Sermon 23rd May 2010

Today, our Vicar, Cameron Barker continues our study of the story of Lazarus this week's reading - John 11: 38-46)
I wish! I wish I had £1 for each time someone has asked if I've lost weight since surgery, or told me that I have, or said that I look somehow different, lighter, better, changed ... I'm sure that £1 a pop would have been enough to pay for at least one flight to Cambodia by now!

It really has happened that often. The strange thing is that I definitely haven't lost any weight! What I don't doubt, though, is that something has happened. I'm sure that something important has changed because of what I went through in those roller-coaster few days at the start of this year. And, as this truly amazing series has unfolded, so has another dawning realisation. I have come to the point of believing that it would be helpful for more than just me if we end today by reflecting on that time. And, just as importantly, by reflecting on where God wants to lead us from here.

Of course that fits with the rest of the series. From the start we said that it would be one of personal reflections arising from the story of Lazarus rather than expository sermons on it. That's what we have had; and the response to that has been unprecedented. The preaching team met again last week, to look back as well as plan ahead. We agreed that none of us has ever seen, much less been part of, anything like this. We are riding on a wave of shared pain that has resulted in expressions of Godly compassion and love of the most moving kind in this church. And that in itself has vindicated tackling this subject in the way we have.

I said at the start that we had no idea where this series would go. There was 'just' a sense that this was the right, Godly thing to do, in the right way, and at the right time. One question I did hear raised was why we didn't preach on the book of Job if we wanted to explore the nature of suffering. The reason we didn't was because this wasn't, this isn't, about suffering! Not primarily anyway. As we've acknowledged, there has been, there is still, plenty of that about here. As Jesus did in this story, we have shed tears together over some of that suffering, because it hurts. But all that pain has been set in the context of what happened at Lazarus' tomb. This has been, this is, a series about hope, then. It has been, it is, about the hope of resurrection, the hope of new life that we can hold on to, even in the worst of times.

All the way through, we've taken it that we do all know the details of the Lazarus story. It may be that to some extent we've not dwelt long enough on the miraculous nature of it – yet! But we couldn't possibly end without ensuring that we have fully grasped just what Jesus did in Bethany. Of course if we were good 1st-Century Jews we'd be talking about that before and above all else! We'd know that though souls stay around a dead body for 3 days in case there's been a mistake, by Day 4 they are gone! How did Jesus reunite Lazarus with his soul, then?! For those who saw it happen, that was just as impossible as raising dead body!

Be that as it may, stop and think about the facts: Lazarus was 4-days-in-the-tomb dead; Jesus brought him back to life, in front of many witnesses, just by speaking, it seems! It is amazing; it was a miracle. We should be stunned and awed, and full of praise, not to mention full of faith and hope. More than that, this is absolutely central to what Christians believe – the resurrection from the dead. As Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, if there is no resurrection from the dead, then we're wasting our time! We're mega-fools who deserve only pity if our hope ends at the grave. But it does not! The raising of Lazarus from death shows us without doubt that Jesus has power even over death itself.

Of course John told this story partly to point on to Jesus' own death and resurrection. As I'm sure you've realised, the events of Easter are more significant than the raising of Lazarus, by way far. Because, even in the the midst of the amazement, the praise, the hope, and the everything else of this story, there has been a big 'BUT' always in the background. To name it as a question, where is Lazarus now? Can we go and ask him what happened in those 4 days? Can we talk with him about life and death, or knowing Jesus? No; because he's long dead! This resurrection – miracle as it was – was 'only' ever a temporary reprieve! Lazarus, as all of us do, had to face the end of his human life – and then encounter what Jesus' resurrection means.

The evidence is that none of us will know what that is like until we get there ourselves – as we all will one day. But I have found myself idly wondering what Lazarus did with the rest of his life before he died again. It's a rather strange experience, to have life again when you thought you didn't any more. I think that I perhaps have a little insight into that myself now, after what I went through at the start of this year. I know that many of you already know the details of that, but I'll repeat a few, for those who don't.

Having been fairly ill for a few weeks, but not knowing with what, I landed up puzzling a succession of doctors in A&E one Thursday in January. In the end, the Consultant settled on a ruptured appendix. But my symptoms weren't classic; so they – unusually – gave me a CT scan. That confirmed the appendix rupture; but a vigilant technician also spotted something else, maybe. So the next day I was given an echo scan of the heart. That showed a very rare, and very large tumour (almost the size of a tennis ball), growing inside my heart.

Clearly this couldn't be left, any more than the long ruptured appendix – but it was now Friday afternoon. So, having been told what the problems were, and how serious, I had to wait until Monday for double-surgery to try and fix them. There was always the option of doing it in an emergency before then, so I think that I had to sign the consent forms just in case. I was feeling very ill by then, but I'll never forget the doctor's words. He showed me the part of the form where it rates your chance of dying on the table. He said that mine was much higher than usual. “But don't worry about that”, he said: “the death rate if we can't sort this out is 100%”!

As I say, I was feeling very ill, and got worse over the weekend. But in retrospect I'm sure that what I did was face the prospect of death head-on. When I was awake it certainly felt like I was dying. I tried to write, or record, a piece for my funeral, but that was more than I could manage in my semi-conscious state. Not much could get outside my head, not even through my mouth. But it all churned away in here, and then surfaced in my first 'proper' conversation after all the drama. By then I was back home, with the surgery all done and sorted. As I've said before, my friend Philip asked what I'm going to do with this life that I've been given back, after so nearly losing it. And that, I think, is indeed THE question.

It's THE question not just for me, but for each one of us. It's THE question for us as a church too – and I think that I now have at least the beginnings of an answer to offer. We mustn't rush to get there, though. I'm aware that I've had a rare and special privilege in going through this. Not all of us have had that – though the story of Lazarus is meant to help us to face our own mortality. Generally we're not great at death in Western culture, though. We like to pretend as best we can that it's not going to happen to us. So we're not ready for it – when those we love die, or when it's us. That can change, though; and I hope that it will, as a result of what you have seen, heard and learned from this story.

As I said, we chose it because it is a story of hope. It's a story of hope that we can hold on to in faith in the midst of whatever. Nobody has ever said that it's easy, facing the pains, challenges and uncertainties that we do, personally and as a church. Of course we don't always get it right, personally or as a church. And of course each of us does ultimately have to face death, even death that we may see as untimely or unfair. But we can do that in hope. And THE question still remains: what are we going to do with this life that we have been given, for as long as we have it? How are we going to live, ahead of meeting Jesus, and discovering for ourselves what resurrection means and what eternal hope looks like?

When Gill spoke in this series she focused on some of the practical ways in which we can help one another to live as people of hope through difficult times. I very much agree, that this is a special feature of this church, and wonderful to see at work. Gill also told of how we'd had a comment from someone, saying they believe that God is affirming this church as a gift to people who are suffering. I agree with that too; and also believe that it's God's time for us to stretch that care and compassion even wider than now.

It's too early to speak of this in detail yet. But we are in the early stages of developing a strategy that we'll work at in earnest from September. It will give as many who want to the chance to go out into our parish with this message of God's hope in the midst of whatever. It won't be in any way in-your-face, so much as the offer of prayer, support, care and love for whoever 'out there' may need it. Our aim will very much be to go on offering exactly the same to all of us who need it 'in here' too. And no doubt there will be times when we can give that, and times we need to receive it. What I remain sure of is that, however it all works out, we will see Jesus bringing some new part of God's future bursting into our present with hope and joy – into the mess, pain, and all. So let's pray that he will do that, this Pentecost and beyond ...

Sermon 16th May 2010

Today, one of our Lay Readers, Adrian Parkhouse, continues our study of John 11: The raising of Lazarus:

A meditation

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. 34 Where have you laid him? he asked. Come and see, Lord, they replied. 35 Jesus wept.
1. I am an observer. I am not engaged. I am not involved. I am able to observe from far. I can remain detached. Just watching and listening. Right now I am watching those women over there – sisters they are. Look at them. Look at their drawn faces; see that tiredness in their shoulders. Days of watching: days and nights of waiting. For that one, yes that one, Mary she is, look at her cloak – creased with the days and nights of sitting by the bed wiping away the fever, washing away the filth, by her touch communicating their presence and their care. Her face tells her story now: is it over now? Has it really happened? Has he gone or is it just a dream? And the other one: look, still busy, burying her sadness in bossy, busyness. It’s how she is, bossy, busy, no time for emotion. And in their individual, different sadnesses see how they seem to be waiting for something – see the way they look round when they hear the sound of steps, the sound of voices. Have they been expecting that someone might come?
2. I am an observer. Through the car windows, I wait to see the things that I am used to seeing in this night-time drive north. First the red sky ablaze over Corby as the men from Scotland turn the ground of Northants into steel; then the bombers standing proudly at the gates of the airfields of Lincolnshire, and, tired now, looking straight up to see the top of the cathedral spire before, last of all, driving off the Wolds the sky, now black, is lit again by the furnaces of more steel-makers. Then passed into the arms of Auntie Emily – and now I just listen, listen to a conversation that will last a weekend, that will impress on a small child the mortality of man: “You remember Jean – you know Jean who married Eric – used to be a guide-leader? Yes? Well she’s dead. And Eric’s in hospital again with his ....Oh and George.from behind the fish shop? Yes? He dead...”
And back in a car, a little older now, life is exciting! I have inherited my sister’s old cagoule and I am the only one in the cottage who doesn’t care that it rains all the time in the Summer in North Wales, because I am a commando; day after day in wind and rain I am fighting off the enemy on the beach. But now in the car, I am listening and hear a stray comment, not meant for me: “So will your mum leave you dad?” My life has just changed. I have engaged
3. So this is who they have been expecting - that crew of men whose dust I have been watching getting closer for the last hour or more. Obviously someone ran ahead with the news ,as the busy one has left her jobs and has run down the track to meet the visitors; look she has met them before they have got into the village.. Get closer, let’s listen. “If you had been here, my brother would not have died…” – words that might be an accusation, a complaint for being late, for holding back - but are not. Rather, in the midst of her ever –active, mourning, her coping loss, they are words of trust: he would not have died, “God will give you whatever you ask.” I am observing trust even as the thing she would have asked for first in the world is taken from her. “I am the resurrection and the life….He who believes in me will never die.” Words that could just be words to a person in her place. “Do you believe this?” “Yes,” she replies.
4. I have found that the world can be blocked out from observing, if you lie deep in your bed with a pillow pressed hard over your ears. That way you can try not to hear whether or not the car comes home and when. That way you can pretend that the noises from downstairs are not another row between two people you love. That way everything might be perfect. That way my desperate prayers for it all to be sorted - for one to drink less, for the other to try to understand more, for some love to be restored - might seem to be answered. Jesus, please, help!
5. Now look, the gentle one is here. And her sadness has overcome her, her tears flow and he - he who is the resurrection and the life – he is angry. Yes, angry. Her sadness has moved him to anger. But not at her, not even at the mourners who weep with her, genuinely or formulaically. No it is aimed at something else, not a person, not a thing: it is as if he is angry at death itself: this state that comes to us all. The “life” is at odds with death. But look, now they are near the tomb and his mood is changed. Stood there with Mary, observing her grief, he weeps with her. The resurrection and the life shares the sadness .
6. I have been very aware of being an observer of much of what has happened in the parish in the last couple of years as we have been bounced around by the dramatic events in the Vicarage. And as others in the congregations and the community have been battling with illness or loss – these things being the trigger for these times of sharing on this passage from John’s gospel – I, like most of us, have been there watching. Watching - and praying – sometimes desperate prayers
7. In putting the experience of this time – as well as other experiences of life – alongside the story of Jesus and Lazarus, I find three particular points of contact with the Bible story: Jesus’ anger, Jesus’ tears and the outcome of trust or faith.
• I don’t dwell much on the anger – indeed we need to read the passage with a commentary perhaps to pick up that Jesus being “deeply moved in spirit and troubled” is an expression of anger rather than grief – but that is what it is. He shares that innate anger we have felt, we feel, at the destructiveness of illness, the waste of addiction, the futility of breaking relationships, the hopelessness of shattered dreams. He shares it.
• Jesus tears are much more obvious. The shortest verse in the Bible. Even though Jesus knew what was to happen, his love for his friends brought him to grieve for their sadness. He understood their sense of loss and was saddened. And, as others have testified in this series already, wherever we stand in times of trouble, in the midst or on the edge, we can testify to that love and empathy: of Jesus being part of our experience, sharing it with us. I knew it as a young Christian in the place I found myself: the anguish was not taken away but I knew I was loved.
• And the “faith bit” is perhaps curious: was the whole thing just a test to provide an opportunity for a faith-inducing miracle? Is that the case with the stresses of life generally? I don’t think so. But the fact is, that in those places we can be better attuned to be close to God, to learn, to be ready to experience a miracle. That was my experience – as it happens understanding and love did return; and in recent times I think only of the prayer meeting on the day of Joc’s operation - of a message sent round the parish in hours drawing a roomful from every corner of parish life to be there and to be close.
Amen

Sermon 9th May 2010

Today, our Vicar, Cameron Barker, preaches a shorter than normal sermon, as the service was followed by St. Paul's AGM. The gospel reading is John 14: verses 23-27.

One of my regular tasks that not everyone may be aware of is to take assemblies. There are two primary, and one pre-primary, but no secondary, schools in our parish. So I'm usually trying to communicate with children as young as three, and no older than eleven. They are great in many ways, and love to get involved. But they can be a tough crowd, not least because you're never sure what's really getting through. So I was very pleased to hear a feedback story recently, then, from a parent of a Year 5, so a ten-year-old, boy.

When she'd asked him, Robbie told his mum that the vicar had taken an assembly about Moses. He happily told her what he had learned, of how God had sent Moses on a rescue mission behind enemy lines, to lead the Hebrew people out of Egypt. Robbie reported that when he had got them to the Red Sea, Moses had his army build a pontoon bridge. Once all his people had walked safely across it, he had radioed headquarters for help. They had then sent in the F16s to blow up the bridge; and so all the Hebrew people were saved – just like God had promised!

Not recognising all the details as given in his account, his mother wasn't totally convinced by Robbie's story. So she had pushed him as to exactly what the vicar had said. In the end he gave in, and told her, “OK, that wasn't how he told it. But if I told it the way he did, you'd never believe me!”

Once again, the connection between that apocryphal story and what follows is perhaps a little tenuous – but it does exist! I'm sure you already know that this is AGM day! We are well into our annual meeting season, where we look back at the past year, and ahead to the next. Having done that for the whole parish at the APCM, today we're doing it for each church. Yes it's a bit strange to be doing it in May when the year we're reviewing ended in December! There is no easy way around that given what needs to be done first; and it is a legal requirement that we do it. But I always welcome the chance to stop and deliberately look out for what God has been up to.

In the busyness and drama of everyday life it is easy to miss important elements of God at work. We need to take this time out, to be sure that we see and hear what we need to. And, having been 'at' this for a while already, I know that we will be amazed by what we see and hear in this process! In terms of drama and excitement, whichever way we tell it, it probably won't rival Moses' rescue mission to Egypt. But there will be, there are, clear and definite signs of God at work. In a whole range of ways, both mundane and amazing, He was bringing life and light, faith, hope and trust to Herne Hill, in the midst of the ordinary and the extraordinary alike of 2009.

It's not my job to point out the how and when of all that. Those who come here regularly have seen, and been part of, it just as much as I have. I'll 'just' invite you to take the time to see it for what it is, in the meeting if you can stay for it, or by yourself later. What I do need to do now, though, is to spell out very clearly why this was so in 2009. And there is, of course, only one reason that God can ever be at work, anywhere, during any year – and that's because He himself has made it possible!

Today we're obviously taking a mini-break from our current series of reflections from the story of Lazarus. But we're very much not taking break from the season of the church year! We're just 2 weeks away from Pentecost, the birthday of the church, when in so many ways this all began! On that day Jesus kept the promise that we have heard at least part of from John 14. Pentecost was the day when Jesus sent his Spirit on his followers, to enable them to live for, and in, him. There certainly were some dramatic and exciting moments, on that day, and stories to tell afterwards. But most exciting of all was the rapidly dawning realisation that this day, Pentecost, was no one-off.

As I say, at Pentecost Jesus kept the promise that he had made, on several occasions, and in many ways, to his disciples. Of course there's no time to explore the details of that now, not even of 'just' this part of Jesus' promise. What's most important, though, is to acknowledge, before we take this review process any further what Jesus sent – and sends – his Spirit to do. As Jesus promised in this passage, it's his Spirit who helps and guides us now. As Jesus promised, it's his Spirit who teaches us everything that we need to know. As Jesus promised, it's his Spirit who brings his words alive to us today. As Jesus promised, it's his Spirit who makes us able to show our love for him by obeying his teaching. As Jesus promised, it's his Spirit who has given us his amazing peace, in any and all the things that we may have faced in 2009!

As we go through the rest of this process, then, let's give the credit where it's due. For all the way in which God has been at work – in the ordinary and the extraordinary – we need to give Him thanks and praise first and foremost. He has done it, as He alone can do it – by the presence and the power of His promised Spirit. It's by the presence and the power of that same Spirit that Jesus has brought life and light, faith, hope and trust to Herne Hill in 2009. He will bring more of the same again in 2010, as we are already seeing – in the same way: by the presence and the power of His Spirit. So let's praise him, and trust him, as we pray ...

Sermon 2nd May 2010

Today, our Curate, Gill Tayleur continues our study of John 11, the story of Lazarus.

In case you haven’t been in church for a couple of weeks, or are new:
This is the 3rd week in a series of 5 sermons, which are different from usual. They are 5 personal reflections on life, suffering & death, and on how Jesus has met with us in those times. In the first, Cameron spoke of his experience of living with Jocelyn’s incurable illness. Last week Adjoa spoke about her experience of depression. Today it’s me. I’m not going to speak of pain & suffering I have been through myself – although I have, as nearly all of us have – but instead I want to speak about drawing alongside others in their pain & suffering. For, although there are people in this church and St Sav/Pauls who are going though very tough times indeed right now, there are many others who are in an easier & happier place in their lives at the moment.
So I want to talk about how we can support & care for others in their time of trouble or suffering. And I do so partly because I’ve been on the receiving end of other people’s love & support when I’ve been through tough times, and really been helped by it.
Partly because I’ve sometimes been able to give some support to others when they’ve needed it. But I do so mostly because since getting this little white bit of plastic round my neck a year & half ago, I’ve seen a lot more of the pains and burdens people carry. Clergy are privileged to be trusted with hearing about people’s private & personal problems.

Having said that, giving care & support for those who need it, of course, effects us ALL. Put your hand up if you know someone who’s going through a tough time at the moment? Illness, bereavement, unemployment, marriage breakdown, debt, victims of crime, violence, addiction. Know anyone facing such tough times?... Exactly! This is for everyone.

This sermon series is given in the context of the story of Jesus and Lazarus. In the part of that story we’ve just read, John says “Many Judeans/ Jews had come to see Martha & Mary to comfort them over their brother’s death. / in the loss of their brother.” We all know what it’s like to see someone who needs comfort in their troubles. We all know what it’s like to see someone deeply distressed, whether by the death of someone they loved, like Martha & Mary, or by another of life’s blows. To say it can be uncomfortable for us is an understatement. Especially if it’s someone we love, it can be excruciating for us too,
to see them in pain, physical or emotional. It may stir up our own memories of pain/ loss. It may make us feel angry about their situation, whether or not the person themselves is angry. It may make us ask, Lord why? It’s too much for them! And it may make us feel powerless. There’s nothing I can do to make it better. Nothing I can do to take it all away, to give them what they’ve lost, or what they need. I wish I could, so so much! Or it may simply make us feel a bit awkward. What do I say, where do I put myself, with them all upset like this? Depending who the person is, and the situation we’re in, we may simply want to run away. The other person’s pain or trouble may be too uncomfortable for us to stay with.

But having the dog collar has meant sometimes when I’ve wanted to run away, I can’t! At the hospital with a young woman in a secure ward for the mentally ill. Not a comfortable place to be. At the hospital by the bedside of someone dying, with their family. Such situations have forced me to stay, literally, in that uncomfortable place. To stay with my discomfort and with the questions about me and my life they throw up: (What’s it like to die?
When & how will it happen to me? What do I really believe in my heart of hearts, about suffering, & dying? and so on.)

All of that’s important, but in those situations of being with someone else in their pain, at that time, the MOST important thing, the ONLY important thing, is THEM. I have to ignore or get over my discomfort and stay with them. In those cases, literally stay with them, right there in the hospital or in their home.

It’s such an obvious thing I know, but sometimes 1 of the most valuable things we can give someone is to stay with them, to really listen to them, that they might feel understood. Whether it’s the story of how their mother died, or their accident, or how they lost their job,
often people need to talk about their experience, not just once but over & over again. It’s how we humans process things. As is crying. We know it can be a help to cry, so let’s not try to stop them, or try to cheer them up, or change the subject. And if you’re anything like me, on occasion, you may end up shedding the odd tear with them. That’s OK too. We read later in this Lazarus story, that Jesus wept. Wept for several reasons probably - that may or may not be explored in a later sermon - but surely one of the things that moved him must have been Martha & Mary’s grief?

Another thing I’m learning is not to be too worried about what to say. Yes of course we need to think before we speak, especially as often it’s our listening they need from us, not our words. But worrying about what to say to someone who has gone through a trauma of some sort? People often avoid seeing someone who has recently been bereaved, for example,
for fear of what to say. We just need to say something kind. To say “I don’t know what to say,
but I’m so sorry to hear your news.” Or put a note through their door to say we’re thinking of them. Communicate however we like, but let’s do it. People say the sense of isolation after a bereavement can be huge, and add to their pain. How sad is that?!

Another thing I’m learning is that people can need support for a long time. Some pains and losses don’t go away; the person just learns to live with them. It’s no good saying, you should be over this by now. Being there for the long haul can be important.

For many people, the main practical thing we can do to support them is to listen. But in some situations, there are other practical ways we can help. We have a great system here in church of providing meals for people if they need it. Sara Bredemear/ Geraldine Garner
co-ordinates it, if you want to help, or know someone who could do with it. Offering the practical help of a lift, or to do the shopping, or ironing, or babysit. Let’s not say, “let me know if there’s anything I can do to help” as often the person won’t have the oomph to ask.
Better to say, “may I bring you a meal one night this week? How about Tuesday or Wednesday?” or whatever. There are people in the church who support others financially too, where it’s needed. [If you don’t know about the ChurchWarden’s Fund, there’s a paragraph explaining it on page 11 of the St Sav AGM booklet at the back of church.]

I think we’re quite good at some of this stuff, as a church family, in supporting the situations we know about. Although I bet there are many more we don’t know about, and so can’t give support. Someone recently passed this comment on to Cameron and the leaders.
“About our church and suffering: I feel God may be saying that he brings people to our church because it is a place where people don't have to suffer in silence. They can be upfront & honest about what is going on for them, because they know they will be supported. People will suffer those things regardless but God brings them to our church –
a place where their suffering will be cushioned by the people they have around them,
with people whose eyes are fixed on heaven and who have a love for one another.
I think our church is a gift to the suffering.”

What an encouragement – and challenge – to do all we can to love & support one another.
It’s for ALL of us, not just us with dog collars. Obviously the 3 of us can’t provide that level of care for the 300 people in our congregations, plus parishioners! Together as the church, we are (all) the body of Christ. We are to be his hands and feet, the practical expression of his love, to one another. That is often how God shows his love for us, through his people. Cameron said 2 weeks ago, that he & his family have received God’s care through the care of us in the church family.

“People whose eyes are fixed on heaven.” That brings me to the biggest most important thing we can do to care for those we know with troubles. Pray. Pray pray pray.
Back to the story of Lazarus for a minute. A bit later on, at the bottom of the first column on the back of the blue card, in the last column of the blue card, we read that Jesus said
to take away the stone that was across the cave tomb. Martha exclaimed that after 4 days in there, Lazarus’ body would have started to rot and there would be a terrible stink. Still, they did it, they took the stone away, and straight away Jesus prays thanking God that he has been heard, before he calls Lazarus out of the tomb. Why does Jesus thank God at that moment, before Lazarus comes out? Because when the stone is rolled away and there’s no bad smell, he knows God has answered his prayer to raise Lazarus to life. And Bishop Tom Wright says this may explain what Jesus was doing while he stayed where he was, miles away, for another 2 days before going to Bethany. He may have been praying those 2 days!
Praying Lazarus’ body didn’t start to decompose.
We can’t be sure about that, but it makes sense to me. What we are sure about is that Jesus prayed often, in all sorts of situations. If Jesus prayed for others, then how much more might we need to do so! And often when we’re in a crisis or overwhelmed with troubles, somehow we can’t do it ourselves. When our son John was taken into hospital with a mystery illness and in intensive care (only for one night and he recovered fully), I could cry, “God, help!” but nothing more. I was in a bubble of unreality, fear & anxiety, & couldn’t concentrate on prayer But I knew that others were praying for us, and it meant a lot to me. And John got better.

Both Cameron and Adjoa’s sermons have shown us very clearly, that God doesn’t always make everything better, or heal us, or take away our pain. But that God is with us in the pain, the mess, the despair. So I’m not suggesting a simplistic: pray for those in trouble and it’ll all get better. Sometimes it does, wonderfully! But often our prayers are answered, not as we’re crying out for, but with what Adjoa called last week, God’s safety net of absolute grace.
Knowing that we are safe in God’s grace, no matter how it looks or feels. No matter how bad our situation. So we pray for those in trouble, pray pray pray!

Even when they can’t hold on to much – or any – faith or trust in God, we can pray to our, and their, loving Father in heaven. Whatever we are going through, God knows, he cares, he is right with us in our suffering. We know that from looking at the cross. God loves us so much that he has sent his son Jesus to die for us, so that we can know him with us now,
if we choose to. And so that when we’re done in this life, we will live with him forever, in the new heaven and new earth, the new existence, which he is preparing for those that love him. Jesus said, I am the resurrection & the life. Those who believe in me will live, even though they die; and all those who live & believe in me will never die/ I am the resurrection & the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives & believes in me will never die.
Suffering won’t go on forever! As Cameron said in his sermon 2 weeks ago, we haven’t got to the end of the story yet. And meanwhile, whether at the moment we’re in a really hard painful place, or whether we’re being the comforter to others, let us go on putting one foot in front of the other, in faith and trust. Let us choose to believe, that however it looks and feels here & now, God IS good, all the time! And all the time....? God is good!

So let’s pray: Heavenly Father, thank you for your love, and your safety net of grace. May we show that love to one another, within and reaching out from, our church family. In Jesus’ name, Amen.