* Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14 * 2:18-23 and Psalm 49:1-12 * Colossians 3:1-11 * Luke 12:13-21

Have you ever bought new things to organise and hold your old things in order to make room for more things?

Do you sometimes find and bring home “good boxes” knowing that someday you’ll probably have some stuff to put in those boxes?

Lots of shops that sell storage containers and storage businesses thrive on that kind of thinking.

“Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”

Have you ever been so envious of another’s life that you were unable or unwilling to celebrate his or her successes, abilities, or good fortune? Have you ever looked at others and said to yourself, “What about me? That’s not fair. Why isn’t that me?”

“Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”

Has the grammar of your life ever been predominately in the first person singular, I? I want, I need, I did, I hope, I achieved, I accomplished, I will. I, I, I.

“Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”

Have you ever bought something to make yourself feel better? Maybe because you were sad, lonely, angry, scared. You wanted a new life or a new feeling more than a new thing, but you bought it anyway.

“Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”

If any of this sounds familiar, or if you answered yes, or even if you didn’t but you understand what I am talking about, then you just might know something about greed in your own life.

I say that not as a judgment or a criticism but in recognition that I, and maybe you too, can be as much a barn builder as the man in the parable Jesus tells in today’s gospel (Luke 12:13-21).

A few years ago, Betty, a priest who was a friend of mine, was about to retire. She invited me to come and look through the shelves of books in her study that she needed to get rid of because she was moving out of the rectory into her own much smaller house.

I was quite excited because I knew she had some great books. After a couple of hours of pouring over the shelves I had filled six boxes of books and loaded them into the back of the car.

When I arrived home with my new books I was thrilled. When Peter came out to help me unload he was not so thrilled. “Where will we put them all?” he asked. I began telling him my plans for more bookshelves, more shelves in the office and more shelves in the music room. “There is another option,” he said. I interrupted. “No,” I said, “I’m not getting rid of any of my books. I need them all!”

“Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”

As Jesus warns, there are all kinds of greed. It might be books, shoes, or some other tangible thing.

It might be amassing money, land, or other form of wealth.

But greed can also be about time, attention, approval, love, knowledge, power, control, being right, being in charge, or a thousand other things.

Ultimately, though, greed is not really about any of these things. They are just the symptoms or pointers to a deeper issue.

The issue is not about quantity, but a condition of the heart.

Greed is really just a way of dealing with our own feelings of deficit and emptiness. It’s not so much about having enough but about being enough.

When we believe ourselves to be deficient, when we lose belief in ourselves, when we feel we are not enough, then we can become greedy. We use things and other people to fill the hole inside us.

Greed deceives and convinces us that if we just have more ________ then we’ll be ________. Fill in the blanks with whatever it might be for you.

For example:

If I have more money than I will have a more secure future. The real issue, however, might be fear, uncertainty, or the unpredictably of life.

If I get more books then I’ll have more knowledge and answers. People will see me as studious and intelligent.

If I can get more of your time and attention then I’ll feel accepted, important, and relevant.

If I can gain more power and control then I’ll be safe and respected. No one can hurt me.

Greed uses external things to deal with internal matters and it rarely works.

It leaves us wanting more, always seeking the next pound, the next book, the next word of approval. The thing is that greed steals and deprives us of what we most want. Greed robs us of our lives.

That doesn’t mean that possessions are inherently bad or wrong.

The antidote to greed is not necessarily in clearing out the cupboards, throwing away our books, or giving away our belongings, though in some cases that might be a necessary starting point.

The real work is interior work. Greed shows us to be living in poverty towards God. The antidote to greed then is to live in richness towards God.

That means that we must invest in ourselves, in each other, and the world in the same ways in which Jesus invested himself in us; through love, mercy, compassion, justice, hope, courage, acceptance, truth, beauty, generosity.

This is the wealth of God. This is the life God shares and invests in us through Jesus Christ. So to live in richness towards God begins with knowing that we already are God’s beloved treasure.

There is freedom in that. It is the freedom to live richly towards others and the world. It reveals that there is enough. It declares my life to be as important and valuable as yours. It eliminates the need for comparison with and judgment of myself and others. Being takes precedence over having.

I can’t help but wonder if greed might not be at the core of the political vitriol, the violence in today’s world, and the disfunction and hurt in so many of our relationships.

When greed is present in our lives, it robs us of God’s wealth. The boxes, shelves, and cupboards of our lives are already full. We have no need, no desire, no room for God. It isolates us from self, others, and God. Greed works its deception and turns us back on ourselves and the grammar of our life soon becomes first person singular.

I know what I will do.

I will pull down my barns.

I will build larger barns.

I will store my things in my new barns.

I will relax.

I will eat.

I will drink.

I will be merry.

When that happens greed has robbed me of you and the possibility of us. There is no second or third person. There is only me, a “fool” Jesus says in the parable; a fool who closes the barn door after the thief has escaped with my life.

“Life does not consist in the abundance of possessions,” Jesus says. Somewhere deep within we already know this. We really do. This is not a new message for us. Here’s why I say that.

Just think for a moment about a child you have known. If you are a parent, just think about the day you held your child or grandchild for the very first time. Think about the times you pulled him or her close and whispered your dreams into tiny ears. For those of us who are not parents, just recall the last child you saw baptised. Recall the day a friend introduced you to his or her newborn child. Recall the faces of school children on the playground. Do you remember that day? Can you picture their faces?

What were your greatest hopes and dreams for that child? What were your sincerest prayers for his or her life? What did you desire more than anything else for that little one?

Was it a big fancy house? A shelf full of books? A wardrobe full of shoes and handbags? Did you pray that they would always be on the winning team, that they would be rich and wealthy? Did you hope they would be number one in their class, or that they would be more powerful, important, and successful than everyone else? No, that’s probably not what you hoped and prayed for that child.

Why weren’t those your first concerns? Because something in you already knew that “life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” And if you know that to be true for them you know it to be true for yourselves. You wanted more for that child.

I’m betting you prayed that child would find meaning and purpose in their life. You hoped their life would be filled with joy. You wished them a world of peace. You prayed they would look in the mirror and see their own beauty, that they would trust their own goodness, and that they discover their own holiness. You prayed they would find that special one and know what it is like to love and be loved unconditionally. You wished them to imagine all the possibilities for their life.

The reason those things were your prayers, hopes, and wishes is because somewhere deep within, you know and want those same things for your life. You touched your own richness towards God. You caught a glimpse of the treasure that you are and want to be, the treasure God knows you to be already.

Can you imagine if we lived that way? How different our lives could be? What possibilities that would create in our relationships?

“Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.” Remember that you are Gods treasure and so, each and every day – live in richness towards Him.

Genesis 18:20-32 and Psalm 138 * Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19) * Luke 11:1-13

“What’s in a name?”

A question that many of us will have heard many times. But I wonder, do you know where that question was first asked – or at least first written down?

Of course, you may guess when we add the words that follow –

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet”.

The well known line, spoken by William Shakespeare’s character Juliet when expressing her view that the feud between her family and that of her Romeo (the Montagues and the Capulets) should not prevent their love for one another.

But for some people, their family name proudly identifies who they are, which tribe they belong to and can even hint at the values that they will most probably uphold.

Family names such as Baker, Taylor and Smith hint at a profession in a family’s history, whereas Windsor, Thornton or Stanford claim a historic family connection with a great estate.

But what does talking about being part of a particular family have to do with today’s Gospel?

If we look at the Gospel only literally – well, probably not very much.

If we read it only literally, we’ll be tempted to say that this Gospel gives us two things. It gives us the exact words of a prayer to say, and then it tells us that all we have to do is pray hard enough and long enough and we can get God to give us what we want. But reading those few verses of this Gospel literally can lead to real frustration and heartbreak when we come up against hard things in life. “I asked, but I didn’t receive what I wanted. I knocked but that door wasn’t opened.”

But we should realise that this reading is not actually a “how-to” reading. It’s not intended to give us a recipe of sayings that we can call on when we want or need something. We need to look deeper, to take a look at these few verses in the context of this whole section of Luke’s Gospel, and then we’ll see that we’re actually getting a whole lot more.

These few verses are part of a whole picture given to us in Luke, a picture that tells us something very important about what it means to be a part of God’s family, to be the people of God. Just think back to the last two Sundays’ Gospels? First, we heard the parable of the Good Samaritan. That story reminded us that it’s through our actions, our works, the way we treat others, that we show we understand we’re living in the kingdom of God. We do things in a certain way because we understand the lessons Jesus taught about how those who claim to be his followers ought to act.

Then last week we heard again the story of Martha and Mary. Jesus was not putting one sister above the other. He was reminding us that we must support our actions by prayer. We must also constantly renew and strengthen ourselves to do God’s will by listening to God’s word and sharing together in prayer.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is continuing his teaching about what it means to be his disciples. These disciples have heard Jesus teach others; they may have heard him speak to Martha and Mary. Now they want Jesus to teach them to pray, too. And here’s where things get interesting. Our English translation says, “When you pray, say . . .. ” But remember that what we read this morning is a translation of the original Greek text. If we go back to it, we find that this verse could be translated, “When you pray, you are saying . . .. ” And that gives us something more to think about.

Remember that Jesus was talking to Jews, to his own people. The prayer that we have come to call “the Lord’s Prayer” is not an exclusively Christian prayer. It’s certainly not a “me-and-Jesus” prayer. Any devout Jew could pray these same words today, and many did pray exactly this way in Jesus’ time. Jesus was reminding his listeners that they already knew how to pray; they’d been doing it all their lives. He was making them conscious again of the outline or the form of a prayer that maybe had become too familiar.

Then he went on to give them an example of how prayer ought to affect us. We mustn’t make the mistake of turning the story of the neighbour and the bread into an allegory. We can’t make God the neighbour and us the person who needs some food in the middle of the night. That’s not the point of the story. The point is that, if we are members of God’s family, we’re bound to act in a certain way.

Take a good look at the verses we’ve turned into contemporary hymns. The Gospel says, “Ask and it will be given to you.” Ask whom? “Seek, and you will find.” Seek where? “Knock and it will be opened.” Knock where? Too often we say, “God is the answer,” and then we try to set things up as a me-and-Jesus vertical line.

What would it be like if we all realised that we have to be a part of this prayer, that if we’re part of this family then we need to be the ones who are asked, and we are going to be the ones who are sought out by the needy, and we are the ones who must open our doors. What would it be like if we really opened our hearts and our doors not only to people in need outside the church, but to each other, inside the church, giving and receiving the same kind of love Jesus modelled for us? If we can say that this really is who we are, then we’re working out what this Gospel means for us as people of God who happen to be Christians, who happen to be Episcopalians, living and working in this place.

So this Gospel may be doing for you what it was doing for those who were gathered listening to Jesus. It may be reminding you that yes, this is how we pray. We don’t need to be doing anything outlandish or extraordinary. But we do need to keep our prayer in front of our eyes, as it were. We need to remember that God is the holy One. That means that we need to remember that, while God does provide for us, we need to reach out to others and mirror God to them. We need to forgive and be forgiven. We need to remember that, however good we are, we still fail, we are still sinners, all of us, but that God forgives us. If God forgives us, and we are God’s people, then shouldn’t we forgive each other? When we are open to the unconditional forgiveness of God, then we will come to be known as a group of people who welcome the stranger and the sinner.

So it’s exciting, really! We belong to the whole of the Gospel of Luke. We might see ourselves sometimes as Samaritans, sometimes as Marthas or Marys, even sometimes as priests and Levites, but above all we should see that we’re a community of faith together. We’re people of prayer living in the kingdom of God.

This kingdom, as Jesus constantly taught, is here and now. By our baptism, we’ve promised to live a different life – the type of life God would live, the kind of life God did live in Jesus. A life that looks to God through praying together and reading the Scriptures, through our liturgies, and through our sharing in the Eucharist. It’s not an easy life, but as Paul said in Colossians, “As you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

* Genesis 18:1-10a and Psalm 15 * Colossians 1:15-28 * Luke 10:38-42

We start with a trick question for you today: Are you a Mary or a Martha?

If you have ever spent time reading or listening to interpretations of today’s gospel passage, you probably understand the dichotomy implicit in the question. Martha, we often say, is the “active” one, rushing around, busying herself with the demanding practicalities of life. Mary, on the other hand, is the “contemplative” one, resting attentively at Jesus’ feet, engaged in a more conventionally prayerful, intellectual encounter with her Lord.

Two sisters, two followers of Jesus, and, we are told, two diverging possibilities for discipleship, with Mary’s prayerful receptiveness being “the better part” and, therefore, the one to which we are usually taught to aspire.

It’s not surprising that we tend to engage with the story in this way, as a sort of spiritual personality test. And don’t we love personality tests. Consider the enduring popularity of frameworks and tools that measure and compare our dispositions, from astrological signs to the Enneagram to those random Facebook quizzes that reveal which dog breed or Disney Princess you resemble. (And by the way, I am both a Papillon and Princess Elsa from Frozen).

We are and always have been—in ways both meaningful and absurd—people desperately seeking a glimpse of ourselves. We sift through our habits and tendencies for some definitive indicator of who we are, some solid thing at our core, a name by which we might be distinguishable in this increasingly crowded and confusing world.

And so, when we hear Luke’s Gospel today, we might ask ourselves: which one are you? Martha or Mary? Busy or mindful? Striving or tranquil? Perhaps, as you hear the question right now, you can already feel the pressure of having the right answer, of measuring up, of choosing that “better part.”

But before you get too lost in all of that, remember what was said at the outset: it’s a trick question. It is a false choice.

It is false, quite simply, because it is not the choice that Jesus, by way of this text, asks us to make. Jesus is not setting the sisters against one another, nor is he creating a hierarchy of models of discipleship. The dichotomies that we read into the text are in fact our own fabrications, borne of our own desire to render the world understandable through categories and labels. We do this all the time!

This is not Jesus’ agenda.

When he tells Martha that Mary has “chosen the better part” he is not challenging Martha’s “personality,” nor is he even rejecting Martha’s present busyness, but is instead gently calling her back to the fullness of herself, reminding her of both the ground of her being and the telos, the purposeful endpoint, of all of this good, hard, and necessary work: namely, himself.

Martha lives and serves, as we all do, in the name of Jesus, the One who has knocked upon her door and who now lives in the midst of her activities. It is his holy name that imbues her practical work with luminous significance. The cooking and the cleaning and the mending and the tending of small, daily things—all of this holds the possibility of divine service, but only when those things are done in mindfulness of God’s ever-present love. That mindfulness is what we must bring to the table as disciples, and so Jesus simply wants Martha not to lose sight of him, knowing, as he does, how easy it is to become “worried and distracted by many things.”

What he offers, then, is not a competition between Mary and Martha as archetypes of greater and lesser discipleship, nor a distinction between the relative virtues of being and doing, but instead the continuous and crucial choice that each of us must make, in all that we do, between remembering Jesus or forgetting him. This is a Gospel story that calls us to remember. This is a Gospel story in which Martha is asked—as we are—to do this—all of this, everything—in remembrance of him.

And how badly we need that reminder, especially now, caught up as we are in the continuous maelstrom of those “many things” that trouble the world around us. How tempting it can be to look at the state of the world, or even the state of the Church, and to feel a slow panic begin rise within, repeating to ourselves like a mantra, or a plea: more to be done, more to be done, more to be done.

Of course, there is more to be done. Much more, and much of it will be different from what we have done before in our lives and who we have been before. The Kingdom requires us to roll up our sleeves. But as we do so, as we make our lists and tend to the cracks and the spills and the dusty corners of our days, we cannot forget that we do not act by ourselves or for ourselves. We do so in the name of Jesus. We do so in and through the power of his peace.

This is what Martha needed to remember, and it is a necessary reminder whenever we sit down, as individuals or as a community, to consider who we are and where we are going. We must ask ourselves not only what to do, but why, and for whom? Why do we work so hard to try keep our churches healthy? Why do we persist with our traditions in the midst of widespread apathy and violence? Why do we dare to dream of a world that is guided by love and justice when too often we see a world burdened by fear and inequality? The answer cannot simply be, as Episcopalians love to say, “because we’ve always done it that way.” The answer must be Jesus. We work hard because of Jesus. We persist because of Jesus. We dare to dream because of Jesus. We cannot and must not forget this; we cannot forget him, no matter what we do.

We are not given, in the text, Martha’s response to the Lord. It would not really make much sense, though, to infer that she suddenly dropped all of her work at that moment and sat alongside her sister. After all, there were still mouths to feed, still places to be set at the table, still broken fragments of this or that to be gathered up and repaired. There still are all of these things to be done, and there always will be, and thanks be to God for the grace we are each given to do the necessary, unglamorous work that sustains us. It is holy work, done upon the holy ground that is, in fact, everywhere, once we remember to look for it.

So no, you are not a Martha. You are not a Mary. All of us are both of them, and neither, for love requires us sometimes to strive and other times to be still. They are not separate paths, but merely the varied landscape of the single Way back home.

You are a follower of Jesus. A servant of Jesus. A lover of Jesus.

Will you follow him back to yourself?

Will you not forget him, for as long as you live?

Those are not trick questions!

Deuteronomy 30:9-14 and Psalm 25:1-10 * Colossians 1:1-14 * Luke 10:25-37

There was once a run-down Cafe in a neighbourhood that was known for being quite dangerous and in the charge of local gangs.

One day, an Episcopal priest came in to get some a cup of tea on his way to church. He sat down to wait, busying himself with the paper, not paying attention to a man in the opposite corner who was clearly the worse for wear and crying silently.

Just as the priest’s order was ready, in walked a member of the vestry. The two shared a lively greeting and conversation as they waited for the vestry member’s coffee, with no acknowledgement of the man in the corner who had put his head down in his arms and was heaving with sobs. In fact, as they were leaving, they commented to one another, “What on Earth does that man think he is doing?” – just as the next customer was coming up to the door.

The customer was a young woman with short, spiky hair dyed in a rainbow of colours. She had heavy black make-up on her eyes and lips, and she was wearing all black clothes, with piercings in her eyebrow, lip, and several in her ears. The priest and the warden gave her a wide berth and both thought to themselves, “What’s with young people these days?” as they left the café and went on their separate ways.

The young woman went in and immediately noticed the man sobbing in the corner. And she was moved with compassion. He didn’t look good – he had a black eye and what seemed like blood matted in his hair. There was no one else around. The café owner was doing something in the back and the priest and the vestry member had departed. She sat down across from the man and stated the obvious, “It looks like you’re having a hard time,” and added, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

The man looked up with bloodshot eyes and saw a face looking at him with care and concern, nothing else. She was the only person that had spoken to him in all the time he had been there that morning. She got some paper towels from the bathroom and a cup of water from the café owner, as well as the man’s coffee, and cleaned off his wound while he drank and told her his story. The young woman realised quickly that he had been mugged and so  helped him contact the police, as well as buy him a gift certificate for the cafe so that he could order whatever he wanted for the next couple of meals.

As we hear this modern re-telling of the Good Samaritan story, it can cut us to the quick. Yes, of course, it’s full of stereotypes, but there is a grain of truth to each caricature, and we have all been in each character’s shoes in one way or another. We have all been asked by God through circumstance to expand our vision of what it means to be neighbourly. Like the people who would have heard today’s gospel story in Luke’s community, all of us have boundaries and rules that we live by. In the Jewish culture of that time, there were rules about how men should treat women, parents should treat children, Jews should treat foreigners, Jews should treat gentiles and Samaritans, and so forth. These systems set up a social order where certain positions of power and privilege were well maintained. And if you think about it, their society was not so different than ours now, over 2,000 years later. We have such systems in place, and they can be so, so difficult to escape or transcend.

Yet, this is precisely what Jesus was calling the people of his time to do, and it’s what he calls us to do today.

Inheritance meant tangible goods back then – land, wealth, herds. It was the promised reward to Abraham and his descendants who belonged to God’s covenant. The Israelites were a covenanted people, and over time, the message of inheritance also included a future age to come.

But Jesus has a different message. Eternal life was congruent to living a life in God’s kingdom, with its boundaries and not societal ones. Jesus turns the lawyer’s challenge around to show that God’s sovereignty is over our whole lives. Reading and knowing the law is not enough. Loving God, your neighbour and yourself characterises someone who is already living life in the kingdom. The promise of inheritance is now attached to a demand: “Go and do likewise.”

The lawyer told Jesus that the one who showed mercy was the injured man’s neighbour. How do we go about showing that kind of mercy in our own lives? The kind of mercy that does not expect any kind of reward or repayment. The kind of mercy that has no boundaries, as Jesus so cleverly identifies in his parable. The kind of mercy that often has a steep price: being beaten for defending a defenceless person; losing money to help someone else get back on their feet; losing a job because you stood up for a colleague who was being treated unfairly; being the victim of vandalism after standing up to neighbourhood bullies on behalf of an elderly neighbour.  The list can go on.

We all know these types of stories and must ask ourselves if we are willing to pay the price of mercy or just walk on by.

Being a true neighbour means that we are living actively and not passively in the kingdom of God.

In today’s new testament reading, Paul tells the Colossians that he and Timothy are praying for them so that they “may lead lives worthy of the Lord … as you bear fruit in every good work and as you grow in the knowledge of God.”

Our faith journeys take a lifetime.

We are asked at our baptism, “Will you proclaim by word and example the good News of God in Christ? Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbour as yourself? Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” The answer is always, “I will, with God’s help.”

We cannot do this alone, and it is clear our work is never done. We continue to ask Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?” and Jesus continues to answer with results that should not surprise us, knowing how Jesus works, but they always do: the marginalised one, the different-coloured one, the one with a different culture, the old one, the young one, the one missing all her teeth, the one with the flashy car, the one who is us.

What is surprising is how difficult it is to show mercy to those who do not fit into our boundaries, despite what we know Jesus is asking of us.

Living a merciful life is not defined as helping someone once. Instead, it is a life in which a person’s character is formed by the basic premise that they love God, love their neighbour, and love themselves. To put it another way, Mahatma Gandhi was once quoted as saying:

“Your beliefs become your thoughts,
Your thoughts become your words,
Your words become your actions,
Your actions become your habits,
Your habits become your values,
Your values become your destiny.”

The call to go and do likewise is challenging and transforming. Living out mercy changes us as a people. May we be blessed with God’s own mercy and grace as we strive to walk worthy of God’s calling in our own lives and communities.

The idea of a Rule of Life does not sit easily in the vocabulary of many people today. But we probably all have one. There are things we do as a rule which keep us healthy; we eat, drink and wash. We work (taking that in its broadest sense, not just the gainful employment aspect) and we know that for the sake of our health and sanity we need recreation and holidays, and an appropriate amount of sleep. So, as a rule, we have meals at regular times, we go to bed at a similar time most days, and get up at a similar time most mornings. This rule does not imprison us – if we need to be up very early one day, we might got to bed a bit earlier the night before. If we have a late night, we sleep in the next day. If we’re camping in the wilds perhaps we don’t wash as often as when we have water on tap. Our pattern of life can be flexible, but we are mostly glad of a routine which sustains us. The decisions we make about the routine mean that we don’t have to waste energy deciding every day about things which we know are necessary to our health.

The same principle applies in our spiritual life too. We know that for our spiritual health there are things we need to do and the language is important. We perhaps began doing things because we were told we ought to, but until we recognise the need, we don’t take them on for ourselves. We had to learn when we were little, about eating sensibly, about washing regularly and about adequate rest. As we grew up these things became natural, even desirable. I often think when I hear one of the boys protesting about bedtime, that it won’t be long before, like me and like many adults, they will be thankful to be able to go to bed!

We seem to take a little longer to get to spiritual maturity. We need a reminder to help us to live a balanced life. And that’s where a Rule of Life comes in. We decide what the essential elements of life are, and how we are going to give them proper attention. Making a decision about personal prayer, joining in public worship, a simple lifestyle, use of money, recreation, proper time with family and friends, saves having to reinvent our plan every day, helps us to prioritise what we need, and ensures that we don’t leave important elements of our inner life to chance.

St Benedict, who lived in the sixth century, was responsible for the Rule which became the foundation of monastic life in its various forms. Prayer was at the centre of his Rule: the monks and nuns met seven times a day for corporate worship. The rest of the time was divided between work, study and rest. His Rule provided for an ordered and balanced life, where all people from the apparently most important to the seemingly unimportant were to be treated with respect; where food and drink were to be provided so that no one was in want; where all tools and clothing were to be looked after, and all in the context of learning to find God in all things. Prefer nothing to the love of Christ is the requirement at the heart of the Rule. But it is not a straitjacket, it’s a guide.

A Rule of Life helps us to keep our balance amid all the demands made on us. It reminds us that prayer is the foundation of the whole of our life, it is our relationship with God in action. So our commitment to God is worked out in the way we live, how we love our neighbour and how we love ourselves. Paying attention to our need for rest and recreation will make us more available to others, and including in our care for others concern for the resources of the created world will ensure that we reflect God’s delight in all that is.

St Benedict encouraged discipline, but he required it to be practised with a certain lightness of touch. Monks were enjoined quietly (for this was during the Greater Silence) to encourage one another as they arose for the Night office ‘for the sleepy like to make excuses’. All were expected to be in their places in chapel at the latest by the end of the opening Psalm, but Benedict ordered that the first Psalm at Lauds, the early morning Office, should always be said slowly, so that everyone stood a chance of getting there.

What we do ‘as a rule’ must not be a burden, but a framework which frees us to grow in love. Rooted in paying attention to God, like the Celts who had a prayer for every occasion, we learn to make the connections, and live every part of our lives to God’s praise and glory.

Isaiah 66:10-14 and Psalm 66:1-9 * Galatians 6:(1-6), 7-16 * Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Most of you here this morning will know that for most of my working life I have been a primary school Head Teacher and I have absolutely loved being in the classroom and supporting children to become the best they can be in so many different ways. The bright little sparks who know everything there is to know, the shy retiring types who need coaxing out of their shells and the rambunctious attention seekers who simply must have your full attention – they are all just fantastic!

As your skills develop as a teacher you learn many different strategies to help individuals focus on what they need to be doing and to regulate their more ‘exuberant’ behaviours – and sometimes these strategies can result in unexpected surprises. Let me tell you about little Lewis. A little stick of dynamite with freckles and shock of bright red hair – full of energy and enthusiasm – a happy-go-lucky chap who, when he needed to tell you something, just could not wait for others to finish their conversations with you.

I remember one day when I was talking to Lewis’ teacher and he shot towards us across the classroom obviously eager to tell me something. He tried to interrupt the teacher as she was talking to me. Now one of the strategies that you learn is to acknowledge the presence of such a pupil without directly speaking to them – letting them know you are present with them, but that they need to wait until you are finished to get your full attention.

As Lewis was blurting out something about his dad’s cows, I placed my hand gently on top of his head, but continued to listen to the teacher. Lewis, knowing that I was coming to him next, stopped talking and waited. After the teacher had finished, I turned to Lewis and he told me all about his dad’s latest calf. I took my hand away from Lewis’ head to find it covered in a sticky, thick liquid. “Oh goodness Lewis” I said, “I’ve got your hair gel all over my hand”. “That’s not ‘air gel” Lewis corrected, “It’s nit shampoo…. mi mam drowned me in it this mornin’ – me ‘eads crawlin’!    

Teachers know that being close to a pupil holds a lot of power. Good teachers move around the room a lot, getting close to pupils as they work. The teacher’s nearness does two things: it raises a child’s level of concern enough to encourage them to pay closer attention to what they are doing, but more importantly it also makes the teacher more available to answer questions and offer children encouragement and support.

Closeness to the teacher offers safety, and at the same time it holds children accountable for what they are doing. Closeness to the teacher increases the probability that the pupil will learn. And maybe this is why we almost always see the disciples staying really close to Jesus. He holds them accountable, but at the same time he offers them safety.

But of course, at some point, pupils have to leave the safety of the school they know. P7s and High school leavers across our Highlands have done that this week. They have to take the lessons they’ve learned on into the next stage of their lives and practice those lessons on their own. The safety net of the school and people they know is gone.

Last week, the gospel reading set for the Sunday, saw Jesus beginning his long journey to Jerusalem. His face was set with determination to accomplish his mission. We saw his disciples, James and John, fail in their first attempt as the advance team for that mission. Instead of reaching out to the Samaritan village effectively, they were ready to call down fire from heaven to destroy it.

So, you’d think Jesus might want to change his strategy because maybe his pupils aren’t quite ready to leave the classroom. But instead of having a re-think, rather Jesus expands the same strategy. Instead of a couple of disciples, he sends seventy (or in some translations 72) ahead on the road to announce that the kingdom of God is near.

So here we are in our gospel this week, traveling toward Jerusalem as Jesus sends an advance party to the places he plans to go. He tells them to offer healing and peace, and to announce that the Kingdom of God had come near.

It sounds like a contradiction: Jesus sending his followers … ahead of him. You’d think he’d have them working as the clean-up crew, but instead, he sends his followers out ahead, to heal and offer peace.

Would it not be better for Jesus to go first and for the others to follow? Wouldn’t the disciples be more readily welcomed if Jesus had gone on ahead, performed a few miracles and explained that he’d deputised them to do likewise? Wouldn’t a showier display of power get people’s attention and move the cause of salvation ahead with greater speed and efficiency?

It seems a little bit backwards, but this is the order of things that Jesus chooses: sending an advance team of 70 or so followers. This is how the disciples become the apostles – 70 or so people who are given the task of spreading peace, healing the sick and announcing the Kingdom of God.

Each Sunday, I usually welcome you to worship with the Apostle Paul’s words, “Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” This kind of greeting or peace is exactly what Jesus taught his disciples to offer. But notice that this kind of peace is never wasted. It rests where it is welcome. If it isn’t welcome, it returns to the one who offers it. God’s peace means wholeness is constant.

When Jesus sent out the seventy, he warned them that the work they were to do, this Kingdom work, might not always be easy. We might consider that he made it even more difficult with the instructions he gave: take nothing with you, accept whatever hospitality is shown to you, and don’t go looking for the softest bed or the best cook in town.

In other words, allow yourselves to become vulnerable and trust in God to provide for your needs. When people welcome you, receive their hospitality with grace. And isn’t it interesting that Jesus expects hospitality from the same people who will be the recipients of the disciples’ ministry?

Instead of thinking of themselves as the givers of grace, Jesus is telling the disciples to receive grace from the very people to whom they will offer God’s peace and healing. Vulnerability and humility are to be the marks of true discipleship and apostleship.

And therefore such vulnerability is important to Christ’s mission: opposition to that mission is a given. Not everyone is going to want to hear this good news.

“Sometimes,” Jesus tells them, “your message will not be received very well. When people don’t welcome you, move on. But whether they welcome you or not, the Kingdom of God has come near, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

When Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God has come near, he says “near,” not “soon.” You can reach out and touch it, it’s so close to you.

This is the power of closeness: When the kingdom of God is near, you get a front row seat to watch it at work. When the kingdom of God is near, you are empowered to be the kingdom to others. When the kingdom of God is near, your own weakness and vulnerability are exposed. But Jesus says, “Go anyway. Heal and proclaim the nearness of the kingdom.

But my friends, we need each other to fulfil Christ’s call on our lives. Jesus sent out his followers two-by-two because he knew how important it is to have others around you on who you can depend.

Being ‘church’ together holds us accountable for keeping the work going – just by being present with one another.

We must offer encouragement when other’s need it most, when we recognise that they are feeling weary, and when we feel rejected and that our work is in vain. Being church together helps us to stay focused on our mission: to offer healing, to spread peace and to share the good news that the Kingdom of God has come near.

Jesus sends us out into the world like sheep in the midst of wolves, making ourselves vulnerable, allowing ourselves to be touched by the need around us. He gives us authority to act in his name, encouraging one another, rejoicing that our names are written in heaven, where we will feast at Our Lord’s Table in the company of all the saints. As we anticipate that joy, Jesus invites you to his table.

Come to this sacred table, not because you must, but because you may; come to testify not that you are righteous, but that you sincerely love our Lord Jesus Christ and desire to be his true disciples; come not because you are strong, but because you are weak; not because you have any claim on the grace of God, but because in your weakness and sin you stand in constant need of God’s mercy and help; come, not to express an opinion, but to seek God’s presence and pray for his Spirit.

Come, for the Kingdom of God has come near to you, and Our Lord Jesus Christ invites you to be part of it.

Readings – Ezekiel 34.11-16 Psalm 125 2 Tim 4.1-8, 17-18 John 21.15-19

Today is the feast of St Peter and St Paul – two of the great names in the church – and I wonder what you know about each of them?

One of the first times I think I every heard their names mentioned together was in the children’s rhyme –

Two little dickie birds, sitting on a wall,

One called Peter, one called Paul,

Fly away Peter, fly away Paul,

Come back Peter, come back Paul.

Having spent a little bit of time researching the origins and meaning of this little rhyme, I have very little, save that the words imply that ‘birds of a feather, flock together’ – so Peter and Paul, followers of Christ would indeed flock together (though we know they sometimes appeared to disagree about some aspects of the faith).

And I only know one joke which features both Peter and Paul –

How did Peter and Paul cut down trees?

They used the axe of the apostles! (I can hear you groaning now)!

In the bible, we find many writings attributed to St. Paul but you know, it is worth remembering that he did not know he was writing what we now regard as Holy Scripture.  The Gospel writers had some sense that they were writing to others and sharing the story of Jesus from their perspective.  But St. Paul – and    St. Peter, for that matter, were writing letters to churches and to individuals.  They did not even think that these would be letters that would be read by people two thousand years later.

All that being said, there is much to these letters that are timeless.  They are thoughts – dare I say, at times, wisdom, that can be read by us with the understanding that they are as relevant to Christians living in 2025 as they were to Christians living only decades after Jesus walked on this earth.

As I read the Epistle (our New Testament reading), which St. Paul wrote to St. Timothy, I was struck with how the words really are timeless. 

St. Paul writes: “I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus who is to judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingdom:  preach the word, be urgent in season and out of season, convince, rebuke, and exhort, be unfailing in patience and in teaching.”

At first, many of us might be tempted to say, “Well I don’t preach sermons – so that bit of St Paul’s writing must only be for Fr. Simon and other clergy.”  But you, that is an easy cop-out.  

I remember a dear priest friend of mine saying once in a sermon that our very lives may actually be the only sermon that some people ever get to experience. Now,  that is a sobering thought – but if you think about it, it’s true.  

One of the most popular reasons that people who do not attend church give for not coming is  “They are a bunch of hypocrites!”  They notice when our lives do resemble our rhetoric.  So, each and every one of us here today preach a sermon through out everyday actions and behaviours – in the very lives that we lead.

And what about St. Paul’s words, “…be urgent in season and out of season, convince, rebuke, and exhort, be unfailing in patience and in teaching”?  He is telling us that living the life of a Christian is not an easy one and that because there are so many different kinds of people in the world, we must be aware that the way in which we deliver the message of Jesus Christ to others is not “one size fits all”.  

There are some who need to be convinced.  There are others who need to be rebuked.  And there are still others who need to be exhorted.  And all this teaching must be done with patience – which, again, is not an easy thing. 

St. Paul continues, “For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves, teachers to suit their own likings and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander into myths.”

Life and its choices are certainly much easier if we can surround ourselves with people whose opinions are just like ours.  This teaching of St. Paul reminds us that we cannot be so easy to think that we alone know the will of God in Christ.  We must be willing to examine our own lives and choices to be sure that we have not grown “itching ears”.  

This is one of those teachings which I believe should be paired with the words of Jesus in the Gospel of St. Matthew:

“Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but does not notice the log that is in your own eye?  Or how can you say to your brother, `Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.”

We must be careful to not allow ourselves to become so self-confident that we believe that we are incapable of having itching ears.

St. Paul then reminds us, once again that the life of the Christian is not an easy one when he writes:

“As for you, always be steady, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry.  For I am already on the point of being sacrificed; the time of my departure has come.”

But this life of hard choices has its reward.  St. Paul reminds us by writing:  

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.  Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing.”

It amazes me that a letter written by someone nearly two thousand years ago can speak to us today.  But then to live a Christian life has always had its challenges.  So, we must remember, each one of us, that the way we live our life, our behaviours and our actions – may well be the only sermon that someone ever experiences.  AMEN.

* 1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a and Psalm 42 and 43 *Galatians 3:23-29 * Luke 8:26-39

Miss MacLeod was the boss of a big company and she needed to call one of her employees about an urgent problem with one of the main computers. She dialled the employee’s home phone number and was greeted with a child’s whispered, “Hello?”

Rather put out at the inconvenience of having to talk to a youngster, Miss MacLeod asked, “Is your Daddy home?” “Yes”, whispered the small voice. “Can I talk to him?” she asked.

To Miss MacLeod’s surprise, the small voice whispered, “No.”

Wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, “Is your Mummy there?” “Yes”, came the answer. “Can I talk with her?” Again the small voice whispered, “No.”

Knowing that it was not likely that a young child would be left at home all alone, Miss MacLeod decided she would just leave a message with the person who should be there watching over the child. “Is there any one there besides you?” she asked the child.

“Yes” whispered the child, “a policeman.” Wondering what on earth the police were doing there, Miss MacLeod asked, “Can I talk to the policeman?” “No, he’s busy,” whispered the child. “Busy doing what?” “Talking to Daddy and Mummy and the Fireman”, came the whispered answer.

Growing concerned and even worried as she heard what sounded like a helicopter through the ear piece on the phone, Miss MacLeod asked, “What is that noise?” “A hello-copper” answered the whispering voice. “What on earth is going on there?” asked the now rather worried employer.

In a voice full of awe the child whispered, “The search team just landed the hello-copper.” Alarmed, concerned, and more than just a little frustrated the boss asked, “What are they searching for?” Still whispering, the young voice replied along with a muffled giggle: “hee hee, they’re all looking for Me!”

Hide and seek is one of those games that will never be superseded by an electronic games console. It’s impossible because it’s a game that needs both people and a good sized house or other location.

Do you remember playing Hide and Seek as a child? Were you one of those who preferred to be a hider or a seeker? Did you find a place to hide which meant you were really difficult to find, or did you always choose a pretty obvious hiding place so that you would be one of the first to be discovered?

When I was at school I once tried to organise a professional Hide and Seek tournament – but it didn’t work – good players are just too hard to find!

Though hide and seek is just a game, how we feel about it, says a lot about the kind of person we are. Do we need to be found or are we content to be lost?

These questions are brought to mind by the Gospel for today.

In it, a man who wears no clothes, lives out in the tombs and describes himself as ‘Legion’ because of the ‘many demons’ that had ‘entered him’ is saved by Jesus.

The reading is a mysterious passage and some of the words can seem strange to our modern minds. Yet central to it is the sense that Jesus seeks to bring wholeness and healing to those who call upon him. Even those who hide amongst the dead.

The man tormented by the demons possessing his life, asks Jesus, who had already commanded the ‘unclean spirit’ to leave him, ‘What have you to do with me Jesus, son of the Most High God?’ He was lost and though some might have given up on him Jesus seeks, finds and restores him to life.

What about us, though we’re here at church this morning, do we too sometimes feel a bit lost and do we need to be found again by Christ?

If so, then we need to ask, what would he find hiding in our lives? What demons have possessed and frustrated God’s loving purpose in us?

Most of us struggle with the word ‘demons’ yet few of us would doubt that there are things that can undermine the fullness of life to which we’re all called. They cannot be ignored if we’re to be constantly transformed by our faith.

This morning’s Gospel describes a life changing transformation for that man, from being a lost outcast, he is restored ‘clothed and in his right mind’.

Yet, like him, if we’re to be, in St. Paul’s words, ‘clothed with Christ’ we need to always be open enough to let Christ find us, let him touch the depth of our souls and transform us.

But we do have to want to be found, we have to want his love to come and continually transform us. It’s so easy to stand still, to reach a certain point in our journey of faith and then not to move, to decide that the change around us in society and the church is all too much and not seek to engage with it.

It’s a bit like what was happening in Galatia, described in our Epistle. They had found Christ, yet it was too much, they wanted to hide and Paul speaks to those who found certainty in the easy security of the law.

Paul knew that any law which divides, separates and frustrates doesn’t speak of the God of transformation and he reminds them that in Christ there is ‘no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female; for all are one in Christ Jesus’.

The radical freedom Jesus brought changed their world. Likewise the living Christ in us, can be frightening, for he challenges everything in which we find security. For some, then as now, it can be too much.

In our Gospel those who witnessed the man’s transformation were ‘seized with great fear’ and they asked Jesus to leave. It was easier to send him away, to hide, than to live in his life changing love.

We might draw a parallel with life for so many today; they don’t wish to be found and they probably don’t even think they’re lost. Yet Jesus seeks them too.

When a child first plays hide and seek they need to be encouraged to overcome their caution and fear and to hide. Sometimes an adult will need to go with them, to reassure them that they won’t be lost forever.

What we do in this building this morning may not be Hide and Seek but we do need each other’s encouragement and help to find Jesus in our midst. Whilst society has changed and the church has struggled to keep up, that doesn’t mean people no longer need the redeeming love of Christ.

Having been found, we’re called to go and be his people amongst our neighbours. So a challenge for each one of us this week is to not be afraid, to leave this service, like the demon possessed man his life now transformed, ‘proclaiming the good news’ of just how much ‘Jesus has done for’ you. Go from here and in the strength of the Holy Spirit seek those who are hiding and waiting to be found.

Greetings to you on this Trinity Sunday!

I’m sure it will come as no surprise that when priests and other ministers are preparing their sermons, homilies or talks they use a wide variety of resources to guide and structure the message they want to share – and this can be really useful when the ‘topic’ or theme is a difficult one to try to explain. From great theological tomes by learned fathers and mothers, to snippets of thought in an online blog – all can find their way into a Sunday sermon.

Today, The Feast of the Holy Trinity, is often a day thought to be particularly challenging and in preparing for this sermon I was doing a bit of research and came across an article: ‘The Top 10 ways to explain the Holy Trinity’.

Now I won’t bother you with all 10, but here are the top 3.

At number 3 – The Holy Trinity is likened to Battery, Wire and Electricity. God is the power source, the battery. The Son is the mediator, the wire which conducts God’s love to us and The Spirit is the power itself, the love of God which comes to us through Jesus.

Now this explanation has some strength in that it differentiates the three persons of The Trinity and puts them in relationship with one another BUT the downside is that it uses inanimate objects to try to explain something that should be something fundamentally living and dynamic.

So to the 2nd most popular way to explain The Trinity – a Dance. God is the dance, the energy, the movement at the centre of creation and the trinity is our way of saying God does the dance perfectly with all of the dancers in harmony.

Now this explanation is better at describing a living, moving relationship, but it is a bit abstract and isn’t great at helping us identify the three persons of the Trinity.

Finally at Number 1 – the most popular way of explaining the Holy Trinity comes from Ireland and good old St Patrick himself – The 3-leaved clover. Each leaf on the plant appears whole and independent, but they are indivisibly part of a single stem. But then questions like ‘Is the stem then a different source from which the three persons of the trinity emerge?’ spring into the mind.

And so on and so on.

I haven’t been able to find any explanation or representation of the Holy Trinity that doesn’t conjure up a raft of questions.

So what I am about to say to you on this Feast of the Holy Trinity may sound a bit strange. It might even sound as if I am being unfaithful and even inappropriate. But I think it’s important and maybe even necessary.

Are you ready?

Stop thinking about God.

You probably didn’t expect to be reading a sermon that told you to stop thinking about God, but before you pick up the hotline to the Bishop, let me explain what I mean.

I suspect that many of us spend too much time and effort thinking about God. Now that’s not just an observation, it is also a confession of one who loves thinking about God. But maybe, just maybe we should spend a little bit less time thinking about God and instead simply be with Him. Here’s what I mean. Would you rather be with the one you love or think about the one you love? Would you prefer your relationships to be defined by love for another or information about another?

There is a sense in which thinking about God keeps us from being present with Him. In some way thinking about God can distance us from Him and set up a kind of ‘subject – object’ duality and that is actually the very opposite of trinitarian life!

We think about other people when we are not with them. Some of us think about our children who have grown up and moved out. Some think about our partners when we are away from each other. We think about our friends when we are apart. We think about our loved ones who have died. But in that moment when we are really present, when we have truly shown up and offered all that we are and all that we have, we’re not thinking about the other person, we are one with them. It is a moment of love, intimacy, and union. It’s not defined by life or death, distance or geography. It is defined and made possible for us by the eternal life and love shared by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Who is the person with whom you have or had the closest, deepest, most intimate relationship? Picture him or her and your relationship. When you are with that person you are not thinking about him or her. In moments of ecstatic love, you look at him or her and see yourself in his or her life and he or she does the same with you. We open ourselves to each other. We give ourselves to the other and receive the other into ourselves. That is the trinitarian life. It is the choreography of love and it’s happening all the time.

In the midst of an honest, real, and meaningful conversation we’re not thinking about the other person. We are with them and they are with us. A single life envelops and flows between us. We don’t make that happen, it just does. That’s trinitarian life.

When we are rolling on the floor, laughing, and playing with our child or grandchild we are not thinking about them, we are completely open and present to their life and they to ours. The line between their life and our life gets blurry and there is only love. That’s trinitarian life.

Sometimes we see the world through another’s eyes and their joys or sorrows take root in us as if they were our own. When that happens we are not receiving news or information about another, we are sharing a common life. We are loving our neighbour as our self. That’s trinitarian life.

Every now and then we are immersed in prayer and no longer conscious that we are praying. We no longer see ourselves talking to or thinking about God. Rather, our life is one with His and we are participating in the life of the Holy Trinity.

Each of these are moments when we can honestly say, “I love, therefore I am.” These and a thousand others just like them are trinitarian moments. Love for one another and faith in the Holy Trinity are integrally related. You cannot have one without the other.

The Holy Trinity is not a concept to be explained, numbers to be calculated, or a problem to be solved. It is a life to be lived, a love to be shared, and a beauty to be revealed.

Stop thinking about God. Live the life, share the love, reveal the beauty. Amen.

God bless you and those you hold dear this coming week.

Fr Simon

There is a beautiful traditional analogy that describes worship in the Episcopal Church as that of a symphony orchestra. The members of the congregation are the players in the orchestra, with many different instruments represented among them. The musical score is the particular liturgy we are using and the conductor is the celebrant or officiant, who leads and helps tie everything together. And who is the audience at this joyous performance? Well, the audience is God!

This analogy illustrates the basic truth that our worship in the Episcopal tradition is participatory. There is a lot of action on the part of the congregation making them active participants in what is going on. I think this musical image is also a helpful one for understanding the church’s mission. The ideal of our working together in unity can also benefit from an illustration from classical music.

My own favourite metaphor for the church at its best, is the 4th movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. It is beautiful and stirring. Everyone knows the central melody, the “Ode to Joy.”

Anyone who has experienced the great pleasure of attending a live performance of this wonderful work might agree that it can indeed provide a symbolic vision of what the church can be at its best.

The Ninth Symphony builds magnificently toward its final, 4th movement. Beethoven’s masterpiece grows, with gradually unfolding themes of deep beauty. Finally, having gone through every form of instrumental expression, the composer calls forth the human voice. Singing is required to bring ultimate expression to the composer’s vision.

As the symphony ends in a spectacular climax, the conductor, the orchestra, the quartet of lead singers, and the full chorus are all working feverishly. Every orchestra member is playing with inspired fervour. The quartet of soloists and the chorus are singing at full volume. The conductor, beating time with baton in hand, works exhaustively to tie the pieces of the musical whole together into one intricate, moving entity. She urges forth every last ounce of spirit left in the performers. All work exuberantly together to bring about a great piece of musical love.

Yes, the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony may well be an ideal expression of God’s kingdom. It is certainly my own vision of how the church can act — that is, with everybody working together to produce the greatest expression of love, and with no one standing idly by:

with everyone involved, doing his or her part
without discord
with no in-fighting
with everyone focused on one purpose
with everyone inspired, exuberant,
working feverishly to love God
with all their being and to love God’s
children as themselves
with everyone following the will of the leader.

This is the example set by Jesus. His whole life was one continual effort to work to produce love, healing, happiness, and salvation among all people. Certainly, that was the example the early church sought to emulate.

Remembering the first Pentecost Day, the day when the disciples were set on fire with the Holy Spirit, it is natural to think of the finale of Beethoven’s great symphony. The glory of the finale is my idea of what that first Pentecost was like. That first day of the church’s reaching out to the world, spreading the joy of the good news of God.

On that day, the early followers of Jesus received the power of the Holy Spirit and were enabled to go out working together, pooling their resources, caring for the community and the common goal, providing generously for the needy, following the lead of their Lord.

On this Pentecost Sunday, we find ourselves emphasising our responsibilities as members of the Body of Christ to go beyond this service and beyond our community to act out the truths of our faith: to work together; to make our best effort to follow the direction of our Lord Jesus Christ; and to do so with the same feeling of commitment as that of the participants in a fine performance of Beethoven’s Ninth.

For thirty years Beethoven thought about, worked on, and developed an idea to use a chorus based on a work by the German poet Johann Schiller. Near the end of his life, in the maturity of his artistic expression, Beethoven finally made use of the Schiller poem in the incomparable fourth movement of the Ninth Symphony.

The poem used in the chorus, often called the “Ode to Joy,” is based on the theme of joy, love, and, perhaps above all else, the unity of humankind.

One of the central stanzas reads this way:

Let thy magic bring together
all whom earth born laws divide.
All mankind shall be as brothers.

Indeed, all humanity shall be as brothers and sisters, because of God’s action in Christ.

I don’t know about you, but this week I have been worried by the ‘preparing for war’ rhetoric spread across our media outlets. We need to pray fervently for peace, for the Holy Spirit to breathe into the hearts of world leaders.

The great vision of Beethoven, revealed in the final movement of his final symphony, is one with our vision of the Kingdom of God. The vision that is the same as the goal of our faith in God that all humankind will live in harmony – impossible as that might seem right now.

So, let us dedicate ourselves on this Sunday of Pentecost, to live into this vision — to begin anew acting in concert, in harmony, and with love, so that we may treat all those around us as sisters and brothers, so that, together, following the lead of our Lord, we can produce a great act of Christian love, bringing peace to this world in a time of fear and growing tensions.

Come Holy Spirit, and lead us into peace.

Amen