Homily on Exodus 32:7-14 (Anniversary of Women’s Ordination to the Priesthood in Church of England)

Homily on Exodus 32:7-14 (Anniversary of Women’s Ordination to the Priesthood in Church of England)
Originally given 14 March 2024 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

‘And the Lord changed his mind’

On the 12th March 1994, 32 women were ordained priests in Bristol Cathedral, the first women to be ordained to the priesthood in the Church of England. I can’t help but think of the journey women have been on for the past 30 years in the Church of England since those first ordinations of women to the priesthood. When I was born, there were no ordained women in the Church of England. But as of 2020, a third of ordained clergy were women, and the current trend is for more women than men to train for ordination. There are still disparities that are hard to miss. For example the number of women bishops, or the number of women in leadership positions in the Church is significantly lower compared to the number of men and does not match up proportionally with the population of ordained women. The analytics of the number of women who are Self Supporting Ministers instead of stipendiary and the age gap, with women coming to ordained ministry later in life, are all signs that we are not equal yet. But, we have come a long way. It has been a journey. And along that journey, though some have remained rigid in their anti-women beliefs concerning the priesthood, many people have changed their mind. And from today’s reading we see that if you have changed your mind, then you are not only in good company, but the best company… ‘and the Lord changed his mind.’ (Exodus 32:14 NRSV)

The fact that God’s mind was changed, shows that changing your mind, or going on a journey to develop your mindset, is not a weakness to be disparaged. I remember vividly the main insult thrown at Senator John Kerry during his 2004 Presidential bid in the U.S. was ‘flip-flopper’. But regardless of your political affiliations, the fact that anyone’s opinion develops on any topic shows a level of maturity in that they can be open to change and new knowledge without feeling it undermines their power. 

In addition, I don’t think we would generally describe God as flippant or fickle, so for the Lord to change his mind, there was some powerful persuasion. So how did Moses do it? He appealed to the personal connections between God and Abraham, Issac, and Jacob. He reminded God of the personal promises he made to these patriarchs, and then connected them with the people that God was wrathful toward. It’s hard to stay mad at someone when you have such a personal connection with them. It’s also hard to dislike a group of people when you have a fondness of someone from that group. 

So reflecting on the 30 year anniversary of women’s ordination to the priesthood in the Church of England, I have hope. I know there will be voices, sometimes very loud voices, that will challenge, demean, and discredit my authority as a woman in the priesthood. But by meeting people where they are, showing them my humanity and my vocation, I believe that we can journey together to a greater understanding. And so as the Lord changed his mind, I have hope that the greater Church will too. 

Homily for Ash Wednesday (John 8:1-11)

Homily for Ash Wednesday (John 8:1-11)
Originally given 22 February 2023 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

I recently read about a common Christian confusion between optimism and hope. Optimism is saying everything will be okay despite all your struggles, that your struggles will make you stronger. Hope is recognising that regardless of your struggles or triumphs, you will one day return to dust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It’s not a very cheerful concept, recognising our mortality, but it’s important that we do so. We are not immortal. We are not God. We are but dust.

In a few moments, when you come up to receive the ashes on your forehead I will say to you, ‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ.’ On this day, we remember our fleeting presence on this earth, and we are reminded how we should use that time – ‘turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ.’

Some things are easier said than done. All of us struggle at times to turn away from sin. And even if we try to avoid personal sin, we are surrounded by corporate, systemic sin in the form of unjust structures enabling sexism, racism, homophobia, ableism, and all other forms of prejudice. It can feel overwhelming when we consider we are part of an entire system that is broken. 

But although it can feel overwhelming to look at the whole picture, we can still make a difference by looking at one piece at a time. One small act of justice. One embrace with a grieving friend. One piece of rubbish picked up off the street. One kind word to the person checking our groceries. In the Gospel, one by one, each individual person reflected on their own sins and walked away. They were individuals, but with their single action, the woman was saved from being stoned.

Everyday we are given the opportunity to take a single action that causes a ripple of difference. The other day Reverend Zoe reminded me of the starfish story. For those not familiar with the story, it’s about a young girl walking along a beach upon which thousands of starfish had been washed up. When she came to each starfish, she would pick it up, and throw it back into the ocean. Then a man approached her and said, “Little girl, why are you doing this? Look at this beach! You can’t save all these starfish. You can’t begin to make a difference!” So the little girl bent down, picked up another starfish, and hurled it as far as she could into the ocean. Then she looked up at the man and replied, ‘I made a difference for that one.’

Everyday we are surrounded by starfish waiting for us to make a difference for them in our small actions. Everyday we have the chance to turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ in our actions. Because there will come a day when we will no longer be able to act, when we will once again turn to dust. We are but mere mortals. But our actions of mercy, justice, and Christian love are immortal and will change the world. 

So look with hope to the future in which we are all again dust, but the legacy of the Gospel lives on.

Sermon on the first Sunday of Advent (Matthew 24:36-44 and Isaiah 2:1-5)

Sermon on the first Sunday of Advent (Matthew 24:36-44 and Isaiah 2:1-5
Originally given 27 November 2022 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

‘In the days to come…nation shall not lift up sword against nation;
neither shall they learn war any more…
    come, let us walk
in the light of the Lord!’

These words from Isaiah are incredibly powerful, but in our modern world, shockingly unbelievable. To imagine a day in the future with no violence, no war, a day where we all walk in the light of the Lord, seems not only unimaginable, but even naive. Just turning on the news and looking at the state of the world we currently live in could easily leave us feeling… hopeless.

But today is the first Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of hope. And Isaiah gives us an image to hope for – an image of turning swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks. Now of course we no longer use swords and spears as much as guns and grenades, but the metaphor can still work. The future hope for weapons of destruction is that they become tools for creation. The hope is that we all contribute by walking in the light of the Lord, loving all our sisters and brothers. That instead of tearing each other down with words or actions, we will build each other up.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus tells us to be always prepared because we do not know when he will return, he tells us to stay awake. To keep hope, because Christ will come again at an unknown day and hour. Now this thought may fill some people with anxiety because of the unknown. People generally like to plan. But it’s okay when things don’t go exactly to plan, and it’s also okay if we don’t know the exact plan. We don’t have to worry about the unknown, because God knows. And truly God is the only one who needs to know, because God can make all things work for good. And whether or not we know the ins and outs of all of God’s plans, we still need to continue to carry the hope, the light, of the Lord. But in a world filled with darkness, what does that even look like?

I recently came across a sermon looking at the term ‘woke’ and comparing it to Jesus telling us to be awake. Terms like woke, and political correctness, and virtue signalling have been tossed around so much in the past few years, but whenever I’ve heard Christians use these words it’s more often than not in a negative sense. I once heard a Christian minister say woke was basically political correctness on steroids, to which other ministers responded with eyerolls and chuckles. In the era of ‘Me too’ I’ve heard many Christians say the movement is just political correctness gone mad, as they don’t see any big deal with ‘innocently’ touching someone…with or without permission. And I’ve heard the term virtue signalling used countless times as an insult against fellow Christians who are pointing out injustices, whether that’s highlighting racist institutions, criticising the treatment of refugees by the government, or wearing a rainbow flag in support of the LGBTQ+ community, just to name a few things. So, although I thought I had a general idea to their meaning, I decided to look up the definition for each word:

Woke – alert to injustice in society, especially racism

Political correctness – the avoidance of forms of expression or action that are perceived to exclude, marginalise, or insult groups of people who are socially disadvantaged or discriminated against.

Virtue signalling – the action or practice of publicly expressing opinions or sentiments intended to demonstrate one’s good character or the moral correctness of one’s position on a particular issue.

When I look at these definitions, and look at the Gospel preached by Jesus, I can’t help but think Jesus was woke and politically correct and accused by the Pharisees of virtue signalling. Jesus called out injustices, he ate with the excluded, and spoke with the marginalised, and publicly called out the Pharisees for immoral actions that harmed so many people. So if Jesus was the epitome of these terms, why have so many Christians come to look at them as a stumbling block in society? As something to ridicule and mock instead of aspire to?

I think we might be afraid of being woke. I think when we hear Jesus say to stay awake, to always be prepared, it can be quite intimidating. It’s difficult to carry the light of hope at all times, especially when we feel so surrounded by hopelessness. And it’s difficult to challenge the status quo, especially when it’s all we’ve known our whole lives. But I think the readings today are asking us to face those difficulties full on with the support of God. The Isaiah reading calls for us to walk in the light of the Lord, and the Gospel tells us to stay awake. Surely that means to notice injustices and call them out. To see people who are hurting and bring them comfort. To listen to the marginalised and let their feelings be heard. The first Sunday of Advent is about hope, and if Christ taught us nothing else, it’s that the Gospel message is for everyone. So this Christian hope is for everyone. But we can’t bring it to everyone if we cling to what makes us comfortable. Sometimes stepping into the light of the Lord means stepping into discomfort. And staying prepared, staying awake, means being woke to injustices even if we are the only voice speaking against them. 

So on this first Sunday of Advent, I encourage you to walk in the light, to shine with the light of God’s hope, to be woke and shine a light on injustices, knowing that you are walking with the Lord.

Sermon on Philippians 1:1-18

Sermon on Philippians 1:1-18 (Luke 9:46-48)
Originally given 22 May 2022 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

Our first reading today is taken from Saint Paul’s letter to the Philippians. We know the letter was written to followers of Christ in Philippi, and that it was written by Paul when he was imprisoned, but we don’t know where exactly he was imprisoned. Of course, it doesn’t necessarily matter where he was writing from, but sometimes it can be helpful to know context, especially when reading through Paul’s letters. For example, we might know the general population he was writing to, but we don’t know the specifics of who he wrote to or even why he wrote this letter. And we certainly don’t have the other side of the letters, such as an initial letter or a response to this letter if there was one. 

Now it might sound like I’m being overly critical of details, but when it comes to Paul, I have to admit he is not particularly a favourite of mine. For me as a queer woman, many of the words attibuted to Paul have painfully been used against me throughout my lifetime. He has been known as the author of some of the so-called ‘texts of terror’ which have made Christian life difficult for both LGBTQ people and women. But when I went to theological college, I discovered that Paul didn’t necessarily write everything he has been given credit for, and I also learned that context is vital in order to appropriately interpret Scripture. So to add a bit more context to today’s reading, I will say that it was written in the early days of the Church when the majority of people had not yet heard of Jesus Christ.

Quite often in the Church of England, I have heard the term ‘bums on seats’ referring to how many people we can get into a church service. It is a phrase that makes me bristle because I feel it misses out on the heart of the Gospel message. Of course we are meant to spread the Good News of Christ Jesus, but not for the sake of getting more bodies into our church buildings. We should bring the Gospel out into the world because we are moved to love others like Christ who modelled perfect love for us. And the people sat in church buildings should be there because they have discovered the love of Christ and they want to grow to love Christ more. In Philippians 1:15 when Paul says some ‘proclaim Christ from envy and rivalry’, to me that feels like a ‘bums on seats’ reasoning for spreading the Gospel. Then Paul says motives do not matter as long as Christ is proclaimed, which is increasingly problematic for me at first glance.

This is one of those moments in Scripture that I have to pause, take a deep breath, and remember the context. For us in our modern times, in this church building, in this country, I think it is quite easy to have pure motives and reasonings for spreading the Gospel. Although there are still and will always be gaps where the Gospel has yet to reach, most people in our context have at least a basic knowledge of who Jesus Christ is. Paul was not so fortunate. He lived at a time when the majority of people had never heard of Jesus Christ, so he rejoiced at every new encounter, regardless of motivation. And perhaps Paul’s faith was strong enough that he believed no matter how people discovered Christ, the Holy Spirit would work to make their hearts pure in their belief of Christ. So maybe this time I’ll cut Paul some slack.

And there are a few other points Paul makes in this passage that I think are helpful to us today. In verse 6 Paul talks about the good work that God began in us that will be completed on Christ’s return. Although he was addressing the people of Philippi, I think we can take comfort in knowing that we are all a work in progress. We were not born as the finished product. We all have made and will continue to make mistakes. But God is still working on each of us. Helping us to grow and to one day be made whole. But that day will not come until we have a new heaven and new earth. And a new us, made good and perfect by the love of God. 

While most people probably think of 1 Corinthians 13 when they think of Paul’s take on what love means, I think Philippians 1:9-10 is a helpful snippet concerning what Paul thinks is the character of good love. Paul describes a love full of knowledge and insight that helps determine what is best. I think this is a love that asks questions and challenges injustices. It is a love that brings us closer to the Kingdom described by Jesus in today’s Gospel reading, when Jesus speaks of the subversive nature of God’s Kingdom. By putting the focus on a child who is considered weak and with no authority, Jesus is showing that the love of God’s Kingdom brings the mighty low and exalts the lowly. The love of Jesus is full of the knowledge of right and wrong, and it is good for us to strive to copy that love.

The final verse that I would like to highlight is verse 12, when Paul says, ‘what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel.’ What has happened to him is that he has been unjustly thrown in prison. What has happened to him is that he has been tortured. What has happened to him is awful and inhumane. Nevertheless, Paul is able to find the joy of God among the challenges. Without a doubt, this is a difficult task in our lives as Christians. There will be occasions where we feel at a complete loss, as if our whole life has shattered around us and our heart along with it. But even then, God is there among the ruins. In the darkest times, there is always a glimmer of God’s hope if we look for it. I won’t pretend to know why bad things happen to good people, but I do have faith that God has the power to turn the most desperate situations into something good if we have the faith to look for it. Sometimes it’s not easy. Sometimes it feels impossible. But with each passing day we can look back and see the seeds that have been planted that God has turned into flourishing hope and joy.

So while Paul may not be my favourite, in the context of his time, I think he did make some good points that we see in today’s reading. Firstly, God is working on each of us to make us whole and good, ready for the day Christ comes again. Second, full knowledge is foundational to a Christian love that helps us make good choices in our daily lives. And finally, we can find God in all situations and continue to rejoice even among the ruins. 

Sermon on Luke 1:67-79

Sermon on Luke 1:67-79
Given 24 December 2021 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

Tonight we come to celebrate the culmination of our Advent season of waiting. Over the past four weeks, we have heard of the hope, peace, joy, and love of this season. The first Sunday of Advent I preached the refrain, ‘Do not be afraid, for I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord.’ This was to highlight the hope of the future God has planned for each of us. The following Sunday, Zoe preached on Ezekiel’s dry bones and the death of Lazarus, when Jesus wept. She explained that Jesus came to be alongside us in all our grief and pain, which can bring us peace in our darkest moments, knowing that we are not alone. For the third Sunday of Advent, we heard from Barney about the four Servant Songs found in Isaiah, which he described as a ‘celebration of the work of God’s servant,’ Jesus. This celebration is undeniably a reason for joy, joy that God loves each of us so much that he came to serve us. And finally, this past Sunday, Barney said, ‘The incarnation binds Jesus to the everydayness of human experience’, illustrating the love God has for each of us. God chose not to rule on high from afar, but instead to be with us in all our humanity – the good, the bad, the complicated and messy. Hope, peace, joy, and love. These are the themes of Advent, but they are not exclusive in themselves. Within each theme, you can find another, and over these past four weeks the sermons that we have preached contained bits of all four themes. And looking at the song of Zechariah, we can also see all four themes.

Hope.

Zechariah expresses hope for the future. Not hope in the modern sense of wishes that may or may not come to pass. Instead, this hope is full of God’s glory. God made promises long ago through the prophets to rescue his people and bring them to salvation. Zechariah knows that the promises of God are always fulfilled and through the birth of his son, John the Baptist, Zechariah can see the arc of God’s story bending toward the promise of mercy and the forgiveness of sins.

Peace.

A light shining in the darkness to guide our feet on the path of righteousness. This is God’s peace. Knowing that we will never walk alone, but that God will always be with us even in our darkest moments. God is with us in comforting us, but God is also with us because she knows our pain, hurt, grief, misery. Because God became us in the form of Jesus Christ, and even Jesus wept. Our peace is the knowledge that our Saviour fully knows our humanity and is fully with us in it.

Joy.

Zechariah’s song begins with praise to the Lord, because he is so joyful. He is joyful that God is the God of hope who always keeps his promises. He is joyful that God is the God of peace who is always with us in the darkest of times. Perhaps Zechariah is most joyful that God did not abandon him even when he revealed how little faith he had. Instead, God taught him a lesson by showing God’s true nature of hope and joy, by giving a child to Elizabeth and Zechariah.

Love.

As St. Paul explained in his first letter to the Corinthians, love is the greatest of all, and as John Lennon sang, ‘all you need is love.’ The song of Zechariah is bursting with love. Love for God from Zechariah, but mostly love from God for all of us. God’s love is shown in the promises he has kept, and by being our partner through times of sorrow, and in all the joy she brings to our lives. God continually gives us the blessings to get through the challenges of life, because God so loves us. 

Hope, peace, joy, and love. Zechariah sang of these things two thousand years ago, so what do they mean to us today?

Hope. We can look with hope to the promises of God. The promise of a new heaven and a new earth, with no pain, no tears, no death. We look with hope, because this is a promise that we know will be kept. 

Peace. Life is full of difficulties, but we will never have to face them alone.  In times of trouble and darkness, we can have the peace that comes from our relationship with Jesus, by taking all our worries to him in prayer. 

Joy. Each morning we wake up, we live to serve another day, and that is truly a beautiful thing. In all that we do, we can find the joy that comes with the gift of life that God has given us. 

Love. Jesus said, ‘By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.’ (Jn. 13:35). As Christians, we’re not actually asked to do anything. The Church believes that Jesus Christ died on the cross to forgive our sins. There are no more sacrifices or burnt offerings we must make, because the grace of our Lord has saved us. And yet, how would anyone know we are a Christian? Jesus clearly says, to follow Christ, we must love each other. St. Paul had it right…and John Lennon. Love is the greatest, all you need is love. All that God has ever done for us was for love. So to show our appreciation, to reflect our hope for the future God has planned for us, our peace in the presence of God in our daily lives, our joy for all that we have received from God, all we have to do is love. Love each other, and love God. Or if we read Matthew 25, we must love each other in order to love God. 

As our Advent season comes to a close and we look to the gift of Christmas, we see that all this time we have been waiting for the hope, peace, joy, and love of God. But we don’t need to wait for anything, because Jesus has already called each of us to action. Jesus told us to go and love God by loving each other. So perhaps all this waiting in Advent is God waiting for us to be the hands and feet and body of Christ on Earth. God is waiting for us to bring hope, peace, joy, and especially love to all.

Sermon on Jeremiah 29:1-14

Sermon on Jeremiah 29:1-14 and John 14:27
Given 28 November 2021 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

Do not be afraid, for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.

When Alex and I were first married, we travelled to the other side of the world for a teaching job in Jakarta, Indonesia. When we arrived, I struggled with severe culture shock. I had never lived in a city, yet alone a city with a population of 17 million people. We didn’t have any family or friends nearby, we didn’t know the language, we didn’t know that rainy season meant unexpected torrential downpours and flash flooding for days on end. But Alex managed to find us a church, and on that first Sunday they read out Jeremiah 29:11, ‘For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.’ I cried when I heard those words.

Many of you will know that I cry or at least get emotional quite often, that I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. When I was recommended for training to become a minister, they even commented on my vulnerability and the necessity to keep it in check in ministry, a work in progress I must say. So my crying at a Bible verse in church probably seems insignificant, if not unsurprising. But at that point, on that day, I cried because I didn’t believe what God was saying. How could the Lord possibly bring me all this way, to be a stranger in a strange land, and say that the greater plan was somehow for my welfare? At that point, I saw no hope. But twelve months later, we were living in Poland, and twelve months after that we were preparing to move home to the U.K to have our first child. Yet on that first Sunday in Jakarta, Indonesia, I could never have imagined getting a job back in Europe closer to home. And the thought of being in a position to have a child was something that felt so impossible that I remember the visceral pain at just talking about the children that I thought I would never have.

Do not be afraid, for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.

The Gospel reading today reminds us that God does not give to us the way the world gives to us. Very often we grow accustomed to broken promises by those around us. We become cynical and lose hope. But God’s promises are forever. And God is a God of hope. Her plans for our future are filled with hope. So as Jesus proclaimed, there is no reason to let our hearts be troubled. There is no reason to be worried or anxious or fearful. In times of pain and despair, we can look to the God of hope, who never breaks promises. We can be reminded that though we may have our own plans for how we think our life should go, God’s plans are the greatest, because they are for our welfare, whether we like it or not.

Do not be afraid, for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, marking the start of the Church year. Advent is a time of expectant waiting. Waiting for the joy that comes at Christmas, but perhaps more importantly, waiting for the promises of God to be fulfilled. Barney reminded me that the first candle we light is often referred to as the candle of the Patriarchs, but I thought we’d heard enough from the Patriarchs these past few months, so I decided we should go with the other theme for the first candle, which is hope. Of course, it could be said the two go hand in hand. It was the hope of the Patriarchs that created the nation of Israel, the hope of the Patriarchs that freed Israel from slavery in Egypt, the hope of the Patriarchs that created a family line of kings that led right to Jesus. But the hope I’m talking about today, is not the hope of history. It is a present and real hope. We often think of hope as a wish, an expectation. But the hope of Jesus Christ is about trust. Our hope for the future is based on the promises of God. Our hope is that we can trust the Lord our God to fulfil all his promises.

Do not be afraid, for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.

Perhaps you’re thinking, ‘the Lord having plans for me is a very good reason to be afraid!’  Or maybe you’re thinking, ‘how can the Lord have plans for me?’ Little ol’ me? Who am I for the Lord to know me. And the answer is you are a child of God. Psalm 139 declares, 

 For it was you who formed my inward parts;

    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

    Wonderful are your works;

that I know very well.

     My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.

In your book were written

    all the days that were formed for me,

    when none of them as yet existed.

You. You are God’s great idea. And she has wonderful plans for you. So as we enter this Advent season, let us come with hearts full of hope, knowing we can trust the plans of our loving Father for us. 

Do not be afraid, for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.

Sermon on Psalm 23 for All Souls Day

Sermon on Psalm 23 for All Souls Day
Given 31 October 2021 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

Tomorrow is known as All Saints Day in the Church, and the following day is All Souls Day. Tomorrow is set aside to remember all the saints of the church, both known and unknown, who have died. The following day is to remember those who have died who weren’t necessarily saints, but they were nevertheless loved by us.

The Psalm for All Souls Day, number 23, was today’s first reading, and is the focus of my sermon. The last time I preached on Psalm 23, I talked about my inadequacy. I was preaching to a chapel full of fellow theological students and giving us a proverbial pep talk. A reminder that God is always with us, even in our inadequacy, to guide us and fill us with the Spirit to go forth and spread the Good News. The last time, I approached Psalm 23 as a student, an almost distant observer, reading through numerous commentaries, to attempt to find out what the Psalmist was really trying to say. But this time is very different. 

This time I come to Psalm 23 with a heart full of grief. As many of you know, my very dear friend died a few weeks ago. But he was much more than a friend to me, he filled the role of father for me and grandfather for my boys. So instead of viewing the words of Psalm 23 as a pastoral tool for future ministry and deciphering the author’s intent, I’m clinging to these verses trying to find the hope that lies in tomorrow. I suppose this time I am once again addressing my inadequacy, but instead of using the Psalm as a way to give me courage in ministry, I need it to find courage in navigating a world that is new to me, one with the glaring absence of my father-friend. 

The Psalm begins, ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want’. But I do achingly want more time, time that I felt was stolen from me and my boys. Those who grieve want one more of everything. One more hug, one more laugh together, one more picture, one more chance to say ‘I love you’. The Psalm continues, ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters’. When a person you love dies, life tends to lose all its colour. And my waters are the opposite of still – they are raging with fury and pain. ‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.’ Here finally, the glimmer of hope that I’ve been searching for can be found in these words. We have not been promised a pain-free, ever-joyful life. Life is full of pain, sometimes it can feel like all the peaks are missing and we’re endlessly trudging through an insurmountable trough. But we do have hope. Hope that we are not alone in our times of pain and weariness. Hope that in the times we are overcome with grief, we will still be comforted and guided along our paths. 

And today’s Gospel reading gives us even further hope. Jesus Christ says, ‘I will raise you up on the last day.’ So our hope does not end with our dying breath. And we have every hope to believe that the people we love will be raised with us.

This means tomorrow and the next day, we can be praying with hope in our hearts for all those who have gone before us to Our Father’s house. Tomorrow we pray for the saints, those who lived their lives showing the love of Christ in their actions. And the following day we pray for everyone else we have loved who have died. In Mexico, these days are celebrated as Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. When I first learned about Dia de los Muertos in my adolescence, I admit that I was slightly confused, because the holiday seemed to celebrate death, and I was generally raised to view death as something bad. In a similar way, Cajun funerals in Louisiana often see the mourners processing out of the cemetery with raucous and joyful singing. These ideas around celebrating death never made sense to me. But when looking at death as a Christian, with the hope of the world to come, perhaps this is the way we Christians should approach death. With joyfulness in knowing our future hope. Or otherwise known as blessed assurance. 

Of course, we will grieve for people we love who are no longer physically with us in this life. We are sad that we will no longer have a chance to share experiences with them. Sometimes we may feel their life was cut short at far too young an age. And I will never suggest that young death is part of some cosmic, greater plan. But if we turn to our all-loving Creator in these times of indescribable loss, we will be given the blessings to get through the pain. Being a Christian doesn’t make loss any less painful, but we can look forward to that last day when we will rise up with all those we have loved, and our cups will overflow. 

Sermon on Acts 3:11-26

Sermon on Acts 3:11-26
Given 11 July 2021 at St. Alban’s Church, Coventry

When I first read today’s passage, I noticed two obvious themes. The first is the power in the name of Jesus, and the second is recognising who we are as descendants of God’s family. I must say, I was quite pleased that my first sermon with you would be seemingly straightforward. But then I watched Barney’s sermon from last week and discovered that he had already touched on those themes.

So, I had to decide whether to take the easy path and simply repeat the things that had already been explored, or to go down a different avenue all together.

Obviously, even if I did the same topics, I would say things a bit differently, if for no other reason than because of my accent. But those who know me well will tell you that I rarely take the easy route. So that left me to ponder what else we could gain from this passage.

To recap last week’s reading leading into this week, Peter and John had come across a beggar on the street who was unable to walk, and instead of giving him money as was expected, they healed him through the power of the name of Jesus. They were surrounded by people who saw this healing miracle, so Peter took advantage of the situation and began speaking to the crowd around them. This brings us to this week’s passage where Peter accuses the people of rejecting and even killing Jesus. Now, at this point, I feel compelled to remind you of who exactly this Peter guy is.

This is the same Peter who Jesus refers to at one point in the gospel  of Matthew as ‘Satan’ and a ‘stumbling block’. This is also the Peter who denied Christ not once, not twice, but three times before his trial and crucifixion. In short, here is a very flawed man, an imperfect follower of Christ who goes on to criticise a crowd of people for not recognising Christ. Some might suggest he is a hypocrite for these actions. And yet, despite all his flaws and imperfections, Jesus not only calls Peter to be a disciple, he also said to Peter, ‘on this rock I will build my church.’ So though we who claim to follow Christ may easily criticise and condemn Peter, we worship a perfect and forgiving God who embraces us even with our flaws.

And I am sure we can all relate to the imperfect humanity of Peter. I am sure we have all, at some point in our lives, denied Christ. Speaking for myself, in my days of searching for faith, I insisted I was spiritual, not religious. This was a denial of Christ. I have also been known to walk straight by beggars on the street without so much as a sideways glance. This, too, is a denial of Christ. I have many times kept silent in the face of racism, sexism, homophobia, and all other forms of prejudice. This is undoubtedly a denial of Christ who taught us, ‘whatever you did to the least of these, you also did to me.’

But I believe in the redemptive grace of Christ who allows for second and third and seventy-seventh chances. So I did return to Christ like the prodigal Son and was welcomed with the loving embrace of a perfect Father. I have prayed with a homeless man on the street and donated to homeless charities. I have called out racism, sexism, homophobia and all the other ‘isms’ and ‘phobias’ that are a scourge on this earth and I have dedicated myself to rooting out the structural sin in my thoughts, words, and deeds. Because when Peter accuses the crowd of rejecting and killing Jesus, we must recognise that we too are part of that crowd. When we do not love our neighbour as ourselves, we re-crucify Christ. When we are complicit in institutional injustices, we re-crucify Christ.

This can all seem very overwhelming. Because as humans, we are bound to get things wrong and make mistakes. But that’s okay, because as followers of Christ, we have hope. Peter says in today’s passage that Jesus Christ will ‘bless you by turning each of you from your wicked ways.’ It is not always easy to own up to our flaws but at least recognising when we get things wrong is a step closer to Jesus Christ.

At the beginning of today’s passage, Peter saw the crowd gathering, he took notice and took advantage of the situation to proclaim the Gospel. With this being my first sermon here at St. Alban’s, I would also like to take advantage of the situation to proclaim my manifesto of sorts, and I hope you will indulge me on this tangent. Jesus taught us that, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind,’ and ‘you shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ These are the greatest commandments and the core of the Gospel message. In other words, the Good News of Christ Jesus is love. In my ministry and my life I will endeavour to show the love of Christ in all that I say and do. And I pray that each of you hold me accountable to this promise. Not only will I seek to model the love of Christ, I will also take every possible opportunity to remind each and every one of you, my sisters and brothers, that you are a beloved child of God and there is nothing that can separate you from the love of our awesome Mothering Father. 

I end my tangent with a challenge to you, inspired from today’s reading. Peter saw the crowd and took advantage of the opportunity to bring the message of God’s love to others. So as you go out in your daily life, I challenge you to pray for eyes that notice opportunities, and lips that proclaim the love of God, and the courage to model Christ’s love for the world.

In closing, we can take heart in the imperfections of Peter, knowing that Christ used him to establish the Church and spread the message of the Gospel. And if God can work such wonders with such a human as Peter, imagine what God can do with each of us.

Sermon on Mark 1:1-8 and Isaiah 40:1-11

Sermon on Mark 1:1-8 and Isaiah 40:1-11
Given 06 and 08 December 2020 at St. Chad’s, Rubery

May the God of hope enliven us through the words of my mouth. Amen

Today is the Second Sunday of Advent, which is traditionally the day we light the Advent Candle representing peace. But when I began writing my sermon for today, I based it on hope. I could say that I did this on purpose, because right now a bit more hope in the world is something we could all cling to. To be honest though, I simply got my Advent Sundays mixed up and I didn’t realise it until rather late in the day. In any case, I decided that right now we can’t get enough of it, so on this Second Sunday of Advent, I’m going to speak about hope.

Hope can be difficult to reflect on during a global pandemic. At this point in time all the typical stresses and worries of life become compounded because we carry not only the burden of our own lives, but also the burdens of those around us and worldwide. But I do hope the words of this reflection will bring you peace if you are experiencing distress, but challenge if you are experiencing plenty.

The Gospel reading introduces us to John the Baptist, who it is said was sent to prepare the way for Jesus. Preparation and hope work well together, because the definition of hope is the expectation of a desired event. We prepare because we expect Jesus to come again. We prepare because we expect a new heaven and a new earth.

Hope is not an empty wish. We find hope in the words of Isaiah – ‘Comfort, O Comfort my people.’ There is hope in the message brought by John the Baptist in his proclamation of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The refugees fleeing persecution, the children with rumbling tummies, the marginalised protesting injustices all have hope. Hope is about promise, it’s about a future. Our preparations through Advent, and through our lives as Christians, are not about an insurmountable goal that we may or may not achieve. We have hope because of the knowledge that a new day will come. This is not a maybe or a perhaps. This is a certainty.

Now this doesn’t mean there is no challenge in hope. There can still be pain, confusion, or disenchantment in the waiting. There is also struggle, disappointment, despair, and loneliness. The path we are meant to prepare is not an easy one. Isaiah describes that there are deserts needing straight highways, valleys to be lifted, mountains made low, and rough places that are to be made plain. But these challenges are not in vain. Each stumbling block is a step closer to the Kingdom of God, because Jesus promised us in the Sermon on the Mount ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness.’

Former Archbishop Michael Ramsey once said, ‘the duty of the church is to comfort the disturbed and to disturb the comfortable,’ so it is my hope that I am able to do just that with these words. The comfort for those who are weary and in desperate need is that you are not alone. You have a family through Christ who will give sustenance to ease your burdens. There is never a reason to be without food, clothes, shelter, or companionship. And this is the challenge for those of you who have more. It is your responsibility to support your brothers and sisters in Christ. And although we are all weathering the same storm, we do not all enjoy the same boat. There are some of us in dinghies with our heads just above the treacherous seas, and others who are coasting by in ease. This is a difficult time for everyone around the world, but for those who can do more, we must do more. We are called to do more, for we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers. Each one of us individually can make a world of difference, because even in the most consuming darkness, a single candle can light a path.

At this time of preparation, we prepare for the way of the Lord by doing his will. When we pray ‘thy Kingdom come’ we do so with the intention of making the kingdom of God here on earth right now. Of course you can’t feed hope to a starving child, but hope is made tangible in our actions. It is because of hope that we do feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give shelter to the homeless, and visit the lonely. Through hope we create a world where we give voice to the oppressed and empower the vulnerable. Now more than ever, we must be the representatives of Christ, bringing to all people the Good News. Now more than ever, we must bring hope.

So go, prepare the way. Make straight paths, lift valleys, and flatten mountains. Give hope to the hopeless, give peace to the troubled, give love to the hurting, and give joy to those in despair. Let us embody the spirit of the Gospel brought to us by Christ Jesus. As we wait in this Advent season, let us show hope is an expectation, not a wish. Go, bring the love of God to a world waiting in hope for a new day to come. Amen

Sermon on Matthew 4:1-11 and Romans 5:12-19

Sermon on Matthew 4:1-11 and Romans 5:12-19
Given 01 March 2020 at Four Acres Care Home

The Gospel reading this evening is about the temptation of Jesus. As I considered the reading, I began to question what it is that tempts humans. The first thing I thought of was wealth. But the problem with money is you can’t take it to the grave. And anyway, Jesus told us to store our treasure in heaven. So if it’s not riches, is it perhaps life that tempts us? If you were offered the elixir of eternal life, would you drink it?

A few weeks ago, I heard someone say that humans are too concerned with their own survival. At first I was a little confused by the comment. I thought that’s the point of life, to live, to survive. Otherwise, what is there? But then I thought about it logically and realised nobody gets out of here alive. Jesus Christ himself died in his human form. So, would you be tempted by life eternal, a life experienced by no other human in history?

When we look at the health and beauty industry worth billions of pounds, isn’t that just Satan tempting us with stones? Jesus said, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ Our culture is taught that death and dying are taboo subjects. We aren’t told that loved ones die, but rather they’ve ‘passed away’. When someone receives a terminal diagnosis, we talk about the power of healing prayer instead of praying for comfort in the knowledge of death. All of this echoes our human desire for the survival of our own human flesh.

I think all this points to the greatest human temptation: the desire to beat a human death. Honestly, it makes sense. We all fear the unknown. Even the most devout Christian cannot possibly know what lies behind the veil of death. But not knowing, doesn’t mean we need to look at death as something to fear. One of my favourite fictional characters explained, ‘Death is but the next great adventure’.

For Christians, this sentiment couldn’t be more true. In the epistle reading, Paul talks about death in Adam, but life in Christ. Though we are all born mortals with an expiry date for our flesh, we have the assurance that we will become a new creation in Christ.

Think of a time when you were care-free, with no worries, no challenges, no pain, a time with no tears or struggles. Perhaps it was many years ago, in your golden days of youth. The temptation of the devil is giving us that yearning for a time we can never return to. But the hope in Christ is the promise of a Kingdom in which there is no pain and no tears, where death is no more.

We need not be concerned with our own survival. The shackles of our mortal flesh are the temptation that keeps us from fully loving Christ. Amen.