Month: December 2016

Isaiah 63.7-9, Matthew 2.13-end

The Second Sunday of Christmas, 1 January 2017

Queen Camel (Together at Ten), West Camel (TeaTime)

 

Have you made a New Year’s Resolution?

Or are you like me, one of those people whose only resolution is to resolve no to make a resolution – because they’re all too easily broken – and we find that discouraging?

But there are resolutions and resolutions – and maybe those of us who tend to avoid them might be encouraged to have a rethink. Because resolutions do seem to be a Christian thing. Good resolutions, resolutions that last. Scripture is full of them. [1] 

Perhaps the best known resolution in scripture is that of the Prodigal Son, who, having spent up all his inheritance, lying in a strange place in self-imposed poverty, remembers that there is a place where he has always been welcomed and belonged – home – and so he resolves, “I will arise and go to my father”. [2] He remembers; he acts on that memory, and, oh, the relief of making a clean breast of things. 

What a wonderful resolution – when we’re in trouble or simply troubled, to turn to the Father in whom there is always welcome and belonging. That’s the sort of resolution we could make a habit of adopting, not just for one time but frequently – at the start of every day, at the start of every venture, to resolve, “I will arise and go to my father”.

In Psalm 34 we witness David remembering that when “[He] sought the Lord, the Lord answered him, and delivered him from all his fears,” and so he made this resolution: “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” [3] He remembers; he acts on that memory, and, oh, the joy in finding a blessing in all things. 

What a wonderful resolution – when we find our view of our own life and of other people shrinking into darkness, when all we can muster is criticism and cynicism, this is a way of developing an attitude which sees the positive in life and attributing it to God. Getting into the habit of looking at life with  thanksgiving – not denying the darkness in us and the world but electing to shine a light into it, frequently, faithfully.

In 2 Samuel 24 we meet David again, King David, resolving to give Araunah the Jebusite a very generous price for the purchase of his threshing-floor, so that David could build an altar to the Lord there, as God had told him to. Araunah did not want to take any payemnt for the plot, but, no doubt remembering all the generous acts of mercy and goodness which God had done for him, David resolved to say: “I will not offer to the Lord that which costs me nothing.” [4] He remembers; he acts on that memory, and, oh, the satisfaction in giving generously back to the generous giver.

What a wonderful resolution – to be generous to the one who is generous to us; to give more than is necessary back to the One who gives us everything. I am reminded of a Methodist minister who was once asked how much we ought to give, as Christians. The person who asked was probably expecting him to talk about maybe a tithe, a percentage of disposable income. But – echoing King David – the Methodist minister said, “We ought to give more than we can afford.” In other words, we ought to resolve daily to be generous in all our actions, for such generosity flows from God and back to God, and is a great blessing for us and all who benefit from it. [5]

Now, in these examples I’ve used, have you noticed something about resolutions – good resolutions, resolutions that last?

First, such resolutions involve remembering, and acting on that remembrance. They look back to an act of goodness, kindness, generosity – and they respond in kind.

And second, such resolutions are habit-forming. They are repeatable. And if we repeat them, often and always, they soak into our soul and come out in the way we live towards God and others. 

Interesting, you might think of what we are doing together here today as remembering, and acting on that remembrance – you’ve resolved to come to worship, to take part in a liturgy which helps you remember the goodness of God. And this is, for most of us here, habitual. We do this often, regularly resolving to respond to the invitation of Jesus to come and share in his Communion meal – to remember him, and go out encouraged to live for him.

“I will arise and go to my father,” you have resolved.

“I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth,” you have resolved.

“I will not offer to the Lord that which costs me nothing,” you have resolved.

And so you are here, we are here, we remember; we act on that memory, and, oh, the goodness we feel in worshipping together.

It marries us with Isaiah – if we look again at the reading we heard this morning:

Isaiah 63.7

I will recount the gracious deeds of the Lord,

    the praiseworthy acts of the Lord,

because of all that the Lord has done for us,

    and the great favour to the house of Israel

that he has shown them according to his mercy,

    according to the abundance of his steadfast love.

And our resolution to come to worship to remember the goodness of God to us and to act on that memory, it connects us to the Magi and to Joseph who, in our gospel reading, resolved to take new and unexpected routes towards safety and security, having remembered what God had told them in dreams. [6]

Now, at the break of a new year there are two conversations taking place about the Church and the future of Christianity in this country. One conversation – very familiar to readers of most of our newspapers – is of a church in terminal decline. The numbers of those resolving to join together in  corporate worship week-on-week is at a low, and census and other survey figures reveal that those resolving to define themselves as Christian has significantly fallen, whilst the ‘no-religion’ category has risen equally dramatically. Numerical decline drives anxious conversations in and outside the Churches, and arguably it is this anxiety which provokes missional initiatives which are focussed on our getting more – if you’ll excuse the crude expression – ‘bums on seats’.

But there is another conversation, based on another but equally valid set of figures. And this is about Christian social activity. Which is very vibrant at this time. After a decade of research the Christian think tank Theos – backed by the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches – has  just produced a report whose foreword includes these words:

Strange things are happening to Christianity in the United Kingdom. While critics prophesy its imminent demise – as critics have done for several hundred years – Christians across the country are doing what they too, have done for may hundreds of years: worship, pray, witness, serve. There is nothing, of course, strange about this. What is strange – or at least worthy of greater notice than it usually receives – is that the breadth, depth and intensity of this Christian service is deepening. From personal debt advice to marriage counselling, from foodbanks to street pastors, from rehabilitation to reconciliation, the Church – and Christian charities across the country are rolling up their sleeves, struggling on behalf of human dignity, pursuing the common good – and doing it all in the name of Jesus Christ. [7]

As the numbers of those attend­ing church services have continued to decline since 2006, research suggests that social action by Christians and churches has grown over the same period. The report’s author Nick Spencer, wrote, “There may be fewer people on pews, but there are many more running luncheon clubs, and mums and toddlers’ groups, and foodbanks, and homeless charities, and debt-advice centres, and drop-in centres, and the like. Christians are ‘doing good’.” [8]

How does this connect with our theme of resolutions, of our remembering, and acting on that remembrance?

Well, Nick Spencer suggests that while Christians are involved in the liturgy of worship, the songs and creeds and familiar prayers of church, we are also involved in what he calls a “social liturgy”.

We not only resolve to respond to the goodness of God in our public worship, we also resolve to respond to the goodness of God through our public charitable activity. Thus, Mr Spencer writes, our social liturgy is just “another way of worshipping God in public”. [9]

Our church liturgy comes when we resolve to attend services and give our hearts and voices back to God in remembrance of his goodness to us.

Our social liturgy comes when we resolve to give not just our church attendence, not just our money, but our time, and our talents, too, back to God, in remembrance of all that the Lord has done for us. [10]

Look at the amount of Christians involved in social liturgy, and Christianity in the UK today looks to be in good health. 

And so, may this be our resolution, a good one which we can repeat daily and which can become habit-forming. To live out a social liturgy where we are in 2017.

As we remember the gracious deeds of the Lord towards us, let us resolve to be gracious towards others, for his sake.

As we recall the praiseworthy acts of the Lord, may our actions in society be praiseworthy, in his name.

As we keep ourselves conscious of all that the Lord has done for us, his mercy, the abundance of his steadfast love to us, may we resolve to enact mercy, to be abundant and constant in love, in our daily lives of worship in the world.

As an inspiration towards that, I close with a litany called “Now the Work of Christmas Begins” composed by the African-American theologian, educator, and civil rights leader Howard Thurman.

When the song of the angels is stilled,

when the star in the sky is gone,

when the kings and princes are home,

when the shepherds are back with their flocks,

the work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,

to heal the broken,

to feed the hungry,

to release the prisoner,

to rebuild the nations,

to bring peace among the people,

to make music in the heart. [11]

 

 

Notes

[1] The scriptural references and exposition are lifted from John Peck, Good Resolutions, sermon from The Revd John Peck: Sermons and Talks for a New Generation website.

[2] Luke 15.18.

[3] Psalm 34. 

[4] 2 Samuel 24.18-25.

[5] This story told by John Peck in his Good Resolutions sermon.

[6] Matthew 2.13-23.

[7] The Most Rev Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury and Cardinal Vincent Nichols, Archbishop of Westminster, Foreword in Nick Spencer, Doing Good: A Future for Christianity in the 21st Century, Theos 2016.

[8] Tim Wyatt,  The future of the Church is in doing good, say Archbishops, Church Times, 22 Dec 2016.

[9] Tim Wyatt,  The future of the Church is in doing good, say Archbishops, Church Times, 22 Dec 2016.

[10] Tim Wyatt,  The future of the Church is in doing good, say Archbishops, Church Times, 22 Dec 2016.

[11] Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas & Other Celebrations.

It is in embracing the humanity of Jesus that we become human ourselves… When we realise that God is human, a new age dawns for us; no longer bound to be victims in a post-truth society, but prime movers in a post-fear world.

– from my Christmas Eve midnight talk, Becoming human in a post-fear world. Happy Christmas, reader.

 

Psalm 98, John 1.1-14

Christmas Eve, 24 December 2016, Sparkford

 

THE Vicar of Luton was knocked off his bike last year, and was trapped under the car that had run into him. Two passers-by, one a professional boxer and the other a taxi-driver, rushed over and lifted the vehicle off him. The two good Samaritans were Zulfiqar Afsar and the boxer Manny Muhammad. Mr Afsar said afterwards:’As a Muslim, it’s something I would do, regardless of faith. Our core teachings are for Muslims to help anybody and everybody.’ The local Islamic radio station, in describing the rescue, reportedly headlined it: ‘Praise be to Allah for saving the Christian vicar!’ [1]

‘Peace on earth, goodwill to all.’ It’s a nice dream, you might think. It’s a bit of a fantasy, though, after the year we’ve had, a year of fear and loathing in the public sphere, of man’s inhumanity to man in international relations. And yet, the story which I’ve just told suggests that peace on earth, goodwill to all, is possible.

You see, they tell us that we’re living in a ‘post-truth’ era, where words don’t count for much, where public debate is being debased by base emotions overriding grace and goodness, integrity and honesty. I’m not so sure this is really anything new – look at what King Herod did, lying to the Magi to get them to bring the child to him, ‘so that he could worship him’, he said, but actually so that he could kill him. And if we cast our mind back to when the baby Jesus grew up, we remember him being set-up by religious rulers desperate to keep their grip on the power that Jesus challenged, and in the show trial they arranged the Roman governor Pilate asked Jesus, ‘What is truth?’ – contemptuously like the Donald Trump, or maybe mock-confusedly like the Boris Johnson, of his day. [2]

But Jesus asserted before Pilate that the reason he was born, the reason he came into the world, was to testify to the truth. And the truth which Jesus brought was first heard and understood by the shepherds on the hillside: in the moment they realised that God was human, a new age began; not a post-truth age, but a post-fear age. 

‘Do not be afraid,’ said the angel, ‘I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: good news of the one born to bring peace, good will to all.’ [3]

The instinct which led the shepherds down the hillside into Bethlehem; the hunch which directed the journey of the magi towards the son of Mary, was the instinct that – in a world where it is very easy indeed to learn the ways of conflict, to tool up for battle – it is also possible to learn the ways of peace, to resource ourselves to be humane towards others. If we know where to look and who to learn from.

The great Hindu peacemaker Ghandi asserted that ‘Jesus belongs not solely to Christianity, but to the entire world’, for the message of peace which he brings: ‘Love God, love your neighbours, love your enemies, pray for your persecutors.’ [4] 

Around meal tables, the adult Jesus brought together society’s poorest and most reviled people and the most respectable ones, including those who were gunning for Jesus and who eventually executed him. And in a move which resembled the activity of the adult Jesus, the great Israeli statesman and peacemaker Yitzhak Rabin, as he reluctantly shook hands with PLO leader Yasser Arafat on the lawn of the White House, said, ‘You don’t make peace with your friends, only with your enemies.’ [5]

The great revelation of Christmas is that God is HUMAN [writes Walter Wink]. Forget what you’ve been told about a divinity wrapped in flesh: ‘Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see’ [6] – making Mary’s baby sound like some sort of invading alien in disguise: we can be forgiven for singing some of our carols with questionmarks. No, Jesus is fully and completely human, and shows us the way to be human. This is the core of the good news that little child brings.

[For] It is the great error of humanity to believe that we are human. We are only fragmentarily human, fleetingly human, brokenly human. We see glimpses of our humanness, we can only dream of what a more human existence and political order would be like, but we have not yet arrived at true humanness. Only God is human, and we are made in God’s image and likeness – which is to say, we are capable of becoming human. [7] 

It is in embracing the humanity of Jesus that we become human ourselves.

As we sing in our carols, of ‘Peace on earth, goodwill to all’ we show that we are on our way towards becoming human. Every time we seek out how to live peaceably together with those who are different from us, every time we try out ways of showing goodwill to all – without prejudice – we’re making the same move that the shepherds and the magi made. 

When we realise that God is human, a new age dawns for us; no longer bound to be victims in a post-truth society, but prime movers in a post-fear world.

 

 

Notes

This is a slightly amended version of the Christmas sermon Becoming Human: the shepherds’ instinct, the magis’ hunch preached at Queen Camel, Weston Bampfylde, and Corton Denham on 20, 24, 25 December 2015.

[1] Richard Atkinson, Beyond politeness between religions, Church Times, 18 Dec 2015.

[2] John 13.37-38. Oxford Dictionaries: Word of the Year 2016 is post-truth – an adjective defined as ‘relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief’.

[3] Luke 2.8-14.

[4] Walter Wink, The Human Being: Jesus and the Enigma of the Son of the Man, p.336, note 3.

[5] Jonathan Powell, Talking to Terrorists: How to End Armed Conflicts, p.76.

[6] Charles Wes­ley, ‘Hark! The herald angels sing’

[7] Walter Wink, The Human Being: Jesus and the Enigma of the Son of the Man, p. 26. Of this passage, Paul Nuechterlein writes: ‘This is a startling and concise statement of the importance of Mimetic Theory, as it bridges the gap between the Revelation and the human sciences’ ability to help us to finally understand what it means to become human. Paul Nuechterlein, Facebook post, 21 November 2015.

 

Writing with hope, about the challenges of the times we are living in, the activist Rebecca Solnit says, ‘The future is dark, with a darkness as much of the womb as of the grave.’

Solnit's inspiring Hope in the Dark, Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities - quoted in my talk today, Joseph in dreams – sleeping on it is what wise people do.

 

Isaiah 7.10-16, Matthew 1.18-25

The Fourth Sunday of Advent, 18 December 2016

Sparkford, Corton Denham 

 

Joseph the builder, the worker-in-wood, probably wearied after another long hard day-shift building  Herod’s new city. [1] You could imagine that he would be ready just for bed, and by no means ready to hear what Mary had to tell him – stuttering, nervous, scared young Mary: whispering to him the bewildering news that she was pregnant. 

Now Joseph loved Mary, of that he was clear. But he was sure that he had never loved her – not in that way; they’d never consummated their relationship. And he would never have forced that. For he was a man who did things properly – they were engaged, they would wait.

And Joseph respected Mary, he knew in his heart. And he respected God, that’s how Joseph lived. So when Mary came to him with her startling statement that a messenger from God had told her that she was pregnant by the Holy Spirit – he couldn’t make sense of it, but he knew he had to accept it. 

What should he do? Joseph, a righteous man who played by the rules of sacred society and knew what shame this could bring on him. 

What should he do? Joseph, who loved Mary and wanted to protect her from public disgrace.

What should he do? Joseph, conflicted between doing the right thing for Mary and doing the right thing in the eyes of society. He felt that his burning sense of shame would force the issue: that he would have to ‘dismiss her quietly’, to break off their engagement and leave her to do whatever it was that women in her situation had to do, to hide her pregnancy and create a story to protect her honour and her child when it was born.

But before he acted on this instinct, first, Joseph did something else. He slept on it.

Why would he sleep on it? Maybe out of pure exhaustion, emotional exhaustion now added on to the fatigue from his long day’s work. But possibly he had a hunch that if he slept on it, maybe something else would come to his addled mind, something else to force the issue better than his burning sense of shame.

Wise man, Joseph. For sleeping on it. For sleeping on it is what wise people do. 

And sure enough, as he slept on it, in dreams Joseph found himself in the presence of an angel of God, who confirmed Mary’s outrageous tale about this child inside her being God’s son. And who awoke Joseph from his anxious urge for face-saving self-preservation, to help him realise that he had to stop playing by the rules of sacred society and instead to stick with Mary, he had to stop doing things ‘properly’ and start doing things perspicaciously – because God is doing something special through this child. [2]

Now ‘perspicacious’ means ‘having a ready insight into and understanding of things’ [3] And have you noticed how many people in the Christmas story slept on it – and in dreams gained insights and understanding that opened up a whole new world for them.

In dreams Zechariah had the birth of John foretold him. In dreams the Magi were instructed by an angel to take a different route home. [4] 

But most of all, there are Joseph’s dreams. Matthew records four of them. This first dream in which the angel told Joseph to marry Mary and together nurture their precious baby’s life. The second dream, mirroring that of the Magi, where Joseph is warned to leave Bethlehem and flee to Egypt. Later, while in Egypt, in dreams Joseph is told that it is safe to go back to Israel. And, having been warned in another dream to avoid Judea, he departed for the region of Galilee instead. [5]

It seems that God likes meeting us in dreams. It might even be true to say that the best time to hear God speaking to us is when we’re asleep! 

In dreams God instructs us. In dreams God directs us. In dreams God encourages us to set a new course for our own good and for the good of those around us, for the good of the world.

So if your mind is troubled by conundrums causing you anxiety, not knowing if the way you think you should go is really the best one, be encouraged to sleep on it. Maybe you’ll meet God in dreams.

Or if your heart is troubled by circumstances you feel you cannot control or change, not knowing how to respond to situations in the community or in the world at large, be encouraged to sleep on it. Maybe you’ll find God there, revealing, revitalising, redirecting.

The author of Psalm 4 says to God, “Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’” And we might ask that too, living in our so-called ‘post-truth’ society, where moral leadership gives way to economic pragmatism and political populism. But the psalmist is only halfway through his statement. The author of Psalm 4 says to God, 

Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ [but] you have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound. [6]

Maybe it is when we sleep on it that we find answers to the question, ‘Who can show us any good?’. Maybe it is in dreams that God comes to fill our hearts with greater joy than we experience in our best waking moments.

Reflecting on these insights the Baptist minister Kevin Durrant writes, 

God knows that it’s not just our bodies that need the renewal that sleep gives; our minds and emotions need it as well. Sleep allows our dreams to sift through all the thoughts and emotions of the day, testing and releasing them in the safety of our subconscious. Many people find inspiration and direction from their dreams; some even hear God speaking through dreams at crucial moments in their lives. But whether we remember our dreams when we awake or not, they still form part of God’s night-time rhythm – a rhythm that brings renewal to our lives. [7]

So Joseph was a wise man, for sleeping on it. And opening himself up to the renewal which God longed to bring him in dreams. 

We sometimes think of sleep as a kind of death; but the darkness of the grave cannot simply be dismissed as a negative symbol; it also speaks of renewal. For Christians, death offers the prospect of re-birth. It is within the darkness of the soil that the dead seed germinates. As Jesus stated, “unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed; but if it dies, it produces many seeds.” [8]

Re-birth happens in sleep; new life is born in dreams. Writing with hope, about the challenges of the times we are living in, the activist Rebecca Solnit says, ‘The future is dark, with a darkness as much of the womb as of the grave.’ [9]

To the one who is open to God, death offers the prospect of re-birth. And re-birth is what Joseph experienced on that pivotal night in his and Mary’s life. He, they, the world, would never be the same again. As it dawned on him that God had begun a new thing. 

So let us be encouraged by Joseph, a man renewed and redirected in dreams. Let us turn off our TVs and our phones, fold away our papers, dial down the digital radio chatter and be encouraged: that sleeping on it is what wise people do.

The beautiful service of Night Prayer, otherwise known as Compline, borrows from Psalm 4 and other places and offers us these words which we might be encouraged to make our own:

In peace we will lie down and sleep;

for you alone, Lord, make us dwell in safety.

Abide with us, Lord Jesus,

for the night is at hand and the day is now past.

As the night watch looks for the morning,

so do we look for you, O Christ.

The Lord bless us and watch over us;

The Lord make his face shine upon us and be gracious to us;

The Lord look kindly on us and give us peace. Amen. [10]

 

 

Notes

[1] Joseph may have been employed, as many artisans were, on one of Herod the Great’s city-building or Temple-restoring projects. Wikipedia: Herod the Great: Architectural achievements.

[2] Paul Nuechterlein, Girardian Lectionary. Reflections. Year A, Advent 4a. Matthew 1:18-25. Exegetical Note. 

[3] Online Dictionary: perspicacious |ˌpəːspɪˈkeɪʃəs| adjective. Having a ready insight into and understanding of things.

[4] 

[5] Matthew 1:20-21, Matthew 2:13, Matthew 2:19-20, Matthew 2:22.

[6] Psalm 4.6-7.

[7] Kevin Durrant, The Earth Will Teach You, p.144-145.

[8] Kevin Durrant, The Earth Will Teach You, p.145.

[9] Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark, Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities, p.5.

[10] Common Worship: An Order for Night Prayer (Compline). Copyright © The Archbishops’ Council of the Church of England, 2016

 

 

 

She was struggling to get on the bus with all the bags she was carrying. Bags full of food – mince pies, cooked chicken, spare ribs, peanuts. Bags full of gifts – teddies for the granddaughters, plastic cars for the grandsons, chocolates, whisky, scarves and hankies for her grown-up sons and daughters. A bag containing two boxes of Christmas cards. And her handbag, carrying a purse which was quite a lot lighter than it had been when she'd set out hours earlier that morning on another Christmas shopping trip. 

Her hands were weak carrying all that weight; her knees felt like they were giving way. So she was very, very pleased when the young man getting on the bus behind her asked if he could take some of her bags on for her; and she was even more pleased when the same thing happened at the other end of her journey as the lady she'd sat next to helped her up and handed some of the bags to her as she got down onto the pavement to make the last few hundred yards walk home.

Strengthen the weak hands, 

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 

'Be strong, do not fear! 

Here is your God. 

He will come … and save you.’

How does God come and save you? God comes and saves you through the goodness of others. …

… the start of today's talk, Weak hands and feeble knees.

Isaiah 35.1-10, Matthew 11.2-11

The Third Sunday of Advent, 11 December 2016, West Camel

 

Strengthen the weak hands, 

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 

‘Be strong, do not fear! 

Here is your God. 

He will come … and save you.’

She was struggling to get on the bus with all the bags she was carrying. Bags full of food – mince pies, cooked chicken, spare ribs, peanuts. Bags full of gifts – teddies for the granddaughters, plastic cars for the grandsons, chocolates, whisky, scarves and hankies for her grown-up sons and daughters. A bag containing two boxes of Christmas cards. And her handbag, carrying a purse which was quite a lot lighter than it had been when she’d set out hours earlier that morning on another Christmas shopping trip. 

Her hands were weak carrying all that weight; her knees felt like they were giving way. So she was very, very pleased when the young man getting on the bus behind her asked if he could take some of her bags on for her; and she was even more pleased when the same thing happened at the other end of her journey as the lady she’d sat next to helped her up and handed some of the bags to her as she got down onto the pavement to make the last few hundred yards walk home.

Strengthen the weak hands, 

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 

‘Be strong, do not fear! 

Here is your God. 

He will come … and save you.’

How does God come and save you? God comes and saves you through the goodness of others.

He had had a very difficult year. He’d battled for a long time with depression – which came on after he’d lost his job some years earlier and not long after lost his wife who found she couldn’t live with him under her feet all the time and with him bringing nothing in any more, chucked him out. With the depression came the drink, and though he’d more recently started to beat that by attending meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, cutting right back, cleaning himself up, one problem continued – he had the shakes. He couldn’t keep his hands still, found it hard to hold a cup or carry a plate to the kitchen table because he shook so much. And he shook at the knees so much that in the small room where he lived the telly wobbled, he couldn’t keep the newspaper still on his lap for long. It looked comic but it was actually tragic. 

There was little anyone could do to help him, especially when the darkness returned and he hit the bottle again. But one friend kept coming round to him, not the perfect friend for he would drink with him too, but at least one who would patiently wait while he scattered instant coffee powder over the kitchen work surface and dangerously poured boiling water into their two cups; a friend who would sit and play cards with him, sit and encourage him to keep reading the papers and watching the news and talk about what was going on in the world; who would keep on bringing the struggling alcoholic out of himself, helping him to keep some outlook on life which kept him going.

Strengthen the weak hands, 

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 

‘Be strong, do not fear! 

Here is your God. 

He will come … and save you.

How does God come and save you? God comes and saves you through the attentive devotion of others.

She had always loved athletics at school. Athletics and gymnastics. In the summer she would be out on the running track, up there at the front of the race on school sports days, enjoying the exertion in the sunshine. In the winter she would be indoors, her hands working away on the parallel bars, her knees bending in the delicate movements of her aerobic exercises. When she got a little older she kept this going, joining the gym which she went to for half an hour before work each day and most evenings too, keeping fit, feeling good. But this all stopped after the car crash. 

It took two years for her to get the full use of her legs back. Two years of hard, frustrating bending and shaping exercises, two years of being forced through the pain barrier by a very strong-willed physiotherapist who would soak in all the young woman’s anger, not take the shouting and swearing personally, and who just kept pushing her on. Two years after that speeding stolen sports car had bounced her off the road and left her lying half-paralysed in a ditch. It took the physiotherapist even longer to persuade the young woman that her athletic days were not over. Though she could hardly run and all the smoothness of her movement had given way to painful stiffness her physio kept on telling her that she had a future. Not as a competitor, for sure. But – how about as a coach to others? And after a lot of persuasion and encouragement that is what that young woman does now. Permanently damaged herself, nevertheless she spends her evenings encouraging girls who look like younger versions of her, to develop their skills and enjoyment in the gymnastic classes she runs.

Strengthen the weak hands, 

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 

‘Be strong, do not fear! 

Here is your God. 

He will come … and save you.’

How does God come and save you? God comes and saves you by the words of encouragement and faithful perseverance of others.

In the prison cell the man of great faith thought that he was losing it. On his knees morning and in the dark, cold night the prayers had stopped flowing. John the Baptist, who once felt that he held the keys of the kingdom of heaven in his hands, now spent hours staring at his open palms, seeing nothing. He was imprisoned and he wasn’t sure that anything he had done in the past had meant anything at all. He wasn’t even sure that Jesus who he once celebrated so highly, was after all the promised messiah. He still had a small group of faithful followers who would visit him and try to encourage him. And one day they went to Jesus, seeking some words of encouragement from him to take back to the struggling prophet. 

Jesus generously gave them more than they’d imagined. He gave them a run-down of what he had been doing which read just like something from the book of Isaiah: ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’

Jesus knew that when John heard those words it would remind him of Isaiah Chapter 53 which says, 

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, 

and the ears of the deaf unstopped; 

then the lame shall leap like a deer, 

and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. 

For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, 

and streams in the desert.

Now John had often used these very words in his ministry to bring people to repentance in anticipation of the coming of Christ. Hearing them spoken back to him in this message from Jesus would confirm to John that Jesus was doing God’s work, and that all of John’s work had not been in vain. That he had put his faith in the right person after all. 

And I like to think that Jesus knew that when he heard those words John would also remember what came just before them in that famous passage of Isaiah. What comes just before them is the passage we’ve been hearing over and over this morning, which I repeat for the final time now:

Strengthen the weak hands, 

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 

‘Be strong, do not fear! 

Here is your God. 

He will come … and save you.’

How does God come and save you? – Jesus seems to be answering the imprisoned Baptist. By giving you his promise. By giving you his word. By encouraging you to be strong. By taking away your fearfulness and strengthening your faith. 

He wasn’t freed from his cell, John the Baptist, on hearing these words which his friends brought back to him. But he was freed. His empty hands were able to grasp the presence of God again; and he had been encouraged to find faith again, to rediscover on his aching knees how to make his prayers to God. 

This is the same God who was there at work in all the people’s stories we have heard today, the same God who is somewhere at work in all our stories: the God who meets us where we are and – through the devotion and help and words of others – gives us new strength and salvation, takes away our fears. 

 

Notes

[1] Previously preached as Weak hands, feeble knees at the Good Shepherd, Liverpool, 2007.

 

 

… In light of this week’s headlines about those many young footballers whose lives were so blighted by abuse, now that it is out in the open like a shoot breaking forth from a dead tree stump, is it possible for us to begin to imagine a coming future where a survivor of incest or abuse finds the strength and inspiration to go on to help others survive? I believe it is. I believe it because the force which brings life out of the dormant earth, the shoot breaking through from the stump, is alive and active in the world. 

– from my talk today, The Shoot from the Stump in the Advent of Trump.

Isaiah 11.1-10, Matthew 3.1-12 

The Second Sunday of Advent, Sunday 4 December 2016, Sutton Montis 

 

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,

    and a branch shall grow out of his roots.

 

In the Eighth Century BC the Assyrians got busy expanding their empire with extreme ruthlessness. Where once they had used international extortion to spread their kingdom, the new mode of Assyrian conquest was to destroy the very infrastructure of the societies and cultures they invaded. Which is what happened to Israel in 722BC. And in Judah, the weak king Ahaz became a vassal of their dreaded powerful pagan enemy.

Assyrian imperial propaganda proclaimed the supremacy of their god Ashur and declared that the conquered peoples had been abandoned by their gods. The tribes of Israel, the sons and daughters of David, the people of Jesse’s line, were absolutely broken. [1]

Their kings had failed them. Their cities were laid waste; like an axed-down tree stump they were cut-low. [2]

But along comes Isaiah with a remarkable vision – the vision of a shoot coming out from the stump of Jesse, the promise of a branch growing out of his roots. 

The promise of a new king, from the stump of King David’s line, a Messiah who would finally lead them as a people into God’s way of peace. They would become a community of peace in a hurting world, Isaiah told them, so that one day all would live on God’s holy mountain without fear of hurt and destruction. [3]

The shoot from the stump. What a wonderful image of quiet gentle rebirth in a world where all seems broken. What a marvellous picture of hope in a world where so much hope has been abandoned.

The Shoot from the Stump in the Advent of Trump. If we open our eyes we see it nudging forth today…… 

I’ve been hearing this week the story of Paula D’Arcy, now one of the top spiritual teachers of our time, whose ministry grew out of personal tragedy. In 1975, aged 27, Paula survived a head-on accident caused by a drunk driver swerving into the path of her car. The accident took the lives of her husband, Roy, and twenty-one-month-old daughter, Sarah. Pregnant at the time, Paula survived the accident to give birth to a second daughter, Beth.

About a year-and-a-half later, a friend arranged a meeting with a preacher Norman Peale. He quietly spent a half hour listening to her story, after which he said quietly, “Young woman, you’ve got a huge challenge ahead of you.”

“I think I know that,” she thought. But she simply asked, “What’s that?” 

“Discovering the purpose of your life.”

Again, Paula felt the anger rise in her, her mind flooding with thoughts. But she simply said, “I lost the purpose of my life when my husband and daughter were killed.” 

He brought his face closer to hers, with great love clearly filling his eyes, and said, “You lost the purpose you wanted. But there is another purpose in life for you. Life has a larger purpose.”

With those words, Paula’s life began to open up to new possibilities. Within several years, it was actually Norman Peale himself who asked her to speak with him to grieving people in need of healing. That’s how her life as a speaker and spiritual teacher began. Her life which had been like a stump cut-off by that drunk driver, now had a shoot of new life. [4]

We’ve seen it many times, when we think of it. The squaddie who lost a limb in Afghanistan now competing at top level sports; the recovering addict; the hard-nosed businessman who, after surviving a stroke, gave up a successful career to become a full-time foster carer.  Shoots from the stumps.

What drives people to see the potential for positive change in their lives – in the world – even at the moment when all seems lost; and to follow the hunch that makes change possible?

In some of the most outstanding lines of twentieth century English language poetry the great spiritual-but-not-religious writer Dylan Thomas describes ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’. [5]

But what – or who – is that force, that force which brings life out of the dormant earth? That force which from the darkness brings green growth and flourishing?

The gospel writer John knows, when he says,

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. [6]

And the great expositor of the faith, Paul, knows, as he tells the Colossians,

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. [7]

The force which brings life out of the dormant earth, the shoot breaking through from the stump, is the One who John the Baptist came as a witness to testify to. 

Now, I feel for John. He knew that he was there to announce the coming of the One who would lead the people into freedom, restoration, salvation. But John the Baptist is old school; his image of the Messiah is the vengeful old god just like the god of the violent Assyrians, a god who wields an axe and cuts his enemies down in wrathful judgement. John hadn’t grasped the other strand running through the scriptures – of the generous creator God, the life-giver. The one who comes and transforms the world peaceably; the shoot from the stump. 

John the Baptist as the last prophet didn’t see it quite completely and clearly. He still implies that God’s work in the world is to lay his axe at the root of the trees of the wicked, and cut them down to stumps. It took Jesus himself to explain God’s word to us completely and clearly. He is the one who teaches us to never strike back in vengeance and to love even our enemies. Most importantly, he is the one who stood in the breach of the evil of his day and became the tree cut-off on the cross. He let himself become the stump, so that on Easter morning a new shoot of life and peace could begin to grow. And on Easter evening he passed on that peace to you and me. “Even as the Father has sent me,” he says, “so I send you.” He sends us out with the power of forgiveness and healing and new life.

I believe that we live at a special time in history when a new shoot has begun to sprout. Humankind was laid-low in the aftermath of two world wars again last century. There are now  newer threats of terrorism. For the first time in history we possess weapons by which we can utterly destroy ourselves. [8]

Looking at the state of the world today we may be inclined to despair. But I want to encourage you that in the Advent of Trump, the Shoot from the Stump is growing.

The church is being slowly revived to see completely and clearly its message once again that the wrath and violence are ours, never God’s. God in the cross of Jesus absorbed our hurt and destruction and is turning it into new life.

So a widow, after sufficient healing, begins to befriend and accompany other widows. An addict laid low by addiction slowly regains his life through the spirituality of the Twelve Steps, and  becomes a sponsor for another addict. A soldier suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder experiences healing and begins volunteering with other veterans. [9]

What are we to make of one of the great cities of ancient Assyria, Aleppo, today reduced to ruins, reduced to a stump, by the present-day civil war? Is it possible for us to see any green shoots, growing there? Perhaps in the new beginnings being made by Syrians who have been taken in to the homes of generous people in other, safer, lands. Or our prayer might be for those diplomats and negotiators and international peacekeepers, working hard behind the scenes to create the conditions for an end to the conflict in Syria. [10]

In light of this week’s headlines about those many young footballers whose lives were so blighted by abuse, now that it is out in the open like a shoot breaking forth from a dead root, is it possible for us to begin to imagine a coming future where a survivor of incest or abuse finds the strength and inspiration to go on to help others survive? [11]

I believe it is. I believe it because the force which brings life out of the dormant earth, the shoot breaking through from the stump, is alive and active in the world. 

 

 

Notes

[1] Andrew H. Bartelt, Second Sunday of Advent, Year A. First Lesson: Isaiah 11.1-10, in Roger E. Harn, ed, The Lectionary Commentary, Theological Exegesis for Sunday’s Texts. The First Readings: The Old Testament and Acts, p.320-23; Wikipedia: Neo-Assyrian Empire; Wikipedia: Ashur (god).

[2] Paul Nuechterlein, A New Shoot Has Begun to Sprout, Advent 2A Sermon (2013). Adapted.

[3] Paul Nuechterlein, A New Shoot Has Begun to Sprout, Advent 2A Sermon (2013). Adapted.

[4] Paul Nuechterlein, A New Shoot Has Begun to Sprout, Advent 2A Sermon (2013). Adapted.

[5] YouTube: Richard Burton reads Dylan Thomas’s poem ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’. 

[6] John 1.1-3.

[7] Colossians 1.15-17.

[8] Paul Nuechterlein, A New Shoot Has Begun to Sprout, Advent 2A Sermon (2013). Adapted.

[9] Paul Nuechterlein, A New Shoot Has Begun to Sprout, Advent 2A Sermon (2013). Adapted.

[10] Wikipedia: Aleppo.

[11] Hundreds report football child abuse to police, BBC News, 1 December 2016.