Month: November 2025

Kings Get Killed: Sermon Preached on 23rd November 2025 (Christ the King)

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A large statue of Jesus Christ with outstretched arms stands atop a forested mountain, viewed from above. The iconic Art Deco-style figure, known as Christ the Redeemer, overlooks a lush green landscape in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The statue's serene face and flowing robes are clearly visible against the dense tree canopy below.

Preached at St Peter’s, Poulshot and Christ Church, Bulkington

Colossians 1. 11-20; Luke 23. 33-43

“The soldiers also mocked him … saying, ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!’”

A stylized medieval-style illustration of “Christus Rex” (Christ the King).Christ sits enthroned in a red mantle and blue robe, crowned with a cross, radiant halo behind his head. He holds a cross-topped staff in one hand and a golden monstrance with the Eucharist in the other. His bare feet rest on a globe. Six winged angels in soft robes surround him in adoration. Uplifted human hands emerge from below in worship. Bold text at the bottom reads: CHRISTUS REX
Esther Newport, Christus Rex (1940), book illustration

Being a king can be a dangerous business. William II, aka William Rufus, son of the Conqueror, combined unbridled tastes for the pleasures of the flesh with a steady and wise hand in steering the affairs of state. That didn’t stop him being shot by an arrow in a hunting accident that many believe was no accident. Edward II died in mysterious circumstances while in the custody of his wife’s lover. Richard II was another unlucky second, and was murdered while in prison, just like the much later Henry VI. (Henry II actually survived!)

We might think of Presidents as kings in a democratic era, and Kennedy, Garfield, Lincoln, and McKinley were all assassinated, meaning America’s chiefs have a one in eleven chance of being shot dead in office. The leader of Ireland’s War of Independence, Michael Collins, never even got the chance to become his country’s prime minister, ambushed while Chairman of what was still a Provisional Government, shot by his own side (although the people ultimately to blame were – of course – the Brits). From Pharaoh Ramesses III through Julius Caesar to Yitzhak Rabin and Muammar Gadaffi, the head man of any society has always been in particular danger of losing his head.

So, in being put to death, Jesus is very much in the mould an earthly king, despite the humiliating misery of His circumstances in today’s Gospel reading. To be a leader is to be a target. Yet this is happening to Christ even though He has rejected every attempt to have Him seize earthly power, much to the disappointment of His closest followers. Having sought no power He is sentenced to death with, in Luke’s record, neither Pilate nor even Herod having found any possible charge that could stick to Him.

He is executed merely to appease a baying mob and perhaps avoid a nasty bout of rioting. He is literally a scapegoat, slaughtered for the sins of others in the politically tense and often violent circumstances of Roman Palestine. Put to death because the corruption of the Herods, the arrogant brutality of the Romans, and the Jews’ delusions about their own strength combine to create a land constantly bubbling on the edge of violence.

What is the death of one man if it preserves the fragile peace, and is the price that must be paid to spare misery for a million? All states make calculations of this nature from time to time, from blind eyes turned to obvious injustices through to bloody wars of choice. Perfect justice eludes human attempts to create it. There are always difficult calculations and trade-offs to be made in a world of laziness and prejudice, and even where these sins are avoided, a world of clashing perspectives and imperfect information.

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Out With A Bang: Sermon Preached on 16th November 2025 (Second Sunday Before Advent)

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A screenshot from a video conference displayed on a large screen, showing a multi-participant virtual briefing in a command center setting. The main view is split into several feeds:Top left: A control panel interface with labels including "STRATCOM" (green status), "FEMA", "CENTCOM", "Chief of Staff", "SECDEF", "DNI/CIA", and various status indicators. Top center: A live feed from a military operations room labeled "STRATCOM - GEN Brady". A Caucasian male general in camouflage uniform (Gen Brady) stands at a podium with a microphone, speaking seriously. Behind him are personnel at workstations, including a seated woman and others monitoring screens. An American flag is visible. Top right: A feed labeled "NORTHCOM - GEN Longmen". A Caucasian female general in camouflage uniform (Gen Longmen) sits at a desk with papers, looking forward intently. Behind her is the U.S. Northern Command seal on the wall and an American flag. Bottom left: A close-up feed of a man with short dark hair, viewed from below in a dimly lit room, looking upward with a serious expression. Bottom right: An empty or dimly lit office-like feed with ceiling lights and indistinct objects. The overall scene has a tense, high-stakes atmosphere typical of a fictional emergency response or military strategy session, reminiscent of a movie or TV show.

Preached at Christ Church, Worton and Holy Cross, Seend

2 Thessalonians 3.6–13; Luke 21.5–19

‘When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.’

A black-and-white photograph shows a middle-aged man with a mustache, wearing a leather aviator jacket, scarf, and cowboy hat, perched triumphantly atop a large black-and-white checkered spherical object. He leans forward with intense energy, one hand gripping the sphere for balance while the other waves his hat high in the air. His mouth is open wide in a shout of exhilaration or defiance. Behind him, a dramatic mountainous landscape with snow-covered peaks and a winding road stretches into the distance under a dark, moody sky.
Slim Pickens goes out with a bang in Dr. Strangelove (1964).

The other night, I watched a Netflix blockbuster, released last month, named A House of Dynamite. (Trailer) In it, the American military detects an inbound object streaking across the Pacific towards the United States. It is soon confirmed as a missile headed straight for Chicago and its nine million-odd people, due to impact in just 18 minutes. Nobody knows who fired the object – it could be North Korea, or China, or Russia. Nobody even knows if there is a nuclear warhead attached to it at all. The President must make perhaps the most fateful decision in history in the face of conflicting suggestions from his top advisors—fail to respond, and they could invite further catastrophic attacks on American cities; respond, and they could trigger nuclear apocalypse.

One thing that comes across is the chaos as decision-makers are pulled from their daily routine to try to make an impossible decision on a group video call, in a matter of minutes. And that, potentially, is the sort of frayed thread by which the fate of the world could hang. For real.

We have lived, now for 80 years, with the possibility that the human race might wipe itself out in a nuclear war. For everyone here today, it is a possibility that we have lived with every day at least since childhood, in most cases for our entire lives. My primary school years took place during one of the most intense periods of nuclear fear, the 1980s, when the Greenham Common women were on the news every night and genuinely frightening movies like Threads, which depicted the effects of a nuclear strike on Sheffield, were prime time fare.

The depressing world situation we face at present brings those fears back. Two nuclear powers – Israel and Russia – have now been involved in years’ long wars on their own borders. As science advances, we read worrying stories about new possibilities of self-inflicted extinction, from genetic modification and artificial intelligence

“When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified.” None of us know what might be coming around the corner, for us and for the world. When Jesus taught at the great Temple in Jerusalem, those who heard Him had no idea that He was in the last week of His earthly life. Yet, behind the scenes, the clerical leaders of the Temple, fearing the wrath of the Romans, were plotting that it might be expedient for one man to die for the people.

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Why Are You Here?: Sermon Preached on 9nd November 2025 (Third Sunday Before Advent)

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A panoramic 19th-century Romantic landscape painting of a misty alpine lake with cascading waterfalls plunging from rocky cliffs into turquoise waters, flanked by autumnal golden-orange forests, dark cypress groves, distant snow-capped mountains, and a flock of white swans gliding on the surface under a hazy blue sky.

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

2 Thessalonians 2.1–5, 13–17; Luke 20.27–38

“God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation…to the obtaining of the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

A vibrant early-20th-century watercolor of Jesus conversing with a Sadducee in a sunlit ancient Middle Eastern street. Central: Jesus, with long brown hair, beard, and compassionate gaze, in white robes, gesturing explanatorily. Facing him: An elderly Sadducee in striped robe and green-white turban, hand on chin thoughtfully. Around them: A dozen bearded men in earth-toned robes and headscarves, observing curiously. Background: Ochre stucco buildings, arches, blue sky. Rich golds, blues, earth tones; soft shading, detailed fabrics.
‘The Question of the Pharisees’ from Harold Copping’s ‘Scenes from the Bible’ (before 1907).

Why are you here?

Is it because you want to receive Communion? Good reason. Is it because you slept in this morning? Because you love the ambience in St Mary’s on a winter evening? Because it’s more interesting than yet another repeat of an old episode of Antiques Roadshow?

As long as worshipping God in His Son Jesus Christ is at least one of your reasons for being here, then St Paul has a different and more fundamental answer as to why you’re here. He writes to the Christians in Thessalonica, then as now a large Greek city, that “God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation…to the obtaining of the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

So you are here tonight because God called you to be here, so you might obtain glory: glory in the world to come, when you are raised from the dead in Christ, as Christ was Himself raised from the dead by the Father.

The idea of Resurrection strikes many people as silly, and often they think that’s because they’re sophisticated modern people who believe in science. But actually, Resurrection struck a lot of people in the ancient world as silly too—this includes the people mentioned in our Gospel reading, the Sadducees, who were a group of Jewish religious leaders who seem to have done a lot of the administrative work in the Temple at Jerusalem in Jesus’ time.

We don’t know a lot about the Sadducees, and most of what we do know was written by their enemies so isn’t entirely reliable. But we can be pretty sure about a few things. They were good administrators, and at their best they were very learned. They were drawn from the upper échelons of Jewish society in the Holy Land, enjoyed the good things in life and had no worries about spending money on luxuries. And they didn’t believe in Heaven, Hell, spirits, angels, or demons—any more than they believed in the Resurrection.

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Impossible Even for Saints: Sermon Preached on 2nd November 2025 (All Saints’ Day)

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A detailed stained glass window panel in vibrant medieval style, illustrating a biblical scene. The composition features intricate tilework in shades of red, blue, green, yellow, and white, with geometric borders and foliage motifs framing the action. The overall scene conveys tension and moral drama, with warm jewel tones dominating the left side fading to cooler blues on the right, all outlined in black lead cames for a luminous, narrative effect.

Preached at Christ Church, Worton and St Mary’s, Potterne

Ephesians 1.11–23; Luke 6.20–31

“…from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt.”

A towering Gothic polyptych altarpiece, illuminated by soft church light, depicting a sacred hierarchy in vivid tempera and gold leaf. The composition unfolds in three tiers beneath a pointed arch, framed by intricate gilded tracery and a starry indigo vault.
‘Like A Good Hand At Bridge’—the East Wall at All Saints’, Margaret Street, London W1, © Gerry Lynch, 17 November 2017

“Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.” Dorothy Day, the American pacifist, radical Socialist, feminist, and devout Catholic, has this among the pithiest of her large collection of pithy sayings.

And we can all see where she’s coming from, can’t we? Who’d want to be a saint? Saints have to be good all the time. I mean—boring! And anyway, we all know we’re not good all the time. We swear at people when they cut us off when we’re driving, and most of us, when we thought nobody was looking, have probably picked our noses. And we all know that we have a few faults that are rather worse than that.

Sainthood is all very well and good for the saints, but for most of us, it feels like setting out on a lifetime of dreariness only to set ourselves up to fail in the end. It can also feel like something that takes us out of doing practical good in the world for the sake of an impractically otherworldly set of ideals. I think that’s where Dorothy Day was coming from: it’s easy to dismiss a saint as someone whose actions are well beyond the capacity of the rest of us to achieve, and whose ideas are well beyond the capacity of any society to put into action.

But hang on a minute. The Bible, and the Gospels in particular, tell us lots about the first generation of Christian saints. And all of them, at least some of the time, were total car-crashes! They often don’t get what Jesus is really about because their image of God is so limited, but more than that, they’re often selfish, vain, glory-hunters!

The St Peter of the Gospels is a case study in self-centred cluelessness, who liked to play the tough nut but couldn’t deal with the pressure when Christ was arrested—yet he was the rock on which Christ built the Church. St Paul was so hard to put up with that even sweet, gentle, St Barnabas – Barnabas the encourager – stormed off and abandoned him. And when you put Peter and Paul together in a room, there could be fireworks, because they couldn’t stand one another. That’s even before we get to the Sons of Thunder and all the rest of them.

In the Creed every Sunday, we say that we believe in “one holy catholic and apostolic Church”. We say that our Faith is the same as that of the apostles, that we are part of the Church founded by the apostles. Well, this is what the apostles were really like, if we believe the Bible—not pious plaster statues, but real people with real faults; real faults that didn’t prevent them being the instruments of God’s work in the world.

That’s what being a saint is about: not being someone who is always good, but someone whose dark side hasn’t prevented them from living for Christ, from doing the Father’s work, in the power of the Holy Spirit. It’s not just people like Peter and Paul and Augustine and Alban and all that lot who are called to be saints: I am called to sainthood, and so are you, strange as that may sound.

Today’s Gospel reading is full of what seem to be demands impossible even for a saint. Let’s start with, “Love your enemies?” How good are you at doing that? I don’t mean tolerating your enemies’ existence, or grudgingly forgiving them through gritted teeth because it’s your Christian duty, but actually, you know, loving them?

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