Saturday, 30 December 2017

Notes on Luke 2.15-21. Why did the shepherds praise?

What brings you great joy? Or if you struggle to think of that, what makes you happy?

Talk together for a minute or two.

Some suggestions!
Arsenal winning FA cup!
Cats or children – not necessarily in that order
Really great meal
A performance
A glass of cool beer on a hot day

Have you noticed that we praise what brings us joy?
‘They played such flowing football. It was beautiful to watch’
‘The cat is so cute. Look at this photo of her’
‘That steak was outstanding’
‘That production was brilliant’
‘This beer is so amazing’

We praise what brings us joy.

So why do the shepherds praise God?

I suspect the shepherds praise God because they have been given meaning and hope. And I think that they praise God because they have met with him. And that gives them joy

1.      They had been given meaning.
The angels had come to them and so they knew that they mattered to God.

And for people who were despised and marginalised – which is what shepherds were – that must have come as an amazing revelation. The angels had come to them!

2.      They had been given hope.
They knew that God had sent them in Jesus a Saviour and a Lord

I wonder how they lived the rest of their lives knowing that the baby that they had seen in Bethlehem was the Saviour and the Lord?
Did they follow his career?
I’m not quite sure how they would do that in days when there was no VK or facebook, or newspapers.
They would have probably kept an eye on him for the first couple of years in Bethlehem, and maybe gone out of their way to support his parents.
They would certainly have known of another night in Bethlehem, when the soldiers came and slaughtered the little children – maybe even their own children. And when they heard the soldiers say that they were looking for a king, they would have known that it was connected to Jesus. But he and his parents had simply disappeared.
And then what? Maybe when they had to obey orders issued by the local kings and rulers, they thought secretly, but there is another king. And we know that somewhere out there, there is someone who is coming to save us. They may not have known how or what from, but they do know that he will bring peace and he will be king.
And maybe they continued to tell people of the night when the angels appeared, of what was said, and of how they went to see the baby Jesus. But I guess as the years went by and nothing happened, maybe they spoke less of those events
And for those who were still alive when Jesus began his ministry 30 years later, would they have connected this man doing astonishing things and saying amazing stuff with the child born in Bethlehem? And would the hope have again begun to be aroused in them.
And if they had connected Jesus the baby with Jesus the man – remember there were quite a few people with the name of Jesus at the time, so it would not have been obvious – I wonder what they made of the crucifixion?

Hope is a funny thing.
It is there – and it gives us joy. It is taken away – and there is emptiness. It returns and joy is rekindled, and then it is taken away again and there is nothing

But then they heard rumours of the resurrection ..

3.      They knew what they had suspected for many years – that God existed.
They saw the evidence with their eyes – the angels had come to them
and they went to Bethlehem and found out that what the angels said was true.
But more than that, I suspect that they were filled with joy not just because they knew that God existed, but because he had met with them – or at least, on that holy night, he had come very very close to them.
And like many people who have become Christians, who have encountered God, who have heard him speaking to them – not necessarily as dramatically as the shepherds – but who have been touched by joy, they cannot stop speaking of God, and they cannot stop praising him.

Why, my friends, do we find it so easy to praise a meal or a football team or a cat, which bring us fleeting joy, and yet we find it so difficult to praise God, who is the eternal joy giver?  

Of course, we praise him when we come to church on Sundays.
We praise him when we say our prayers during the week.
We praise him when we pray the Lord’s prayer: ‘Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be your name’.
And don’t despise that even if, much of the time, you find that they are just words that you are speaking.
We’re speaking truth
And often when we declare the truth, particularly about God, that truth comes and lives in us, and transforms us, so that in time we feel what we declare. I often find that when I sing hymns or a song in my own prayer time.
And as CS Lewis said, ‘We worship God today as a duty in the hope that we will worship him freely and with great joy tomorrow’

But why do we find it so hard to praise our God as naturally as we might praise a theatre performance.
Is it because we have set our meaning and our hope in the things of this world?
Is it because we are looking to find our significance in what others say about us, and not what God says of us?
Is it because we are looking for hope in the things that bring us delight in this world?

Of course, we should praise the things that bring us joy here and now. Please learn to be people of praise. If you don’t feel like doing it, go out of your way to make yourself do it. If you can’t praise the physical, how can you begin to learn to praise the spiritual?

But I suspect that it is as we begin to realise just how fleeting and shallow the things of this world are, and just how real and solid the things of that world are, that we will begin to discover that our real joy does not come from things here – but from things there.

And when – by the power of the Holy Spirit at work in us -  that happens, we may ponder like Mary, but we will also praise like the shepherds.

Saturday, 23 December 2017

Christmas midnight communion: when the extraordinary embraces the ordinary

In 1915, Bishop Herbert Bury wrote about St Andrews.
He says it is ‘startlingly .. like a London suburb’. And continues, “But as I saw it on Christmas Eve last year it was Russian enough, the great courtyard was full of troikas and sledges, and the clear air musical with tinkling bells as the people came driving in from far and near, clad in warm furs, for the service.”

Well I do see a bit of snow, but I don’t see many troikas outside. But however you came it is lovely to see you

Christmas eve is a magical night. We have gravity defying reindeer and legends of animals that speak at midnight.

But there is something very special about tonight. Because on this holy night, we believe that the extraordinary meets the ordinary, and the ordinary touches the extraordinary.


It is about the extraordinary: prophecies that go back over 2000 years being fulfilled, appearances of angels, remarkable dreams, a virgin birth, an unexpected star, visitors from a foreign land

And it is also about the very ordinary: It is about innkeepers and shepherds. You can’t get more ordinary than that.
If I am honest, the innkeeper is not mentioned in the story, but his inn is – but the innkeeper or two have a role in most school nativity plays. I like the story of the little boy who wanted to play Joseph, but got relegated to the part of first inn keeper. His only line was ‘no room, no room’. He thought this wasn’t good enough and wanted to make his role much bigger. So when the big day of the performance came, and all the mums and dads were there, and Joseph knocked on the innkeeper’s door and asked if there was a place where Mary and he could stay, the boy replied, ‘Yes of course, please come in’.
And shepherds come and visit. They are the most ordinary of the ordinary.
People told jokes about shepherds. Jesus told a joke about a shepherd. He had 100 sheep and he lost one. So he abandoned the 99 in order to go after the one lost sheep. And while people were still laughing at the stupid shepherd, Jesus turned it around and said, ‘God is like that’. Each person is so precious to God that he would leave 99 others in order to find you.
But it is about the very ordinary.  There was nothing special about Joseph and Mary, a carpenter and his wife, a young couple alone, unnoticed in a town that was full of people. And at the centre of this story is a young woman giving birth to a baby. Now I know that to the couple that is far from ordinary, but on a grand scale – 15000 babies are born every hour.

But on the first Christmas night, the extraordinary met the ordinary. Angels greet shepherds. A star appears to astrologers. And the eternal Son of God, the one who was there before there were any beginnings, the creator of all things, strips off his divine status, strips off his eternal privilege and power and, in the words of St Paul, empties himself and becomes a human. He becomes a baby, born to a peasant couple.

St Augustine wrote: 
 Maker of the sun,
 He is made under the sun.
 In the Father he remains,
 From his mother he goes forth.
 Creator of heaven and earth,
 He was born on earth under heaven.
 Unspeakably wise,
 He is wisely speechless.
 Filling the world,
 He lies in a manger.
 Ruler of the stars,
 He nurses at his mother's bosom.
 He is both great in the nature of God,
 and small in the form of a servant.

This holy night, the extraordinary meets the ordinary.
The eternal Son of God allows himself to be embraced in the arms of a peasant girl.

And this holy night is also about

That is why we are here.
We’ve come to worship. We’ve come to hear again the message, to declare the praises of God.

We, limited by space and time, have come to reach out for the unlimited 
We, mortal men and women, have come to reach out for the eternal

We have come to reach out to the one who – in choosing to be born as a human being – bestowed eternal value on each human being. God became like you.

We have come to reach out to the one who was born as a human being because he loves you.
Now please do not get this wrong.
When I say he loves you, I do not mean that he loves you like an indulgent grandfather who lets you do whatever you want. That actually is not love.
Real love looks at us and sees us. He sees the muck in us, the sin, the greed, the perverted twisted desires that control us, the bitterness and unforgiveness, the lies and deceit, rebellion and disobedience, the self-centredness that thinks that life and everybody and everything should rotate around us – and he hates it.
He hates it because it is a denial of everything that he is, because he is holy and he cannot look on that sort of stuff.
He hates it because it destroys other people. It denies their eternal significance and it turns them into tools who are there to satisfy us.
And it is destroying us, shrinking us, shriveling us up, making us into nothing.

And real love looks at what we were made to be, and it will pay any price so that we might become what were created to become.

So in his love, he reaches out to us, he comes to live as one of us, to live a perfect life. And he comes to die on the cross so that we can be forgiven;
and now he offers to change us – so that we become beautiful on the inside (and in eternity radiant on the outside) - and so that we do not need to shrivel up and become nothing – but we can flourish and grow and become like Jesus, become like God.

And we have come to reach out to the one who is Emmanuel. When God tells Joseph that Mary is going to have a baby, he calls him Emmanuel. It means God with us.
Yes of course God was with Mary and Joseph in an oh so real way. And God walked and talked and laughed and ate with the 12 disciples and many others 2000 years ago. But Jesus has said that even though now we cannot see him, he is no less Emmanuel. He is beside you. He is closer even than your breathing. He is with us.

So when we worship, when we praise God in the carols, when we bow down and confess our sins – and say that he is right and we are wrong, when we hear and believe his word, we are reaching out to touch the face of the one who is with us.

This holy night, we the ordinary are reaching out to touch the extraordinary                                      

But this holy night something even more remarkable can happen.

Forget gravity defying reindeer, forget speaking animals - this is the night that our deepest dreams can come true


This is the night when frogs and beasts can become glorious princes
This is the night when scullery maids can become radiant princesses

I know that this is the language of poetry. But it is very real.

When the early church fathers preached, they used a simple phrase: The eternal Son of God was born as a human baby, so that human beings might become sons and daughters of God.

Or, as John writes, even more simply, ‘to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God’.  

You can become a child of God. You can know God as your heavenly Father. You can have intimacy with him for eternity. And you can be changed so that you can begin to become like him. You can begin to know his desires and share his desires – so that the prayer ‘your kingdom come’, ‘да прийдет царстве твое really becomes your deepest desire.  
You can begin to see people and things and situations as he sees them. You can be filled with his love, with his mercy, with his generousity, with his goodness. You can also begin to glimpse evidence of his power beginning to work in you and through you.

And it is all possible because of this holy night, when the extraordinary became ordinary and lived among us.  

We’ve sung a prayer this evening:
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
            Be born in us today    

That is what we need to do.
As we tonight reach out to touch the extraordinary who became ordinary, so now, if we wish, we need to ask him come into us – just like the bread and wine that we will eat and drink in a few minutes. We need to invite him to live in us, as our Saviour – the one who rescues us; as our Lord – the one who we obey; and as our friend. Because then, this holy night, we the ordinary can begin to become extraordinary.

Monday, 18 December 2017

John the Baptist: pointing to Jesus

We look today at John the Baptist

The people ask John who he is, and he replies, ‘I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, make straight the way of the Lord’.

So what is John saying about himself?

1.      He is the voice.

I was speaking with a lady this week who said that her daughter had been invited for an interview by the owner of the TV programme ‘The Voice’. Those of you who know the programme will know that what is important about the contestants is not who they are or what they look like: the judges don’t know anything about them and they can’t see them. All that matters - at the beginning - is their voice.

John is very aware that he is simply a voice, the messenger. What is important about him is not who he is, but his voice. What is important is the message that he has come to bring.

They ask him if he is the Messiah. He says no. He says no, quite emphatically.
The apostle John who wrote the gospel is quite clear about that: “He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, ‘I am not the Messiah’.” (John 1.20)
So then they ask him if he is Elijah or the prophet?
Malachi prophesied that before the ‘great and dreadful day of the Lord comes’, Elijah, one of the great prophets of the Old Testament would return. (Malachi 4.5)

And John says no.
That is a bit strange, because John the Baptist’s father, Zechariah, is told that his son would ‘go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah’ (Luke 1.17), and Jesus identifies John the Baptist as the Elijah who will come. (Matt 11.14; 17.12; Mark 9.13). He speaks of John as the greatest of all the prophets

So it seems that others are aware that John the Baptist is that predicted figure who will come before the Messiah. But either John is not aware of it, or if he is, he is not letting on. I think that John knows that if he tells people that he is the Elijah figure promised in the Old Testament, then people will focus on him, and they will not listen to the message.

And he wants them to know that he is a voice – and they have to listen to what he says.

There is something extremely attractive about John’s self-denying ministry.
John tells his followers, “I’m not even worthy enough to kneel down at his feet and to untie his boot laces”. And when some of his followers start to speak of Jesus and are drawn to follow him, John blesses them, “He must become greater and I must become less”.
Here he says, ‘I baptise with water, but he will baptise with the Holy Spirit’.

It is very easy for those of us in ministry to become obsessed with our own importance.
That is particularly the case in a society which treats priests or pastors with respect. I have been called ‘sir’, ‘your grace’ and ‘your eminence’. I have probably been called quite a few other things which I haven’t been able to understand, and which are probably unrepeatable.

And it is very easy for churches to be built around personalities: I’m of Clive, or I’m of Simon or I’m of Malcolm

But actually, those in the ministry, whether pastors or priests or bishops or archbishops, need to remember that we are nothing.
A number of years ago, I was at a service at St Edmundsbury Cathedral when we were saying goodbye to our Diocesan bishop. He came into church dressed in all his regalia. During the service, he took it all off, he left it at the foot of the cross, and he walked out as Richard.  

What is important is not us, but our message. We too are simply voices.

And what was John’s message? We’re told in the very next verse after our reading.
‘Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!’ (John 1.29)

If we are to be faithful, and now I am speaking to all of us, then we are primarily voices and we point people away from ourselves, and we point them to Jesus. Because it is Jesus who was the eternal Son of God, who stepped from heaven to earth, from eternity into time, and who became a human being because he loves us. It is Jesus who died on the cross for our sins and our forgiveness and it is Jesus who rose from the dead. It is Jesus who gives the Spirit, it is Jesus who is our Lord and our saviour and our friend. And it is Jesus who takes us by the hand and who leads us into the presence of his Father, so that his Father becomes our Father.

So we need people like John the Baptist, people who see themselves as nothing, as nobody - but who know that God has given them a message. We need people who are prepared to simply be the voice

  1. He has come to cry out in the wilderness

We had a discussion in the confirmation group about whether the church should be more professional in its approach to making the message known.

Maybe we should, but I note that John isn’t.
He doesn’t go to the centre of population
He doesn’t try to influence the shakers and movers of society
He doesn’t have the equivalent of a high social or media profile.
Basically, he doesn’t do any of the things that I - rather pathetically - try to do.

Instead John goes out into the wilderness, the most remote place possible.
He doesn’t make it easy for people, or go out of his way to be nice to them when they come.
Instead he expects God to bring people to him, and when they come to him he preaches an uncompromising message about repentance and changing the way you live. And he baptises those who are willing to publicly repent.

It is not the way to win friends or influence people and it was an approach which eventually cost him his life.

But the fact that he is in the wilderness is very significant, and I am going to go so far as to say that we are never going to really meet with God unless we are prepared to be led into the wilderness.

When John says, ‘I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness’, he is quoting the prophet Isaiah.
Isaiah is speaking to the people of Israel who have experienced the terrifying judgement of God. They’ve rebelled against God, they have put their trust in false gods and they have disobeyed him. And now they have been defeated, and crushed. The temple has been destroyed and the people have been taken away to Babylon, into the desert.

But Isaiah’s message in Isaiah 40, is now not one of judgement, but of comfort.

If you have listened to the Messiah recently then you will probably have been struck by the aria, ‘Comfort ye, comfort ye My people, saith your God’. Those are the opening words of Isaiah 40. Isaiah has come to declare to a people who are in the wilderness, that God has not abandoned them, that there is forgiveness of sins, that there is hope and that he will lead them into a new place of abundance.

The wilderness is the place of judgement. It is the place where all the little gods in which we put our trust – money, status, strength, beauty, education (I was at Cambridge, I am at MGU), fitness, entertainment, hard work, the mobile phone, music, family – are taken away. And it is the place where all the little goals that we give ourselves become rather meaningless. There really is no point in trying to prove – to the world, to our family, to ourselves - that we are somebody, that we are important.
Because in the wilderness we are not. We find ourselves stripped naked. And we are brought face to face with ourselves: with our sinfulness, our pride, our inability to really love, the desires that overwhelm us, our sheer pathetic helplessness and our mortality.

It does not have to be a literal wilderness, although some people find that it is helpful to go right away from everything. Or when we fast we can find ourselves walking into the wilderness. Or – and this is more often what happens - the wilderness can come to us: in the shape of catastrophic failure or sickness or depression or abandonment or bereavement.

But the wilderness is also not only the place of judgement, where our little gods are judged, it is also the place of comfort, the place where God comes to us.
It is the place where God met with Moses and Elijah.
It is the place where Isaiah was called to preach, and where John went to preach.

And the Son of God came to us at Christmas in the metaphorical wilderness.
He was laid in a manger, because there was no room for him in the inn.
He was crucified on a hill outside the city.

And it is when we are in the wilderness that we begin to hear the word that comes from God: that we are beloved, that there is one we can turn to for help, that we can change and that we will be changed, that we have a hope and a future.

I’ve spoken quite a bit about Michael who had Motor Neurones disease.
For the last year of his life Michael had to sleep with an oxygen mask on his face. When his mask was on he could not make himself heard, and since he could not move, he was completely cut off from the outside world. Nobody would hear him if he cried out. That strikes me as being pretty extreme wilderness.
And yet he spoke to me about how those times were both very dark and yet very special. He was utterly dependent on God, and at those times it was only him and his God.

  1. He has come to make straight the way of the Lord
It is very interesting that in John’s gospel, John the Baptist makes straight the way of the Lord not by calling people to repentance, but by simply being in the wilderness, pointing people to Jesus.

A few weeks ago, Alison and myself visited the Tretyakov gallery. We whisked through the first few rooms because we wanted to get to the icon section, and I didn’t know any short cuts, but as we walked past one gallery we looked in and saw this. It is a huge canvas that takes up a whole wall, Ivanov’s Opus Magnus of 20 years, the painting of ‘The appearance of Christ before the people’.

We stopped and spent about 20 minutes with this painting. It is very striking. John points people to Jesus. Behind him are John the apostle, Peter, Andrew and (the rather reluctant and pensive) Nathaniel. On the right are the soldiers and the Pharisees. And in the centre, walking on the rock towards them is Jesus.

John sees Jesus coming toward him and declares: ‘Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!’ (v29).
And in case you don’t get it, in v36, John says to Andrew and another disciple, ‘Look, here is the lamb of God’ (v36).

The faces in this image are remarkable, and well worth a study. But two of the faces that really stand out for me are the two people in the centre directly under Jesus. We see the face of the old man as he is being helped to his feet and the face of the slave helping his master to dress (he has a rope round his neck, and we assume he hasn’t been baptised). Both hear the news about Jesus and are full of joy.

John the Baptist points those in the wilderness to Jesus. And Jesus has come to bring joy to those in the wilderness: to those who are enslaved, to those who are struggling with declining health. It brings joy to those who know that they need God.

Today we are called to make straight the way of the Lord, and we do that by being a voice, and by speaking to those who are in the wilderness

So I speak to those who do find themselves, for whatever reason, in the wilderness
I speak to those of you who have begun to realise that you will never find joy in the little gods and goals that we build our lives on.
I speak to those of you who have become aware of their sin and their need for forgiveness
I speak to those of you who are aware of their own brokenness and need for God

And I point you, like John the Baptist, like Ivanov, to the one who offers forgiveness, power to change, peace, intimacy and hope, to the Son of God. I point you to Jesus.  

Sunday, 10 December 2017

Going Home. A carol service talk from Moscow

It was Christmas eve morning and the man picked up the phone to call his son. ‘Son’, he said, ‘I’ve been married to your mother for 42 years and enough is enough. I’ve had it up to here, and I’m leaving today. I can’t talk any more about it. You tell your sister’. In panic the son picked up the phone and called his sister. She was living and working overseas. ‘Dad has just phoned to say that he is leaving mum – today’, said the son. ‘Like heck he is’, said the sister, ‘you leave this to me’. She picked up the phone and rang her dad: ‘Dad’, she said, ‘you are to go nowhere, and you are to do nothing today. I’m getting a flight this afternoon, and my brother and I will be with you tomorrow. We can talk about it then’. The man put the phone down and looked tenderly across at his wife: ‘Well dear’, he said, ‘the children are coming for Christmas, and they’re paying their own fare. What shall we do for new year?’

We have a longing for home

It is a longing for that place where we belong, that is safe and secure, where we are known and loved, and where we can love, where we can be and where we can become truly the person we were meant to be.

We may try and find that home in different ways, and much of that will depend on our own experiences of home as a child.

Some of us will look for home in a completely different place.
I guess that may be the reason why some of us are here

And often at Christmas, that longing for home is stronger
I don’t know what it is.
Maybe it is the magic of it: the candles, the lights shining in the dark nights, carols and Christmas music, feel good films or movies, memories of Christmas past, John Lewis adverts (that’s one for people from the UK), children who can’t sleep because they are so excited, the wonder .. even snow.
Finally, I can sing ‘in the bleak midwinter .. snow had fallen’ with some integrity.

Of course, the reality is very different
It is the time when those on their own can feel their isolation the most, and when those who have lost people most feel their emptiness.

And even when we get together, we know that it will not live up to what we expect – because we are human, and we are self-centred, we are driven by desires that we don’t understand and that are bigger than us, and we are messed up. And there will be the feeling that others are taking us for granted, the arguments and the disappointments.

As someone quipped, ‘Jesus said, ‘Love your enemies’, and he gave us families to practise on’.

But that still does not diminish the longing. The longing for home.

Well the message that I would like to bring this Christmas is very simple.

Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, left his home in heaven, and he made his home here with us (‘the word became flesh and dwelt among us’).

He became an ex pat!

He didn’t do that because he was unhappy at home, or because he was bored and needed a new experience or because he wanted to prove his independence.

Far from it: the home in heaven he left really is the perfect home – it is the home where all truly belong. It is the home where each person is known and loved and is able to love. It is the home where we can be and can become truly the person we were meant to be.

But Jesus left his home in heaven and came to earth to make his home with us; and because he is the eternal Son of God, the ‘Word made flesh’, he brings a sample of that home in heaven with him. And Jesus invites us to become part of his home. And he welcomes us into his home.

Forgive a sentimental and Dickensian or Tolstoyan illustration.
It is a bit like the orphaned homeless child, looking one cold Christmas night – with deep longing - through the window of a fairy tale home, with the Christmas tree and half unwrapped presents and lights and festival food, where the family are gathered together round the open fire, and where they are at ease with each other, only to look up and realise that the father of the family is standing at the door, looking at him, with a smile on his face and arms that are open wide.

Kierkegaard tells the story of the Prince who loved a peasant girl. But he did not know how to declare his love to her. He could, as prince, demand that she become his bride, but then he would never know if she freely loved him. He could reveal his love to her as prince, but then he would never know if she loved him or if she loved more the idea of being a princess. So, in the end, he put aside his royal home and his royal robes, and he made his home in her village, living as a peasant, and he wooed her as a peasant.

It cost Jesus a great deal to live among us. He gave up the glory of heaven to be born in a cowshed. Before he was two years old, he was no different to those small children that we see on our TVs clinging to their mothers as their families flee persecution. And that is only the beginning. At the end he is betrayed, falsely accused, mocked and stripped naked, impaled on a piece of wood, with nails hammered through his wrists and feet.

Our reading says, ‘He was in the world, and the world came into being through; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own did not accept him’.

But he made his home here, and he went through that, because he created you and he loves you and he wants you to come to your real home.
‘For God so loved the world that he sent his one and only Son into the world, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life’.

Jesus came so that if you receive him you can be part of him and he can be part of you.
George MacDonald wrote, “God’s thoughts, his will, his love, his judgements are our home. To think his thoughts, to choose his will, to love his loves, to judge his judgment, and thus to know that he is in us [and we are in him], is to be at home”.

And whoever chooses to receive him, whoever listens to him and allows his word to come in and shape what they think and feel and do, and whoever permits him to make his home in them, can begin to know that sense of belonging, and that deep security which comes from knowing that we are children of God and that our true home is not in the Philippines or India or Russia or wherever, but that our true home is where he is.

I know that this can sound almost too good to be true. But that doesn’t mean it is not true. And for 2000 years men and women, girls and boys have put their trust in Jesus and they have not been let down.

And for those of you who have not received him, could I invite you to think about these things. In the new year we will be running a course for people who would like to think further – do speak to me.

And for those of you who have put your trust in Jesus, could I urge you to hold lightly to the place that you now call home, even if it is where you have lived for 3, 5, 10 or 30 years. Give thanks to God for it, work so that it becomes a place of belonging and safety and beauty and growth, and so that it becomes a place of welcome and hospitality for others. But when it comes time to leave, of course there will be sadness, but then walk away. It was never your real home: that is elsewhere.  

One of my hopes is that St Andrews might become a substitute home for all who find themselves far away from the place that they would call home, whether they have faith or no faith. And perhaps we have done that tonight. Maybe the building, the bible readings, the carols, the lights, the people here do remind us of other times and places where we have lived, of other places that were once home. But my prayer is also that they will point us forward and upwards to a different home, to our true home, which is both present and future; a home that is where Jesus is, in our hearts – if we let him in, and the home where one day he will receive us, which is the ultimate fulfilling of all our longings.

May God bless you this Christmas time, may he bless your home and may be bring you to his home.

Notes on Luke 21.25-33

I am told that it is terrifying to experience a serious earthquake. When the ground is shaking beneath your feet, there  is nothing that you can depend on

This passage speaks of a celestial earthquake: the powers of heaven themselves being shaken

There will be signs in sun, moon, stars, earth, sea
Jesus is using apocalyptic language, particularly Isaiah 13.9f, which speaks of the dreadful day of the Lord when the land will be made a desolation, and sinners will be destroyed: the stars, sun and moon will not shed light (cf Ezekiel 32.7, Joel 2.10). Joel 2.31 and 3.15 speak of the sun turning to darkness and the moon to blood before the day of the Lord (quoted in Acts 2.20). Amos 8.9 speaks of the sun going down at noon.

This is a vision of a dark and terrifying world.
There will be distress, confusion, fear and foreboding.

And then, in the darkness, comes the Son of Man, coming in a cloud - the symbol of the glory of God. Again, it is using apocalyptic language: the language of Daniel 7.13, of the Son of Man. It speaks of a person, who seems to embody and represent God's people; a person who will, like God’s people, have suffered but who is now vindicated and glorified.

And what I think Luke is saying, what Jesus is saying, is that before the end it will get very dark.

Commentators are not sure whether the whole of Luke 21 refers to the fall of Jerusalem (which happened in AD71), or whether it refers to both the fall of Jerusalem and the end of time. My own opinion, for what it is worth, is that it is about both. The fall of Jerusalem is a picture of what the end will be like.

But the important thing here is how we, as believers, are to respond when the sea and waves roar, when there is distress, confusion, fear and foreboding.

That is the time when we are to:

Stand up. 
We’re to get ready. Because Jesus will come.

It may be the end, or it may not be. We won’t know until it happens!
But wars and rumours of wars, famines and plagues, earthquakes and terrifying signs in the skies are reminders to us that we live in a fallen world and one day Jesus is coming. And when it seems really bad, that is not the time to creep away, but to stand up - to get ourselves right with God, to be prepared to identify ourselves with him and his people

Raise our head.
It is easy to get bowed down, to lose vision. But we are called to look ahead, to the Kingdom of God, the rule of God. If we want to have some glimpse of what that might look like, we can read Isaiah 25.6-10 or Isaiah 35 or Revelation 21

We are not to lose our confidence in the word of God.
This heaven and earth will pass away, but God’s word - his promises - will never fail.
He is with us; he will never leave us; and his Kingdom will come.

I don’t understand v32. Who are ‘this generation’? Do ‘all things’ as many commentators take it, refer to the fall of Jerusalem? That is for further reflection. But Jesus is addressing the people he is speaking to, and because are reading and receiving these words, I wonder whether ‘this generation’ also includes us?

This is a passage which warns us that our world will be shaken, that there will be distress, confusion, fear and foreboding, that it will get very very hard. But it is also a passage which urges us that when it gets hard we are not to lose hope. Indeed that is the time when we are to get up, raise our head and seriously hold on to the word of God.