Month: December 2024

Isaiah 60.1-6, Matthew 2.1-12

The Epiphany, 5 January 2025, Austwick, Clapham

“My father was a hero, not only to me but to everyone who believes in peace, human rights, and unselfish love.” So said Chip Carter, son of president Jimmy Carter, in a statement following his father’s death this week. [1]

Today, let us honour wise men who travel in search of the light. Those who do not know what tomorrow may hold for them, but who journey as pilgrims of hope. 

In a BBC Thought for the Day this week, Pope Francis said, “Even if we do not know what tomorrow may hold for us, we should not look to the future with pessimism and resignation.” [2]

The Pope has declared to Catholics that 2025 be the Jubilee Year of Hope, praying that “the light of Christian hope may illumine every man and woman, as a message of God’s love addressed to all,” and that “the Church will bear faithful witness to this message in every part of the world.” [3]

In his Christmas Night homily Pope Francis recalled the Gospel passage where the angel of the Lord, bathed in light, illumines the night and declares to the shepherds: ‘I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord’. [4] 

At that moment, the Holy Father reflected on how Heaven breaks forth upon earth amid the wonder of the poor and the singing of angels. “God,” he said, “has become one of us to make us like Himself; He has come down to us to lift us up and restore us to the embrace of the Father.”

This week I have recalled how, as a sixteen year old, an image I saw on the news struck me as a great sign of hope. It was the picture of Jimmy Carter, Menachem Begin and Anwar Sadat joining hands in the East Room of the White House in September 1978, after the Camp David Accords, those political agreements, brokered by Carter, which brought peace between Egypt and Israel after decades of war. [5]

I understood very little, then, about the complexities of Middle Eastern politics, and I probably understand even less now, but the image of those three men, two once sworn enemies, with their hands entwined, made real for me what I’d heard Jimmy Carter say, that “Unless both sides win, no agreement can be permanent.” This brought to mind what I’d heard back in Sunday School: Jesus saying, ‘Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you.’ And those White House handshakes showed me what can happen when people take this teaching to heart. How, in a world of conflict, those who accept the challenge of trying to create win-win solutions, can and do have their day.

In his 2002 Nobel Peace Prize lecture Jimmy Carter said, “We can choose to alleviate suffering. We can choose to work together for peace. We can make these changes – and we must.” [6] 

Here was a man who travelled in search of the light. Here was one who modelled for us what it looks like when we journey as pilgrims of hope. 

The Pope last week described how, in Emmanuel, ‘God with us’, we find our hope. “The infinitely great,” he marvelled, “made Himself tiny” and “the glory of heaven appeared on earth as a little child. If God can visit us,” the Pope continued, “even when our hearts seem like a lowly manger, we can truly say: Hope is not dead; hope is alive and it embraces our lives forever!”

His message is good news especially for those whose backs are against the wall. For those who spend their days searching for a way to put food on their family table, hearing that God has come down to lift them up and restore them to the Father’s embrace, offers hope. For those who live in constant fear of losing their home or income or livelihood, knowing themselves to be loved as God’s child just like every other person, brings a liberating, energising, sense of self-worth. For the disinherited of the earth, learning to accept that they belong in God’s family, is transformational. [7] 

Jimmy Carter fleshed out this work of hope through The Carter Center, a humanitarian project which since 1982 has helped some of the world’s most marginal people to gain the necessary skills, knowledge, and access to resources to improve their own lives. [8]

As a devout Baptist I’m sure that Carter would have known Paul’s words to the Ephesians, writing of the conflict between Jews and Gentiles, which represents the eternal conflict between insiders and outsiders, between rich and poor, and of Christ Jesus, in whom those “who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace;” writes Paul. “In his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us… creating in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace”. [9]

Now, we are not all called to be world leaders effecting great changes in history. But we can admire them and learn from them. For our Lord does call us to journey through life together as pilgrims of hope, seeking the light, doing what we can to make peace, in our own way, right where we are.

For peace is more than just the absence of war; it is a way of life which comes not just from the top – from those in power, but from the bottom – from all of us. [10]

Our experience of the world teaches us that conflict is all around, and we find it a constant challenge to be at peace and to not fall out with others. We see that distress is all around, which challenges us to try to do unto the struggling ‘others’ what we would have them do to us. [11]

But our gospel and our history encourage us to believe that peace is possible, and that we can all be peace-makers and peace-builders in our communities. Can be, and should be, for it is our calling, and, though this may discomfort us, we must not deny it.

Jimmy Carter once rallied Christians by saying, “I hate to see complacency prevail in our lives when it’s so directly contrary to the teaching of Christ.” 

And Pope Francis said something similar last week, putting it this way:

“War, social injustices and the many forms of violence we are exposed to everyday should not dishearten us nor draw us towards scepticism and discouragement. A world full of hope and kindness is a more beautiful world. A society that looks to the future with confidence and treats people with respect and empathy is more humane.”

Those who travel in search of the light will see the star at its rising. Those who journey together as pilgrims of hope will see that star come to rest, over the place where the Christ child lays. And if we are among these fellow-travellers on this hopeful way, then with them, we too will find ourselves overwhelmed with joy. 

 

Notes 

[1] Former U.S. President Jimmy Carter Passes Away at 100. The Carter Center, 29 December 2024.

[2] Thought for the Day: Pope Francis. BBC Radio 4, 28 December 2024.

[3] Deborah Castellano Lubov, Pope Francis opens Holy Door inaugurating 2025 Jubilee. Vatican News, 24 December 2024. 

[4] Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord: Homily of the Holy Father Francis. Saint Peter’s Basilica, 24 December 2024.

[5] Wikipedia, Camp David Accords.

[6] The Nobel Peace Prize 2002, Jimmy Carter: Nobel Lecture, Oslo, 10 December 2002.

[7] Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited. With Jimmy Carter and Pope Francis, Thurman is the third ‘wise man’ whose life and teachings inform this sermon.

[8] The Carter Center: About Us.

[9] Ephesians 2.13-15.

[10] The Peace Museum / Lachbir Sangha, What does peace mean to you?

[11] “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is commonly known as The Golden Rule. It’s found in both Matthew 7.12 and Luke 6.31.

 

Colossians 3.12-17, Luke 2.41-52

The First Sunday of Christmas, 29 December 2024, Clapham 

 

Jesus has come a long way in a week. Only the other day we were carolling his birth. Today we’re witnessing his bar mitzvah. 

You may know more about Judaism than I do; it was news to me, until I read up about it, that a bar mitzvah isn’t simply a party – a one-off event that you have; rather, it’s something that you are. Bar mitzvah describes the process by which a Jewish boy matures to a point where he becomes accountable for his own actions. And bat mitzvah describes the same process for girls.

According to Jewish law, before children reach the age of 12 or 13 depending on tradition or gender, the parents are responsible for their child’s actions. After that, children are held accountable for their own actions; they become responsible for knowing Jewish ritual law, tradition, and ethics, and can take part in all aspects of Jewish community life, the same as adults. There is a party, of course: a bar/bat mitzvah ceremony is usually held on the first Shabbat after the birthday when the child comes of age. And at that party, traditionally, the father of a bar or bat mitzvah offers thanks to God that he is no longer punished for his child’s sins.

So by the time Jesus reached his thirteenth birthday, he too had become a bar mitzvah, which literally means ‘son of the commandment’.  And Luke’s story of the 12-year-old Jesus in the temple: this is the story of that becoming.

Jesus, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions, amazing them with his understanding and his answers – this is the story of his bar mitzvah, this is Jesus engineering his initiation into adulthood. 

It shows us that he goes above and beyond. With all their neighbours, Jesus’ parents were at the Jerusalem Passover festival as always, that year: almost certainly they’d be careful to ensure that Jesus was taking part in everything he needed to, for his bar mitzvah preparation. But when the week was over and they were all on their way home, Jesus wanted more. After the panic about his whereabouts was over, everyone could see clearly how this child had a passion for learning which extended way beyond his obligations.

Now, a bar mitzvah is a beginning, not an ending. To become bar mitzvah, children attend prayer services at the synagogue, study at a Hebrew school, take on a charity or community service project and remain in good standing with the synagogue. Some are tutored in Hebrew, in singing the Torah, and learning basic Jewish concepts. The expectation, of course, is that these practices will continue to develop through adulthood, as the bar mitzvah or bat mitzvah matures.

Our gospel stories show us how seriously Jesus took his obligation to keep on learning, to keep growing in faith and practice through adulthood. The boyhood scene in the temple repeats throughout the New Testament as we find Jesus discussing scripture with his disciples, debating points of law with religious leaders, attending synagogue and temple, practicing the faithful life through his many acts of care and healing. 

And, of course, in all of this, he goes above and beyond expectations: teaching scripture as no-one had taught it before, stretching the law to its limits to challenge malpractice, showing his passion for the temple by cleansing it of corruption. This child not only came of age – to those who would hear his words he heralded a whole new age, the coming of the kingdom of God, the kingdom of love and peace which the prophets had long hoped for, and which he taught and performed.

From the age of twelve onwards Jesus was about his heavenly Father’s business – whilst still obeying his earthly parents, as a good Jewish eldest son should; and Luke tells us, he ‘increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favour’.

New Year is an opportunity for us to reflect, take stock, of everything in our lives. And to recommit to those things which sustain and help us be the best versions of ourselves. Today we might consider how seriously we take our obligation to keep on learning and growing in faith and practice through adulthood.

The early church leader Paul was keen to encourage this reflectiveness among the congregations: to coach them in the way of maturity. So, what better way to enter a new year than by reflecting on the short extract of his letter to the Colossians which we heard earlier, and allowing it to speak to our hearts about the direction we may take this coming year. 

Will you open your heart to God’s Spirit as I repeat Paul’s words to you now:

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. [2]

 

Notes

[1] Background to Bar and Bat Mitzvah from Wikipedia.

[2] Colossians 3.12-17.

Isaiah 9.2-7,  Luke 2.1-14

Christmas Eve 2024, Austwick

This is the special hour in our year.

This is the hour when excited children finally give way to sleep, and the secret work of delivering their gifts can begin.

This is the hour when in busy homes full of guests, kitchen preparations finally stop, when what had to be done, is done, and now, the time for overdue rest has come.

For some, this is the hour of anticipation: of what the morning will bring, of what fellowship and conversations will come around the Christmas table.

And for those like us, gathering in tiny village churches or vast cathedrals, this midnight allows us a pause.

Here we share an hour in which we can place all our activity, all the joys and strains of family reunions, all the twists and turns and terrors of life, into the perspective of something as deep as time, as vast as space, as mysterious as grace, and as healing as love.

How odd that the simple birth of a child to an unexceptional couple in an unremarkable place should have proved so pivotal to the world: and made this a special hour in your year, and mine.

How odd – and yet, also, how expected. For we know from our experiences that it is in the most mundane moments we find glory shining: when a door opens to a broad smile of recognition, or when a memorable discussion develops whilst doing the dishes. It is simple things that lift our spirits: like an evergreen tree, familiar carols, cheery laughter, the flicker of candles. [1]

Of course know that the birth of a child, however straightforward, is never that simple, for it is freighted with questions and complicated by expectations: what name will we call her, what clothes shall she first wear? And later, how will this child develop, who will he grow up to emulate?

And so with this child who we contemplate at Christmas: the child to whom we sing, ‘the hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight’.

This is the special hour in our year, because this is the hour which invites us to hold this child before us, to contemplate what is in his eyes as he opens them up to us.

This is the hour in which we may offer him the hopes and fears of all our years. 

This is the hour in which we may receive from him the unguarded grace and absolute devotion which is all he has to offer us – all he has, however, is everything we need.

 

Notes

[1] Acknowledging the inspiration for this talk, of Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations, and in particular this passage which draws directly from ‘Christmas Returns’ in that collection.

 

Isaiah 9.2-7,  Luke 2.1-14

Christmas Eve 2024, midnight, Austwick

This is the special hour in our year.

This is the hour when excited children finally give way to sleep, and the secret work of delivering their gifts can begin.

This is the hour when in busy homes full of guests, kitchen preparations finally stop, when what had to be done, is done, and now, the time for overdue rest has come.

For some, this is the hour of anticipation: of what the morning will bring, of what fellowship and conversations will come around the Christmas table.

And for those like us, gathering in tiny village churches or vast cathedrals, this midnight allows us a pause.

Here we share an hour in which we can place all our activity, all the joys and strains of family reunions, all the twists and turns and terrors of life, into the perspective of something as deep as time, as vast as space, as mysterious as grace, and as healing as love.

How odd that the simple birth of a child to an unexceptional couple in an unremarkable place should have proved so pivotal to the world: and made this a special hour in your year, and mine.

How odd – and yet, also, how expected. For we know from our experiences that it is in the most mundane moments we find glory shining: when a door opens to a broad smile of recognition, or when a memorable discussion develops whilst doing the dishes. It is simple things that lift our spirits: like an evergreen tree, familiar carols, cheery laughter, the flicker of candles. [1]

Of course know that the birth of a child, however straightforward, is never that simple, for it is freighted with questions and complicated by expectations: what name will we call her, what clothes shall she first wear? And later, how will this child develop, who will he grow up to emulate?

And so with this child who we contemplate at Christmas: the child to whom we sing, ‘the hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight’.

This is the special hour in our year, because this is the hour which invites us to hold this child before us, to contemplate what is in his eyes as he opens them up to us.

This is the hour in which we may offer him the hopes and fears of all our years. 

This is the hour in which we may receive from him the unguarded grace and absolute devotion which is all he has to offer us – all he has, however, is everything we need.

 

Notes

[1] Acknowledging the inspiration for this talk, of Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations, and in particular this passage which draws directly from ‘Christmas Returns’ in that collection.

 

Hebrews 10.5-10, Luke 1.39-45

The Fourth Sunday of Advent, 22 December 2024, Austwick

Based on ‘Mary and Lizzie: Advent Script 3’ in Cloth for the Cradle: Worship Resources for Advent, Christmas and Epiphany, Wild Goose Worship Group © 1997. 

“Hello,” said Mary, at the open doorway. “Lizzie, are you there?”

Not long after Mary was told by Gabriel that God had chosen her to mother his son, Mary went to see her cousin, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was an older woman, well past the age someone would normally have a child. But she and her husband, Zechariah, had also been blessed by God, and their long-forgotten prayers for a child were being answered. They were to become the parents of John the Baptist, though on account of his failure to believe that this would happen, Elizabeth’s husband had been struck dumb until the day of the child’s birth.

“Is that you, Mary?” Lizzie shouted from the kitchen. “Come in. I’m desperate for a bit of company.”

Mary went in and sat down, and asked her cousin, “Why? Has no-one got time to visit you?”

Lizzie stopped a moment, looked surprised, looked down at her round tummy, put her hands on it  and let out a gentle sigh. 

And then she said,  “Well, I’ve noticed that several people who I thought were friends, are now carefully avoiding me, on account of my ‘condition'”.

“ That’s terrible,” Mary said.

“Listen, Mary, I’m the talk of the neighbourhood. Motherhood on the other side of the menopause is a lonely business, I’m finding – all the women are keeping their distance in case they catch the same disease.”

“That’s a lot of nonsense, Lizzie. You can’t catch pregnancy. Martha, the midwife, has been with  expectant mothers for forty years, but it never made her pregnant. But what about your husband? How’s he coping with it all?”

“Harry? I’d get better conversation from a tailor’s dummy. He hasn’t said a word since I told him the news.”

“Is that right?” Mary asked.

“It is,” said Elizabeth. “But wait till I tell you this. Last night, he plonked himself down by the fireside, took out a pencil and paper wrote me a note. It said, ’Don’t tell a soul, Lizzie. The baby is to be called John.’ So I says, ‘That’s a funny name for a girl.’ And his eyes nearly popped out his head.

“So then I said, ‘But if it’s a boy, I wouldn’t want him called John. Just because you use your full name  Zechariah when you go to work in the Temple but like to be called Harry at home, it doesn’t mean that every boy wants a short handle to his jug. 1 think I’d rather have something more exotic … like .. Shadrak … or Mezzibosheth.”

“What did he say to that?” Mary asked.

“Mary! … He can’t speak. … remember?… So he didn’t say anything. He just kept pointing to what he had written, and shaking. I thought he was going to take a seizure.”

Mary put her hand on Elizabeth’s forearm and said, soothingly, “Well, apart from women not talking to you and Uncle Harry getting upset at you, are you all right yourself?”

“Actually, I’m quite amazed how well I am Mary,” she replied. “Just occasionally have these daft turns. Last week I had a notion every morning when I got up that I’d like to eat pickled herrings.”

“Oh, you have to expect that, Lizzie,” said Mary. “Some women even want to chew coal.”

“You’d need some energy for that!” Elizabeth said.

“Energy? Listen, Lizzie, wait till you’re in your last weeks. There’s some women become as strong as an Ox. They lift the carpets, paint the kitchen. There’s no stopping you when you’re pregnant.

“Mary, you’re barely a child. How come you know so much about it?” asked Elizabeth.

And there was silence for a while.

“Mary?”

And after another quiet few moments, Mary said, 

“Lizzie … can you keep a secret? I think we’ve got something in common!”

 

Concluding with the gospel reading and then the Canticle: Magnificat (Luke 1.46-55) (Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord)

Malachi 3.1-4, Luke 3.1-6

The Second Sunday of Advent, 8 December 2024, Austwick

Lots of names and dates in our reading from Luke’s gospel today. Let’s hear them again: “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.”

Luke was keen on providing his readers with plenty of names and dates; just a little bit later in the same chapter of his gospel he writes this rather long list:

23 Jesus was about thirty years old when he began his work. He was the son (as was thought) of Joseph son of Heli, ²⁴son of Matthat, son of Levi, son of Melchi, son of Jannai, son of Joseph, ²⁵son of Mattathias, son of Amos, son of Nahum, son of Esli, son of Naggai, ²⁶son of Maath, son of Mattathias, son of Semein, son of Josech, son of Joda, ²⁷son of Joanan, son of Rhesa, son of Zerubbabel, son of Shealtiel, son of Neri, ²⁸son of Melchi, son of Addi, son of Cosam, son of Elmadam, son of Er, ²⁹son of Joshua, son of Eliezer, son of Jorim, son of Matthat, son of Levi, ³⁰son of Simeon, son of Judah, son of Joseph, son of Jonam, son of Eliakim, ³¹son of Melea, son of Menna, son of Mattatha, son of Nathan, son of David, ³²son of Jesse, son of Obed, son of Boaz, son of Sala, son of Nahshon, ³³son of Amminadab, son of Admin, son of Arni, son of Hezron, son of Perez, son of Judah, ³⁴son of Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham, son of Terah, son of Nahor, ³⁵son of Serug, son of Reu, son of Peleg, son of Eber, son of Shelah, ³⁶son of Cainan, son of Arphaxad, son of Shem, son of Noah, son of Lamech, ³⁷son of Methuselah, son of Enoch, son of Jared, son of Mahalaleel, son of Cainan, ³⁸son of Enos, son of Seth, son of Adam, son of God. [1]

Luke was keen on giving names and dates; because he wanted we, the reader, centuries later, to understand that Jesus lived in a certain place and time, and that he had a particular genealogy. 

You might relate to this, if you’re interested in researching your family history. The desire to locate lost relatives, the drive to discover the truth about one’s forebears, is increasingly popular today – in fact some sources suggest that genealogy is one of the most popular topics on the Internet [2]. 

It is now much easier to research family history, to find long-lost or never-before-known-about relatives and to communicate with them, even across the world. Through my auntie doing some family history research, a while back I met, for the very first time, a second cousin, Brian, who as it turns out was living just 35 miles from our home in Devon, one of a number of cousins on that side of the family who have since found each other and arranged get-togethers in recent times. You may have had similar experiences yourself. Or you may have in your heart a desire to find someone in your life who you know is out there – somewhere – who you’d love to meet.

Sometimes the most interesting parts of a family’s history are where a surprise is unearthed. The BBC series  ‘Who Do you Think You Are?’ features various celebrities finding out about their ancestors – and the twists and turns of their family fortunes over the years, the illegitimate births, the tragic early deaths, the ups and downs of property and fortune. These are the things which define us, which in deep ways help shape the people we are. No wonder so many are so keen to uncover them, hopeful of finding some wonderful stories whilst also being prepared to deal with any painful realities which might be revealed. 

Genealogies were important in biblical times too. They were treated as stories, parables, to show someone in a certain light. They were written to substantiate claims which people made to help strengthen their status in society. And so, for instance, Caesar Augustus, emperor of Rome at the time Jesus was born, claimed a millennium-old descent from the goddess Venus, and found that he was the adopted son of Julius Caesar, who was regarded as divine, and this permitted Augustus to claim the title ‘Son of God’, and to demand that the people worship him. [4]

Which reveals one striking detail in Luke’s genealogy of Jesus. Luke’s long list of names starts with his earthly father Joseph, and then goes back through history until it climaxes in the line: “son of Enos, son of Seth, son of Adam, son of God.”

This is a remarkable statement. In a world where people dare call no-one but the emperor the Son of God, Luke puts across the divine heresy that Jesus is God’s Son. This is a direct challenge to the authority of the powers-that-be, of his day – and of course it connects to Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth which begins with humble old Zechariah and Elizabeth, which centres on not kings and rulers but shepherds and their flock; it’s a story in which modest Mary, and later faithful old Simeon and Anna, each realise the significance of what God is doing through this holy birth: in this story of all stories which Luke, and only Luke, tells, God’s kingdom comes to life among those on the fringes of empire, people outside any circles of influence. God’s kingdom is born, remarkably, not in palaces but in humble homes like ours.

This is a ‘family history’ which turns the world upside down. From it we learn that Jesus is fully bound up with us in human history; that when we accept him, when we embrace him, our names are added to his family line. And that, just as we take the characteristics of our parents, our forbears, our ancestors, into our own ways of life, so too God’s Spirit enables us to walk in His way, and become increasingly like him, every day.

This Advent, may we search again, more keenly, more deeply than ever for the Jesus who is coming to us, and in our seeking, may we know the joy of living as children of God in our part of the world today, and the hope of a bright tomorrow. 

Notes

This talk draws from the more detailed Holly Willoughby’s Nightmare (is God’s nightmare too), given at Waterloo United Free Church, 5 January 2014.

[1] Luke 3.23-38.

[2] Wikipedia: Genealogy.

[3] Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas: What the Gospels Really Teach Us About Jesus’s Birth, p.95-98.

[4] Wikipedia: Son of God, Imperial titles.