Archives for posts with tag: King James Version

Sermon for Evensong on 11th May 2025, Easter 4

Psalms 113, 114

Isaiah 63:7-14

Luke 24:36-49

Peace be with You

You are very welcome, on this sunny afternoon, to the fastest-growing service in the Anglican church. Certainly in numbers attending, Evensong is where it’s at. That might seem a bit counterintuitive, when you think of the success of some of the great big evangelical churches such as Citizen Church here in Cardiff, which offer an entirely different way of worship, but apparently there are statistics to back it up.

I have from time to time tactfully enquired of members of the congregation what they particularly like about Evensong, and one of the more surprising answers which I have received was from a rather formidable lady of a certain age, who said that she particularly liked Evensong because there was ‘none of that shaking hands or kissing nonsense’.

Indeed I read once upon a time that our brothers and sisters in the Methodist Church had a bit of difficulty over exchanging the Peace as it became very popular among the teenage members of the congregation, who certainly weren’t shaking hands.

They could have relied on a theological justification, because all the biblical references which are relied on as the background to this part of the liturgy refer to the exchange of a ‘holy kiss’ – see Romans 16 verse 16, 1 Corinthians 16 verse 20, 2 Corinthians 13 verse 12 and other references in 1 Thessalonians and 1 Peter.

Be that as it may, we will not be exchanging the Peace in this service, although I am sure we are at peace with one another in this happy band of pilgrims here in Saint Peter’s.

But ‘Peace be with you’ – who said that? “Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’” That’s in our New Testament lesson this evening. But also those were the first words that the new Pope, Leo XIV, spoke to the crowd at Saint Peter’s in Rome after he had been chosen by the conclave.

What a week to be thinking about peace! We have been celebrating V-E Day, peace in Europe at the end of the Second World War; and we have been hoping and praying for peace in Ukraine and in Gaza, in Sudan, in Syria, and in the Yemen; and most recently, between India and Pakistan.

Peace be with you! This is a message that an awful lot of people around the world need to hear. Peace is the result of expressions of brotherly love, of the kind of love, love for one’s neighbour, that Jesus made such a central part of his teaching.

So it’s entirely logical that the new pope should make this his first message; the new Pope, the new man in the line of apostolic succession, as it’s called, from Saint Peter. I think we’ve all spent a fair bit of time recently boning up on how the apostolic succession works, meaning how the Conclave works, so that excellent film, ‘Conclave’, has been very timely, and some of us have also enjoyed watching again the splendid imagined dialogue between the two previous popes in the film ‘The Two Popes’ with Anthony Hopkins and Jonathan Pryce in the starring roles.

Their real-life successor, Pope Leo, has begun his papacy with a message of peace, just like Jesus. I hope that the context of Pope Leo’s message will be looked back on in almost as wonderful a way as the context to the first time that these wonderful words, peace be with you, were uttered, by Jesus himself; because Jesus went on to demonstrate that he had risen from the dead: he wasn’t a ghost. You could touch him and feel him.

Last week we were reading about Doubting Thomas: Thomas said, ‘Unless I can touch him and feel him and put my hands where he was wounded, I will not believe that he has risen from the dead.’ And then Jesus appeared and gave Thomas the chance to do all those things; so Thomas realised who Jesus really was, that he was the Messiah, he was God on Earth.

This passage that was read to us tonight from Luke’s gospel is Luke’s version of the same story. He doesn’t mention Thomas, so this could be a slightly different way of looking at the miraculous events of the resurrection.

In a way, if you think of the story of doubting Thomas, what he says, and does, is really a way of reassuring you that the story is true. Thomas stands for all of us. We would need proof, especially of something so earth-shattering as raising somebody from the dead.

Luke has it a different way round, and it is possible that Luke’s proof is even more convincing than the live evidence of Thomas, because what Jesus does, to show to the disciples that he isn’t a ghost, that he’s real and that he really has risen from the dead, is to ask them for something to eat, and then to eat it in front of them. Obviously somebody who eats something has a physical presence; he is not a ghost.

I find the story of Jesus eating the fish very interesting, not just as a way of making this earth-shattering event more believable, (as ghosts don’t just eat their food and leave their plates clean in front of people), not just for that reason, but because the nuts and bolts of what Jesus did are very interesting in themselves, I think.

Our reading says, ‘They gave him a piece of broiled fish.’ ‘Broiled’ fish. What sort of fish do you think that is? Have you ever ordered ‘broiled’ fish in a restaurant? If you ordered it in any of our fine Penarth chippies, what would you expect to get?

At first, when I thought about this, I thought it was because we are using a version of the Bible called the New Revised Standard Version, ‘Anglicised edition’; and it’s called ‘anglicised’ because it is in fact an American Bible. Translated originally by an American team of scholars, it has been, or at least it claims to have been, revised in accordance with English English, as opposed to American English, by British scholars led by Professor John Barton.

But although I have a lot of respect for Professor Barton, I’m not sure that he has spotted all the Americanisms. The only broiled thing that I can think of is a type of steak called a New York broil. These days broiling is something you come across only in the USA.

But the funny thing is, if you actually look at the King James version of the Bible (1611), even as early as that, the fish is described as ‘broiled’. I think the explanation is that American English has actually kept some old usages – you know, they use some words which we would think of as archaic; for instance the word ‘gotten’, as in ‘he’s gotten himself into trouble’. ‘Broiled’ is one of those. It’s an old word for ‘roast’ or just generally ‘cooked’, so a better modern translation simply says ‘They offered him a piece of fish they had cooked which he took and ate before their eyes’ [NEB].

When you go back to the King James Bible and look at it, Jesus appears to have eaten an utterly disgusting combination, because in the King James it says that not only did he eat the broiled fish, but he also ate a honeycomb, he ate ‘a piece of broiled fish and a honeycomb’. When you get to the Revised Version (1881), where they have had access to better copies of the original manuscripts, the honeycomb is not mentioned in the main text, but is relegated to a side note, which says: “Some authorities have ‘and a honeycomb’”.

My instinct is that, say, a piece of cod and a honeycomb is a truly disgusting combination – although I have to tell you that Kenny says, from an African point of view, that they are both individually nice-tasting foods; and Africans tend not to mind combining different tastes, so she wouldn’t have any particular difficulty with having a piece of fish and honeycomb at the same time.

But I think the more likely explanation is that an early manuscript contained a mistake. In the original Greek a ‘piece’ of fish and ‘honey’ are both very similar words: μέρος, a piece, μέλι, honey; mer-/mel-… I think it could be that one got mixed up for the other in the text, and so that might be how this mythical honeycomb crept in.

And the thought that what I consider to be a revolting combination, for someone else, is not, but is delicious, is indeed worth considering. We are what we eat. I am a beefeater; you might be a ‘cheese-eating surrender monkey’ and my friend in Hamburg is a Kraut (which is the name for a cabbage in German). So what was Jesus? He ate the fish – so he was alive. And he was a man, ‘a man in full’, as Tom Wolfe would have described him. Not a ghost. What he was offering was peace, brotherly love. And to remember that, we are encouraged to greet one another with a holy kiss.

But before you get too excited, the ‘kiss’ is translated from a Greek word φίλημα which doesn’t have sex overtones but does mean brotherly love and affection, so I think you can maintain proper British reserve next time the Peace comes around. But just think what the brotherhood of man brings, what variety of approaches, of tastes. True peace. So with Pope Leo, with Jesus himself, I say, Peace be with you!

A distinguished evangelical whom I know expresses unease if, following the liturgy, he has to invite the faithful to ‘bless the Lord’. It offends his sense of the divine heirarchy: all right to invite the Lord to bless us, but not the other way round. Blessing can only be conferred by the greater upon the lesser. As a humble Reader, I know this to be true. I am not supposed to bless the congregation, but to pray, with them, that we may all be blessed.

But. I think that there is an English usage, albeit perhaps archaic, which swaps subject and object. ‘I’ll learn you!’ is an example. It means, colloquially, ‘I’ll teach you’.

I think that this curious idiom occurs in God-talk as well. In the Common Worship version of the Magnificat, Luke 1:54 is expressed as

He has come to the aid of his servant Israel,
to remember his promise of mercy,…

To’ remember here is problematical. It implies not that He is remembering – not as the NRSV suggests in cross-references to Genesis 8:1 and Psalm 98:3, or indeed as the AV and BCP translate the Greek ‘μνησθηναι ελέους, καθώς ελαλησεν προς τους πατέρας ήμων´, ‘He remembering his mercy …’, but rather that the use of ‘to’ implies that He causes Israel to remember, almost as if he had said, ‘I’ll learn them …’

If I am right in this, then I see nothing to worry my evangelical friend if he has to ‘bless the Lord’. It means, ‘May the Lord bless us’. Of course it is always possible that the sublime language of the BCP and AV is also a better translation than the sometimes stumbling prose of Common Worship or its cousin the NRSV ‘Anglicised Edition’ [sic]. But that is above the pay grade of humble Readers, I am told. May we always count our blessings.

Hugh Bryant

Reader in the Church in Wales

Advent

22nd December 2022

A reflection

John 10:1-10 – http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=455280521

One of my friends has started putting pictures of sheep on her Instagram page. Every day she puts up a picture of a different sheep. At first I wondered whether I wasn’t really getting the hang of the Instagram, and that there was a message about the sheep that I wasn’t seeing. Perhaps there were some words somewhere which I was not seeing on my screen. So, after about five different sheep pictures, I asked her, “What’s with all the splendid sheep on your Instagram?” She answered, “I have always loved sheep. I’m fed up with the negative news, so I just set myself a challenge to post at least one sheep each day to remind myself of the Good Shepherd.’ That really says it all. Maybe I should just stop there. Sheep are good animals. They are a Good Thing. But perhaps I should elaborate a little bit.

I have to say that I’m not a country person, so the only times that I have met sheep face-to-face have been at Bockett’s Farm with my children and my grandson, little Jim. Actually, now you come to mention it, when I was little, on holiday in North Wales, I do remember another time: stopping for a picnic on the Horseshoe Pass near Llangollen, when a couple of sheep climbed into Dad’s car and tried to have the picnic that we were having. But they were very nice about it and they didn’t bite anybody; just our sandwiches.

I don’t really know what the ‘sheepfold’ is that our Gospel reading talks about. I thought sheep just roamed about in a field, and every now and again got rounded up by the shepherd and his sheep dog, to be taken off to have their coats shorn and and be put through a sheep dip.

In Jesus’s story, there isn’t a sheepdog. But there is somebody, who is called the ‘door-keeper’ or the ‘gatekeeper’. Where these sheep live, this sheepfold, it sounds a bit like an hotel. Indeed the King James version of the Bible identifies the chap who lets the sheep in and out, this gatekeeper, as the ‘porter’. I’ve got visions of one of those little Paris hotels with a porter at the reception who gives you your key, or of an Oxford college, where again, the man at the door is called the porter. But that’s maybe a bit grand – for a sheep. Maybe they did things differently, in first century Palestine.

Jesus does use sheep quite often in his parables and teaching. Think of the parable of the lost sheep, or the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or the crowds, that Jesus pities, because they are like ‘sheep without a shepherd’. Immediately after the story which we have as our lesson today, he goes on to talk about being the Good Shepherd.

These references to sheep do give you confidence that God cares for us. Jesus is God, and he is also the good Shepherd; so we can be confident that he will look after us.

Here Jesus says that he is “the gate for the sheep”. Not just the gatekeeper, but the gate itself. Before he came to be the gatekeeper, or the gate, all sorts of people got into the sheepfold, who were not proper shepherds. They may have been just rustlers and thieves.

But when Jesus became the gatekeeper, then he was properly careful about the ones he allowed in. We are reminded about the Great Judgement at the end of time in St Matthew ch 25, the sorting out of the sheep from the goats: remember, you see, the sheep are the good ones. And by the way: just as there aren’t any sheep dogs in these stories, there aren’t any black sheep either; so I don’t have to talk about exceptions that prove the rule.

The straightforward idea is that we are in his Great Congregation – because ‘congregation’ is another sheep-y word. Grex, gregis, in Latin, which is the ‘greg’ bit in the word ‘congregation’, means a herd or a flock. A flock of sheep. We are the great congregation, the great flock. We are the sheep belonging to the Good Shepherd.

And Jesus says, ‘Whoever enters the sheepfold through me will be saved; going out and coming in through me, the sheep will find somewhere good to graze’. …. ‘I am there in order ‘… that you, (the sheep), may have life, and may have it abundantly.’

You can see why lambs are something we often think about at Easter, in the springtime, when they are playing in the fields, when the flowers are coming out; because it is usually a wonderful time of regeneration, a time for having life abundantly.

But it is rather poignant today, when there is so much sadness and worry about the terrible coronavirus epidemic; against that background I think it is especially welcome that we should be able, for a few minutes this morning, to fix our minds on a nice, warm, woolly, sheep. I think Jesus would have approved. That sheep stands for all sorts of good things to come.

Sermon for Evensong on the 11th Sunday after Trinity, 12th August 2018

Job 30:1-40:4, Hebrews 12:1-17, Psalm 91

Through the great kindness and generosity of one of my St Mary’s friends, I spent a wonderful day yesterday at Lords watching the Test Match between England and India. As you will know, there was a lot to celebrate, at least if you were an English fan. But what must have poor old Sharma, the Indian fast bowler, have been feeling? More than anybody else in the team, except the other pace bowler, Shami, he was running vast distances to bowl at over 80 miles an hour, spot on target, over and over again – but it wasn’t working. He only got one wicket.

Once Bairstow and Woakes were in, there didn’t seem to be anything that he could do. I can imagine that, when he got to the end of the day, over his biryani, Ishant Sharma would have felt a little bit like Job. ‘Why me, Lord? Why is everything going so badly? I’m doing all the right things, but nevertheless I keep getting hit all over the ground.’ That’s what I want to look at tonight: how things can go wrong for us, whether God has anything to do with it, and how we can come to terms with it.

I’m not quite sure how far I can pursue the cricketing metaphor, but of course God goes on to answer Job, by giving lots of illustrations of divine power: all the things that God can make animals do, interestingly including unicorns (at least in the King James version of the Bible which we had tonight). Unfortunately in all the more modern, mundane versions of the Bible, the unicorns have turned into some special kind of ox or heifer; the unicorns have disappeared. Nevertheless, it’s God that makes them do whatever they do, not man.

Similarly at Lord’s today, and on Friday, God made the rain come down. That really changed the way the game was going. It wasn’t anything that either of the teams did which changed the course of the game, when it rained: it was the rain.

There is only so far that I can go with this cricketing analogy with the book of Job, but the point about the passage which Len have been reading tonight is that with divinity comes omnipotence. There is no limit to God’s power. Let’s leave aside for a minute the question who is talking in the book of Job – the question who is God in this context. How realistic is it that someone can write a book saying that so-and-so so had a dialogue with God, in the way that is portrayed in this book in the Bible?

Let’s leave that on one side for minute and just say that, however it came to be written, the book gives a perfectly plausible illustration of the workings of the divine. God is omnipotent, God can do anything. God can make all the animals in the world do what those animals do; and the corollary is that God may not regard the needs of a particular human being as being very high up the list of priorities, so that human being may lose out if it fits God’s cosmic programme for him to lose out.

Job has to accept his position and not rail against it – however unreasonable that might seem, particularly if you’re Job. There are connotations of zero-sums in this as well. Just as in a cricket game, somebody has to win, and somebody has to lose, (unless, of course, it’s a draw), so in the world of nature, for all the sunny days, some rain has to fall at some time.

I think the implication is also that, as between God and man, God and Job, between the Indians and the weather forecast, there is nothing personal. The suffering that is caused, the suffering that is a spin-off of the operation of creation, of the natural order, is not in any way intended, directed against anyone – although that was Job’s beef: he thought God had got it in for him, and he didn’t feel that he deserved it.

But I think that the message of the Book of Job is that there is nothing personal. God has not got it in for Job. This is just the way that God makes nature work. But then contrast the situation in the book of Hebrews. There is, if you like, a different sort of engagement with the divine, ‘seeing we have such a great cloud of witnesses’. Everyone is looking at us. Poor old Sharma: everyone is looking at him. Things may be tough for us. In order for us to achieve the goals which we have set ourselves or to do justice to the calling we feel to follow the example of Jesus, say, as Christians, it’s not easy. We have to persevere to the end.

The metaphor in Hebrews is an athletic one; running a tough race. But this is where it gets complicated. In Job’s case the tough stuff, the suffering, is nothing personal, as between Job and God, as Job has really done nothing wrong, and God is not punishing Job. It’s just that, in the wider compass of things, things have to go badly as well as well, there has to be black as well as white.

But there is also a sense where difficulties are to some extent intended. This is where there is a training purpose involved. The Letter to the Hebrews suggests that God sometimes is – and should be – like a father who follows the old idea about ‘sparing the rod and spoiling the child’. It’s supposed to be a sign of parental love if the father whacks the children by way of punishment. Thank goodness, we don’t do that any more. I think that now we know that simply hurting people when they won’t stop doing something doesn’t in any sense train them not to do whatever it is. In a sense, indeed, it may be, in a microcosm, like the beginnings of wars.

A war often starts with a ultimatum: If you invade Poland, we will declare war on you. What it means is, if we can’t persuade you by argument, we will compel you by force. If you throw golf balls at Mr Jones’ greenhouse, I will smack your bottom. The problem is, that whereas possibly in the case of Mr Jones’ greenhouse, the threat to smack bottoms may be effective in stopping you doing it, in the case of modern warfare, it’s arguable that all you do by waging war is add to death and destruction, and perhaps store up resentments and enmity for the future.

Think of the aftermath of the Treaty of Versailles, which brought about the end of the First World War. It was so hard, it exacted such a harsh penalty in reparations on Germany, that Germany was reduced to its knees economically, and the seeds of Nazism were sown. The war did not achieve its peaceful or practical objective. Think of the wars in Afghanistan, since the time of British India, when it was the ‘North-West Frontier.’ The British Army in Victorian times couldn’t defeat the Afghans. The Russians couldn’t do it. And we and the Americans haven’t done it more recently either.

So we might query the efficacy of the ideas behind this passage in Hebrews. ‘Spare the rod, and spoil the child’, is not what we believe in today: but we can understand the idea, the theory. If we, who are supposed to have seen the light, who are supposed to be believers, to be Christians, behave badly – if ‘…there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright, ..’ if we are sinful, God will punish us, will give us a hard time, says Hebrews.

Maybe that’s a point to ponder. Would a loving God hurt his chosen people? However naughty they were? And what if they repented, if they sought forgiveness? I have a feeling that the author of the Letter to the Hebrews – who wasn’t St Paul, according to a number of scholars – may have been wrong here. Surely a loving God would not hurt people. So perhaps, actually, the Job model, that suffering doesn’t necessarily result from bad behaviour, from sin, is more apt, even in the light of Christ. Bad things just happen. It doesn’t mean that God is angry with us. So do run the race, do go into training for the race to run the good life. But don’t give up if rain stops play. God doesn’t have it in for you and your team.