Sermon 22nd March 2009

Today, Andrew Rumsey – who will be our guest speaker at our Parish weekend away at Ashburnham Hall – preaches, based on the gospel reading from John 3:1-21

Jesus’ message

As a priest, you have some interesting and occasionally quite bizarre conversations about Christian faith. I think the strangest and, for me, the most amusing, started out as a heckle during a sermon (that doesn’t happen too often, just to reassure you…). Like today, I was the guest preacher, at a church in West London, and had just begun my sermon, when someone, not entirely in his right mind and possibly the worse for drink, wandered into church, muttering incoherent threats. And slowly, as I preached, he wandered up the centre aisle towards me and began to point a shaky finger at me in accusation. There was really no ignoring him, as he raised his voice and, in a scene reminiscent from the gospels, said ‘I know who you are – you’re the son of that Dennis Norden’.

Isn’t that wonderful? Absolutely true. Naturally, taking my cue from the Lord, I commanded him sternly not to tell anyone else about this…

But apart from these bizarre ones, I think there are actually two types of conversation that I have about Christianity – a) and b); the safe and the unsafe. In conversation a) which is far more frequent - I often speak about the role of being a vicar – burying and baptising people, or about Christian morals or principles – loving your neighbour and so on. These are real and practical and don’t really engage in questions of faith.

Conversation b), which can lead on from the first, but often gets avoided, brings God from the background into the foreground. Doesn’t pretend he’s not there, like the elephant in the living room, but recognises that, actually, it’s all about him: his identity and character, his living presence in our lives and his saving power.

Now to many people – especially the British, I think, conversation b) is out of bounds, sometimes even in church, rather oddly. It’s uncomfortable, feels a bit weird and, worst of all, perhaps, people don’t quite know where the conversation is going to lead - and whether they’ll be able to extricate themselves from it. [You can have quite a lot of fun with this, incidentally…].

Now John chapter 3 contains perhaps the most famous conversation about God in the New Testament. Nicodemus is a senior religious leader, a Pharisee in Jerusalem, who has just witnessed Jesus whipping the money changers out of the temple. Remember that, in John’s gospel the timeline is all over the place, and these events of the last week of Jesus’ life are right near the beginning of his gospel.

He comes to Jesus secretly, like many do – fascinated by him, but keen to avoid the public gaze. And it looks as if he begins, naturally enough, with conversation a) he addresses Jesus as a rabbi, a teacher and is keen to find out what sort of teacher he is. As a Pharisee, he may want to have a chat about the law of Moses, and how Jesus understands it. All this would be very safe territory for both of them.

But immediately, Jesus engages him in conversation b) and it’s perplexing and not entirely comfortable. Instead of speaking about the law, Jesus talks about being born again, a completely bizarre and new idea.
The words have a deliberate double-meaning, by the way – some Bibles have ‘born from above’ – ie born from Heaven or from God, some have ‘born again’.

Nicodemus has got far more than he bargained for and he seems genuinely mystified and taken aback. Eh? He says (or the Greek equivalent). Actually he says this read v4.

So Jesus takes him further – it’s a spiritual birth, not a physical one he is speaking about, a baptism, a regeneration of the soul. This phrase ‘born again’ has quite difficult - and rather cringey - connotations in our culture, so it’s hard for us to hear it freshly and properly. There’s not the time to go into it in depth now, but I simply want to observe the obvious fact that being born is not something we do for ourselves – it’s something that happens to us. We are birthed, by someone else. The way Jesus speaks about it, the initiative is clearly all God’s and, as such, pretty mysterious and almost impossible to pin down. You can see where the spirit blows, but you don’t know where it’s going or where it came from.

By this time, Nicodemus, I imagine, is making this sort of expression (bewilderment) and comes out with another gawping question – read v9.

And so Jesus takes him deep into the heart of the matter: if wants to talk about God, then let’s talk about God. And, with little beating about the bush, he tells him the secret of his own mission and ministry. Not only is it all about God – it is all about him, Jesus – the son of man. Read v14.

Just a word about the snake – you’ll have seen the emblem of a snake on a pole on St John’s ambulances, and it is of course an image of healing. The Israelites in the wilderness were afflicted by poisonous snakes, and God told Moses to take a bronze snake, lift it on a pole and all those who looked at it would be healed.

The snake was a symbol of the evil in which the people were stuck (repeat). The cross on which he must die, suggests Jesus, is the same – a symbol of the impossible crucifying mess we have found ourselves in. And, just as the snake was lifted up, so must he be, so that all who look upon him, Jesus, may have eternal life. Read vv16&17.

And people’s response to him, Jesus goes on to say, is a matter of life and death – it is the crisis of judgement for the world – lightness and darkness, condemnation and salvation will all centre around this event….

Imagine the pause after Jesus has said this. What does Nicodemus say next? ‘Cup of tea?’… ‘Well, I must say it’s been delightful to meet you, er…Jesus….’ We don’t know. But we do know he couldn’t forget what he had heard, or the man he had met in secret. For, later in the gospel, when the Pharisees are trying to have Jesus arrested (J7), Nicodemus speaks up for Jesus and, after the crucifixion, he helps Joseph of Arimathea take the Lord’s body. This conversation clearly hit home.

And what about us? Well, of the dozens of points that could be made, there are really two basic ones that I want to draw out for us this morning.

1) The first is really the primary fact about Christian faith, that God reaches out to us before we can reach out to him. He is looking for us before, and whether or not we are looking for him. This is what we call grace – it’s the father running down the road to meet the prodigal son, it’s the mission of God to his lost world. This is the logic of John 3v16 – God loves the world, he loves it. He made it, he loves his world – he is for it, not against it. Jesus was not sent to condemn the world like you might condemn an unsafe building - he is not the receiver called in. His is a saving purpose. I know you know that but we need to be told it again and again.

The starting point of Christian faith is not our belief in God, it is God’s belief in us – his attitude, his stance, if you like, towards his creation. The Bible says he is seeking us out in love whether or not we care, whether or not we believe it, whether or not we want him to. He is seeking us out and placing himself in the midst of our predicament.

That’s the first and basic point – God’s love for us precedes our love for him. Basic, but really, really important, because so many Christians, believe me, live as if it all depended on them, that faith is basically like one of those old dynamo lights on a bike. Do you remember those? Ridiculous invention… Alright while you’re pedalling hard, but as soon as you stop at a traffic light or junction – which is where you really need the light, it goes out. The light of Christ does not depend on your pedalling. It shines in the darkness and the darkness has never put it out.

2) The second point is of course our response to that light, life and love. The gift of Christ is given (that’s our first point), so that everyone who believes in him should have eternal life. Jesus clearly sees our belief in him – our acceptance of him - as the essential means of enabling, of making real and personal that rebirth, that new life of the spirit.
And from what Jesus says, it is clear that we have a choice whether to come into his light or not. Read v19.

It’s a bit like me and torches. Now I rather like torches – I’m always buying new ones at service stations and Homebase and my wife Rebecca rightly laughs at me for my paranoia of being caught short without a torch. Open a cupboard in our house and they all come tumbling down on you. But actually I hardly ever use one. I like to know they’re there, but I very rarely switch one on.

Now of course that’s largely because I have other sources of light, which I rely on far more. And all too often we treat Christian faith in a similar way – we have it, it’s there for us, we know where it is; we might even be quite keen on it, but we only use it when we have a power cut, or when our own pedalling gives up and the dynamo dies, and we think oh, I know, I’ve got a torch somewhere.

But Jesus seems to be saying that he is not an alternative source of light – a handy torch for when the mains fuse blows. He is the light of life itself. Remarkable, really. Now if he really is the difference between light and darkness, and if he is the energy source behind every other light in our world, then our response to him begins to look rather significant. Interesting that Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night, isn’t it – quite deliberate symbolism from John. He comes to Jesus in darkness, looking for another torch, and instead finding the sunrise.

So conversation b) – the difficult and sometimes embarrassing one about God is the one we really need to have. And I look forward to continuing it with you on our church weekend away in June.

Sermon 15th March 2009

Today, our Associate Vicar, John Itumu, preaches based on the reading from John 2:13-22

Jesus’ anger

So what was the scenario?

Jesus, as an observant Jew joins the throngs of pilgrims who have trekked to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover at the temple. Sacrificial worship in the temple involved the use of cattle, sheep and doves. Worshippers journeying over several days from all over the Roman Empire obviously found it convenient to travel light, and purchase these sacrifice items on site and hence the service provided by the merchants.
What about the money changers?
Every Jewish male, serious about his faith paid temple tax of two drachmas, which could only be paid using a special coin. Matthew 17:24fd describes an incident where tax collectors are accusing Jesus of not paying the temple tax of two drachmas. The value of this coin was however four drachma, meaning it could cater for two people. In fact after this incident Jesus instructs Peter to go into the lake and throw in a line and that the first fish he catches will have a four drachma coin, which he can use to pay for their temple tax i.e. for Peter and himself.
The money changers were therefore an exchange bureau converting money and who charged a percentage for their service. This was a thriving business environment!
But all in all, this set up was not honouring to God. True, the business men did a good job and helped all who wished to fulfil their religious obligations. It’s even been suggested that by trading in the temple courts which were preserved for the Gentiles to come and worship in, they were actually excluding Gentiles by taking up their space. Imagine reverent worship taking place with a cacophony of noisy cattle and sheep etc.
The synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke) describe the scene as a ‘den of robbers’, meaning that honesty was not being observed at the temple. Whatever it was, it necessitated a strong rebuke from Jesus.
Get these out of here! Stop turning my Father’s house into a market!
The question that presents itself here then is, had the priestly authorities noticed all this? The answer must be NO!
For them this day, like others before, was business as usual. Money changers, coins, cattle, noise, sheep, doves, worship, sacrifice – another day!
But not for Jesus!
I wonder what your earliest memories and images of Jesus are! What comes to mind when you imagine ‘Jesus’?
One famously influential picture of our Lord (reproduced more than 500 million times) is the painting by Warner Sallman, The Head of Christ (1940) and which appears on many things – from buttons to church bulletins. Another famous one is by Holmant Hunt, The Light of the world and which shows Jesus, holding a lantern, gently knocking a door and standing on a spot overgrown with weeds. Both pictures show a calm, meek and harmless Jesus; a respectable looking Jesus, a good citizen, a man who would never raise his voice.
What picture of Jesus has stuck with you form your childhood memory, if any? Do you know the one of Jesus holding a white lamb on picturesque pastures looking all green and serene? Jesus loves me this I know written by Anna Warner to be sung to a dying boy still stands as one of the most popular children’s hymns the world over. I have known it and still love it. It presents a cuddly Jesus who loves me, who is close beside me and welcomes me to heaven. This is good and sound biblical teaching. I also think that from a preacher’s perspective it is a pleasant duty to commend this kind of Jesus.
But, how do we reconcile this Jesus with the violent Jesus we have just read about? Is your Jesus capable of carrying a whip and putting it to good use? Is he capable of causing, to put it in legal terms, a ‘breach of the peace’? How comfortable are you dealing with this kind of Jesus?
It is very easy to domesticate Jesus in our minds and even create him as we would like to visualize him. It happens to us quite unconsciously often, and usually for a good reasons. A cuddly Jesus is comfortable to deal with and no one enjoys being told off. But Jesus, the man who is also God is all of this, and also much more. It is true he welcomes and embraces us with open arms of love, but He is also a merciful redeemer and judge as we are reminded in the funeral liturgy. Our reading of this episode in the temple is a reminder that all who come to him must do so in his terms. And when he enters a scene, then it can no longer be ‘business as usual’.
The temple authorities who had allowed the environment of temple worship to degenerate to this level had not seen anything wrong with it. There is no indication that they wished to turn the temple precincts into an irreverent ground, nor did they intentionally set out to convert God’s house into a market. But somehow, in the course of doing the right thing, ie enabling people to fulfil their religious obligations, they had gradually veered off; standards had declined leading up to this deplorable situation.
The Christian world view is that Jesus sets our standards. He alone lived like we do, ate, drunk, worked, travelled, was a member of a family, was tempted like we are, but in all these did not sin. He alone is worthy of emulation. He alone is qualified to set the standards. It is the reason why Jesus’ entry or involvement in a situation does not leave things the same.
And so the temple authorities confront him with the question –
what sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?
Their demand reveals what they thought of Jesus. They obviously weren’t dismissing him as some inconsequential hooligan. There was something about him that raised a suspicion that this was no ordinary man. But how dare you regulate the temple? Can you justify your authority? We know you as a self styled Rabii with followers but by what authority have you to call this your Father’s house and behave as though it is? Just picture for a moment a local well known priest walking into this building and saying something similar…
Jesus however refuses to play into their hands, for this would have simply domesticated God. Any allegiance to God that originates from his ability to perform spectacular acts is dangerous because what then happens when God withholds a miracle? What do we then do when he heals one person and not the another? Does he then cease to be God, the Almighty Creator of the heavens and the earth?
And to explain his shocking act, Jesus invites them to consider an equally shocking statement. Destroy this temple and I will raise it again on three days. What? A temple that had taken 46 years to build would be rebuilt in three days? Of course they completely misunderstand him. He was talking about his death which happened exactly as he had described it. He was crucified and on the third day he rose from the grave. But since all they wanted a sign, then there couldn’t have been a more appropriate one. It is surely credible for anyone who can claim to restore a temple within three days to have the authority to cleanse it.
And what a timely story for our Lent! How is your Lent going? Are you finding some quality time (however short) with God? Have you found opportunity to refresh yourself about the meaning of life, God? Or is it business as usual?
As we remember these forty days when our Lord fasted and was tested in the wilderness, let it be a time to remember that God loves us so much that he sent his Son Jesus to show us the way to him. Let us allow ourselves to address those hard and often ignored questions about our relationship with this God.
For some it might be, do I really believe in God, as revealed to us through Jesus Christ? A God who loves me so much that when necessary he can use a whip for my own good?
For others it might be, ever since I declared my believe in God, has anything really changed? And if there was a change, has this been sustained? Or am I back at the old treadmill? Does something need to change now?
For all of us, the question will be, if Jesus was to bring his whip today, what might he want to drive out of our hearts? What tables might he want to turn?
I ask all these because having a relationship with Jesus means allowing him to drive out anything that is anti-God. It may be a religiosity that gives us false sense of security. There is a religiosity that no longer serves God’s purposes, the sort which Jesus was dealing with which had degenerated into a routine practice that was dishonouring to God.
It might be our pathetic excuses – which demand that we moderate our claim about the uniqueness of Christ as the way, the truth and the life because it arrogantly alienates other faiths, other claims. I have no interest in a god who is just another alternative brand in this huge supermarket of life. My God is the king of Kings and the Lord of lords, the creator of the universe, the one to who I owe my existence! I invite us all to allow ourselves to be changed by him to be more like him.
God loves us so much friends! When we allow him to clean our inside, we receive his forgiveness and by that extent we are able to extend forgiveness to other people. We all have a capacity to grow thick skins that are no longer penetrable to pain. We can easily learn how not to be vulnerable. I feel strongly the need to say that anyone who feels this way must stop soldiering on with a brave face, and start again. It is possible to receive God’s healing and start once more. You only need to say yes to him.
May we join in the prayer of Archbishop Rowan in this Lent, to let God the Holy Trinity, through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus touch the core of our humanity. May we allow him through his Spirit to bring us to a point of repentance and reconciliation, as he cleanses the core of our beings, for that is his perfect will for us. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon from 8th March 2009

Today our Vicar, Cameron Barker, preaches based on the gospel reading from Mark 8 verses 31-38.

In contrast to that questionnaire-filling exercise earlier in this service, I have only one question to put to you today. It's also only verbal; and I'll make it really easy, by offering you just two answers to choose from ...

My question is: “What is the church?” And the 2 possible answers are either: the church is the building; or the church is the people who meet here. So let's see who thinks that the church is the building ... And who thinks that the church is the people ...

The right answer is that the church is the people, of course! And now that we're all clear on that, I have an announcement to make. This is the last Sunday we'll meet in this building! Space is clearly an issue (St Saviour's is too full, and we don't fill St Paul's to critical mass). And the church isn't the building; it is the people. So, as from next week, the church will meet ... wherever we decide!

It might be in the park; it might be in someone's house; it might be in Carnegie Library; it might be at Bluewater; it might be on Coldharbour Lane; or it could be anywhere else! We'll let you know on the Saturday night where we'll meet – somehow or other, maybe! The start time will vary each week too. In fact we might not even meet on a Sunday! The only thing that will be constant is what everyone wears when we meet. Next week you'll all have to buy special Parish of Herne Hill robes. They are bright pink for ladies, and luminous green for men. I've designed them myself, and they are very reasonably priced, at just £1 000 each. No robe means no entry. And, talking of entry, that will be £100 per person per gathering, with a modest discount for family groups. So, how many tickets should we print for next week? Hands up if you will be there (wherever 'there' is) ...

Of course none of that is serious – apart from the church being the people, not the building! But doing any of those things would surely lead to the death of this church, would it not? But the point of that exercise is so that we hopefully can now understand rather better just why Jesus' disciples reacted as they did in Mark chapter 8!

Jesus had just got his disciples to grasp a really important point. In the previous story, in verses 27-30 of Mark 8, Jesus had asked his disciples who they thought he was. After all they had heard and seen in their time with him, they were able to identify Jesus as the Messiah, or Christ. By that they meant that he was God's chosen one, the one who would save Israel. It was Peter who had been their spokesman in making that great leap of faith and trust about who Jesus was. And it was Peter who again led the way here in this story that we have heard, as Jesus began to explain to his disciples what being the Messiah actually meant.

Now, this being Lent, we have jumped a long way forward in the story from last week. The temptation that Jesus faced in the desert back then was nearly 3 years before all this happened. His disciples had been with Jesus for most of that time; and they were clearly beginning to get the point, at last. But not fully so, it seems! Like most Jews in Jesus' time, his disciples only saw one side of the Messiah coin. Not surprisingly, they focused on the truth that God would bring in his kingdom through his chosen one. In the circumstances of their time, they could only picture that as meaning the end of their nation's slavery to Rome. Surely that was what God wanted – and would do – for his people?

There was – and is – another side to the Messiah coin, though. It is as clearly in the Old Testament as the idea of God as king of Israel. In chapter 53 the prophet Isaiah wrote about the Messiah as the Suffering Servant. He detailed how the Messiah would choose to give up his own life for the sins of God's people. He would die so that they, we, could be forgiven. And this is the fate that Jesus began to explain to his disciples as what lay ahead for him. “The Son of Man must suffer much, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the teachers of the law. He will be put to death”, Jesus said of himself; and he said it very clearly, in a way that even his disciples understood it.

This might have been news to his disciples; but it wasn't some radical new departure for Jesus. Although we didn't look at it in any detail last week, this was the fundamental dilemma that Jesus had faced in the wilderness. As he began his public ministry, he had to choose what kind of Messiah he was going to be. Was he going to do what God wanted, and needed from him, despite the huge cost? Or was he going to go the easy way? What the Devil had offered Jesus was the easy way – all the gain, with no pain; or so it seemed. As we heard, though, Jesus saw the Devil's lies for what they were, and rejected them. At that point Jesus chose to go God's way instead; and that meant going to the cross.

I have often said that Jesus was born for one reason above all others, and that was to die. I'm saying it again now, because this Lent we need to hear it as we prepare for Easter, just as his disciples did. Once they had come to understand that Jesus was the Messiah, he had then to teach them what that meant. Jesus began that teaching in earnest here – and it got quite a reaction! Peter believed so fervently that Jesus was wrong that he just had to rebuke him! We might want to credit Peter that he tried to do that privately – unlike Jesus' response! But Jesus knew that Peter was being the disciples' spokesman again – and so he addressed his devastating reply to all twelve of them.

Jesus may have seen Peter's lips moving; but it was none other than the Devil's voice that he heard speaking to him. In Peter's very human, natural and caring response to the certainty of Jesus' death lay that same temptation that he had faced before. Jesus saw that for what it was – and he firmly rejected it once again. Jesus knew that the only way he could do what God needed was by dying on the cross. And nothing and nobody was going to stand in the way of him being obedient to the very end. It may have looked like defeat, if not plain madness, in his disciples' eyes. But very often the ways of God do look like madness to us!

And Jesus was far from finished. Having rebuked Peter, he called the whole crowd to him, and taught them all the same message. If anyone wanted to follow him, this was what they could, and should, expect. Following Jesus is not and never has been about pleasing ourselves. Rather, it is about being obedient to God's ways, no matter what the cost. As we have been hearing lately, being a Christian means to be totally, instantly and joyfully obedient to God's will at all times and in all ways – yes, even to the point of death. That is the example that we have been set by Jesus; that is the example that we are to follow, then, Jesus said.

Paradoxically it's only by losing our life that we gain it! If we try to hang on to it – and we may even appear to succeed – we will lose our life in every way that matters, Jesus also said here. What we have to do, then, is to let go of our control of our own life, and hand that over to Jesus. We need not to be ashamed of him or his teaching, but rather to live it and share it with others. That is the only route to the only kind of life that matters. It's a life that begins now, with Jesus, and then continues through eternity – or doesn't!

In this slightly shortened sermon we haven't got time to explore this any further now. But don't let that stop you from getting the point. This being Lent, we are specially invited to take time each day to reflect on what we hear on Sundays. So do read this story, over and again. It is key to understanding who Jesus is, and what he came to do. It's also absolutely vital if we are to grasp what it means for us to be followers – disciples – of Jesus. It's not about us: it is about him, and copying his example. It's about obedience to the ways of God, no matter how mad they look, or what it may cost. It is about the God who in his love for us gave us his all. It's about how, in response, we give our all back to him. It is about losing our own life in order to gain it. But as Bishop Tom Wright asks in his commentary, do we think that encountering this God means just making a few minor adjustments to our life? Let's pray ...