Easter Day - A Homily: John 20:1-9

Introduction:

Good morning, Happy Easter, it is a great joy for me to be with you this morning, and to get the opportunity to open the Scriptures with you. I last preached here four weeks ago, and then we spoke about how time was short before Easter, and the need to prepare ourselves spiritually. I said that we needed soberly to take stock of our lives. Well, I have a confession, this morning. I have failed to do that. Frankly, I am not sure that it is even possible to prepare oneself, properly and adequately, for Easter. We will see in this morning’s reading that the disciples were not ready. The resurrection of Jesus took them by complete surprise. In the sermon we will also think about the wondrous “new creation” that flows from Jesus resurrection. And finally we will think about the challenge that faces the disciples, and faces us. The challenge to see and believe; that believing we might have life in his name.

So, let us pray:

Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of your son Jesus Christ, Light of the World, and Word of God. Speak to us now that Word. Amen.

Homily:

St John begins this morning’s reading by telling us that it was “very early on the first day of the week, and still dark”. John is doing something clever here; he is weaving together ideas from other places in the Bible. He is trying to get us to think, to think about what the Bible has always taught, and what the Bible might be teaching now. We can see that light and darkness are such powerful themes throughout the Bible, particularly here in the Gospel of St John. At the beginning of his gospel, the part we often hear at Christmas, John calls Jesus the light of the world. He says that Jesus, the light of the world, came into the darkness. And that the darkness did not understand the light. And that is, very much, where this morning’s gospel passage begins. The darkness of human sin, the darkness of hate, greed, the darkness of broken relationship with each other and with God, has had its way. The Darkness of Sin has killed the Light of the World.
Darkness seems to have had its victory. And, whilst it was still dark, Mary Magdalene goes to visit the tomb.

She goes with a small group of other women. But John wants us to focus on Mary, on her story, as she comes to the fore to pass on the most important message in history. We cannot be entirely sure of her motivation for visiting the tomb so early. Perhaps she went to anoint the body; perhaps to weep; perhaps just to sit close to her lord. Whatever the reason, we find her there; in that garden of graves; in the dark; on that cold first day of the week.

The language of Darkness appears elsewhere in the bible, as does this focus on the day. Note how John tells us that it is the first day of the week. This is a small but important detail in the story, where John wants us to take note of the creative work of God. For him, resurrection parallels creation. So this passage harks back to the story in Genesis:

“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, 2 the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.”

Unwittingly, Mary finds herself caught up in the “first day” of a new creation. Everything is being made new around her. But, she can’t yet see it. All she can see is the empty tomb, the darkness, the deep. She cannot yet feel that wind from God that is carving out day from night; and calling her and the world into the first day of the new creation; the first day of resurrection.

Mary, oblivious at this stage to the work of God going on around her, runs. In confusion, and sadness, she runs to get the other disciples; Peter and ‘the one whom Jesus loved’. She says to them:

‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb and we don’t know where they have put him.’ 

The two men hear this and, shaken, run to the tomb to investigate. The beloved disciple is first to arrive but it required Peter, true to form, to enter the sepulchre. He blusters in, and speechless, surveys the empty tomb. The beloved disciple follows. He sees the grave cloths (it must be getting light by this point) the bandages, strips of linen that had swaddled Jesus tightly as he lay dead in the tomb remaking the Sabbath rest, discarded.

This could be no grave robbery.

No overzealous gardener.

Something new was happening.

The Gospel tells us that “he saw and he believed. Till this moment they had failed to understand the teaching of scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” Things are beginning to make sense to the Beloved disciple. Jesus had said “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” But the Bible tells us that time and again “they did not understand what he meant and were afraid to ask him about it.”

You see, the disciples were not expecting this. No-one was expecting this. Everyone in the ancient world knew this one simple fact – the dead do not come back to life. Some, but by no means all, within the Jewish religion had developed an idea that in some future “age to come” after the end of earthly history it might be possible. But not now. Not here. Not like this. Not in the middle of history, in a borrowed grave, for a man who died a criminal’s death.

And yet, here it was, staring them in the face. Only now would could they see and believe. And so it stares us in the face, too. Will we take this chance to see and believe? The empty tomb, the reality of Jesus resurrection challenges us to take seriously the claims of the man who said “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” But who also said: "Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you".

The empty tomb that stands before us this morning speaks to us of the new creation that God is making; beginning in Jesus and overflowing to us; but, it also stands as a challenge to us. Will we dismiss the empty tomb and close our eyes to the resurrected Christ who calls us to live a different sort of life, a resurrection life now, trusting in him for eternity. Or will we hear that call, and by faith uproot ourselves and run with Peter and the beloved disciple to stand in awe before that empty tomb. Will we see and believe?

John, at the end of his Gospel says this: “these have been written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing you may have life in His name.” Gaze with me, this morning, into the empty tomb. See, and believe, just as the disciples did all those years ago. Place your trust in him, I pray. The tomb is empty, and he stands poised to meet with you. Place your trust in him, and as we gather around the Table with expectant hearts, feed on him by faith, feed on him who is alive forevermore.

Amen.

Lent Three and The Barren Fig Tree - A Sermon

Third Sunday of Lent: Luke 13:1-9

Introduction:

Good morning, it is a pleasure and a privilege for me to come and speak with you this morning. For those who don’t know me, my name is Mark Broadway, and I’m a “Trainee Vicar” on placement here for the next few weeks.

This morning, I will be speaking mainly on the Gospel reading, and trying to get to the bottom of Jesus’ strong words. The Gospel reading causes us to think about sinfulness, and how Jesus himself is our only refuge. We will conclude by seeing how the scripture tells us about God’s faithfulness, and how patient he has been with us.

So let us pray:

Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of your Word to us – we pray that you would speak to us again through these scriptures, by your spirit, amen.

Before looking at the Gospel reading, and it would help me if you were to have it in front of you, I want to set the context of this sermon, by thinking a little about some news stories from this past week. Last Sunday, the Islamic State group, known as ISIS or ISIL, claimed responsibility for two particular bomb attacks; one in the Syrian capital Damascus and the other in the city of Homs, which together have left at least 140 people dead. Both of last Sunday's attacks targeted areas dominated by Islamic minorities, different Islamic denominations reviled by the Sunni Muslim radicals of IS.

Another news story this week concerns a clean-up operation that has been taking place this week in Fiji, after the most severe cyclone to hit the island in living memory killed at least 20 people. Aerial imagery showed some villages, particularly in outlying areas, were completely destroyed. One local man told Reuters news agency the damage was so extensive that "it looks like a different country".
How often it is that our newspapers are filled with such terrible reports?

Too often.

And just as often, we try to find some way of explaining away the tragedy, some way of keeping the reality of suffering at arms’ length from ourselves. We want to believe that we are separate, safe and secure. We want to believe that we have a refuge.

One of the ways that people have always tried to do this, to make themselves feel better in the face of great suffering is to blame the victims. Perhaps, I hope, very few people would try to say those civilians murdered by ISIS were guilty of something and “had it coming”. Or that God was using the cyclone to punish the people of Fiji for some sins. And yet, we do often hear these ideas, even in this country: In January 2014 a UKIP councillor, David Silvester, blamed that year’s storms and heavy floods across Britain on the Government's decision to legalise same sex marriage. Mr Silvester said the prime minister had acted "arrogantly against the Gospel", and that the legislation would result in "disaster".

I think we can be very quick to point a finger at those who are suffering, and blame it on some hidden sin. When we do this, we show clearly that we have taken refuge in our own good behaviour. And, ever has this been so. Our Gospel reading shows us both this instinct, and Jesus’ response. As with all of scripture, we can take today’s reading and use it to help build a lens, or way of seeing these sorts of events; Rightly understood they can become a call to attend to our own spiritual lives.

Today’s Gospel reading begins with people coming to Jesus with news of an act of political suppression against a group of Galileans. This was an event that took place in Jerusalem, a place to which the whole of Luke’s Gospel points. It is not clear from history what exact event this was, but it is thought to be just one example of the frequent religious uprisings, and vicious reprisals that characterised the time. In dealing with these events Jesus is dealing with the reality of the end that awaits him as he journeys through Luke’s Gospel to Jerusalem, we saw this in last week’s Gospel reading, which spoke of Herod wanting to Kill Jesus.

So, what does Jesus say when confronted with this news? Luke records for us Jesus’ words in verse two: ‘Do you suppose these Galileans who suffered like that were greater sinners than any other Galileans? They were not, I tell you.’ Jesus gives us no scope for finger-pointing, or for moral superiority. But rather, he takes the opportunity to force us to face up to our common shared, human sinfulness. He says in clear language: “Do you suppose these Galileans who suffered like that were greater sinners than any other Galileans? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did.”

Luke, in writing these passages down for us is combating the incredibly popular theology that says ‘if you are good, you will be blessed; if you are bad you will be cursed’; this is a theology of works and law and bondage. The Christ proclaimed throughout Luke’s Gospel is a Christ who comes to set us free. Jesus tells us about a God who rewards us out of his own loving kindness, not because we have earned it. Jesus makes it clear for us that what happened to these men was not an example of punishment for any particular sin; rather they were examples of our common sinfulness, which is the desire to seek refuge in anything aside from the grace of God.

Jesus, taking the opportunity to turn this encounter into a teaching session, drives the message home by repeating this theme in a similar story. This time, in verse four, about some men who had built a tower which collapsed upon them; Again, history records little of this event for us, but it seems that it was a current local news story, into which Jesus spoke. Again we see that these men were not particularly sinful, but are examples of the sin we all share, the desire to seek refuge in anything other than the grace of God.


To summarise what Luke has recorded for us: Regarding the Galileans; they sought refuge in religious/political causes. And yet, they found none. As for the men of Siloam; they sought refuge in strength of arms, in human might. And yet, they found none. Christ makes it plain for us in this teaching, if we do not repent, that is to turn ourselves around, and think, and act, and love differently, we too will perish. Christ makes it clear in his life and teaching, throughout the gospels, that there is no refuge other than in the grace of God, and that grace, that gift, is Christ himself. Christ, the gift of God for us, who gave himself, who we receive as we gather as his faithful people around the Table.  Let me be clear in what this passage is saying to us: Our only refuge is in Christ.

Where is our refuge, this morning? Morality? Good works? Family? We can allow any one of these to become a phoney refuge, like the tower of Siloam that fell on those 18 men. Let me tell you this: In time, all these towers will fall upon us. There is but one rock and one refuge: Christ.
At this point in the Gospel passage, the teaching seems to take a sharp turn. Luke tells us that, here, Jesus moves on from this stark teaching into a parable. The parable of the fruitless fig tree, verse nine. By recording this sudden shift in teaching style, almost like a change of gear whilst driving, Luke allows the reading to take on a different feel.

Looking at the parable itself; Very often in the Bible the people of God are spoken about, prophetically, or in allegory, like a picture as a vine, or a vineyard, or a garden or a fig tree – and likewise here. The fig tree is, in a sense, the people of God. And the fruit that should have grown is living faith. The tree has shown itself to be useless, as with the religion of works and law and bondage, and so the time had come for it to be cut down, thrown away, and replaced. This is not an uncommon image throughout scripture.

Yet, here in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus adds a twist to this story – divine forbearance, God’s patience. Rather than ending with the rightful removal of the fig tree, the parable ends with a plea for more time.

Three years, I am told, is the right time to expect a harvest from a fig tree, if there has been no fruit after this time, perhaps it will never fruit? But God is patient; he holds back his judgement to give as much time as possible.

Likewise with us: We have shown ourselves slow to come to repentance. Even at times it might look like we would never produce spiritual fruit; but God is merciful, and he is waiting. He will not wait forever, but he will give us more time than we need. So we should rejoice in God’s patience, but not be slow to act. 

Time is indeed short, but the vinedresser is working the ground. He is preparing the tree, doing all that he can do – will it grow? Will we grow? Will we produce the fruit of repentance? Will we learn to place our trust in Christ our refuge?

We have four weeks remaining of Lent until Easter. In a sense time is short for us, too. Let me urge you, to join me, as I endeavour to examine my conscience seriously and soberly before God. So that when we gather on Easter morning, to receive him by faith in that sacrament, we can proclaim with our lips and also our repentant lives that Jesus Lives, and he alone is our refuge.

Amen.

John the Baptist - A Homily

Gospel Reading Luke 3:1-6

This morning’s Gospel reading concerns John the Baptist. John’s story and the story of Jesus are bound up together in the opening chapters of Luke’s Gospel. And here, at the beginning of chapter three, as we leap forward almost thirty years from the events of the nativity, the magnificat, and the annunciation, we see that their lives are still entwined, as they each live out God’s calling. John’s calling is to call Israel, and us, back to God.

John is cousin of Jesus, and in some respects the very last of the Prophets. John had the prophetic task of preparing the people of Israel for the ministry of Jesus. He calls the people of Israel to stop, repent, and anticipate the coming ministry of Jesus. We too hear that call today. In this time of year John’s words are particularly meaningful, as we work our way through advent preparing to celebrate Jesus’ birth, but also preparing ourselves for his return.

***

The Gospel passage begins with a list of names that may strike us as confusing, or boring. Yet, Luke includes them for us because they achieve two purposes: First, the introduction roots the story within real history, within real geography. There is a sense that Luke is concerned to ensure we recognise these events as real history. This is to be no mere myth; of the six names mentioned only one cannot be clearly and independently dated.

Secondly, and of more significance to us, this pronouncement of names reads like a fanfare, a scene-setter. This list of names serves to give formal status to that which follows. I don’t know if you have ever seen or read a piece of legislation, one of our laws, as they sit on the statute book? Well, they begin with an enacting clause similar to this:

“in the 64th year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth”
"BE IT ENACTED by the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons...

This mirrors almost exactly Luke’s opening lines. We can tell from our modern “enacting clause” that what follows is important, it is to be listened to and applied. The powers of the state are set forth and we are to sit up and take notice.  How much more should we sit up and take notice of ministry of John the Baptist, of whom Jesus says elsewhere “among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater”.

And so, we turn to the ministry of John and ask “what is he doing, and why?” The Gospel passage tells that John’s ministry drew on, or in some sense fulfilled, the sayings of the Prophet Isaiah. Isaiah spoke a message of hope during a time of national turmoil; but it was not an “easy” hope. It was not trite, Isaiah demanded that the people of Israel returned to God, and lived up to all of God’s expectations.

John preaches harsh words, as did Isaiah, we hear them elsewhere in the gospels. He is in many respects uncompromising. Yet, he has little time for those whom we would think were his natural allies – the Pharisees. They too were uncompromising, but only so far as the externals were concerned, only so far as the letter of the law was concerned. John had no time for this sort of religion. Neither must we.

For John, true religion must change us, not merely our actions. This is what repentance literally means: a change of heart, not merely a change of action. And it is to the heart that John speaks using the language of “paths” “winding ways” and “rough roads”.

The picture, a popular image in ancient world and found throughout the scriptures, is of a triumphant king returning home. The jubilant subjects wish to make it as easy for their beloved king to take up his throne by removing obstacles, and straightening the roads.

This might be difficult for us to picture. Perhaps we can think of the end of Robin Hood; when King Richard returns to restore good and righteous rule and depose Prince John. These illustrations help us to think about how we too must seek to remove the obstacles that prevent Christ from taking his rightful place enthroned in our hearts. Those sins that take root in the secret place of our heart must go. But how?

Surely this is too great a work for us, the Old Testament bears witness to the countless generations in the history of Israel who were called to repentance and yet slid back into Idolatry and sinfulness. John has the answer for us. He says of Jesus in verse 16, just a bit later than this morning’s reading:

“I baptize you with[a] water. But one who is more powerful than I will come, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with[b] the Holy Spirit and fire."

It is by this baptism of the Holy Spirit that we are enabled to work towards those promises made when we were baptised with water. Let me remind you of them:

• To reject the devil and all rebellion against God;
• To renounce the deceit and corruption of evil;
• To repent of the sins that separate us from God and neighbour;
• To turn to Christ as Saviour;
• To submit to Christ as Lord;
• To come to Christ, the way, the truth and the life.

This is a huge undertaking, of that there is no doubt; but as we journey through advent, it is in the power of the same Spirit who raised Jesus Christ to life that we repent of our rebellion against God, and by the same Spirit that we submit to Jesus Christ as Lord.

He is the King who is coming again, and to whom we must all give an account of our lives. But if he is able to make mountains low and fill valleys, then he is able to do this work in us so that we can welcome him with authentic joy.

Amen.