Christ's Baptism; My baptism

Isaiah 42:1-4, 6-7 ‘Behold my servant, in whom my soul delights’

Acts 10:34-38 ‘God anointed Jesus with the Holy Spirit’

Matthew 3:13-17 ‘When Jesus was baptised he saw the Spirit of God coming to rest on him’.

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It is hard to think, in the depths of winter, of hot summer days and the refreshment that a splash in water can bring.

If only it was hot enough to splash in a paddling pool or diving into a swimming pool: so refreshing and cooling in the heat of the day.

Today’s gospel takes us to a river, running through the wilderness, a stream of refreshment in a hot and barren place.

That river, the Jordan, is a real river, and it is a spiritual place too, a place where we can go this morning, and daily, for refreshment and life.

The Baptism of Jesus Christ is, to paraphrase St Gregory the Great, is a kind of river, which is both shallow and deep, where both the child can paddle, and the adult can dive.

Gregory says that of the scriptures, and it is true of what we have here, that the mystery revealed at the Baptism of the Lord, the mystery of Jesus Christ, is deep enough that the most devout and skilled among us can never reach the bottom, and shallow enough that the simplest among us can enjoy it too.

That is a beautiful thing.

The mystery of Christ both satisfies and gives us the taste for more.

St Augustine in his Confessions put it beautifully:

I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours. Confessions X.27

So let’s can paddle in some important points about Jesus’ baptism, and then, with appetite whetted, go deeper.

First, Christ’s baptism is the ‘big reveal’, the debut appearance.

John the Baptist had been talking to the crowds out in the wilderness at length about the One who is to come, the One whose sandals he is not worthy to untie, the One who he proclaimed ‘the Lamb of God’ who takes away the sins of the world.

The crowds had come from all Judea to see and hear John, but he directed them away from himself to the One Who Is: and now, as He rises from the waters, the heavens open Jesus is revealed; revealed as the Divine Son of the Father, with whom the Father is well pleased. (Matthew 3.17).

Second, his public ministry is inaugurated.

From the time the Holy Family returned to Nazareth until his Baptism we know next to nothing of Jesus’ life.

We can only assume that he was preparing for his public ministry.

And his baptism is the inauguration of that public ministry.

Peter puts it very straightforwardly in our second lesson:

you yourselves know what happened throughout all Judea, beginning from Galilee after the baptism that John proclaimed: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power. He went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. (Acts 10.37-38)

So, the Baptism begins his ministry in which ‘the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them.’ (Matthew 11.5)

Thirdly Jesus’ baptism gives pattern for Christian baptism, for you and me being baptised.

The baptised have had their sins washed away; been reborn; been enlightened and liberated from all that holds them back from the Vision of God.

Just as Peter describes the salvation of those who are oppressed by the devil, so the prophet Isaiah foresees the time when the Saviour will ‘bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.’ (Isaiah 42.7).

The waters of baptism enable that liberation from darkness to light.

There’s some paddling: Christ’s Baptism as the ‘big reveal’; the inauguration of his ministry; and the pattern for Christian baptism.

And what of diving a bit deeper?

Jesus says to Peter ‘put out into the deep and let your nets down for a catch.’ (Luke 5.4)

To go deeper, I want to introduce you to St Gregory Nazianzen, Archbishop of Constantinople,  who lived in the fourth century.

Going out in the deep with him, from a sermon of his, we will draw quite a catch of his insights into the Lord’s Baptism.

Gregory connects Christ’s baptism with our own, and how we share Christ’s resurrection:  

Christ is bathed in light; let us also be bathed in light. Christ is baptized; let us also go down with him, and rise with him.

But he also addresses the tricky question that if Jesus is the Sinless One, why should he be baptised like us?

John is baptizing when Jesus draws near. Perhaps he comes to sanctify his baptizer; certainly he comes to bury sinful humanity in the waters. He comes to sanctify the Jordan for our sake and in readiness for us; he who is spirit and flesh comes to begin a new creation through the Spirit and water.

So, in Christ’s baptism we see that Creation itself is being renewed on a cosmic scale and a personal scale: as St Paul tells us, ‘if anyone is in Christ [that person] is a new creation.’ (2 Corinthians 5.17)

Gregory spots how the waters of the Jordan echo the waters of the Creation, at which Jesus is present, and he makes the connection between the dove that signalled to Noah that the deluge of the Flood was ended, and the appearance of the Holy Spirit as a dove over Jesus.

Now there is no rainbow in the sky, but the very heavens are opened.

Jesus rises from the waters; the world rises with him. The heavens, like Paradise with its flaming sword, closed by Adam for himself and his descendants, are rent open. The Spirit comes to him as to an equal, bearing witness to his Godhead. A voice bears witness to him from heaven, his place of origin. The Spirit descends in bodily form like the dove that so long ago announced the ending of the flood and so gives honour to the body that is one with God.

And there’s more that Gregory draws from the Baptism of the Lord, but perhaps the big question remains: what does this mean for me, as I try to live out my life as a Christian, in this New Year, here and now in Croydon, amongst the people with whom I share my life in family, workplace, school and church.

Here’s Gregory’s answer: and it’s as good for twenty-first century as when he wrote it in the fourth!  

Today let us do honour to Christ’s baptism and celebrate this feast in holiness. Be cleansed entirely and continue to be cleansed. Nothing gives such pleasure to God as the conversion and salvation of [people], for whom his every word and every revelation exist. He wants you to become a living force for all [humanity], lights shining in the world. You are to be radiant lights as you stand beside Christ, the great light, bathed in the glory of him who is the light of heaven. You are to enjoy more and more the pure and dazzling light of the Trinity, as now you have received – though not in its fullness – a ray of its splendour, proceeding from the one God, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen.

Our true family in Christ

 Sirach 3:2-6, 12-14

Colossians 3:12-17

Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

 

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Today a number of themes converge.

First of all, we are still rejoicing in the Nativity of the Son of God, born of the Virgin Mary.

Then, on this First Sunday of Christmas we celebrate the feast of the Holy Family: Jesus, Mary and Joseph and their life shared together.

And, on 28^th December each year, we commemorate the Holy Innocents, the title for the infants killed by King Herod as he sought to snuff out the life of the newborn King, Jesus Christ.

Into those themes our first two readings speak very beautiful, and practical, wisdom.

They reflect on what it means to live in a family.

We live in a time when the very word ‘family’ has become a contentious one.

The definition of a family seems up for grabs; its benefits are dismissed and it is generally deemed ‘problematic’.

Very sadly the family has become seen as a stifling environment to be escaped; and tragically that is the reality for some people.

When assertive individualism lets rip, with ‘me, me, me’ at the centre of everything, all on my terms, then the family is inevitably a casualty.

The Christian vision for the family is as a school for learning good and healthy relationships, the place where love of God and love of neighbour is fostered and encouraged.

So what do we see in our readings today?

In the first reading we see graciousness towards, appreciation of and respect for parents, our elders, even when their understanding is lacking.

We see interdependence, not independence.

In the second reading St Paul describes how the family should relate to one another, and stretches that vision further into the life of the Church.

And where better to learn this art of putting on ‘compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other’ than in the trust of committed close relationships?

We need that formation in virtue.

The reality is that human babies, unlike other mammals, need much longer in the domestic setting.

A calf or lamb can get up and walk within minutes of being born, and after suckling their mother for a couple of weeks can start grazing on grass.

By contrast, the human baby might crawl around from around 8-9 months and only start walking around 12-15 months.

And so too our socialisation: we need to learn and mirror behaviour, language and interactions from those around us.

That’s why the family should not be introspective, but outward looking and sociable.

The threat to the family is to make it so loose it has no means to form and nurture a child, and at the same time make it so stifling and ‘child-centred’ that it becomes an exercise in indulging parents more than forming human persons.

That is why the model of the family can be applied to the Church, as a nurturing household in which all flourish by rejoicing in the word of Christ dwelling richly in our shared life, of teaching and admonishing in wisdom, and doing ‘everything in the name of the Lord Jesus’ (Colossians 3.xx).

The Son of God himself is born into the life of a human family, and he both forms that family, and they form him.

It is not too speculative to picture Christ on the lap of his mother being taught the psalms and the stories of Adam and Eve, and Noah; of Abraham, Issac, Jacob; of Joseph, Moses and Miriam; of Samson and Deborah; of the prophets Jonah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and so on.

We can picture him too working with his guardian Joseph, the man entrusted with being an early father for him.

And there’s his extended family of cousins, including John the Baptist, who he will have shared his early life with.

We know from St Luke’s gospel that he goes on pilgrimage to Jerusalem from Nazareth, travelling with a large group of people and initially Mary and Joseph confidently and trustfully assume he is with them, before they realise that he is lost.

The family years of Jesus, apart from that incident when he is about 12 years old are silent to us.

So the last we hear of the infant Jesus is when Herod comes to destroy him.

Herod’s searching for Jesus is to destroy him.

Our searching for Jesus is surely in the spirit of the shepherds and Magi who come to receive his beauty and goodness and truth.

As he seeks to destroy Jesus collateral damage is incurred; the Holy Innocents, those children who are deemed utterly expendable.

Roman society saw children as expendable and in Hebrew society they were seen as a gift from God, and expression of fruitfulness, but they had no status.

Indeed, it is only with the advent of Christianity that children, including the unborn, are seen as being of any worth and valued for being a person made in the image of God.

That’s part of the scandal of the Incarnation, that God not only assumed our human nature, but did so as an infant child.

But the infanticidal Herod cared nothing of the children he murdered in order to kill the biggest threat to him – which was, let’s not forget, a child unable to crawl, utterly dependent on his mother, Mary, for sustenance and his guardian, Joseph, for protection.

But Herod did see something more: this infant is a threat to him. If Jesus is the ‘newborn king’ the Magi sought, then that is not great for Herod, or for any tyrant, or indeed for anyone who thinks of themselves more highly than they ought, as a little king over their family, workplace and friends, who puts themselves in the place of God.

This same pattern is seen in the Pharoah who seeks to wipe out the Hebrew boys, during which time Moses is preserved so he can lead God’s people from slavery to freedom in the Promised Land.

Egypt is a place of terror for the Israelites – Joseph will not want to have gone there because it represented the dark, paganism that the Jews rejected.

Yet that is what the angel commanded, and what righteousness, obedient, Joseph did.

It was out of the Herodian frying pan into the Egyptian fire.

Yet God knows that to redeem his people he needs to go into the darkness to bring them to the light: ‘Out of Egypt I called my son’. (Matthew 2.XX)

Jesus Christ will go into the Egypt of death, to defeat death, and bring all nations and peoples into the Promised Land of life in him.

The new life he comes to bring forms a new family in his name.

As St John tells us:

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home. (John 19.25,26)

May Christ find his home in our families and lives, and may we know ourselves to be at home in his family, the Church.

The Divine Exchange of Christmas

Isaiah 52:7-10 ‘All the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God’

Hebrews 1:1-6 ‘God has spoken to us by his Son’

John 1:1-18 ‘The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us’

 

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The birth of a child is always a time of awe and wonder.

 

Birth follows the moment of the conception of that child some nine months earlier.

 

We only celebrate Christmas Day, the nativity of Jesus Christ, because nine months ago, on 25^th March, we celebrated the Annunciation to Mary, when she is overshadowed by the power of the Most High and the Holy Spirit, and the angel declares:

 

And behold, you, Mary, will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. (Luke 1.31)

 

That is the moment of incarnation, when ‘the Word became flesh’: not yet born but already recognised, in the womb, by the unborn John the Baptist (Luke 1.41).

 

During Mary’s pregnancy, as with any pregnancy, the time of gestation, Jesus was hidden in her womb but will have become more and more obvious week by week.

 

And as with any human baby Jesus was nourished by his mother as he grew.

 

We often think of the child drawing life from his mother’s body; and indeed he does: but quite remarkably the child in the womb doesn’t just receive; it gives!

 

Scientists call this ‘foetal microchimerism’ or a ‘cellular exchange’.

 

It means that just as sustenance flows from the mother to the child, so also the child’s cells flow through the umbilical cord into the mother’s body.

 

The mother and baby are mutually enriched.

 

What a mystery and awesome thing this is.

 

So, Mary giving to Jesus by feeding him through the umbilical cord, and at the same time was receiving from him; receiving cells that would remain in her for the rest of her life.

 

The time of pregnancy is not just about decorating a nursery, or buying baby clothes, but is a time of deep inner formation too for mother and child: as has our spiritual formation in the season of Advent just passed.

 

In a similar way - even before Jesus Christ, the Word of God, took human flesh - God was gestating his Word in humanity:

 

‘Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets’ opens the letter to the Hebrews, ‘but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son’ (Hebrews 1.1).

 

Throughout the scriptures the prophets see, and wisdom declares that the Lord will act on his promise of the Good News that, ‘all the ends of the shall see the salvation of our God’ (Isaiah 52.10).

 

What scientists call a ‘cellular exchange’ between mother and yet to be born child, theologians call a ‘divine exchange’ between God and humanity.

 

Yes, Mary gives Jesus his humanity at the same time as her child, Jesus Christ gives to her - and to you and me - his divinity, so that, with her, we can be ‘partakers of the divine nature’ (2 Peter 1.4) and filled with grace.

 

As Hebrews continues:

 

He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. (Hebrews 1.3).

 

The exact imprint of God, Jesus Christ, dwelt in Mary’s womb, ready to be born in the manner of one of us, because he is at the same time, one of us: ’of one being with the Father…and was made man.’

 

This is all truly awesome and wonderful.

 

The ancient words of a psalm, written even before ultrasound scans were a thing, puts it like this:

 

For you yourself created my inmost parts;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I thank you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

marvellous are your works, my soul knows well. (Psalm 139.12,13)

 

Each, and every, human life – you, me, everyone - is ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ and not only that, he or she is made in the image of God.

 

What Christmas is all about is that Jesus Christ is born with all the risk, trepidation and joy a birth entails to make those made in the image of God more deeply into God’s likeness.

 

He is not now solely carried by his mother in her womb, but can be picked up and handled by Joseph, by shepherds and by Magi, and in the deepest spiritual sense he can also be embraced by each one of us.

 

As we receive Holy Communion today that is what we are doing: we are opening ourselves to something much more than ‘foetal microchimerism’ or a ‘cellular exchange’ it is a divine and sacramental exchange going on: ‘where we dwell in him and he in us’.

 

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1,14)

 

In this wonder we are ‘birthed’ by God – and here is the nub of Christmas:

 

…to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God. (John 1.12,13)

A Cell with a View: John asks is Jesus the One Who Is to Come

 Isaiah 35.1-6a,10 ‘God himself will, come and save you.’

James 5.7-10 ‘Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.’

Matthew 11.2-11 ‘Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?’

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Here’s a question: what sort of people live in cells?

An obvious answer is prisoners: a prison cell is where prisoners are incarcerated.

A prison cell is a place of captivity, restraint, darkness, confinement.

But before the word ‘cell’ was used of prisons it was used of the room that a monk or nun would live, eat and pray in.

That sort of cell, the monastic cell, is a place of intense relationship with God where one’s true self is found through prayer, contemplation, meditation and adoration: that cell is a place of freedom.

Part of the spiritual life is to discern when you’re trapped in a cell of captivity and darkness, and when you inhabit a cell of light and freedom in God’s presence.

This relates to our experience of the Christian life; its light and darkness.

It is absolutely normal, and to be expected, that in our lives as Christians we experience ups and downs, what the great spiritual master, St Ignatius of Loyola, called times of consolation and desolation.

Sometimes God feels very near, prayer flows, and at other times God feels distant, prayer is arid or a struggle.

This isn’t to be confused with feeling good or feeling bad.

Spiritual desolation, distance from God, can be experienced when all is going well in life, sometimes more so: things are great, going swimmingly, and I forget God and distant from Him.

So the ‘ups’ of life can be spiritually desolate.

Equally it can be in times of testing, and even the depths of despair, that we are particularly near to the God who loves and sustains us.

Ironically, the ‘downs’ of life can be spiritually consoling.

In times of desolation, says Ignatius, recall the warmth, sweetness and intensity of God’s presence to draw you back to Him.

In times of consolation, says Ignatius, to recall how dry, sad and unfulfilled we are when we are from God.

So, what’s all that got to do with today’s readings and our Advent journey?

John sends emissaries from his prison cell.

He has been arrested by Herod and cast in jail for speaking the truth and rebuking vice.

Even locked away in prison word of Jesus, the one he has lived for and proclaimed, breaks into his cell.

It’s from that cell of darkness John sends his own disciples to ask Jesus, if he is the One Who Is to Come.

Is it a moment when John was dispirited, in desolation?

Has he got it all wrong? Jesus, are you really the one I have said you are?

Was it a moment when he felt abandoned?

Or was it a moment when he abandoned himself more fully to Jesus Christ?

The funny thing with the word ‘abandon’ is that when we are abandoned by someone that is entirely negative; when we abandon ourselves to something or someone, it is a beautiful and good thing.

John’s whole life is centred on God; his life was one of abandonment to the Divine Will.

He went out into the wilderness to proclaim the One Who Is to Come, that is the Messiah, the Christ, and what his disciples come back to tell him is the evidence for John to assess for himself.

Is he the One Who Is to Come?

Here’s Jesus’ answer again:

The blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them. (Matthew 2.5)

This echoes the promises of the Beatitudes and the prophecy of Isaiah, and it’s not just about the words, or good teaching, but what is put into action: the mighty acts of God, who brings life to the world, just like a crocus blossoming in the desert.

Go and tell that to John, what you hear and see.

John had proclaimed his message of turning to God and preparing for the One Who is to Come out in the physical wilderness of Judea and now Christ comes, bringing life and hope to the world and to the wilderness of human hearts.

Is he the One Who Is to Come?

Oh yes!

John’s vindication has come.

Yes, I am the One Who Is. I am the One Who Is to Come.

What consolation!

John was indeed the messenger who goes before the face of the Lord: he wasn’t wrong to say of Jesus, ‘Behold, the Lamb of God’ (John 1.29)

John knows who Jesus is; and Jesus knows who John is.

Through the one Who Is to Come – Jesus Christ - the cell of darkness is transformed into a cell of light and freedom through faith in him.

As Isaiah also prophesies:

“I am the Lord; I have called you in righteousness;

    I will take you by the hand and keep you;

I will give you as a covenant for the people,

    a light for the nations,

     to open the eyes that are blind,

to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon,

    from the prison those who sit in darkness. (Isaiah 42.6,7)

In this Advent season, as we rejoice in the Lord and prepare our hearts, minds and bodies to receive him, may we know the Lord who comes to release us, and all the world, from the cell of darkness into the radiancy of his light. 

"Come": Advent invitation, announcement & anticipation

Isaiah 2.1-5 ‘The Lord gathers all nations together into the eternal peace of the Kingdom of God .’

Romans 13.11-14a ‘Salvation is nearer to us now.’

Matthew 24.37-44 ‘Stay awake so that you may be ready.’

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Today’s readings are shot through with the word at the heart of Advent, the liturgical season which we begin today.

And that word is ‘come’.

The word Advent, is from the Latin word ‘adventus’ meaning ‘come’ or arrive, i.e. that someone has ‘come’.

In the prophet Isaiah the word ‘come’ is an invitation:

Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD…

That he may teach us his ways

and that we may walk in his paths.

O house of Jacob,

come, let us walk

in the light of the LORD...  (Isaiah 2.3,5)

That coming is an invitation to join in the flow of many peoples and nations to the mountain of the LORD which is the Holy Presence, the Temple, of God.

In that presence, and not by our own efforts, God shall judge between the nations and resolve disputes so that the vision of what we know as the peaceable kingdom of God is realised: swords beaten into ploughshares, spears becoming pruning hooks, where war is learnt no more.

So Advent is a time of invitation, a wonderful invitation: come to meet the fullness of the presence of God and inhabit his peaceable kingdom!

Come, let us walk in the light of the LORD.

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In the letter to the Romans the word ‘come’ is an announcement:

          the hour has come… (Romans 13.11)

Just as day comes when the sun rises and dawn breaks, so the moment has come when our salvation is being realised.

And as our salvation comes - the saving presence of Jesus Christ - so we are called to a deep change in our lives.

The coming of Christ, which has happened, calls us to live lives of faithfulness and covenant, of sobriety, of harmony and appreciation of others; willing the good of the other.

It’s a wry irony that St Paul’s description of how the Christian is to live, is the opposite behaviour of many an office Christmas party over the next four weeks or so.

And that’s important, in Advent as in all times, that we don’t carry on living our lives as if there is no God, no anchor in heaven or appreciation of the presence of the One Who Comes.

Christ changes how we live our lives: military weapons, swords and guns are repurposed and interpersonal weapons, infidelity, lack of personal control and jealousy, are transformed as we put on the armour of light.

So Advent is a time when we grapple with living out the reality that ‘the hour has come.’

Already.

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Yet, in the Gospel today, it is not a coming in the past but in the future: he will come.

This is the future dimension of coming – the not yet arrived type of coming.

Because it is in the future the coming starts a time of preparation, expectation, anticipation.

There is an explicit warning: if you carry on with all the social norms and conventions of your day, without being aware of what is to come, then all you hold dear will be swept away, ‘as were the days of Noah.’ (Matthew 24.37)

Jesus describes the un-knowableness of the day and time of his coming.

The future event of Christ’s coming is something we cannot know so we are exhorted to stay awake and be ready.

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So, our scriptures today give us coming – the adventus - in three dimensions: ethical, moral and spiritual.

The invitation to ‘come’ to the mountain of the Lord purifies our ethical acting: the weapons we use against others are transformed.

Today our military weapons are as deadly as swords and spears – which are deadly, as we know from the blight of knife crime – but our weapons today kill on a scale way beyond what a sword and spear could do.

Coming to the mountain of God, to the peaceable kingdom, means that we recommit ourselves to the paths of peace: in every aspect of our lives, so that our aim is not to hurt or destroy, but to build up and restore.

The announcement that our salvation has come invites us to the moral action of how we are faithful to one other: husbands and wives to each other; parents and children to each other; friends and companions to each other, as befits those who ‘put on the Lord Jesus Christ’ (Romans 13.14).

May our aim be faithfulness to those to whom we are committed, especially those to whom we are bound by vows and bonds of love and kinship.

May it be sobriety in the face of a world intoxicated by things that are not of God.

Then the preparation, expectation and anticipation of the One Who Will Come invites our spiritual response.

This is about using the time aright to lift our gaze and open our hearts to welcome Jesus Christ.

It is, in prayer, reading of the scriptures and in our worship, that we can rekindle the anticipation of the return of Christ and his presence in our midst today.

For ‘he shall come again in glory to judge the living and the dead’ (Nicene Creed): so prepare yourself, with consistent, courageous faithful choices, for the final encounter with him.

An Advent hymn says it nicely,

Let ev’ry heart prepare a throne,

and ev’ry voice a song.

As the book of Revelation puts it:

He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! (Revelation 22.20)

Serving in the courts of the Lord

Preached at Choral Evensong as the Minster gave thanks for Denise Mead, Verger and Administrator, who retires at Christmas.

‘My soul hath a desire and longing to enter into the courts of the Lord : my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.’

Psalm 84.2

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Those words are from psalm 84.

It is a psalm that rejoices in the praise of God in his holy sanctuary.

When that psalm was composed the holy dwelling place of God was understood to be the temple in Jerusalem: the place of encounter between heaven and earth, God and humanity.

That temple was an echo of the first ‘temple’, as we might call it, the Garden of Eden, the place of right worship and life with God, which humanity vacated after the disobedience there.

The earthly temple, whose dimensions were given by God, was a vital sign of how things are meant to be between God and humanity (Exodus 40), and this is what that temple in Jerusalem came to be.

But the mission of Jesus expands the vision of the temple dramatically.

The temple is now not the huge stone edifice in Jerusalem, decorated with gold and cedar wood and rich fabrics; it is not solely for the worship of the people of Israel but for all nations, for the temple is Jesus Christ himself.

Remember after he cleansed the earthly temple in Jerusalem at the beginning of his ministry in St John’s Gospel?

Jesus declared:

“Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” (John 2.19)

Those locked into the ways of the earthly temple replied:

“It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will you raise it up in three days?” (v20)

‘But’, St John reminds us, ‘Jesus was speaking about the temple of his body. When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the Scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken. (vv.21-22)

So, the temple is reimagined, expanded, and is Jesus’ body so that all people can, like the sparrow in the psalm find a house, and like the swallow, nestle and nurture.

And each church building, the sanctuary of God, is an expression in stone of the hospitality of Jesus and the worship of the people of God.

And what a privilege, a ‘duty and a joy’, it is to spend time in God’s house.

The psalm captures it: ‘my soul hath a desire and longing to enter the courts of the Lord: my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God’.

This psalm should be a beloved one to all Christians, expressing the desire and longing we have to dwell in the beauty of the presence of Jesus Christ.

Yet I can’t help but feel that this is a psalm that is especially dear to Vergers.

‘Verger’ is not a word that many people outside the church know.

And it needs to be better known in the church too.

To be a verger is to work day by day in the dwelling of the Lord of hosts, in the courts of the Lord.

Vergers are custodians, with incumbents and churchwardens, of the building set apart for the holy worship of God.

To be a verger is to help order and smooth the way for the worship of the church and her liturgies.

You’re cut out to be a verger if you can say:

For one day in thy courts : is better than a thousand.

I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God : than to dwell in the tents of ungodliness.

Now, a paraphrase of the Bible called ‘The Message’ puts those verses like this:

One day spent in your house, this beautiful place of worship,
    beats thousands spent on Greek island beaches.
I’d rather scrub floors in the house of my God
    than be honored as a guest in the palace of sin.

It’s not a translation, but it captures the sense of things.

Now this isn’t a speech, it’s a sermon, but it is true to say that Denise has exemplified this spirit.

Denise is not to be found on Greek islands in preference to this place – in fact getting her to have a holiday at all is quite a task!

And you can see what this place has over a foreign holiday.

This glorious Minster church: with its still beauty, early in the morning; its intense darkness when locking up after midnight Mass or the Easter Vigil, with only the flicker of the sacrament lamp giving light; with its soaring beauty, filled with music, incense and praise; with its light streaming across from the high south windows during the Sunday Eucharist, baptisms, weddings and funerals; with its simple presence as the doors are opened for the people of the parish to come in and pray during the week.

Here the verger is to be found, nesting in a church, like the swallows of the psalm.

Of course, swallows are migrating birds; they are here for a season and then fly to warmer climes, but whilst they are here it is home, their lodging place.

Soon Denise will fly away from this sanctuary, but will find another: the Lord opens his house to her, as to all people.

The true measure of a verger, as of any Christian, is to cherish the Lord’s house, but to desire and long for something even more precious, and that is life in Jesus Christ.

That is why for Denise, as for vergers through the generations, being a verger is a vocation, a calling from God, a way of loving service in God’s house, with, and for, God’s people and all to his greater glory.

So, the earthly sanctuary points to the heavenly one.

The temple we ultimately dwell in is the life of the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church.

That is the meeting point of heaven and earth, God and humanity, and where truth, beauty and goodness is to be found.

Of life in Christ we can surely say:

My soul hath a desire and longing to enter into the courts of the Lord : my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.

 

 

Dare to Hope, dare to Endure

Malachi 4:1-2a ‘For you the sun of righteousness shall rise.’

2 Thessalonians 3:7-12 ‘If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat.’

Luke 21:5-19 ‘By your endurance you will gain your lives.’

‘Teacher, when will these things be,

and what will be the sign when these things are about to take place?’

(Luke 21.7)

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What a scene of turmoil, destruction, darkness and upheaval we have just had described in the Gospel reading: wars, rumours of wars, natural disaster and earthquake.

In the face of that, plenty of people might dare to answer the disciples’ question: ‘Teacher, when will these things be, and what will be the sign when these things are about to take place?’ by saying that, ‘it’s now, obviously.’

Glance at the news for a couple of minutes and it’s all there.

That’s how the modern secular mind reads the world today: destruction; disaster; wipeout; annihilation.

We all have a teleology – that’s an understanding of your ultimate object or aim in life.

And your teleology, understanding of the ultimate, determines how you live your life.

A teleology of destruction, disaster, wipeout and annihilation will shape your life in a similar way.

If the news and norms of today are all there is, then no wonder you’d be hopeless and left asking, ‘what’s the point of it all?’

There is a very different teleology for believers.

If you believe that there is a Creator – God – who has purpose and a mission for the world, who wills and desires the world to flourish and be at harmony, then you can’t see the world as others do.

The vital ingredients are that there is purpose and meaning in God’s world, all brought together in the virtue of ‘hope’, which abides and endures with faith and love (1 Corinthians 13.13).

Hope is very different from the general and vague spirit of an optimist.

The optimist will be terrified in the face of the news today, the arc of history does not seem to be bending towards a good outcome, let alone justice.

But hope is rooted in the expectation of God’s past, present and enduring action in the world.

Hope knows the end of the story.

The world is patterned in hope, even as tribulation, wars, rumours of wars, natural disaster and earthquakes unfold.

It is through the lens of hope that the believer sees the world, and his or her own life.

God’s purpose in the world is the restoration of all things in Christ.

It’s described in the Book of Revelation, chapter 21:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21.1-4)

It's there in the Gospel reading today: Jesus looks to the time when we come through the tribulation and he says, ‘not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your lives.’ (Luke 21.19)

That’s why St Paul can say:

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. (Romans 8.18)

Indeed, he also says:

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. (Romans 5.3-5)

The Gospel reading began with people staring at the Temple, a massive stone edifice ‘adorned with stones and offerings’ (Luke 21.5) and Jesus says it will all crumble.

The overarching narrative of the Bible is that the earthly Temple makes way for the gift of the heavenly, the Temple of Christ’s mystical body.

The first temple, as it were, was the Garden of Eden.

In that “temple” God placed the man and the woman to be at one with him in abundance and worship.

Their disobedience saw humanity expelled from the Garden Temple of paradise, and the consequence of that is the darkness in the world of deceit, corruption, violence and pain.

Many have tried building paradise on earth and failed: Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot and their ilk, and look at how that went.

If you want to see the worst of  violence, destruction and human degradation just look at the atheistic regimes of the 20^th century.

And the will to create paradise on earth, on human terms, has not gone away.

To the believer God’s paradise, heaven, is His gift and will come in His time, not ours; is His vision, not ours; on His terms, not ours.

The Gospel calls us to place ourselves in God’s purposes and mission for the world, to see in the tumult a call to be steadfast, hope-filled, loving, faithful and to endure.

In all this, Jesus says, we have the opportunity to bear witness (Luke 21.13): witness to what? Surely to faith, and hope, and love: the three things that endure the tumult of the world.

In this new week, pray for hope, pray for endurance, pattern your life in the hope and expectation of the coming of the One who restores all things: hold on to faith, to hope and to love.

Amen.