Trinity 3 (Father’s Day)

Sermon by By Reverend Matt Harbage

Readings:

Job 38.1-11

Psalm 107.1-3, 23-32

2 Corinthians 6.1-13

Mark 4.35-41

I wonder if you’ve watched “Trawlermen” on the BBC. My dad introduced me to it when I was visiting my parents a few years ago. It’s a documentary following some incredible fishermen, risking their lives to bring in the catch.

With the rain lashing down, and waves coming across the deck, (coving the camera lenses) these sailors just get right on with the job of putting out nets, drawing them in and filling the ship’s hull.

Visibly calm in the face of the elements and the apparent danger.

They move as a team, with the confidence that they know what they’re doing, each of them having the other’s back.

That’s today, but the challenges were the same 2,000 years ago. The ocean is awesome: both beautiful and to be respected, much like God. The source of life, and the site of incredible, untameable power.

On the boat with Jesus in our gospel, we have the 12 disciples, many of them experienced fishermen and this storm scared even them.

So when Jesus stands up – and – with a word, calms the chaotic wind, and settles the sea with a look, what a reaction he gets from the disciples:

“Who is this then, that even the wind and sea obey him?”

AT this moment, the translation we use on a Sunday morning said the disciples “were filled with great awe” but here I don’t think the translation quite captures the meaning of the Greek original. The Greek words are “megas” and “phobon” where we get the word phobia. So literally: The disciples had “mega-fear” when Jesus, this apparent superhero, stilled the storm.

It’s like a scene from X-Men or a Marvel comic. The mighty power of the seas, subdued by someone even mightier.

The question the first disciples asked is the same question we must answer today:

“Who is this then, that even the wind and sea obey him?”

Who do we believe Jesus is? In the Confirmation class today, we’re going to explore the mystery of the Trinity: God revealed to us as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Could this Jesus, be the Son of the Father? God in human flesh?

In moments like this one on the sea of Galilee, Jesus’ power is revealed. The power of the Son of God: Bringing peace to chaos. But there’s also a second kind of power on display too, as Jesus shows us God’s gentle compassion, as Jesus gently leads his disciples into a deeper trust and a new kind of peace.

I think therefore this passage has an important truth to teach us today, about trusting in God.

Take a moment to think about your own storms. Maybe you’re in one right now. A storm of depression or tiredness. Of debt or uncertainty. Maybe your prayers recently have echoed the disciples’ words: “God, do you not care that we are perishing?”

On Monday I spoke at a local conference organised by the Barnet Multifaith Forum. Myself and other faith leaders were speaking about the environment and how our faith traditions call us to action.

Reflecting on climate change can be like looking ahead to a massive storm on the horizon. It can be terrifying and overpowering. But there are signs of hope too: God has a purpose for this earth, and we have a part to play. We do not face these forces of chaos and extinction on our own.

I wonder where you are at the moment in life: In a storm, or worried about one coming over the horizon, or maybe you find yourself enjoying a moment of calm and tranquillity – (I was hugely blessed with a moment like that on my retreat the other week. A time of peace.)

Wherever you are, in peaceful, uncertain or stormy waters, Jesus is with us in the boat. He has the power and the compassion to take care of us.

The Bible teacher Sheila Walsh puts it beautifully like this:

“Whether Jesus calms the storm or calms usin the storm, His love is the same, and His grace is enough.”

Jesus, in calming that actual storm, reveals to us that God has the power to do anything. He can bring order to chaos, bring hope to despair, bring peace and calm to the most challenging of situations.

But as Sheila reminds us, rather than take away the storm, sometimes God simply gives us what we need to live through it –

It’s been like that with COVID hasn’t it. Christians haven’t been protected from getting COVID. But God has been with us, and continues to be with us, in the storm.

Today is Father’s Day. For some, like Mother’s Day, it’s a mixed day remembering fathers who weren’t present, or we wish weren’t present.

Fathers who we miss, and wish were still here with us.

But in these pains, we mustn’t lose sight of the vision of fatherhood which God offers us. Our Heavenly Father, as Jesus taught, knows what we need and loves to give good gifts to his children.

Our Heavenly Father cares for us, and is always there for us. No matter what – He might not take away the storm – but he will give us all we need to get through it. –

His grace, is enough.

So, as we prepare to gather around the Lord’s Table in the Eucharist, bring with you your “mega fear” if you are finding yourself in the middle of a storm.

And if you’re fearful about what’s on the horizon, the uncertainty and the like, bring that with you.

And if you’re at peace, and full of calm, bring your thankfulness.

Because God is big enough to receive our biggest fears, biggest doubts and biggest pains. If he can calm the mighty ocean with a word, let him speak a word over you.

For he is your father, and loves you.

Amen

Trinity

Trinity Sunday (B)

Sermon by By Christopher Ward, Reader

Readings: Isaiah 6:1-8; Psalm 29; Romans 8:12-17; John 3:1-17

“Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.”

Some words we heard today from our Gospel reading. May I speak in the name of Almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

These words are particularly relevant to our worship today because later on Samantha, George, Annalise and Joseph will be baptised, and I would like to add my own welcome to them.

Trinity Sunday is a very special celebration in the life of the Church. Although the Church had sporadically celebrated the Trinity for many centuries previously, we have Thomas A’Beckett to thank for instituting Trinity Sunday. It is also unusual in that a doctrine, rather than a person or an event, lies at its heart of that special celebration.

Why is it so important? Because it is through the Holy Trinity that God reveals Himself to us. The doctrine has, over the years, developed a reputation as difficult to understand, but if we have the humbleness to remember that God is in the driving seat and does the revealing rather than us doing the discovering, and that we, in seeking to understand his revelation are constrained by the limits of human language, inspiration and understanding or, to put it in those wise words of St Paul, “For our knowledge and our prophecy alike are partial”[1], it becomes much easier.

In fact, it is I think quite helpful to look at this through the eyes of the early church. While the foundations of a doctrine of the Trinity can be found explicitly in the New Testament in a couple of places,[2] the New Testament does not shed further light on what it means in practice. The first members of the Church had personally encountered Jesus in the flesh, or at least knew somebody who knew somebody who had. And they were confidently expecting a quick physical return of Jesus; each of the synoptic Gospels contains a promise by Jesus that some of them would not taste death before they had seen the Kingdom of God.[3] So it was not a priority to delve into the precise nature of God; this was a sprint, not a marathon.

However, as the last of those who had any direct link with Jesus died, and there was no evidence that a physical Second Coming was in prospect in the near future, there developed something of a crisis of confidence in the Church. Where and what was their God, in whom they had placed so much trust and faith? So much attention was then focussed on the nature of this God. After several centuries of debate and experience, study of the Scriptures, some bitter disagreement and a number of blind alleys of heresy, the vision of the Holy Trinity emerged as the best representation that human minds could fashion of the revealed God. In essence, the three modes of experience of God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit – were recognised as three modes of experience of one God, and as giving us knowledge of the real being of God.

And that representation has stood the test of time. So, what is the doctrine of the Trinity? It can be summed up in three statements:

• There is only one God
• The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit is each God
• The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are not the same

Confused? Relax, you are not alone! An ancient analogy, which the theological scholar Stephen Bullivant has updated[4], may help. Imagine a ring, a crucifix and a key, all made out of pure elemental gold. Now, we revisit those three statements substituting ‘gold’ for ‘God’, and ‘a ring, a crucifix and a key’ for ‘the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit’.

By the early fifth century, the Church concluded that it was through the Trinity that it could best remain faithful to the self-revelation of God, both in the Scriptures and through human history.

So we are celebrating two important things today. One is that it is through the Trinity that our God is revealed to us. That is important in helping us get a right relationship with Him; He is in the driving seat. The other is that the Trinity is what ultimately binds all Christian people together. Doctrine does have a bit of a bad name because it is often seen as divisive. But the doctrine of the Holy Trinity is universally accepted across the Christian Church; anyone in good standing in any church which subscribes to the doctrine of the Holy Trinity is welcome to take Communion here today, as the service booklet says. The Holy Trinity is the glue that binds all Christians to God and to each other; it is a symbol of our underlying unity.

In our readings today, we also learn a lot about the character of the God revealed to us in the Trinity. In our passage from Romans, we read that all who are led by the Spirit are children of God, adopted by God and thus heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ. And our Gospel reading reminds us of the endless love of God, and the extent of the sacrifice He was prepared to make – the sacrifice of His own Son – to save all of us.

So, can I finish by saying to Samantha, to Joseph, to Annalise and to George, this is the God into whom you will very shortly be born through water and the Spirit, a God whose love and faith is enduring, who spoke through the prophets in olden times; who sacrificed Himself for us on the Cross; and who continues to speak to us day by day through the Spirit; and who offers everlasting life to all who believe in Him. Our prayer today for you is that you will be inspired by His overwhelming love for the world to live out your lives to his praise and glory.

Amen

[1] 1 Corinthians 13:9

[2] Matthew 28:19; 2 Corinthians 13:14

[3] Matthew 16:28; Mark 9:1; Luke 9:27

[4] The Trinity: How not to be a heretic, Paulist Press, 2015, p89.

The Fourth Sunday of Easter

Sermon by By Christopher Ward, Reader

Readings: Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18

“I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.”

Some words we heard today from our Gospel reading. May I speak in the name of Almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

There is something very special about the Easter season. For me, there is a parallel with what it is like at the start of many a flight I have taken, and many of you have probably had a similar experience. I’ve gone off to Stansted, or perhaps Gatwick or Luton, at some unearthly hour. It’s typically a bit chilly, and a bit grey and misty, or worse. I battle my way through the grind of all the airport formalities, and finally board the aircraft. The plane eventually takes off into the misty gloom, and about a quarter of an hour or so into the flight we suddenly leave all the cloud and murk below us, and burst forth into brilliant sunshine. I always find this a special moment, and I imagine that the disciples must have felt likewise when they first encountered the Risen Christ.

In fact, I find it virtually impossible to imagine the excitement of those disciples of Jesus who actually lived through that first Easter season. Their encounters with the Risen Christ were so contrary to all human experience of death presenting as a one-way street that it must have been quite overwhelming. Perhaps we should share that feeling of overwhelming excitement when we say those words, “Alleluia, Christ is risen”. And perhaps we should also feel it when we remember our spiritual death and our rising with Christ in baptism.

Today’s Gospel reading is the second parable with a shepherding theme set out in chapter 10 of John’s Gospel. Jesus is arguing with those described by John as ‘the Jews’. The first[1] is the parable about the shepherd entering the sheepfold through the door, whereas anybody climbing in otherwise is a thief and robber. This parable was not understood by his audience, so he went on to tell them the parable we heard today.

The image of a shepherd and his flock would have found a ready echo with many in rural Galilee. It would also have struck a chord with those familiar with the Jewish scriptures, to us the Old Testament.  Perhaps the best known example today is the psalm we heard today – psalm 23 – the words of which have provided hope and comfort to countless people over the centuries. But there are many other such references, such as the plea in psalm 80, “Hear us, Shepherd of Israel”, and the words in chapter 40 of Isaiah, verse 11, speaking of God, “Like a shepherd he will tend his flock and with his arm keep them together; he will carry the lambs in his bosom and lead the ewes to water”.

And in this parable today, we have an echo of those words from Isaiah. In it, he lays out clearly the unconditional love that a good shepherd has for the flock which he owns, and which know him, a love which goes far beyond that which comes from any employee to whom the flock might be entrusted. Indeed, the terms in which Jesus describes the lengths to which he has taken that love remind us not only of the events of Good Friday and Easter Sunday, but also of the crucial fact that he chose to make the sacrifice of himself on the Cross for the benefit of his flock. This really was unconditional love at work.

How was this parable received by the Jews? John sets this out in the verses immediately following the passage we heard.[2] They divided into two camps. Many of them said that Jesus was out of his mind and possessed, and on this basis questioned the sense of listening to him. But others commented, “No one possessed by a demon could speak like this”. So I think the jury is still out on how many of the Jews actually got the message of this second parable. Collectively, they clearly did not actually ‘get’ Jesus and his message, despite the two parables.

What message does it have for us today? We are of course a very different group from those described by John as ‘the Jews’; unlike them we have been baptised in Christ, so we know him and he knows us. And to understand the message of this parable, I think we have to recognise two points; first, that Jesus is no ordinary shepherd and second, that we are no ordinary sheep.

Why do I say that Jesus is no ordinary shepherd? First, because he makes clear that his love for his sheep – that is to say us – is absolutely boundless. A human shepherd may have deep affection for the flock and a deep interest in them prospering. But he nonetheless quite happily accepts the economic need to send the lambs off to market and to cull the barren ewes – sheep come and sheep go, it’s all part of running the flock.

And this brings me on to the second reason – Jesus is not like that at all; he does not cast sheep out from his flock – he wants to get all the sheep in the world into one big fold! As John writes at verse 16, “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice”. What human shepherd wants to bring all the sheep in the world into one flock with one shepherd?

And that brings me on to why I say that we are no ordinary sheep either. How are all Jesus’ sheep going to be brought into the fold? I think the answer to that is through us. Verse 16 is a clear call to mission; it is through the example that we set in our lives and the scale of the love that we show to others that they will come to know the love of Jesus and so join his flock. We cannot just sit there and metaphorically graze contentedly.

Finally, can I encourage you when you get home to have a look at the epistle reading set for today – 1 John chapter 3, verses 16-24? It’s not a long passage, but it helps to spell out the practical significance of life in Christ in our daily lives – what it means to be part of Jesus’ flock. It starkly poses the question, “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? And it concludes by reminding us, “All who obey his commandments abide in him, and he abides in them. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us”.

As I said earlier, he is no ordinary shepherd and we are no ordinary sheep!

Amen

[1] John 10:1-5

[2] John 10:19-21

Second Week of Lent

Sermon by Reverend Matt Harbage

Sunday 28^th February 2021

Readings:

Readings: Genesis17.1-7,15-16; Psalm 22.23-end; Mark 8. 31-38

May I speak in the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

What’s in a name?

I wonder if you like your name. A lot of thought goes into the name parents give a new born child.

I’d love to know how many names Alex and Adam went through before deciding on the name for their new arrival, Mia!

All names carry meaning, and always the meaning is personal. Sometimes the meaning is obvious too:

Angel. Hope. Gifty. Grace.

I grew up with someone called Grace. She found her name both a gift and a pressure: A gift, because it reminded her that she was loved, that she was a child of God and blessed with grace. A pressure too though, especially when she felt she didn’t live up to her name.

Many of us have Christian names taken from the Bible. Certainly for my parents, they named my brothers and I from the New Testament: Stephen (the first martyr), Andrew (the fisherman) and Matthew (the tax collector)… I wonder if they were hoping I’d bring in the money!

Names are important. They’re part of our roots, our family, our tradition, reminding us where we belong, and where we’ve come from.

The Bible teaches us that God knows each of us by name. He knows you, and he knows me, he knows what we like to eat and drink, what we enjoy on Netflix and how much exercise (or not) we do: He knows us intimately, better than we know ourselves. Jesus said:

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

God can count the hairs on our head (and easier job for some than others). What an image: The Almighty God, who created the universe, cares and knows even the number of hairs on our head.

What’s more God invites us to be part of his Story and his family. If you’ve been following the #LiveLent materials like me you’ll have been seeing how important Stories are to Jesus and how we are invited to take part in God’s Story. It’s an invitation to know God and to discover how deeply God knows us:

“Thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1)

All of us here at St Paul’s, whether we’ve been coming for months or years or decades. We all have a place in God’s family.

The Story of God’s family, started in a very special way with Abram and Sari.

These two are the first and greatest patriarchs of the Jewish people. We celebrate them when we light the first of the Advent candles, reminding ourselves that the calling of Abram and Sari started something special which led to Jesus Christ, and our personal welcome into the covenant of promise….

We’ve just heard part of the covenant, in our First Reading, the promise God made to Abram and Sari.  Abram is told:

“You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations”

And Sari,

“she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.’”

God’s calling of these two was not just about creating a chosen people, but was about the redemption and healing of the whole earth: A process which culminated in God becoming human in Jesus Christ, to give his life on the Cross and to open the floodgates of God’s healing and belonging for all who receive Him.

God welcomes us. That’s where the story of St Paul’s New Southgate joins the story of Abram and Sari. And it all comes down to names:

Elderly Abram and Sari are given new names from God. In the Old Testament, names often reflect the character or intended future of the person: Without getting into the Hebrew too much, with a small addition of a letter, Abram – “exalted father” becomes “father of a multitude”.

Sari, “my princess, my woman of strength” becomes more universally a “princess, a woman of strength” – not for one family, but strong for everyone.

God, in changing their names, is turning Abraham and Sarah outwards: They are to become the ancestors of not one nation, but to be the spiritual ancestors of all of God’s people: Jew and Gentile alike: And that includes us.

As we continue to read on in Genesis, the covenant promise with Abraham is explained by God, that through Abraham, all the nations of the world are to be blessed (Gen 22:18). How? We have to read ahead to the Prophetic books like Isaiah to discover that, but in a word: Jesus.

It is Jesus, as the Son of God and the offspring of Abraham and Sarah, who opens up to us the invitation to share in a new covenant with GOD: Even richer and wider than the first, and bursting full of blessing.

In our baptism we have all been given a new name: “Disciple of Jesus” – that name, tells us about who we are and where we’re going, it opens up the covenant of blessing.

I wonder if you can see how the Stories all come together. Our personal stories of baptism and discipleship. Our calling to be a church family here in our community. St Paul’s church’s story as part of the great river of the Church reaching back to the Apostles, and to Jesus himself. Jesus, as both the Son of God and the son of Abraham and Sarah to whom the first covenant was given.

A perfect coming together. And so, reaching forward: We can have strength and confidence, in the face of joys and trials, life and death, sin and shame, – whatever life throws at us, because our foundation is strong.

I am a disciple of Jesus of Nazareth. I am a member of his kingdom, his tribe, his family. That is my core identity.

Jesus didn’t come to make us safe, but to make us belong.

As baby Mai was so recently received into the loving arms of her parents Alex and Adam, and has been given a name: So you too have been given a name too by God. You have been given a family (the church).

Let’s thank God with all our strength for this his wonderful gift to each us – and like Abraham and Sarah, let’s reach out to be a blessing to those we meet: God invites everyone into his family. Everyone has a place around the campfire of God. So let’s welcome those who perhaps feel forgotten and hidden in New Southgate. Those moving into the new flats and want to connect. Those who have been here forever but have been overlooked. Take the risk and invite your friends and neighbours to join us on YouTube.

Let’s share our gratitude and joy.

AMEN

Reflection for Ash Wednesday 2021

Sermon by Reverend Matt Harbage

Wednesday 17th February 2021

Readings:

Isaiah 58.1-12 ; Psalm 51.1-18; 2 Corinthians 5.20-6.10; Matthew 6.1-6,16-21

May I speak in the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Each of us has a story to tell. The story of our lives: where we came from, who and what has shaped us, and where we are going.

This year, I’m following the Church of England’s Lent Booklet: “LiveLent” [show]

It’s all about our stories. My story, your story, God’s story.

The opening question the booklet asks the reader is this:

“How did God become real to you? How did your journey of faith begin?”

I want to share just a little of my story with you, as we begin our Lenten journey: The journey of Jesus’ life, passion, death and glorious resurrection.

My journey of faith in Jesus Christ began with my parents. As a child they spoke often of Jesus’ love, and they said their love for one another came from Him. It was Jesus who inspired them, and guided them. So one night, when I was about 6, before bed I prayed that Jesus would become ‘boss’ of my life too, just as he was their ‘boss’. I wanted the love and kindness of Jesus to live in me too.

Since then, my journey of discipleship has grown and developed. God has helped me weather some difficult and painful storms, and has always been faithful – as He continues to be throughout this pandemic, even though it has been full of much sadness.

I wonder where your journey of faith began. I wonder who first helped you to discover God and started you on your path of discipleship.

Like several of us-I’ve discovered at St Paul’s, I was brought up in the Baptist Church tradition. It gave me a residing passion for the Holy Scriptures; and I especially love the Gospels. There we discover the life-story of Jesus: we get to hear his words and learn about the amazing acts of compassion and power that he did on Earth.

The LiveLent booklet, along with daily reflections through Lent, suggests some actions you might like to take.

The invitation at the end of week 1 is simple: To read one of the Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. I handed out some copies of St John’s gospel out on St John’s Day in church and I’m happy to post more out if anyone else would like a copy. I’m going to re-read John’s Gospel this week:

To remind myself afresh of Jesus’ life-story. To ponder the love of God revealed in our leader, our teacher, our Lord.

My story, and how I began my journey in faith started with my parents but I was guided by my Sunday school teachers, and others in my local church. I wonder if you had Godparents, or perhaps you started on your Christian walk later in life and it was fellow adults, fellow friends from St Paul’s who helped you first experience something of God.

To honour them, I want to finish this reflection with a prayer for those who have blessed our lives: as individuals and as a community at St Paul’s, who have been an important part of our stories:

Let us pray:

Thank you God for the people who have brought good news to us – especially those who help us to understand the good news of your love.

Please bless them today and everyday.

AMEN

Virtual Parish Mass, St Paul’s, New Southgate

Sermon by Christopher Ward, Reader

Readings: Malachi 3:1-9; Psalm 24; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2: 22-40

“A light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel”

Some words we heard today from our Gospel reading. May I speak in the name of Almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

What a difference a year makes! On the equivalent Sunday in 2020, with the sun shining brightly outside, Fr Guy Pope presided and, having started the service by blessing our candles, led us in procession round the church. Many of us kept our candles lit after the procession, creating a wonderful vision of light across the church. Today, we gather in very different circumstances, but I want us once again to share that vision of light.

Candlemas, the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, is a celebration of great antiquity; it has been celebrated in Jerusalem since at least the 4^th century. The Presentation is the third of the public revelations of Jesus, but it differs significantly in character from the other two. Earlier in his Gospel, Luke describes the visit of the shepherds to the manger.[1] Matthew describes the visit of the Wise Men.[2] Both of these speak powerfully to the divinity of Jesus. But the Presentation is different. The event takes place in the grandeur of the Temple, not in a humble stable. And the principal event, the actual Presentation, passes off with virtually no comment from Luke; it seems to have been, from the point of view of the priests in the Temple, just another first-born boy and his parents going through the various rituals prescribed for the circumstances in the Books of Exodus and Leviticus. This I think points to the knub of the difference; this is a human family, an observant Jewish family. Jesus would grow up like any other Jewish boy of his generation, doing similar things and sharing precisely the same joys, sorrows and challenges. Amongst its many messages, the Presentation itself speaks to Jesus’ humanity.

Sometimes I wonder if we reflect as much as we should in our worship on the humanity of Jesus, as distinct from His divinity. Our reading from Hebrews explains the importance of that humanity. Because Jesus became like us in every respect, he judges as a merciful high priest who understands precisely the contexts of our actions. And as the writer of Hebrews puts it, “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested”.

But in the margins of this human act, Jesus’ divinity is also recognised, but not by the official channels, a sign of what will come when Jesus begins his ministry. It was Simeon, not the priests in the Temple, to whom the divine nature of Jesus was revealed in all its breadth and depth, “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” Simeon also foretells some of the characteristics of what Jesus’ ministry will involve. And the prophetess Anna, too, realised the significance of this baby to the future of Israel and spoke to it. I find this a remarkable example of how God speaks to those who are faithful to Him.

So in the Presentation and the events surrounding it we see Jesus – still a helpless baby, revealed for all he will be. It is a proclamation of Christ – Messiah and Priest, Lord and Saviour. He is the light who became human and came into this world to dispel sin and darkness. For this reason, traditionally at least since the seventh century, candles have been blessed at Mass this day that will be used throughout the year, hence coining the term “Candlemas.”

And now, let us look to the light I am holding, a simple candle burning in a rather battered and very modest candle holder, clearly one that has seen much use. But it has some special significance for me. When Virginia and I moved to London, nearly 50 years ago, in our first house we inherited a shed packed with items that the previous occupant had dumped there. Nothing else remained in the property apart from the light bulbs. Most of the shed contents were fit only for the bin, but amongst them was this candle holder. It has since brought light into our lives on quite a number of occasions, typically during power cuts.

But I think it also speaks to us today in the context of our celebration of Candlemas. The light shines brightly, as we are bidden to shine in the world, to the glory of God. We are the earthly inheritors of what Simeon saw in that baby in the Temple. And the light of that candle shines just as brightly as it would in the finest silver candlestick. For me, this candle holder is a metaphor for us and our faith – modest in what we can offer and battered by what life has thrown at us we can, nonetheless, through the grace of God, shine to His glory.

And my choice of a pink candle is quite deliberate. There are two occasions in the church year when we use pink candles in our worship. One is Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday in Advent, and the other is Laetare Sunday, also known as Mothering Sunday, the third Sunday in Lent. In each case, they are a sign of hope, that the sombre penitential mood of the season will soon be lifted by the breaking in of light and joy. Today, I offer you this pink candle as a sign of hope, that the sombre purple that is the world will be changed by the light of Christ.

When Simeon and Anna saw that baby in the Temple, they were filled with light and hope. May this candle be a similar sign of hope to us today as we go out in the world, to shine to the glory of God.

Amen

[1] Luke 2:15-20

[2] Matthew 2: 9-12

Second Sunday of Advent

Sermon by Reverend Matt Harbage

Sunday 29th Nov 2020

Readings:

Isaiah 40.1-11   2 Peter 3.8-15a   Mark 1.1-8 

May I speak in the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In the Old Testament, there are two movements of suffering: Egypt and Babylon.

Egypt was not the Israelite’s fault. Jacob’s sons went to find food and the family settled in the land, becoming too numerous for the regime’s liking and the people were made Pharaoh’s slaves and persecuted heavily. The Bible records the eventual liberation through Moses who ushering them in to the promised-land.

Babylon is a very different story. Once settled in the promised-land, the prophets of God, including Jeremiah and Micah warn the people of Judah: if you do not turn from your sins, you will be scattered and taken into exile. If you fail to care for the poor, the oppressed, the widow and the foreigner, then the consequences will be suffering on a scale never before seen.  //

Egypt and Babylon. Suffering due to circumstance, contrasted with suffering brought on ourselves- We’ve made our beds and now we have to lie in them.

And yet in both, God comes to us in our distress.

I wonder if you’ve ever worried that you’ve done something that you think has permanently damaged your relationship with God…

Or done something so bad that you worry that if the truth came out, your friends and your family and your church would disown you? Cross you out of their phonebooks and avoid you from here on out?

That was the worry the people of Israel had when they were forced out of the promised-land and into Babylon. Our Old Testament reading, read by Philip earlier, comes after 70 years of this exile. When chapter 40 of Isaiah was being written this worry of permanent separation from God was alive and well…

Where was God? What had happened to the covenant – the marriage vow between them and God?

The voice of Isaiah rings out:

“Comfort, O comfort my people,” says your God.
– And with those words of comfort, lives begin to be transformed. God addresses the people as ‘my people’ and thus they are told the relationship is still intact.

Do we need to hear those words spoken over us today?

Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.

See, the Lord God comes with might,

He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom,

Throughout the exile in Babylon, God did not forget his people. He demonstrates there is nowhere we can go that is outside His loving reach – and we are going to see just how far God is prepared to go in a moment.

In declaring God’s forgiveness and love to the Israelites, the prophet Isaiah helps them begin a process of restoration. Restoring a fractured relationship always takes time, whether with God or one another.

Perhaps ‘restoration’ isn’t quite the right word though. For those of us who have know a broken relationship with a friend or family member, if both parties wish to be reconciled, what emerges is not the relationship restored as we once knew it but something else. Something initially more fragile, but perhaps more real emerges.

It turns out the restored relationship between God and the Israelites was too fragile, and broke down once again. The people remained in the land, rebuilt the Temple, but the prophetic voices were ignored, and even they went silent while 400 years came and went. \\

By the time we get to John the Baptist and the beginning of Mark’s Gospel, the landscape has changed. Kingdoms have come and gone and Judah is occupied, this time by the Roman Empire, and a religious elite, the Sadducees, and the pious Pharisees vie to control the people’s link with God.

Into the political turmoil comes the Baptist’s cry, picking up the very same words of Isaiah:

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
   who will prepare your way;
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
   “Prepare the way of the Lord,
   make his paths straight” ’,

A prophet’s voice is once again heard in the land! It was needed in Jesus’ day and it is needed today. Humanity is in constant need for prophets to help guide us: We lose our way, becoming more interested in maintaining our comfort than risking our wellbeing for the sake of others but God’s offer of forgiveness and welcome are always at hand.

Mark’s gospel, in its opening words immediately confronts the mighty political power of the time: the Roman Empire, as it declares in imperial language an ‘eu-an-gel-ion’ – a proclamation of good news – about not the divine Caesar but the true Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth. Scandalizing the Sadducees and Pharisees, it is this Jesus who is The Messiah, the anointed one who brings true peace and will even give his life for the sake of those bound in the shackles of sin and guilt.

Having been welcomed and forgiven by Jesus, might we like John the Baptist, be prophetic voices, speaking truth to power, and imitating Jesus himself, and guide people back to God? Can we bring comfort to those who are suffering – telling them that God’s welcome is at hand?

As you’ll know from previous sermons, one prophet of our times whom I admire is Dr Martin Luther King. In his famous, ‘I have a dream’ speech, which he gave in Washington DC at a civil rights march, he too quoted those words from Isaiah.  Such prophetic heroes though do not act alone, and it was through the everyday acts of ordinary, individual people that progress was made and freedoms won.

So this Advent, may we find ways of declaring that God is on the move, and the unstoppable kingdom of love, peace and justice is on its way:

“Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths” ’ !

AMEN

Botticelli

Sermon by Reverend Matt Harbage

Sunday December 20^th 2020

Growing up in the Baptist Church, I only remember Mary being spoken of once a year. Only once. She would get a mention on Christmas Day, as the minister would declare: “Today we celebrate Jesus Christ (being born to Mary) – Jesus born today!”

I half-joke – but skipping too quickly over Mary, and her role in God’s amazing plan of redemption, misses out on many rich truths about God and insights about discipleship.

In a word, my message this Fourth and Final Sunday of Advent is a simple one:

Let us learn from Mary, and trust in God as she did.

As the dark nights draw in, our fears can grow. Like the shadows on the wall made by a flickering candle flame, our fears can jump about and fill our hearts.

FOMO – Fear Of Missing Out can be felt as we sit at home and wonder what our family and friends are doing.

Loneliness too, as the necessary self-isolation and social distancing take their toll.

Anger and resentment, bubbling in the background perhaps. Patience getting frayed.

Perhaps though, the biggest shadows which dart across the wall of our lives at the moment is the cycle of fear: fear of sickness, or of someone you love getting sick. The fear of death. The fear of being a silent carrier and passing the virus on to those closest to you.

With Brexit looming yet more fears are on the horizon.

And amongst our fears, we hear this story of humble little Mary of Nazareth being greeted by an angel.

During one of our Advent Art evenings, gathering together on Zoom, one of our group shared a painting from Dante Rossetti. The painting we were shown depicted a realistic imagining of this scene of Mary being greeted by the Angel Gabriel.

Realistic, honest and detailed depictions were things that made Rossetti famous in the mid-19^th century as he helped to found the Pre Raphaelite style of painting.

And this depiction of the Annunciation (as it’s called) was no exception. Rossetti captures in Mary’s face and body so many of the emotions there in the Gospel text: Mary is almost backing away from the angel, as her face speaks of the uncertainty and let’s not be coy – the fear of the invitation the Angel was making.

To her fear, the angel speaks, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God.’

An encounter with God spiritually, or in this case, an encounter with one of God’s messengers can be terrifying. God understands our fear, so it should be no surprise that the most common commandment in the Bible, is “Do not be afraid”.

For Mary, and for us today, we have legitimate fears. For Mary, being pregnant outside of marriage meant risking losing her fiancé Joseph, being shamed, disgraced, and being thrown out of her community. Even death.

In Mary’s interaction with the Angel, you can see her move from shock, to confusion, to comprehension, and finally to embracing. After all, the messenger is from God, and the invitation to bear a miracle, comes with the promise that she can trust in God, an invitation to the most exciting and meaningful journey of her young life.

That, I believe, is what God wants to offer each one of us as God calls us out of fear, and deeper into trust and discipleship. Let’s be honest, there are real risks to following God and obeying his calling – risks of uncertainty and sacrifice and it can be frustrating trying to listen to God in prayer, and making time to read and understand the Bible, and making time for Church and serving our brothers and sisters.

But it’s the most exciting and meaningful journey I’ve ever known.

The Advent Art group looked at a second painting of Mary and the Annunciation. Botticelli, in the 15^th century, four hundred years before Rossetti, painted a masterpiece where the angel is on his knees, greeting and reaching out to Mary. Mary on the other hand has her body fleeing from the angel and she’s almost halfway out of the edge of the painting – and yet her hands and her head – are reaching back – back towards the angel in a posture of submission and of desire to connect. I can’t look at the painting without longing for the hand of the angel to touch the hand of Mary.

That desire for connection, for touch, is something I think we can all relate to in our COVID world. It’s also the desire I have in my prayer life; to touch God and be touched.

Mary is, once again, inviting us to imitate her by trusting in God [despite our fear].

As we continue the narrative for Mary, once she has given herself over to the idea that she was to be the mother of the Messiah, trusting in God, and putting Fear in its rightful place – she does not hide in her house, in shame or uncertainty, but hurries – runs to visit her cousin Elizabeth. And there, with her joy and trust in God being full to bursting breaks out in the words of the Magnificat:

“My soul Magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my saviour!

For he has looked with favour on his lowly servant.”

Magnify – μεγα-λύ-νω – To make great, to increase, to extol, to amplify to enlarge – to reveal and declare the work of God within our own soul: That is the path of Christian discipleship!

The joyous miracle of Advent is that as we Magnify the Lord, like Mary we too are filled by God.

These last couple of weeks, I have seen marvellous things in our parish:

Teenagers, eager to have discussions about Jesus’ birth and to hear this mystery of God becoming flesh and being born as one of us.

Those in financial hardship leaving this building with smiles on their faces and bags full of food and supplies.

I have seen children laugh and sing with delight as they prepare for Christmas celebrations.

I have seen people explore our garden with wonder as the simple Christmas lights somehow shine a different kind of light and banish fear and shadows.

And just yesterday someone called me and said, “Thanks be to God. Praise be to God. God has done his wonder for me.” Echoing the very words of Mary.

So let’s join Mary in her devotion to God, her trust in God, and let’s magnify the Lord with her:

“the Almighty has done great things for me and holy is his name.”

Amen.

Ecce Ancilla Domini! (The Annunciation) 1849-50 Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1828-1882

Advent sunday

Third Sunday of Advent

Sermon by Christopher Ward

Sunday 13 December 2020

Readings:

[Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11;] Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28

Sermon

“He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.”

Some words we heard today from the opening verses of John’s Gospel. May I speak in the name of Almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Welcome to Gaudete Sunday, where as you can see from the special colour of the candle we lit today in the Advent ring that a little light is being allowed today into our Advent theme. It won’t last, of course, because our sombre purple will once again take over the lead next week, but it is a sign of encouragement and hope that the wait may soon be over, and the rejoicing can begin. And our Gospel reading today chimes perfectly with that theme. We can see that pink candle as bearing a symbolic witness to the brilliant white light that is to come on Christmas morning.

For me, John the Baptist is a fascinating character, and one who does not always get the recognition he deserves. As with so many things in Advent, it is all too easy sometimes to focus on the glory of the endgame, and thus overlook the significance of some of the intricacies along the way. John himself is very clear as to who he is (as is Mark, in the Gospel passage we heard last Sunday[1]); he is the ‘voice crying out in the wilderness’ foretold by Isaiah to ‘make straight the way of the Lord’. And for this purpose he proclaimed a baptism by water of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

However, it is clear from our Gospel reading today that the Jewish religious establishment had some difficulty with understanding precisely who, or what, John was, and what he was about. He was clearly a highly charismatic individual, despite the eccentricities of both his dress and his diet, with a broad appeal to a people subjugated by a hated foreign power, the Romans. Was he perhaps a much longed-for leader, either spiritual or temporal, pointed to in the Hebrew Scriptures, who would enable the Jewish people to fulfil their desire to escape from the shackles of the Romans? If so, he was clearly not behaving as they expected.

And I wonder if there was also some confusion in the minds of early Christians about the precise role of John and its relationship to Jesus. In those wonderful opening words of John’s Gospel in which he unveils the great mystery of the Incarnation in just 14 verses, a model of precision and brevity in drafting, John goes out of his way to add words emphasising that John the Baptist was not the Messiah.

I don’t think that John the Baptist himself had any doubts either as to his role or status, or about the relationship between his own ministry and that of Jesus. That much is clear from our Gospel reading today. Subsequently, John describes in his Gospel an occasion when Jesus passes John the Baptist, who acknowledges Jesus as the ‘Lamb of God’, whereupon two of his own disciples join Jesus. Later, when John is baptising and questioned about Jesus also baptising at a different location, he reminds his questioners that they themselves had heard him testify that he was not the Messiah and adds, “I have been sent as his forerunner”.

So, what does that make John the Baptist, and does it matter? For me, John can best be described as Jesus’ first missioner. He was the one charged with preparing the way for the Son of God. As he testified after an occasion when he had seen Jesus coming towards him, “ … the reason why I came, baptising in water, was that he might be revealed to Israel”. And this, I think, may be where the confusion about the role of John the Baptist came from in the minds of the Jewish religious establishment; they simply were not expecting God to send his own Son.

And for me, it matters because we have all now joyfully accepted the role of God’s missioners on earth. We look back to John the Baptist as a source of example and inspiration; that for me is a key element in his importance in the Christian story. We are the ones who have willingly accepted the role of seeking to make straight the way for the Lord at the present time in this wilderness of a world. And Advent provides a perfect opportunity to reflect prayerfully on how we can do it. John the Baptist did it, very successfully we understand from the Gospels, in his own distinctive way, albeit that, in the end, he paid the ultimate price. We may never be tested to the same extent, nor may we baptise, but I will just note in passing that, while we associate baptism with the ritual we observe in church, it is the privilege of any follower of Christ in an emergency to baptise in his name.

So what might mission mean for us? The options are endless. It might include something active and direct, like a role in church, helping at a night shelter, visiting the sick or the lonely, or volunteering at a food bank. But it might also be something less obvious, like some simple words of comfort to someone who is fearful.

On the other hand, mission might include something indirect, like providing financial resources to the Church. Here at St Paul’s, we have been running a Stewardship campaign over the last few weeks with a target response date of today. I would encourage you to be generous in your responses: our individual stewardship commitments are the bedrock of our parish finances and a lifeline in the coronavirus afflicted times we currently live in. They support not only our mission within the parish, but also the wider Diocesan mission and, not least through the financial support provided to ordinands who go on to serve elsewhere, the mission of the wider church.

And finally, but no less of value, it might include something intangible, like prayer. In this context, I can tell you that the emerging mission strategy of the Diocese for the next decade, with its apex the ambition of bringing the love of Christ to every Londoner, has at its base the words ‘Underpinned by Prayer’.

Our responses will naturally be as individual as we are, but let us all take some time in the course of Advent to reflect both on the ministry of John the Baptist, and how we might, in our own ways, give life to those words of Isaiah and ‘make straight the way for the Lord’.

Amen

Christ the King Sunday

Sermon by Reverend Matt Harbage

Sunday 22nd Nov 2020

Readings:

Matt 25.31-end      Eph. 1.15-end

Today the Church celebrates Jesus Christ as King.

King over all creation. King over all peoples. My king, and your king. A Lord who has conquered death itself.

And yet this king is a king who was spat at and wears a crown of thorns and didn’t retaliate. This king rules the incredible upside-down kingdom of God and we first might need to adjust our understanding of power and authority to wrap our heads around his Kingship.

Our ideas of kingship are sometimes unhelpfully skewed because human power and authority can mislead us: If we think of world leaders today, presidents and politicians, we might think kingship is about ego; hiring people who agree with us and firing those who don’t; pushing our own agenda for our friends and having the freedom to say and do whatever we want. This is the opposite kind of leadership which Jesus has over our world. His Kingship is the upside-down logic of God: where all are welcome, the meek are blessed, the poor are fed and the homeless find home.

In the parable before us, the sheep and the goats, Jesus is depicted sitting on his throne and judging the nations –honouring those who care for the hungry, the stranger – that is the refugee and migrant, the naked, and the imprisoned. The king of all creation, identifies with these people and declares,

“just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

Some may wonder who exactly Jesus is identifying with. Does he mean we should have special care for those who are part of the Christian family who are in need, or does he mean universally – that all those in need are part of his family?

I suspect if we were to ask Jesus whether we should limit our compassion, he might with a smile retell the parable of the Good Samaritan: The emphasis must be on those in need, regardless of faith or creed.

Our King Jesus stands with those who are most excluded, and with us when we are most desperate. What a king this is.

This is Jesus who lived a poor life in a quiet backwater in the countryside of Judea and yet whose Church conquered the Roman Empire – and continues to win hearts and minds across the globe today.

Napolean Boanapart, the military tactician looked back over his years of conquest and is reported to have said, “Alexander, Caeser, Charlamain and I have built great empires. But upon what did they depend? They depended on force. But centuries ago, Jesus started an empire which was built on love. And even to this day millions will die for him”

That’s our King. The Lord of Heaven and Earth who, through the power of God, has authority over every atom, every grain of sand and every heart beat and every destiny. As our epistle puts it: Jesus is “far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come”

And it is this King who, as he walked about amongst us, didn’t insist people rolled out the red carpet. Didn’t order people to follow him. Didn’t stop the nails piercing his flesh. Didn’t call down fire from heaven to slay his enemies. This is the king who showed perfect love and invites us to participate in his upside-down kingdom too.

So how do we get involved? That’s not just a question for a single sermon, that’s the question for a lifetime. I believe it’s the key question for the whole church:

“How do I get involved in what God is doing in the here and now?”

Where is God at work in my career, in my family, in my friendships. In how I spend my money, my time, my energy.

That is the question which I want to drive my entire life – and I cannot claim to have answered it fully. Not even by half.

This coming week we’re launching our yearly Stewardship campaign. I understand that for a long time St Paul’s church has put out these letters, to ask each member of the community to prayerfully reflect on how each of us is called to be involved in the work of God through his local church.

It might be through financial giving, a way to honour God for all the material things he gives us.

It might be through offering time and talents – and I am blessed to have seen a lot of that since March.

It’s my hope that the Stewardship form will provide a way for each of us to contemplate that question:  “How do I get involved in what God is doing in the here and now?”

It’s that question which led me towards ordination, as I felt God pull me towards celebrating the sacraments and leading others in prayer and worship. And I wonder if there are others in our community who sense that call to ordination too.

To conclude, I want to give the last word to Dr. Shadrach Meshach Lockridge – a powerful preacher who does a better job than I can, of describing our King:  Click HERE to listen to: THAT’S MY KING by S. M. Lockridge)

AMEN