christianity – Page 2 – Holy Adventures

Trinity Sunday 2025

Today is Trinity Sunday — the one Sunday in the church year where preachers attempt to explain the unexplainable, that one plus one plus one equals one.

We use well-worn metaphors — ice, water, steam. Clover leaves. Sunshine. And commit our heresy of choice. And none of them quite hold.

And it’s a strange, because nobody fell in love with God because of a good explanation of the Trinity, and yet, people find themselves caught up, sought after, transfixed, running from or to, the God who is three and one.

You see, the Trinity isn’t a concept to understand — it’s a mystery to embrace.

It’s not about understanding. It’s about belonging.

What we meet in the Trinity — is love.

Love in motion, in relationship. Love that makes space for more.

Creator. Christ. Spirit.
God above, beside and within us.

This is not doctrine; it is a love story — and we are part of it.

So instead of trying to explain the Trinity, maybe the best way to honour it is to write our own creed — not of how it works, but what we believe (on a good day…or want to…or would, if we thought it believable) …So, I offer this. A creed of sorts. Totally unauthorised…

We believe in the Creator — the Source of all breath and beginning,
who paints galaxies with light, and sees sparrows fall.
The One who calls creation good,
who made us not out of need but of love,
and who is still creating.

We believe in the Christ — the face of God we could touch,
who healed and fed and wept and laughed,
who called the unqualified, ate with the outcast,
and walked into death with open arms.
Jesus, crucified and risen, not to appease God, but to show love.
Jesus, who joins the human story, so no one is alone again.

We believe in the Spirit — fire and breath and wild wind,
comforter and disrupter, who speaks in many languages and lands on every head.
She is the whisper and the roar, the wind that won’t be boxed,
who prays in us when we cannot, and calls us into God’s dream for the world.

We believe God is not one voice but a harmony.
Not a hierarchy but a dance.
Not power over, but love poured out.

We believe the Trinity is a lived experience.
That to be made in God’s image is to be made for community.
That love is our origin, our calling, and our future.
That God is not a solitary throne, but a table with space for all.

We believe that when we baptise, we enter this dance.
When we break bread, we share in this life.
When we forgive, we join in this grace.
When we say yes to love — we say yes to God.

We believe the Trinity teaches us God is bigger, wider, wilder than our words.

And so we won’t try to explain God today.
We will simply breathe, in awe. And bathe in worship.

The Trinity is not a test of faith. It is the shape of our faith.

It’s how we pray, and live, and love.

It’s why we believe community matters.

That justice is relational. That faith is not a ladder but a circle.

Trinity belongs us to a God who is never alone — and never leaves us alone.

And so today, we come to this table, not with explanations, but with awe, hope, and love. We come to say: this is the God we don’t understand, but we trust.

This is the mystery we live in, and the dance we choose to join.

And this dance, this relationship, this God, always sends us outward.

To believe in the Trinity is to believe in relationship. In communion. In radical welcome. In community that reflects the very heart of God.

To believe in an all-embracing Trinity means we welcome the Refugee and challenge the voices that say ‘close the borders’ and ‘turn back the boats’.

To bear the name of the Trinity dares us to embrace a slogan that says All Are Welcome, and mean it. And challenge ourselves when we don’t.

So today, let this be our creed —in word, and in action.

Let our affinity with the Trinity affect our Refugee Week, our AGM, our life of discipleship.
Let our table be wide. Our arms open. Our decisions compassionate.
Let our church look more and more like the Trinity: diverse, loving, active in service.

Let us not seek to understand, but to embrace and love, and if this is heresy, may we speak it and live it, boldly, and always. For the glory of the Holy Trinity, One God, now and forever. Amen.

Pentecost 2025

Genesis 11:1-9 Psalm 104:26-36 Acts 2:1-21 John 14:8-17

Earlier this week, my mum sent me an email and the subject line said BEAUTIFUL, in capitals, and the body of the email was just a link. It was a link to a poem by the inspiring poet and civil rights activist, Maya Angelou, and is called Caged Bird. It says this:

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind, and floats downstream till the current ends

and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage,

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown…but longed for still,

and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze, and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees, and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn, and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams:

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown…but longed for still,

and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

I have long been enamoured by the idea of the Holy Spirit as a bird that flies through history, impossible to pin down, and chooses to come to nest in the cages of our heart. She beats her wings, and we are enlivened, and she has the key to that cage, which she opens slowly, gradually, to set us free, so we might be free-makers for others. So it is fitting she came to nest again, a few days before Pentecost.

Pentecost – originally a Jewish festival – became a significant way-marker on an unstoppable process that began at the dawn of Creation when God spoke Light into being. The continuation of one eternal, act of grace; a gift of God’s very self, given to us, for always. The flightiest part of God came to live within the cages of humanity – to fulfil God’s ministry of love.

She came to invite and accompany us on acts of holy mischief. She is subversive and cunning, in all the best ways. Dangerous as fire, and essential as air. She is one to be encountered, experienced, not just talked about.

It is by the Holy Spirit that our gifts of bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ in our holy meal. It is the Holy Spirit of Pentecost descending on us in every blessing, absolution and dismissal. She baptises and confirms and ordains and consecrates. By the Holy Spirit new people wander into Church and stay. The Holy Spirit drew you to church this morning, even if you think it’s just what you do on a Sunday morning.

Pentecost didn’t begin and end in the event we heard in our Acts reading. It is breaking out all over the place and it can’t be hindered or stopped. You can’t resist Her, and you can’t avoid Her. You can only choose to spot what she is up to, and decide whether you want to join in.

And to return to Maya’s inspired words, the Holy Spirit is ‘A free bird [who] leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends…and dares to claim the sky’. She claims it because she was there at the dawn of time, saw it created, laughed as the first sun rose, whispered as it set…

And we, we are invited to be that same sky that She soars on and with and through

Yet, far too often, we remain in the cages of our own selves and confine the Spirit there too.

We establish and guard the bars of our rage, we clip the Spirit’s wings and tie Her feet.

We think the song we hear the Spirit sing is fearful, because we are…

And we long for more but are just a little too afraid to step off into it, because what

if freedom is just too dangerous?

And yet our hearts know something our brains can’t quite comprehend.

Our heart knows it is designed for courage and hope and joy and dance, not safety.

And when our brain says ‘why’, our hearts say, ‘why not’.

And over and over, since the first light of Creation, the wind and flames of the Spirit has been drawing us into whatever is next. Wings wide and unfurled, voice calling out freedom, we have chance after chance to step into the depths of God’s mercy and see where that flow takes us.

How often do we notice that,

let alone consider saying yes,

let alone step off and step in.

How often? Rarely, I would say. Really rarely.

But if not today, on the day of Pentecost, then when?

And if not here, then where?

Pentecost isn’t about looking back—it’s about leaning in.

Not because we have a plan. But because we trust God.

The Spirit still longs for hearts to land in. Still sings of freedom. So today, you are invited to come forward and experience Her; receive a fresh anointing of the Holy Spirit. The sign of the cross, on your head, with holy oil.

Not to understand the Holy Spirit—but to welcome her.

Not to explain Pentecost—but to receive it. To say yes. Even without knowing what yes will mean. To open your cage. To be, once more, made new.

And if you listen closely—perhaps you’ll hear her already.

The flutter of wings. The rush of wind. The sound of fire. The voice of love.

Because the caged bird sings of freedom.

And today, the song is yours.

Amen.

Glory in the Dark…

John 13:31–35 | Acts 11:1–18 | Revelation 21:1–6

In our bible readings just now, we heard almost 1000 words – 983 to be exact. Words full of commands and intrigue and challenge and hope. And yet, all week, I found myself thinking about 12 words that didn’t even feature in our readings. Those 12 words come immediately before our Gospel verses from John and say this:

‘…after receiving the bread he [Judas] immediately went out. And it was night’.

And then we come to our Gospel reading, which says ‘When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified…’ That little exchange has followed me around all week – he went out. It was night. Now the son of man is glorified.

Before we dive into the moment Judas leaves, we need to understand something about the Gospel of John. It is full of symbols — and the recurring one is light and darkness. “The light shines in the darkness,” he writes, “and the darkness did not overcome it.”

In John’s world, light is the presence of God, of life. And darkness is the realm of confusion… betrayal… absence. So when John tells us Judas went out “and it was night,” it’s not a time stamp. It’s a theological statement. Judas steps into the dark — not just outside the room, but into confusion, spiritual darkness, into the very absence of God (if that were possible).

Hold onto that because that’s where we begin this morning:

“When he had gone out, Jesus said, ‘Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.’”

“When he had gone out…”

Judas. The betrayer. The one who sat at the table… received the bread… and then stepped into the night — only then — does Jesus say: “Now the Son of Man is glorified.”

How can glory arise at this moment of ultimate betrayal?

Because in John’s Gospel, the path to the cross is not a detour — it’s the destination.

Judas’ act doesn’t interrupt Jesus’ mission. It initiates the final, holy stretch of it.

And Jesus walks into it — with courage, and love. He is glorified because he demonstrates a love that chooses mercy over revenge. A love that continues to give itself, even while being rejected.

Judas walks out, into the darkness — and Jesus walks into it. Into the darkness. Into death itself. This is glory; because Jesus refuses to abandon love, even when it costs everything.

And what if, “Now the Son of Man is glorified,” isn’t only about the accelerated route to the cross — but also about redeeming even the darkest acts? What if Judas’s actions — as devastating as they were, for Jesus and Judas too — becomes part of the story of salvation?

And if that’s true… then maybe our own darkest acts and our own experiences of an absence of God can be transformed to Glory too.

In this, Jesus redefines Glory completely. It is not the absence of pain. It is not shining lights and trumpets. It’s love refusing to give up — right in the middle of pain. It’s choosing to love, trust and serve, and keep bloody going — even as the story takes its worst turn.

Glory is not found in winning — but in being faithful. Even when you’re betrayed. Even when you make mistakes.

Jesus is glorified not because of Judas’ act, but because in response to it, he answers with love. He walks into the night carrying nothing but truth and mercy. And glory is apparent there. In the darkness.

We don’t have to wait until resurrection morning to see God’s Glory.

It is found in the foot washing.
It is found in the bread broken for the one who will leave.
Glory is found in love that stays, and speaks, and serves.

That is the glory of God: love that does not flinch, even when darkness enters the room.

And Glory in the darkness keeps happening.

We saw it there in our first reading, too. The early church is facing its own upheaval.

Peter stands before a sceptical crowd. He’s explaining why he ate with Gentiles… why he welcomed outsiders in. And Peter tells them about his vision. And he says: “Who was I that I could hinder God?” This paradigm shift moves the church from restriction to radical welcome. From insider control… to divine surprise. The Spirit has already gone ahead — falling on those ‘The Church’ thought were beyond the reach of grace. And Peter has the humility — and the courage — to say yes. It’s a moment of glory. Not because it was smooth and shiny but because love became real in new, boundary-breaking ways.

Glory says Judas’ acts can be made beautiful

Glory says barriers will come down, all will be welcomed, even those we hate

And then we turn to Revelation 21 — And hear the voice that holds all this together:

“See — I am making all things new.”

That’s what happened in that upper room. That’s what’s happening in Peter’s vision. That’s what’s happening in your own confusion and sorrow.

God is making, will make, all things new — even in the night.

Because this is what God does:

Not bypass the pain. But transform it.

Not abandon the world. But move into it.

Not erase the betrayer. But redeem the broken story.

So if you’re in a moment that feels like night — You’re not alone.

When Judas walks out — Jesus walks in.

When the church clings to hard borders — the Spirit blows them wide open.

When the world groans for hope — God says: “See — I am making all things new.”

So… let’s stand for a moment in the dark. In our own darkness, or alongside those who find themselves there and let’s believe that even in the darkness, even in our biggest mistakes, God can and will bring Glory. And that Glory shines brightest in the dark. We just keep going, and wait to hear Jesus say: Now. Now the Son of Man is glorified. I am making all things new. Amen.

Guided Meditation for Lent II

Genesis 15:1–12,17–18 Psalm 27 Philippians 3:17–4:1 Luke 13:31-35

The second Sunday in Lent. Our second guided meditation.

Let’s pause and be still. Close your eyes.

God is spirit. Spirit is breath.

Breathe in deeply. Breathe in God.

Breathe out all that is not God.

Hear these words from Luke’s gospel, again…

Some Pharisees came and said to Jesus, ‘Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.’ And Jesus said, ‘Go and tell that fox for me, “Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.

Imagine yourself in that crowd,

You hear the Pharisees warn Jesus about Herod’s threats.

You can feel the tension, the urgency in their voices.

But Jesus is not afraid. He responds with certainty; speaking of three days —a pattern that echoes the mystery of our faith.

The first two days are filled with struggle, healing, and confronting evil.

But the third day is different. On the third day I finish my work, he says.

The day of fulfilment. The day of resurrection.

Where do you feel stuck in the first two days?

Where do you see suffering, struggle, even death?

Even in the darkest days, resurrection is coming.

Breathe in deeply, breathe in Christ’s courage to fill you.

Breathe out fear into God’s hands.

Now, listen, as He turns toward Jerusalem.

His tone changes. No longer resolute…full of sorrow:

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem. How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

Picture Jesus looking out over the city.

His arms are open, His voice breaking with grief.

He longs to gather His people, to shelter them, to bring peace.

But they are not willing. His heart aches.

Jerusalem Jerusalem.

We can’t hear those words without imagining the same Christ looking over the Holy Land today—upon Gaza, Israel, upon all who suffer in this broken and bloodstained land.

Listen to those words; the same sorrow fills His voice:

“How often have I desired to gather your children together… and you were not willing!”

Feel the weight of His lament. The innocent who suffer. The homes reduced to rubble. The children crying out in fear. The hatred that divides. The greed for land and power. The foxes are in the hen house.

What do you feel?

Can you feel anything?

Hold these emotions – and lack of them – before God.

Do not rush to explain. It is what it is. Let it be.

Notice the presence of Jesus.

Breathe in deeply, breathe in Christ’s lament and allow it to fill you.

Breathe out grief and anxiety and anger.

Jesus’ lament is not only for Jerusalem, or even the war-torn lands of today.

It is for all of us.

For every place where love is rejected.

For every time we refuse His shelter, choosing instead *whatever it might be*.

The Christ still longs to gather; still stands with open arms; still loves relentlessly.

In your mind, heart and soul will you pause. Stop. Allow yourself to be gathered?

What would it be like to enfolded in the care of the protective, divine mama hen? Winged feathers stretched taut, a shield and barrier between all that could harm, and her chicks, ready, alert, prepared to do anything for them.

What would it mean for the world to be willing?

For the world to turn from the cycle of violence and step toward peace?

Can you hold this torn, broken, divided world and church and people before Jesus?

Breathe in deeply, Breathe in peace.

Breathe out conflict and greed into the wounded hands of the Prince of Peace.

Take a deep breath. Hold Gaza, Israel, and all suffering places in your heart.

Imagine Jesus; arms open, longing to gather His children.

You were not willing, he says.

Imagine a world willing. A church willing. Imagine yourself willing.

Are you?

“Jesus Christ. Gather Your children under Your wings, melt our hearts and show us how to be willing. May we see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. And when all seems lost, remind us of the third day—the day of resurrection, when all things are gathered up and transformed in to life. Amen.”

The gospel according to Corrie ten Boom

Genesis 45:3-11,15 Ps 37:1-11,40-41 1 Cor 15:35-50 Luke 6:27-38

This morning’s gospel reading follows directly on from last week’s, where we heard that difficult passage of the blesseds and the woes. And today’s is not more palatable, is it? Moments before these words, Jesus’ first disciples were fishing or collecting taxes but after accepting the invitation to follow this messiah, they are discovering what is expected of them. And Jesus pulls no punches…

Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,

²⁸bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.

³⁰Give to everyone who begs;

³⁷‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged;

do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven…

Jesus is very clear with how his disciples must behave – loving, doing good, blessing not cursing, giving not taking, not judging, forgiving. And not just with those you like but to those you find most difficult and those who hate you.

Our Old Testament reading also spoke about Joseph’s forgiveness of his brothers who’d beaten him, sold him into slavery and told his dad he was dead. Centuries and centuries before Jesus’ command he had fulfilled it in his treatment of those who had made themselves his enemy.

And as I thought about Joseph and his brothers, so I was reminded of another sibling story that reflects the power and importance of outrageous forgiveness so well; the story of Corrie ten Boom. It is best heard in her own words, so allow me read them to you…

It was in a church in Munich that I saw him, a heavyset man in a gray overcoat… It was 1947 and I had come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.

[It was at the end of the talk] when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and visored cap with its skull and crossbones.

It came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh lights, the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the centre of the floor, the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister’s frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. Betsie, how thin you were!

Betsie and I had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi occupation of Holland; this man had been a guard at the concentration camp where we were sent.

Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: “A fine message, fräulein! How good it is to know that all our sins are [forgiven]!”

And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remember me, of course– But I remembered him … It was the first time since my release that I had been face to face with one of my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.

“You mentioned Ravensbrück in your talk,” he was saying. “I was a guard there.”

No, he did not remember me.

“But since that time,” he went on, “I have become a Christian. I know God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well”–again the hand came out–“will you forgive me?”

And I stood there–I whose sins had every day to be forgiven–and could not.

Betsie had died in that place–could he erase her terrible death simply by asking?

It could not have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

For I had to do it–I knew that…

“Jesus, help me!” I prayed silently. “I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.” And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

“I forgive you, brother!” I cried. “With all my heart!”

For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely as I did then.

Love your enemies, Jesus says, do good to those who hate you,

²⁸bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you…

Forgive and you will be forgiven

What Corrie discovered, and countless Jesus followers before and since, is that Jesus doesn’t ask us to forgive because it is merely kind, but because it brings freedom – it is the best thing for the one who forgives – it frees us from hatred and resentment and it frees the one we forgive from being carried around on our backs all the time. It releases the one who was our enemy from the blackest part of our heart and allows the light to shine in there.

Corrie ten boom goes on to write ‘to forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover the prisoner was you’.

Jesus calls those first disciples, and us, to such a high account because it is best for us. He calls us this way out of an all-encompassing, eternal act of love; because loving others is good for us, because repaying hatred with goodness and kindness is counter cultural and speaks of the Kingdom we are seeking to build. Jesus commands these things because they are good for everyone; for the one who is begging and for the one who gives.

Jesus’ design for his followers is life in abundance, not misery.

Freedom, not the captivity of bitterness and unforgiveness.

And it is a life’s work, a lifelong quest.

Each week, in our confession, we pray:

‘[W]e confess before You

those places in our hearts

where we have refused you entrance:

people we have refused to love;…

And we ask God to ‘Show us new ways to live.’

In this passage Jesus answers that prayer, very clearly; you want to see a new way to live? Then do this; forgive, love, pray, give, release and free. And do that for those who hate you most. Do that first. Because I love you, Jesus says.

Might we try it? Might we follow in that way, for our own good and for the good of everyone around us, amen.

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 47^th 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 21^st 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”

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.