Have Mercy On Me: Sermon Preached at Holy Cross, Ramsbury, Sunday 24th October 2021 (The Twenty-First Sunday after Trinity)

Winter afternoon sunlight on the lovely chancel at Holy Cross, Ramsbury. © Gerry Lynch, 22 February 2018.

“…he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’” 

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This morning’s readings can be great sources of hope for us, but they can also be disturbing. It all depends what mood or what set of experiences we approach them from. In their very different ways, both Job and Blind Bartimaeus have been dealt a rough hand by God, and have suffered for years. Then, in response to prayer, God fixes each of their problems in a trice. The second part of their lives will be so wonderful they could hardly have dared wish it for themselves. The readings can also be disturbing, however, because God does not do this for everyone, not even for many people who pray faithfully. 

An exterior shot of Holy Cross, Ramsbury, in the Diocese of Salisbury in golden February light.
The preacher was “playing an away match” at Holy Cross, Ramsbury. © 22 February, 2018.

I read an article in Church Times a few weeks ago about a brilliant young academic, who met the love of his life when they were both reading for their doctorates. He had been brought up outside the Church, but thanks to his fiancée, he came to faith in Christ for the first time. The he was struck by what seemed at first to be a routine viral infection, but this left him with a crippling post-viral syndrome which has now lasted for many decades. He has lived in almost permanent exhaustion and pain. His career went nowhere, and his condition placed enormous burdens of caring on that young girlfriend who became his wife. Decades of faithful prayer for healing were met only with occasional false dawns; after so many years, the answer to his prayers was, finally, a sense of peace with his illness, with God, and with the world. 

Where, one asks, is the justice in all that? If we accept that God does at times answer prayer in miraculous ways – and I do accept that – it leaves us wondering why He doesn’t do it more often. 

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Ecclesiastical History Rocks: 1960s Pentecostalism and Nigerian Anglicans

I spotted this interesting article and follow up letter in the Church Times when exploring its coverage of the 1968 Lambeth Conference. The article notes that the number of Anglicans in “the western part of Nigeria” was declining in favour of Pentecostals. Nigerian Anglicanism had gone through phases of shedding both sects and adherents towards Independency since at least the 1920s. But this was possibly the first report in the press of a new phenomenon which would have significant impacts on Anglicanism across the world.

There was a major Third Wave of new Pentecostal Churches emergent in Africa from the mid-1970s; in Nigeria, the continent’s most populous country, Jesse Zink locates this surge as beginning a little earlier, with an evangelical revival during the civil war of 1967-70. It would be incubated and then enormously multiplied in student groups meeting in the margins of the expanding Nigerian university system of the 1970s. Matthews Ojo understands these African movements as originating in the 1960s Pentecostalist revivals in North America and Britain; but Nigerian Independency long had links with the Anglo-Saxon north, and the influence wasn’t always unidirectional either.

Also of note here is some indirect evidence of Muslim-to-Christian conversion in Nigeria, which is far from unknown but somehow seems to escape everyone’s notice.

Anglicans facing competition from the burgeoning Pentecostal scene in Africa was one of a complex cluster of reasons why the issue of homosexuality became so toxic within world Anglicanism from the mid-1990s onwards.


From the Church Times, 9 August 1968

Fewer Anglicans in W. Nigeria

The number of Anglicans in the western part of Nigeria, West Africa, is declining, to the benefit of other denominations.

This is revealed in the report published giving the results of a research project into the “Role of Religion in Yoruba Society,” conducted by the Institute of African Studies of the University of Ife, Nigeria.

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A Clergyman’s Diary: A Wiltshire Transfiguration

The Wansdyke near Baltic Farm, 10 October 2021. © Gerry Lynch.

Nobody is quite sure when the Wansdyke was built, but the most commonly advanced theory is that it was built by the Romano-British after they were abandoned by the Imperial power to defend their stronghold in what is now Gloucestershire, Somerset, and northern Wiltshire, in the face of Saxon expansion spreading northwards from the English Channel. This would date it to around the end of the 5th Century. Regardless of exactly at which point in the transition from Roman Britain to Anglo-Saxon England it was built, it seems that the much later Anglo-Saxons had lost any idea about its purpose when, despite several centuries of Christianity, they named it Woden’s Dyke, after Odin, the king of the Norse gods, around the 9th Century.

The eastern section, in Wiltshire, has been much less disturbed over the centuries by agriculture and building than those further west, and this section, north of the village of Bishops Cannings, is particularly dramatic when lit by low late afternoon sun from the south in autumn and winter.

On a rainy day in midwinter, with the rain belting down for weeks, it can be a little disappointing, a flat bank of mud surrounded by dirty puddles. Yet the sun can transfigure it into mysterious magnificence in all seasons, always easy on the ankles, even for someone with my short legs and my fat belly. The ground remains springy and fast when in a hot dry spell when the surrounding terrain is drained and hard; and also when it is surrounded by wet muck.

Looking east from Morgan’s Hill towards Tan Hill, the Wansdyke just visible in the bottom of the valley, 10 October 2021. © Gerry Lynch.

It is as much as 4 metres high in places. It is followed by a long-distance footpath for all of this stretch. The view in the distance reaches to Tan Hill, at 294 metres above sea level the joint highest point in Wiltshire.

This is deep England. The countryside is not especially dramatic but rolls with a heart-healing, gentle, beauty. I walk here regularly, with various circuits of 12-18 miles (19-30 km) starting and finishing from my home in Devizes taking in stretches of it. When the light is like this, it makes my soul sing and fills me with gratitude for being alive.

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If You Sell Everything You Have, I’ll Buy You Lunch: Sermon Preached at St John’s, Devizes, Sunday 7th October 2021 (The Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity)

Readings – Hebrews 4:12–16; Mark 10:17–31

“…go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor … then come, follow me.”

This morning, I’m going to set you all a challenge from the pulpit. Which of you is going to do what Jesus told the rich young man this morning, and sell what you have, and give it to the poor?

The painting by Heinrich Hofmann, entitled Christus und der reiche Jüngling, dating to 1889. Residing at the Riverside Church, New York.
Heinrich Hofmann, Christus und der reiche Jüngling, 1889. Residing at the Riverside Church, New York.

I’m serious. Will somebody here, today, stick up their hand – I don’t want you to interrupt my sermon right now, but will somebody say to me at the south porch after the service, “Yes, Gerry. I’m in. I’ll get the estate agents to put the house on the market tomorrow, I’m giving the car to a young person without much money to whom it would really make a difference, and the family silver is going on eBay this afternoon.”

I’m mean it. If any of you takes up the challenge, I’ll stand you lunch at The Peppermill straight afterwards, along with a decent bottle or two, and you can come and stay with me for a month or two while you work out how you’re going to live your new vocation as a wandering mendicant, living entirely off the charity of others, for the sake of Christ.

Somebody here should give it a go. In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus has promised you treasure in heaven if you do, and in fact he promised you houses, families, and fields in this world as well. Along, it has to be said, with some persecutions. But it will all balance out as a big net positive. So, what are you waiting for?

Oh, by the way, no not me, I can’t do it. I know I’m single and I have no dependants, but I’m the curate and I have to stay here and minister unto you. It wouldn’t be fair, especially to you, for you to lose your wonderful curate who is, of course, entirely irreplaceable. Also, the Diocese would never pass me to go on and apply for my first incumbency.

The apostles reacted much in the manner that most of us do after hearing this challenge to the Rich Young Man, and then Jesus telling them that God’s standards were so high that it was almost impossible to get into heaven. They moaned. And Jesus answered them, that for mortals it was impossible, but for God, all things are possible.

You can’t win heaven. You cannot meet God’s exacting standards. God made us human beings to be flawed. We will, you and I, often make complete messes of things. Acknowledging this is a liberating, life-affirming, idea in a world where our worth is too often measured by our achievements, and our failures are too quickly pounced on by an increasingly angry and unforgiving culture. It is liberating and life-affirming because if you can’t meet God’s standards then you can’t earn God’s love. God loves you anyway, just as you are. He undoubtedly wants you to live your life differently in some ways than you do at present. You could certainly be better than you are – I know I could be. But you are loved by God.

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