Sermons

20^th after Pentecost 2024

Our Gospel reading covers some wide ground today, taking us from the Pharisees testing Jesus about divorce, to Jesus’ revolutionary proclamation about children. 

I’m feeling very relaxed after my holiday, so how about we do this democratically? Do you want to hear a sermon about divorce, or would you rather one about children? Hands up for divorce. Hands up for children.

I am encouraged that many of you think that I spent my holiday writing not one, but two sermons, and that I would trust in a democratic process to decide which one to use. 

To solve this, instead I’ll talk about our first reading, from Job. 

Our first readings for all this month are from Job. It’s a famous book from the OT, which is often described as addressing the question of suffering. Why does God allow suffering? This is of course a hugely important question for everyone. It’s often the tricky issue that people seem to judge God on, or at least question, challenge and judge his believers on—sometimes finding no satisfactory answer, and then turning their backs on their own possibility of faith in God, because they don’t get an answer they can live with. 

Suffering is a huge question to be addressed, and Job gives us an interesting answer.

Job tells the story of a good person, a perfect person—blameless and upright, who feared God and turned away from evil—as we heard earlier. Crucially Job loves his dependants and treats them well. 

God is pleased with Job, to the point of boasting to Satan about him. (Satan is not the devil, mentioned in other sources. Satan is more like a member of God’s advisers, a bit like a prosecuting lawyer.) 

Satan tells God basically that Job is just like all the other humans. ‘Skin for skin,’ Satan says. ‘All that people have, they will give, to save their lives.’ In other words, Job is only well-behaved because God has blessed him, and his life is a pretty comfy one, and at the end of the day (Satan argues), we are all selfish; it’s just that some people need to be tested a bit more than others, to find their limits. 

So God wants to find out if what Satan suggests is true, and takes away the blessings from Job, wanting to know if he will remain the good person he was when he had all that good stuff. 

And so Job is subjected to all sorts of bad things.

It sounds like a pretty crazy set up: God having a wager with Satan, and one unlucky person gets caught up in all of it, with various tragedies happening as part of an experiment. But this book needs to be viewed—not like actual events—but more like a parable, which disorientates the listener, then comes through with a big surprising message, putting us on a new path.

So we need to approach this book carefully, with an open mind, especially when we hear that there might indeed be an answer to the mystery of suffering contained in its pages. 

Once we have that open mind, we see that the big question the story actually sets out to answer is not directly: ‘Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people’, or even, ‘Does God deliberately do bad things to people,’ which is what Job’s friends think is happening to Job. 

Job’s friends assume Job has done something bad, therefore God is punishing him. They believe that, because (of course) that’s what is said happens in so much of the OT, that God protects and rewards the righteous, and punishes the wicked. His friends tell Job to be a better person, and God will start rewarding him once more. This is also what people through the ages have suspected as well, even if we feel bad for having such thoughts.

Now, Job doesn’t go along with this, because he believes he hasn’t done anything wrong. His friends do point out perhaps that is his sin right there—pride, and ignoring his own secret faults, that we have all sinned, and so on. And so the friends end up feeling justified in their belief that God is punishing Job for sin, thinking Job deserves what he gets. 

But this book then takes a surprising turn, and we see that it does not try directly to answer the question of why we suffer. Instead, a different question that this book proposes and sets about to answer, is this: ‘Do people still love, and trust, and honour God, if things are not going their way?’ 

Before the experiment began, Job was successful in the world, wealthy, he had good health, and a happy, loving family, and he was faithful to God. But what if things were not going Job’s way? Would he turn against God? 

At the heart of this book is the question about the motive of faith. Are we in it for ourselves, and therefore if we’re not getting anything tangible out of this relationship with God, should we chuck in our faith? 

As a result of all his suffering, Job starts to ask the question, ‘Is God actually a bit of a nasty tyrant?’

There’s a popular belief that bad things come in threes. Anyone think that? It’s been part of a few convers-ations I’ve had recently, and when the bad things come, it’s a philosophy that certainly can seem true. 

When a bad thing happens, we are put on edge. We feel vulnerable, seeing that our world is no longer as safe as it seemed, and we become anxiously alert to anything else that might add to that new view that we are at risk. 

It’s an evolved safety mechanism to help us survive, and is entirely natural and even helpful. The problem is, that we start noticing more things that we might classify as ‘bad things happening to us’, because we’re looking out for them. Just like if you buy a bright orange car, you start noticing all the other bright orange cars on the road, when before, they’d passed you by without your registering. 

As we’re on edge from that first bad thing happening, we notice more bad things, no matter how small—or even things that may be neutral, we conclude are bad for us, because that’s what we’re looking for, whereas in the past we’d not give them the time of day. 

We also start to see completely unrelated things as having some connection. You drop and break your favourite teacup, then you hear of a friend’s serious illness: two completely unrelated events that you now see as being connected, because you’re on the lookout for troubling events, which might potentially go on and on. 

It can be helpful to believe these come in threes, because once the third thing has happened, we start to relax and stop paying so much attention to potential tragedies, and so our lives seem to get a little better. 

This is central to the parable of Job.

The conclusion of this book is typical of the conclusion of parables that Jesus shares with us, when he is confronted with tricky, testing questions about big issues. The conclusion, the answer, is that we are asking the wrong question. Through his dealings with Job, God challenges our assumptions about himself, and presents a much different picture of God, creation and human existence.

Job’s belief is that, as he is good and loves God and loves and treats his dependants well, God really ought to treat him well. This is a belief that God wants to change. It’s a belief we’ve all been guilty of considering: some occasionally, some most of the time. 

If we believe that God ought to treat us well, because we treat others well—a simple logical calculation, ignoring the complexities of our loving God who knows all and is all powerful—if we believe that simple logic, then we are setting ourselves up as a kind of God ourselves: making demands based on our limited understanding of how things ought to be. 

It’s understandable that we might be tempted to do that, because so much of old teaching about the faith does actually suggest this, and it’s also how we navigate our own human relationships. I treat you well, you treat me well. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. I bring you breakfast in bed on your birthday, you clean out the chook house every day. Something like that.

But God’s ways are not our ways. We know from what we learn about God incarnate, Jesus Christ—who for a little while was made lower than the angels, and dwelt with us, taking on the experiences of humans—we know that God is surprising, continually doing unexpected things, and challenging our poor beliefs and rudimentary comprehension of the meaning of our existence.

Job and his friends’ view of good and bad, of joys and suffering, had been too narrow. They had put themselves at the centre of the universe, like the old belief that the sun rotated around the earth. God tries to show Job—and through him, God tries to show us—that we humans are not the centre. We are merely part of the bigger picture involving God and the world, the whole of creation, just like the earth revolving around the sun, not the other way round. 

I’m aware that this is a challenging concept, and there’s a lot said and written that contradicts this. Yes, we are uniquely special to God. But we are part of God’s outlook, not the beginning and the end. At least according to this book. God cares for us, as we are his children, but he does not always merely react to us. He has bigger plans than that.

Job learns, and we need to learn, that a narrow view of God is not enough, and can get us in a tangle when difficulties in our life arise. These are not bad things happening to good people, as our narrow ways of thinking conclude. These are events in a continuous stream of happenings in a complicated and mysterious universe, that we can usually only make sense of when we relate the events to their effect on us. 

The teacup and friend’s illness I mentioned before, are only related in that they’re bad for you. Otherwise they’re not related in the slightest. To think otherwise is like thinking the sun is rotating around the earth. 

God shows Job the bigger picture, and this view of God’s creation and God’s ways is always available to us, once we lift up our heads and open our perspective to the uncertainties and mysteries of life—our life and others’ lives. 

You may be tempted to open your Bible to find direct answers to your suffering, but God, like any good psychologist, answers your questions with different questions, encouraging you to turn around and see the world and your position in it in a different way. 

God is a power for all life, balancing the needs of all creation, loving freedom and delighting in everything from the smallest worm to the great creatures of the deep, regardless of their apparent usefulness, and knowing there are deep connections between life and death, growing and shrinking, that are his ways of holding all creation in his love. 

Sermon 22 September 2024

When I was psychological therapist, in my previous life, for the last two or so years of that work I did all my consultations via video calls. I sat at my desk at home, and my patients sat in their homes, and we communicated via computer, or tablet, or smartphone. That worked well for some people, especially those who lived busy lives, or those who were too anxious to venture out to see me in person. It worked well for me, as I no longer had to drive to and from the clinic.

Before the pandemic introduced this kind of working, my drive to work was usually in busy traffic. Like most people I found the traffic frustrating, and would sometimes be a bit selfish in my driving habits. Not letting other drivers in when the traffic was queuing up, or when other drivers wanted to change lanes, racing ahead to get into pole position at the traffic lights, you know the sort of thing.

This type was of driving was not kind, was not good for my stress-levels, and would not have pleased our Lord. After a while of this sort of commuting, I reflected on the nature of my behaviour, and tried a technique on myself that I encouraged patients to use. 

I wanted to be a kinder driver, but due to my ingrained habits (in other words, my human nature), it was too difficult just to click my fingers and change. So set myself a target, each time I drove, to try to change. My target was to let a car in before me, at least three times, each time I drove. 

Sometimes the opportunities to let cars in were obvious, and therefore it was easy. Other times I had to work hard to find people to be kind to. And if I was distracted or not in the best of moods during my drive, I really had to force myself. 

This worked well, made the other drivers happy (the type of gesture they made towards me seemed to change for the better) and made me feel calmer, not just during the drive, but through the day as well. I don’t think it made me any later to work or home either. 

Those of you who know something of psychology, in particular neuro-psychology, will guess that through setting these targets, real change took place in my brain, especially the times when it was hard for me to show kindness in my driving practices. New and better ways of thinking and being began to be embedded in my life, via neural pathways, because I pushed myself to think and behave in a particular way. My example is about being a kinder driver, but this kind of change can happen in any area of life.

In the gospel of Mark, our Gospel of the day, we hear Jesus teaching the disciples. He’s no longer exercising his public ministry in Galilee when we get to this point, he is on a journey that takes him beyond Galilee, a journey to the cross. And instead of talking to the public in this section, he is talking to his inner circle, the chosen followers in their home area. 

It’s curious to note that the disciples don’t understand Jesus at this point, and don’t even ask him what he means. Before, when they struggled with his meanings, they would ask or raise objections. But here they keep quiet. Maybe they were embarrassed. Perhaps they don’t want to know.  

Next, we hear of Jesus asking what they were arguing about, and again they are silent. Their beloved teacher had caught them red-handed, discussing, debating, arguing over something clearly against his teaching, but also perhaps a natural thing for them to be talking about: status meant so much to people of that day, and was written into the law as well as strict social rules and customs, so perhaps we can forgive the disciples for this discussion, especially as we know something of their weak humanity. 

Status (which means how you and others perceive your position or rank in society; are you better than your neighbours, ‘keeping up with the Joneses’, as we used to say); status meant a lot in those days. Status means a lot these days too. In some circles. 

But these days it doesn’t have to, unlike the tough times of the first century. We have a lot to thank Jesus for, in proclaiming the message of his gospel, for us to get to this situation—at least we in the free Christianised world do. Jesus and his apostles broke that old society and allowed God’s children to be more loving and compassionate, no longer bound to struggle with keeping up our status.

Two thirds of the way through this gospel passage, Jesus sits down and calls the twelve over. In those days sitting down to speak was an authoritative gesture, meaning Jesus was in command at that point. We might think that to stand while everyone else is sitting, and even to stand up there in the pulpit, is showing authority, but in fact it was the opposite.

The disciples had just blanked Jesus twice: they had nothing to say to him after he first made a bold statement about his death and resurrection, and then when he asked them what they were arguing about—both times they said nothing, so I suspect Jesus was now getting cross, and so he sat down to speak.

And what did he say? ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’ That must have made little sense to those around him, bound up with their notions of status. They all believed that being first, being the best in comparison to others, was the accepted aim. Jesus now challenges & turns upside down what his culture said about position and status. 

But knowing the disciples were a bit slow at understanding, to help drive the point home, Jesus used a technique all the best teachers know they have to use if they want to make headway with a tough crowd, he used a visual example—something the disciples would relate to, to help their understanding, and something that has been seized upon down through the years as an abiding image of Jesus and his message. Has anyone ever seen a picture of Jesus with a little child? Quite a popular image. 

In those days children (or it could have been a servant, because the word meant both child and servant), did not symbolise innocence or being unspoiled, as the Victorian promotion of childhood had it. Children symbolised an absence of social status or rights, meaning that they were practically ‘non-persons’, totally dependant on others for nurture and protection. No-one gained anything in that culture for being welcome-ing to a child, it would have been a sacrificial act. 

And by giving that child a hug in front of them, Jesus gives the twelve, and us, a big sign that it is those without power or status or anything to give us who are to be the most prized in any society or world where the rule of God is honoured.

These people, the apparently insignificant ones (children, the poor, the homeless, the refugees), are important, because they belong to Jesus.

In our first hymn we sang all about wanting to follow Jesus’ teaching, wanting to offer ourselves to be servants of those around us. And we heard earlier that beautiful, poetic reading from the Book of Proverbs, about the capable, good, perfect, or worthy woman, who seemed to embody servanthood. Looking through our Christian lenses, we see that she is the greatest, for her life of diligent service, not her husband, who is well known at the city gates (= of high social standing). 

Serving others is best done when we have nothing personally to gain from that act. Giving selflessly to those who can’t reward us in this life, or showing kindness which may only be seen by God, does nothing for our status in this world, a world that is remarkably still ruled by desires for rank and status. 

Although….. I discovered through allowing other drivers in, during my work commute, that God rewarded me with a certain calmness and peace: things not overtly praised in this society, but much more precious than being known at the city gates.

May you seek out ways of kindness, & strive to please God through serving the least of this world, rather than seeking to impress those who might reward your status.

Sermon 15 September 2024

Fifteen years ago, almost to the day, I set off from London on a journey where I tried to travel all the way to Australia without flying, relying only on trains, buses, taxis and boats. In reality I knew I wouldn’t quite achieve it, mainly because on the route I had chosen there was no land border crossing between India and Myanmar, but also there was plenty of fighting going on at the time in western Pakistan which I didn’t want to risk travelling through. 

Before I went on this trip I spent a couple of months staying with friends in the state of Georgia in America, and was closely involved with their church—a Baptist church, which was welcoming and liberal—a bit of a rarity in the south.

When I shared with the people there the trip I had planned, they always expressed shock and concern that I intended to travel through Iran. “Why on earth would you risk going there?” they said. “It’s lawless, and so dangerous. They’re not Christian.”

After travelling through France, Italy, Croatia, Albania, Greece and Turkey—which involved six trains, four busses, two taxis, and a ferry—I arrived in Tehran, the capital of Iran. What I experienced there shocked me as much as the Americans had been shocked when I told them I was going there. 

I was honestly shocked by how friendly and generous the Iranians were to me. People would stop me in the street to chat, sometimes to practice their English, but often just to be friendly. People invited me back to their homes, which I mostly had to decline, because there were so many invitations I couldn’t agree to them all. 

For the two weeks I was there, I barely needed to stay in a hotel because of the friendly hospitality the locals showed me. Compared to us, those who invited me home were quite poor. I didn’t realise at first, but sometimes I was offered the only mattress in the house to sleep on, and the plentiful food that was prepared was not what they would usually eat, but was brought out especially to feed a wandering stranger who just happened to be passing through.

This was the legendary Middle Eastern hospitality that some of you might have experienced too, that is described in many places in Scripture, and which we try to observe too, in helping strangers, the homeless and refugees, but that often in practice we fail at, instead being a bit suspicious of strangers, fearing what we don’t know (like those American Christians who clearly had no idea of what Iran was actually like), and preferring to follow the Western worldly way of looking after our own.

My experience in Iran was a model of how we ought to put our faith into action, in this country where so often those with faith treasure that faith just for themselves, and fail to translate that into good works. 

The thrust of our second reading today emphasis how important it is for those with faith not to rest on that, but to show their faith through good works. “Even the demons believe,” writes St James. Even the demons have faith in God, so what separates us from them? According to St James, belief—and only belief—in the existence of God has no more saving power than the trembling belief of the demons in God’s supreme power. 

St James is often contrasted with St Paul when it comes to faith and works, but Paul would have agreed wholeheartedly with James that Christian faith results in ethical behaviour, from examples in Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (the fruits of Spirit, including kindness and generosity); and the Letter to the Romans: where he writes of extending hospitality to strangers as a mark of a true Christian.

In our reading from James, he mentions Rahab, which might come as a bit of a surprise, putting a prostitute alongside the Patriarch Abraham. She was a gentile, who, as you know, came to the help of Joshua’s spies, risking so much to help those strangers. Rahab is now held up as the ideal  convert, just as Abraham himself was a convert from paganism, and Rahab is considered a model of faith and hospitality, and even features in Jesus’ genealogy. 

St James writes, “Just as the body without the Spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead.” What does this mean for us, here at St James? And this is your periodic reminder that the James who wrote the epistle is probably not the James we celebrate in church’s our name. What does this mean for us, that “faith without works is dead”?

For some of you it means a pat on the back, for making sacrifices to help the poor and needy, for sticking your necks out to stand up for the rights of the oppressed. I know some of you are very generous with your time and money to help those who are struggling materially.

But some of you might (or should) be thinking you could do more. Of course some of you do extremely good works that are known only to God, and that is how it should be. But if you are thinking of doing more, a couple of places you might start are, firstly, helping the poor of our area. This basket ought to be a lot fuller than it has been in recent weeks, and might be a good barometer of our level of good works. I am starting to think we should get a smaller basket, but I hope that the opposite will become the case.

Another area is highlighted in our collect for today. “God of mercy, help us to forgive.”

I’ve had some conversations recently with members of our congregation about forgiveness. Some conversa-tions have gone well, and more forgiveness has taken place within our community, leading to positive relationships. But other conversations seem to stall. 

Forgiveness is another mark of a true Christian, especially when it is hard to do. How much harder can it get then to love your enemies? If you are looking to make sure your faith is alive, and not dead, then have a think if there is anyone you currently hold something against, and work hard—harder—to forgive them. 

God forgives us, and delights when we forgive others. This is not an optional extra in our faith. Consider the seemingly harsh words of the final verse of today’s gospel:“Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

We are urged to enliven our faith through what we do, to bear fruit, to put our faith into action. This is counter cultural, and will surprise people when we do it, just as the Americans were surprised when I reported back to them how kind the Iranians were. 
Let God see your faith through your works. Amen.  

Sermon 8 Sept 2024

My world was rocked in the past week—and not because of an earthquake. My world was rocked because I learnt that support for the equality of women in the Anglican Church of this diocese, specifically the acceptance of women as priests, can no longer be taken for granted, after a period of time when it seemed that it could. 

Something that I thought was beyond debate here (although obviously still an issue in another diocese), was being wound back. An evangelical parish, I’m not sure which one, has decided they don’t believe that God thinks women can be ordained priests.

This shocks me, because I thought that argument had been settled, and it reminds me of all sorts of backward steps that are happening across the world, largely at the hands of arch-conservative men, and I’m not sure how it can seriously be reconciled with the teachings of the Jesus we know in the gospel, and the calling of all Christians to follow him.

I’ve spoken before about how, as people of faith, we must take our lead from Jesus, and not from the world. When Jesus is approached by a foreign women of low social standing—a Phoenician from Syria (a gentile)—as we heard in our gospel just now, there are many reasons why Jesus would have been shocked and been bound not even to give her the time of day. 

Initially he does seem to follow the worldly conventions. Remember just before this passage, Jesus is approached by a Jewish male, Jairus, who asks for help with his daughter, and Jesus straight away goes with him to help. 

This foreign Gentile woman in today’s gospel also asks for help with her daughter, but Jesus refuses, and he goes further: comparing the woman and her daughter to little dogs, who are not to be fed the children’s precious bread. In other words, he is not going to waste his powers of healing on this woman and her daughter.

Interestingly, Jesus had previously healed a foreigner—the demoniac who lived among the tombs—so it’s not being foreign or a gentile he was objecting to in this case. It’s more likely that it’s because she was a woman, shamefully approaching Jesus-the-man, and breaking social rules.

But. She doesn’t take no for an answer. Or actually she doesn’t take no and a rude insult for an answer. She speaks up against Jesus. Absolutely daringly she argues with him. And she is the only one in Mark’s gospel to win an argument with Jesus. 

She is very polite and deferential, but makes a cracking point, turning Jesus’ own metaphor on its head, declaring that dogs can and do eat crumbs from the children’s bread. Jesus hears her (in our collect we prayed that God delights to answer our cry); Jesus hears her and blesses her with healing her daughter instantly. 

Jesus teaches that religious customs should not stand in the way of good, and now he learns that social customs likewise should not get in the way of what is right.

The example of this unnamed woman is an inspiration to us all, to show to the church and the world that the way of Jesus is the way of equality and justice. It should make us sit up and take notice that—even though this is such a fundamental tenet of our faith—even Jesus needed to have it brough to his attention. 

Perhaps it’s understandable (if regrettable) that some modern day church leaders don’t get it, and that they need to be reminded that the way of Jesus is the way of equality and justice.

Again, words from our collect ask for us to be able to demand that our children be made whole. 

—-

Of course Jesus did some very unconventional things, but that is kind of his point: being counter-cultural, daring, looking to heaven, not to the world. 
And so should we, following his example. 

Although, those of you contemplating coming to this week’s healing Mass, please be assured that I won’t be following the other example of Jesus we heard in our Gospel today. I will not be sticking my fingers into anyone’s ears or touching anyone’s tongue.

The message from this account of Jesus healing a deaf person, who had an impediment in their speech, is plainly this: 
Jesus makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak. He makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak. That is our inspiration. 

As followers of Jesus we are able to hear and we are able to speak. We can hear the cries of injustice and inequality, and we can speak out against them. 

—-

Today we celebrate the Syrophoenician woman’s clearheaded boldness, and we celebrate Jesus’ healing works, but wait—there’s more to celebrate, because today is a very special birthday. There may be someone here with a birthday, which we’ll celebrate later over a cup of coffee, but for now, today in the church’s calendar we celebrate the birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

This is well worth celebrating, because Mary’s birth is a joyous prologue to the Incarnation, the event we celebrate all year round, and especially at Christmas, where Christ took on our flesh, to deify human nature. Mary, the Mother of God, is also described in the Church as the Mother of Priests, and she has a very special place in my life. 

The week before last I was able to go on a retreat with a group of Anglican priests from various parts of Australia (a group which included Fr Andrew Eaton from Wallsend), who all feel called to honour and imitate Mary, and are members of the Sodality of Mary, Mother of Priests. It’s a group that encourages and helps each other, and who are all working hard to be better priests, striving towards holiness, so that they may better care for God’s people and his church. 

I am now a member of the group, and so Mary will probably get a few more mentions in my future sermons. When praying and thinking about whether I should become a member, I kept you all in my heart, and I believe it is a good thing for us all. 

I pray that in the coming months we grow together, in the beauty and power of Jesus and Mary, and all find in them inspiration and joy for our lives, to be unashamed of our faith, be willing to hear what Jesus calls us to do, and speak and act out when he asks us. Amen.

Sermon: 1 September 2024 (season of creation)

Today marks the beginning of the season of creation. It’s a season we didn’t really mark much last year, and I can say things like that, now that I am in my second year of ministering here with you. I’m still not sure where that time has gone.

A couple of reasons this Season of Creation passed us by last year, were that I hadn’t been here to plan anything, and was relieved just to have some so-called ‘ordinary’ Sundays to navigate in my first few months as a priest, rather than have to apply special attention to anything, with a particular focus and themes for services. 

The second reason was that it is a fairly new event in the church’s calendar. Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter and so on, we’ve had for hundreds of years, but a season of creation has only been around for 35 years, and some of you might have picked up that I am a bit of traditionalist, and so while I am keen to restore old traditions, I am not as eager to take up new innovations. 

The Season of Creation is a very good thing, though. Another way of describing the month-and-a-bit is a celebration of prayer and action for the natural environment—the common home of all humans and God’s creatures. 

It is sorely needed in this damaged world. It’s thoroughly global and ecumenical, and was started with the Orthodox Church declaring September the first as a day of prayer for creation, and later the World Council of Churches extended it into a whole season, with Pope Francis championing the cause from 2019.

So, it’s a perhaps a sign of confidence that we now acknowledge this season, and mark it in some ways. 

Next week our guest preacher at choral evensong is the Rector of Gosford, who is also the chair of Anglican EcoCare. Fr Christian will inspire us with news of what EcoCare is doing, and how we can help. We are also embarking on some planting in our gardens—a very practical way to care for our natural environment. And I hope that as individuals we are doing other things to treasure God’s magnificent creation. 

It needs treasuring—caring for, rescuing—because we have sinned over the years, and neglected, forsaken and abused our beautiful planet, to the point where scientists are not unanimous that it can even be saved as an hospitable place for our human race.

In just over a month’s time we will celebrate St Francis of Assisi’s Day. Last year we had a special pet service in the week, during school holidays, but this year we will be away on the actual day, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to celebrate the day on the nearest Sunday—the first Sunday in October. I will give more details closer to the time, but there will be an opportunity for people to bring their pets along, during or immediately after our Mass, and share some pet-friendly prayers, songs and blessings. 

St Francis’ Day is important to the Season of Creation, because it marks the end of that season, and St Francis was way ahead of his time in his reverence for the natural world and its creatures.          “Praise be to you my Lord, with all your creatures,” as he said. There’s a chance that if the world had listened to Francis (that slightly crazy, itinerant lover of nature), that our planet would be in a much better shape than it is now.

The American writer and activist Wendell Berry, who is still going strong at the age of 90, wrote an important reflection on our attitudes and how we treat the world:

He wrote “We have lived by the assumption that what was good for us would be good for the world…We have been wrong. We must change our lives, so that it will be possible to live by the contrary assumption that what is good for the world will be good for us. And that requires that we make the effort to know the world and to learn what is good for it.  

“We must learn to cooperate in its processes, and to yield to its limits.  But even more important, we must learn to acknowledge that the creation is full of mystery, we will never entirely understand it. We must abandon arrogance and stand in awe. We must recover the sense of the majesty of creation, and the ability to be worshipful in its presence. For I do not doubt that it is only on the condition of humility and reverence before the world that our species will be able to remain in it.”

Last week I proclaimed that I thought we ought to be more active this coming year, in showing the world who our Christ is. So, at the start of this Season of Creation, we should be clear why looking after the planet is important from the perspective of our faith. 

Why is it so important for Christians to lead the way, and be the most active, when it comes to preserving and repairing the environment?

Firstly, we turn to our Scriptures. There is a lovely sweep across our readings for the day, that begins with the lush descriptions of the beauty of love and creation in the Songs of Songs, speaking of flowers and fig trees, vines and blossom. In our Psalm we heard of the king loving righteousness, and ruling with a sceptre of equity. We are then urged by St James to follow that king, and to be doers of the word—not merely hearers. This is quite a challenge, and can only happen by allowing God’s teachings to really get under our skin and mean something to us personally. Finally, our Gospel reading points to a way that will help. 

The Pharisees and some of the scribes are criticised by Jesus for abandoning the commandment of God and holding to human tradition. This is a criticism that should speak to us today as well. Are we guided more in our daily lives by human tradition than God’ s commandments? 

This Western world of ours is increasingly less aware that there are commandments from God, let alone showing signs of following them. And of course it is even much easier for us, those who have recognised the call to try to live lives faithful to God’s commandments, to follow human tradition instead of God’s commandments. 

The passage from Wendell Berry I shared with you just now echoes this. We have been guilty of putting our own traditions and shallow interests first, and now need to honour God’s will more than ever.

God tells us that the earth is his, he made it beautifully and he keeps watch over it, and all of his creation worships him. We are also told that we are strangers and sojourners here on earth; merely God’s tenants. We are not to pollute or defile the land, but we are to care for it, be faithful stewards, to keep the water clean, to have regard for the lives of the animals, to eat from trees but not cut them down, to learn from the animals, birds and plants, and to let the land rest.

That’s a pretty good list of ways God tells us to care for his earth, and by following that we demonstrate our love for God. Closely tied to showing our love and obedience to God through honouring his creation, is the importance of us caring for our neighbour, caring for the poor and those in need. St James in our earlier reading put it succinctly: “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress.” This is a call to help those in need directly, but also, by caring for the environment, we are caring for others, by making this world more liveable, safer, and more enjoyable, especially for those whose lives are threatened by extreme climate conditions. 

I hope our way forward is clear—not just during this Season of Creation, but forever more. We need to live our lives confident that what is good for this planet is good for us and those in need, and demonstrates our love and obedience of God. Over the coming weeks we will share practical ideas of what this can involve, so that we may not just talk and think about our responsibility, but live it, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.  

Sermon 18 August

Our news is rarely free from an important election somewhere in the world. Federal elections in Australia come around very quickly, or it seems that way, to someone having lived abroad for the past few years. Earlier this year I was glued to the media following details of the British election. And of course there is the gripping build up to the election in the US happening now. 

When choosing which party to vote for, I am constantly amazed that for many people, the main factor seems to be which party you consider will directly make you personally better off materially, usually focused on the level of taxation that will affect you, or which areas of the economy and society that relate to you more directly will benefit from each respective party. 

This is even more amazing when it comes to how Christians vote. How can people who hear, understand and believe the teachings of the gospel cast their vote in any other way than the most direct route to helping the poor, the marginalised—including indigenous and other minority peoples—and protecting the fragile natural environment, and encouraging peace? 

There are of course complicated psychological reasons how people cast their vote, and I know it’s not always clear-cut which of the main parties will be most effective in bringing about relief for those Jesus shows a preference for. But by examining the manifestoes and explicit priorities of the parties, it becomes fairly clear who we should vote for. 

Chapter six of St John’s Gospel reflects on priorities and a lack of perspective leading to selfishness which followers of Jesus can be prone to. This is a remarkable chapter, containing so much reflection on who Jesus is, aspects of human nature, and how we ought to behave. 

We heard a short except from this as our gospel for the day. The full chapter features the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus walking on water, Jesus’s proclamations that he is the bread from heaven, and finally the heartbreaking moment when many of his disciples turn away from following him, saying they can’t understand his hard sayings. 

Looking at the chapter as a whole helps a lot in understanding the shorter part that we heard earlier. It can help us see a main theme, which is that many of those hearing Jesus were not concerned with the greater truth, but only for their own stomachs. They were fed with the loaves and fish that Jesus miraculously provided, and wanted more of that, without being able to learn that ‘there is a bread which conveys not earthly but eternal life’. 

Jesus is from heaven, and through communion with him, the crowd, and us today, have eternal life. But what does having communion with Jesus mean? In the words of the crowd, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” 

One of the many interesting things about this gospel reading is how the people are reported as hearing Jesus’ words. They take him literally. 

Jesus says he is the living bread; and if anyone eats that bread they will live forever; and that this bread is his flesh. The crowd’s response is “how can this be? How can he do that?” Later on in John’s Gospel, Jesus tells them that he is the door, and that he is the good shepherd. But the crowd doesn’t react then, by saying, how can he be a door? I can’t see a door handle or any hinges. He looks nothing like a door. Or, a shepherd? Come on then, where are your sheep if you’re a shepherd?

There is something different about the bread statement compared to the door and shepherd statements. We have developed the shepherd notion in the church a little bit, with role of the bishop being a shepherd of the flock, and wielding the bishop’s crook. And the door statement features in the orthodox church, where there’s a door in the middle of a beautiful wall separating the main body of their church from the sanctuary, the iconostasis. But the bread statements clearly mean a lot more to us.

When the crowd says “how can this man give us his flesh to eat?” they point to the importance of Jesus as the living bread, which is different from the more metaphorical image of a door or a shepherd, and are more literal, as the crowd rightly identifies, especially in connection with the institution of the last supper, and the imperative for us to do that in remembrance of him. 

Towards the end of this chapter, Simon Peter says that Jesus has the words of eternal life. But he does not mean that the words, and just the words, are the end point, and by hearing and believing the words we gain eternal life. There is something more that needs to be done, just like a trailer is not the movie itself, or a menu is not the meal.

In our study group on a Thursday, it’s remarkable how often our conversation turns to what happens to the bread and wine at the Eucharist, and that fancy word transubstantiation? It’s remarkable how often that question arises, and it’s equally remarkable how often I manage to dodge giving an answer.

The answer is related to our gospel today, and wrapped in mystery of course, both what the bread and wine become during this service, and how they do that. 

The principle, which I believe, is that the elements of bread and wine become truly, really and substantially the body and blood of Christ. The physical structure of the elements remain as bread and wine—if you put them under a microscope you would see no difference—but once the prayers of consecration have been prayed, there is something profoundly more about that bread and wine then what there was before; something which is not just a sign or symbol or reminder, something that does not rely on your or my faith or imagination, but something substantial. 

And it goes beyond mere flesh and blood, containing the whole divinity and grace and life of Christ. 

By gathering here at this table, recalling the sacrifice of Christ, and following his commands, we make present the bread of heaven, in Jesus’ body and blood, and we answer the question of the crowd in John chapter six: “how can this man give us his flesh to eat?” We approach in faith, partake in Christ, and we live forever. 

Fellow Christians, we do the will of God whenever we act to help the poor and oppressed, whether directly or through our voting, and we follow Christ’s word through to its intended end by partaking in the bread of heaven, Christ’s very body and blood. 

Bread of heaven, bread of heaven, feed us now and evermore. 

Homily : Transfiguration

Today we celebrate the great feast of the Transfiguration. We celebrate the moment when Jesus is revealed in his glory as Lord, in a visually, startlingly brilliant way. 

As we heard in our gospel passage, Jesus is transfigured before his closest apostles, St Peter, our own Patron, St James, and his brother St John. Jesus is revealed to them as God. He does this through becoming other worldly, his face changed into something else (the gospel doesn’t say into what) and even through his clothes becoming dazzling bright – again like nothing on earth, or at least nothing that any person could create. 

Up until then, the disciples had seen, and we have heard, about the godly miracles and divine wisdom Jesus has imparted, but he has looked fully human—as he was—with no visual hint of the divine about him.

This eternally memorable act of God the Father is important for us to contemplate and honour for several reasons, other than it being a sure sign of the divinity of Jesus. His actions and words left those who were with him in very little doubt about his true identity, as it leaves us in little doubt too. 

But the dramatic, visual effect of Jesus’s Transfiguration can touch us deeper than his words and actions. This is partly because as weak humans, those with reasonable visual capabilities are susceptible to the saying, ‘seeing is believing’. It is the additional sense of his physical appearance that speaks to many throughout the ages who want more to go on to help their desire to believe, but who are struggling to believe, that Jesus is Lord. 

St Thomas expressed his doubt in the risen Lord, and said he would only be satisfied if he could see the nail marks in his hands, and so too are many who want to know Jesus, want to see something, who need more. 

Today, and yesterday at evensong, we have been blessed by some rich music, beautifully performed. And today at this high Mass we have the added treats for our senses of incense, elaborate robes and slightly more exotic ritual, and I hope many of you gain a spiritual boost from these additions. 

Just as the three apostles gained a glimpse of Jesus’s divine glory through his dazzling appearance, we too can gain a tiny fraction of insight into the beauty and majesty of God, through our liturgy. 

The traditional ceremonies of our church are important ways for us to approach God, to develop and maintain our relationship with him. As long as the ceremonies are not ends in themselves, are not performances, but are speaking reverently to and of God, church services like this give glory to him.

The wonder and awe we have for God ought to be expressed in the way we approach worship. We should be able to feel something sacred, something holy, set apart, belonging to God, about what happens during our time together here in this building. 

We are in the presence of God, in his sacrament, through the Holy Spirit, more so here in this place at this time, than most other places and times. We should value serious devotion to our God, and express that with all our mind, body and soul. That means our movements in church are important too—standing, kneeling, bowing, genuflecting, making the sign of the cross, even raising your hands if you are moved by the spirit so to do. 

What better time in the church’s year, than the Feast of the Transfiguration, to embellish our rituals and invest in the dignity of our Mass, with more beautiful sights and sounds. 

It is good for us to be here, St Peter said, and we sang in our hymn. It is good for us to be here, to come together and encounter God, and be transformed by him, renewing us to his glory, and his service in the world.  Amen.

Sermon St James’

“Forgive our foolish ways,” is the second line from our communion hymn today. Forgive our foolish ways, dear Lord, as you dealt with the heats of desire that James and John expressed in the gospels. 

St Peter was not the only one of the disciples who was prone to putting his foot in it, and saying clumsy and awkward things, to earn the rebuke of Jesus. Those other two apostles, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, are recorded as also getting it wrong. 

Once, as we heard in our gospel today, when they ask to sit at Jesus’ right and left hand in his kingdom. Matthew’s gospel says that they ask through their mother, but Mark’s gospel says they asked it themselves. 

The second time they get it wrong is when they ask Jesus if he wants them to call down fire and brimstone upon a Samaritan town that did not welcome Jesus. Jesus is quick to rebuke them, as clearly such a show of power is not the way of his kingdom.

You may ask why Jesus chose such muddled people to carry forth his mission. Surely there were people sharper and better equipped to be entrusted with such vital work?

The answer is threaded through all of the gospels, and is at the heart of our faith and our calling. 

Throughout their time together, Jesus teaches James, and his brother John, and all the disciples, the lesson of humble service. Although the apostles are given great authority and power, the purpose of this authority is to enable them to serve. And Jesus himself demonstrates that service to the ultimate level, through offering his life for those he served, and continues to serve. He shows just how far serving others can be taken.

Our St James was one of the favoured disciples who had the privilege of witnessing three key events in Jesus’ earthly time: the raising to life of the daughter of Jairus; the Transfiguration; and Jesus’ agony in the garden of Gethsemane. Those three events are a distillation of the service of Jesus.

Firstly: that miracle of restoring a child to the fullness of life, which we can take as a literal example of how Jesus was able to serve those in need. We can also see this miracle as an invitation for us, through our faith, to throw off the dreariness of our earthly burdens, which are encased in the inevitability of physical mortality, and follow the invitation to live our lives to the full. 

The second key event that James is present for, the Transfiguration (which we celebrate next Sunday), is where we catch a glimpse of the glory of God in Jesus, the brightness of his otherworldly splendour. This is the core of who Jesus is, and not only gives him the power and the mandate to exercise his ministry, but is the result, the destination, of this service. As we are children of God, made in God’s image, we have this same glory deep within our hearts too, and are likewise destined to share in this glory once more, through our faith in Jesus.

The third key event, the agony in Gethsemane, concerns the cost of approaching this glory: the cost which is nothing less than everything, which Jesus paid when he exercised his life of service, and of course which we are challenged with also. Giving our whole lives to the service of God and our neighbour.

We witness these Gospel events through the person of James, who was a lowly mortal like us, caught up in the most extraordinary adventure in the history of the world, which we can be guided and inspired by. 

After Jesus’ ascension, St James travelled to Spain, where he spent quite a few years spreading the gospel. It was always St Paul’s dream to go to Spain, to launch a huge mission to the peoples there, telling them of the good news. Paul never made it, instead spending his final years in prison in Rome. But St James did get to Spain. Twice. 

The first time he travelled extensively, making known the astonishing realities of the incarnation, miracles, teachings, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. James not only evangelised through what he had witnessed of the actual person of Jesus, and his miracles, and the way he dealt with believers and unbelievers, but James also evangelised through the transformation in his own life that Jesus had made. 

That transformation took him from his fishing boat to an uncertain journey around Palestine, swapping the relative safety of a small stormy sea for fierce battles with the authorities. His transformation came through Jesus shaping James’ earthly desires into a vision of his kingdom, where James was—and we are—called to serve and not be served. 

After his first visit to Spain, James returned to Jerusalem, partly to see his old home country again, and maybe catch up with his brother John (who may have been on the island of Patmos by then, writing his Gospel). But also James knew of the increase in political trouble that was happening under Herod Agrippa. 

James went back to Jerusalem as well to bear witness to Christ there, in the arms of the growing church, where it all began. James knew what he was heading back to, and this is the greatest testimony to his life of service, and his saintliness. As he arrived in Jerusalem, he knew he was approaching the summit of his life as a servant of Jesus, when his earthly life would end violently, as his master’s had, as seen in our window.

James was the first apostle to die, and the only apostle whose martyrdom is recorded in the Bible. After his death James made his second journey to Spain, or at least his remains did, where they were laid in a tomb, resting there to this day.

James heeded Jesus’ words that if he lowered himself, he would indeed become great.

His story tells us what holiness is all about. Jesus purifies James and the other disciples of an earth-bound narrowness, pettiness, selfishness, and gives them the key to inherit his kingdom.

“In simple trust like theirs, who heard beside the Syrian sea, 
the gracious calling of the Lord, 
let us, like them, rise up and follow thee.” Amen.

Sermon 14 July 2024 Mk 6:14-29

St John the Baptist pops up at different times of the church’s year, and today we hear in the Gospel about his death. It’s not the feast day of John’s death today—(yes of course his death has its own feast day) that happens at the end of next month—but as it is our Gospel today, it’s important to discuss it. 

The story of John’s end is one of the classic stories of world literature. It’s a gripping, grisly, tragic tale, that has inspired many writers and artists over the years.  

What is the significance of John, and what do we learn about God through this account of his death?

John was the last and greatest of the prophets, whose joy and privilege it was to introduce Jesus Christ to the world. He was about the same age as Jesus (some say his cousin), and he became famous through his confident declarations that God’s final judgement was about to happen—and everyone better get ready, by turning away from their sins and living better lives. 

Despite both being Jewish, John was the polar opposite of Herod. John was formed in the desert, where he lived in poverty, devoting his life to God, and wearing the traditional prophets’ rough clothes, and he had a strict diet, which showed how serious his faith was.

Herod was out for himself, living a life a luxury and hedonism, desperate to become a king. Although he’s sometimes referred to as a king, he wasn’t, and he certainly had no power to give anyone half his so-called kingdom, as we hear him do in our reading. This is the Herod that Jesus calls ‘a fox’, and who helps Pontius Pilate in the trial of Jesus. His father was also called Herod, who was in charge when Jesus was born.

Herod and John the Baptist had a strange relationship. John was openly scathing of Herod, partly because Herod got divorced and then illegally married his own half-brother’s wife, but more importantly because Herod was the perfect illustration of someone living contrary to God’s will through his ambition and wealth, and refusal to heed John’s message that urgent repentance was needed. And yet Herod was strangely drawn to John, oddly joyful at John’s urgent warnings. 

When Herod is asked to behead John, Herod gets really upset. In fact the words used to described how he felt (deeply grieved) are only used in Mark’s Gospel in one other place, by Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, when Jesus himself faced death. 

Herod is clearly a complicated character, and the promise he made (blindly offering the child who danced whatever she wanted), that promise would have been binding, according to their society at that time. 

So Herod, deeply grieved, instructs the executioner, who just happened to be there at his birthday party.  

It’s most likely that Herod had John killed because Herod feared a major rebellion—an uprising—so getting rid of the Baptist was in fact probably a political move, rather than as it is presented in Mark’s Gospel: an awkward birthday promise. 

The message of Mark’s Gospel about John’s death would have been sobering for those in the early years of the church, in lands under the harsh rule of the Romans. It should be a sobering one for us too. 

Christians are still martyred today for following the Christ’s teachings and holding the wayward and godless authorities to account. Our church is not only charged with saving souls, but also with bringing the kingdom of God to earth. This means standing up to tyrants who use their power to oppress. It means fighting injustice and helping the persecuted and exploited.

Not many years ago, a priest at the altar, presiding at the Eucharist, in an unremarkable, modern church, in a city in Central America. This priest had really taken to heart the call of Jesus to serve the poor, and to go beyond that, in following the fourth of our marks of mission: ‘to transform unjust structures of society’. 

This priest made a huge impression on the government at the time. And one day, like a modern-day version of Herod dealing with John, a government car stopped outside the church where this priest was saying Mass, and through the open door, a single bullet was fired to assassinate him. This was Fr Oscar Romero, in 1980.

St Oscar, as he is now, is one of countless Christians, beginning with John the Baptist, who have sacrificed their lives to make real the Kingdom of God in their time. Such is the importance of our charge to help those who dearly loved by God but frequently shunned by those who abuse their earthly power.

John and Jesus are remembered together whenever the gospel is proclaimed, showing John’s importance, and the parallels between these cousins’ deaths. We ought to recall all the martyrs alongside both of them as well, and see in those martyrs our calling alongside them, to make this world more like God wills it.

When I think of St John the Baptist, I always see him pointing. Pointing at Jesus, or pointing to the sky, reminding us that it is not John himself who is important, but it is the one who has come, and will come again. And so I pray that we too will live lives that constantly point to God, through our actions, our words and thoughts. For God is our purpose, our motivator and guide, and we do his will through serving those most in need.

Sermon Baptism 30 June 2024

When people ask to be baptised, or to have children baptised here, we always ask why they’ve chosen St James’ Morpeth for the baptism. Often parents say they were baptised here themselves, or their parents or grandparents were. Sometimes even great grandparents. 

Hand up if you are a great grandparent.

Sometimes they say the church is so beautiful, it will make it special. No one, to my knowledge, said they chose St James’ because the clergy are beautiful. 

The big question we don’t tend to ask is, ‘Why are you planning a baptism (or as it’s sometimes called, a christening) why are you planning this at all?’ It’s an old fashioned, slightly weird thing. Especially when few go to church regularly, and say society is post-Christian.

Why do people still want their children baptised? 
It’s a big question. 

Yes, there’s family tradition, something that’s always been done, to make Grandma and Grandpa happy—sorry, Great Grandma and Great Grandpa. There’s also the family gathering and big lunch. 
(And might come in handy to get into the right school). 

But there’s more that leads people to have their kids baptised. And that’s the draw from God himself.

God is at work in the world, whether we know it’s God or not. God actively loves each of us, and calls us to him, drawing us in, wanting us to be close to him, constantly. 

Everyone gets a sense of this, but these days not many realise what’s going on. 

You might get an odd feeling that, despite your difficulties, everything will be alright. 
Or you might get a fleeting happy feeling, coming from nowhere, rising up through your chest, surprising you. Or you might, one day, get a sense of something majestic, just out of reach—like the flash of a kingfisher’s wing, or a hint of a beautiful memory—something that stops you in your tracks and makes you want to search for that elusive bit of magic. 

Each of these is a glimpse of God, a divine spark which is there in every person, never to be extinguished, always ready to be fanned into a warming fire. 

If you’ve been baptised, or are about to be baptised, we are blessed that the spark has grown to something bigger, something living inside us, and wanting to grow even more. So we pursue those feelings and impressions, seeking out the source of the spark. 

This leads us to get involved in wonderful and life changing things, because we are responding to God’s loving call, where God offers us the chance to receive from him whatever it is that we need. 

For those who have children they love and care for, this sense of God’s love is something we want to wrap those little ones up in, so that they receive the greatest of opportunities of all. 

God’s love is a yearning we may not be fully aware of, but yet we feel drawn to respond. 

In our Gospel reading today we hear of two people drawn to Jesus, responding to God’s call, seeking out how Jesus could help them.

In the reading, there was a great crowd around Jesus, like the crowd here, round Tae, Harrison, and Thomas. 

The first person coming to Jesus was wealthy and important. The other one, poor and neglected. They both went to Jesus because they had heard he helped people. They both needed help, and both believed he could help.

The rich person marched up and said confidently exactly what he wanted, and Jesus agreed to help. The poor person was very humble, and crept up, secretly touching only Jesus’s clothes, as the big crowd bustled around. But Jesus knew they needed help. He spun around, and immediately helped.  

These two people both received the healing they asked for, as the spark of God’s love within them grew into a warming flame. 

That’s what happens through baptism too. We respond to the call from God—a mysterious feeling that something great is lurking nearby, and belief that God can help us. This sets us on a journey deeper into God, and we take on a responsibility as Christians, to go out into the world, living the love of Christ, and talking openly about this too. 

Although at the end of the Gospel reading, Jesus strictly orders them not to tell anyone, after his resurrection, Jesus says the opposite. He commands us all to spread the word. Which is good, because sometimes that magical feeling of the spark of God inside us is often too lively to keep to ourselves.

Thomas, Harrison and Tae, it’s a big, exciting and challenging world out there. Along with thousands of others baptised today (all across the world), you are given the best help anyone could possibly imagine, by becoming part of the royal family of God. 

May you serve God, and your new family, with joy in your hearts, always aware of and treasuring that spark of God within you. Amen.

Sermon third after Pentecost 2024, 9 June

Fr Nicholas Edwards

As the Rev’d Narelle said last week, we are now in so-called ‘ordinary time’, that time in the church’s calendar when not much seems to happen, after the splendours and excitement of Easter, the Ascension, and the Sundays of Pentecost and the Holy Trinity, and we swap the red and white and gold colours, for green. 

This is the time of the year when the readings appointed for Sunday no longer fit together neatly, as the appointed Scripture does in other times of the year, to form a coherent and harmonious message for the theme of the day, summed up neatly by our opening prayer, which attempts to collect the different parts of the day together in a united thought. 

We are now in that time of year when the OT, the Epistle and Gospel readings follow their own trajectory, rather than then supporting each other. I sometimes wonder if the readings are planned that way to encourage people more to attend church every Sunday, in order to follow the stories and arguments in those respective readings, which progress each week, rather than at other times of the year, when they stand together, and make sense as a group, each Sunday.

Having said that, it does give us a variety of different options for preaching, not being held back by a single main focus for the day. What strikes me in today’s readings is a passage in the Gospel, which speaks about Jesus and his family. We don’t hear much at all in Scripture about his family, and we tend to crave that sort of information about important figures; to know more about their backgrounds and influences, and especially for Jesus, what might have sustained him through the difficulties of his earthly ministry.

Of course, Jesus spoke of his two families—firstly his mother, brothers and sisters that he goes home to, in St Mark’s Gospel, after appointing the twelve. It’s quite a surprising phrase that we heard in the gospel—‘Jesus went home’. We get so used to the idea that Jesus wandered around, without a home, staying with various people on his travels, that to hear of his going home sounds quite odd. In fact, various writers have made much out of the notion that the Son of Man had no place to call home, until he returned to be with his Father, his most important family connection.

Jesus also refers to his second family, when he says at the end of our reading, ‘Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.’ We have the opportunity to include ourselves in that family.

What do we know of Jesus’ earthly family? His mother St Mary, of course, with him until the end. And Joseph, often referred to as his foster father, who disappears from Scripture before Jesus embarks on his ministry. 

3 or 4 brothers are named (depending where you look) including James (who we know as James the Less, different from our Church’s St James), Joses (a variation on Joseph), Jude (who we believe wrote the epistle of St Jude), and Simon (not Simon Peter, but a different Simon that we don’t hear anything else about). 

It does get complicated regarding the brothers, because the word ‘brothers’ is often used to describe cousins or close friends, and sometimes includes unnamed sisters as well, and so we can’t be sure these were actual blood brothers of Jesus. And church tradition speaks of those brothers as adopted brothers of Jesus, being from a possible previous marriage of St Joseph.

Curiously the brothers appear to be absent at the burial of Jesus, which goes against customs of the day, but they do appear again in the Acts of the Apostles, praying alongside the women, and Jesus’ mother. There are some early writings that name two sisters of Jesus as well—Mary and Salome. The Orthodox church recognises sister Salome as a friend of the mid-wife who helped at the birth of Jesus (Jesus’ midwife is someone we never hear about in the Anglican Church).

In our Gospel reading today we also hear of two startling proclamations from Jesus, firstly that “people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter”; and then also, “but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”.

It is an immense relief to know that we have the opportunity of our sins and whatever blasphemies we utter being forgiven, alongside that opportunity of being part of Jesus’ family. How wonderful to have the slate being wiped clean through the grace of God. But terms and conditions apply. Specifically the unfor-giveable-ness of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. 

One way of interpreting this is to relate it to what Jesus says in St John’s gospel, chapter 3. “Those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God.” In other words, the unforgiveable sin of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit is akin to not accepting the divinity of Christ, the Son of God. Those who said Jesus had “an unclean spirit” were declaring that they did not believe in him, as we believe. And so those people have chosen not to avail themselves of the loving salvation of God. 

Sobering thoughts for those who don’t believe, and far too gloomy a note to end this sermon on. So I will remind you of words from our Epistle: “we believe, and so we speak, because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus, and will bring us into his presence.” Amen.

Sermon Easter 7: Ascension Sunday

It was Ascension Day on Thursday, and today is often marked as Ascension Sunday, when we can celebrate the rising of our Lord far above the heavens: no more to be seen in his bodily form upon this earth, but to live and reign with his and our Father, beyond time and space, until he comes again.

At Christmas we sing about a baby, born to be king. The Ascension is Christ’s enthronement festival, celebrating the exaltation of that baby as Lord of heaven and earth, and his coronation as King of the Universe. And in the Ascension is the completion of the circle of his journey, which began when we sang, “He came down to earth from heaven.” Now we can sing, “He went up to heaven from earth.” 

Our east window celebrates the Ascension. The top series of pictures feature Christ in all his glory, rising through the stars and clouds. In that centre section he is surrounded by angels, and with the twelve gazing up at him. 
This event was before Matthias was elected, as we heard in our earlier reading, and so the eleven disciples are joined by Christ’s blessed mother. 

Here Christ rises above all those events that are depicted in the scenes below, of his life and key moments is the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. As he rises above them, at the same time he takes them and us with him, 
sanctifying what is left behind in time and space.

Originally the Church kept the Resurrection, the Ascension and Pentecost all on the same day, following the timeline in St John’s gospel. That must have been a long day of great celebrating, and I imagine everyone would have been very tired after that, especially with all the baptisms and confirmations traditionally held on that day. 

Then we moved to have Easter for forty days, culminating in the conclusive act and feast of the Ascension, which follows the chronology in Luke. 

Finally, the church has settled on the feast of Pentecost as a separate Sunday, and has extended the season of Easter to its full 50 days, which for us concludes next Sunday, when we had intended to have a confirmation service here at St James’, but are now going to spend more time in preparing the candidates.

The Ascension marks the completion of our Lord’s redemptive work here on earth. But all is not over by a long stretch. His disciples and we are kept waiting for the full conclusion. Jesus has ascended, but we know the story has a major twist to come. 

An angel addressed the baffled disciples watching their Lord and friend disappear through the clouds, saying, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up towards heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” 

This Jesus has not gone forever. He will return. The angel tells us not to look up, but to look forward. Forward to that day when all things will be fulfilled and the mysteries of existence will be explained & complete. 

In the old Ascension Day Collect, we prayed that as Jesus ascended into the heavens, may our hearts and minds be there too. While he is physically no longer among us, he is not absent, for we can be with him still in our hearts and minds, and we believe he is with us in the Holy Spirit, AND he will come again. 

Christ is now beyond time and space. Before, during his earthly time, he was in a small geographical area in Palestine, but now he is everywhere at once, no longer confined. Even, to answer one question from our confirmation class, he is even on other stars and planets out there that we have no knowledge of. 

We see in Christ’s exaltation, the hallowing of our humanity, as we had a sense of in the Incarnation, when Christ was born as a human. Now all that promise is set in motion, establishing our access to God’s eternal splendour, as Christ experiences through his ascension into the heavens.

St Augustine wrote that we are already there too, in heaven with him, it’s just not quite fulfilled in our bodies, YET. To dramatize this sense of conclusion in the liturgy, at the end of the gospel on The Ascension, previously the practice was to extinguish the pascal candle, to show that the resurrection appearances were at an end, Easter was over, and we were now in heaven with him, in our hearts and minds. 

Now we keep the candle burning until Pentecost, continuing to celebrate the Resurrection for a little longer, and we light the candle again at baptisms, to point towards the new life in the Resurrection that baptism brings. 

The time between the Ascension and Pentecost is traditionally a time of increased prayer, and in the past a time of fasting, because Christ the bridegroom had been taken away from his bride, the Church. These days the custom is for prayers to focus on a desire for the unity of the church, and we honour that here on Friday, when St James’ will host an ecumenical service for the churches of Morpeth. 

We pray for unity, because, like the disciples who saw Jesus ascend into the heavens, we wait—we wait together, all the church and all the world, for the return of the Lord.

In our Gospel today, Jesus prayed to the Father, “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

It is Jesus’ earnest prayer that we be one—one united church, despite our diversity, and so we continue to pray for that to be a reality.

One of the striking features of our east window is the variety of hand positions Jesus is shown to have. 
In the Ascension scene he is not holding his hands up to enjoy the moment of his ascension, as is often (and usually) depicted in art. But here we see him holding his palms down, as he blesses us, comforts us, and shows 

us that he is not leaving us, but forever carrying us in his heart to the throne beside his father. 

As we now move towards the Eucharist part of this service, our eyes can move down to the window’s scene of the last supper, recalling the time when Jesus was not physically out of reach, but on the same level as us, where those same hands were raised in front of him in blessing. 

We now recall our Lord’s saving acts through this Eucharist, believing him to be present once more, now that he is not limited to time and space, but free to be here among us, in the bread and wine we will share. 

As we celebrate this Eucharist, and then go out into the world, we rejoice, that we are a part of Christ’s glorious life and mission, as it was on earth, and as it is now in heaven, and as it shall be. 
We rejoice in that privileged position, as described in words of the hymn, printed on the pew sheet, 
“Ever on our earthly path A gleam of glory lies.” 

Keep that gleam of glory in mind, and keep that knowledge of Christ’s hands stretched out to you in eternal blessings; Christ who is ascended and yet who, we pray, dwells with us continually. Amen. 

Sermon Easter 2 2024         Doubting Thomas

Imagine the scene. It’s the end of the very first Easter Day, the actual day Jesus rose from the dead, although this fact is not yet known to many of the still-bereaved disciples. 

According to John’s Gospel, these followers of Jesus had locked themselves in their meeting place. There were probably more in that room than the ten—the 12 disciples, minus Thomas, who was elsewhere, and also minus Judas of course. And they had locked themselves away in fear of the hostile non-believers, who were still out to cause problems for the faithful. 

What the followers were doing and discussing, we don’t know, but it must have been fairly sad and concerning times for them.

Then miraculously Jesus turns up, somehow getting past the locked doors, and he is keen to demonstrate with his wounds who he is, that he is the real Lord, risen and alive. And their sorrowfulness turns to joy. 

The followers rejoice—not afraid of Jesus as in the other Gospels. Imagine that scene, with the shouts and tears and hugs and open mouths gaping at their friend, now alive and in their midst. 

And Jesus doesn’t rebuke them for their lack of faith, as he might have, going on his previous rebukes. This is the post-resurrection Jesus, when he must have been free from his own anxiety that had plagued him leading up to the crucifixion. His own faith in what the Father had planned was now vindicated, as he too experienced himself as risen, gazing on his own wounds.

Jesus then breathes the Holy Spirit on them, and declares ‘If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’ Actually most MSS say he breathed—literally he expelled a really long breath, not breathed on them. This is important in the sense that he wasn’t giving the power for absolution of sins just to those individuals present, but to the collected body of believers, the church as a whole. 

Of course this is passed on in the Church, and safeguarded through the apostolic ordained priesthood, but according to John this ability is not limited just to priests—as there were others in the room than Christ’s apostles—but is a characteristic of the Body of Christ, the Church.  

Interestingly, or at least I find it interesting, that act of breathing that Jesus does, used to be part of the rite of baptism, when the minister would breathe on the person being baptised. 

With our knowledge of airborne viruses that sounds just as safe as Thomas being invited to stick his hand in Jesus’s side. 

Thomas was out when Jesus arrived, and had to wait a week to see him. The next time Jesus appears, Thomas is in the room. Again, although the followers had rejoiced, they were still locking their door. 

Famously Thomas had said he wouldn’t believe that Jesus was alive until he had proof. Jesus now offers him that proof, and in a way sanctifies doubt. 

He does gently rebuke Thomas for not believing, but fully goes along with Thomas’s needs to have some proof. I believe this means it’s ok to ask God for some proof when we are struggling with our faith. 

It’s worth noting that Thomas did not actually touch Jesus’s wounds—despite what it said in our hymn, about his feeling Jesus like reading braille—he would have needed a lot of hand gel to do that safely. Thomas saw and believed, without having to put his finger in the mark of the nails and his hand in Jesus’s side.

And Thomas calls Jesus ‘My God’. That is the first time this is applied to Jesus, being called God, and it crystallises our understanding of Jesus, for he is our God. 

In his gentle rebuke of Thomas, Jesus says ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’ This includes those followers not in the room at the time, but also those like us who have believed down the ages, and who will come to believe in the years to come. 

Note Jesus says ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’ He doesn’t say ‘more blessed’, but just blessed. It’s not a comparison or a competition, but all are blessed: those who have seen the risen Lord and believe, and those who have not, and yet still believe. 

We don’t see Jesus like Thomas and the others saw him. But we can see—in a sense of understand, perceive, and know—we can see Jesus through the Holy Spirit he breathed into the world. We can see Jesus in people we love, in people who are struggling, and who suffer. And we can behold Jesus through prayer. 

And if we aren’t always convinced of Jesus’s presence among us, then like Thomas it is alright to be hungry for something more. And this something more will require us to keep our eyes and ears and hearts open to understand what it is that God will give us to show us the proof that Jesus is alive. Amen. 

Fr Nicholas Edwards

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Sermon Easter Day 2024, Fr Nicholas, St James’ Morpeth

Christ is risen, alleluia!

A very happy Easter to you. It’s great to see so many here, clearly marking this service as an important part of your day and of your lives. 

In the middle of so much going on in the world, so much trouble and difficulty, with violence and unrest across the globe, and the struggles that each of you is facing, struggles that never seem to go away, it is vital we turn our faces towards the risen Lord and celebrate his resurrection with him, and our sisters and brothers throughout the lands. 

Because it is this very day, when we mark with great joy, the rising from the tomb of our Lord and Saviour. This very day is the day we get that reassurance, accompanied with a rush of joy, that no matter how bad things get, everything will be alright. 

Because Jesus has proven himself to be the Lord of Life, defeating the powers of darkness, which held humans captivity for thousands of years. And this means we can celebrate today, knowing in full certainty that God has purchased for us, his precious, most loved children, a place with the risen Christ in eternal bliss. 

One of the most peculiar aspects of the resurrection, as it is recorded in the Bible, is that it was not expected by anyone, apart from Jesus himself. It comes completely out of the blue as a real shock for the followers of Jesus, who as we know, take a bit of convincing that it has happened. 

Mary Magdalene thinks a gardener or someone has moved the stone away from the tomb. There’s no hint or suggestion in her conversation that maybe something huge and more glorious might have occurred—even though her conversation is with a couple of angels. Even when Jesus stands behind her and asks her why she is weeping, she doesn’t appear to think that maybe Jesus has risen from the dead. Instead she has a go at Jesus, assuming him to be a gardener, accusing him of meddling and hiding the dead body of her friend. 

Later on, on the Road to Emmaus, and by the Sea of Tiberias, the disciples regard Jesus as a stranger, in Jerusalem they think he is a ghost. In our Gospel reading today, we heard that Peter’s companion, the ‘other disciple’, went into the empty tomb and that he ‘believed’—but it doesn’t say what he believed. 

An unknown young man, dressed in white, does report what has happened, in St Mark’s gospel, but then Mary and her two friends don’t tell anyone. 

It takes a while for grieving followers and friends of Jesus to get it: to understand the full reality and wonderful news that Jesus is risen from the dead, and a massive shift in the world has taken place; a shift that those believers, and we today, have full access to. 

Of course it is taking our world today a while to get it too. A great sadness is the huge number of so many people who do not believe, so our work remains, to spread this good news. We need to celebrate and share that joy so that others may know and believe too.

Now, we have something special here in church today to unwrap. So I invite the children to come up the front, to help us reveal what is in this mystery parcel. 

Those of you who don’t know, I wonder if you might take a guess at what this could be?

This has been buried in the ground for the past six or seven weeks, since Shrove Tuesday actually, when we dug a hole and covered it up. Let’s have a look. 

It’s the Alleluia board, which the Sunday School children decorated before Lent. 

All throughout Lent we have been trying not to say, what we have called in our house, the ‘A word’. I slipped up at least once. But today, as you’ve noticed, we can say it all we like. 

I hope we can hang this up somewhere, and maybe paint and bury and dig up and reveal and add a new one each year to make a collection of Alleluia boards.

We stop saying Alleluia during lent because it’s a time for us to slow down and reflect and, and feel the rhythms of life a little more than we might usually be aware of. Lent is a little like having a rest before getting up and being especially active. And today is that day to be active. 

Something else was buried, that has been unearthed today, something we are celebrating at this service. Any thoughts what? 

Jesus. He wasn’t buried for seven weeks like this board, in fact he was only gone for three days—laid in a tomb with a big stone rolled in front of it. And we speak of him descending down into the depths of the earth, because that’s where we think of as the place that’s the opposite of Heaven. Where do you think Heaven is? 

Right, so Jesus went the other way for three days, but God the Father, brought him back, and now Jesus lives in heaven, and we will join them there one day. 

May God bless you with the full abundance of his love today. Amen.

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Sermon Palm Sunday, Fr Nicholas

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.

Today we celebrate that time in Jesus’ life, when he was cheered by his disciples and a crowd, as he rode on the back of a donkey, traveling into the big, famous and glorious city of Jerusalem. 

The people were throwing their clothes on the ground in front of Jesus, a great sign of honour, so he and the donkey would have a kind of soft carpet to walk on. The people began waving branches of palm trees and olive trees, the two types of trees that there were a lot of over there in the country of Judea, in the Middle East. And the people were shouting out words from what we call the Old Testament of the Bible, but what people knew in those days as just the Holy Scriptures. ‘Hosanna’ they shouted, which means a kind of cross between, ‘Save me’, and Hooray’, if you can imagine such a word.

All this was happening because Jesus was getting close to the most important part of his life here on earth. He was being recognised as the really special and incredible person he was, and people were treating him—not only like a royal celebrity, but like the person that had been spoken and written and dreamt about, and whom prophets had predicted would come, for centuries and centuries.

Needless to say, there was a lot of excitement in the streets of Jerusalem on that day, and we have been trying to capture some of that here, with our walking around the church and our palm trees. 

All this might remind some of you of the excitement when a royal person, or a celebrity, or a royal celebrity, visits. Lots of people get excited and go out to watch, and maybe shout out in their excitement, and throw a party and have a good old time, and afterwards say things like, wow, wasn’t that fun, we had a lovely time, and isn’t that person terrific. 

But afterwards, maybe later that day, or the next day, we realise that life carries on as normal, that nothing has changed, and that the visit of the royal celebrity has only provided a bit of a distraction from an otherwise difficult and struggling world. 

The arrival of Jesus might have looked like the arrival of a royal celebrity like we have these days, but the whole reason for the excitement and what was about to happen to him, and to the whole world, was so very different. 

Our Gospel reading today is known as the ‘Passion Gospel’, because it tells us about Jesus’ Passion, which means his pain and suffering. We heard all about the profound events that Jesus went through—his betrayal, the last supper, his agony in the garden, his arrest, his sentencing, his crucifixion and his death. 

As the rest of this week goes on, we recall in more detail some of these events. Wednesday is known as ‘Spy Wednesday’, when we pay attention to Judas, the spy in the midst of the trusted disciples. 

On Thursday we celebrate the Last Supper. It’s called Maundy Thursday because of the commandment Jesus gives, that we love one another. Back then they pronounced ‘commandment’ like ‘commaundment’, which is where the word Maundy comes from. 

Then on Good Friday, we remember Jesus’ death. In other countries they call it Great Friday, or Long Friday, or Sad Friday. But we call it Good in the sense of Good meaning Holy, or special. 

And this whole week is good, holy and special, because of the wonderful acts of God that we remember, as Jesus makes his journey towards Easter Day, when he will be revealed as the saviour of the world.

One of the unusual things we do this week, is to cover up or remove crosses and other symbols in the church. You can see what we’ve done to the processional cross. This is for two reasons. Firstly there’s a sense of getting prepared for mourning. Much like you might take down the balloons and bunting when some sad happens at home, we prepare the church by making it plainer and sombrer.

There’s also a reflection on the passage in the Gospel when people picked up stones to throw at Jesus, and Jesus hid himself, going out of the Temple. Because Jesus hid himself, we too hide the statues and other images at this time of year.

But it’s not all doom and gloom, because in a week’s time, of course we know what will happen, and how we will celebrate Jesus’ resurrection at Easter. 

And in the meantime, I wonder if anyone can tell me what kind of a tree you can hold in your hand? 

May we journey on through Holy Week, humbly and bravely, beside our Lord as he endures his passion. Amen.

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Sermon Lent 5 2024           John 12.20-33

One of the key passages in our Gospel today reads, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain, but if it dies it bears much fruit.”

For those of you who are gardeners, this might seem common sense. A grain of wheat, or any seed, needs to go into the earth, and needs to stop being a seed, to die as a seed, in order to become something much bigger, richer and fruitful. 

Of course, not all of the seed dies. The core of the seed, the little embryo part, lives and develops into the plant. But the outer part of the seed, the coat and whole structure supporting, protecting, encasing the embryo, that must be discarded, in order for the seed to fulfil its destiny.

Jesus himself seemed pretty good with gardening and farming analogies and parables, telling us about sheep, mustard seeds, & fig trees. He knew what he was talking about when it came to the life of a grain of wheat, as he did when he talks about our lives.

I’ve been enjoying the rectory garden since we came here six months ago, and learning a lot, encouraged by some helpful parishioner volunteers. Although we haven’t planted any wheat, I hope you are all looking forward to eating a lot of pumpkin in the coming months. 

It’s difficult not to reflect on the Circle of Life when Gardening. Everything that has life grows and consumes and eventually physically dies, giving way to new life, and often what remains of the old will provide life for new things growing. 

When Jesus uses the analogy of the seed, the meaning for us is clear. Jesus helpfully spells it out: “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

To follow these words of Jesus, we need to put aside old things for the new to flourish. We need actively to shed our outer casing—the worldly things that have been wrapped up in, like the outer parts of a seed encase the embryo within. Yes, those things have been supporting us in some way, and of course make up a lot of who we are, but now we need to think about these things differently, and willingly choose to kill them off. 

Jesus uses that strong phrase, “hating your life in this world”. So it’s not just showing a slight preference for some parts of our life and not others. It’s about hating the things in your life that are not healthy parts of your relationship with God; things that would not belong in the kingdom of God.

Hating and killing off parts of our lives is hard, as it involves learning what parts of our lives we need to address, then moving beyond what has been comfortable for us, perhaps things we are fond of. And change always brings with it anxiety. So it takes courage and commitment. 

It’s an active process, in that we need to do it, not just wait for things to happen. Jesus speaks of the necessity for the grain of wheat to “fall into the earth and die”, but the rest of the gospel (and our understanding of human nature) makes it clear that we can’t just wait for the grain to fall. 
We need to jump. We need to be active.

What needs to go—to be shaken off, what needs to die—will be different for each of us. A place to start are obvious bad habits or sinful behaviour, things that set us apart from God in some way. Added to that are aspects of our lifestyles, that if changed would make our connection to God easier, clearer, stronger. 

A guide through all of this can be the simple question, “where is God in what I am doing right now”, or, “What would God want me to do in this moment, or with this decision.” Going beyond using simple questions like this might involve reading a spiritual book on the subject, or even better—getting yourself a spiritual director or companion. 

Shedding the outer part of our seed and creating the right conditions for growth is also hard, because we will never know when we have achieved this ultimate growth. Humans struggle when we can’t gauge our progress, when we don’t have an idea of how long we have to wait for something, or how well we are doing with an activity. Our growth towards eternal life is hard to measure, because like a plant we never stop growing, until that final moment when we are called to be with God, and all our potential is truly and finally fulfilled.

In this parish we see a circle of life. I’ve been looking through some of the photo albums and boxes of photos of past years. Even looking back ten years, there are so many people I don’t recognise. Sometimes this is because you have changed in that time, and so look different, but also new people have come in, and others have moved on or died. 

This is natural. Although in the past I’ve spoken about trying to bring back the lost sheep to this church (and I’m grateful that a few lost sheep have returned) it’s a natural process that some people leave not to return, and new people arrive. 

There’s another aspect of today’s gospel that will become stronger, as in the coming two weeks our reflections on the death of Jesus reach a peak. When Jesus speaks of a grain of wheat falling into the earth and dying, he refers to himself as well as us. 

He speaks of his own destiny, how he will descend into the earth in death, not as the end of his ministry, but as the turning point, the arc in the circle of his life, as he fulfils his loving duty to the Father, and uses the seed of his life to die and then rise again for us. 

This season of Lent is a time when we withdraw, falling into the earth for parts of us to die, for new, fresh growth to be born at Easter. 

The new life that Jesus will experience at Easter, will involve his springing up from the depths of the earth, to unimaginable glory. 

Glory that we can and shall share in if, like a grain of wheat, first we fall into the earth and die. Amen.