The Paradox of Christianity: Sermon Preached on 1st October 2023 (17th Sunday after Trinity)

Jesus Christ stands on a pedestal in The Temple, with Corinthian columns behind, surrounded by listeners dressed in sumptuous Renaissance clothing.

Preached at St John’s, Devizes

Readings – Philippians 2.1-13; Matthew 20.1-16

“And they argued with one another…”

If you’ve been paying attention to the readings in Church on recent Sundays, you’ll have noticed that we haven’t had the Palm Sunday Gospel – unsurprisingly in early autumn. So it’s a little startling to find this week’s Gospel catapulting us into the middle of Holy Week. We don’t read Matthew’s Gospel entirely in sequence during the year, so we’ve skipped over Christ’s final journey through Judaea and Jericho, and find Jesus in the Temple arguing with the chief priests and elders.

Jesus Christ stands on a pedestal in The Temple, with Corinthian columns behind, surrounded by listeners dressed in sumptuous Renaissance clothing.
Paolo Veronese, Christ Among the Doctors (ca. 1560). Hangs in the Prado, Madrid.

The religious leaders are playing what they think are clever word games. But although they present themselves as having power and authority over the Jewish people, what this debate exposes is how afraid they are of public opinion. We also know that they rightly fear the Romans. So they’re performing little verbal dances, determined to get one over on Jesus, but also aware that saying the wrong thing could enrage either the Empire, or the crowds who admire this popular, if strange, preacher, as the admired John the Baptist.

By the time Matthew’s Gospel was written down in this form, perhaps forty years after Holy Week, the pointlessness of these games of had been brutally exposed. In the year 70 the Romans destroyed the Temple, halfway through a brutal eight-year Jewish revolt which ended, inevitably, with a Roman victory. The chief priests and elders in Jerusalem were absolutely not capable of managing the relationship between an all-powerful Empire demanding obedience and a fractious and resentful Jewish Palestinian society.

I’m afraid the word games and meaningless hair-splitting remind me rather of the politics of our own time. While it’s easy to blame our leaders for that, like the Jerusalem Temple authorities of Jesus’ time, they live in fear of fickle public opinion—the opinion of us and people like us—and the evident enjoyment the population takes in a bit of mob anger, albeit mostly expressed on the phone-in shows and on social media. At the same time, the long-term mega trends of the modern world, be it galloping technology, migration, climate change, or whatever, seem as beyond our leaders as the ever-rising tensions between Roman power and Jewish resentment were for the clerical gentlemen at the Temple. Perhaps it’s an inevitable part of the human condition that rulers spend much effort on irrelevancies they can control while ignoring the real problems that they possibly can’t.

Now, here’s a point that’s easy to miss in all this. It is very obvious from this exchange that Jesus can play these political word games like a pro. He puts the chief priests and elders in their box with a calculatedly sharp answer, as He does so often. But Jesus isn’t interested in playing these games for too long. While the religious authorities are desperate to stay on the right side of public opinion, Jesus already seems to be aware that it will turn against Him, and soon.

This is where we see the magnificent paradox that sits at the heart of the Christian faith. Christ has already warned His followers, in Matthew chapter 16, so not all that long before these events, that anyone who tried to save their life would lose it, but anyone who lost their life for His sake would save it. When we lose our lives for Christ’s sake we save them; it’s only because Christ died on the Cross that eternal life is open to us.

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Send Me: Sermon Preached at St John’s, Devizes, Sunday 5th February 2022 (The Fourth Sunday before Lent)

18th Century icon of the Prophet Isaiah, from the iconostasis of Transfiguration Church, Kizhi monastery, Russian Karelia

Readings – Isaiah 6: 1–8; Luke 5: 1–11

‘And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’’

I think it would be fair to say that as a congregation, we don’t think of ourselves as being pious or particularly holy. In fact, that sort of understanding of what being a Christian means rather freaks us out – and thank the Lord for that. In my experience, we tend to see ourselves as pilgrims on the road towards God, travelling as much with those outside our walls as within them, and certainly not as some sort of vanguard of God’s chosen people. That understanding is also big part of how I see my ministry as a priest. 

18th Century icon of the Prophet Isaiah, from the iconostasis of Transfiguration Church, Kizhi monastery, Russian Karelia
18th Century icon of the Prophet Isaiah, from the iconostasis of Transfiguration Church, Kizhi monastery, Russian Karelia

We are nothing special. We have the same failings as anyone else. And yet we are chosen by God to follow Him, each of us as individuals, and collectively as His people here in the centre of Devizes, worshipping the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in this building as people have done for 892 years. It is awe-inspiring to think that the people who built St John’s in the decades after William had conquered were closer in time to us today than they were to Peter and James and John on the shore of the Sea of Galilee when they left everything and followed Him. Yet across these vast gulfs of time, we are all joined together in the chain of those who have broken bread and shared wine in Jesus’ name that stretches back, unbroken, to group of friends who shared supper with Him on an early Spring evening in Jerusalem, just before His death.

It is not, my brothers and sisters, because we are particularly good that we follow Jesus Christ but because the God who is love calls us to follow Him, as the people we are, and as the community of Christians here in St John’s that we are. 

God has always chosen people who didn’t think they were anything special. Isaiah, when he was granted a vision of heaven, cried that he was a man of unclean lips. Still remembered as a thinker and wise counsellor after 2,700 years, from a time when very few names survive except for those of warriors and kings, Isaiah was nonetheless a man well aware of his own limitations.

Dear old Peter, never a man who failed to say what he meant, was entirely freaked out when he realised who Jesus was and what He had just done shouting, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” Our modern presentation of Jesus Christ rightly focuses on Him as our loving brother, but we have lost something of this sense of awe at the majesty of the Holy and Undivided Trinity.

This awe-inspiring God is calling everyone in this church this morning to speak for Him, to serve Him, to be fishers of men. “Here I am – send me”, says Isaiah, in full awareness of his failings. God’s question to Isaiah, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” is addressed to each one of us.

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Fresh Wine and Springtime: Sermon Preached at St John’s, Devizes, Sunday 16th January 2022 (The Second Sunday after Epiphany)

Readings – 1 Corinthians 12: 1–11, John 2: 1–11

Everyone serves … the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.

A zoom on some of the detail of The Wedding Feast at Cana (1536) by Paolo Veronese, which hangs in The Louvre.
A zoom on some of the detail of The Wedding Feast at Cana (1536) by Paolo Veronese, which hangs in The Louvre.

I think you all know me well enough by now to know that I enjoy the good things in life. So, clearly, did Jesus. In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus turns water into wine on an industrial scale at a wedding. The water filled six huge jars, each holding “twenty or thirty gallons”, which by my calculations would make more than 900 bottles of wine – which the guests found to be of superlative quality. This is a lot even for a seriously boozy wedding reception. It is so much wine that even the people at Friday evening lockdown parties at Number 10 Downing Street might not have managed to finish it all.

God wants you to enjoy life to the full. There are going to be enough tough moments in life as it is – the last two years, for example – so there is nothing wrong in making the most of the times when things are going well. Indeed, if you have been generally fortunate in life, do what you can to help others, but also be grateful, rather than being guilty, for your blessings, for your gratitude can inspire a wonderful lightness of life but your guilt helps no-one.

As well as enjoying the good things in life, most of you will also know by now that I like to preach about how Jesus Christ was both truly God and truly human, and how God loves us in our humanity. Our Gospel reading this morning presents a very human scene, which takes place in a real human culture: a Jewish one. If I made a film about this scene, I would cast Maureen Lipman as Mary and Adam Sandler as Jesus. Jesus is clearly annoyed with his mother for trying to get him to intervene and keep the party going; Mary completely ignores Him and tells the staff to do whatever He says. Jesus, completely outfoxed by his mother, complies with her request.

So here we have Jesus, God made man, enjoying and helping others to enjoy the best of what it means to be human. What does this mean for us and for today’s Church?

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Good Enough for God?

Dom Kenneth Newing on the Diamond Jubilee of his ordination to the priesthood, at the tender age of 93.

This article first appeared in the July 2021 edition of the parish magazine of St John with St Mary, Devizes.

Among my closest friends are the three remaining Anglican Benedictine monks from what was once Nashdom and then Elmore Abbey, now resident in Salisbury Cathedral Close. When I first came to Wiltshire in 2013, they were four, and Dom Kenneth Newing, who had been Bishop of Plymouth before taking monastic vows, was one of the dearest, wisest, and holiest friends I have ever had. 

Dom Kenneth Newing on the Diamond Jubilee of his ordination to the priesthood, at the tender age of 93.
Dom Kenneth Newing on the Diamond Jubilee of his ordination to the priesthood, at the tender age of 93. © Gerry Lynch, 30 September 2016.

I first met Kenneth when he had just turned ninety, and he already showed signs of mild but definite cognitive impairment. He took time to process complex conversation and find the precise words in response, but he remained an acute observer of people and retained excellent memory for both the immediate and distant past. For those with the patience to take time to talk to him, he was wise and perceptive in conversation. He remained so almost until his death five years later. In his last years, he contributed much to the Church and the life of those he lived and worshipped among.  

The Church of England has set itself the task of becoming younger and more diverse. On the surface, nobody could object to this. Scratch deeper and this objective is riddled with problematic assumptions. The Church should seek growth, just as the leaves on the trees do at this time of year. That’s one of its jobs. Must new or revitalised Christians, however, necessarily be young? Are the older members of our society redundant passengers to be ignored in favour of those likely to have more years of active Christian commitment? Similarly with diversity. We must absolutely reject anything in ourselves that refuses to embrace as equals everyone regardless of race, class, gender, or sexual orientation. But are congregations that look less like our metropolitan centres and more like our provincial small towns of less value to God?  

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A Season of New Life

This article first appeared in the April 2021 edition of the parish magazine of St John with St Mary, Devizes.

I went for a very long walk earlier this week, even by my standards. A whopping 43 km (27 miles for those who prefer pounds, shillings, and pence). The highlight came just after sunset, heading west into the twilight on the Roman Road between the Cherhill Monument and Morgan’s Hill. Silhouetted against the orange sky was something I’d never seen before but entirely unmistakable – a mad March hare, leaping wildly, full of joyful abandon.

The Roman Road between Avebury and Morgan's Hill just after sunset. A ploughed track and an orange sky.
The Roman Road between Avebury and Morgan’s Hill just after sunset, © Gerry Lynch, 23 March 2021

New life is all around us in this season. What will our world look like in the months and years to come? While we can’t be certain of the course of the pandemic, at present our hospitals are emptying and vaccinations are proceeding at pace, so we should plan for a return to normality in the first part of this summer. What sort of things might help us renew our life as a parish community?

I think there are two key elements to this. Firstly, enabling our existing worshippers to deepen in faith and in relationship with one another. Also, to deepen in trust that we really are the people God has called to serve Him in this place. Secondly, giving people who are not yet part of our congregation the chance to engage with us, and for us to provide pathway to faith for the majority of people who think of themselves as entirely secular.

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