A Harvest Festival? Really?

 

10 October, 2021, Trinity 19, Year of Mark: Worship

Amos 5:6-7, 10-15

Hebrews 4:12-16

Mark 10:17-31

 

Reflection (Sermon)

Today I’d like us to think about Harvest.

 

We may call this a Harvest Festival, even though – to state the obvious – we are not surrounded by the fruits of the harvest (the grains and the fruits and the nuts and the tins of soup and the bags of pasta), as many churches are, when they have harvest festivals.

 

You may well say that Harvest Festival is not a good theme for us, here and now.

·        You may well say that you know we are in the countryside, but fields don’t really come into view, let alone people harvesting crops in fields.

·        You may well say that, here, you don’t have the resources to bring foodstuffs for those more in need, which is also a Harvest pattern.

·        You may well say there are other themes that are more fitting. And certainly, this is the beginning of Prisons Week, and so people in churches up and down the country will be mindful of us all, and praying for us all.

·        Today is also World Homeless Day, and World Mental Health Day, and it is also Safeguarding Sunday, and more.

·        You may well say that today’s readings point us in a different direction.

·        Amos seems to be speaking of God’s judgement, of God withholding the good things around us, not helping us revel in them.

·        Jesus speaks of giving things away, of going without, of choosing (we may as well say it…) of choosing poverty. He offers this to the rich young man, and he praises his disciples who have actually done it.

 

These objections to Harvest, here and now, are well and good.

The thing is…

I suggest that there is here something

that is not necessarily always stable in Christianity.

 

On the one hand, we are all about joy,

joy in God, and joy in our lives upon earth.

As joyful people, we are meant to give thanks,

give thanks in all circumstances,

and give hearty (full-on) thanks, when we have abundance.

We are not called upon to hate this life,

to hate our life in our bodies, or as bodies.

All good gifts around us are sent from God above.

Then thank the Lord (oh thank the Lord) for all his love.

Nothing (I want to say) nothing is more Christian than this.

 

And yet… and yet…

this is not all that there is to say.

Something more must be said.

That something more… can be set out in different ways.

Let me try one.

That something more says that,

alongside our love for the gifts and joys and pleasures and comforts of this life,

all of us are also called upon to have our own adventure with God.

And adventures are things that require sacrifices.

They cost.

They take us, sometimes, to narrow places,

to places without comfort and pleasures.

Adventures mean risk.

But adventures are good things.

They give meaning.

They make us more fully who we are.

 

For some of us,

the adventure involves us choosing poverty,

choosing going without,

choosing being with those who are poor and go without.

Christianity has always said this may be the case,

has always said you may need to listen to God’s command, taking this form.

But, in truth, that’s only one way of taking on an adventure with God.

 

So the message of the day has two parts.

On the one hand,

it is always good to enjoy good things, and give thanks for good things.

It is always good to treat life as a Harvest Festival.

On the other hand, that is not all, and, alongside that,

it is always good to seek to listen

to how God may be calling you to another adventure,

an adventure for you alone, a you-shaped adventure.

 

Prisons are not always places

where thanksgiving,

or where adventure,

feel easy.

(I am not telling you anything you don’t know.)

But God is God, and is not held back by our limitations.

We heard it in today’s Gospel:

“For God nothing is impossible.”

So I dare to ask the question:

are you listening out for God’s invitation,

·        to give thanks for the harvest you do have

·        to take on the adventure you are called to?

Amen.

 

Sermon. Jacob, Israel, and Your Own Name(s)

Sermon. 20 October 2019. St Mary’s, Great Ilford.

Trinity 18 (Year C)

·       Genesis 32.22-31.

What’s in a name? For example, how does the name “St Mary’s Little Ilford?” (where I am from) relate to the name “St Mary’s Great Ilford?”… Is the former small and of no account, while the latter is grand and stands tall in the world? You’re right to offer no answer. These are of course rhetorical questions.

What’s in a name? Does it matter, for example, that I go by my middle name (I’ll leave you to guess my actual first name)? What of people who have alternative names? I’m confident that you, like me, know people of African heritage (for example), who have an English and an African name. Surely something to rejoice in there, that there is such richness of diversity in the world.

What’s in a name? Some of us were given new names at baptism or confirmation or on taking vows, the name of a saint we are aiming to follow and whose help we are seeking. Do we make the most of this?

What’s in a name? What do we make of the really quite common biblical practice, which begins in Genesis and goes forward into the New Testament, whereby Gd or a hero of faith re-names someone, gives them a new name (whether as replacement or addition), after some significant encounter or crisis.

The Bible says that life can change things for you, change things for you so radically that you come away from an experience with nothing less than a new name.

What’s in a name? You know why I am asking this now. It’s because in today’s first reading from the Hebrew Bible (from the Old, the Original Testament) Jacob is given a new name.

Jacob becomes Israel.

If I say Jacob-who-becomes-Israel is an interesting character, that is an understatement. Let us refresh our memory of what has brought him to this place, the place he finds himself in, in our reading.

Jacob is a twin. His mother, Rebecca, has a difficult pregnancy. The two brothers fight in her womb. Esau is born first, but Jacob is holding onto his heal. He wrestles, then, even at the very point of birth. The Bible says that his name, Jacob, itself means “he grasps the heel”. And indeed that is a good translation. There is a related noun (aqev) which means “a heel”. And there is a related noun (aqav), which means “to be at the heel of” – and not without menace [acted out]– and so to struggle with, to beat, to supplant.

But it’s not just a matter of language. In Genesis, Jacob really does supplant the first-born. Remember: he buys Esau’s birthright, for a bowl of lentil soup. Later, in a wholly different story, he tricks his father Isaac into giving him (Jacob) the blessing due the first-born (Esau). Esau accepts this, but is enraged. Jacob has to flee. He flees on the pretext of finding a wife from among his own people. That leads to yet another turbulent story, and Jacob finds himself not with one wife but two. He succeeds as a farmer, however, and has children with his wives, eleven of them, at this point.  

This, then, is the Jacob whom we meet today. He is coming home. Home to his father, Isaac, but also to his brother, Esau. So he is afraid. He sends his family and his possessions off the beaten track, so that he can think things through, deal with his anxiety, come to terms with things, pray things through. And he is met by another, a stranger (we are not actually told who this stranger is). They wrestle, and Jacob is judged the winner. The other blesses him, and gives him his new name, Israel. Israel is held to mean something like “He prevails against Gd”. He beats Gd. Interestingly, though, as good a translation is “Gd prevails”. Gd wins. This echoes the fact that it is not altogether clear who won the fight.

So what? What to make of this? I’d like to draw attention to a few things.

Firstly, many of us can take great hope from Jacob-Israel, who is a great hero of faith, indeed a saint. Sometimes, some of us somehow get the impression that to be a saint means to spend the morning looking like this [pious expression], and the afternoon looking like this [pious expression mirrored]. Or, more seriously, we may have a sense that a saint is someone who is always calm, placid, peaceful, unshakeable and unflustered. Some saints undoubtedly are like this. But not all. There are as many ways of being a saint as there are human beings in the world.  

Saint Jacob-become-Israel is difficult. He is fiery. He seems compelled to fight, and obsessed with rivalry. And… all is well. Not despite these things but through these things (through working these things through) he comes to be a great hero of faith, one we can rightly name our children after, whether as Israel, or Jacob, or in the fully “Anglicised” (English) form of Jacob, namely… James. If you’re fiery like Jacob-Israel, take heart!

Secondly, notice that Jacob has to be alone to be given his blessing, and to be given his vocation, that of being Israel in the world. He sends away his family, his nearest and dearest. He sends away his possessions, all that might make him comfortable during the night, or for that matter safe. There is a lesson for us here, too.

•        Some matters can only be sorted, if we choose solitude.
•        Some encounters with Gd can only come about, if we choose solitude.
•        Some discoveries about ourselves, can only come to light, if we choose solitude.

Note my emphasis on choosing. It is not just that we find ourselves alone. It’s that we set out to spend some sustained time – maybe indeed a whole night – contending with Gd in prayer. I don’t need to remind you that this was Jesus’ own practice, again and again. So let us take heart, and take note!

Thirdly, there is something you don’t see in today’s text but can find in Genesis if you read on. It is that this encounter, this wrestling match, bears fruit. To be fair, even after it, Jacob-Israel is still frightened of Esau. After all Esau comes to meet him with 400 men. Jacob-Israel arranges his family carefully for their own protection.

But! But the two brothers show no hostility. Esau actually welcomes Jacob-Israel, and Jacob-Israel says these remarkable words to his brother: “Seeing your face is like seeing the face of Gd” (Gen 33.10).

Seeing your face is like seeing the face of Gd. The interpreters debate precisely what he meant, and it is genuinely open. But we are free to choose to see these words in their full sense. Seeing your face is like seeing the face of Gd.

So we may say that Jacob-Israel,

• fiery though he be,
• sought out solitude,
•  to wrestle and wrestle and wrestle with Gd – or just perhaps with his own fieriness,
• and so he comes through to the most profound biblical truth:
•  in seeing the other, yes, in seeing the rival, yes, in seeing the difficult person, yes, in seeing the enemy, we truly do see the image of Gd?

This is a core truth, one, frankly, we cannot be reminded of enough.

I will say one more thing. What if Gd were saying to you:

“Come away, and I will tell you your new name. It is not a name for your passport, or even for your neighbours to call you by. It is a secret name. It is between you and me. It tells you what your truest vocation is.”

Would you come away?

What would Gd tell you?

I invite you to seek to find out.

Amen.  

Sermon. The Blessed Virgin Mary

Sermon. St Mary’s, Little Ilford. 15 August 2019

The Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Luke 1.46-55

“What is the most boring way to begin a sermon on the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary?”

“We don’t know Patrick, but we’re sure you’re about to remind us!”

Well, we’ll all have different answers, as we all have a different “back catalogue” of sermons. One, for me, is to begin thus:

“What a tragedy! Christians should unite in admiration for and gratitude to Mary, the Mother of Jesus, for all she accomplished. So how tragic that Christians are in fact divided over her; she is a cause for hostility.” That sort of thing. Usually the preacher goes on to expound their own views of Mary – which turn out to be those around which all Christians should unite.

If we think of Mary as a source of division between Christians, we probably think of rows between Catholics and Protestants. Different answers to such questions as: Was there anything special about Mary’s own birth? Did Mary, after Jesus’ birth, go on to have a normal married life? Was there something special about Mary’s death? What titles can we give Mary? Is she (for example) “Queen of Heaven”, or just a Christian among Christians? Such matters - all of which I propose now to leave to one side.

You may not know that there were controversies about Mary long, long before the Reformation. Already in the early Church, there was a heated debate about titles for Mary. Everybody agreed that Mary was the Mother of the Lord Jesus. So she could be called the “Mother of the Lord”. But could she also be called “the Mother of Gd”? The Mother of Gd.

Brothers and sisters, tonight I can reveal for the first time that this controversy played itself out anew – in this very parish, when I arrived, and Fr Brian and I looked together at the liturgy. We were looking at our services, and in particular the eucharistic prayer, the whole of the prayer over the bread and the wine. You’ll know it ends with mentions of saints. Brian wanted “we, in the company of Mary the Mother of our Lord, St Michael and all the saints, may praise and glorify you”; I wanted “we, in the company of Mary, the Mother of Gd…” and so on.

Brian won. Unsurprisingly. And I did and do take his point. To call Mary the Mother of Gd feels strange. Because, well, obviously, in human life parents are always older than their children; parents come first. So to call Mary the Mother of Gd makes you feel that Mary is older than Gd, which makes no sense at all. In truth, even people (like me) who do like to call Mary the “Mother of Gd” don’t think it’s the best expression. The original Greek is actually Theotokos (I like the sound of the word – you can say it too – Theotokos). It actually means “the Bearer of Gd”, “She who bore Gd”, “She who gave birth to Gd”. You see: Gd is eternal, outside of time; within time, Mary is indeed the one who bore Gd, who gave birth to Gd. I think this is right, and it’s the argument that won in the early Church (and, by the way, Brian would agree).

If it is a cliché to say that Mary should be a source of unity between Christians and it’s devastating that she has been a source of division, then (like so often) it’s a cliché because it is true. In truth, we all have so much to learn from Mary. Mary is present at important moments, without saying a word. She ponders things in her heart. That’s vital in itself. But let us on this occasion look at the four times she does speak.  

First of all, she speaks to the Angel Gabriel, saying, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” and, then, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Here – well, I am going to say it – here we see Mary as a prophet, or like a prophet. When the Word or the Spirit of Gd comes to a prophet in the Old Testament, the prophet almost always objects or raises questions. Mary is the same. But Mary swiftly accepts her vocation. “Let it be with me according to your word…”. Don’t think of Mary here as some shy and timid person. Rather you can imagine her shouting a huge “YES!” back at Gabriel, a Yes that changes everything.

Second, she sings her great hymn of triumph with Elizabeth (which we have just heard): “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” No shyness of timidity there. The song of a revolutionary, more like (another true cliché). So, again, I say: Mary the prophet.

Third, the curious incident of Jesus the child left in the Temple. Mary says, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” It’s hard not to feel a sense of exasperation here. So here we have a unique story of the family of Jesus, which powerfully shows us just how human they all were. They misunderstood each other; they bewildered each other by seeing things in different ways – just like every other family.

These are the times Mary speaks in the Gospel of Luke. She also speaks once in the Gospel of John. I think you’ll remember where. At the wedding at Cana. She tells Jesus “they have no wine”. She says to the servants: “Do whatever he tells you.” Do whatever he tells you.

Actually, you know, I’d want to say that is a good summary of the Christian Gospel. Come to know Jesus. Be with others who know Jesus (so you check out that you have got it right). Stick with others who know Jesus even when you don’t see eye-to-eye, as getting to know him is not in all ways easy (how could it be? It’s a real relationship!). But it should feel like a party (a wedding feast), this being with Jesus. Go on getting to know Jesus and his party and, then… do whatever he tells you.

This means of course there are as many ways of being a Christian as there are Christians. Each of us is called to be – and called to be only – the disciple Gd wants us, personally, to be. Do whatever he tells you.

I dare to hope that that that is an exciting idea for you (as it is for me). That you have  your own unique vocation; it is yours alone. Your vocation is not limited by human expectations. Not those of the institution, nor of those around you, nor even your own. Go on getting to know and staying with Jesus at his party, and then do whatever he tells you.

Among Mary’s many gifts to us is that she was the first to give this exciting commandment. We can thank her for it. May we all find Mary exciting. Maybe one day we’ll even hear an exciting sermon about her.

Amen.  

Sermon. Leave the Dead to Bury the Dead? No, Jesus, No!

1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford. 26 June 2016

Trinity 5 (Year C)

Luke 9.51-61

The last time I preached I suggested we as a nation were celebrating the Queen's Birthday and a range of other things, which suggested harmony in all our diversity. What a difference a fortnight makes! Today it looks much more like we are a country divided. Indeed the divisions are themselves manifold:

• between young and old;
• between London and the provinces;
• between the four nations which make up our United Kingdom;
• and between those who have confidence in the political processes we've been used to, and those who have lost all confidence, perhaps.

Our lawmakers, negotiators and commentators will need cool heads, imaginative minds and generous hearts, if we are to make new national arrangements work. And, let's be honest, we as a Church (at whatever level) need to redouble our efforts to pray for our nation and its leaders.

One thing we won't need in the coming days is more sound-bites. You know - reducing

• complicated decisions,
• judgement calls,
• balances of arguments based on probabilities
• and genuine differences of conscience

to simple slogans.

Sound-bites, and simple slogans. The Church is not free of them of course. Indeed, some people use the Bible precisely to find sound-bites and simple slogans. They are typically meant to encourage us. If you go to a retreat house, there'll probably be a picture of a beautiful sunset on the wall and some Bible quotation about Gd being in charge and all being well. And there are some Christian traditions which have 'promise boxes'. Heard of them? A box with bits of paper in it, on which are written different positive Bible verses. Each member of the family can then pull out a Bible promise, before Sunday lunch.

I suspect you don't have a promise box. But, still, it's quite hard to fully shake off a sense that the Bible is a 'book of quotations'. That if we only had more time, learning or holiness, we could sit down and read the Bible, sentence by sentence, and find good things to build up our faith in every single sentence. But is that right?

You have realised I am hinting it is not right. It's not the case that the Bible just consists of encouraging sentences, to be consumed like a spiritual tube of Pringles, one after the other, on and on. No. The Bible is often hard to understand. It comes from an alien time and an alien place. And even people who have spent their lives studying the languages cannot always (cannot often) tell you what it actually means. There's no point hiding from this.

And... we have an example of one of those phrases which are hard to understand, and very hard to find encouraging, in today's gospel.

• Jesus says to a fellow Jew: 'follow me'.
• They reply: 'first let me go and bury my father'.
• Jesus, then: 'Let the dead bury their own dead'.

Or: 'leave [or even 'abandon'] the dead to bury their dead'.

What did Jesus mean?

Well, first let's be clear just how shocking this response from Jesus is. Throughout the world, dealing with the mortal remains of people who have died is important. No society simply leaves corpses to decay where they are (or rather, when they do, it is a measure of the horrific chaos they've descended to). All cultures have strong expectations and rituals about the right way of disposing of dead bodies - whether that means burial, cremation, or carrying off to a special place high in the mountains, and so on – and it's taboo/forbidden to go against them.

But no culture makes more of this than Judaism. There is a presumption, from Abraham and Sarah on, in favour of burial. And dealing properly with the dead is one of the most important of Gd's commandments. Failure to perform it brings shame. The rabbis stressed this. They pointed out how often Gd commands us to deal kindly and justly with the poor. And the poorest of the poor are the dead: not only do they not have money; they don't even have breath. What is more (continued the rabbis) the best kind of service is offered without any expectation of a return or thanks. And when we show proper respect to a dead person, we can be sure of this: they are not going to thank us or do us a favour back. So it's the ultimate good deed.

This means, both because every society has a horror of leaving dead bodies un-cared-for, and because in Jewish society, care for the dead is a solemn duty, and care for your own parents when they die is a family task that takes priority over anything else, today, Jesus shocks.

'Leave [or abandon] the dead to bury their dead.'

What did he mean?

We don't know. There are no details in the story to help us see the context and work out what was really going on. It is an encounter as stark and bare as it is shocking.

We don't know, but some suggestions are often made. One is that the first reference is - or both references are - not actually to the literally dead, but to the 'spiritually dead', meaning people who are not at all drawn to Jesus. There are those who feel compelled to follow Jesus, and there are those who are unmoved. And you have to decide which group you are in.

This is possible of course. But one problem with it is that it does seem to mean that Jesus is spectacularly insensitive. If anyone were to say to us: 'I've got to bury a relative', we would not say 'Ah, that gives me a good illustration on how to live properly, how to be Christian'. No. We'd find some words of consolation and offer help.

So indeed another interpretation is that nobody is really literally dead in this scenario. The person's father isn't dead. He may be seriously ill. But this means that what the person is asking for is not permission to perform a quick ritual but 'indefinite leave' from following Jesus, while they tend for his father. He is then asking to join-yet-not-join the disciples in their work. And it is that double-mindedness Jesus is objecting to. So he finds a colourful way to ask the person if they are serious. Or, even, on this reading, the father isn't ill, and the person called to follow is inventing an excuse which they think will work, will be unanswerable. They are fibbing, and Jesus is calling them on it.

Again, either of these is possible. But it is pure surmise. There's nothing in the text to require such a reading. And we might still ask: Why then if it is so, did Jesus not simply say: 'But your father isn't dead'? Why instead this phrase that rings out through the centuries? A phrase which, taking the words at their most literal and straightforward, every Christian community everywhere has always ignored:

'Leave [or abandon] the dead to bury their dead.'

Well, I offer one more interpretation. It says this. Jesus (or Luke, who wrote it down) knows how difficult the saying is. Indeed, it seems horrible, and calls us to the impossible. That is neither accidental, nor regrettable. It's actually the point. Humanly speaking, the Christian life is impossible. It calls for an abandonment of all comfort, security, custom and decorum. When the call from Christ comes, it is utterly urgent, and relativises everything, absolutely everything else. As Jesus in another place says: 'Greet no one on the way'. What we actually do to care for dead bodies is not the issue here. Not remotely. It is rather that we feel ourselves shocked to the core by Jesus's radical message. Not 'gentle Jesus, meek and mild', but 'fierce Jesus, rude and upsetting'.

In other words, it is there to get us to face with all starkness the question:

Are we willing to find Jesus upsetting?

Given that Jesus is so prepared to shock,

that Jesus is not to be domesticated,

that he does not offer us simple rules to live decently

but calls us on an all-demanding adventure into the unknown,

do we (do we, the readers and hearers or this gospel) do we today...

leave Jesus, or do we remain with Jesus?

In another context, it's a question we are all very tired of, for sure.

But, given what Jesus says, it is today's question.

Amen. 

Sermon for Lent 1: (Yet more) on the Joys of Lent

Sermon. 14 February 2016. St Mary Magdalene's, East Ham

Lent 1 (Year C)

A non-apology. Here I repeat themes and anecdotes I have mentioned previously, including at the Ash Wednesday service, immediately below, and in previous years. I do not apologise for this. I am speaking to different gatherings. Also, the idea of Lent as a quietly joy-oriented season, for it promotes a 'high anthropology' (as they say), is one I myself have not heard in sermons other than mine.

Deuteronomy 26.1-11

Romans 10.8b-13

Luke 4.1-13

Let me begin with thanks. First, I thank you for your invitation to me today. It's a pleasure for me to be with you; I like to get to know the church communities in the area, which is still relatively new to me. Second, thank you for not greeting me at the door with a big bunch of red roses and a Valentine's card. This for two reasons: first, in the church calendar this is not Valentine's Day (it is the First Sunday of Lent, and if it were not Sunday, it would actually be the Feast of St Cyril and St Methodius); second, because it happens that I am from Yorkshire, and so red roses do very little for me. I associate them with Lancashire. If anything I'd be looking for white roses of the House of York.

After those thanks, I wonder, though, if I should now offer an apology. An apology for lowering the mood, in that I have just stressed that Lent takes priority over Valentine's Day. I am going to stop short of giving that apology... because am not at all convinced that Lent itself is actually a gloomy, negative, joyless season.

Let me tell you a true story. I was at a religious house (I won't name it) one Ash Wednesday. The congregation was gathered by the altar in a large arc ready for the ashing. The priest came to the first candidate and intoned: 'Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return; turn away from Christ and be faithful to sin'. There was a titter. But! But not only did he say those unfortunate words to the first person, he said the same to everybody there. So by the end, everybody in church – apart from the nonplussed priest – was doubled-up and pretty close to hysterics.

Since I won't name the priest, no one need be embarrassed, still less humiliated in the re-telling. My point is solely this: I am suggesting that it might even be a good thing to enter Lent feeling mirth. Lent is a 'solemn' season in the rather technical sense. But that doesn't mean – at all – it is about feeling bad about ourselves. On the contrary, it is about strength and hope. We are to be self-reflective, yes, but also, even now, oriented towards joy. This for (at least) three reasons.

First, the words 'Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return' do not mean: 'You're so rotten you deserve to die'. No. Rather, they mean: 'Remember that you are mortal, that your life is limited, is bounded'. This means you are here for only a span of time. You are unique and unrepeatable. Unrepeatable and unique. And every moment you experience as your unique self is itself unique and unrepeatable.

So you are precious. No one in the universe is more precious than you. Others are as precious as you, including those people you can't stand. True. But that takes nothing away from the fact that no one is more precious than you. No one else can live your life. So make the most of it. And we make the most of our lives not by desperately chasing after pleasure. (Think about those people who have tried it; it just doesn't work.) Rather we make the most of our lives by finding our calling (inasmuch as we can) and committing to it (as best we can). So – what are you waiting for? - is the Lenten question.

Second, the words (let me take care to get it right...) 'Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ' remind us that Christ is already here, waiting for us. We do not have to become good to earn his attention, good will or rewards. Rather, all we have to do is turn. And turn we all can, however clumsily. So we already have everything we need to become holy, if we but trust in this. You see how this is not about lowering self-esteem. True self-esteem (not pride) can only be enhanced once we realise Gd is offering us holiness. Just turn!

Third, these things are true because Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and offering forgiveness and feasting, as we see from the New Testament resurrection accounts. So every day – including even Ash Wednesday and Good Friday – is also Easter. There is no moment that is not also Easter. The saint who saw this most clearly was the Russian St Seraphim of Sarov, who, against all the church fasting rules, would stand on the steps of the church on Good Friday even, munching his forbidden sausages and greeting everyone with 'Christ is risen!' Or: 'My joy! Christ is risen!' This is what St Paul is reminding us in today's second reading. We believe that Jesus is Lord, not because we have a list of criteria for Lordship which it turns out Jesus meets. Rather we trust that he is Lord because we trust that Gd has raised him from the dead in such a way as reveals his Lordship. It all begins in the resurrection. All of it – including Lent.

So, Lent is a positive season. It is not a season of exuberance; all of that will come at Easter. But it is a season of quiet, reflective joy, where our hopes for ourselves and our capacity to change and grow are at the forefront of our attention. I say again: it is a call to make the most of our lives, by fulfilling our calling. We are given robust hints how to do this in today's readings.

The first reading from Deuteronomy, is itself about feasting. It says we must embed our feasting in thanksgiving, in gratitude. We must say thank you to Gd for the comforts and delights we have. Not because Gd needs our thanks, but because we will go of the rails if we do not give thanks.

But there is more to it. Woven into our thanksgiving is the call to tell our own story or stories. See: 'A wandering Aramean was my ancestor...' and his story is told, as part of our story. This is not accidental or incidental. We will only know our calling if we can give as authentic an account as we can of where we have come from. We don't offer our autobiography to every passing stranger. But we do look, in our lives of faith, for people and contexts where we can tell it as it was, so as to tell it as it is.

And so to today's gospel. Here is the hard part; I don't hide that. If we are to make the most of our lives by being true to our calling, we had better know that we will face temptation; we will feel real, existential, all-the-way-down doubt. Jesus faced it; we will face it in some measure. 'If you are the Son of Gd... if...', the devil says to Jesus repeatedly. Remember, Jesus has just heard, at his baptism, the very Voice from heaven telling him in no uncertain terms that he is the Son. Yet he cannot bask in that reassurance. On the contrary, he is led into the wild places, and has to come to a place where he truly knows it for himself. Through temptation and doubt. If...

There are limitless variations on this diabolical 'if'.

If you had faith, you would be healed.

If we were a true Christian community, we'd be growing in numbers dramatically.

If I were a proper Christian, I wouldn't find prayer so dry and uninspiring.

If we were a proper Church, our leaders would be able to outwit the media and our opponents.

And so on.

These are not doubts of an intellectual or rational kind. Such doubts are a vital part of faith. But these are doubts which question our ability, our worthiness to be called by Gd, connected to Gd. Such doubts we must resist, as Jesus resisited before us, so that we can so resist.

So, brothers and sisters, I wish you a serious but also a joy-oriented Lent.

Joy, because you are precious.

Joy, because you already have all that you need to turn to Christ and so become holy.

Joy, because Christ is risen from the dead, and there is no time and no place that is not Easter.

Joy, because by Gd's grace you can come to know and own your own worth, worthiness to be called by Gd, because it is Gd's will to call you.

Joy, because Gd is, with or without roses, the true lover of all.

Amen.

The pictures are of the Church of St Mary Magdalene, East Ham, and are, in turn, (1) the sanctuary, (2) the 'window' onto the Anchorite's cell (currently unoccupied) and (3) 'a warning against drunkenness' - a person becoming a monkey on the reception of wicked hops. 

Intercessions, Advent 2.

Interecessions for the Second Sunday of Advent

John the Baptist cries out: 

'Prepare the way of the Lord'

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

God our Father, the Heavenly One,

you call us to prepare your way.

We ask for your blessing upon your Church.

Free us from self-regarding trouble-makers,

but give us the true prophets we need,

in the spirit of John the Baptist,

and at whatever cost 
to our customs and comfort.

Guide Justin our Archbishop,

Stephen our Bishop

and Peter his bishop for us;

Fr Brian and all who minister to us.

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

God our Father, the Heavenly One,

you call us to prepare your way.

We ask for your blessing upon your world,

that it urgently seeks and eagerly finds the ways of peace.

We renew our prayers for the peace of Jerusalem,

and the peace of Damascus, Beirut, Baghdad,

and all places of conflict, terror, and emnity.

Guide our Parliament, and our Armed Forces,

and all people of influence,

that they and we work for the common good,

and for the sustainable future of this globe, your creation.

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

God our Father, the Heavenly One,

you call us to prepare your way.

We ask for your blessing upon our parish, borough and city.

May there be peace, tranquillity and good will on our streets.

Challenge those in danger of falling in love with violence

as a solution to anything.

Guide the leadership of the Froud Centre,

our councillors and all people of influence in this place.

Give your loving assistance to all who fear the dark and the cold;

all for whom Christmas is a threat and not a delight;

all who are homeless, insecurely housed, lonely or isolated.

Warm our hearts to do your will, in practical ways, in this place.

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

God our Father, the Heavenly One,

you call us to prepare your way,

you who are our Healer.

Console and shelter those in our nation

currently caught up in floods.

We ask for your prayers for all who are longing for healing,

as they are unwell or experience dislocation of any kind.
And by name...

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

God our Father, the Heavenly One,

you call us to prepare your way,

you who are eternal

and who love us with an eternal love

conquering death.

We ask for your prayers for all who will die today,

especially those who will die alone, unprepared, in agony or in war.

Among those who have died recently...

and those whose year's mind occurs around this time...

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

God our Father, the Heavenly One,

you call us to prepare your way.

Now and in the week ahead

so prompt each of us, as your disciples,

to be ready to prepare and walk in your way,

the way you set out for us.

V: God, we wait for you.

R: In you is our hope.

Merciful Father...