The fig tree and the landlord

David Herbert1 Comment

A reflection for the 3rd Sunday in Lent (Year C) focusing on the parable of the fig tree. The readings for the day are Isaiah 55:1-9 and Luke 13:1-9

The gospel writers give us two parables of Jesus featuring fig trees. He may have used more. The two we’ve got teach different lessons. In one, the fig tree is cursed. In the other the fig tree is spared. The fig tree (featured in Mark 11:12-14, 20-25 and Matthew 21:18-22) is cursed by Jesus for not bearing fruit. In the other, from Luke’s gospel, the parable which is our good news for today, the fruitless fig tree is given a time of grace. 

Our other reading from Isaiah (55:1-9) culminates with these words of the Lord: “my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways”.

How are we going to bring these two passages of scripture together and bring them to life today?

“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.” A good question for us to be asking is “How?” How do my ways differ from the Lord’s ways? How does our thinking differ? These are good questions for self-examination, particularly during Lent which is a season given us for repentance, for changing our minds, attitudes and behaviour.

There is a distinction drawn. “My ways are not your ways …..”

The distinction is graphically illustrated by Jesus in today’s parable. It’s our Lord telling a story about another lord, a landlord – and we can read between those few lines of the parable the thought of the Lord: “my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

Let’s look at the difference between one lord and the other and try to unpack a parable which takes up so little page room that it is easy to skate over it. But small is beautiful and less is more – such is the rule of God’s kingdom.

The difference is in their respective responses to fruitlessness, and their different relationships to the fig tree.

The owner of the vineyard, the landlord, had a fig tree growing in the vineyard.
He keeps coming back to the vineyard to see if there were any figs on the tree.
Time and time again he did this.
For three years he kept checking up, and then he ran out of patience.
Cut it down, he said.

Here is a man with authority who can say to his servant, do this, do that.
He gives the orders. He doesn’t dirty his own hands.
His servant is the one who took care of the vineyard.
He is the one who does the work.
If there’s cutting down to be done, he’s the one who will do it – the owner isn’t going to get involved in that dirty work.

So, here the picture is building up of this landowner-boss, who comes from time to time to check up on his investments, to check up on his interests.
His interest is what matters to him.
It’s all about him.
It’s his vineyard, but he’s away from it most of the time.
His is a remote control. He’s distant and disconnected.
It’s his fig tree, and it’ll be his profit if the fig tree were to give a fig.

We won’t blame the landowner.
We won’t call him wicked.
His behaviour is normal.
This is what happens in the real world.
His order makes perfect sense to our thinking.

Of course, we are not surprised that the landlord wants to cut the plant down.
We know that is the way of the world governed by money, profit and vested interests.
We are seeing that in our current economic crisis with cuts to welfare.
The way of the world is to cut down the fruitless and profitable, so that the fruitless and unprofitable make way for something that will be productive.
The ways of the world measure us in productivity and fruitfulness.
The less productive and fruitful we are the more vulnerable we become to cuts.

But is this the only way? Must fruitlessness always be met with destruction and condemnation?

There’s the landlord. 

Now let’s explore how different the one who actually took care of the vineyard.
We need to make a judgement between them otherwise Jesus has told the parable in vain.

In the words from our Isaiah passage we can play the question whether the thoughts of the caretaker are the same as the thoughts of the landlord.
Do they think the same?
Are the ways of the caretaker higher than the landlord?
Is his thinking higher than the thinking fo the landlord – “as the heavens are higher than the earth”?

The one who took care of the vineyard is the caretaker.
He is the one who is always there, working the vineyard day to day, spending his time and energy, rooted in the earth and tied up with the vines, the figs and all the challenges they face.
He’s the one who takes care of the vineyard for the landlord who takes care of his pocket.

(If you want to play with words again, our word care, originates from the Old English caru and cearu (meaning “sorrow, anxiety, grief”), ultimately stemming from the Proto-Germani karo (meaning lament, sorrow) and potentially tracing back to a Proto-Indo-European root meaning “to cry out, shout”. Just ask Google!

The word cure came to us through French after the Norman Conquest, and ultimately derives from the Latin word cura, meaning care.

The caretaker, the one who takes care of the vineyard, is the curator.
I’m labouring this point because you are in your vacancy of praying for a new priest – someone the Book of Common Prayer calls curate who will have the cure of souls in these parishes, a curate who will spend her/his time and energy in the day to day care for the vineyard round here,
someone who will join you in caring for those around you,
someone who will sorrow and grieve with you for how things are for those who are hurt and suffer the cuts of those who don’t care so much,
someone who will join you in lament, crying out and shouting about pain, injustice and suffering,
someone like the caretaker in Jesus’ parable who speaks up for the doomed fig tree,

someone who knows better ways for the world, someone who will think differently to the world …

Through the caretaker’s pleas we see the heart of our Lord Jesus.
Where the world rushes to judgement, Jesus intercedes for grace.
Here’s the difference between the landlord and our Lord.
The reason Jesus was sent into the world was to save us, not condemn us.
God is slow to condemn – with God there is always the period of grace, another season for the caretaker to do his work.

So, which lord will we follow?
Will we stand with the landlord in judgement, or with the caretaker in mercy?

Jesus wants us to follow him.
He wants us to join him to save the world
He wants our ways of thinking and our patterns of behaviour to be passionate in our care during this hard won season of grace.

If we follow Christ we will see the fruits of his patience.
We will see lives restored and hope rekindled,
and after the season is done, the caretaker, our Lord will say to the landlords:
“See this, the fruit of your planting, the harvest of this season of grace.
See the compassion, see the harvest.”

Citizens of heaven behind enemy lines

David HerbertLeave a comment

A reflection for the 2nd Sunday of Lent on the readings, Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1 and Luke 13:31-end

If we were to get a tattoo, and if we were to choose from the texts of today’s readings, I wonder what you would choose? These are some of the words that are held at the heart of the church. I am sure many have tattooed over scars of harm and hurt some of the verses we’ve heard today. What are the words you would inscribe on your skin because you want to take them to heart?

It is the second Sunday in this season we have been given for repentance,
It’s time to look at ourselves,
to change our minds
and reimagine ourselves as children of God
and behave, as citizens of heaven.

It’s a time to look at ourselves,
not so much to remind ourselves that,
in the words of the psalmist,
we are fearfully and wonderfully made,
but to wonder at ourselves,

at the habits of our hearts and minds,
to ask ourselves why we are inclined to do this and that,
and when we do this or that,
whose side are we on?

Are we on the side of God,
are we on the side of the angels?
Or, are we on the side of those our scriptures
so loudly call out as enemies?

What are we like
when we are tired.
when we are hungry,
when we have too little to do,
when we have too much to do,
when we are in a confrontation,
when we are facing criticism,
when we are struggling with our finances,
or our health,
when we look at ourselves in the mirror,
when we’re alone
or when we are with certain others?
What are our responses?
What’s our inclination?

Are we inclined to be anxious,
or hateful,
or judgemental,
or selfish,
or proud?
Why? How?
How come so many voices got into our heads
to incline us to self-doubt?
Where did they come from?

What are the habits of our hearts?
What is our natural inclination?
Why? How?

What has spoiled us?
Who has spoiled us?
Why did they spoil us?
How did they spoil us?
What is spoiling us?
What is spoiling our lives?

Can we change?
Can we be born again, reimagining ourselves behaving differently?
Can we be saved from our harmful habits of our hearts and minds?
Can we lean another way?
Are we bound to be the way we are,
and to think the way we do?

These are urgent questions.
They’re getting more urgent by the minute
in these mean times which are so mean to those God puts first,
those who are last, the first victims
of our carelessness, pride and selfishness.

These are urgent questions,
more urgent by the minute
as we get older and our habits
more ingrained

We made a decision at some point in our lives to turn to Christ,
to be on his side and to be sided by him.
We are on his side. He’s on our side.
Side by side we go through our lives 

just as Jesus called it,
as sheep amongst wolves.

The deacon has the doubtful privilege of sending us out,
telling us to go in peace
to love and serve the Lord
wherever we go.

In the name of Christ, we go,
just as in the name of Christ
the deacon sends us
as sheep amongst wolves,
citizens of heaven
operating behind enemy lines.

Our scriptures today remind us of the enemy fire,
their stones pounding the prophets to death.
The Psalmist knows enemies amongst the wicked surround us to make trouble amongst us,
to make war against us, to spoil our life.

We feed each other with the news of enemies
(often neglecting those dark psychological forces within us)
and the devastation of their atrocities,
yet somehow we miss the heat of their fire,
the tragedy in their enemy power
preventing us from caring enough.

Only this week we heard how young children are becoming addicted to vaping. This is just one example of the powers that overwhelm us. How dare anyone put our children in harm’s way with the risks of nicotine addiction, risks to brain development, to concentration, to learning and to their overall wellbeing? These are just some of the enemies our children have to face – and need to be sheltered from.

This is our life, surrounded by enemies,
enemies around us and enemies within us,
forces within us inclining us more to fear and anxiety,
to competitiveness and spite,
to live more selfishly
to ignore the cries of the poor.


Our citizenship is in heaven.
Please note the present tense.
Our citizenship is in heaven.
It’s not “will be in heaven”,
our citizenship IS in heaven
and it is only the enemies of the people
who want to rob the present of its heaven.

We are citizens of heaven
and we live our lives behind enemy lines.

In Lent, we journey to Jerusalem with Jesus.
Jesus stays in the city, behind enemy lines.
He cries for the state of the city and what it does to people.
His cry is one of lament and longing.
He laments the killings and the stonings,
the violence and the injustice
and longs to provide shelter for those made vulnerable.

Where is our shelter?
Where is the shelter that Jesus longed for?
Where is the shelter we can join the psalmist in
in our days of trouble when we are surrounded
by enemy forces undermining us?

Here is my shelter. The Lord is my light and salvation,
proclaims the psalmist.
The Lord is the strength of my life,
of whom then shall I be afraid?

He has been my helper.
In all the days of my trouble
He has had me in his shelter.

Here is our shelter.
Look around, not at the walls, but at the people who love us,
in whom we have trust.
Within our hearing is the sound of heaven, the call of God and the love of Jesus,
in the hearing of our scripture,
in the talk that makes for peace
in the prayers which voice the longings
of citizens of heaven.

This is where we need to be to recover if ever we are going to be more than we are ever inclined to be by the enemy forcing us to hatreds, anxiety and despair.

The Lord is here, his Spirit is with us.
We are under the shelter of his wings.
Under his shelter, all the forces behind
the  I COULDN’T HELP ITS lose their power.

When we pray to our Lord in heaven,
who is so different from our everyday lords,
our overlords, warlords, empire builders and media moguls,
when we pray to our Lord God, the psalmist joins us,
the psalmist who knows the Lord his helper,
helping us, when,
because of the odds against us,
we just couldn’t help it,
helping us to change to be true citizens of heaven.

Making choices, making life

David HerbertLeave a comment

A reflection on the stories of creation in Genesis 2 and the storm on the lake in Luke 8:22-25. These are the readings set for the 2nd Sunday before Lent (C).

This image was created by AI from the words of the sermon. Interestingly and controversially AI has made a choice for a white Adonis – more filmstar than gardener!

In the beginning everything was so good, and so well made.
Everything was generated from the heavens and the earth when they were created, when the Lord God made the earth and the heavens.

This story of creation is not the history of creation – as if this happened, then that happened, and the rest is history, sort of thing.
This story of creation is the theology of creation, and is true.
It is true for those who believe in God, who see God in all our beginnings, who trust in God’s blessing. It is spiritually true, not scientifically true.
Spiritual truth stands the test of time.
It is so true that it moves us to wonder and reverence.

It comes from a faith that sees God’s blessing in the beginnings of all life, that sees heaven and earth knitted together by a God who in the first place only ever wanted to give life. It comes from a faith that sees God loving everything he has made, delighting in what he has so well made.

It is a faith which realises that without God we are nothing.
Here God brings man to life by getting into his face and breathing into his nostrils the breath of life, and the first breath of language.

God brought to the man in the garden everything he’d made from the dust of the ground.
This was to see what he’d call them and whatever he called them, that became their name. 

God wanted to see what he called them.
That is something we’ve stopped imagining isn’t it?
Do we imagine God being interested in the names we call things, and the names we call people?
How different our world would be if we did have that imagination to name others in a way that would please God.
How different our world would be if, with that imagination, we didn’t demean the creatures of God’s making.

Our naming, our calling, the language we use, is part of the choice that is fundamental to the book of Genesis. In a world where language so much divides us we could usefully reflect on the choices of words and names we make and how they reflect our relationship with God and creation. 

The choices we make about language can be mighty acts of creation.
But remember, it takes time to call someone “lovely” in a way they will understand and take to heart.
It takes no time at all to voice a hurtful call that will break the heart of a relationship.
Our words have creative power and they have destructive power.
The choice is ours to make.

From the beginning there is choice.
There’s always been choice. 

Besides our naming and calling there’s the choice of obedience and disobedience.
The choice is there for the couple in the garden.
Can we get away with eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?
There was only one thing forbidden by God and that was it.
The man and the woman only had to be obedient in that one thing and they weren’t.
They were disobedient and took the law into their own hands. 

This was their first bad choice, and the rest they say is history.
One bad choice led to another, and then another and then another in rapid succession.
They got dressed to cover their shame (bad choice, but perhaps necessary), they ducked their responsibility and blamed something else (the serpent) and they hid themselves from God.

One rotten choice after another.
Hot on the heels of these choices comes the story of the children of the first procreation, the story of Adam and Eve’s two sons, Cain and Abel, the story of the first murder, a shocking murder, fratricide, the killing of brother by brother.
God had tried to help Cain. “Why are you angry?”
(Perhaps we all need God to ask us that question in our anger.)
“Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast?
If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?
But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.” (Genesis 4:6-7).

That’s the choice.
That’s the choice for Cain and it’s the choice for us.
Sin crouches at the door.
We must rule over it.
That’s the way with sin, isn’t it?
It makes itself small and then looms large.
It makes itself seem so small that we often think that we have done little wrong. 

The book of Genesis concludes with stories about Joseph and the right choices he made.
He goes from being a tactless 17 year old (37:2) to become a powerful and self-disciplined man by the choices he make.
He refuses sex when it’s offered him on a plate, and he refuses to retaliate against his brothers for their jealous bullying, instead he saves their lives and the lives of all in Egypt.
Sin was always at his door, but he nails it.
His good choices undo some of the harm caused by the bad choices of his brothers – including their jealousy of Joseph, their intention to kill Joseph (another fratricide) and their intention to deceive their father into believing his son was dead.

The picture painted by Genesis is that in all our beginnings is God’s love of life, love for our life and blessing in abundance.
There are all the blessings of creation, all the animals, the flora and fauna, and all living beings – all to enjoy.
There is almost too much to choose from and choices become challenging and difficult decisions have to be made. 

From the beginning it’s the choices we make that intrigue God.
He wants to see what we will call others.
He wants to see how we will manage the passions he has given us to work the garden and take care of everything.
He wants to see how we manage our emotions.
He wants to see the choices we make when all around us people are choosing to hate and despise others.
He wants to see the choices we make about brotherhood and sisterhood. He wants to love all the choices we make.

Genesis is a book about beginnings, but is also about the mean time, when times get mean in the midst of life, when life gets challenging and difficult, like the time depicted in today’s gospel in the crossing of the lake (Luke 8:22-25).
At first, it’s all plain sailing, so much so that Jesus fell asleep.
Then a squall came down on the lake, and the boat was swamped and they were in danger.
They panicked.
“We’re going to drown!”

Isn’t this the way life goes?
First it’s plain sailing – then as we grow up life gets rough and we have choices to make.
The choice is whether we become doomsayers – “we are drowning in this, or in that”, or whether we remain hopeful, constant in love, believing our blessing.
When the storm subsided, when all was calm, Jesus asked those who were with him, “where is your faith?”

They were amazed.
“Even the winds and the water obey him”.
Their choice was to follow him.
How do the choices we make show our faith and our choice to trust that God is with us in the storms of our lives, longing to love the choices we make within those storms – whether we choose life, whether we choose peace, whether we choose kindness, whether we choose obedience?

Here’s the link to the readings

The blessing of being alongsides

David HerbertLeave a comment

A reflection on Psalm 1 and Luke 6:17-26 for two small congregations in a group of parishes in vacancy.
The 3rd Sunday before Lent – Year C

In last week’s gospel (Luke 5:1-11) crowds surrounded Jesus so much that to find space for himself Jesus needed to get into a boat on the lake as crowds gathered around Him to hear His teachings.

We have another crowd in today’s gospel (Luke 6:17-26). There’s a large crowd of his disciples (including the twelve he called “apostles”), and “a great number of people from all over Judea, from Jerusalem, from the coastal region around Tyre and Sidon” who had come to hear him and be healed of their diseases.

In the context of safeguarding we need to note that Luke has underlined where Jesus was in relation to the crowd. He is not “high up”, over others. 

In the boat on the lake he would have been lower than his hearers. 

And in today’s gospel Luke paints a different picture to Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount. Luke has them all on a level place – Jesus on the level with all the people. 

In this, and so many other ways, Luke is wanting to show how Jesus stands in relation to others – never overbearing, never patronising, always side by side – as typified by walking incognito with disciples to Emmaus. 

There is no distance between Jesus and the people. He was there with them, eye to eye, shoulder to shoulder, side by side, valuing relationship over hierarchy.

That’s the position you’re hoping to fill, isn’t it? You’re hoping for a priest who will ask your permission to come alongside, as your helper. It’s probably also the position we long to be ourselves, alongside others with others alongside us.

None of us are ever safe when people look down on us, and nobody is safe from us as long we look down on them. Jesus’ physical positioning in relation to others guarantees safety. He is the good shepherd.

That’s how Jesus positioned himself, alongside us, always on the side of those he blesses. What is our position? Where do we stand?

The psalmist points to those who take a very different position. They “walk in the counsel of the wicked”, “linger in the way of sinners” and join “the assembly of the scornful”. They’re condemned. They won’t stand the judgement of the law of the Lord or stand in the “congregation of the righteous”.

There is another way. That is the way of Jesus and all those who delight in the law of the Lord, meditating on his law day and night. They’re the ones blessed and the psalmist sees them like trees “planted by streams of water, bearing fruit in due season”.

There is a clear choice: the way of the wicked, or the way of the Lord. It’s either blessings or curse.

I had to go to a two column format to get our two readings on one sheet of paper. But in so doing I have shown the pairings: 

Blessed are all you who are poor, but woe to you who are rich
Blessed are you who hunger now, but woe to you who are well fed now
Blessed are you who weep now, but woe to you who laugh now
Blessed are you when people hate you, exclude you and insult you, and woe to you when everyone speaks well of you

This is the law of the Lord. This is Jesus’ teaching. This is the law of the Lord according to Luke who has already given us Mary’s song celebrating the ways of God in scattering the proud, toppling rulers from their thrones, raising the humble and humiliated, filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich empty away. This is the law of the Lord. (Luke 1:46-53).

This is the law of the Lord brought to us by Luke who has already told us how Jesus preached in the synagogue about the law of the Lord being good news for the poor: freedom for prisoners, recovery of sight for the blind and liberation for the oppressed. (Luke 4:18-19).

This is the law of the Lord our scriptures describe as blessed. This is the law that delights the blessed but which the wicked, the sinners and the scornful scorn. This is the law that those who are blessed think on day and night, according to Psalm 1.

They are like a tree planted by streams of water, bearing fruit in due season, with leaves that do not wither.

When I read that verse this week my mind went to a sculpture called The River of Life which runs down the main shopping street in Warrington. The sculpture was built by Warrington Council after two bombs were detonated by the IRA, killing 3 year old Johnathan Ball and 12 year old Tim Parry and injuring 56 others. It was the day before Mothering Sunday, March 20th, 1993.

The city council turned to a sculptor to discuss a memorial. Stephen Broadbent was the sculptor. He saw that the street was not just physically broken, but spiritually broken as well. He wanted to design something that would be “a symbol of renewal and faith in the power of the human spirit to triumph over adversity and to invest the future with hope.”

His inspiration was the image of the river of life in Revelation 22.
The angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing out from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are here for the healing of the nations.

And so it is. Now, flowing down that street is the River of Life  he made and on either side of the streaming water are trees, one for each month, each bearing fruits of the Spirit for the healing of the nations, for all times and seasons.

And so it is in Psalm 1 where the blessed are like a tree planted by streams of water bearing fruit in due season. I wonder that Stephen Broadbent himself is one of those trees, planted by the stream of tragedy and violence, leaving blessings of hope and healing through the season of trauma and grief.

I’ve seen photocards with these verses from Psalm 1. In them the stream is picturesque with sunlight reflecting from its gentle flow. The psalm doesn’t say the water is safe. 

The stream may be dangerous, fast flowing floodwater, a tidal wave, or deep or toxic. 

Or with a stretch of the imagination, the waters could be the waters that have to break for us to be born or baptised. 

Or the stream and the metaphor may be a metaphor for life.

Does the law of the Lord raise up people who delight in the law that there should be people by all the rough waters of life, that there should be lifesavers of healing, hope and blessing bearing fruit for all seasons of difficulty and danger?

It’s worth visiting that sculpture in Warrington. It’s on Bridge Street. It was always Bridge Street. The street hasn’t been renamed because of the sculpture and its intention to bridge the awful violence that tore people’s lives apart.

And here we are. The Bridges Group of Parishes – so called because of the bridges of the villages that make up the group of parishes. And the bridges are there to bridge the waterways that cut through the landscape.

We’ve reflected on Jesus’ position in relation to the crowds that streamed to him. We’ve reflected on the Psalmist’s position on those who delight in the law of the Lord.
We’ve reflected on the sculptor’s position in relation to the trauma of a community.
What about our own position?

Are we bridge builders and lifesavers? Do we delight in the law of the Lord, meditating on his law day and night? Are we blessed as agents of blessing, healing and hope? Or are we a curse on the poor, the stranger, the refugee, and all those vulnerable to losing their life at sea because we take our cues from the scornful, lingering in the way of sinners, taking the counsel of sinners?

Where are we as the river of life flows through our lives? Are we bridgebuilders offering healing where there has been division, hope where there has been despair? Are we like trees that bear the fruits of God’s Spirit, the fruits of love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (against which no other law can stand) (Galatians 5:22f)? 

What is our position in relation to those Jesus blesses? Are we on their side, or are we on the side condemned by Jesus, with those who’ve grown rich at the expense of the poor, those who have stuffed themselves while so many go hungry, those who can afford to laugh while the rest of the world is in bits, those who walk the corridors of powers and still exclude, insult and reject others?

For as long as we delight in the law of the Lord, for as long as we seek to understand it, we will be on the side of those in the roughest of waters.

Here Am I: Embracing God’s Call in Worship

David HerbertLeave a comment

Worship fires us. Worship hires us. This is what we see at the heart of our two readings today. (Isaiah 6:1-8 and Luke 5:1-11). This is a sermon for the 4th Sunday before Lent for a small church “in vacancy”.

The poetry of Mary Oliver is full of worship. Here are some of her lines:

Poems are not words, after all,
but fires for the cold,
ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread
in the pockets of the hungry.

Poems are not words, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as food in the pockets of the hungry.

There is poetry in the heart of worship – fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost. We repeat these lines of poetry in the heart of our worship. We call it the Sanctus. The poetry goes along these two lines:

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty,
the whole earth is full of his glory.

This is the song of the seraphim overheard by the prophet Isaiah in his vision of heaven when he was transported in worship. They are words which reverberate in our own worship. Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty. The whole earth is full of his glory. This has become our song too.

In Mary Oliver’s words, they are fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost. Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the earth is full of his glory. This is the song of those Isaiah sees around the throne – the song of the seraphim. 

Seraphim are the fiery ones. That is the meaning of seraphim. Their words are fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost. They are ropes we hang onto as we join Isaiah as he is transported in worship.

The whole earth is full of his glory. This is the faith of the heavenly host. It doesn’t mean that everything is hunky dory. Isaiah knows only too well his own lies and the lies of those around him. I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips. And that hasn’t changed over the centuries, has it? We say one thing and mean another. We mislead and are misled. Truth is distorted to our own ends. We, too, are a people of unclean lips living among a people of unclean lips.

In our gospel reading Simon Peter is transported to a similar sense of wonder and worship. Luke paints the scene well. Jesus is on the edge of the lake, with people on the edge. 

Crowds are all around him. The only space he could find was by getting into the boat of one of the fishermen, one whose life was all at sea, a landless labourer on the lowest level of Roman occupations pushed to the edge by the taxes they had to pay for the right to fish and the right to sell their fish. Jesus put himself in the same boat as them.

Jesus told Simon Peter to put out a little from the shore – and there Jesus sat and taught the crowds on the shore. (Interestingly, he would have been on a lower lever to those he was teaching.)

Jesus then told Simon Peter to “put out into deep water, and there let down the nets for a catch”. They were astonished by how much they caught because they had been fishing all night and had caught nothing.

To deep water, far from the safe haven where everything is smooth sailing is where Jesus led Simon Peter, to where life is desperate, dangerous and difficult, the place we’re afraid to go to – and it was there that Simon Peter saw the glory of the Lord in the miraculous catch which would mean that he and his partners had something to take to market.

Both Simon Peter and Isaiah are gifted a vision of the glory of the Lord that fills the earth. Simon Peter’s reaction is similar to Isaiah’s. “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man.” Jesus answers as if to calm the storm arising in Simon Peter. “Don’t be afraid.” he tells Simon Peter. “From now on you will fish for people.” And from that moment they did, pulling their boats onto the shore. They left everything and followed Jesus.

For Isaiah it had been a burning coal from one of the fiery ones to his unclean lips which took away his guilt and opened his mouth to the Lord’s question, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” with his own words, “Here am I. Send me!”

Both recruits, Isaiah and Simon Peter were recruited in worship and their sense of the glory of the Lord that fills the whole earth. Neither recruit thought themselves worthy. One was a man of unclean lips, the other “a sinful man”.  Neither was a strong candidate, neither had anything they needed to prove and neither was recruited on merit. Once again we see the rule of the kingdom of God which starts with the last and the least in the building of that kingdom – the very opposite to the general rules of every other kingdom.

And here are we. Here are we, caught up in worship, sharing the sense of God’s glory in spite of our unworthiness, clinging to the songlines from the heart of heaven through the amazing grace of God. Lines let down to the lost, as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty,
the whole earth is full of his glory.

And here we are. Here we are in what we call “a vacancy” waiting for someone who knows the earth is full of God’s glory to say to the Bishop “here am I, send me”, someone who will leave everything to follow Jesus to the Bridges Group.

And here we are. Here we are – possibly tiring in waiting. It is, after all, getting to be a long vacancy. Let us not lose heart. Our worship becomes our encouragement however deep the water in which we find ourselves. Let the live coal touch our lips and be the fire for our cold hearts so that we don’t become prophets of doom.

Even in the waiting, God’s glory is at work. It may seem like there is no answer, but His glory fills the earth, and He is already moving in ways we can’t always see.

Here we are, worshipping through the amazing grace of God in sight of the glory which fills the earth. Our worship opens our minds, our hearts and our mouths. Our worship prepares our next step beyond our unworthiness

Our worship calls us back to God’s glory. How shall we respond to that call? Is ours a “yes” to God, or a “no” to God? Peter typifies us. His call reminds us that God is always at work in the deep waters, in the quiet moments, in the challenging seasons preparing his people to fish for people by reaching out in love and serving in faith. How shall we respond? What is the “here am I” that God is waiting to hear from our heart.

Here we are.
Here we are,
a few of us,
too few of us
if we keep saying “No”,
enough of us
if our response is “Yes”,
all of us
growing older by the day.
Here we are
looking round for help.
Who’ll do this,
who’ll do that?

It’s easy to lose heart and to say “nobody will”. That is the language of doomsayers and the sound of bitter experience. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy and it’s the sound of people speaking for everybody. It’s not the sound of hope and not the sound of those who believe God’s glory is at work throughout the world in ways we can’t always see.

Here we are, without churchwardens. “Nobody wants to be churchwarden”. That is doomsaying and is without hope. When we say “Nobody wants to be ….” we are speaking for everybody. We can’t speak for everybody, only for ourselves.  Somebody will be churchwarden. It’s just a case of waiting for one or two people to be caught up in the glory that fills the earth – for their “yes” to the call they hear in their sense of worship, and for their reassurance that their recruitment is not about their merit but about God’s love and glory.

Even in the waiting, God’s glory is at work. It may seem like there is no answer, but His glory fills the earth, and He is already moving in ways we can’t always see.

How will each of us respond to the call of the moment when we realise Holy, holy, holy is the Lord almighty and the whole earth is full of his glory. The call will be different for each of us. 

What is the “Here am I” that God is waiting to hear from your heart?

God’s work in broken community

David HerbertLeave a comment

Reflecting on Paul’s call to order and Jesus’ manifesto in the readings for the day, 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a and Luke 4:14-21 for the 3rd Sunday of Epiphany (C) for two small congregations in a lively/lovely group of parishes in rural Warwickshire. This post includes a video of Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde discussing her sermon that made headlines following President Trump’s inauguration service.

January 26th 2025

First of all, a note. I normally get round the problem of God’s pronoun by  using the name of God instead of a pronoun.  But, here, I am going to need a pronoun. There are many objections to using “he/him” because the name God is then linked with power, privilege and patriarchy – and the language we use about God needs to set God free from such associations, particularly in these days of right wing nationalism popularised by men such as Trump, Putin, Musk and Netanyahu. So, for this sermon, when I need to resort to God’s pronouns it will be she/her. I hope you will understand why.

In a world where God’s name is often associated with power, control, and patriarchy, using ‘she/her’ reminds us that God transcends these human limitations and works to free us from systems that seek to dehumanize and divide. It is not an attempt to redefine God’s essence but to challenge our projections of power. Forever God gathers the lost, gives strength to those who are weak, and honour to those who have been shamed and ashamed.

In the midst of controversy Paul has this to say to the troubled, disjointed community of Corinth. “We were all baptised by one Spirit so as to form one body – whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free”. Here was a community facing all sorts of problems with all sorts of differences. Paul reminds them what God does in the middle of such a community. She brings us together to form one body from the splinters and divisions. She gathers us from far and wide and makes of us one body whatever the differences between us.

Paul stands in the middle of the conflict and witnesses to what God does. He reminds the community of the abundance of God’s gifts and the value and diversity of each and every one of them for the purpose of community building and reconciliation, reminding the body around him that every member needs every other body to fully function. 

Perhaps Paul remembered the prophecy in the valley of dry bones – a valley of untold war crimes from which the bones of those killed were left out in the scorching sun for the wild animals to pick the meat from. The sound from this valley overshadowed in death was the noise of a disjointed people overwhelmed by tragedy. “Our bones are dried up, our hope is lost” is what they said. (Ezekiel 37:11). Those bones speak of a people abandoned, dehumanised and rendered invisible. In that valley Ezekiel was made to tell the truth about what God does, how she undoes the shame by breathing life into the very bones of a community destroyed, dismembered and left to rot.


This is what God does. Even as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, God brings us together. From the four corners of the world, Jews and Gentiles, slave and free, God brings us together in love in spite of differences between us. The Spirit that breathes life into the valley of dry bones is the same Spirit Paul saw at work amongst the Corinthians and is the same Spirit that unites us as the body of Christ, knitting us together from the corners of the world, and overcoming shame, division, and death itself.

You see, God remembers us. She remembers bodies that are broken, whether that be in the valley of dry bones, or the valley overshadowed by death, or communities torn asunder. 

Remembering for God isn’t simply a case of casting her mind back, as we would usually remember. God’s remember is always a re-creation, a bringing back together of what’s become disjointed and scattered, and making whole what has become broken. God’s remembering is a literal re-membering of the body, the remaking of community through the gifts of her Spirit.

This is, if you like, another creation story – the coming together of a people through the creativity of God’s Spirit. The Spirit remembers us as one body – connecting toe bone to foot bone to ankle bone to leg bone to knee bone to thigh bone.

So Paul reminds the broken body around him that God has remembered them. God has remembered their broken body. “God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them” – just as she wanted them to be.

He goes on: “God has put the body together so that there should be no division in the body.” This is what God does and this is why God does it. God knits us together in love to be a strong body, a resilient body, a withstanding body, a body that can stand, even in the valley overshadowed by death.

This is what God does. She puts the body together.  

And this is what she does as a rule. She gives “greater honour to the parts that lacked it”. The rule of God is always to put the last and the least first. Here we see that rule being followed again with greater honour given to the parts that lacked it so that those parts which seemed weaker become indispensable and those parts thought less honourable are treated with special honour. This is how God remembers her people. This is what God builds a body for.

This is not just a spiritual gathering; this is a body meant for action. To be bound together by the Spirit is to be called into the work of justice, to bring good news to the poor, freedom to the prisoners, sight to the blind and liberation to the oppressed. This is the body God is building: a body that stands in stark contrast to the systems of division, hatred and shame that continue to pull our bodies apart.

We are the body God is building – here today listening to the body God prepared for us, listening to Jesus as he finds the body’s purpose revealed through the prophet Isiaiah to read to his fellow villagers in their synagogue in Nazareth.

The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for prisoners, and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour. 

Mariann Budde is a member of the body of Christ, gifted to be Bishop of Washington, president within a community God has brought together. It was her responsibility to preach at the prayer service in her cathedral. She preached the only way she could appealing to President Trump for mercy for those afraid because of the policies of the incoming president – those who are gay, lesbian or trans, and immigrants being targeted for deportation. Trump should not have been surprised by her appeal. She was only embodying the very work of the body of Christ. In a time when power is often wielded by shame and divide, the body of Christ cries out on behalf of the oppressed, the disempowered and broken. This is the DNA of the body of Christ. This is all God brings us together for. This is what we are gifted for. We can do no other.

Closing prayer

God of unity, you breathe life into us and call us to be one body in Christ. We thank you for the gifts you’ve placed within each of us, and we ask that you strengthen us as a community, that we may bear witness to your love. We pray for healing where there is division, for hope where there is despair, and for courage to stand with the broken and the oppressed. May your Spirit unite us in justice, peace, and compassion. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.

Finding Unity in January’s Gloom

David Herbert2 Comments

2nd Sunday of Epiphany (C) – part of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. The readings for the day are 1 Corinthians 12:1-11 and John 2:1-11.
January 18th 2025

How’s your January going?

I’ve heard January described as “one long Monday”.

Dare I ask, how are the new year’s resolutions going? Are you keeping them, have you lapsed or have you forgotten what they even were?

We’re quite self-centred in our resolutions aren’t we? They tend to be centred on what we are going to do for ourselves and on our own. We tend to set the resolutions on our own. On our own we tend to set personal goals without deeper reflection on the greater needs around us. Our resolutions can be shockingly disconnected from our shared reality, such as the climate crisis, the migration crisis and the cost of living crisis.

And we make the resolutions at the time of the year we’re in the worst shape to keep them, in the gloom of January, when we’re often under the weather, whether the “weather” be the worst cold of the year, or whether “the weather” be our personal health, suffering flu or the worst cold of the year. Our resolutions are fragile. Our resolutions, if they could choose, would appreciate a February start, not a January one!

Tomorrow is Blue Monday, supposedly the most depressing day of the year. I wonder whether the likely failure of our resolution is a factor in this, alongside the cold, the credit card bills, the dark nights etc etc.

Our Sunday worship is our opportunity to reorientate ourselves in these days of darkness. The season of Epiphany takes us through January to February 2nd and gives us one epiphany after another, to help us to find our way and strengthen our resolve. There is one revelation after another.

Last Sunday it was the voice of revelation from the heavens when Jesus was baptised. Today it’s the changing of the water into wine and Mary’s instruction to the stewards to do what Jesus tells them that is the revelation. John writes: “What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory.” These signs are revelations of God’s glory in the world – a new way of seeing and being in the world.

And, in our reading from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, all the gifts of the Spirit to a troubled community are a manifestation of the Holy Spirit of God working through that community for the common good. “There are different kinds of service but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God [we see] at work”.

Paul sets out his reason for writing to the Corinthians (in 1:10). His purpose was “to appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose. Paul’s appeal for unity isn’t just a call for believers to find agreement, but for them to see beyond their own individual desires and divisions. 

The gifts of the Spirit Paul talks about are not meant to isolate or empower individuals but to strengthen the body of Christ. The gifts of the Spirit are for the common good. Paul’s list reminds us that unity is not about sameness, but about recognising and celebrating the diversity of God’s work in us. Seeing that is a revelation of God’s glory in the church. Not seeing that reveals God’s powerlessness, even in the church where Jesus is supposedly lord.

Yesterday marked the beginning of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, a week of prayer when we pray that we will pray along with Jesus for all who believe in him that they (we) may be one and that they (we) “may be brought to complete unity”. That was Jesus’s prayer that we are called to join this week in particular. It’s a prayer to withstand our horrible histories and to find resolutions to all that divides us. It’s not a prayer for doctrinal unity but is a practical commitment to reconciliation and understanding. The prayer for unity which we are called to join Jesus in is prayer for the kind of unity which reveals God’s love to the world, a unity which transcends the personal, political, racial and denominational divisions of our horrible histories.

Jesus knew that then, when his prayer for unity was answered that that would be epiphany and revelation. “Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” (John 17:20-23)

The Roman Catholic Church are keeping 2025 as a Jubilee year. It sounds notes of joy and jubilation in our calendar. Every 25th year is kept in jubilee picking up on Jubilees referred to in Leviticus when the 50th year became a time for putting the economy right. Indentured servants were released from servitude, debts were forgiven and everyone was returned to their property. Imagine the jubilation!

This 2025 Jubilee was proclaimed in the papal bull, the title of which translates as “Hope does not disappoint”.  The motto for the year is “Pilgrims of Hope”. That is to be their resolution. Jubilee begins with the opening of the doors of the basilica in the Vatican. On Christmas Eve, Pope Francis knocked on the holy door of St Peter’s basilica. The door was swung open and Francis rolled through in his wheelchair.. There are four such doors in the Vatican. On the Feast of Stephen, December 26th, a fifth door was opened. This was the door of the prison in Rebibbia in Rome and this was intended to serve as a symbol “inviting all prisoners to look to the future with hope and a renewed sense of confidence”. In other words, this was another epiphany – a revelation of how the prisoners, and ourselves, can see ourselves and one another differently because of the glory of God in the world.

I have included their logo of the Jubilee on the sheet of readings. The four figures come from all corners of the world. They represent all people that on earth do dwell. They embrace each other as they hold on to the cross which anchors them in hope as they (we) navigate rough seas as pilgrims of hope.

Is this an image we can take with us into this special week of prayer and even, with fresh resolution, into the rest of the year? How will we embody the unity which Jesus prayed for? How can we be signs of his love? How can we resolve our differences and conflicts? How can we align ourselves with God’s greater purpose? It won’t be in our own strength. None of us are resolute enough for that. To change the world God’s Spirit wants to work through us, strengthening our resolve to do his will.

Star-Gazing: The Magic of the Magi’s Journey

David HerbertLeave a comment

I resorted to verse for this sermon to celebrate Epiphany and highlight the Magi. It was prepared for a small congregation which has heard too much from me over recent weeks. I don’t know – maybe verse is worse! The gospel for the day is Matthew 2:1-12

They’re not like us

They’re not like us
those wise men three.
We’ve flattened them out, 
to two dimensional processors
across our Christmas cards.

That’s how we know them
those wise men three.
We’ve called them wise,
with balls of men
who’ve travelled so far.

But we don’t know that
they were three, or wise,
or even men. We don’t know
what else they carried,
or even what they wore.

The text doesn’t say
this and doesn’t say that.
This is what we’ve made them
camel-backed men
who’ve travelled so far.

Magi from the East
is all Matthew called them.
Let that name stick
to conjure up images
that make us like them

even though we travel
a different way,
from the west,
with the sun on our face
for the dawn of new day.

We too come as outsiders,
foreigners finding a way
from one place to another
along so many different paths,
some scarcely travelled.


How we got here
is quite the story
each one needs to tell.
Some by way of suffering,
others carried from cradle,

or a spirit making us friends
rather than strangers
carried away by grace
on waves of compassion,
or there was a word we heard.

Some have come the easy way.
Others have have found it
hard to find, picking out ways,
far more dangerous ways,
in small boats on giant seas.

We’ve walked from different places.
Some from disaster zones
of brokenness and treachery,
devastated by war, through the valley
overshadowed by death.

Some have come quickly,
a snap decision to put things down,
to run. Yet others
have slowly taken their time,
taking that long way round.

How did we all get here?
What were the paths we took?
What was the help along the way?
Who showed us where to look?
What wonder draws us together?

The Magi headed straight.
The highway was their way
to Jerusalem
to those in the know,
the priests, the teachers and king.

Little did they know.
They pointed another way
spying  for Herod amongst the least
in little Bethlehem of Judea.
Just follow the star.

And here’s how we see them,
bowed down, on their knees,
their treasure opened,
a feast of thanks, all gold,
frankincense and myrrh.

Worshipping we see them.
Are we bowed down, overjoyed?
Are we not also
worshippers like Magi,
so called by Matthew?

Magi believe in magic.
They major in magic
and the wisdom of magic
which knows both its wonder
and the malevolence of magic,

the devilish tricks, lies
misinformation, false promises
the charms of cruel calculation.
This too is magic; dark arts
masked in malevolence.

But there’s a light
that shines in darkness
that makes us wonder the magic.
“Where did that come from?
How did that happen?”

That’s magic. Then
there’s the babies
Herod would destroy.
Have you seen how babies
light up worn-out faces?

That’s the magic we love,
the power that changes the world
turns the world around
and makes all things new.
That’s the magic to die for.

Then there’s ourselves:
how we got here to worship
the one who works magic
to make of us one,
like Magi we come

following a star.
It’s hard to believe
the magic which makes
so much of so little,
like a baby or even Bethlehem

or in the magic
that breaks the rules
and scatters the proud
raising the poor, the lowly,
always putting the last first.

There’s the magic
that spreads a table
and invites enemies around
to eat together to step
their way from hostility.

Magic even works in the dream
of sleep. Heed the warning.
Do not go back to Herod!
Always resist his charming ways,
the manipulation of greed and fear.

Forever choose another way,
the better way, the best way
the way that humbly builds peace
the way home found
in wonder, love and praise.

This is the challenge,
to stay the Magi way,
star-gazing like children.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
how we wonder what you are.

A star of wonder, a star so bright,
all gas and dust, perfectly balanced
in the gravity of a gracious God
who will stop at nothing
to make majesty of so little.

How did we get here?
What star of wonder called us
to bow our spirit to worship,
at a manger, an altar
reserved for Magi like us?

Endnote:

This week, as we face the decisions and distractions of daily life, let’s commit to keeping our eyes on the star – the light that calls us to humility, to peace, to worship. Whether in moments of joy or sorrow, may we follow the light that leads us home.

Acknowledgement:
For the first time I submitted the sermon draft to AI (ChatGPT) for feedback. I was bowled over by its better intelligence and the constructiveness of the feedback which encouraged me to continue with the experiment of preaching in verse. The endnote is taken from the feedback.

Wherever is Jesus? Where in the world is Jesus? Where on earth is he? Questions for the search team

David Herbert1 Comment

A reflection on the loss of Jesus for the first Sunday of Christmas (year C). The gospel is from Luke 2:41-end when Joseph and Mary lost Jesus.

Crèche, December 2023, Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church, Bethlehem. Photo: Munther Isaac

Today is the 1st Sunday of Christmas. Christmas is far from over as we revel in its meaning for us. Tradition has given us the 12 days of Christmas. Today is the 5th day.

What did my love give me on the 5th day? I’m sure someone will sing the answer.

What’s that all about? Maybe we can guess the significance of the 4 calling birds, the 3 French hens, the 2 turtle doves, and the partridge in the pear tree. Can we?

But what are those 5 gold rings, the four calling birds, the three French hens, the two turtle doves and the partridge in a pear tree?

We see the five rings flying on the Olympic flags, bringing separated nations to play games to bring the world together. Five gold rings, each one representing a continent, all of them representing the whole world. On this 5th day of Christmas, has my true love given me the whole world?

On this 5th day of Christmas our true love gives us this story of Jesus staying behind in Jerusalem and the worry he caused. It leaves us with the question “where in the world is Jesus?” “Where on earth is he?”

This story isn’t told in the other gospels. Luke uses the story to transition from the story of Jesus’ birth to the bigger story of Jesus’ ministry. Instead of staying with his parents for their journey home to Nazareth from the temple festival in Jerusalem Jesus stays behind.

The story gives us Jesus’ first words and they’re the words I suggest we focus on this morning – just in case we lose Jesus and struggle to find him.

We can perhaps all relate to the panic of losing someone in the crowd – so we can relate to what Mary and Joseph must have felt when they realised that Jesus was no longer with them. They thought he was walking back with their relatives or friends but he wasn’t to be found amongst them. They had to go back to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple courts, among the teachers, listening to them and asking questions.

Remember, this is the beginning of Luke’s gospel. What’s at the beginning of the gospel should remind us of what’s at the end and fulfilment of the gospel, and vice versa. In the end there is another walk – from Jerusalem to Emmaus. Two people walking along the road, talking together about what had happened  – and joined by a third person who turns out to be Jesus. At the beginning of the gospel there were two walking together only because one had separated himself from them. In the fulfilment of the gospel there are three only because one had joined the two.

This is the gospel of Jesus being found in the gospel of the lost and found.

In both stories it takes three days to find Jesus, and three days is a hell of a long time to have lost someone. It was in the breaking of the bread that Jesus had become known to the two disciples in Emmaus. Subsequently he is found in his speech of just four words: “Peace be with you” (24:36) and recognised in his wounds. And this is where Jesus has been found in the church ever since: in the breaking of bread, wherever the greetings of peace are heard, and in the wounds he bravely bears These are the places to look for Jesus. This is where we find Jesus.

Now, that’s a lot to say about the end of his life, particularly as it’s the fifth day of Christmas and we’ve still got the nativity set up in our homes and minds. But already at Christmas we have a birth as well as a death and resurrection. One draws attention to the other in Luke’s telling of them.

Back to the beginning with Mary and Joseph being cross with Jesus. “Son, why have you treated us like this?” And Jesus’s reply to them, “Why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” These are Jesus’ first words in the gospel of Luke. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” But they didn’t know what he was saying to them.

This is the question I hope stays with us on this 5th day of Christmas, as we leave one secular year behind and are about to enter another – with fresh resolution to find Jesus wherever he may be – with a commitment to finding him and following him.
Where do we find Jesus?
Where do we find Jesus when we’ve lost him?
Where do we find Jesus when he’s stayed behind?
Why does he stay behind rather than going with us?

Mary and Joseph didn’t understand Jesus’ question. Luke tells us they didn’t understand what he was saying to them. Translators have struggled to capture Jesus’ meaning and have offered an alternative in the footnotes of the NIV – Did you not know I had to be about my Father’s business? But they thought he was in the family business – carpenters for the poor families of Nazareth – Joseph & Son.

But we don’t read the question “did you not know I had to be about my Father’s business? “. We read “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” The question is important because it is a question about where in the world Jesus can be found.

The translation in my Father’s house doesn’t quite seem right. Firstly it suggests the place Jesus can be found is so limited, and secondly it suggests Jesus can be found in a building and that leads us to churchianity rather than Christianity – with church buildings and the institution of church being the place to find Jesus when we know there are so many who love Jesus who’ve not joined a church.

Does this work as a question of Jesus for all his followers, for those who’ve lost him and those looking for him? “Did you not know you’d find me in what my Father is building?” Or, “did you not know you’d find me in whatever my Father is building?” Is that the guiding question? Is that the question to guide our search? As we build our resolution for the New Year, is that the clue to intensify our search for Jesus in what his father, our father, is building?

A couple of chapters further on in Luke’s gospel we come to what is called The Nazareth Manifesto when Jesus read in the synagogue in Nazareth from Isaiah the words, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon 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.” He commented afterwards, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

The word manifesto  means showing. Here is Jesus showing what he is about. He is about his father’s business. He is in whatever his father is building. It is on that building site we will find him.

They’ve built a shrine for Jesus in Bethlehem. It shows baby Jesus lying in a pile of rubble in the devastation of his people while Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the wise men and ourselves search for him. It’s on the side of the altar at Bethlehem’s Lutheran Church. The pastor there, Munther Isaac, a prominent Palestinian peacemaker says that he wants the world to know that is what Christmas looks like in Palestine these days.

Where in the world is Jesus? Where on earth is he? These questions going through the minds of Mary and Joseph go through our minds too.

This is where to find Jesus, in the devastation, wherever there is oppression and suffering, captivity and blindness. 

He’s in the news – in the good news for the poor.
He’s in the sharing of bread.
He’s in the making of peace.
He’s among the wounded.
That is where to find him.

We need look no further.

What glory grows in the dark – a reflection for Christmas night

David HerbertLeave a comment

What glory grows in the dark

This holy night we make friends with the darkness that surrounds us and the darkness that is within us. Tonight, dear friends, we celebrate the light that shines in the darkness and the glory that grows in the dark.

Hello darkness, my old friend

I’ve come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

This might be the only time in the year when we come together to worship in the dark. 

Perhaps, when we were children we needed the light left on on the landing because of our fear of the dark. We grow out of that. We are right to continue to be afraid of the dark – the dark deeds of others, those who hide in the dark to harm us, and even our own dark thoughts which can easily bring us down. 

But we are among the people Isaiah refers to in our first reading, who have walked in darkness who have seen a great light, we have lived in a land of deep darkness and on us light has shone.

This is what tonight is all about. This holy night helps us make friends with darkness. Hello darkness, my old friend. We’ve come to talk with you again.

There’s a lovely quote I came across. “There is a reason the sky gets dark at night. We were not meant to see everything all the time. We were meant to rest and trust even in the darkness” (Morgan Harper Nichols).

The very first verses of our scriptures explains that in the beginning there was only darkness until God made light. He saw that the light was good and then separated the light from the darkness so that we could have day-time and night-time.

There’s always been night time and the night time gives us the opportunity not to have to see everything all the time, time to rest our eyes and trust even in the darkness. The rest and trust is something we grow into.

On this holy night we celebrate that Christ was formed in darkness – in the darkness of Mary’s womb. We all have this in common. We were all formed in the darkness of the womb. We all begin with darkness.

Hello darkness, my old friend. We’ve come to talk with you again.

Darkness is not only physical but also metaphorical. It’s a word we use to describe hopelessness, depression, grief where the darkness is not limited to night time, but stretches into days, then weeks, then into life-times. People talk of the dark night of the soul. 

The prophet, Micah, was speaking metaphorically when he said “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light”. He knows their darkness – the yoke of their burden, the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, the boots of the tramping warriors – and for them the darkness is lit by the child to be named “Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace”, and the promise that his authority will continually grow until there is endless peace upheld with justice and righteousness.

This holy night we celebrate that joy and glory are found in the darkness of night. We’ve read in tonight’s gospel – of the good news of great joy brought to the shepherds by an angel in their night watch, looking after the sheep in the darkness. The only light in the night was the glory of the Lord that shone around them. That is the light that shines in the darkness.

What glory grows in the dark!

The light that shines in the darkness makes the night hospitable and makes possible a reconciliation with our old friend Darkness. Jesus is born in our darkness and he lives in his darkness. Darkness is a place we can stay awhile. We don’t need to make light of our troubles and those who are troubled around us. Too often we are afraid to get involved and keep the other at arm’s length, or walk by on the other side. But the glory that grows in darkness encourages our hearts, not making light of their troubles, but being a very present help. 

Don’t rush the end of Christmas. Christmas is only just beginning, here in this night. There are twelve days of Christmas. The day we are just about to enter is Day ONE. We have plenty of time to dwell on the Christ child, to let his authority grow and glow in our lives. We have time to speak with darkness, our old friend, while the glory of the Lord shines all around.