Preparing the soil of the heart

Isaiah 55.10-13  The word that goes out from my mouth does not return to me empty

Romans 8.1-11

Matthew 13.1-9,18-23 A sower went out to sow

 

The word that goes out from my mouth;

shall not return to me empty, says the Lord,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

(cf Isaiah 55.11)

 

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The poet T S Eliot remarks in a poem: ‘take no thought of the harvest, but only of the proper sowing’.

 

It’s a rather appropriate quote when we hear the Parable of the Sower: ‘take no thought of the harvest, but only of the proper sowing’.

 

In other words, don’t think about the end results first, but think about what you sow or plant and how you sow or plant it.

 

That’s not to say that the harvest, the results, the productivity or yield doesn’t matter; but the focus at the outset is about what you sow before determining the result.

 

In the biblical witness the first concern is not with the harvest, the results, the yield, but with the gift, with the proper sowing.

 

What we are asked to aspire to is fruitfulness in our lives and in our church; what that looks like is down to the growth God gives: it’s an exercise in grace and trust.

 

As St Paul says in his first letter to the Corinthians: ‘neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth’. (1 Corinthians 3.7)

 

We can be sure that God wills fruitfulness in our lives and in the Church: the fruitfulness God wills in our lives is always in response to his gift of abundant life, it’s something beautifully captured in Psalm 65 sung today..

 

And as the Lord says, through the words of the prophet Isaiah, in our first reading:

 

so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;

   it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

   and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. (Isaiah 55.11)

 

Seed is not sown with the intention of no return; ‘it shall not return to me empty’.

 

Jesus Christ is the Word of God, sent by the Father, his mission is not to return empty, but accomplishing all that the Father wills.

 

So we could say that the sower is God, sowing himself in the person of Jesus Christ, into the soil of our hearts and lives.

 

So let’s take a look at the sower and then at the soil of our hearts.

 

First there’s the sower.

 

If you think about it, there is something a bit crazy about the sower in the parable.

 

The sower scatters seed everywhere; it goes everywhere: all over the place!

 

This flies in the face of modern farming techniques and simple common sense.

 

The modern seed drill sows the seed exactly where the farmer wants it, in the best soil.

 

It’s highly mechanised and scientific: computers calculate the amount to sow and where to sow in it the field to achieve the maximum yield when it is cut down.

 

But that’s also true in the technique used until the mechanisation of agriculture.

 

The sower would take handfuls of seed from a basket on his hip and cast it onto the ground.

 

The sower was skilled in getting as much of the seed onto as much of the good soil as possible.

 

So, in ancient and modern times it seems bonkers to sow seed on a  footpath, or on rocky ground or in amongst weeds.

 

Seed was, and is, hugely precious and not to be wasted.

 

God, the sower is wonderfully lavish in scattering the seed: it is sown indiscriminately, it is sown without cost and sown everywhere: God the Sower sows his word into every human heart: the question is, ‘how will it grow’?

 

But Jesus’ parable isn’t agricultural guidance; it is a parable of the Kingdom.

 

Parables are not one hit morality tales, but endlessly generative stories that are sown in our minds and hearts to open us to the ways of the Kingdom of Heaven.

 

Jesus Christ sows the seeds of the Kingdom into our hearts by the telling of parable and this parable is about the soil as much as about the sower or the seed; it demands that we pay attention to ourselves and our inner life.

 

So now, consider the soil of your heart.

 

When the seed of the Word of God lands in your heart, what chance are you giving it to grow, to yield and be fruitful? How able is God’s word able to take root, truly and deeply in your heart?

 

This is about deep self-examination. It’s the sort of self-examination and expression of vulnerability that I am privileged to hear in confession and spiritual direction.

 

Is the soil of your heart like a path? The soil of a path is trodden down, well-worn and compacted; a hard carapace, a crust, sits on top of it making it impenetrable: the seed cannot take root; when it rains the seed is washed away.

 

That’s when our hearts are ready to receive the Word but we don’t engage with it, we offer nothing in return for the gift and, as a bird pecks the seed, so the Evil One pecks it away and the Word of God is lost to us.

 

Are you seeking truly to understand the Word of God? What needs to break up or soften the ground so the seed can root?

 

Is the soil of your heart like rocky ground? The soil of rocky ground is sparse. When there is little soil but mostly rock the seed can send out roots but the root has little chance: there’s no depth of soil, all is shallow so when the sun comes out rather than giving growth it burns the roots away and the seedling withers away.

 

That’s when our hearts receive the Word of God and then fall away at the first sign of pressure, because the Word of God can’t grow deep in us.

 

Are you seeking to take the hard rocks out of your life so that there is more soil in your life to receive the Word of God?

 

Is the soil of your heart already full of other strong plants? Soil that’s full of already established plants is not going to have space for the seed of the Word of God to grow.

 

That’s when other priorities are already established in us. As Jesus’ interpretation of the parable suggests the cares of the world and the lure of wealth are like already established plants that crowd out the Word of God, to which we might add distractions, doggedly held onto ideologies or views that are not of the Gospel.

 

Are you ready to root out pernicious or unhealthy attitudes, practices or pursuits that are not of the Gospel?

 

Is the soil of your heart good soil? Soil ready to receive the seed so that it can take deep root in you? For then you will be fruitful.

 

‘How do I do that?’ you might say. It’s in confession of our sins. It’s in deepening our relationship with God in prayer. It’s in receiving the grace of the sacrament.

 

In confession, prayer and the Sacrament we prepare and till the soil to receive the Word of Christ which will grow richly in us and we will be drawn into intimacy with our loving heavenly Father, to whom be all honour, glory and praise, now and to all eternity.

 

 

Come to me

Zechariah 9.9-12 See now, your King comes humbly to you

Romans 7.15-25a I do not understand my own actions.
Matthew 11.16-19,25-30 Come to me and I will give you rest

 

 

Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

 

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One of the accusations made against our faith, against Christianity, is that it is negative or pessimistic about the human condition.

 

In the case against Christianity St Paul is often held up as a convincing argument.

 

All the ills of the Church and any negativity about being human - body, mind and spirit - get pinned on him.

 

Yet St Paul’s vision of being human is entirely misrepresented.

 

St Paul retains the deep conviction that what is said in the Book of Genesis about the fundamental goodness of God’s creation is true.

 

That’s why he can be clear sighted about where things go wrong.

 

St Paul is such an acute observer of the way in which humanity, starting with himself, has the propensity to mess things up.

 

God saw his creation of human beings and declared that we, and all that he has made, are ‘very good’.

 

So, St Paul muses, ‘‘I do not understand my own actions’  to which, surely, we say, ‘I know what you mean’: for which of us really does understand our own actions?

 

‘For’ he continues, ‘I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate’ (v15).

 

The human propensity to mess things up. I recognise that in my life, fellow sinners: you might recognise it in yours too.

 

So St Paul is not negative about our being human but realistic and also sees that we are a mystery unto ourselves, let alone to others.

 

And he notices something else:

 

So I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. (vv21-23)

 

St Paul is expressing the deep desire of the followers of Jesus Christ: I want to lead a life that is virtuous and good and beautiful and true and sometimes when I am so close to living that life that I feel all the more acutely that I am not there.

 

In the face of this contemporary culture falls back into notions of self-improvement; if I want this enough I can have it, I can do it.

 

The culture believes in mind over matter; as if our mind and body are not connected – and therein lies one of the greatest fallacies and sources of unhappiness that we can have.

 

St Paul acknowledges this tendency when he says, ‘So then, with my mind I am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin’ (25b).

 

He knows that when we detach mind and body we live fragmented lives not whole and healthy lives, and that is a source of despair.

 

There is something unintegrated -disintegrated - about being human.

 

The path to integration and wholeness is the path of holiness about uniting the will of the mind and the actions of the body.

 

That is not to be pessimistic about being human but is realistic and with hope.

 

It is modernity and contemporary culture that is most pessimistic about human nature because it tells us that we are okay, when we know in ourselves that all is not okay; it tells us we are more connected than ever, when loneliness stalks and pervades society; it tells us that all we need to be satisfied is to be able to choose, irrespective of what our choice may be and however bad it may be for us or for other peoples’ lives.

 

In the face of the enduring human questions, ancient and modern, St Paul cries out, ‘Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?’

 

Who will rescue me; who will save me?

 

His answer: ‘Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!’ (v25a).

 

This is St Paul’s hope and ours: Christ is the Saviour, he will rescue us from this body of death, sin and contradiction, from the burden of our predicament of doing what we do not want to and failing to do want we know we should.

 

Our hope is found in placing ourselves in his love and finding peace and rest in him.

 

Here is our hope; in Christ who says,

 

Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11.28-30)

 

‘Come to me’ – that is a deep and gracious invitation.

 

‘Come to me you who labour’ - the laboriousness of the lot of men and women is part of our fallen condition (cf Genesis 3.16-19).

 

Life can be a slog and laborious.

 

‘Come to me you who are heavy laden’ - we are laden down with our human predicament, with sin and with the tension between what we think and what we do.

 

‘Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me’ says Christ.

 

His yoke is the cross: this is what he has carried for us; his death on the cross has broken the power of death and sin, powers which are the ultimate burdens that we bear.

 

‘And learn from me’.

 

The Christian life is all about learning to walk the way of the cross – a path we begin in baptism – shaping our lives after the example of Christ in which we find rest and tranquillity for our souls.

 

Today hear afresh the call, ‘come to me’, for in coming to him we find our life, our hope and our salvation.

 

In imitation of Christ, leading lives shaped by him, we will begin to have unravelled the conflicting powers at war in us; we will begin to see clearly the path set before us; and we will witness to his beauty, goodness and truth and our bodies will no longer be a body of death but a body of life.

 

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

 

 

 

 

The Friend of the Bridegroom

Preached on Sunday 25th June 2023, kept as the Patronal Festival of the Minster Church of St John the Baptist.

Luke 1.57-66,80  

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I wonder if you can tell me what you will be doing exactly six months from today, to the minute?

 

I’ll give you a clue. It will be Christmas Day!

So, I hope your answer is that you’ll be in church, and if not, I hope it is because you will have been to the Midnight Mass!

 

Why, you might ask, is he talking about Christmas Day today, in the very middle of summer and on our Patronal Festival?

 

It is because both today and Christmas Day centre on a birth; two intimately linked births.

 

On Christmas Day the birth of Our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ; today the birth of his cousin and the one who prepared the world for Christ’s first coming, John the Baptist, patron saint of this church.

 

Two miraculous births.

 

John’s mother, Elizabeth, was past childbearing age, yet still she was blessed with the gift of a child.

 

Jesus’ mother, Mary, was a very young woman not married, not ‘sexually active’, as we might say, yet she too became a mother.

 

Both births, heralded by the Archangel Gabriel, are of God and integral to our salvation.

 

John came to prepare the way of the Lord; Jesus Christ, the Lord, came to save us from our sins by his life-giving death and his resurrection.

 

From all we know of John in the gospels, he would want our focus today, as always, to be on Christ, and rightly so.

 

His consistent message can be summed up like this: ‘look away from me and behold Jesus Christ who is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world’.

 

That’s the message every Christian should promote and live out.

 

So all we say of John actually only ever leads us back to Christ.

 

In that regard John is like the other great saint of the Incarnation, the Blessed Mother, Mary herself.

 

The honour and regard we give to both Mary mother of the Lord, and to John, is always and only inasmuch as they lead and point us to Christ.

 

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As I have been pondering St John the Baptist for today – and I think about him a lot – I was struck by something in the Gospel of St John, John the Evangelist.

 

There is a really significant title that often gets overlooked: John the Baptist identifies himself as the ‘friend of the bridegroom’ (John 3.22).

 

Sometimes John comes across as harsh, austere and without joy or celebration, but he is also a friend: friendship is always a cherished relationship between two people.

 

Yes, John is a witness to Jesus, forerunner of Jesus, the one who cries out in the wilderness – all those things but he is also a friend: a relationship of joy and trust.

 

So, John is also a friend; specifically, the ‘friend of the bridegroom’.

 

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I was officiating at a wedding yesterday, and of course the best man, the friend of the bridegroom, had a particular role.

 

Nowadays the Best Man arranges the Stag do, looks after the wedding rings, gives some Dutch courage to the groom, and makes a speech at the reception and toasts the bridesmaids and the happy couple.

 

In first century Palestine the ‘friend of the bridegroom’ was responsible for the equivalent things no doubt, but also for arranging the match with the bride.

 

The friend of the Bridegroom was a sort of fixer, as well as ensuring the wedding feast went well.

 

John the Baptist is the ‘friend of the Bridegroom’, the Best Man.

 

This points us to something really important.

 

Marriage is one of the deep themes of the Bible: arguably the whole of Scripture sees the relationship between God and humanity in marital terms.

 

In the Old Testament Israel is spoken of as the bride of God (Isaiah 62.4-5; Jeremiah 2.2; Ezekiel 16.8; 23.4; Hosea 2.19-20).

 

In the Gospels the first of Jesus’ signs is set at the heart of a marriage, at Cana in Galilee (John 2.1-11).

 

The sign at Cana is of the refreshed relationship of God and his people, like bridegroom and bride, a marriage with the True Bridegroom present.

 

St Paul reflects deeply on this in his letter to the Ephesians saying that the marriage of a man and a woman, bridegroom and bride, prefigures and echoes the marriage of Christ, the bridegroom, and the Church, his bride, so that Christ and the Church are one flesh, just as husband and wife mystically become one flesh in marriage: as Paul says, ‘this mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church’ (Ephesians 5.32, cf also vv.22-33).

 

What Cana shows is that Jesus Christ brings transformation to renew the relationship between humanity and divinity through the marriage sign, reconciling two different bodies as one flesh, which is why we can say we are one body in Christ.

 

And John is the ‘friend of the bridegroom’: the one prepares the way for the union of divinity and humanity in the Incarnation; the marriage of Christ, the Bridegroom, and his Bride, the Church; of Christ offering to you in his body for you to receive in the Eucharist: ‘though we are many we are one Body, because we all share in the one bread’ (1 Corinthians 10.17).

 

We celebrate the birth of our patron saint today, John the Baptist; in sixth months’ time we celebrate the birth of the Saviour.

 

In the spirit of the ‘friend of the bridegroom’ may we, every day, rejoice in our being united with Christ in baptism.

 

The wedding at Cana points to a banquet, the banquet the Eucharist anticipates: in the words of the Revelation to John, ‘blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb’ (Revelation 19.9)

 

May each one of us, for better for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; love and cherish Christ the Bridegroom till death do us unite in heaven when we are born to eternal life with him. Amen.

 

The dignity of being a sinner

Matthew 9.9-13 ‘I have come to call not the righteous but sinners’.

 

Jesus said: ‘I have come to call not the righteous but sinners’

 

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I regularly tune in, on YouTube, to teaching, talks and homilies by American bishop, Bishop Robert Barron.

 

I would thoroughly recommend him.

 

Not only is his content superb but he delivers it in a very engaging way.

 

One of the things he does is address his hearers as ‘fellow sinners’.

 

Sinner? To be called a sinner, even a fellow one, implies a judgement and a negative one at that.

 

In a world that prizes non-judgement over everything – even judgement by God - this is perhaps a challenge.

 

If I am a ‘sinner’ that implies I have got something wrong, I am not all I could be, that someone is judging me.

 

To speak of sin and sinners sounds too negative to many ears.

 

Talk of ‘sin’ and ‘sinners’ can collude with the worst stories we tell about ourselves, especially for people who are routinely run down, dismissed or sidelined.

 

Yet, when we search our hearts, reflect on our lives, we surely cannot fail to see that oftentimes we lack love, we deceive ourselves and others about a whole host of things.

 

That is why at the beginning of this and every Eucharist as we say the confession: ‘we have sinned against you, almighty God, and against our neighbour...’

 

In confession of our sins we take ownership of our shortcomings and our need for restoration.

 

That is the first step towards the goal of holiness of life.

 

So Jesus says ‘I have come to call not the righteous but sinners’.

 

What love!

 

What concern!

 

We are not to be left wallowing in misery, self-pity and sin; Christ comes to raise us up and lift us out of the mire of human short-sightedness and to open our eyes to the glory of God.

 

It is out of love, not condemnation, that Christ comes to save.

 

If you’re not ill you don’t need a doctor; if you are you do.

 

Look at human lives; look at your own life, as I look at mine.

 

We are not in a state of perfection; we are not well: we need a physician.

 

So being called a ‘sinner’ is actually a title of great dignity because Christ came for sinners and it says that he’s something to work with, in contrast to those who shut down the possibility of healing because they believe themselves to be fully well, what Jesus terms ‘the righteous’, the ones he really does judge!

 

So what’s Jesus’ method with sinners?

 

We see it in the call of Matthew, the tax collector and apostle.

 

First Jesus pays attention; he notices the person; he loves the person.

 

Matthew, if he was at all typical of first century tax collectors, cheated people, took bribes and extorted money from them.

 

‘Thou shalt not steal’, but Matthew did.

 

Yet Jesus pays attention to Matthew, notices him and loves him.

 

He loves the sinner; he loathes the sin.

 

After noticing and paying attention to the soul then he invites. ‘Come, follow me’. No strings attached, just come.

 

This goes further, for Jesus shows his love for the sinner by sitting down to eat with them.

 

That was big in the society of Jesus’ day: sitting down and eating with people was intimate and showed you approved of them, even those most disregarded by others

 

Who are the worst people you can think of? Jesus sits down and eats with them.

 

Go further. Who is a person you know personally who you look at with contempt or readily dismiss: he loves them; he says to them, ‘come’.

 

He loves them, as he loves you, as children of God.

 

After all, he says, what physician, what doctor, walks past a person who is unwell and fails to offer any healing?

 

The doctor has it in her power to offer healing and health.

 

The Latin verb salvere, meaning ‘to be well’ is where we get our word ‘salvation’.

 

Jesus is the salvator the Saviour, the one who brings salve, the healing balm of God.

 

Jesus, the Physician of Souls, the saviour, the salvator, pays attention to Matthew.

 

A sinner is not left where Christ finds them and calls them.

 

They are drawn into his love and fellowship: ‘come…follow me’.

 

And lest they – we – get complacent we are schooled in the way of Jesus, the way of mercy that is rooted in his sacrifice on the Cross.

 

When you walk with Christ, the salvator, when you sit down and eat with Christ, the Saviour, you will be schooled in the way of forgiveness and healing which you as a sinner require.

 

Our gospel began with a call to the sinner: come.

 

It ends with a commission: go.

 

Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’

 

It’s an ancient cry of the prophets of Israel and it is fulfilled in Jesus.

 

His sacrifice on the cross, his death for sinners, is the origin and completion of sacrifice

 

The way we join his sacrifice is through mercy: ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.’

 

God’s mercy does not remove God’s judgement, but tells us that God’s judgement is not vindictive; is not harsh, is not callous.

 

Rather God’s judgement is revealed in mercy.

 

This merciful judgement restores, heals, forgives because it is rooted in the sacrifice Christ made for sinners: as St Paul says, ‘God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5.8)

 

God can do merciful judgement.

 

Fellow sinners, can you?

 

 

The Ascension: A point of departure

Preached at Choral Evensong also giving thanks for the 80^th anniversary of the foundation of the Inner Wheel, Croydon.

 

2 Samuel 23.1-5 The parting words of King David

Ephesians 1.15-23 Christ is head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all

 

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Last Thursday the Church celebrated the feast of the Ascension of the Lord.

 

The Ascension is a point of departure.

 

It is literally a point of departure, in the sense that Christ’s human body of flesh departs from the earth and sight of the apostles, and is taken into the heavens.

 

It is figuratively a point of departure, in the sense that Christ’s body, the Church, made up our fleshly bodies, now begins to live his life without his physical presence but entirely dependent on the power of the Spirit he promises to send to animate the Church to worship and witness to the ends of the earth.

 

In ascending into the heavens Jesus Christ in his human body and person is no longer bound to time and space but is available to all people and nations and all times and in all places.

 

Yet still he is present, as he says in St Matthew’s Gospel, ‘I am with you always, even to the end of the age’. (Matthew 28.20)

 

This is not ‘in person’ presence, as we might call it post-pandemic, but it is real, efficacious and powerful: in other words the risen, ascended, glorified Lord is as certainly with his Church as he was when in person in Palestine two thousand years ago.

 

Christ’s risen, ascended, glorified body is communicated most powerfully in the sacraments that unite heaven and earth, that bring together Christ the bridegroom with his bride the Church.

 

The Church herself is a sacrament of Christ’s presence in the world: an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

 

This is what St Paul asserts in the letter to the Ephesians, ‘And God has put all things under Christ’s feet and has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all’ (Ephesians 1.22,23)

Christ’s mystical body still has a human face in the lives of those baptised in his name – that’s you and me - and who in their pursuit of holiness feed on his body in the Eucharist: ‘this is my body; this is my blood’.

 

This perhaps tells us something about the endings and beginnings in our daily lives and how we handle points of departure.

 

King David in our first reading, in his valedictory words to his people, declares how it is God’s Holy Spirit who sustains and speaks ‘like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming  from the rain on the grassy land’. (2 Samuel 23.4).

 

David asks rhetorically, ‘Will not the LORD cause to prosper all my help and my desire?’ (2 Samuel 23.5b)

 

Yes, of course he will. The LORD is our helper.

 

That message of God’s presence is for us as we begin a new day, a new week, a new chapter in life.

 

Young people taking public exams around this time are at a point of departure, the closing of one chapter and opening of new ones; they need to be realistic and hopeful about what their point of departure holds and commit it to the Lord.

 

The Croydon Inner Wheel is an organisation that rightly celebrates 80 years of bringing people together, fostering friendship and serving others, which itself is a noble cause.

 

And this 80^th anniversary can and should be a point of departure, a moment of saying thank you to God for all that has been – a time to remember past members, benefactors and friends – and a time to look forward to the future with realism, confidence and hope.

 

The Ascension of the Lord reminds us of the enduring presence of Christ in the world made available to those who, turning away from sin and darkness, reach out in hope to him.

 

May the Lord bless our points of departure, our beginnings and endings, so that in St Paul’s words, ‘[we] may know the hope to which he has called [us], what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power’. (Ephesians 1.18,19)