* 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

* Acts 16:16-34 * Psalm 97 * Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21 * John 17:20-26

I wonder if you are able to identify where these well known phrases come from?

i) “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”

ii) “We’ll always have Paris”

iii) “Kiss me Hardy”

iv) “How lucky I am to have someone that makes saying goodbye so hard”

(See the end of this sermon for the answers)

Saying goodbye –

Be good. Take care of yourself. Have fun. Mind your manners. Work hard. Make good decisions. Learn a lot. Be careful. Call me if you need something. Remember, I love you.

Those are the kind of things we say when we are leaving, when we are departing. We often give our last minute instructions for what the other should do after we have left. When I was growing up I heard some of these from my parents. I have said some of these to other people and I suspect each of you has said or heard these or similar words. They are our departing instructions to one we love. With those words we entrust the future well-being of that loved one to himself or herself.

It would be easy to hear today’s gospel as Jesus’ departing instructions to his disciples. It would make sense. After all, we are back at the night of the last supper. Jesus knows he is leaving. He will soon be crucified and the disciples will have to find their own way without his physical presence. So why not give some last minute instructions about how to act, what to do and the way they should treat each other? That’s what we might do, but that is not what Jesus is doing. That is a misinterpretation of the text.

Jesus is not entrusting the future of the disciples to themselves. He is entrusting their future to God. His words are not departing instructions but a departing prayer. The disciples are God-entrusted not self-entrusted.

Today’s gospel is not a conversation between Jesus and the disciples, but a prayer from Jesus to his Father, and our Father. Today we overhear Jesus’ prayer for us. His prayer isn’t for our benefit only, but for the life of the world, so that the world may believe the Father sent Jesus. Our unity becomes the sacramental presence of God in the world. Our oneness continues the embodiment of God in human flesh and life.

But this unity is not something that we do or create. Jesus does not tell the disciples to be nice to each other, to get along, to eliminate their differences or to agree upon a common plan or purpose. He doesn’t prescribe tolerance, uniformity, unanimity, or consensus. We are not the recipients of instructions but the subject and beneficiary of Jesus’ prayer.

Jesus prays three times for oneness. “That they may all be one.” “That they may be one.” “That they may become completely one.” The oneness for which he prays is modelled on the unity of the Father and Jesus, their shared life. He prays that we would be completely one as he and the Father are one. Jesus’ prayer echoes the ancient Jewish prayer, Shema Yisrael, “Hear, O Israel: the LORD is our God, the LORD is one (Deut. 6:4).

That Jesus is praying to the Father for our oneness, rather than giving instructions, means that unity is of and from God. It is not something we do or create. It is the very life and being of God. We do not establish unity, we participate in and manifest to the world the already existing oneness that is God.

Now this doesn’t mean we can just sit back and wait for God to answer Jesus’ prayer. We too have a part to play. Our oneness must take tangible and visible form if it is to show the world the invisible and spiritual life and presence of God. In some way our lives in relationship to God and one another become the answer to Jesus’ prayer.

Our lives and relationships are to be outward and visible signs of God’s inward and invisible presence. But we can only become and live this when we know ourselves to be God-entrusted rather than self-entrusted. That means our life comes not from ourselves but from God. That’s what allowed Jesus to choose the cross. That’s why he prayed rather than instructed. It’s how we become one as Jesus and the Father are one.

Right about now some instructions would be really helpful but I don’t have any. Jesus didn’t give any. There is no list. I can’t tell you what to do but I can tell you where to begin looking. This oneness exists at the intersection of our love for God and our love for each other. It is the intersection of the vertical axis and the horizontal axis. Unity is cross shaped. That point of intersection is, according to St. John’s account of the gospel, the hour of Christ’s glory, his death and resurrection. That is the preeminent image of a God-entrusted life. That’s where we find our oneness. That’s what we show the world.

Each time we live with a God-entrusted understanding of ourselves, boundaries soften, divisions are not as deep and broken relationships are reconciled. Each time we take a step toward a God-entrusted understanding of ourselves and let go of a self-entrusted life we move towards oneness.

When, in love for God and each other, we surrender our self-entrusted life to a God-entrusted life we embody the Father’s answer to Jesus’ prayer and we are one as Jesus and the Father are one. In that moment we have, “met the glory of God and that glory shines in us.”

i) (Gone with the wind)

ii) (Casablanca)

iii) (Admiral Lord Nelson)

iv) (Winnie the pooh)