Miraculous Catch of Fish

Isaiah 6:1-8            Psalm 138               1 Corinthians 15:1-11    Luke 5:1-11

Many years ago, when I was just beginning to wonder if the priesthood might be the path I was being invited to walk, I remember feeling such awe and enormity – the tiniest glimpse into those words from that fabulous Isaiah reading – that the Holy, Holy, Holy One, might be calling me, and did I dare say, ‘here am I, send me’. And I remember talking to a friend who was at the start of his vocations process and when I voiced this sense of awe he said to me, ‘getting ordained just seems to make sense of my experiences this far’.

Make sense?!

I’d never even considered that sense would come into this in any way. Sense was for logic and reason and didn’t enter into the realms of eternity. Mine was a much more thresholds shaking… burning coals sort of encounter. None of it made sense.

So, it is interesting to me that both of us got ordained. It is interesting to me that God called the little girl who started to dance, aged two, to a church with dancing each week. And it is interesting to me to see these two passages alongside each other – this reading from Isaiah and the story from Luke. It makes it possible that sometimes God works in the ordinary – in the realm of things that just make sense – and other times is so other, so extraordinary, it is almost ludicrous.

Luke’s account, of Jesus calling the first disciples in this way, is unique. Mark and Matthew both speak about Jesus walking along the waterside and calling those fishermen to ‘follow me’, but only Luke includes this miraculous catch of fish. And when we hear a story of Simon and an abundance of fish and a declaration of ‘Lord’ and his fear of being a sinful man, we might also recall John’s post resurrection account of the barbecue breakfast, yes? These transformational, redemptive, fishing stories bookend Christ’s earthly ministry; beginning and ending at the work site, the place that had formed Simon since a child, and his family before him. It kind of makes sense to call a fisherman while he was fishing.

Jesus sees two boats. The fishermen are deflated, exhausted, they fished all night and caught nothing so they give up. Jesus borrows their boat, gets Simon to row out a little way and teaches the crowd from there. I wonder what he said. Whatever it was, it isn’t the thing of note, and it is only when he has finished preaching that our story really begins.

It is not in the ordinary act of teaching and preaching, but in the extraordinary act of fishing in silent still waters. Even though it made no sense to do so, Simon says ‘if you say so, I will’. And they caught so many fish their nets were beginning to break and their friends came to help and then their boats began to sink, so swamped were they with fish, and then, then Simon Peter sees and falls to the ground and says ‘go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man’. Right there, in the ordinary work of fishing, something extraordinary happens and it changes things.

It changes Simon (yet to become Peter). He sees the extraordinary and feels unworthy. Right there, in the middle of that which is most familiar to him, most ordinary, comes something inexplicable, unexpected. He had the most boring of nights, not even so much as a nibble, and then is swamped. No wonder he is filled with fear – he has seen something against the usual order of things. He knows these waters, he knows fishing and this carpenter – the one who is supposed to know about the wood of his boat, not the fish of the water – he has really done something.

As in our Isaiah reading, Simon has heard the voice of the Lord asking him to go and he has responded, he has gone, he has fished, and the response is overwhelming.

Then Jesus said to Simon, ‘do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people’.

Yesterday I read that the Greek word for catching, used here, is zogron; it is rare in the New Testament and has a very specific meaning – it means to catch alive. The fish Simon and his friends have caught will soon be dead, but Jesus is inviting them to catch people alive – and more than that, to catch people so that they might live, and really live, fully and forever. What an invitation – catch fish that will surely die or catch people who will truly live. Even though they just landed the catch of their lives, is there any wonder they immediately leave everything and follow Him?

The fisherfolk Jesus met at the water’s edge were boringly ordinary. There was nothing outstanding about them. They were doing what they did every night and day and the Christ met them there, walked right into their mundane life and invited them to change direction, take their existing skills and experience and apply it to things with deeper, greater, world changing significance.

Simon knows he is really nothing much. What on earth can he contribute? But Jesus calls him, as he is, tells him not to be afraid and to come now. And we see that all the way through the pages of scripture – God is always calling the ill-equipped and unprepared; Moses, Gideon, Jeremiah, King David, Mary, our own St Paul. And it doesn’t stop there. Down through history, ever since, we have seen the same – Joan of Arc, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King Jr, Oscar Romero, Ghandi, Schindler, the list is endless. And it includes me and it includes you.

God doesn’t wait for God’s people to be ready, for it to make sense, and yet there are times we are ready, there are times it does make sense. Simon was ready with his boat and his nets. He might not yet be the greatest public speaker or healer or the bravest or whatever it is, but it made sense that fishermen might now fish for people.

So, whether we are ready and prepared, whether the call makes sense or is nonsense, when God calls, when God asks ‘whom shall I send?’, and when we meet the Christ, and hear the call to follow we have the same choice as those at the water’s edge with broken boats. Will we choose to leave our fear, preconceptions, reasoning, excuses behind? Will we add our voice to those in the pages of scripture and those echoing through the ages and say yes? Again. Over and over? Will we leave everything and follow.

Here I am, send me. Amen.

See the light – be the light

Jeremiah 1:4-10                  Psalm 71:1-6 1          Corinthians 13:1-13            Luke 2:22-40

On January 20, 2021, Amanda Gorman stepped out onto the world’s stage and became the youngest poet to ever read at a U.S. presidential inauguration at just 22 years of age. This prophet-poet stole the show as she recited her original work, ‘The Hill we Climb’. In her closing words she memorably said, ‘For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.’

Some 2000 years before that there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel and the Holy Spirit rested on him. As he came into the temple that day and saw the child Jesus – eight days old. He took him in his arms and praised God, saying ‘My eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation…and for glory’. And the people were amazed.

And somewhere in between the two, or since, those of us who are baptised Christians have been entrusted with the responsibility to go from those waters and shine as a light in the world to the glory of God the Father.

There is always Light. A light for revelation. Shine as a light in the world.

We are children of the Light and our call, our duty and our joy, is to shine that light into the darkest corners of this world to illumine where Christ already is, to show the way of Love, to dispel the dark, to create vision, to bring healing and peace.

So I wonder, where have you seen the light?

And where have you been the light in this last week?

This week I sat with four different families who have been bereaved in the last few days. In their despair and grief, in all their questioning and in trying to make sense and make plans, I had these verses in my mind. I knew that our role in these situations is to see the light – the light of the memories of their loved ones, the stories of the ways they had made life better – and to be the light, to bring comfort and hope.

And while I was with a British family, whose loved one had died unexpectedly back in the UK, we lit candles. I wasn’t sure why I had laid out enough candles for each of the four family members to light until I heard myself say, ‘we light these candles as a reminder that even in the darkest moments we are not alone and Jesus, who is the Light of the World, is with us’.

On Tuesday I went to a home that has been gifted to the Cana Charity, as a refuge for the most vulnerable women in their care. As the owner moved out, she handed me a bag full of candles. She told me that she knew her home had never been for her own use, even when she bought it 5 years ago. She said she always knew God had plans that it would be a refuge and now those plans were coming to pass. And she handed me those candles as a way of passing on the light – it wasn’t hers to burn there anymore – she had done her bit, laid the foundations, listened to God’s prompting – and now she was handing it over that it might be light for others. And it will be.

On Friday I went to Josh Wilson’s office to ask him to lobby parliament for an increase in the global aid budget from 0.68% to a slightly more generous 1%, to care for the world’s poorest, and our nearest neighbours. He was cautious, not optimistic, but as we talked, he said, ‘we have the moral responsibility to care for those most in need and we can afford it. We must afford it’ he said.

He wanted Australia to be the light for the darkest, poorest corners, for the 1 in 5 children living in conflict zones and the 700 million people living in extreme poverty. He sees his role in politics as being able to make that change and he wants to see it happen.

Amanda Gorman says, ‘there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it’. Simeon spotted it there in the temple in the face of that baby – the one we tentatively try to follow, and fail, and try again. A light for all people and a light to reflect the glory of God. And we are charged with being that light by the means of our baptism and the promises made over us, or by us, there.

Being brave enough to be it sounds daunting. Sometimes it feels daunting. But it isn’t. it’s really not. Because the same light that was in the temple that day is in this temple here today and is in the temple of our hearts. That light, of course, is the Christ – we are simply the vessels of it – and that light cannot and will not ever be extinguished. Sometimes we might throw that light into shade, cover it over with our own actions or inactions, or threaten to snuff it out entirely.

And sometimes this world seems dark. Right now, it feels like there are forces at work that are disgustingly dark, frightening even; mass deportation, drilling and fracking, war, hideously fragile ceasefire arrangements, an end to international aid, swathes of funding cuts to health and housing, the list goes on – and not all overseas either.  Spotting the light might feel difficult but doing so, revealing it, focussing on it, celebrating the light is miraculously defiant, counter cultural, an act of rebellion. Seeing the light and being the light is more important now than ever.

There is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

So, let me end with some questions for you to ponder in the stillness…

Where have you seen the light of Christ shining most brightly?

Where might you be brave enough to be the light?

What might you need to remove or lay down to shine more brightly?

Amen.

The Jesus Manifesto

Nehemiah 8:1-3,5-6,8-10         Psalm 19      1 Cor 12:12-31      Luke 4:14-21

In today’s world it seems impossible there would be anyone who might’ve escaped the news of the inauguration of the 47th president of the USA this week. News feeds, TV, radio shows, social media and conversations over the dinner table have been full of it so it seems remiss to not make mention of it this morning, particularly with this gospel reading, where we hear something like Jesus’ own inaugural speech. And some people might find the mix of politics and religion unpalatable, but this week we have heard the prophetic voice of Bishop Mariann Budde who set an example of the importance of speaking Truth to power, and inspired many of us to commit to speaking up.

So our gospel passage takes us to the synagogue in Galilee where Jesus stands up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him and he read the following words:

The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

And then he sat down and said, today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. Today, we are on the edge of this all coming true. Today is the start of a new era.

Good news to the poor.            Release to the captives.            Healing for the blind

Freedom for the oppressed.                           The favour of the Lord.

That’s quite a manifesto. It echoes the words of his mama Mary, when she sang out the Magnificat at his conception. Justice and healing and wholeness, freedom, hope and favour; those are the characteristics of the Kingdom Jesus is building, the one he is inviting everyone to become a part of.

Trump spoke of a new era too; one where power is restored to the most powerful and money is king. And while Jesus speaks of profound change in the spiritual realms, the president promises nationalistic change, political change, economic change – and that change doesn’t favour the poor.

He mentions them, and the imprisoned too. But whereas Jesus speaks of good news and release, of freedom and favour, this week’s news was filled with blame and retribution, a locking up of the world’s most vulnerable and a release of those with privilege.

The focus of these two inaugural speeches are diametrically opposed.

Jesus speaks of empowering the poor, the prisoners, the blind, and the oppressed; to lift up those on the margins of society. The Spirit of the Lord is on him to bring healing and justice to those who have been excluded. Whereas Trump’s rhetoric focuses on restoring power through dominance and strength, especially through economic growth and military power. He favours the everyday guy and encourages him or her (no other pronouns, of course) to be suspicious of people of colour or those newly arrived; to further marginalise the marginalised. His reign is through fearmongering and exclusion whereas Jesus preaches love and absolute inclusion.

Jesus speaks of the dawning of a new era, the start of something new, the fulfilment of what has been long promised. Always moving closer to the completeness of the Kingdom of God. Trump looks backwards – looking to recover that which is lost and doing so by force.

And the most direct opposite; Jesus’ message is about turning upside down the hierarchies of power, so the poor are lifted up, the homeless are housed, the blind can see, the rich are sent away empty. The other is about giving power to the most powerful. Not the way of the gospel at all.

Jesus speaks of the anointing of the Spirit – the Spirit of the Lord is upon me. A direct contrast to the worldly power, found in money and status and with a gun in hand. And Jesus speaks on the small stage of the synagogue, rather than the world’s stage.

Everything about these two inaugural addresses is opposite.

Humility versus power

Inclusion versus exclusion

Release versus imprisonment

Freedom versus fear

Love versus hate

And we stand in a world where we have a choice to make about whether we will align ourselves with the policies of the world, or the policies of the kingdom of God. And as those who call ourselves followers of Jesus we have signed up for his manifesto and not for that of the world, and that is a challenge. It’s not the simple or easy way. In a few verses time we hear how some of Jesus’ listeners hated his message so much they wanted to kill him. This isn’t the path of least resistance and saying we will choose to walk in the ways of light and truth each time is not a forgone conclusion.

We, as citizens of the 21st century in the richest parts of world have power; the odds are stacked in our favour and in order for Jesus’ manifesto to be fulfilled today, we must give so that others might have.

Good news to the poor is money in the hand, medical bills paid, food on tables, decent wages, debt cancelled.

Release to the captives is an overhaul of our judicial system and penal reform. It is fair immigration policies and an end to detention. It is well-resourced mental health care and treatment for addiction.

Letting the oppressed go free is the dismantling of systems that oppress and creating support systems to manage freedom safely.

Proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favour is an end to guilt-based abusive spirituality, a radical acceptance for all, a gospel of love not judgment.

This is what the Spirit of the Lord is anointing us to do and when we are the ones, as a nation, as a wealthy people, who are getting in the way of this being fulfilled, it is our job to get out of the way, to make change and advocate for those who are most in need, like Bishop Budde did in her address to Trump. In addressing him I think she addressed us all and I will close with a line or two from her…

“Let me make one final plea… I ask you to have mercy… [and] May God grant us the strength and courage to honour the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love and walk humbly with each other and our God for the good of all people. Good of all people in this nation and the world. Amen”

Water into wine…

Isaiah 62:1-5         Psalm 36:5-10       1 Corinthians 12:1-11    John 2:1-11

When a stranger first spots my collar, there is a range of familiar responses. I’m amazed how often I am asked if *this* is real, or if I am on my way to a fancy dress party (if there is a fancy dress party at lunchtime on some random Wednesday and I’m invited, I will go full Mother Superior and won’t just turn up in a dog collar). I also get asked ‘are you religious then?’, and the old ‘I didn’t know women could be priests’, and somewhere in the top ten of things I’m asked is whether I can turn water into wine. Honestly. So, this gospel passage feels more familiar than many.

I love this story. I love the imagery it stirs up; the wedding, Jesus, his mama and disciples, the wine, water jars, and then the first of Jesus’ great signs; the overflowing abundant outpouring of the very best wine, not for any lasting purpose, but simply for pure joy. I love that Jesus’ first sign reveals his glory in this way.

And I love that Jesus didn’t change water into wine because he was a lover of wine, but because he is a lover of people; He cared about the bride and groom; he cared about how they would feel if they became *that* couple – the poor ones – the embarrassed ones – the ones who couldn’t provide for others.

And what demonstrates the abundance of the God we follow more than this; Jesus doesn’t just make a few bottles, until they can buy some more. He makes 180 gallons of wine – around 900 bottles – enough and some to share – enough for this party, and the next – enough to remember forever that lavish gift from the carpenter Jesus (could this be the God-man?). 

And here’s what I love the most, the most Jesusy thing about it all.   

We’re on day 3 of a 5 day wedding festival; everyone is drinking; Jesus could’ve served something mediocre, but he serves up the equivalent of the best champagne in the land.  And that is what God is like – abundant, extravagant, always outdoing us with grace and blessings.  We come grovelling, daring to hope for a tiny sip of vaguely fermented grape juice and Jesus pours out bottles of champagne.  Always waiting to give us more than we can ever ask or imagine.

Jesus’ actions changed a wedding. It turned stone jars of water into bottles of the finest wine. And it speaks of so much more; an audacious claim from our Lord, that, by doing whatever Jesus tells us, we can be transformed too. Just as Jesus can change water into wine, so He can change us from our broken humanity, into people of holiness, wholeness and beauty.  And just as Jesus can change us, so He and we, together, can change the world.

And on this Aboriginal Sunday, we might dare to believe we could partner with Jesus to heal the wounds of history, to rebuild the land and relationships that greed and domination and fear has damaged and destroyed; that the water of this land might be changed to the abundance of the best wine, because that is the whisper of the promise we hear from Christ in this passage.

And that is the real miracle: not that Jesus changed water into wine, but that Jesus can change us, our past, present and future, from broken to whole, from fearful to bold, from hurt to healed, from alone to belonging, and that this happens simply by doing whatever he tells you; handing it all over to Jesus and allowing Him to abundantly do whatever He chooses.

This message of water and wine brings me, every time, back to the altar and the mass. As the priest lays up the table for our meal you might hear us mumble private prayers to God. As the chalice is filled with wine and then dashed with water, so I pray, ‘through the mystery of this water and wine, may we share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity’.

May we share in the divinity, just as, or because, Christ shared in our humanity.

Water; the symbol of humanity.

Wine; the symbol of divinity, Godliness.

So in the bringing of the water jars to Jesus we discover we can bring all our humanness – our best and worst bits – and trust Jesus to take them and change them into pure holiness. And all of that is contained at every mass, in the mystery of the chalice.

Within the water and wine, we meet a God, in Christ, who longs to be in relationship with us; who longs to give good things to all people, with nobody excluded. We meet a Christ who takes something and makes abundantly more. And in the outpouring of the chalice we get to encounter Him again and again, every single time.

In this story we see a God who can and will transform the ordinary into something that is the very best, and we hear a God inviting us to be transformed too. And as we approach this altar, we partake in this story too – we become like the water jars; we who are human, place ourselves in God’s hands and, in consuming the Christ, we become more of who we are created to be. We exchange our humanity for divinity and, in turn, become more fully human.

In a way it is crazy; it’s hard to comprehend, which is why we take and eat and drink and do this physical act, because simply trying to figure it out in our minds alone is impossible. But the message is clear really; do whatever he tells you and, in doing so, you will be changed, and changed to change the world.

So, today, as we eat and drink, may we remember that; may we respond to that; and, may we say an enormous yes to these abundant gifts from God – that God’s glory might be further revealed, and that many more may believe in God.  Amen.

The Baptism of Christ…on tour!

Isaiah 43:1-7          Psalm 29     Acts 8:14-17          Luke 3:15-22

This past Sunday I was on tour, preaching at Grace Chapel, Kwinana for the baptism of a child named Bertie. Here is the sermon…

I love a fun fact. Do you love a fun fact?

Did you know that elephants are the only mammal that can’t jump, or horned lizards squirt blood out of their eyeballs to ward off predators?! Butterflies taste with their feet and cows moo with regional accents and have best friends. Did you know that?

Did you know that Bertie’s favourite things are his swimming pool (bodes well!), zip wire and spiderman?! Could you have guessed?

Did you also know that there is the same amount of water on the earth now as there was when the earth was formed? And while it is possible that this means the water you drink is likely to have been drunk by dinosaurs at some point in time, I have a way better thought… how about this… some of the water you drink today, some of the water you swim in, or the water we will baptise Bertie in, might just be the same water in which Jesus was baptised, as we heard about just now. How about that?

When I first realised water was recycled over and over since the dawn of time – raining down into rivers, sweeping out to seas, evaporating into clouds and beginning again – and the atoms making up my own glass of water could be part of the water the spirit brooded over back in Genesis One, or that Moses parted or Jesus was baptised in – when I first realised that, my mind was blown and here we are again, this morning, right back by the river Jordan, with John and our Lord waist deep in that water…

Can you picture that moment?

People, filled with expectation: is John the messiah we’ve waited for??

John’s cryptic answers and strange clothing. His mentions of fire, water and spirit.

Herod, breathing out murderous threats.

And people queueing to get into those waters, die to sin and come out the other side – dripping on the riverbanks.  And then along comes the Palestinian carpenter, Joseph’s son, wading into the water. John sinks him under and then it happens.

He’s lifted out of the water, the heavens open; the spirit descends, visibly, like an actual dove and there is the voice…

You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.

An epiphany

And Jesus is baptised in water that has been around since the dawn of time.

And so are we.

At each baptism service, I think ‘what one thing do I want this family to know today’. What one thing? And often it’s this: even though you can’t see the heavens open, or the spirit descend like a dove – even though you can’t see it, and probably can’t hear this voice of God saying ‘you are my son, you are my daughter and I love you’ – please know that is exactly what is happening today. That’s what I want every baptism child and family and supporters and godparents to know.

That is what I want Bertie to know deep inside his spiderman heart. That’s what I want you to know, mum and dad, Matthew and Kirsty. You are loved, Bertie is loved and God is insanely proud of you – not for anything you’ve done but simply because you are you. Or the way our first reading put it; ‘I have called you by name, you are mine. You are precious in my sight, honoured and I love you’.

And that’s what I want you all to know today too. Because it is the audacious claim of our faith! This is what we believe – that the one who created every atom of water, every single moment of history, sees us, right here, right now, and loves us. God speaks.  Out loud.  And says to us ‘you are my child, my beloved, and with you I am well pleased’.  And it’s not dependent on what we’ve done or not done.  It’s just because.

So, Jesus is baptised…and the love of God pours over him and down onto him and the voice of God cries out LOVE. And we, many of us, were also baptised in water – maybe even some of the very same molecules. The very same H20.  And every single day since, the heavens continue to open over us and the spirit descends on us. The voice of our creator, the source of life, declares those words over us – you are my child, I adore you. Whether you’ve seen it or heard it, is not what is important. What is important is what is true. And the truth is, you are loved.

You were loved before you were born, you were loved as you were born and while you have grown. You were loved when you were at your best. You were loved even when you were at your worst. And you’ve never deserved it; it has always been outrageous grace. There’s nothing you can do to make God love you more and God will never love you less. What a message of hope. What an epiphany!

Whether we share the same molecules in our own baptism that Christ was drenched in at his – whether it’s splashes of the same water or not, the truth is that it is the same God tearing the heavens apart, lavishing God’s spirit upon us and pouring out affirmations of love and belonging. The same love, the same promises, the same parenting, the same holy acceptance, streaming through history, ever towards us. Always in our favour.

And this is what we celebrate for Bertie and his family today; a significant moment in Bertie’s life when we stop and say, precious one, you are loved. May you always know it, always be it, always share it, keep becoming it. And as a reminder of that for us all, and a reminder of our own baptism, this holy water will remain in the font and after you have received your communion you might want to revisit these waters of baptism again, dip your fingers in, make the sign of the cross once more on your forehead, drink it, drench yourself if you want to and receive the assurance once more that you are loved with the abundant love of God…

Remember your baptism and be thankful.

Amen.

Epiphany 2025

Isaiah 60:1-6          Ps 72:1-7,10-14                Eph3:1-12   Matt2:1-12

Happy Epiphany Season!

We survived Christmas, and here we are, peeping out from under the corner and ready to embark on the church’s next season. Epiphany; where we have our own epiphanies, through the pages of scripture, and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, about who this Christ Child is and what his coming means for the world. And today we have probably the most well-known of all the epiphany stories; the journey of the wise men.

These star gazers travelled for miles and miles, years and years, searching the skies, watching for the secrets it will give up, wandering and wondering and finally, the star stops and they are overwhelmed with joy. They enter the house, see the child with his mother Mary; and they kneel in worship and hand over their gifts; gold, frankincense and myrrh and declare he is a king, who is God, and destined to die. 

That’s what their gifts represent – you, little man, are a King (so here is gold to crown you), you are fully divine, THE holy priest (so here is frankincense for worship) and here is myrrh, because we’re anointing you for death. 

But these gifts paled in comparison to the primary purpose of their visit. We hear, ‘we have come to pay him homage – we have come to worship’. They bring themselves before God in complete adoration. In this moment, their lives were forever changed, and a new road stretched out before them – an encounter with the Christ Child is often like that.

This journey, this visit, these gifts, this epiphany is a significant part of the faith story. It encapsulates every traveller’s road; we hear or suspect there might be something happening in this God story and we want to explore. We look, watch from far off, figure out if we want to know more. We follow where we may have seen the light of Christ – usually in people, sometimes in places. We make our journey, and then, when we inevitably meet the Christ (because he is never hiding and is always relentlessly pursuing us too) we fall on our knees in worship – so beautiful is his presence it sweeps us off our feet, onto our knees.

The astronomer’s journey is such a foreshadowing of our own journey in faith that we need reminding of it; that others have gone before, that Christ is there to be found, that when we reach the end of ourselves, we simply need to kneel in worship. It is so essential we need to do all we can to keep it in mind, to be able to access it in our heart. And the church gives us rich traditions to help.

You may have seen homes and doorposts, even around this site, with chalk markings above the doorway. It is a tradition that came to us from Europe and is a simple way of blessing our homes and all who visit, based on this story of the journey of the magi.

Several years ago, when I changed from curate to priest-in-charge, I had to move house into the vicarage. House moves went as house moves do and I began to settle in. A couple of months later a little girl from the local primary school came running over to me, jumping and squealing that she now lived in my house. She said ‘I saw the chalk above the door and knew it was your house’ and she was right. And when I moved here, all those miles from home, it was a comforting thing to see chalked doorposts around the place – even over the door of the new, strange place we were about to call home.

The chalking of the doors comes back to a command to God’s people in Deuteronomy, saying “These words shall be on your heart… You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” So we bless chalk and take it to each home and write the year and 3 letters on each one. This time it will be 2025, and always the letters C M B, partly to remind us of the names assigned to the Magi – Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar – and also standing for the Latin Christus Mansionem Benedicat meaning May Christ Bless this Home.

What this action says is ‘this house, and all who live here, want to be a blessing to God and who visit in this coming year’.  A tangible way of saying that we want to give our gifts to Jesus, just like the magi did, and that we want those around us to see the beauty and hope of the good news of Jesus Christ in our lives and in our homes.

We don’t have gold, frankincense and myrrh, but we are not being asked for those.  What we have is something far more valuable, far more costly; we have ourselves and our homes.  And we have countless opportunities in this coming year to use both of those to worship God and bless those around us.

If you want to commit to you home being a place of blessing in this coming year – for yourselves and those who pass by or visit – for all who will see the chalk scrawl and wonder – then when you come up for communion in a few minutes you will see here chalk in bags, with instructions. You are invited to take one and use it.

The beauty of our faith that we hold so dear is that we know the star – that divine light of Christ – has stopped here too, over Beaconsfield, over our very homes. People nearby are searching, and we want to help them to seek and find.  This tradition is a way for our lives and homes to point people towards Him, and in their seeking may they find and, in their finding, may they worship.

So let us pray,

Lord God, source of all light and grace,

we ask You to bless this chalk which you have created.

May it serve as a reminder that Christ, the true Light of the World,

has come to illuminate our lives.

As we mark our doorposts with this chalk,

may we remember to open our hearts

to Christ’s presence in our homes and in our lives. Amen.

Surrender all?!

1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26     Psalm 148               Colossians 3:12-17          Luke 2:41-52

I’ve been doing a bit of a crash course in motherhood this past month.  I am learning that, while there will inevitably be something you forget when you leave the house, you must make sure it isn’t a spare nappy, or the child. I almost always have no idea what I am doing but the little human who has moved into our home and hearts no longer terrifies me 100% of the time and when she raises her peanut butter encrusted hands up for me to give her a cuddle something happens inside me that I can’t explain.  So, imagine my delight that this morning’s readings look at parenting too.

In our Gospel reading from Luke, we find twelve-year-old Jesus in the temple, astonishing the teachers with His wisdom. His parents are frantic, having searched for Him for three days. THREE DAYS? Imagine?! And when they finally find Him, (imagine that mix of relief, anger, blame, more relief) Jesus responds with, “Did you not know I must be in my Father’s house?” Mary and Joseph must have had all kinds of feelings at that point! The wonder of hindsight shows us Jesus beginning to embrace His true identity, as his divine mission begins to unfold. And then He returns with His parents to Nazareth, continuing to grow in wisdom and favour with God and people.

Our gospel story connects to another story of surrender: the account of Hannah and Samuel from the Old Testament. Hannah, in her desperation for a child, makes a deal with God that if she is granted a son, she will dedicate him to the Lord. When Samuel is born, she fulfils her promise, leaving him in the temple with the priest Eli. She only gets to see him once a year, and her only parenting task is to take him the robe she lovingly makes each year. It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it?? Give me a child God, I beg you; and if you do, I will give him straight back to you, for your service. Wow.  What an incredible act of surrender. Hannah didn’t just offer Samuel back to God; she gave up her vision of motherhood to trust God’s plan for her son.

Both stories—Hannah’s and Mary’s—are about surrender. Maybe every parenting story is. For Hannah, it was the surrender of her deep longing for a child and her dream of raising him herself. For Mary, it was the surrender of her son to a divine purpose she couldn’t truly understand. Both women had to let go of their own plans and accept God’s vision, which was greater than anything they could have imagined.

And today we stand on the threshold of another new year. Christmas is being cleared away, to make room for New Year’s resolutions, visioning boards and all that talk of becoming our best selves. New Year’s resolutions often centre on taking control—setting goals, making plans, striving for self-improvement. But we are invited to consider a different approach. Not so much, what can I do for me, but what can I do or be or surrender to God.  Today’s readings invite us to choose a surrendering of control. What do we need to release to God? What are we holding too tightly, out of fear or need for certainty? What is God inviting us to entrust to His care?

Surrender doesn’t mean we stop planning or dreaming. It means offering those dreams with open hands, trusting that God’s purposes for us are always greater than our own. Surrender means releasing the illusion of control and allowing God’s story to unfold in ways we may not expect.

Surrender is clear as we explore both Hannah and Mary’s story. It is clear each time we hear the call of Christ to follow Him.

This theme of surrender and parenting and discipleship is beautifully captured in the words of Meister Eckhart, the 13th century friar, mystic and theologian, who said, “We are all meant to be mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born.”

Eckhart reminds us that just as Mary gave her body to God for the birth of Jesus, we are also called to make space for God to be born in us—through our actions, our relationships, our choices, and our faith. In a sense, we are all invited to be mothers of God, to be open and receptive to the divine presence within us, and to trust that God is continually birthing something new in the world through us.

Isn’t that beautiful? We are all called – male, female, human, parents, non-parents, adult or child – we are all called to give ourselves fully to God so that, through us, God might bring Jesus to this world; this world that needs him so much.

So we have this amazing invitation to surrender: to make room for God to act in our lives, to step aside and allow His plans to unfold, even when we don’t fully understand what it will look like. In surrendering, we don’t lose ourselves; rather, we discover our truest selves, the ones God always intended us to be. Just as Mary said “yes” to God’s calling, we, too, are invited to say “yes” to the new birth that is being brought into our lives and the world.

So as we enter this new year, might we choose to pray for the courage to surrender our tightly held plans and our fears, to make space for God’s greater purposes. May we be willing to let go, trusting that God is always with us and working in us, to bring life, hope, and transformation. And just as Mary and Hannah gave their children to God’s service, may we offer our lives—our time and resources, our hearts and hopes—into God’s hands.

And may we each, become mothers of God, making room for His presence and His love to be born anew in us, that we might share it with the world.

Amen.

A sermon for Christmas Eve, midnight…

Christmas Eve Midnight Homily

On this holy night, we come to celebrate a story we know so well: a baby born in a manger, shepherds, wise men, an innkeeper and angels, and a light that shines in the darkness. A moment in history that we remember and celebrate all these generations later, because it changed everything.

John’s Gospel opens with an ancient truth: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Before time itself, before creation, the Word – Jesus – was with God, creating and sustaining everything. The very same Word that spoke the stars into being, that shaped mountains and seas, now enters our world as a vulnerable child. God, the Creator of the universe, comes to us not in strength, but in weakness, not in power, but in humility. Or, as one bible paraphrase puts it, the Word put on flesh and moved into the neighbourhood.

The angels, announcing His birth, sing of a light that has come to pierce the darkness of our world: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward all people.” They sang on that star-lit night, and they sing still today – Glory to God! Peace! Alleluia. Sometimes we join in, sometimes, mostly, we don’t even notice, but the angelic praise rings out, always, without ceasing. And they proclaim, ‘the light shines in the darkness. The darkness doesn’t win. Light has dawned. Light overcomes’.

And this light is not just a distant star in the sky. It isn’t even the dazzling dawn of sunrise. It is a light that enters our lives, our world — into our struggles, our fears, our brokenness. It is the light of God’s love that shines in the places where we need it most. As Isaiah says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined.” (Isaiah 9:2)

That light means no matter how dark our lives may get — whether we’re carrying the weight of personal struggles, feeling the pain of loss, or watching a world torn by conflict and despair — Christ’s light is brighter. It doesn’t erase the darkness, but it gives us hope in the middle of it. The light of Christ is not a promise that all will be easy, but that we are never alone. And that is the story, the true story of Christmas. That we are never alone – God is with us. Immanuel, God came near, God remains near, God is right beside us, within and without us, above, beneath, and always alongside.

In a world where so many feel forgotten, rejected, or helpless, the birth of Jesus is the ultimate reminder that God is with us — not as a distant, unreachable figure, but as one who knows our pain, who walks with us, and who calls us to bring that light into the world and shine in small but powerful ways: offering a kind word to someone in need, standing up for justice where there is inequality, reaching out to those who are suffering.

This year, I took all the leftover bits and pieces of discarded candle wax from church. Old tea lights and drips and scraps and I melted them down and repurposed them into new candles, as gifts. I thought it was a nice idea, and it was, but it gave a message way greater than just a sweet little new votive candle, even one made of holy wax.  

Just as a small candle can light a dark room, simply by being there, so the smallest acts of love and compassion can break through the darkness in our world. The truth of the incarnation, the truth of the readings we have heard tonight, is that there was once darkness, and now there is light.

Light has dawned and it has brought joy. It has broken oppression; this light brings peace and justice and righteousness. It has brought singing and salvation and beauty and honour, and incredible, undeserved grace and it has brought life, to all people. And this light – the light of Christ – shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot, will not, can never, overcome it. and the word, the light, became flesh and lived among us.

Tonight, we celebrate the birth of Jesus, the Word made flesh, who is the true light of the world. Our challenge, our purpose, is to carry that light to the darkest places of the world so it might simply shine – outshine the darkness. So, this Christmas, may we remember that Christ’s light is here to guide us, to give us hope, and to empower us to be light in a world that desperately needs it.

The darkness will not overcome it, because the light of Christ is stronger than any darkness we face. May the peace and light of Christ be with you always. Amen.

Advent III – Year C

Zephaniah 3:14-20         Isaiah 12:2-6          Phil 4:4-7             Luke 3:7-18

Earlier this week I got a text from a friend I haven’t seen in way too long and it said ‘how are you? Is advent unfolding in the beautiful way it can, or is it a voice crying in the wilderness? Thinking of you…’

The question made me pause and take notice; honestly, it’s been a bit more wilderness crying than beautiful unfolding, but here we are, arriving at this 3rd Sunday in advent and it is Gaudete Sunday – the Sunday of joy – the one where we stop to rejoice; rejoice at our Lord’s first coming; rejoice that he is with us now and rejoice in the sure and certain promise that he is coming again. 

As our epistle reminded us, rejoice in the Lord always, the Lord is near, do not worry. Rejoice always.

Rejoicing, or joy, is different from just being happy; happiness is often dependent upon external sources, but joy bubbles up from within – a gift from God, a fruit of God’s holy spirit – and can be found even in the darkest places at the darkest times.

Our other readings tell us about joy and rejoicing too.  Our Old Testament reading says we can rejoice with all our hearts because God’s very self is here with us, delighting in us; that God is rejoicing in who we are; that God is actually singing over us.   Isn’t that beautiful? 

And then we have John, with his brood of vipers and his coming wrath and his scary call for repentance and his axe and his fires and gosh, it doesn’t sound very joyful.  But he shares the perfect ingredients for rejoicing – share all you have, treat everyone fairly, don’t steal, threaten or lie, be satisfied, and God will do the rest. And this is his good news, the source and reason to rejoice.

But it’s in the Hebrew scriptures I have spent most of the week; mulling over the passage that says God is near enough to allay our fears, drive away our enemies, and strengthen the work of our hands. God is close enough to gather up the lame and the outcast and bring them home and that God is so near that, if we listen, we might even hear God rejoicing over us with singing; loud singing it says. Singing that drives away disaster.

And as I have gone about this week I have thought about God’s singing. I have wondered what God’s voice might sound like and what song God might choose to sing, and if I can dare to believe, let alone hear, the song that is chosen for me.

A while ago, I told you about a woman I have met in one of the care homes I visit. Nearly 18 months ago the doctors diagnosed her with cancer and gave her 3 months to live. She hoped she might make it to Christmas, last year, and she continued to knit. She’s the woman who said she would knit and knit until Jesus called her home, until she ran out of wool, she would say. And she would return to her room and find bags of wool on her bed with no idea where it had come from, and she knitted beanie hats for prem babies or teddies and socks.

This week I went into her care home again and she wasn’t in the service. The staff told me she was in hospital and is palliative. I went to see her that afternoon and sat beside her bed. She was holding one of her teddies, her breathing was laboured, her glasses were askew, and she was sleeping. I sat and prayed for her, held her hand and just before I was about to leave, I remembered the hymn she would always request at our communion services and I began to sing Amazing Grace over her. Before she opened her eyes she said, ‘I want this at my funeral’ and we shared communion and she said to me ‘if you ever want to tell anyone my story, I give you my permission’.

Because I had this passage from Zephaniah in my mind, I wondered if God might sometimes sound like the voice of one sitting beside a hospital bed, singing the favourite hymn of a dying woman.

*******************

Yesterday in the car, we had a very tired little person in the back, fighting sleep, crying because she didn’t know what to do with herself. As we started to sing wind the bobbin up and row row row your boat so her crying stopped and the car became calmer and then clapping and laughing started. And I wondered if God might sometimes sound like nursery rhymes and action songs in the ears of a fractious baby.

And as I walked the dog, I heard birdsong, really loudly. And it lifted my attention from the pavement to the skies. And I wondered if sometimes God sings like a flock of birds, building nests in tree canopies.

I have read this passage before. I have loved this image for a long time. I had longed to hear God or the angels singing over me. But now I wonder if it is much nearer than I had ever known, more audible than I have ever realised.

So let me ask you the same questions:

How is your advent? Is it unfolding in the beautiful way that it can, or is it more crying in the wilderness?

And, have you wondered what God’s voice might sound like and what song God might choose to sing over you? Have you heard it?

Have you stopped still long enough to listen?

Zephaniah says, ‘The Lord, your God, is in your midst… rejoic[ing] over you with gladness, renew[ing] you in his love;…exult[ing] over you with loud singing’.

Let us pause, listen, hear and rejoice, amen.

Advent II – Year C

Malachi 3:1-14     Psalm: The Song of Zechariah (Luke 1:68-79)

Philippians 1:1-11           Luke 3:1-6

This week has been wild. With squashed banana and congealing yoghurt, and sticky fingers on every pane of glass, there isn’t much purifying going on in the rectory and if this sermon begins to go all singsong, like a nursery rhyme, then I’m sorry, but we’re upright, and that’s the best we can expect right now, right?!

Fortunately, this is one of my most favourite passages in the Hebrew scriptures, this prophesy from Malachi about the coming king. Hear it again…

See I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple… He is coming. But who can endure it?  For he is like a refiner’s fire.  He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.

Such rich imagery. What a clear picture. A refiner’s fire, a purifier of silver.

Several years ago, I investigated what it is that a silversmith does and, it was as I read that this passage rocketed up the list of favourite verses. Do you know how a silversmith refines metal?  Do you know how a goldsmith tests for purity?  Maybe I’ve told you before.

They sit, for long periods of time, holding the metal in very intense heat and they keep it there until the dross burns off and it is free from impurity.  They burn it to make it clean. And how do they know it is pure?  What is the test? It is only complete once they can see their own reflection in it.  The face of the one who creates it.

So, what does this prophecy say for God’s people?

The Lord is coming.

And in God’s coming is the promise that we will be held in God’s fire until all that is dross burns away, and until God sees us as pure, and as perfectly reflecting God’s own face.  We, and all God’s people, down through the ages, will be made perfect, so we can reflect the image of the Divine Silversmith – so people will look at us and see the Great Creator.

And as a gold or silversmith sits at their refining fire, are they concerned about the impurity? Do you think they spend time worrying about the dross and the grime? I bet they don’t. I expect they know that all that is precious is right there waiting to emerge, waiting to bubble to the surface. They simply hold that precious metal in the fire until their own face can be seen in it and then they know it is ready.

‘The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his Temple’, says Malachi.

He promised this to God’s people 400+ years before…and then there was silence… nothing.

God’s people, through the ages, knew they were waiting for The One to come to the temple, ready to refine and purify, and reflect the image of the creator. Maybe they would be the generation that would be chosen to next reflect the glory of God. Always watching, listening, waiting, hoping. But for centuries it all went quiet…

And then suddenly we get this crazy prophet bursting onto the scene. John; the last of the Old Testament prophets, cries out in the wilderness, ‘prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.

The time has come.

The time of purifying and refining, the holy burning, to remove the dross and reflect the Glory of the Divine…it is near.

Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand, Malachi’s prophesy asked. And I wonder what that is asking of us, here and now. Who can endure? Who can stand? Will we give in to the process of our creator, whatever it takes and wherever it takes us, so that we can be made pure – not sinless, not shiny clean, I don’t mean that – I mean truly pure so that, in the words of our gospel prophet a few decades hence, ‘we must decrease, and you must increase’.

God making us pure means seeing more of God in us. More of God and less of self, less of ego, less of our own good works and more of God’s work.

And that’s tricky, right, because we want to do those things that God asks of us, and sometimes we get in the way of God’s glory being seen, sometimes we might almost block out the light. So we must return again and again to the refining fire and hand ourselves over to the Divine Jeweller – make of me what you will, Great Creator – take my simple offering, my tasks, my hopes, my attempts, my heart and soul and burn off all that is impure and make it pure.

Handing ourselves over, even once, let alone over and again, sounds uncomfortable, risky even. Maybe that’s why the prophecy asks ‘who can endure and who can stand’. Knowing we are delivering ourselves into Hands, even the holiest of hands, where all that is purely-self is potentially painful. What if I like the bits that are burned away? What if I was particularly attached to them? But, it is the call of those who are seeking after God. It is the offer, the invitation, that we might be made refined and pure, that we might reflect God’s glory and not our own.

Uncomfortable, yes. But how liberating? Imagine the freedom of complete purity.

Yesterday Gabby posted another fabulous Gabby image on our Facebook page, with words from the Indigenous Leader, Steven Charleston. His poem ‘Wild Places’ perfectly span our two prophets for this morning – Malachi and John the Baptist. He writes this:

A voice crying in the wilderness.

The call of the Spirit does not come in quiet places of comfort.

It beckons us from wild places: that interior wilderness, just outside the walls of polite society.

The dark woods where we are afraid we may meet the stranger.

It is the risky land of encounter.

The invitation of the Spirit is to go out by going in.

To question what we know.

To encounter what we fear. 

We are purified not with drops of water but with beads of sweat.

Amen.