Month: April 2012

Sheep need a leader. And ultimately sheep need a shepherd. And this isn’t a sign of weakness or stupidity. It’s a sign of wisdom and strength.

It's not stupid to want to group together in a big flock. That brings safety and security.  It's not stupid to want to be guided by someone. That brings order and stability. What is stupid is getting mixed up in the wrong flock; what is stupid is following the wrong leader. Jesus said: 'Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves'. [Matthew 7.15] 

Sheep aren't that stupid. They learn quickly which leader to follow. Not the aggressive dog with the growl; not the shrill shouting youths messing about up on the moor. They learn quickly the sound of their shepherd's voice, and it is that which directs their way. 

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. John 10.27

We are the sheep of Christ. We flock together here, the rams and the lambs, the bold ones and the old ones, the timid ones and the careless ones. Our shepherd expects us to do just three things: to flock together, to listen to his voice, and to embrace the new sheep he will bring in from outside the fold.

– from today's talk, On being sheep.

Joint Benefice Service, Lydford, 29/4/2012

Acts 4:5-12, John 10:11-18 

 

I am the good shepherd. I know my own sheep, and my own know me…. And I lay down my life for the sheep. John 10.14-15

This is a sermon about what it is like to be a sheep. Because that’s what we are. 

Now, you might bristle a bit at being called sheep. Because sheep aren’t generally very well thought of, except by those who know them particularly well. They may look nice and white and fluffy, especially when they are lambs, but they tend to be regarded as daft animals, without much sense; passive creatures, without much initiative; flock animals, lacking independence – and none of these qualities are attractive to us.

The gospels bear out these attitudes; Jesus tells his parables of the lost sheep because he understands that everyone listening to him knows that sheep get lost easily: and so the parable of the Good Shepherd, who calls together his friends and neighbours, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ [Luke 15.6] 

When Jesus tells his disciples to go out into the world witnessing to him he calls them sheep, because he knows they understand that sheep are vulnerable: 

‘See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.’ Matthew 10.16 

When Jesus looks at all the people who have come to hear him preach and teach he sees them as sheep, because he knows that sheep need to be led: 

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Matthew 9.36 

And in today’s gospel reading Jesus makes clear that he is the missing shepherd in these people’s lives.

Now, not many people really like the sound that a sheep makes. If someone is talking or complaining stupidly, we tell them to stop bleating. But clearly Jesus, who sees himself as our Good Shepherd, listens to the voice of his sheep. 

And we don’t have much regard for people who are sheepish – who are embarrassed or ashamed or who lack self-confidence. People like that tend to get forgotten or ignored. But clearly Jesus, who sees himself as our Good Shepherd, keeps a particular look out for ones such as those. 

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. John 10.27

Farmers tend to agree that sheep are happy to follow along with the flock most of the time. And to agree that sheep do need a leader. 

Flocks have leaders. One present-day shepherd told me that ‘[They had] not been able to figure out exactly how the leader is elected, appointed, or created. Most of the time, the leader will be an older ewe, unless there is a ram in the flock, and then he is almost always the leader.’ 

Now this suggests that sheep do, after all, have some sense. Sense enough to flock together for safety, sense enough to follow the smartest or maturest or strongest one among them.  And when the shepherd takes the ram away from the flock, and suddenly they are leader-less, different sheep react in different ways, to work out which way they are going. 

Sometimes it is the boldest that will take the lead, or maybe the hungriest one that just wants to get to the good grass. Sometimes it is a case of ‘If you go, I’ll go’. But generally it is one of the older ewes that looks back and summons the rest to follow as she heads out. [1] 

The one thing that is clear from all this is that sheep need a leader. And ultimately sheep need a shepherd. And this isn’t a sign of weakness or stupidity. It’s a sign of wisdom and strength.

It’s not stupid to want to group together in a big flock. That brings safety and security.  It’s not stupid to want to be guided by someone. That brings order and stability. What is stupid is getting mixed up in the wrong flock; what is stupid is following the wrong leader. Jesus said: 

‘Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. Matthew 7.15 

Sheep aren’t that stupid. They learn quickly which leader to follow. Not the aggressive dog with the growl; not the shrill shouting youths messing about up on the moor. They learn quickly the sound of their shepherd’s voice, and it is that which directs their way. 

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. John 10.27

We are the sheep of Christ. We flock together here, the rams and the lambs, the bold ones and the old ones, the timid ones and the careless ones. Our shepherd expects us to do just three things: to flock together, to listen to his voice, and to embrace the new sheep he will bring in from outside the fold.

First, our shepherd expects us to flock together: not do our own thing, not be selective about which of our brothers and sisters we align ourselves with, but to give ourselves to fellowship and the building up of the flock, those cared for by Christ. Sheep are keenly sociable creatures. They need to be together. For their own security and sense of direction they need to keep a watchful eye on each other. So should we. In doing that our witness is strengthened and our faith grows into maturity.

Second, our shepherd expects us to listen out for his voice: to take his word as the ultimate authority in our lives, not the word of financial advisors or politicians or the family’s matriarch or patriarch, not the word of preachers alone, but the word of Jesus. In becoming prayerful listeners, obedient in our response, we become bold to live the life of the Kingdom of God in the face of the kingdoms and empires of the world.

And third, our shepherd expects us to embrace the new sheep he will bring in from outside the fold: Jesus tells us, 

I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. John 10.16

When Jesus first spoke this he was preparing his Jewish followers to embrace believers from among the Gentiles. Translated to our situation today it is about us being prepared to receive into our fellowship people who are not like us in their background or their approach to faith and worship; or in our particular team situation, it is about each being willing to see ourselves not as sole parishes but as a body of believers across an area, each prepared to spread our sharing and caring more widely than before.

And what should we expect from our shepherd? Astonishingly, this: that the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. Jesus makes the ultimate sacrifice for the good of his flock. 

Jesus’ commitment to our well-being is absolute. Jesus’ desire for our flourishing is total. He lays his life down for us because he can; he takes his life up again because he has power to do so. For Jesus the consequence of his world-changing actions is that they confirm that the Father loves him. For we, his followers, the consequence of his death and resurrection is that, like a well-tended, well-led flock, we need have no fear in life; we need have no fear of death. So let us learn from the timeless wisdom of the sheep. Let us encourage one another with these things.

 

Notes 

A revision of the sermon On being Sheep preached in Liverpool in 2007.

[1] Comments from present-day shepherds from www.woollydesigns.com 

 

 

Acts 3.12-19, Luke 24.36b-48 

Bridestowe, Lydford, Easter 3, 22/4/2012

 

Doubt is not a bad thing. Doubt is not the opposite of believing – doubt is an essential part of the process of believing. The writer Oz Guinness, who has thought about this very deeply, says that doubt is ‘faith in two minds’: Doubt is not the opposite of faith, unbelief is, he says. Unbelief is a state of mind which is closed against God, whereas doubt is a – hopefully temporary – suspension of faith, a state of mind which is not closed against God, but which has questions needing answering. [1]

Last week we heard the story of the man who has been dubbed Doubting Thomas and made an example of, because he wouldn’t believe the resurrection had happened until he’d seen Jesus with his own eyes. Thomas Didymus, meaning ‘twin’, or ‘double’, or ‘twofold’. Thomas was a man whose faith was in two minds, a man for whom seeing was believing.

And in today’s gospel we see how the other disciples reacted when Christ appeared to them – they were startled and terrified, and thought they had seen a ghost. Even after Jesus had spoken to reassure them, and invited them to touch him to be sure it was he, alive, before them, the disciples, we are told, were simultaneously joyful and disbelieving, still wondering, despite the sight before their eyes.

The stories of these disciples’ encounters with Jesus are not in the bible to make an example of people who doubted, nor are they in the bible to show that doubt is wrong. No – doubt is a normal and acceptable part of believing: Jesus does not condemn it. Jesus’ opening words to his disciples were ‘Peace be with you’; he said this to Thomas too, when he first saw him.

These stories are not about unbelievers, but about believers who doubted. After meeting the risen Jesus, Thomas confessed his faith clearly and confidently, exclaiming ‘My Lord and my God!’ It is one of the greatest and most emotional professions of belief in all of the gospels. And the disciples got through their time of doubt after Jesus opened their minds to understand the scriptures; they became confident witnesses of the Messiah’s mission.

The gospel writer John tells us the reason why he put Thomas’s story in the bible: it was ‘so that we may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing we may have life in his name’. Through the questions raised by a disciple bold enough to express his doubts, it becomes possible for us to have faith.

If we approach them in good faith then the stories of these disciples will help us to see that there are different ways of believing … each of us comes to Jesus in our own way; and that there are different stages on the journey of believing … each of us is at a different place in our life of faith. And that if we are in a position of doubt, if we are in two minds about the reality of Jesus Christ and his place in our lives, then we are in an acceptable place, a place where Jesus wants to meet us and show that he accepts us, and say to us, ‘Peace be with you’.

I wonder if, like me, you can give thanks now for those times of doubt in your life, when you have learned and grown in your faith through struggling with an aspect of it and coming through that time with a greater understanding, a sense of having become closer to God through the process.

I give thanks for the time of doubt I had after attending the funeral of a schoolfriend who had died in a road accident. We were both only 18 and not godly boys at all. The service was full of words about my friend’s heavenly destination; I didn’t know how much of them I could believe, and I was left with all sorts of doubts and concerns about my own eternal destiny. I started praying what you might call a prayer of unbelief: never having really prayed before, I would say, ‘God, I don’t know if you are there, but if you are, let me know, help me to find you.’ And over time that prayer was answered, and I did begin to get a real sense of God in my life.

And I give thanks for the doubts I had about God’s love and mercy at the time when my beloved grandmother – a woman of quiet but deep faith – was suffering terribly in a hospital bed at the end of her long life, keeping the others in her ward awake at night with her cries of ‘Help me, Jesus’. Why wasn’t he helping her, by either healing her pain or – better still – taking her to the place she by then really wanted to go? Through the anger and bitter tears, through the doubts that God was loving and merciful, I gradually came to see both God and my grandmother in new ways; to understand them and their relationship more deeply. Her cry of ‘Help me, Jesus’ was a cry of firm faith, not unbelief: she was being bold, making demands of her Lord like that; my cries of anger drew me closer to God too, and the doubts I had about him gave way to keener insights into how God does draw close to us in suffering, and sees us through. 

We should not be afraid to doubt, if we see it as a means of learning and growing in our faith. And we should not be afraid to engage with other people who express their doubts, for Jesus yearns to meet them and show that he accepts them, and say to them, ‘Peace be with you’. 

We live in an interesting time and place when it comes to issues of faith and unbelief. On the one hand there is what the previous Archbishop of Canterbury Lord Carey describes as ‘the marginalization of public faith’ where Christian practice is being called into question and challenged by secular voices, as witnessed for instance in the ongoing debate about the suitability of opening council meetings with prayers. [2] On the other hand there is a great deal of evidence to suggest that those outside of religion increasingly see it positively. In his Easter sermon last week the current Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams noted the way in which some secular commentators ‘no longer see [faith] as a brainless and oppressive enemy, it is recognized as a potential ally in challenging a model of human activity and social existence that increasingly feels insane, a model [of] unlimited material growth and individual acquisition.’ The Archbishop said that ‘We may groan in spirit at the reports of how few young people in our country know the Lord’s Prayer, but there is plenty to suggest that younger people, while still statistically deeply unlikely to be churchgoers, don’t have the hostility to faith that one might expect.’ [3]

We live in a time and place where no-one can take Christianity for granted any more. Believers and churchgoers can’t assume that their friends and neighbours outside the faith know and understand what it is about. And there are many outside the faith who have genuine interest, genuine questions, sincere doubts. In the spirit of Thomas and the first disciples, this situation should be seen as a good thing, to be embraced; those who have faith should be encouraging others to raise their questions, to air their doubts, we should be thrilled to try to help them in their understanding, we should seek out and encourage such conversations as they will stretch us and challenge us and help us to grow in our faith too.

At The Last Supper (in John 14:5) Thomas spoke up for those who can’t take Christianity for granted. When Jesus told his disciples that he was going to prepare a place for them, and said, ‘You know the way to the place where I am going,’ Thomas responded, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ 

We know how Jesus answered – by telling Thomas that ‘I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’ And Thomas, a man for whom seeing was believing, understood at that moment that for him to know which way his life should go, Thomas had to see Jesus. It is the experience of all of us who have struggled with doubts and difficulties at various stages of our life – waiting for God to reveal himself to us so he can direct us, yearning for Jesus to show us the way. And having come through those times strengthened in our faith we understand that process as a good thing. 

So if we think of our faith as a work in progress, if we think of our life as a journey on the way, with all its unexpected diversions, twists and turns, then we should be encouraged by the story of Thomas and the first disciples; people on a journey of faith who had questions on the way. When we go on long unknown journeys we have those moments where we doubt we’re going in the right direction, we wonder if we should have taken a different turning, and we seek out help and confirmation from one who knows. And when a traveller stops us and asks us for directions, it makes us happy if we can help them on their way.

The disciples had the luxury of seeing Jesus in person. We see Jesus differently – usually when others show Jesus to us through their love and care and generosity. This is how the early church grew: as people were drawn to a community which cared practically and wholeheartedly for each other. The early Christian groups described in the Acts of the Apostles modelled a social existence that replaced material growth and individual acquisition with holding all things in common: their way of life was deeply attractive to those outside looking in. 

We can’t take Christianity for granted any more. But if we live it out faithfully together, if we work through our doubts together in confidence that Jesus will show us the way, if we talk our faith through honestly with those who have genuine questions and sincere doubts: then our faith will grow; and those whose faith is in two minds will see Jesus, and believe. 

 

Notes

This talk is very similar indeed to last week’s talk on Thomas, and both draw on material from a sermon preached in Liverpool, 7/4/2007. 

[1] Oz Guinness, God in the Dark

[2] George and Andrew Carey, We Don’t Do God

[3] Archbishop’s Easter Sermon 2012 – God raised Jesus to life

 

The disciples: joy in disbelieving – today's talk, which owes rather a lot indeed to last week’s talk on Thomas.

We gathered on Bridestowe Sports Field this morning to plant a White Chestnut – or conker – tree, and dedicate it to commemorate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee (It's her birthday today, I'm told).

Generations of conker players will benefit from this addition to the field. As a wordsmith in the community I was asked to make the dedication, and so this is what I said:

In this Sports Field, 
Place of leisure, enjoyment and play,

We dedicate this Diamond Jubilee tree
In thanksgiving for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second’s example of dedication and service, for her quiet but certain faith in the higher authority of God.

As we gather here we commit ourselves afresh to serve
Our local community, our nation and our world
For the sake of the common good and the building up of the kingdom of God.

And we pray that this tree will grow and flourish to bring pleasure and enjoyment to generations to come, and inspire them in their lives and service. Amen

 

Lydford Parish and Community Magazine

May 2012

This springtime, the dawn chorus has got me thinking about St Francis, and the story of him telling the noisy birds to be quiet while he and his fellow friars recited the office, after which the birds were free to resume praising the creator in their own distinctive way.

The life of St. Francis of Assisi has always had an endless fascination for people. He came from a well off family but renounced money, inheritance, and even respect to embrace poverty, prayer and obedience to God. He became a beggar who inspired a legion of others, even today. I’ve got some good friends who are Franciscans. They are among the poorest, and happiest, people I know. 

One remarkable thing about Francis is his closeness to nature. He talked to the birds, and the birds took notice of him. They stayed calm near this human being. Wild birds rarely let people approach them closely. Perhaps wisely, they lack any trust in our good will. But the birds allowed Francis to come close, so close that his clothes touched them. They trusted this human being more than any other. 

Jesus said we can learn from the birds. He said, “Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” 

Francis talked to the birds; and Jesus invited us to learn from them. I wonder if you think you can learn from them. And I wonder if you talk to the birds – or other creatures. One congregation to whom I posed this question shared many stories about birds and other animals they talk with, including one person’s pet, Cocky the 30+ year-old cockateel.

Francis walked through the trees – he found the birds living in them; and Jesus also walked through the trees – he found something very profound to say about them. The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’ The Lord replied, ‘If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea”, and it would obey you. Jesus seems to be saying, if you talk to the trees they will hear you and follow what you say. If you only had a tiny bit of faith. 

Now usually we keep our distance from people who talk to the trees. There’s that famous song from Paint Your Wagon, ‘I talk to the trees, But they don’t listen to me. I talk to the stars, But they never hear me’, which my Dad always changes to, ‘I talked to the trees, They came and took me away…’ Prince Charles and free spirits everywhere who happily talk to trees and plants and flowers are usually laughed at or scorned. Yet Jesus talked to the trees. The mulberry tree; the fig tree on the road to Jerusalem which he famously withered. Jesus talked to the wind, talked to the waves – which obeyed him. 

He was only following his Father, who, at the very beginning of time, spoke to the light – and there was light, who spoke to the waters, and the waters appeared, who spoke to the earth, and the earth formed, who spoke to the plants and the creatures, and the plants and the creatures appeared in all their variety and all their beauty. 

If we only had a tiny bit of faith we would be able to see that there is something very good, something very right, something God-like in being so close to nature that we can enter into a two-way conversation with it. 

Actually, I think our faith is a bit like that already. Many people do happily talk to their animals. A survey in the Church Times revealed that many people pray with their pets. They are their companions in life; they share the deepest things with them, it’s natural to include them in their prayers. I know at least one person whose dog joins him for prayers each night.

A woman wrote in to the Church Times to tell about her father who was a vicar and whose three cats always followed him to Evening Prayer every day: “After he tolled the bell at 6.00 and donned his robes, they would quietly settle down: Dicky at his feet, Bill around his neck like a tabby scarf, and Mowley – well, she was more keen on checking the mouse population.” In fact only one reader wrote in to say he didn’t pray with his pet: “I don’t have to,” he said, “my pet is a praying mantis.” 

Jesus’ words to his disciples were really to encourage them to grow in faith just by being more faithful. It’s the only way, there is no magic formula. But, as we celebrate Rogation together this month, asking God’s blessing on creation, it is good to remember how our faith can grow the more we appreciate natural things – creatures, trees, the world around us. God values all of them. God is in all of them. God speaks to, and through, all of them. Sometimes, God wants us to talk to them.

Note

Based substantially on a sermon preached in Liverpool in 2004, I talk to the trees (A Franciscan conversation) 

We should not be afraid to doubt, if we see it as a means of learning and growing in our faith. And we should not be afraid to engage with other people who express their doubts, for Jesus yearns to meet them and show that he accepts them, and say to them, 'Peace be with you'. 

We live in an interesting time and place when it comes to issues of faith and unbelief. On the one hand there is what the previous Archbishop of Canterbury Lord Carey describes as ‘the marginalization of public faith’ where Christian practice is being called into question and challenged by secular voices, as witnessed for instance in the ongoing debate about the suitability of opening council meetings with prayers. On the other hand there is a great deal of evidence to suggest that those outside of religion increasingly see it positively. In his Easter sermon last week the current Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams noted the way in which some secular commentators ‘no longer see [faith] as a brainless and oppressive enemy, it is recognized as a potential ally in challenging a model of human activity and social existence that increasingly feels insane, a model [of] unlimited material growth and individual acquisition.’ The Archbishop said that ‘We may groan in spirit at the reports of how few young people in our country know the Lord's Prayer, but there is plenty to suggest that younger people, while still statistically deeply unlikely to be churchgoers, don't have the hostility to faith that one might expect.’ 

We live in a time and place where no-one can take Christianity for granted any more. Believers and churchgoers can’t assume that their friends and neighbours outside the faith know and understand what it is about. And there are many outside the faith who have genuine interest, genuine questions, sincere doubts. In the spirit of Thomas, this situation should be seen as a good thing, to be embraced; those who have faith should be encouraging others to raise their questions, to air their doubts, we should be thrilled to try to help them in their understanding, we should seek out and encourage such conversations as they will stretch us and challenge us and help us to grow in our faith too.

From my talk today, Thomas – faith in two minds.

 

Acts 4.32-35, John 20.19-31 

Bratton Clovelly, Easter 2, 15/4/2012

Doubt is not a bad thing. Doubt is not the opposite of believing – doubt is an essential part of the process of believing. The writer Oz Guinness, who has thought about this very deeply, says that doubt is ‘faith in two minds’: Doubt is not the opposite of faith, unbelief is, he says. Unbelief is a state of mind which is closed against God, whereas doubt is a – hopefully temporary – suspension of faith, a state of mind which is not closed against God, but which has questions needing answering. [1]

And so let us revisit the story of the man who has been dubbed Doubting Thomas and made an example of, because he wouldn’t believe the resurrection had happened until he’d seen Jesus with his own eyes. John calls him Thomas Didymus, which can mean ‘twin’, or ‘double’, or ‘twofold’. Thomas was a man whose faith was in two minds. Thomas was a man for whom seeing was believing.

The story of Thomas’s encounter with Jesus is not in the bible to make an example of someone who doubted, nor is it in the bible to show that doubt is wrong. No – doubt is a normal and acceptable part of believing: Jesus does not condemn it. Jesus’ opening words to Thomas were ‘Peace be with you’.

Thomas’s story is not the story of an unbeliever, but of a believer who doubted.We might justifiably name the man Believing Thomas, because after meeting the risen Jesus, Thomas confessed his faith clearly and confidently, exclaiming ‘My Lord and my God!’ It is one of the greatest and most emotional professions of belief in all of the gospels. 

The gospel writer John tells us the reason why he put Thomas’s story in the bible: it was ‘so that we may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing we may have life in his name’. Through the questions raised by a disciple bold enough to express doubts, it becomes possible for us to have faith.

If we approach it in good faith then the story of Thomas will help us to see that there are different ways of believing … each of us comes to Jesus in our own way; and that there are different stages on the journey of believing … each of us is at a different place in our life of faith. And that if we are in a position of doubt, if we are in two minds about the reality of Jesus Christ and his place in our lives, then we are in an acceptable place, a place where Jesus wants to meet us and show that he accepts us, and say to us, ‘Peace be with you’.

I wonder if, like me, you can give thanks now for those times of doubt in your life, when you have learned and grown in your faith through struggling with an aspect of it and coming through that time with a greater understanding, a sense of having become closer to God through the process.

I give thanks for the time of doubt I had after attending the funeral of a schoolfriend who had died in a road accident. We were both only 18 and not godly boys at all. The vicar who conducted the service was full of confidence about my friend’s heavenly destination; there was no mention of judgement, or accountability, and I was left wondering if the vicar had left out something very important about how God sees us in life and in death, I was left wondering about my own eternal destiny. The God which that vicar portrayed seemed to be passive, disinterested, and I doubted that God. I started searching for an engaged God, attentive to me and able to mould me into someone who might be judged faithful, and over time that was the God I found. It was the initial questioning and doubt that drove me in that direction.

And I give thanks for the doubts I had about God’s love and mercy at the time when my beloved grandmother – a woman of quiet but deep faith – was suffering terribly in a hospital bed at the end of her long life, keeping the others in her ward awake at night with her cries of ‘Help me, Jesus’. Why wasn’t he helping her, by either healing her pain or – better still – taking her to the place she by then really wanted to go? Through the anger and bitter tears, through the doubts that God was loving and merciful, I gradually came to see both God and my grandmother in new ways; to understand them and their relationship more deeply. Her cry of ‘Help me, Jesus’ was a cry of firm faith, not unbelief: she was being bold, making demands of her Lord like that; my cries of anger drew me closer to God too, and the doubts I had about him gave way to keener insights into how God does draw close to us in suffering, and sees us through. 

We should not be afraid to doubt, if we see it as a means of learning and growing in our faith. And we should not be afraid to engage with other people who express their doubts, for Jesus yearns to meet them and show that he accepts them, and say to them, ‘Peace be with you’. 

We live in an interesting time and place when it comes to issues of faith and unbelief. On the one hand there is what the previous Archbishop of Canterbury Lord Carey describes as ‘the marginalization of public faith’ where Christian practice is being called into question and challenged by secular voices, as witnessed for instance in the ongoing debate about the suitability of opening council meetings with prayers. [2] On the other hand there is a great deal of evidence to suggest that those outside of religion increasingly see it positively. In his Easter sermon last week the current Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams noted the way in which some secular commentators ‘no longer see [faith] as a brainless and oppressive enemy, it is recognized as a potential ally in challenging a model of human activity and social existence that increasingly feels insane, a model [of] unlimited material growth and individual acquisition.’ The Archbishop said that ‘We may groan in spirit at the reports of how few young people in our country know the Lord’s Prayer, but there is plenty to suggest that younger people, while still statistically deeply unlikely to be churchgoers, don’t have the hostility to faith that one might expect.’ [3]

We live in a time and place where no-one can take Christianity for granted any more. Believers and churchgoers can’t assume that their friends and neighbours outside the faith know and understand what it is about. And there are many outside the faith who have genuine interest, genuine questions, sincere doubts. In the spirit of Thomas, this situation should be seen as a good thing, to be embraced; those who have faith should be encouraging others to raise their questions, to air their doubts, we should be thrilled to try to help them in their understanding, we should seek out and encourage such conversations as they will stretch us and challenge us and help us to grow in our faith too.

At The Last Supper (in John 14:5) Thomas spoke up for those who can’t take Christianity for granted. When Jesus told his disciples that he was going to prepare a place for them, and said, ‘You know the way to the place where I am going,’ Thomas responded, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ 

We know how Jesus answered – by telling Thomas that ‘I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’ And Thomas, a man for whom seeing was believing, understood at that moment that for him to know which way his life should go, Thomas had to see Jesus. It is the experience of all of us who have struggled with doubts and difficulties at various stages of our life – waiting for God to reveal himself to us so he can direct us, yearning for Jesus to show us the way. And having come through those times strengthened in our faith we understand that process as a good thing. 

So if we think of our faith as a work in progress, if we think of our life as a journey on the way, with all its unexpected diversions, twists and turns, then we should be encouraged by the story of Thomas. A man on a journey of faith who had questions on the way. When we go on long unknown journeys we have those moments where we doubt we’re going the right way, we wonder if we should have taken a different turning, and we seek out help and confirmation from one who knows. And when a traveller stops us and asks us for directions, it makes us happy if we can help them on their way.

Thomas had the luxury of seeing Jesus in person. We see Jesus differently – usually when others show Jesus to us through their love and care and generosity. This is how the early church grew: as people were drawn to a community which cared practically and wholeheartedly for each other. The early Christian groups described in the Acts of the Apostles modelled a social existence that replaced material growth and individual acquisition with holding all things in common: their way of life was deeply attractive to those outside looking in. 

We can’t take Christianity for granted any more. But if we live it out faithfully together, if we work through our doubts together in confidence that Jesus will show us the way, if we talk our faith through honestly with those who have genuine questions and sincere doubts: then our faith will grow; and those whose faith is in two minds will see Jesus, and believe. 

Notes

This talk draws on some material from a sermon preached in Liverpool, 7/4/2007. 

[1] Oz Guinness, God in the Dark

[2] George and Andrew Carey, We Don’t Do God

[3] Archbishop’s Easter Sermon 2012 – God raised Jesus to life

 

Lydford Parish and Community Magazine

April 2012

A Brazilian businessman Alvaro Weyne had £10,000 in cash and cheques and decided that the safest place to hide it would be in his office waste bin, because no one would think of looking in there. He was right. While he was away from his desk the cleaner came in and emptied the bin without giving it a second glance.

Life is like that sometimes, isn’t it? You think you’ve got something precious and all of a sudden it’s gone. But life is not always like that, as Enrico, a Brazilian pauper, discovered.  One day, Enrico, scavenging a city rubbish tip, picked up a small plastic bin-liner from the top of the new pile of refuse which had just been dumped. He opened it up, and to his great surprise and joy, there inside it was £10,000! He ran home to his wife and family, bought them all new clothes, had a celebration meal and put down a deposit on a house away from the slums. 

Sometimes life can do things like that to you. You think that life has given you little, that you’ve got nothing precious at all, that the good things you once had are lost, and suddenly, without any warning, you are surprised by joy. 

I love the story of the two disciples on the Emmaus Road. It’s the story of two people who are suddenly surprised by joy. At the start of the story they are two men defeated – they thought they had something precious, and all of a sudden it was gone. All they had with Jesus, all the warmth and wonder they’d shared with him and the others, had been taken away by the brutal forces of government and military, who had killed him as an agitator, an enemy of the state. 

By the end of the story they were two men exploding with warmth and wonder again, realising that the stranger they had been sharing their troubles with, the guest at their table, had been Jesus himself. They recognised him in the breaking of the bread. As the crumbs fell to the table, they were surprised by joy: 

Then their eyes were opened, and they recognised him; and he vanished from their sight [writes Luke]. They said to each other, Were not our hearts burning within us whilst he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us? 

This resurrection story shows us that Jesus is a God who wants to surprise us with joy. 

That expression, Surprised by Joy, was coined by the 20th-century Christian writer C.S. Lewis. He made it the title of his autobiography, where he talks about his early days as an athiest, someone who disbelieved in God and went out of his way to avoid God. But, looking back, he knew God was after him. Gradually he came to admit that God was God, and knelt and prayed: he said that “perhaps, that night, [he was] the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.” He began to attend church and to read the gospels. They started to make sense to him. Lewis had acknowledged God; now God was after him to acknowledge his son. The subject was on Lewis’s mind constantly. 

In a now famous passage of Surprised by Joy, Lewis related his final step into real joy: “I know very well when, but hardly how, the final step was taken. I was driven to Whipsnade one sunny morning. When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did.” 

The journey to Whipsnade Zoo was Lewis’s Emmaus Road. It tells us that Emmaus Road experiences still happen in our day. They might happen to us. 

Writer Terry Lindvall says that ‘C.S. Lewis was drawn into the kingdom of God by joy – by a taste of this blessed fruit and divine gift. Joy was the divine carrot that persuaded such a self-proclaimed donkey as Lewis to plod down the road toward Jerusalem. It was the soft, disturbing kiss of God that unmade all of Lewis’s world. Joy compelled Lewis toward the resurrection laughter of Easter.’

I wonder if you are on the way to an Emmaus experience? Of course, you won’t know if you are, that would be impossible – you couldn’t be surprised if you did. But these stories tell us that Jesus brings joy to those who set themselves out on journeys. Who are making their way to Emmaus. Or Whipsnade Zoo. We don’t know what joyful surprises Jesus has in store for us. But we can expect joyful surprises if we are on the way. 

Remember that the first followers of Jesus were not called Christians. They were called the People of the Way. Jesus had said, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Now, if you are on the way then you’re on a journey. And if you are in The Way of Jesus then as you travel through life then you are on a resurrection road, in the company of a God who always wants to surprise you with joy.

 

NOTE

This article is based substantially on a sermon preached in Liverpool in 2005.

Mark 16.1-8

Sourton, Bratton Clovelly, Lydford and Germansweek, Easter Day, 8/4/2012

 

PART 1

Recall a moment when you were surprised by joy:

The winning ticket in the prize draw;

Top marks in the subject you’d previously expected to fail;

Opening your door to a long-lost friend you thought you’d never see again;

The declaration of love to you who thought you’d never hear anyone say those words…..

(Conversation….)

You have an inkling, then, of the joy which the disciples felt on being surprised by the risen Christ….

 

PART 2

The story of the resurrection is about the followers of Jesus being surprised by joy.

Not least Mary in the garden, her heart filling up with inexpressible joy as she realised that the man who met her there, was Jesus himself;

The disciples, huddled in an upstairs room astonished and amazed and filled with wonder as the presence of the risen Lord filled the room;

Those who met him on the road, a companion who comforted them with their words, their eyes being opened when he broke bread at their table….

…. each wonderfully surprised by joy.

And that can be our resurrection story too: 

We who previously haven’t understood the fullness of Jesus’ promises of new life – now can;

We who feel that our faith is too dim – can be surprised by the light of Christ opening us up to new things;

We who feel that our faith has grown cold – can be surprised by the power of the resurrection to bring new life again.

We might be aware that before the joy comes an element of fear:

Mark’s gospel makes this clear to us – the first response of the disciples to the empty tomb was fear.

Would the absence of a body implicate them in a situation where they would be pursued and punished, just as Jesus himself had been?

Would the presence of a resurrected Jesus challenge them to change their lives in ways which would unsettle and discomfort them?

These fears may be ours too – if I am to open myself fully to the power of the resurrected Christ what will that do to me? What will he want of me?

Jesus demanded that the rich ruler should give up all he had, sell it and share his riches with the poor; Jesus demanded that his disciples should take up their cross – and campaign like he did against the powers of death in the world, a very risky strategy indeed. 

No wonder the followers of Jesus get frightened by the prospect of the resurrected Christ at work in their lives.

But the resurrection power is a greater power than fear. The resurrection power is a power of love, which issues in joy.

And so the fearful disciples were transformed into the reborn disciples, who preached and taught and healed and loved and laughed the rest of their lives away – surprised by joy, transformed by Jesus.

May that same Jesus, in his resurrected power, surprise us with joy today, help us overcome any fears we might have about following him, and start us on a new path of life.