THE KEY TO THE TARDIS?

EASTER 4

On Thursday morning, as the children from St Mary’s School were all here in church, I asked them what this is....Does anyone know?  Actually it’s the key to the TARDIS.  You can tell because its got a map of the constellation of Kasterborous on the back, where the planet Gallifrey (the home of the Timelords) can be found.  At least its what the Key looked like in the time of the 7^th and 8^th Doctors – as of course it changed each time the TARDIS regenerates itself…..you don't need me to explain that surely?  Well, the children were very excited.  But I must admit that if Jesus actually had said “I am the key to the TARDIS” then my talk would have been more coherent – but it did convey something of what Jesus meant when he said things like “I am the gate for the sheep”.  There’s something about him, he seems to say, that is fundamentally essential.  Like bread.  Like water.  Like a gate, a door.  Like a key.

In today's gospel, Jesus makes much of the imagery of the sheep and the shepherd, and the gate and the fold – and of course that imagery extends beyond verses 1-10 of chapter 10 as it is not till later that Jesus finally gets round to saying “I am the Good Shepherd….”  In this first section though, Jesus sets up a contrast between the shepherd and the thief.  The thief doesn’t use the gate, but climbs in over the wall to attack the sheep – whereas the shepherd approaches the flock from the front so he can be recognised and the sheep are not alarmed. The sheep know the shepherd’s voice and he knows them by name and leads them; and of course, the thief is a stranger, and they not only don’t recognise him but fear him. But the most important and all–encompassing difference between the shepherd and the thief is held in the last line of today’s passage in verse 10:  “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.  I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”

The theme of LIFE and LIVING is hugely important throughout John’s Gospel.  When Jesus meets the Samaritan woman in Chapter 4, he describes himself as the living water.  In chapter 6 Jesus is described as the bread of life.  (those fundamental essentials again). You’ll remember that John records seven signs to demonstrate who Jesus is – the first being turning water into wine at the Wedding in Cana, and the seventh and final sign is the Raising of Lazarus.  Aside from the story of Christ’s passion itself, ‘The Raising of Lazarus’ in Chapter 11 could be seen as the essence and climax of the whole gospel. In a way, the Raising of Lazarus puts into action that astounding claim of the Jesus who said I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”  It’s not so much about raising Lazarus from the dead…..but raising him to life.

A few weeks back, on Passion Sunday, we heard the story of the Raising of Lazarus.  I referred then to the sundial on the tower of the church next to the retreat centre at Offchurch, where a number of us have been a number of times!  Above the dial on the side of the tower are the words “Don’t forget to Live”. In a way it seems out of place: metal letters in a modern typeface – and they could have made it sound a bit more oldy-worldy, but it’s a simple and direct statement.  “Don’t forget to Live”……. and it is surprisingly easy to do.  But Jesus says:  I came that [you] may have life, and have it abundantly”

It’s worth pausing there to ask ourselves a few pertinent questions:  Is that your experience of Christian faith – that it has given you abundant life? Or at least got you a bit closer to it?  Is that your experience of the Church – as life giving rather than life-quenching?  And in what ways can we see our ministry as a church giving abundance of life to our community and the wider world? When did you last stop and check on the things you are spending most of your time on….are they life-giving or life-quenching? You might also like to make a list of all the things which for you are life-quenching, draining….and then think how you’re going to get shot of them!

If Christ came to bring fullness of life, then that is what Christ’s church (and that’s us) ought to be bringing to the world - in his name and in his strength. But what is ‘life in all its fullness’, or ‘abundance’? Well I think on one level – a very human level - it is about life which is authentic, honest, and true to itself.  And so as Christians and as a church we ought to be actively involved in denouncing anything which robs human beings of that dignity.  The gospel this morning reminds us that we have a lot of work to do if we are to faithfully follow the Good Shepherd.

That’s the first thing I’d like to draw from the gospel this morning: that as members of Christ’s church we are called to enable others (whether they believe or not is actually immaterial) to live their lives as fully and authentically as possible.

The second thing is that, whilst that is true, Jesus actually meant so much more than that.  For Jesus – and certainly for the author of the fourth gospel as he pieces all of this together, the answer to the question ‘What is life in all its fullness?’ is quite clear.  And just as I’ve suggested an answer on a human level, this finds its answer on the divine level.  Life in all its fullness and abundance was how Jesus lived.  Running alongside the theme of life in John’s gospel is the theme of Jesus’ relationship to and with and in the Father.  Life in all its fullness is about a life in complete union with God – being in relationship with God just as Jesus was in relationship to God.

John 10 v 10 reminds us clearly what we ought to be about – as individual disciples, as congregations, as national churches….protecting and upholding the rights and integrity of others, and inviting them to draw closer to the mystery of God’s ever-embracing love.  In fact that’s a pretty good summary of what our Bishop has called ‘Living God’s Love” (and you'll know that in the very instant I mention those words, a light is flashing on a map at Abbey Gate House in St Albans and I just scored an extra 30 points!)

Life in all its fullness and abundance was how Jesus lived. Life in all its fullness is about a life in complete union with God – being in relationship with God just as Jesus was in relationship to God.  Life in all its fullness can never just be for us as individuals alone, but is always about protecting and upholding the rights and integrity of others, and inviting them to draw closer to the mystery of God’s ever-embracing love.  And today you are invited to draw closer and encounter afresh the One is fundamentally essential to your life.  The key, if you like, to who you are, what you are, and who and what you can and will be.  The Good Shepherd.  The gate for the sheep.  In your hands, the bread of life.

Jesus said: I came that [you] may have life, and have it abundantly”  

He calls us to live God’s love. 

May God give us the courage and the vision to do it – in the name of our Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ.  Amen

AN ECCLESIASTICAL 'BLAIR WITCH PROJECT'....?

EASTER 3: Becky's Farewell

‘The Roman Emperor and philosopher, Marcus Aurelius observed that as human beings “…we shrink from change; yet is there anything that can come into being without it”, and Edmund Burke believed it to be the most powerful law of nature”.’

Those were the opening sentences of my Rector’s Report to this year’s annual meeting at the beginning of April.  The ‘change’ referred in the first instance to our building development project as it builds up a head of steam.  But more importantly, my report went on to say this:

“But of course the most continual and vital change is always that which goes on among us and within us as the People of God.  The Bishop’s Challenge to Go Deeper into God, Transform Communities and Make New Disciples reminds us that none of us can stand still.  That is of course especially apparent when it comes to parish clergy, and we will soon be saying goodbye to Becky after almost three years of energetic, visionary and caring ministry among us, and to Amanda as she is ordained Deacon.  Please pray for them, as we know they will pray for us.  Difficult though farewells may be, they are a very powerful reminder that it is we who are the body of Christ, and that standing still and remaining the same are not options available to us if we are truly following him.”

…and yes, when I wrote those words, I knew there was the possibility of a third farewell…..

So beginning with today, these next three months are going to be odd, to say the least, as one by one we are picked off in a kind of ecclesiastical Blair Witch Project.

Of course there is a sense in which over the years, St Mary’s has seen clergy come and clergy go, and one or two of you have said that rather stoically in recent weeks.  But as much as that is true, I’d like to suggest that it’s not the most helpful way of looking at things.  What’s more I’d like to suggest that having 3 departures in as many months could - perhaps surprisingly - be a way of understanding more deeply what it means to be the Church, the People of God.  Because the ‘clergy come and go’ way of thinking tends to imply that this place is static.  A fixed point which others visit for a while, and then move on from.  But of course we know that is not the case.  St Mary’s isn’t the same place it was 8 years ago – and more importantly to remember today, St Mary’s isn’t the place it was 3 years ago.  So actually, everything is moving. Everything is changing.

As I tried to think of an illustration of what I wanted to say this morning….I thought of Terry Barker.  At the end of this week, Terry begins his sponsored walk along the Thames Path to raise money for our 1000+ Appeal (If you haven’t had a chance to sponsor him then today is not too late!). But as well as sponsors, Terry has had promises from various people that they will join him on the journey.  Not for all of it, but for a little while walking with him – to keep him company, to encourage him, to inspire and support him….and to make sure he’s going the right way!  In much the same way, for the past 3 years Becky has walked with us, encouraging, caring, inspiring, supporting - and it must be said, getting an awful lot done at the same time!  And having walked a while with us, it’s now time to follow another path and accompany others on their journey.  As well as Terry’s walk being the perfect illustration, we have this morning’s gospel reading, the story of the disciples' encounter with the Risen Christ as they journeyed to Emmaus.  A shared journey, through which we encounter Christ.

So yes, clergy come and go.  But perhaps a more accurate and more helpful way to express it is to say “St Mary’s travels on – and as we do, we bump into some interesting people on the way.  People in whose face we see the face of Christ.”  And of course, that works both ways.  It is a huge understatement to say that ‘we’re glad we bumped into Becky’ on our journey – and I know that Becky is glad to have bumped into us. The wonderful mystery of the presence of Christ with us as we travel on the road is that as much as Becky has brought Christ to us [as individuals, and together as a community] so we have brought Christ to her.  And as much as Becky has been used by the Holy Spirit to shape and change us, so we have been used to shape and change her.

At the end of our Eucharist this morning, the last part of the liturgy is titled ‘Praying our Farewells’.  It comes from the Franciscan tradition, and the plan is that we will use the same words together at the end of June when we send Amanda off to be ordained deacon, and again in July when I pop off.  It’s a simple liturgy which embodies that sense of mutuality in thanksgiving, forgiveness and blessing – and I think captures very well the sense of travellers at a cross roads.  Travellers who glimpse in one another the presence of the Christ who walks with them.

THE GIFT OF GRIEF

Easter Memorial Service - Saturday 7th May 2011

It is now almost 19 years since my Mum died.  I was 24, she was 54, and it was six months before my ordination.  We had two weeks between the diagnosis that her cancer had returned with a vengeance, and her death.  Travelling back from Bristol to East London I had the totally unreal experience, which some of you will be familiar with, of packing the latest photographs of our year old son to show to Mum, and also packing my suit and the tie Id chosen to wear at her funeral.

There’s something uniquely human in the experience of bereavement.  And although it hurts unbelievably, there is something about it that is a gift.  No one in their right mind wants to be hurt.  But neither do we want to forget.  Almost 19 years on, I’m still getting used to the fact that she’s not around.  And there are still those things: objects, photographs, places and even phrases and expressions on my teenage children’s faces that somehow – and sometimes for no obvious reason – bring the memories flooding back once more. These are defining moments of grief, when somehow everything we feel, remember, miss and celebrate is suddenly there encapsulated. Tangible. Made Real.

The last week or so has been momentous: aroyal wedding, bank holidays coming one after the other like buses, blazing sunshine (until this morning!), the death of Osama Bin Laden and, it seems, the demise of Nick Clegg and the Lib Dems.  So much going on that we may have already forgotten that just two weeks ago we celebrated Easter. For the Church, Easter is one of those defining moments when somehow everything we feel, remember, miss and celebrate is suddenly there encapsulated.  Tangible. Made Real.  Crammed into the space of a week we re-live the very human story of fear, betrayal, suffering, death and grief in the life of Jesus.

But as we re-live that very human story, we celebrate afresh the divine story – the unfathomable yet insuppressible truth that God raised Christ to life, and that death itself is defeated.  It may already seem like ages ago with all that has happened, so it’s just as well that that in the Church’s calendar Easter lasts for no less than seven weeks.

We gather here this morning from many different places, from different experiences, and different stages on our journey.  And all that we do here, and in fact this ancient place of prayer itself, is framed in the Christian hope of Easter.  We’ve just heard the Easter gospel, the experience of Mary Magdalene who through her tears and in the midst of her grief realized that the risen Christ stood with her.

My hope and prayer is that for each of us, today will be one of those defining moments – a moment in which we bring our feelings, memories, griefs and prayers - but also a moment in which we capture a sense of the closeness of Christ’s presence and the joy of resurrection life.  Amen

THERE'S A LOT OF UNWINDING YET TO BE DONE

LENT 5 - Passion Sunday

I’m hopeless at making choices.  Whether it’s at the pick'n'mix counter in Woollies (grief, that dates me!), or deciding which tie to wear (on the very rare occasions I get to actually wear a tie!) it takes me ages to choose.  Give me a restaurant menu, and the whole evening could pass before I’ve chosen my starter.  So faced with this morning’s gospel reading, I’m spoilt for choice.  The story of the raising of Lazarus offers quite a few pegs to hang a sermon on.  We could ponder why Jesus seems to take so long to respond to the request to come to Bethany.  Alternatively we could reflect theologically on what Jesus meant when he somewhat blithely says that Lazarus has only ‘fallen asleep’ – what’s all that about? Or we could look more closely at the response that Jesus receives from Martha and Mary, both of them saying separately ‘Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died’, but each of the sisters meeting with Jesus being different none the less.  Then of course we might dwell on the mechanics of raising a body from the grave, and focus on Lazarus emerging from the tomb.  What a choice……

It’s a bit like climbing the Eiffel Tower – or for the more sophisticated among us, the Blackpool Tower.  You can either meander up slowly – pausing to take in the view at each stage along the way – or get the lift straight to the top and take in the whole panorama in all its breathtaking expanse!  It’s the same with John 11. We could meander through this passage  – or we could go straight to the peak…..and that is the very climax of the story.  Not only Lazarus emerging from the tomb, but the authoritative words of Jesus: Unbind him and let him go! Somehow, those six words hold the key to the whole episode.  

Firstly, on a physical level of course, Lazarus – as he shuffled out of the cold tomb – needed someone to loosen his grave wrappings and set him free.  Just as death had been unbound, so physically he needed to be set free from the trappings of death. Secondly, on a religious level, Jesus had moved way beyond the scope of jewish law.  Coming to the tomb and breaking it open would have made them all – everyone present - ritually unclean.  Jesus, once again was stepping outside of the accepted religious norms.  Just as Lazarus was not to be bound by the rigid laws of his orthodox burial, so Jesus was leading his followers beyond the laws of Judaism and refusing to be bound by the socially and religiously acceptable rules of his day.  And thirdly, on a spiritual level Jesus offers his disciples a new life – a new freedom – in their relationship with God, their creator.  As St Paul was later to expound, that new life was not to be based on Law but on Grace.  Not a relationship we earn or improve by our efforts (however pious) but rather a relationship which has its beginning and end in God’s accepting and forgiving love.

Unbind him, and let him go!  Six words, which in the context of Jesus ministry reverberate physically, religiously and spirituality. Unbind him, and let him go.

You will have noticed that the crosses are veiled in purple –as today we begin the final leg of the Lenten race known as Passiontide.  Veiling crosses and statues in Passiontide is a very old liturgical custom in the church – in fact many would say ‘old fashioned’.  But it is, I think, a helpful visual marker that we are moving beyond the drudgery of Lent and closer to the events and devotions of Holy Week.  Those veils are perhaps even more appropriate in conjunction with this morning’s gospel reading. Instead of veils, think of them as shrouds, or bindings…Passiontide, with its traditional bindings, looks ahead to the events of Holy Week and eventually the shrouding of Jesus in the tomb.  John’s account of the raising of Lazarus looks forward not just to Holy Week, but to the breathtaking, heart-stopping, earth-renewing wonder of Easter-Resurrection.  But not yet.  For now, at least, we are left with the wrappings.  Waiting. Bound.

A few years back we held the parish retreat in Offchurch, near Leamington Spa.  On the tower of the parish church next door to the retreat house there is a sun dial, and above it ate the words “Don’t forget to Live”.  It is surprisingly easy to do. The theme of LIFE and LIVING flows through each of the readings this morning – Ezekiel’s vision of the Valley of Dry Bones, and Paul’s mind-blowing understanding that Christian life is about the resurrection going on inside you through the work of the Holy Spirit here and now. And that same theme of LIFE and LIVING is hugely important through John’s Gospel – just the week before last Jesus described himself to the Samaritan woman as the living water, and Jesus is described as the bread of life.  And you’ll remember that John records seven signs to demonstrate who Jesus is – and this is the seventh and final sign.  Aside from the story of Christ’s passion itself, the story of ‘The Raising of Lazarus’ is the essence and climax of the whole gospel.  It puts into action that astounding claim of the Jesus who said “I have come that you may have life in all its fullness”.  The gospel today is not so much about raising Lazarus from the dead…..but raising him to life.

What are the things which bind you?  The things which stifle and constrain you?  Maybe it’s the past, looming over you.  Maybe it’s a fear of the future stretching ahead of you?  or just the weight of the present moment. To a certain extent we are all ‘shrouded’ - bound by past failures, old hurts, lingering grievances and disappointments.  And no matter how much we try we can’t quite grasp for long enough, the liberating truth that it is not law we need, but grace.  That relationship which has its beginning and end in God’s accepting and forgiving love.

The words which this morning’s gospel leaves ringing in our ears are the most powerful of all: Unbind him, and let him go.  Unbind her, and let her go.  And that means to Unbind you, and let you go….

I hope that as many of you as possible will be involved in as much of Holy Week as possible.  Those who did so last year have said often in the past year of how much more powerful and meaningful Easter was as a result.  Now that might be on a superficial level, down to drama and liturgical quackery (not I surely!).  But actually it is because the story of Holy Week and Easter is our story – as much as it is Christ’s.

Easter celebrates the breaking through and the triumph of a relationship with God based on God, rather than on our good intentions and achievements (however spiritual and ‘christian’ they may be).  Easter celebrates that amazing truth that death is now bound, and Christ and all who follow in his steps are free.  Like Lazarus, we are unbound, and set free.  But the reality for you and me is that it is a long job, and for each of us there is a lot of unwinding yet to be done.  But Christ has spoken.

Today, on this Passion Sunday, as you receive Communion or a blessing ....listen – and hear Jesus saying to you: I have come that you may have life in all its fullness……So don’t forget to live….Unbind him, and let him go.

SHIFT IN THE BALANCE OF POWER

LENT 1 - Sermon at Sung Eucharist, St Mary the Virgin, East Barnet

I guess that like me, many of you would have been amazed by the images broadcast on Friday’s news of the tsunami in Japan, and the resulting devastation.  To see the aerial shots of acres of warehouses being engulfed, and thousands of cars being swept up in the same mighty surge that brought great ships inland, and razed buildings to the ground as if they were balsa wood models was absolutely incredible.  The Fukushima nuclear plant had harnessed the power of the sea to cool its reactor, but the effect of the earthquake meant that in the minutes before the tsunami the sea drew back and the reactor was irrevocably and dangerously damaged.  So now a terrific natural disaster is coupled with the threat of nuclear pollution, and the damaging potential that unleashes….and of course while all that is being reported, we are still hearing about the acute political upheaval in the Middle East.  Just over a month ago Facebook and Twitter were hailed as making possible a people’s revolution – but what soon became apparent was that political change in Egypt has led to the destabilising of the whole region, with Libyan forces turning their weapons on their own people – weapons which, of course, were supplied by Western governments, including our own.

As ever, there are one or two ‘fringe’ voices proclaiming the end of the world is near.  It’s hardly surprising given the epic scale of what is going on – be it the result of unbridled nature or misguided humanity.  But the earthquake and tsunami in Japan and the unfolding rebellion in the Middle East haven’t come from no-where.  Both are the result of a shift in a delicate and precarious balance of power.  The potential has always been there.  All that was needed was the trigger.  As a race, it is our presumption that we have got all bases covered, and all things in control that almost always leads to our undoing.  The pride that comes before a fall is inherent in our human condition, a power struggle with the world around us, and those we share it with.

As we begin the season of Lent, we are invited once again to look at the balance of power not just in the word around us, but in our own lives.  Events in Japan and the Middle East might serve as reminder of that – combined with this morning’s Gospel reading, which is itself a study in the use of power. Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness, and confronted by the devil.  We’re so familiar with this episode in the Gospels that too quickly we grab hold of a picture of Jesus that is strong, resilient and triumphant – whereas what the text of Matthew 4 gives us is a picture of frail human vulnerability.  It is after Jesus has fasted forty days and forty nights, and is already famished, that the temptation begins.  Of course the devil cannot take Jesus’ power away from him, but he can try to upset the balance, nudging Jesus to exploit and abuse his power:  “…command these stones to become loaves of bread….throw yourself down from the pinnacle of the temple….all the nations of the world I will give you, if you fall down and worship me…”.   

It starts off simple and reasonable enough – sensible really, just making provision for basic physical need.  But the third and final temptation is what it is really all about: wholesale idolatry.  “Worship me, and all this will be yours” says the devil.  It’s always important to grasp what the Gospel writers are trying to do as they writes, and here Matthew is no exception.  The earliest account of the temptation, in Mark’s version is very brief.  Mark 1.12 says “And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.  He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”  That's it. In Mark there is no dramatisation at all, just a statement that it happened.  Writing some years later, Matthew and Luke both get their information from a different source and so are able to embellish the scene (with Luke deliberately changes the order of the temptations so that the 3^rd and greatest temptation takes place at the temple in Jerusalem, which is where of course Jesus is heading…)

But Matthew writes for a predominantly Jewish audience, and throughout his gospel makes an implicit comparison between Jesus and the people of Israel in the Old Testament – wandering for forty years in the desert, and then having reached the promised land struggling with idolatry; an idolatry that threatened not only the balance of power among God’s people, but struck at the very heart of their relationship with YHWH itself.  So with each temptation, Jesus responds by quoting verses from the Old Testament. They’re not random verses, but each is carefully selected from chapters 6 and 8 of the book of Deuteronomy, passages specifically concerned with Israel’s need to remain faithful.  So Matthew’s message is clear.  Where God’s people have failed (and will continue to fail), Jesus remains true.  The balance of power is maintained.  And of course it’s this same theme that the writer to the Hebrews picks up on in later years: “…we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathise with our weakness, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (4.15)

To our ears, Jesus’ response to the devil’s temptation is fired solidly and surely from the hip: no hesitation, no doubt…no real effort almost, no struggle.  Is that how you experience temptation?  I suspect not, and that’s why we need not only to recognise Matthew’s intention in writing, but also the fact that at the beginning of Lent some 2,000 years later, we come at it from a different place entirely. I do believe there is a real danger with this passage of scripture, that we go away thinking that all we need in order to withstand temptation, is to know the right bible verses and apply them firmly. (In fact, I don’t just believe in the danger, I know it to be true - and it is quite simply rubbish.)

If, as the church has taught through the ages, Jesus fully shared out humanity, then I think we need to bring our understanding of humanity to this text and allow the Holy Spirit to fill in the gaps. I think in reality the confrontation between Jesus and the devil would have been far more of a struggle, rather than a tit for tat exchange of challenge and scriptural texts. Rather it would feel, for Jesus, the way it feels for you when you are really torn between doing what you can and want to do, and doing what you think is the right thing to do.  Yes, sometimes it will be a clear-cut decision and relatively easy.  But other times it is far more subtle, and drawn-out.  Surely Jesus didn’t deal with this all in one go and then get on with ministry?  Or could it be that what Matthew 4 reflects is actually the struggle Jesus engaged in day by day of his earthly life?

In our Christian discipleship, you and I may not be tempted to turn stones into bread very often – but we do face all kinds of challenges where the easiest solution is to put our physical and material ‘wants’ first, at the expense of others – be it to do with food, drink, sex, prestige or money. We may not be tempted to display superhuman powers by throwing ourselves off the church tower, but we may settle with drawing attention to ourselves in more subtle yet equally effective ways. And the lure of power may not be so great that we are prepared to sell our souls, but there are times we might consider a time-share agreement with the devil in order to get what we want.

As we begin the season of Lent….as we see the shifting balance in the word around us… and as we reflect on the real human experience of Jesus, we are invited to consider that same balance of power in our own lives. The little things we have chosen to deny ourselves in these next few weeks, or the things we have taken on as part of our Christian discipline may be small – my very real struggle to go to bed before midnight and your determination to give up chocolate, or coffee, or alcohol or whatever you’re doing may well pale into insignificance as we watch the news, but none the less they are sure reminders that we need to maintain a precarious and delicate balance of power in our lives as well as in the world around us.

So pray for Japan.  Pray for the Middle East.  And pray for yourself and one another, in Christ’s name.  Amen. 

THE FULL AND FINAL ANSWER OR INSIPID ARROGANCE?

All Saints, Borehamwood:  Fourth Sunday before Lent

“For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building” (1 Cor 3.9)

It’s a particular privilege to be with you this morning to personally welcome you into the ‘new improved’ Deanery of Barnet – ‘improved’, that is, because since the beginning of this year, Elstree & Borehamwood are a part of it!  

Last Autumn I was lucky enough to have a 3 month sabbatical, and returned to the parish and deanery having made one or two ‘notes to self’.  One immediate (and so far long-lasting) effect was a more or less daily visit to the local gym which so far has been of great benefit.  As well as providing me with a ready excuse to watch Loose Women every day on the TVs in front of the treadmills, I’m subjected to the continuous information feed of Sky News. But even if your news information intake has been of a more moderate level in recent weeks, you won’t have failed to notice that something has happened in Egypt.  After 18 days of tumultuous public protests and hard, stubborn refusals to leave a position he's held for 30 years, Egypt’s President Mubarak gave up power on Friday, handing over authority to the nation's military leaders. In the latter days of the unrest, Mubarak's regime attempted to disconnect Egypt from the Internet.  Why? Because they perceived that social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter were key tools in marshalling support to topple their long-time ruler. (see subsequent article posted on 25th February 2011 by Sarah Charlton, Arab Revolt - Social Media and the People's Revolution.)

My apologies if this means little to you, but in its simplest definition, internet social networking is the means by which an unlimited number of individuals are able to exchange ideas, opinions and information across the globe within seconds, and with a wide mix of people.  Three years ago, an activist started a page on Facebook in support of striking Egyptian workers. Since then that page has drawn in more than 60,000 people concerned with issues like free speech, the country's poor economy and a growing frustration with the government.  The result was to motivate a vast body of people into action, not just on the internet, but in the real world too.  And culminating in this last week, we have seen the amazing end results of that action.

St Paul wrote to the Corinthian Christians “…we are God’s servants, working together….”  He doesn’t exhort them to be motivated by social networking, or to be bound together by information imparted in 140 characters or less. Rather he calls them to recognize and realize (to ‘make real’ in concrete terms) their common purpose as disciples of Jesus, and members together of the body of Christ – despite their differences and rising above their disagreements.

The deanery of which you, this church, are now an important part, along with the other churches of the Elstree & Borehamwood team, is in itself a microcosm of the worldwide Anglican Communion.  We’ve got anglo-catholics and we’ve got conservative evangelicals; we’ve got liberal-catholics and those of a central churchmanship; we’ve got open evangelicals and prayerbook churches; we’ve got forward in faith parishes and inclusive parishes; and we’ve even got one church that in practical terms refuses to have anything to do with the rest of us because we’re not ‘proper’ Christians.  So welcome to a very diverse family!  As you can imagine, when it comes to working together, we have to work quite hard.  But because as a deanery we are committed to St Paul’s vision of being ‘God’s servants, working together’ it works, and we are seeing results.

Just this last week our Deanery Synod met for the second in a series of talks based on Bishop Alan’s 3-fold charge when he came to the Diocese - which has subsequently developed into the diocesan initiative Living God’s Love.  We invited 3 speakers from dramatically different points on the Anglican spectrum – with potentially conflicting standpoints – and asked them to talk about what it means to Go Deeper into God, Transform our Communities, and Make New Disciples.  The first speaker was Dr Mike Ovey, the Principal of Oak Hill Theological College.  He spoke about those three priorities from the standpoint of a conservative evangelical.  At the end of the evening, one of our anglo-catholic clergy said in all sincerity: “I think I must have been a conservative evangelical all my life because broadly speaking I agree with everything you have said tonight”

This last week our speaker was Bishop Lindsay Urwin, Administrator of the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham – a polar opposite role to that of the Principal of Oak Hill in so many ways!  The next day I had an email from one of our conservative evangelical clergy saying “Thank you so much for organizing last night.  What an inspiring guy to listen to.  So much of what he said moved me and challenged me”

“For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building”

I think it’s fair to say that the same rapid internet communication and networking that brought political change for Egypt has in recent years has played a part in undermining the ‘bonds of affection’ that held together our Anglican family across the world.  But I think it’s also fair to say that, as we have experienced within our Deanery, if we are prepared to work with our differences and disagreements, then we are able to move beyond them and discover afresh our common purpose in Christ.  Significantly, the things which Jesus speaks against in Matthew 5, this morning’s gospel passage, are all things which divide: anger, insult, unfaithfulness, falsity.  They are all things which break down relationships, communities, churches, and nations – rather than build them up.  And St Paul is unequivocal as he writes to the Corinthians that such divisiveness, whether it is based around individual personalities or particular issues within the Christian community, such divisiveness is clear and simple evidence of immaturity. “For as long as there is jealousy and quarrelling among you” he says “are you not of the flesh and behaving according to human inclinations?”

So how do we do it?  Well in those few words of 1 Cor 3v9 Paul gives us the clue we need.  “For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building”

This is God’s church, not ours.  The Church, our mission and ministry, everything is always bigger than we are and our understanding of it.  And when we forget that, when we believe we have the full and final answer, ‘the definitive position’, then in truth all we really have is an insipid arrogance that both harms and hinders our growth as the people of God.  Sometimes as Christians we can be so busy being ‘right’, that we forget to be Christ-like.

Facebook and Twitter played a huge part in uniting the people of Egypt in a common purpose that brought revolutionary change.  The Bishop’s 3-fold charge of Living God’s Love points us towards the common purpose which St Paul identifies as the Church’s life-blood, the Church's sign of maturity, and the Church's very reason for being: Go Deeper into God, Transform our Communities, and Make New Disciples…..

“For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building."

Amen

DOGGED FAITH & CONSTANT HOPE

The Feast of Candlemas - St Anne's, Soho

Do you remember those ‘Magic Eye’ pictures: a mass of bright jagged flecks of colour with a vague pattern which in theory, if you stared at for long enough and in the right way, you’d see an amazing picture – for some reason it was usually of dolphins!   For me it was always a classic case of ‘Can’t see for looking’.  After hours spent starting at these wretched puzzles, all I would end up with was a thumping headache.  I progressed a little, but only once or twice did I actually see the pictures I was supposed to.  But to be honest, I got fed up with trying.  Whether it’s because the novelty wore off, or maybe now I’m just too old…..?

Take a moment to consider those things which you find frustrating, things you just can’t seem to work out.  And are there things which you consider yourself to have outgrown – or those things which for one reason or another you’ve given up trying with.  They may not be major, life shattering things, but I bet all of us, however old or young, can identify something.…..things you just can’t seem to work out, and things which for one reason or another you’ve given up trying to make sense of?

Candlemas – or the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, or the feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary – is one of my favourite festivals.  This evening a small but hardy group of fools will process by candlelight from the Methodist Church at the bottom of the hill up to St Mary’s for a Sung Eucharist.  This year our preacher is the Dean of St Albans, Jeffrey John (so if you can get to the top end of the Piccadilly Line later today,  you’re very welcome to join us!). 

I think I love Candlemas so much because of the raw drama of this part of the gospel story, but also because it has a very specific and significant place in the church’s year. Today is the last time we’ll see the crib figures until next Christmas Eve (that’s only 334 days away though!).  It’s the last opportunity we have to peer into the manger and see the Christ-child.  We know how ‘children grow up so fast these days’ – well that’s also true of our Lord.  Candlemas pulls us away from the cosy comforts of Christmas and Epiphany, and pushes us towards the stark reality of Lent and Holy Week.

At the end of our service we will gather at the font and we bring to an end our celebration of the Saviour’s birth, and turn towards his passion and prepare to enter into the Easter mystery. The child becomes a man, the soft straw becomes sharp thorns, and the wood that cradled his small frame stretches him in agony on the cross.

It strikes me that the scene in the Temple in the Candlemas gospel covers all ages.  The child Jesus, his young parents Mary and Joseph, and a couple of very elderly people, Simeon and Anna.  In fact many years ago I preached at a diocesan youth event and said that Simeon and Anna were so wrinkled that they probably looked like walnuts on legs!

But this all-age factor in the story of the Presentation only serves to heighten the drama.  For the child Jesus, this is an important moment of recognition – not for him maybe, but certainly for others; for his parents, the awful realisation that their boy’s destiny would have a tumultuous effect on his life, and theirs; and for Simeon and Anna, the fulfilment of a lifetime of waiting and hoping.  But go back to where we started – those things which you find frustrating, things you just can’t seem to work out, and things which for one reason or another you’ve given up on. Maybe even things you assume now you are just too old for. Then sharpen the focus in your mind's eye, on those two aged characters in the Temple.

Simeon and Anna could see the thing that was hidden to everyone else – maybe they could comprehend even more than Mary and Joseph had understood at that point.  Instead of seeing just another new born male brought to the temple in accordance with Jewish law, they recognised God’s Messiah, his chosen.  What was hidden was revealed.

The words of the Nunc Dimittis are so familiar now – and so poignant when read at funeral services.  ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation…’.   At the end of a long life, God’s promise to Simeon is fulfilled.  After all his waiting, he sees. And yet it’s much more than that – it isn’t just that after all his waiting he finds fulfilment, but because of his waiting.  It’s a bit ironic really, and no doubt a much needed antidote to our fast-track society and more fundamentally our restless human spirit, but having played ‘the waiting game’ through Advent, Candlemas reminds us yet again of the need to wait, to look forward with anticipation.

Of course there’s the sense here at St Anne’s especially, in this vacancy, of waiting.  Waiting and trusting in the faithful, unperturbed guidance of the Holy Spirit, as God moves us on step by step towards the dawn of new life and resurrection. 

So what were those things which you find frustrating, things you just can’t seem to work out, and things which for one reason or another you’ve given up on?   And what might we learn from the dogged faith and constant hope of Simeon and Anna?

THE STILL POINT OF THE TURNING WORLD

Eucharist for the Feast of the Baptism of Christ and the Renewal of the Covenant, 9th January 2011 (Photograph: St Thomas', New York Sept 2010)

Some words from T S Eliot’s poem Burnt Norton – the first section of his Four Quartets which some of you will have heard me quote before:

At the still point of the turning world.

Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards;

at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement.

And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered.

Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline.

Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance,

and there is only the dance.

I can only say, there we have been:

but I cannot say where.

And I cannot say, how long,

for that is to place it in time.

Eliot’s poetry is crammed full of mystical paradoxes.  Things set in tension, pulling in opposite directions and leaving space in the gaps for glimmers of discernment and apprehension.  For me it’s a good example of how words can demand that you love them without fully comprehending them - and of course that’s exactly why some people can’t stand T S Eliot’s poetry!  But in that short passage he explores the tension between movement and stillness.  Between being fixed and moving on.  And that tells us something about God.  And it should also tell us a lot about us, God’s people.

Today we gather together as two congregations but one Church.  We gather with a two-fold purpose: to mark the Baptism of Christ (one of the three gospel events which have made up the Church’s celebration of the Feast of the Epiphany since earliest times) and to Renew the Covenant - a devotion established by John Wesley in 1755 which has become a foundational event in Methodist worship, and for the last 20 or so years has been incorporated into Anglican worship and adapted by other denominations.  Like T S Eliot’s paradoxical verse, they both speak of something which is a fixed point, a ‘given’, but aslo have a sense of direction and movement.  The closing verse of the reading from Isaiah sums it up well:

“See, the former things have come to pass,

And new things I now declare;

Before they spring forth, I tell you of them”

For Jesus, his baptism was clearly a major milestone as he returned from the desert and began his public ministry – and of course for the earliest Christian communities that was where the story of Jesus began. No stories of the shepherds and the angels, the stable and the manger.  The story began with the proclamation of the Kingdom, and the baptism of Jesus by John.  As he is baptised, the heavens open and the dove descends, and a voice is heard saying “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased”.  It is no coincidence that later, when Jesus’ ministry reaches a pivotal point as he prepares to go to Jerusalem, when he takes Peter, James and John to the mountain top – and as he is transfigured, again the voice from heaven echoes the affirmation at his baptism and says “This is my son, listen to him”.  If you keep those two events in mind – baptism and transfiguration, and the affirmation of who Jesus is and God's closeness to him – how much more devastating is the desolation of Calvary when the skies are dark and silent, and the only voice heard belongs to the Crucified asking why God has abandoned him?

The challenge for us this morning is to understand our baptism into Christ, our incorporation into the People of God, as something which is not a static event of the past – but instead something which is active now, living and growing and changing and drawing us ever onwards.  But at the same time we mustn’t be naïve and ignore where it might lead us.  As individuals and as a community of faith, the more we become Christ-like, the more our discipleship will become cross-shaped.

John Wesley, of course, recognised that instinctively.  Although the precise form of Covenant Prayer we use this morning doesn’t go back as far as 1755 it is rooted in the spirituality which through Methodism brought renewal to the Church.  It is not an easy prayer – at least not if it is prayed with honesty and conviction.  In a few moments you will be invited to say:

Put me to what you will,

rank me with whom you will;

put me to doing, put me to suffering;

let me be employed for you or laid aside for you,

exalted for you or brought low for you;

let me be full, let me be empty,

let me have all things, let me have nothing….

I find it acutely embarrassing when Christians in this country claim to be persecuted or under attack.  It’s particularly embarrassing when comments are made by retired senior Anglican clergy – although its not just them.  If we are talking about whether or not an individual can wear a cross around their neck or a lapel badge at work, for me that is facile in comparison with what our brothers and sisters in (for example) Iran and Egypt face day by day – as recent news bulletins have reminded us.  As we renew the Covenant this morning, we invite God to put us to doing, put us to suffering.  None of us would sensibly invite suffering or persecution, but what the prayer asks of us is to simply acknowledge that surrendering to God’s will may in deed and in reality, bring that upon us.  Things are OK today – but that cannot be taken for granted without belittling the experience of the wider Church of which we are a part, and the seriousness of God’s call to follow Christ in all things.

At the still point of the turning world.

Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards;

at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement.

And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered.

Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline.

Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance,

and there is only the dance.

Celebrating the Baptism of Christ (and by doing so celebrating our own baptism) and Renewing the Covenant are both deliberate ways of anchoring ourselves when all else is changing – when the Church is changing, as well as the world around us.  But its not an act of rigid defiance, the liturgical equivalent of holding up a placard and singing ‘We shall not be moved'.  we hold on to the fundamentals of our relationship with God through baptism into Christ so that everything else CAN change – and, by God’s grace, us with it.  Buildings may rise and fall, clergy may come and go, projects may begin and end, styles of worship may wax and wane (and thank God some of the music wont last five minutes!) – God calls us to hang on to none of these.  We are called instead to be rooted and grounded in God’s covenant love, which we can neither earn or ever deserve.  And with that as our fixed point, our ‘given’, may we be renewed in moving forward as the people of God – the God who declares: See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare.

Amen

JOSEPH'S YES

ADVENT 4
So here we are again on the fourth Sunday of Advent – once more poised, as we prepare to be hurled into the Christmas festivities yet again.  This is the Sunday which is traditionally focused on Mary, so its perhaps surprising that the reading is all about Joseph.  Added to that, today’s gospel passage seems to pre-empt the whole festival in a rather perfunctory manner.  The whole thing is wound up in just 6 verses – and then following on from the passage we heard this morning comes the story of the Magi visiting, the story which only Matthew seems to know about, and which Mark, Luke and John omit to mention. (Of course Mark and John – the earliest and the latest of the gospels – don’t see any need to report the birth of Jesus at all...  If we are to be ‘biblical Christians’, especially at this time of year, then we need to pay very careful attention to what is, and what isn’t written there, and we have to perceive what exactly it is that Matthew is wanting his readers to understand.

The first part of Chapter 1 is often skipped over, because on the face of it, its a relatively boring list of who begat whom in the ancestry of Joseph, and therefore ultimately of course, of Jesus.  Impressively, Matthew records the genealogy of Jesus in a pattern of three groups of fourteen generations: from Abraham to David, from David to the exile in Babylon, and from the exile to the birth of the Messiah.  As I said, very impressive, but wildly out of kilter compared with what we know from other sources – like the Old Testament!  But of course Matthew is not attempting to write history.  The genesis of Jesus is to be read like the genesis of creation – not so much about how it happened, but who was responsible and why it happened.  Just as the book of Genesis majors on God’s activity in creation, so Matthew majors on God’s activity in the birth of Christ.  Most significantly Matthew ‘doctors’ the genealogy of Jesus to include a group of women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba (Uriah’s wife, who King David too a fancy to and so sent his best Captain to die on the front line).  Matthew lists these women before coming to Mary because for each of these Old Testament women, there was something “irregular” about their union with their husbands. Deliberately and apologetically, Matthew is pointing out the precedents for the irregular marital situation that Mary and Joseph find themselves in.

That might seem to be unnecessary detail, but it is crucial background information as we approach the gospel passage we heard read this morning.  Because the question behind Matthew’s writing is simple and essential:  WHO IS JESUS?  Well in his gospel, Matthew’s answer is two-fold.  Jesus is Son of David, and Son of God.  John’s Gospel never once refers to Jesus as ‘the Son of David’; Mark and Luke use the title only four times – but in Matthew it is used 10 times.  That's because Matthew writes for a predominantly Jewish audience, and so for him  it is vitally important to demonstrate Jesus’ descent from King David through Joseph.

I really hope that you can spot the difficulty here - but you may well not, because we are so used to hearing the passage and taking on board wholesale what we think it is saying to us.  Jesus was Son of David, and according to Matthew, the Davidic Messiah by descent through Joseph…..but therein lies the problem. Jesus wasn’t Joseph’s son, was he?

This is where we really do need to pay attention to how Matthew writes his gospel, as much as what he writes.  Bear in mind that Matthew writes for a predominantly Jewish audience.  Throughout his gospel, Matthew follows a stylistic pattern.  He tells a chunk of gospel story and then in conclusion, throws in a quote from the Old Testament to validate, interpret and justify all that has been written before it.  But here, at the very start of his story, that’s not the case.  He seems deliberately to make an exception.  There is a validating quotation from the Old Testament: “Look the virgin shall conceive and bear as son, and they shall name him Emmanuel”  But the passage continues after, and ends instead with the words “When Joseph awoke out of sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son: and he named him Jesus.”

There are no accidents in the Gospels.  Matthew wanted to end the first part of his gospel with these words: Joseph named him Jesus.  Jesus was not Joseph’s son – but in rabbinic law, to name the child was to take full legal responsibility for him – to grant him the legal status of a biological son.  Irrespective of his conception, to be named by Joseph made him the son of Joseph, and thereby the son of David.  Luke’s gospel places the emphasis on Mary – her obedience to God’s will.  Matthew places similar emphasis but on Joseph.  Arguably, Joseph’s ‘yes’ to God is as important as Mary’s.

Matthew writes the beginning of his gospel to answer the question: WHO IS JESUS?  He is Son of God, by the involvement of the Holy Spirit in his conception, the Spirit that overshadowed Mary.  But he is equally the Son of David – through Joseph’s willingness to accept in obedience the will and purpose of God.

I have to admit that this is all stuff I find fascinating and inspiring – my apologies if you don’t!  But I guess the message this morning is a simple one.  As once again you hear the Christmas story, don’t take it for granted. Listen to what the gospel writers are wanting you to hear (because it may not entirely match the picture on your Christmas cards. Or indeed, it may be a far cry from what you recall from Sunday School.  In different ways, each of the gospels addressed the question WHO IS JESUS?  Mark, the earliest record, demonstrates who Jesus is by what he does.  John, the last version, portrays Jesus as existing before the beginning of time, and Luke and Matthew include the stories of his birth and childhood to determine who he is.

So this Christmas, what are you going to do with that question?  The same question the gospel writers grappled with and devoted themselves to?  WHO IS JESUS?  Because how you answer that question will determine what is important to you in the next few days – and for the rest of your lives……

RADIX or RADOX?

ADVENT 3
Yesterday Colin and I spent the morning at Barnet Synagogue in Eversleigh Road.  In the past few months while I’ve been off climbing the CN Tower in Toronto and the Rockefeller Building in New York, Colin has been working hard to build bridges with the local Jewish community, building on his time as Mayor’s Chaplain last year.  We received an extremely warm welcome from Rabbi Lerer, and the whole shul – and then spent most of the afternoon at Shabbat lunch in the family home of Phil Rosenberg (Interfaith Officer for the Board of Deputies of British Jews, who many of you will have met at the Partnership Harvest Service back in September). We hope very much to be able to work more closely together in the New Year.  We’ve talked briefly about a tour of the synagogue and the possibility of sharing in worship.  Neither Colin or I have much fluency in Hebrew (did I say much? I think I mean none!) but there were two things especially that stood out for me yesterday.

Firstly, in terms of worship, there are similarities with liturgical action that link directly with the way we worship here at St Mary’s.  For example the scrolls of the Torah are kept in the Torah Ark positioned so that the congregation face towards Jerusalem – which is of course, facing east as catholic Christian churches are traditionally oriented.  When the Torah is read the scrolls are carried through the congregation and read from the bimah in the midst of the people – just as the Gospel book is carried into the midst of the people at the Eucharist. Of course none of that should be a surprise, as Christian liturgy grew from the worship of the synagogue – but the Church is so often guilty of ignorance and forgetfulness (and even denial) when it comes to our Jewish roots.  The second thing that struck me was a clear sense of community and identity as the People of God.  That’s really been my hobby horse since coming back from Canada – our need to renew our sense of identity as the People of God.  A community which is shaped and guided by the stories of the Hebrew scriptures, and by the writings of the early church.  And of course, that is a story we share with our Jewish brothers and sisters.  Together we are the people of God. So watch this space – there will be more to come in the New Year I have no doubt.  But for now it is a timely reminder of where we are coming from, as Advent leads us forward to celebrate the birth of Jesus.  Because of course Jesus – and John who announces his arrival – are Jews.  The disciples and founding fathers of the Church are Jewish.  But more than that, like John the Baptist (who pursues us through Advent like the hound of heaven), they are radical Jews. Remembering that now is so important, because very soon we will find ourselves swamped with the sentimentality of the child in the manger, and 'gentle Jesus, meek and mild'. And that it all quite simply a load of old tosh.  Jesus wasn't gentle, meek or mild.  He was radical in every sense.

How do you feel about the word ‘radical’?  Who would you apply it to – and would that be the kind of person you’d be comfortable with?   Would you join a radical group?  A subversive organisation of some description?  Have you ever been described as a radical?  Or thought of yourself as such?

Last week we heard that John was dressed in camel skin, with a belt around his waist, feeding on locusts and wild honey, a voice crying in the wilderness, calling people to repentance, calling people into a deeper and more honest relationship with God. John's methods were unsubtle to say the least –an ‘in your face’ sort of bloke, who left you in no doubt of what he was asking of you.  The imagery of the passage last week was of a tree that was about to come crashing down: ‘the axe is laid to the root of the tree…..’  No half measures, but all or nothing.  Drastic and decisive action.  John was, unmistakably, a radical.  John is still with us in the gospel, and the picture is no less radical, but the subject is Jesus himself.  He is the radical who is turning the world upside down.  John’s disciples are sent back to him with the message that the blind are receiving their sight, the lame are walking, and the dead are being raised.  Radical stuff.  The words of the prophet Isaiah give another dramatic and radical image – one of total transformation.  ‘The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom…’  ‘For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert.  A more radical change could not be imagined.


If you look up the word ‘radical’ in the Oxford Dictionary, you discover that it is ‘to go to the root or origin; to touch or act upon that which is essential….” Its very similar to those words from last weeks gospel – the axe is laid to the root of the tree…..and without a doubt, the John we read about in the New Testament and the Jesus we worship were both radicals – spirituality, socially, politically and theologically.  They deliberately challenged, by their words and actions, the way men and women thought about God, the way they thought about themselves, and the way they thought about how they understood and engaged with the society in which they lived.

Both John and Jesus preached the kingdom of God – the rule or reign of God which arrived with the ministry of Jesus and continues in the world by the power of his Spirit - and as his followers we are called to radical discipleship.  So how do you feel about the word ‘radical’?  Who would you apply it to – and would that be the kind of person you’d be comfortable with?   Would you join a radical group?  A subversive organisation of some description?  Have you ever been described as a radical?  Or thought of yourself as such?

The labels Christians use so often exasperates me.  It prefer not to put too rigid a label on myself – and that it itself makes me by some peoples reckoning, to be a ‘post-evangelical’ because post evangelicals don’t like labels!  But most annoying of all for me are the terms ‘born-again Christian’  or ‘spirit-filled Christian’ or ‘charismatic Christian’.  We usually apply them as a way of pointing out that others are different from us – and that we, of course, are the norm and they are the extreme.  It annoys me, because it is nonsense.  There is no such thing as a Christian who is not born-again.  There is no such thing as a Christian who is not spirit-filled.  There is no such thing as a Christian who is not charismatic.  All three terms actually make reference to the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives, rather than indicating which particular ‘type’ of Christian we may or may not be.  So you may not think of yourself as being much of a radical, but there is no such thing as a non-radical Christian.  That doesn’t mean you have to be obnoxiously loud, or down-right rude to qualify, but even in its quietest gentlest ways, your faith is subversive.  Following Christ is radical.

Advent is the time when we need to be shaken and stirred.  We have to grasp once again how earth-shatteringly radical the gospel of the incarnation is – that is, the good news that in Jesus, God shared human life and hallowed it.  The wonderful news that the desert will blossom and rejoice, and waters shall break forth in the wilderness.  Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Jesus himself rattle our cage once again, because if we fail to appreciate today the radical nature of Christian discipleship, then in the next few weeks we will slide into the most appalling sentimentality, which masquerades as a religious festival but is at best innocuous and trite.  The axe is laid to the root of the tree.  To be radical means to go to the root or origin.  The prophets were radicals, John the Baptist was a radical, Jesus was radical – and as Christians you and I are called to be radical …..because such is the kingdom of God. Such are the People of God.

The latin word for radical is radix. As I ran a bath in the early hours of this morning, and tipped into it some herbal bath salts, it occurred to me that if you change just one letter of radix, you get something very different.  Radix becomes Radox – 'the secret of relaxation' (at least that’s what it said on the packet!)  Advent is the time when we need to be shaken and stirred.  We have to grasp once again how earth-shatteringly radical the gospel of the incarnation is – that is, the good news that in Jesus, God shared human life and hallowed it.  The wonderful news that the desert will blossom and rejoice, and waters shall break forth in the wilderness

Radix, or radox – which do you prefer?  And which, as a Church, as the People of God, are we geared up for?