Homily: What is the Kingdom of God like?

 Luke 13: 18-21

 

¹⁸ [Jesus] said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what should I compare it? ¹⁹ It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches.” ²⁰ And again he said, “To what should I compare the kingdom of God? ²¹ It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”

 

Jesus speaks in parables, sometimes mysteriously, sometimes clearly. Here surely he is clear. The kingdom of God is like a tiny mustard seed, which becomes a huge tree - just by doing what it does. The kingdom of God is like a little lump of yeast, which makes wheat rise to become bread - just by doing what it does. The message is clear. We get it.

 

What we may perhaps miss is that it seems Jesus is exaggerating. The tiny mustard seed in question doesn’t really grow into a tree; it’s a shrub. A little lump of yeast cannot really make the… 40 or so loaves of bread, that seem to be implied in the original Greek. So, Jesus is clear, and exaggerates to make his point clearer. We can get it.

 

There’s something else some commentators stress. They think these parables are subversive. They think Jesus intends to shock. They say the mustard shrub in question was more of a weed than a delicate garden plant. It’s not normally something you’d want. And a lump of yeast… well,  remember there are no sachets of grains involved here… a lump of yeast is well… at least it’s not pleasant. It is… slimy. I don’t know if Jesus is setting out to shock here. It is perhaps worth pondering.  

 

In any event, taking these parables as a whole, we can surely take heart from them. Take heart! If I/you/we, here, feel as small and overlooked as the tiniest seed… If I/you/we, here, feel as unsung and unvalued as a lump of something slimy… no matter! Jesus is reassuring us that it does not matter. Jesus is reassuring us that we can still do what is necessary to have the Kingdom of God grow among us. Remember: the seed and the yeast rise to great things… just by doing what they do.

 

So far, this may sound like optimism; it isn’t. So far, this may sound like naivety; it isn’t. This isn’t saying our plans are bound to work out eventually; Jesus has promised it. No. What then?

 

There is something else we must attend to. Jesus says the Kingdom of God grows when it is first hidden. To plant a seed is (by and large) to hide it. And as for the yeast, well the Greek explicitly says that the woman hides the yeast in the wheat [enekrupsen]. So, before we can ask how we are to show forth the Kingdom of God, we have to ask how we are hiding the Kingdom of God.

 

Don’t misunderstand me. Hiding the Kingdom doesn’t mean being reluctant to speak of God or Jesus. Hiding the Kingdom means making sure we are taking it as deeply into ourselves as can be, making it our own... making it our own, so that in the end no one can tell when we end, and the Kingdom begins. That’s quite a challenge. It is meant to be.

 

How to begin? We can begin by asking this question: How might I take something of the Kingdom of God, be at as small as a mustard seed, into my very self, today?

 

But I must warn you: it is one of those questions which, if you ask it, may give rise to an answer.

 

Amen.

Sermon. Christmas 1 and New Year's Eve. A Prison.

 

·        Isaiah 61:10-63:3

·        Galatians 4:4-7

·        Luke 2:15-21

 

Who remembers Christmas Day? It was only on Monday. As on Christmas Day, I will thank you for being here. I will say again that you do not have to be here. I have to be here. You do not. (And, as I said before, that is unusual in prison.) So, again, thank you for choosing to be here, and choosing to begin your week with worship.

 

I said on Monday that Christmas can be hard in prison. We all know it. I am not telling you anything you do not know. But it is sometimes – often – worth naming these things.

 

Well, today comes with difficulties of its own.

 

First, it is still Christmastide in the Church calendar. Our Gospel reading shows this most clearly. We are back with the story of the birth of Jesus.

Second – and again I am naming what is obvious – we meet on the last day of the year (the “secular” year – the year of our everyday calendars). Today is New Year’s Eve, and tomorrow is New Year’s Day. What, if anything, can we make of that?

 

Yet another obvious point is that many outside of prison will be partying hard this evening, and into the small hours. That’s not an option for you. Don’t get me wrong: we know you can find access to substances. But they won’t give you what they seem to promise. They won’t really provide a party atmosphere. So you may well be feeling a sense of loss, and additional one, on top of other senses of loss. (By the way, I am certainly not going to party; I am here again tomorrow.)

 

But New Year’s Day is about more than partying, or recovering from partying. New Year’s Day can be when people sit down and think about their lives. They may have great hopes for the year ahead. They may have great plans for the year ahead. They may make New Year resolutions. They may feel a real sense of freedom. They may say: “I am free to do what I want in this new, fresh, never-before year. I am going to claim my freedom this year!” And these things are… not impossible in prison, but they are harder to say in prison. So you may be feeling an additional narrowness (constraint) here, along with all the other narrownesses (constraints) you feel here.

 

Or perhaps these days mean nothing to you, and you wonder why I am going on, in this way. That would be perfectly fair. After all, it is not New Year in the Church calendar. New Year’s Day is Advent Sunday, which was back on 3 December, this time around. Tomorrow is the 8^th day of Christmas, where we also mark the naming and circumcision of Jesus. If we want to let this New Year go unmarked, we are perfectly free to do that.

 

There I go again, saying: “we are free”. You may well say: “Be honest, Patrick. You are free, and we are not.” I get that. I do get that. But there are different kinds of freedom. And some freedoms (the freedom to think, the freedom to orient your life as you see fit)… these can be yours too.

 

Let us consider today’s readings. In the first reading from Isaiah, the prophet rejoices in Gd, praises Gd. You are free to do that. Christians believe that we are made to praise Gd – we are worshipping animals – and no person and no system can stop you from praising Gd.

 

One thing that many people of faith find really helpful is to begin each day thanking Gd. I invite you to do this. Begin each day thanking Gd that you are alive, and then find at least three other things to thank Gd for, They will be there, if you look for them. Even when things are really hard, there will be things to give thanks for. The freedom to do this is yours, here and now. Claim it.  

 

In the second reading, from Paul’s Letter to the Galatians, Paul gives us some of the most encouraging words in the whole Bible. He says that as Spirit-filled Christians we have what we need to call Almighty Gd, Creator of heaven and earth… call Almighty Gd “Father”, “my Father”. Yes, this is one of the things you can give thanks for. “Thank you Gd, that you are my true Father; you love me with fatherly love; you will always love me with a fatherly love; you long for nothing more than for me to call you Father.” The freedom to say this and mean it is yours, Claim it.

 

And in today’s gospel we can give thanks for Jesus’s birth again, and for faithful Joseph, and the rejoicing shepherds. But let us pay attention especially to Mary. Mary

“treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart”.

Again, here is something for you. You can imitate Mary. You can ponder the words of Gd, and the things of Gd, in your heart. How to? It is not a puzzle. I say start in this way: on your own, sit still. Sit still, on your own. Say to Gd: “Gd, my Father, I am here. Be with me in the way that you want to be with me, and in the ways that are good for me. I am in no hurry.” And see what happens. You are free to do this. Claim it.   

 

And, look, we are also free, free to do something creative with the fact that tomorrow is called New Year’s Day. Some traditions do use New Year as a time to recommit to Gd. They may even speak of “renewing the covenant”. A covenant in the Bible is a binding commitment. And in the Bible Gd makes covenants with Gd’s people. Gd commits himself to us, so that we can commit ourselves to him. That’s quite something, if you think about it. Gd commits himself to us, so that we can commit ourselves to him.

 

I am going now to read the words of recommitment, of the renewal of the covenant. I invite you to say them after me. At the moment, I am inviting you to say them, just to see how they feel in your mouths, to see if they form something you want to say Yes too. Because this is a serious prayer. It’s the opposite of a throwaway: “Gd, please give me what I want”. Listen out for the seriousness. There will be a chance to say them as a prayer, later in the service.

 

I am no longer my own but yours.

Your will, not mine, be done in all things,

wherever you may place me,

in all that I do and in all that I may endure;

when there is work for me and when there is none;

when I am troubled and when I am at peace.

Your will be done

when I am valued and when I am disregarded;

when I find fulfilment and when it is lacking;

when I have all things and when I have nothing.

I willingly offer all that I have and am

to serve you, as and where you choose.

Glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

you are mine and I am yours.

May it be so for ever.

Let this covenant now made on earth

be fulfilled in heaven.

Amen.[1]

 

---

[1] Common Worship: Times and Seasons, p 111. © Archbishops Council 2006

Sermon for Christmas Day - A Prison

Gospel: John 1:1-14.

I will be honest with you. I am not sure whether to begin with “please” or with “thank you”. But, actually, now I think about it, a good motto for life is: if in doubt about what to say, say thank you. It applies to human beings often, and to God always.

If in doubt about what to say to God, say thank you.

And I want to say thank you to you, my brothers. Why? Because you are here. You do not have to be here. In prison life (we know) you often have to be in certain places at certain times, or penalties follow. But none of you has to be here. The only one who has to be here is me (well, and the Officers who are kindly assisting us). That’s worth thinking about.

You have chosen freely to come here, and together we mark Christmas as one. We mark Christmas not with great feasting – I don’t have turkeys and mince pies hidden away – not with feasting, but with worship. We are here to worship. And I thank you for it. Thank you.

Christmas in prison is hard. We do not have to hide from that. I am not going to say it is a good thing to be a prisoner in prison on Christmas Day. I won’t insult you. Only, there is just this one thing, one aspect of Christmas in prison:

it just is easier to strip away the false layers.

The voices that say it is all only about partying and excesses, and getting on with everyone without any effort “because it’s Christmas”. These voices we can shut up. Or we can let them fade away.

What is left? I am going to put it simply:

what is left is the truth of the Christmas story,

the earthy story of the birth of Jesus.

You know, you know already that the story is of difficult times:

·        a difficult announcement by an angel,

·        difficult journeys,

·        a difficult search for a place to rest,

·        a difficult ruler

·        making for a difficult flight.

There weren’t any crackers or tinsel or sparkling lights. There probably wasn’t even a party, at least not one that took weeks to plan. So be it! This is the reality. And we, even here, even now, are free to embrace that reality. The real Christmas can be ours, can be yours, even here, even now. Thank you for being here. Here, where the real Christmas is.

And so to my “please”. I want to say “please” to you, brothers.

“Please… forgive me”.

Please forgive me, if you came here today expecting the whole Christmas story I have just referred to – you know, with angels and shepherds, and journeys, and Mary and Joseph, and the manger.

It’s perfectly fair that you might expect that.

Now, you do get a lot of it in our carols. But it is true that you don’t get any of it in our readings. And I am sorry about that. Sorry, but it had to be. Had to be, because in my Church the one reading you simply have to have at Christmas is the Gospel reading we have had. And that is the opening of the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God…” and so on. Why? We’ll come back to that.

After my thank you (thank you for being here)

and my please (please forgive me),

I want to add one other thing.

That is: “I wonder”.

I wonder… if you can tell me something.

I wonder if you can tell me where Jesus was born?

[Participation]

There are many answers you can give: in Israel/Palestine; in Judaea; in Bethlehem; within the family of Mary and Joseph; in a manger. But, sure, among the answers that people tend to give, we’ll always have:

in a stable.

But! But you will not find any mention of a stable in the gospels, or anywhere else in the New Testament for that matter. We in the West have tended to think about a stable, because of that reference to a manger.

What is a manger? ... A feeding trough. So animals are around. If they are not right there (they too are not actually mentioned), they must have been near enough by. As they would be in a stable.

But! But there are other possibilities.

One is that Jesus might have been born in a cave. There are caves around Bethlehem to this day, and a cave is, of course, a good place to shelter animals. It’s a natural shelter. All you may have to do is put a feeding trough in, and, there you are: an animal shelter. So was Jesus born in a cave?

Another thing to bear in mind is that, in the ancient world, families and animals often stayed under one roof. People didn’t have the money for more than one building. So, when the weather was bad enough for animals to need shelter, the animals slept in one part of the building, and the people slept in another part. What this means is: Jesus gave birth in a back room which animals would also use, not in the guest room, a guest room with some luxuries, some comfort.

So, I wonder. I wonder what you think?

Was Jesus born in a stable, a cave, or a back room?

I cannot tell you. But I also wonder this: I wonder if it makes any difference. I myself think it makes little difference. What is important is what Luke’s gospel makes very plain: Jesus was placed in a feeding trough,

because otherwise there was no room for him.

That is, I think, the most difficult part of the difficult story of Christmas.

God comes to us, to us, human beings, and we have no room for him. We give him no room. He is pushed out, pushed to a place which will do, but only just. There is no room for Jesus, who has come to help, guide, and heal us. We human beings say – all of us in different ways – to Jesus:

“No. Not here. Not with me. Go over there.

I am giving you no room.”

And there is this. This of course means that Jesus is from the beginning close to those who are also told that society has no room for them. I won’t labour this point. You get this point. It means

Jesus is from the beginning especially close to you, brothers.  

So, why must we hear, today of all days,

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God… and the Word became flesh…”?

There is a reason. A good reason.

Today (and every day) we need to hear that

the Word was (and is) God, and the Word became flesh.

Became flesh and blood like you and me.

God is God as God is God.

And God is a human being as human beings are human beings.

So what?

What this means is that when we meet with God in Jesus,

it really is God.

It is not a faint echo of God.

It is not some idea of God.

It is not even some teaching from God.

But it is God as God is God.

 

You see, Christianity is all about intimacy.

We meet with God.

You meet with God.

You are invited,

here and now (and always) to meet with God.

You are invited to be with God.

That’s the best Christmas invitation of all.

And it is for you.

 

We can say “thank you” to God in Jesus for this closeness.

We can say “please” to God in Jesus, 

that we will be helped truly to make the most of this.

We can say “I wonder” –

I wonder how God can love us so much

that God freely comes to a place where there is no room for him.

Amen.

Poem, Christmas, 2013

 

Tidings of comfort and joy, oh?

God rest you merry, revellers,

let nothing you dismay.

Your feasting will not feed your ease,

the way you muse it may.

For joy is borne by simpler stuff –

a hand held, day by day.

 

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy!

We need tidings of comfort and joy.

 

The company you wish a while

is stressed and stretched and taut.

And healing will not come

from all the alcohol you bought.

The games you play to save the day

will leave you flat or fraught.

 

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy!,

We need tidings of comfort and joy.

 

And worse, all you have wrought to win

comes when you look away.

The world is still a place of war;

hot hatred’s here to stay.

And “peace on earth” a slogan cold;

old hope set to decay.

 

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy!

We need tidings of comfort and joy.

 

Now some turn to a treasured tale,

ever more seldom told,

of how, in all the midst of this,

a babe is born: behold!

He lives the life of God alive;

he loves, tender and bold.

 

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy!

Are here tidings of comfort and joy?

 

All you who dare the dream of this

must each year ask the same:

if it is true, then how to live,

new-known, no guile nor game?

This babe is he who sees you whole,

and frees you from all blame.

 

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy!

Here are tidings of comfort and joy.

 

Now to your God sing praises

all you within this place,

and with true love and season’s cheer,

each other now embrace.

For revelry has won its rest:

receive it; do not chase.

 

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy!

Sing out tidings of comfort and joy.

Poem

 Oró sé do bheatha abhaile

My second time in Ireland

(of my fathers the land)

and the West coast

and the County Mayo (God help us).

Quite a crowd we were,

and we got on well,

and I was young

and with a young woman I loved.

During the days, each to their own.

So a smaller bunch of us were set

to climb Croagh Patrick, the mount

(as tourists, not as pilgrims - let me be clear).

Our boots still comfortably on,

up and down we went,

happily I think; I think this is what we willed.

On descending, this happened:

behind us a couple of riper years

were speaking As Gaeilge to each other;

it was their language of intimacy, and they had things to say.

I hear them now as I heard them then and

think as I thought:

this, this is the language of heaven.

The language of heaven is this, just is.

That moment of heaven was there, is here.

St Lawrence, Deacon, Martyr, and Friend of the Poor...

 

Sermon. 6 August 2023.

Feast of St Lawrence (transferred from 10 August).

 

[On the day I preached without notes, and said less than this, so as to combine the theme of St Lawrence with the Feast of the Day – whose readings we had had – Transfiguration.]

 

Today is a day of great poignancy for me. I truly hope that it is not the last time we meet, nor that it is the last time I serve you by leading worship in some capacity. But what today is is the last time I will be rota-ed to serve you according to the pattern we have had. I will be moving much nearer to my place of work.

 

So today I do want to reflect on my time with you.

How lovely, then, that I do this on your Patronal Festival, when we keep the Feast of St Lawrence.

 

Let me first of all say that, while I do from time to time, like to bring in elements of my learning (such as it is) from my various courses over the years, and most especially concerning the Bible and its languages, when it comes to St Lawrence, I can only say that I know the basics. You may very easily know more about St Lawrence than me. So today will be back to basics!

 

St Lawrence, who lived in Rome in the 3^rd century, was a deacon. It is always good for a priest to have a deacon as a focus and hero. I do have one friend who says that a priest is not a deacon. He says that priests are ordained a deacon first, and then a priest, and the diaconal ministry is as it were dispersed into the priestly ministry. It evaporates. But this is very much a minority report. Everyone else says: once a deacon, always a deacon. A deacon is a servant, not in the sense of slave, but in the sense of one who waits on tables. One who waits on tables. What a lot is said in those words! The very language suggests a courtesy, an attentiveness, a wish to respond to the others’ needs and wishes. It is not for me to say if I have managed any of that courtesy with you. And we know if anyone has waited on tables, it has been you serving me, on those rare Sundays when the boss has let me stay with you!

 

But however bad I have been at it, on this Feast of St Lawrence, we – you and I – can recommit to sitting with the question of how we share in the deacon’s role, each in our own way. As Christians we are called to serve each other and others, to be attentive to them, to be… kind.

 

St Lawrence was also a martyr. It is easy to get things wrong, when Christians speak about martyrdom. In the early centuries, Christians not infrequently spoke about longing for martyrdom. Some say in this desire for a martyr’s death, the early Christians show how they hate life, hate life in the body. Others say that is reading too much into it, and it was rather just a psychological way of coping with the fact that it was quite likely that you would face death at the hands of the enemies of the Church, in those early centuries of persecution. In any event, longing for martyrdom is something we can surely leave behind.

 

We can also get it very wrong when we speak about martyrdom in our days. We might think it is something that we have left behind. Globally, we have not. We may think of the Coptic martyrs murdered by ISIS in Libya in 2015. And unquestionably there are others barely known, or not know to us. On the other hand, we may see martyrdom or at least persecution where it does not exist. In our context, here in the UK, the Church has lost and will continue to lose some of its privileges, and much of its sense of a right to be heard and respected by all. This – let’s be perfectly clear – is not persecution. The Church of England should not “play the martyr”, as it adjusts to a new place in our nation.

 

So how do we look to our saint and martyr, Lawrence? With admiration, with gratitude for his example, his fortitude. We might also ask ourselves: is there anything about my life as a Christian which disturbs anybody? Do I run away from even a hint of opposition? I have insisted we are called to be kind. But that doesn’t mean we are called to be nice. Kindness and niceness are very different.

 

So, on this Feast of St Lawrence, maybe we all – you and me – need to sit with the question of whether we have some prophetic edge in what we say and what we do. Are we ready to say that Christ stands for things which can be troubling for the complacent, for the powerful?

 

This brings me to the most famous story about Lawrence. When the Roman prefect demanded that Lawrence handed over the riches of the Church, he distributed as many of the items as he could, and instead gathered those who were poor and needy in his own community, and said to the secular authority: “Here are the treasures of the church. You see, the church is truly rich, far richer than your emperor!”

 

You can see how this would get him into trouble. Undoubtedly, in context, this was a prophetic statement. Laurence spoke truth to power. But it’s not a statement without difficulty. From another perspective, the poor persons themselves may well have thought themselves patronised. They may not want their own suffering, perhaps their cumulative agonies, to be dressed up as something good, because it shows the Church in a good light.

 

Bluntly, I don’t think the Church has ever quite settled the matter: Do we want to help the poor, or do we want to abolish the poor? Help, or abolish? Please do hear this right. I mean: Do we want to help those who are poor, those who are the mercy of others, in this way or that, bringing in comfort in some capacity? Or do we want to change society so that no one is poor, in the sense of being at the mercy of others? Do we want to play our part in building the very Kingdom of Gd?

 

I do feel that the Bible and the Christian tradition can be read in either way. And perhaps something would be lost, if we lost the tension between the two positions. Help, or abolish. On this Feast of St Lawrence, we – you and I - can commit to sitting with the question, whether we have the balance right.

 

I will leave you with a linguistic point. (How else was I going to finish?) Lawrence come from the Latin Laurentius, meaning “laurelled”, wearing laurels. You have never let me rest on mine, and you do not rest on yours, as you care as you do for this Church, congregation, village, and benefice. I thank you for it. I thank you for your consistent welcome to me. I rejoice in it. Indeed, on this Feast of St Lawrence, let us – you and I - rejoice. Amen.

Sermon for the *Great* Feast of the Transfiguration

 

Sermon. 6 August 2023.

The Feast of the Transfiguration

Luke 9:28-36

 

[On the day I preached without notes, but the sermon followed this form.]

 

Today is a day of great poignancy for me. I truly hope that it is not the last time we meet, nor that it is the last time I serve you by leading worship in some capacity. But what today is is the last time I will be rota-ed to serve you according to the pattern we have had. I will be moving much nearer to my place of work.

 

One of the things I have done as your preacher, at least at times, is seek to question some of the classical or settled or predictable or well-worn interpretations of Bible passages. Most obviously, I have done this by drawing things out from the original languages. It occurs to me that, in the world, one word for this challenge is that I have been something of an “iconoclast”. That’s ironic however, as one thing I am not is an iconoclast, a destroyer of icons. I worship with icons and cannot imagine worshipping consistently without icons. I am then, the opposite of an iconoclast, which is (as you’ll remember) an iconodule. I am also perfectly orthodox, by the way. I’d want to affirm that it is possible to be utterly orthodox, and still find Bible passages stranger than they are normally presented as being.

 

And today is the Feast of the Transfiguration, the mountain top experience enjoyed by Peter, James, and John, when they see Jesus lit up with a brightness beyond description, and are told to listen to him. I am, you will have guessed, going to be true to form, and question some of the standard statements that preachers up and down the country will be bringing, right now.

 

First, I raise this question: Who was changed? Who was changed in this meeting. At the surface level, this is easy, as the text plainly says “while [Jesus] was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” So the change happens to Jesus. But! But this might just be from the perspective of the disciples. At a deeper level, it may be that the disciples were changed. Their eyes were strengthened to see Jesus as he already and always was. The argument here is that the brightness they saw was the brightness of Divinity, for Jesus was always fully Gd as Gd is Gd, as well as fully human as humans are humans. This position is common among Eastern Orthodox Christians. The Orthodox insist that Gd is personal, is Person, and also insist that Gd is Light, is uncreated Light, Light like no other. So the disciples were given the gift of seeing fully the Light that was there.

 

My next question: Jesus is accompanied, at least for a while, by Moses and by Elijah. Why these two? Here, if ever, there is a standard answer: Moses represents the Law, or the whole Teaching of Sinai; Elijah represents the Prophets. This has a core plausibility to it, as one way of describing the Scriptures of Jesus’ day was as “the Law/Torah and the Prophets”. But! But I am not convinced. There is no tradition of Elijah “standing for” the Prophets, before this story. So it would not be self-evident. And Elijah is not a typical Prophet. He might be said to be more a wonderworker. The first person in the Bible to be called a prophet is Abraham. The first prophet who appears in the Prophetic corpus is Samuel. The greatest Prophet who wrote a book – greatest in terms of size and in terms of importance - is Isaiah. Surely a Samuel or an Isaiah would have a better claim to “stand for” the Prophets?

 

In fact, there are other reasons why it is precisely Moses and Elijah who appear here. It is that they are both already known in the Scriptures as the Shining Ones.

 

You may remember that when Moses ascends Mount Sinai to speak with Gd as a friend speaks to a friend, his face shines (Ex 34:29ff). He doesn’t realise it, but the Israelites are in awe of the sight, so much so that Moses wears a veil over his face when speaking to them. Elijah, you may also remember, ascends into heaven, on what? A chariot of fire (2 Kings 2:9ff). And Elisha his disciple cries out with awe himself: “Father, father! The chariots of Israel and their horses!” Such brightness! So surely it makes sense if, alongside the uncreated Light of Jesus as Gd, the disciples see the reflected glory already associated with Moses, and with Elijah. Maybe they don’t “stand for” anything in the story, other than the manifold glory of Gd in the world.

 

My third question is not a detail within the story, but involves taking a step back. It is: Do we really make enough of the Feast? We are marking it on a Sunday, but that is coincidence only. Next year it will fall on a Tuesday, and will be only a lesser festival. Optional, in other words. I think, however, that it is a great Feast of the Lord. Not as important as Easter or Christmas, but arguably in the rank below that.

 

I say this because “Transfiguration” (once we see what it means, and it is no longer jargon) is a good way of describing the difference Jesus makes. I know we are used to thinking of Jesus as fulfilling the prophecies and promises of the Old Testament (the Hebrew Bible). There is certainly a place for that kind of language. But, it’s complicated. The promises and prophecies of the Hebrew Bible grow in scope as the story continues. And by the time we get to Isaiah, then certainly we are led to look forward to a world put right. A world where there is peace with justice with freedom with forgiveness with feasting. And all this is for all. That little tiny Israel enjoys these things can only mean the world is healed. Gd lives with humankind. This is not my hyperbole. It is what the promise is.

 

And (I am sorry if this shocks you)… we are not there yet. That’s not the world we live in. It didn’t come about with Jesus’ birth, or his death, or his resurrection, or with the founding of the Church at Pentecost, or with any Church movement since then. So we find we have to speak about Jesus as “the beginning of the fulfilment”, and that’s rather a different idea. So, other language to set alongside that of fulfilment is indeed… Transfiguration.

 

Jesus does not solve the problems of the world by his very presence. But he can and does transfigure lives. With Jesus, your life can know a radiance which can make all the difference. I did sow the seed of this thought with prisoners in this last week. Prisoners said of course it often does not feel like that. I agreed. In truth, for all of us, it often does not feel like that. But I think we all can have intimations of the brightness with which Jesus enlightens us and the world. And we can trust those intimations. We try them out for size, and we find they enable us to live more fully.

 

It may be that in saying this I am pushing at an open door. After all, let us all look East. Your stained glass window [of the Transfiguration] tells the story so powerfully. With Peter, we can say: “it is good for us to be here”. Certainly I say it, here and now. It has been good for me to be here. It is good for me to be here. The radiance of Christ is and has been present in this place, and not only in the stained glass. I thank you for your fellowship, fellowship which transfigures.

 

Amen.