Worship is Worth It: Sermon Preached on 29th January 2023 (Fourth Sunday after The Epiphany)

Preached at Evensong in St Mary the Virgin, Bishop’s Cannings

Genesis 28.10-22; Philemon 1–16

“…this stone, which I have set for a pillar, shall be God’s house.”

Philemon is not a text that preachers tend to thank the lectionary for throwing their way. Nonetheless I think it has quite a bit of interest to say to us here this evening, especially when paired with our Old Testament reading from Genesis, one of the most famous passages from that book, Jacob’s Ladder. Evensong often gives us the chance to engage with parts of the Bible that are rarely read in the Sunday morning lectionary. Tonight it certainly has.

White angels climbing up and down a ladder, representing a famous vision of Jacob in Genesis 28. A red sunset hovers overhead and a dark town is in the background. This is a painting by Mark Chagall from 1973.
Chagall, Jacob’s Ladder (1973).

There is often debate in the Church about whether the Church’s primary job is to help the needy or to worship almighty God. We often hear a similar debate about evangelism, where some argue it should be de-prioritised or even avoided entirely for the sake of helping the poor. In his letter to Philemon, St Paul sees all these things as being intimately connected with one another and mutually reinforcing one another. He prays for Philemon that “the communication of thy faith may become effectual by the acknowledging of every good thing which is in you in Christ Jesus”. It is when we take time to recognise the good that Jesus Christ does in us and through us, and to thank Him for that in prayer, that we become effective in sharing our faith.

Philemon is a difficult document because in it Paul discusses Onesimus, a runaway slave, with Philemon, who is his owner. Any thought of doing anything other than condemning slavery makes us outraged, and rightly so. The sad reality, however, is nearly every human society, on every continent, began practising slavery as soon the development of agriculture made it practical. What more demonstration of the reality of original sin do we need?

Indeed, while our first instinct when reading this letter is to stand in pious judgement over St Paul and the Roman Imperial society that produced him, we might consider that for all their faults, the Romans never came close to threatening the planet’s capacity to support human life, something we’ve done remarkably quickly through nothing more sophisticated than burning a bit of coal and oil. We are very quick to judge those of the past perhaps precisely because we know that us people of the present are, for all our wealth and technological power, just as flawed as our ancestors.

So, I think part of what this difficult letter has to teach us that there is no perfect social or political order and that there never will be — we must live our lives as Christians and seek to do good and follow Christ in a world that will always have dark aspects. We can, of course, work to change the political system and the laws we live under. Christianity supplied most of those who led the worldwide abolition of slavery in the century before last and we thank God for them. But we won’t always succeed in our attempts to make the world a better place; in fact sometimes we won’t even be pushing for the right things. Attempts to create utopia, to actually build heaven on earth, have usually led to hellish outcomes; the first society to reintroduce forms of slavery after having previously abolished the practice was the Soviet Union, which claimed to be a staging-post towards the perfect system of governing the world.

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We Only See the Light in Darkness: Sermon Preached on 29th January 2023 (Candlemas Transferred)

A 13th Century drawing of Mary and Joseph presenting the infant Jesus to Simeon at the Temple in Jerusalem - or at least what a 13th Century artist thought that looked like - while Anna worships and nine onlookers watch.

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

Hebrews 2. 14-18; Matthew 2. 22-40

“…a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

Today’s Gospel reading is set in a time when faith was thin and political realities were grim. Corruption and oppression reigned in the land but those most committed to change were often fanatical and violent. Religious leaders seemed more interested in power and privilege than praising God. It was a time and a place, in other words, like many others and not entirely different from our own.

Some did keep faith in these difficult circumstances – Mary and Joseph were two such people, presenting their baby son in the Temple for purification on the fortieth day after His birth as the Law of Moses required. The idea that ritual purification after birth might be important has become remote to us in recent generations. It can therefore surprise us that Candlemas, which we keep today as the feast that commemorates Christ being presented in the Temple, was one of the earliest Christian festivals and remains one of the most important.

A 13th Century drawing of Mary and Joseph presenting the infant Jesus to Simeon at the Temple in Jerusalem - or at least what a 13th Century artist thought that looked like - while Anna worships and nine onlookers watch.
Giotto, The Presentation of Christ (c. 1311).

Mary and Joseph were not the only people keeping the faith in those hard times. Simeon and Anna spent their lives deep in prayer and close to God. So much so that Simeon was led by the Holy Spirit to the infant Christ and knew he was the long-promised Messiah; Anna also knew the child was specially sent by God without anyone telling her. It is interesting that they were both very elderly, given that the elderly are often held to be of not much account in a world that is obsessed with vigour and power and achievement; but God has a more generous standard than the world of who is valuable and who is fit to do His work. The old are as valuable to Him as the young.

The marginal are also as valuable to God as those in the centre of things. God chose to become a human being in the person of Jesus Christ – not as a king, and not in one of the world’s power centres, but as the son of a woman who became pregnant in suspicious circumstances, to be raised as the son of an artisan, belonging to a people under a foreign occupation they bitterly resented.

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Once Again, America Chooses Ireland Over the UK

Unherd published a piece of mine on US government interventions on Northern Ireland, and why Ireland’s special relationship with the USA usually trumps the UK’s (read more here). Irish influence in America is not just about raw political calculation, nor entirely about the large number of Americans who proudly bear Irish ancestry. The technocrats miss … Read more

I Would Do Anything for Church Unity But I Won’t Do That: Sermon Preached on 22nd January 2023 (Third Sunday After Epiphany)

Three men standing in front of a large banner saying "Homosexuality is Sin" with five other men behind them, two of them holding smaller placards saying "the precious blood of life" and "repent ye, and believe the gospel." In a very high ratio landscape format.

Preached at St John’s Devizes

1 Corinthians 1.10-18; Matthew 4.12-23

“…each of you says, “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,” …  Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you?”

The divisions between the churches are often given as a reason why people reject Christianity. Therefore it’s a pity that we Christians can’t put aside our divisions and reunite the whole universal Church into one body, so we can witness far more effectively for Christ.

Many a sermon during Church Unity Week has begun with a statement like this. I happen, however, to forcefully disagree with it. (That wasn’t the bland and pious exhortation to ecumenism you were expecting twenty seconds ago, was it?)

Institutional unity wouldn’t mean we all agreed on everything anyway. I mean, as you’ll have noticed in the news this week, even in the Church of England we don’t actually agree on everything. The Roman Catholic Church the one body of any size that regards itself as being the only true and universal Church, is as internally divided as any other. Some of you may have seen in The Spectator a few weeks ago the deathbed letter of George Pell, the former Primate of Australia and leading Roman Catholic conservative in the English-speaking world, excoriating Pope Francis and his papacy. Given how deep the divisions within existing churches are, I wonder why so many of us seem to think reuniting into one big worldwide church institution is an ideal we should all aspire to. We’d still be divided within it.

Three men standing in front of a large banner saying "Homosexuality is Sin" with five other men behind them, two of them holding smaller placards saying "the precious blood of life" and "repent ye, and believe the gospel." A large warehouse-style building, brick built and old, is behind.
Some protestors perhaps not so keen on rapid institutional reunion with the Church of England, © Gerry Lynch, 28 August 2010.

There’s a negative way of thinking about the persistence of divisions among Christians, which is that they reflect our sinfulness, our pride, our inability to humble ourselves to truly discerning the mind of Christ.

I prefer to look at it another way. I prefer to start by noting that unity in Christ cannot mean uniformity, for that is not the unity that Christ modelled with His disciples when He walked the Earth. In the Gospels, Christ gives the disciples the freedom to argue and fall out with one another, and to misinterpret what He had to say. A generation later, Peter and Paul fought like rats in a sack. The Church of their heyday was as divided over issues like circumcision and whether it was morally acceptable to eat food sacrificed to idols, as we are about same-sex marriage. Some of the issues that tormented the early Church seem obscure to us now, but if one takes time to understand their context they are about the same things that are most divisive in the Church today – identity, and the extent to which Christians should model a distinct way of life from the rest of society, or instead integrate within it to help it become more like the Kingdom of God.

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A Few Wise Men: Sermon Preached on Friday 6th January 2023 (The Epiphany)

Preached at St John’s Devizes, and on Sunday 8th January at St Peter’s, Poulshot and Holy Cross, Seend

Isaiah 60.1-6; Matthew 2.1-12

“Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn…”

Epiphany (1940) by Max Ernst.

The Epiphany is the fourth most important date in the Church’s year, after Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost. Yet it is often neglected by secular society, and church-goers don’t generally turn out in great numbers for Epiphany services in my experience. Yet it’s a feast of great significance because, with Christ still in His cradle, it established Christianity as an explicitly universalising religion: by that, I mean one that seeks to make followers of people of every nation and language, rather than just from the Palestinian Jewish community who supplied Christ’s followers while He was on earth.

A lot is going on in our two readings this evening, so let me try to unpack some of it.

The fact that these men are identified by St Matthew as coming from the East, specifically, has interesting implications. The East was a place associated with wisdom and spiritual insight. The Wise Men are being identified by Matthew not as any old gentiles but some of the holiest and most intellectually gifted representatives of the entire gentile world. They already know that the new-born child they seek is destined to be king. In contrast, Herod, the temporal king of the Jews, is spiritually blind. This short-sighted and intolerant man can’t see anything in the arrival of these foreign visitors beyond a potential threat to his power. Wisdom and holiness do not come through ancestry: early in his story of Jesus’ life, Matthew has established an important principle.

Yet there is an obvious tension between universalism and the particular here. If Christianity is a universal religion, one might ask why Jesus should have been born as a Jew, as a male, in the Holy Land, in the 1st Century. Why there, and then, and in the form of this little baby born of Mary? Part of the answer must be that if Christian faith truly does encapsulate God’s plan for humanity, then God had to become human as someone in particular. None of us are blank slates. All of us have a culture and a heritage, and no single one of us can be everyman or everywoman. Indeed love can only truly be love if it is directed towards someone or something in particular; love in the abstract remains something unconsummated and unfulfilled.

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Dublin and Kilkenny

The last days of 2022 saw me make my first visit to Dublin since 2013 and to Kilkenny since, I think, 1995! A trip to interview the delightful (and Most Rev’d) John Neill for my doctorate. I did a day trip from Belfast to Kilkenny by train, which I don’t particularly recommend giving the timings, … Read more