’re not confronted by Him face to face, we can sort-of appropriate Him, take him over. ‘My God’ is somehow in my pocket, He’s whatever I want Him to be.


If you stop a minute, and ponder this: if Jesus came into St Andrew’s now, what would he be like? What would he like or not like? After all, when he went into the synagogue, he had definite views about what good worship was. He didn’t like to see people lording it over their neighbours, or parading their piety, being hypocrites, ‘whited sepulchres’, for example. His approach to liturgy was really simple – one prayer, one prayer only: the Lord’s Prayer.


So if you’re a follower of Jesus now, what sort of God do you follow, and how do you go around the business of offering Him worship?


When I first started coming to St Andrew’s just over 20 years ago, a big factor – apart from the friendly welcome, which my young family and I surely did receive – was my feeling that our church here was rich, rich in ways of worshipping God and witnessing to the Gospel. It was anything but one-dimensional. The God that was worshipped here was a God approached in various ways, all under one roof.


There were people – and some of them are still around – who had followed a preacher called Gerald Coates and joined his Cobham Fellowship, which became the Pioneer People. We had a vicar, Sidney Barrington, who brought St Andrew’s and the Fellowship very close together, and then, very tragically, took his own life because, I believe, he had decided it was a wrong turning for our church.


But the theology behind the Fellowship is still alive. It is what is known as ‘conservative evangelical’ theology. According to it, you get to know God just through the Bible, and through prayer. The Bible is literally true. Often, people who follow those ideas are socially conservative: they believe, for instance, that homosexuality is sinful. Sometimes, people with this faith believe that illness and other misfortune come about as punishment from God for sin. But there are great positives too. There were missions to take Bibles to places where the Word of God had not reached, and where it was banned, such as China; and there was a great willingness to reach out to everyone in the village and involve them in prayer and knowledge of the Gospel, in services in a tent on the Leg O’Mutton field.


Then more recently, our vicar was Barry Preece. Barry was – Barry is – a ‘liberal’ theologian. He is very spiritual – he was for several years the Diocesan Adviser on Spirituality – but he did not believe that every word in the Bible is literally true. He was influenced by the great liberal (small ‘L’) theological movement in the 1960s following the Bishop of Woolwich, John Robinson’s, great little book ‘Honest to God’, which I bet some of you have on your shelves, as I do.


Liberal theologians are cautious about being very definite about what God is, or what He says. God is immortal, invisible, and infinitely wise. But He is beyond our understanding. We can know something about God because of Jesus. But we can use our reason to analyse the Bible, to acknowledge its contradictions and mysteries. We can understand certain things as symbolic rather than literally true. And we can be, we must be, tolerant of people who are different from us.


Just as the former Cobham Fellowship people are still represented at St Andrew’s, we have a number of people at St Andrew’s who are – perhaps influenced by Barry Preece’s teaching – liberal theologians. I am one.


And there’s yet another strand in the rich mixture of beliefs and witnessing to our faith at St Andrew’s. That is the ‘liberal catholic’ tradition, which Robert Jenkins taught. ‘Catholic’ in this sense means ‘for everyone’. Robert very much wanted our church to be involved with the community, not just a place where people go on Sunday. So Cobham Heritage had its big re-launch meeting at St Andrew’s: and the church’s outreach to Uganda, former Yugoslavia and now Nepal and South Africa, is all part of it. St Andrew’s had a big part in starting Cobham Area Foodbank, too.


But ‘catholic’ also means ‘Eucharistic’ – our worship is based on Holy Communion, rather than on what are called ‘services of the word’. There’s no Mattins or Evensong here. Barry Preece used to encourage a Sunday evening service led by lay people, not following a set liturgy. In Robert’s time we tried ‘Alive @ 6’, a more evangelical, modern service, in an attempt to involve people in the village who were not attracted by the more formal liturgy of Holy Communion, but it didn’t really catch on.


Now on Sunday evenings we practise what we preach about having a ‘united benefice’ with St Mary’s, and all join in Evensong at our sister church. That is a growing congregation, made up from both churches, and there are also quite a few newcomers, who are perhaps attracted by the music and the beautiful words.


The other thing to mention about our worship and witness here at St Andrew’s is our music. For 40 years David Fuge created and selected settings and hymns to bring together beautifully all the various strains of belief and styles of churchmanship and theology in this church. Kevin and Cathy are carrying on that work, which is so much a trademark of St Andrew’s.


Three distinct types of theology and a unifying musical tradition, all trying to bring the best of us to God in witness and service. The Parish Profile says we are ‘middle of the road’, [] but I think that doesn’t tell you half of it! It’s much better, more positive, than that.


Now we are going to find a new shepherd, a new pastor for the flock. It may take time – and whoever it is, they will have to get to know the variety and depth of our love for God in this church. We will want them to be able to say, like Ruth, ‘Your God shall be my God’.