Parish Eucharist 10.00 - in church and online
Now that the church is open again for services and private prayer the Parish Eucharist at 10.00 is back in church and also until the end of July can be viewed
Sunday 2 August Trinity 8 by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 14: 13 – 21
When the offertory is brought forward, we will hear Penny sing Mollie’s favourite hymn – one of the ones she chose for her funeral. ‘Let us break bread together on our knees. When I fall on my knees with my face to the rising sun, O Lord, have mercy on me’ At the top of the hymn it simply says in small print: Unknown. The author is unknown.
In this community Mollie was not unknown. She had lived within a mile of her
birthplace for almost all of her 98 years. Go up and down Whitecross Street and discover how many people knew her. We will tell each other our stories about Mollie in the days and weeks ahead, and we will laugh. For years Dorothy gave her a lift to church. On Sunday the lift was broken; Dorothy was concerned how Mollie would get back up the stairs afterwards. She watched her at the foot of the stairs bracing herself to start climbing. It was her sheer determination, her will power that got her back up those stairs. As we know she had a will of iron – and it was generally advisable to fit in with her plans. The kindest and most generous heart ever, although she spoke her mind loudly and clearly. Dorothy told me of her first Sunday at St Giles’ in 1989; she was washing cups in the vestry. She got it wrong; she heard this loud voice say, ‘That one doesn’t go up there.’ David and Beryl cared for her selflessly, accompanying her to doctor’s appointments, on shopping trips, lunch and days out. And in these last years the hours in A & E waiting for her to be admitted – whatever the time of day or night it was. And Anne and other have also played their part, doing washing, visiting and so on/ We were her family.
We broke bread together with her, we shared wine together, we praised God together as followers of Christ with our faces to the rising sun.
Thank you, Mollie, for choosing this hymn, with its verse about bread because it ties in with what I wanted to say about Loaf Mass, Lammas Day which was yesterday 1 August. One of the half quarter days; we are half way between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox. Lammas Day was included in the church calendar right up until the ASB in 1980. That’s a long time …. to go on about Loaf Masses and bread in a post-agricultural economy.
It was traditionally one of the oldest points of contact between the agricultural world and the church when a loaf baked with flour from newly harvested corn would be brought into church and blessed. A book of Anglo-Saxon charms directed that the Lammas bread be broken into four bits, which were to be placed at the four corners of the barn, to protect the harvested grain. Charms and prayers, what’s the difference? Birthday cake candles or votive stands: candles for wishes or prayers. Who can tell? Fingers crossed and all that.
In the gospel readings these past three weeks we have been with Matthew out in the fields or in the kitchen making bread. At least for us it is a change of scene, we have not been hot and sweaty and exhausted working all hours to get the harvest in. We hear the tax collector narrate the stories that the carpenter told about other people’s way of life. It’ not ours either; for us it is a bit of a change to hear everyday stories of farming folk on a Sunday morning in church in 2020.
By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread says God to Adam. Today a miraculous feeding of bread for the hungry.
It helps to look back to the preceding verses to what happened before that first sentence, ‘When Jesus heard that Herod heard that Herod had beheaded John the Baptist’,. There has been a banquet (according to Mark’s account although Matthew omits these catering details). Herod had given a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee.
John is now dead. His disciples have been to tell Jesus what has happened. Jesus goes off by himself – which is what many of us need to do when we get bad news, or sad news. The crowds won’t leave him alone. They wait for him on the shore and Jesus had compassion for them. Jesus had compassion for these people waiting on the margins, peripheral people in a peripheral place.
Two feasts: Herod in his palace – his seat of power- feeding his courtiers and officers. Jesus in a deserted place – on the edge- feeding those who couldn’t give him a moment’s peace when he needed it yet Jesus had compassion on them. Herod – presumably does not have compassion on the courtiers etc who he feeds. He can’t afford to have compassion on them – they are dispensable. Jesus provides food for those without food solely because they are hungry. Herod provides food for those who are not without food as a demonstration of his power. Jesus feeds the five thousand because he has compassion for them. His feeding, therefore, is an alternative politics to the politics of envy and greed that the Herods of this world practise. Watch out, there is no such thing as a free lunch with Herod. On the other hand, Jesus provides freely because the people, and we are hungry. It is a powerful alternative.
Jesus in the deserted place as Moses before him who fed the complaining people in the wilderness. God in Christ Jesus feeds the people in the deserted place, the spiritual wilderness. As Matthew tells it, food and scripture are inseparable. Five loaves – five books of Moses – 2 fish are the law and the prophets. As we cannot strictly separate body and soul, so we cannot separate scripture from bread and fish, or coffee and cake. Mollie was a great provider of cake – with special attention given to the children. Thank you Mollie for opening the scriptures to us in your own unique way, and for feeding us.
Sunday 26 July Trinity 7 by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 13: 31 – 33, 44 - 52
We have parable writers among us. Over these past weeks they’ve written the parable of the potatoes; the bluebell; the rat and the crow and the parable of the dodgy lift. We don’t have to go far to be reminded that parables belong to the everyday, its delights and frustrations and anyone can tell one. Our writers draw their conclusions: Good Things can come from Bad Times. Or, as I have previously quoted, ‘Don’t be afraid to begin a project at an apparently unpropitious moment. Welcome helpers who may have their own reasons for working with you.’ Parables require time to go away and think.
Parables remind us that the gospel is angular – we stumble across God’s wisdom almost by accident – because who would look for truths in examples as ordinary and yet exotic as mustard seeds, a lump of dough, treasure in a field, a single pearl, a net of fish. Or potatoes and a lift that isn’t working. Apparently, Jesus found nothing odd about holding up as a mirror to God’s ways a mixed bag of people and situations - especially as many parables produce more confusion than understanding. Have you understood all this? They answered ‘Yes.’
When we say Jesus spoke in parables, we assume we know exactly what we mean. He told stories, didn’t he? Furthermore, he not only spoke in parables, he thought in parables and acted in parables. One theologian describes him as an ambulatory parable in and of himself – he walked on water, cursed fig trees and planted coins in fishes’ mouths. Here is our God who behaves in this way, what on earth do we make of it all.
At school assembly last year, I was telling the story of the woman in her kitchen. (There are so few female images of God). She took yeast and three measures of flour- enough make 100 loaves as Sarah had done for the unknown visitors. (Another theologian writing in 2002 can’t allow that. A woman is making bread for her family – fine but this quantity of flour would require a man’s strength. This is a baker – that is a man, at work.) Or a strong woman as Sarah. This is catering on a frankly ridiculous scale. Back to school assembly - I had enough flour for just one loaf and sifted it and the salt and yeast into a bowl then started to add the water to mix the dough using my hands. Yuk said the children. People get their hands dirty in the parables: a farmer planting seeds, a woman making bread, a man hiding treasure, a merchant handling money and fishermen catching fish. All these one liners with a twist to them making mincemeat of people’s religious expectations.
I was bored by the end of a two year course on Spiritual Direction. We had met on Thursday evenings with only instant coffee and nasty biscuits to keep us going. I was not in the friendliest frame of mind by the final session when we had to take in an object that spoke of our time together. A bible, a pebble, a piece of embroidery and a postcard of Durer’s praying hands were set out on a table. It was the stuff in which we are supposed to find parables, meaning, sign posts to the kingdom.
I took in a paper bag from the local chip shop. That was my Thursday-evening treat on the way home – a bag of chips. I could see that some of the group thought this was rather poor show and the facilitators were more enthusiastic about pebbles and postcards than they managed to be about paper bags from the chip shop.
The wisdom of God is made manifest in engagement with the world. By being hands on with the everyday. And the wisdom of God is working through all created life not just pebbles and postcards and sunsets.
The theologian Brandon Scott invites us to look over the fence more closely at the farmer planting weeds – mustard seeds - and to peer into the kitchen where God is at work. No efficient farmer wanting to get a good return on his land plants weeds; similarly, yeast may make bread rise, but it is a fungus. Are those bubbles of air making the dough rise, or is it fermentation – that is corruption working its way into the flour? It’s impossible to tell. The kingdom is free to appear under its own guise – even the guise of corruption. That needs thinking about. Scott is a theologian who makes us think.
Can we expect the new creation to disorder our worlds and the world? God’s mighty acts are among the insignificant yet seeds from the mustard bush get everywhere, bread rises because the yeast works through all the mixture.
Don’t discount small things until you know what they are capable of. Don’t think about big things as though they can never have small beginnings.
Jesus asked, ‘Have you understood all this? They answered ‘Yes.’ I bet they didn’t really have a clue. Like us, they needed to go away and think about it.
Sunday 19 July Trinity 6 by Alex Norris
Something I have become quite used to hearing about at St Giles is all of the gardening activity that seems to go on, be it in the Rector’s garden, window boxes;you name it, and someone somewhere is growing something in it. St Giles is quite the horticulturalist's paradise, and quite fitting that we have some involvement with the Worshipful Company of Gardeners.
Garden and agricultural imagery is something that is used a lot in the Bible. The Garden of Eden and the eating of the tree of Knowledge, or in the Book of Revelation the tree, with its leaves for the healing of the nations, and its twelve types of fruit. Plants, and growing things, trees, fruit, are all things that we can easily identify with. This imagery has stood the test of time, and remains accessible for all of us. Over the past centuries, the same principals still stand, growing plants for food to eat, making sure we do not cultivate weeds. Jesus refers to this kind of imagery in many of His parables, and uses it to help get the message across.
The first discussion I had over coffee last Sunday (and wasn’t it lovely to be back!) concerned knowing when your carrots had grown. How could you tell? An interesting question, to which I had no answer! I am sure that there is a parable there as well. The parable of the carrot grower?
Today’s parable uses imagery that should sit very well with the community here at St Giles. Woe betide the person who puts weeds into the Rector’s garden, with all the lovely plants that have lovingly been grown there. For a green fingered community such as ours, the parable should be very accessible for all of us to understand without too much trouble. When I think of weeds, choking plants in the garden, think of the never ending battle that gardeners have keeping them at bay. Ironically the use of weedkillers in agriculture is causing a huge amount of harm to the planet, and probably far more than the weeds that they are used for killing. But some things have not changed, and battling with weeds is clearly one of them.
Even back in Jesus’ time, weeds were just as bad a thing. Mention them in any context, and they have negative connotations. Quite apt therefore for being related to evil doers. There they are among us, drawing on us, draining us, being parasitic,however it is only in the end that they (like the weeds from the fully grown field) can be separated from everything else and then disposed of.
The message from Jesus is very simple, and he lays out the end times (or
eschatology) quite clearly. At the end of time, all those who are evildoers, or the cause of evil will be weeded out from the good (just as the weeds are taken from the garden) and they shall be thrown into the furnace of fire. I suppose the best imagery we have for that is Hell. Where there will be the weeping and gnashing of teeth. (I love that expression).
The corollary of this is simple, lead a good life and don’t do anything evil or cause evil and you too will shine like the sun in the Kingdom of the father. But is it as simple as that? We all do things that we shouldn’t, make mistakes, errors of judgment. I know I certainly do. Christ has given each and every one of us the means for forgiveness and absolution for our sins, as He knows as well as all of us, that we all have the capacity to Sin. It's part of the human condition. This capacity for Sin is called Original Sin, and it dates back to Adam and Eve and the Genesis account, where they ate of the tree of life, going against the instructions of God. And where have we ended up…..In a garden, with a tree and fruit that should not have been
eaten! For some, the idea of Original Sin is a difficult doctrine to accept, because of the implication that we are all in some way tarnished at birth for Sins we have yet to commit.
This aside, If we strive to live good lives, and seek forgiveness for the wrong that we do, then we can all look forward to the joys of God’s kingdom and In doing this as a community, we help goodness grow around us.
For goodness to flourish in our communities, it needs nurturing and caring for and feeding, just like a plant needs watering, fertilising and plenty of light. But, with this care and attention, the results will be worthwhile and rewarding.
Sunday 12 July Trinity 5 by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 13: 1 – 9, 18 – 23
I sort of begin to get it. The ministry of Jesus the storyteller is during a pandemic – except that one had been going on for nearly 100 years. The disease of the Roman occupation. We count lock down in days, weeks or months. We, who were born free, are sensitive to the loss of our freedoms and can be frustrated by restrictions. Jesus the storyteller speaking to great crowds who longed for the new normal when the Romans had been conquered and their country was theirs again.
As we know from our experience anxious people can’t concentrate. Exhausted people switch off. Fearful people need to be comforted. Frustrated people erupt when provoked. Lockdown has taught us that we need to be especially careful of one another.
But stories still work in such a situation. Enter the storyteller and a story about the random nature of the Kingdom of God. And he’s given his hearers something to laugh at – and remember. We may be more open to God when we have to think and puzzle about what is going on. Peter Hall said this about Judi Dench: “Like all great actors she has an ability to be comic – she can make the audience laugh in order to make them understand”. Laughter in a pandemic. What did the Romans make of that?
Such great crowds gathered round Jesus that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. Who is the one at sea here? Jesus in a boat or the crowds on the beach? Listen.
The story – like the boat that bobs here and there on the waves – sometimes nearer the shore and sometimes further out – the sower who went out to sow is a story we think we grasp and then we don’t. Look, it’s not where we thought it was – it was over there a moment ago. Now, it’s here. A sower went out sow…and as he sowed some seed fell on the path
Parables work slowly. They were not instant and open to all who heard them – hence the explanation – today’s gospel in two parts: the narrative in verses 1 to 9 and the explanation for just the disciples in verses 18 – 23. The crowds remain all at sea. No-one bothers to interpret the parable for them.
We are rightly proud of our vegetables in window boxes and tomato plants in grow bags, all this planting and growing as never before – but it is not our livelihood. We are not anxious about the harvest for our survival. Jesus’ hearers were farming people. You never got far from the land in Galilee. Soil and seed and seasons were the stuff of everyone’s lives – as drought was the stuff of their starvation – as flood and drought still claim lives in farming communities today. It’s not all in the past tense.
And soil and seed and seasons is where God is at home. Time and time again the bible brings us down to earth. It’s where the story began: God the gardener in the garden of Eden. The first human being is not called sky, or wind, or ocean (as celebrities name their children today) but soil. Adam. From soil comes life. The lament of the liberated children of Israel for the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic they grew in Egypt, or Ahab nicking Naboth’s vineyard to make a vegetable garden are among the many stories of life on the farm. Farming was central to people’s survival and thus central to their understanding of God. God who created soil in his image. ‘You visit the earth and water it, you greatly enrich it,’ as we said just now. The psalmist dances through the agricultural year.
That’s why this story of the sower who went out to sow goes against the grain at many levels. God the familiar, God of soil and seed is proving unpredictable.
No-one in their right mind would set out to scatter seed on barren ground and among thorn bushes. We can’t guess the ending so we’d better listen.
It’s an uneven story because farming is an uneven way of life. Look with pity on the poor farmer. The taxation system devoured so much of any profit like the birds and rocks and thorns in the story. It was a constant battle to stay out of debt.
And the parable ends with a final flourish – seed that fell on good soil produced grain a hundredfold – an exaggeration that is mind-blowingly daft. I expect the crowd had a good laugh at the absurdity. That’s the trouble with carpenters, they forget their roots. Jesus has forgotten he is a son of Adam.
All this happens is springtime – the time of the resurrection. The beginning of the seasons of promise: spring and summer
There is failure: the birds, rocks and thistles – it’s not deliberate. It’s just how it is. Like the past six months – not what we would have wished for, not a raging success for most of us. Sickness and death, operations and plans postponed, jobs in jeopardy, businesses going bust. And still Covid 19 is with us.
Jesus tells a story of the kingdom in which there is failure, miracle and normality. In the end, the harvest is ordinary and every day. The Kingdom of God does not need perfection; the Kingdom of God does not need wall-to-wall success.
Sunday 5 July Trinity 4 by Alex Norris
So. Here we are then. Back in church. For many of us our Spiritual
Home. Probably like many of you I have been reflecting on what this
building means to me. I have certainly missed not being here,
worshipping together - corporately, and receiving Holy Communion, that
all-important sacrament that brings us all together.
The church closure that we have all experienced this year is the first time
something like this has ever happened in the best part of 800 years of
Church of England history. I think it will take us all time to fully
comprehend what has happened, but as I stand here today, and we
gather together, we can begin that long journey of starting getting back
to some sense of normality, here at St Giles.
For many of us, being stopped from entering into this special place has
been a huge burden for us all to carry, but carry it we all have. Whilst
being able to worship together virtually, as we have been doing on-line
for some months now. This has been vital for ensuring the continuity of
our worshipping lives together. However it is not a complete substitute.
At the heart of our worship are the sacraments, such as the Holy
Eucharist that we will be celebrating this morning.
We have to be physically present, here, together to receive the
sacraments of bread and wine; the body and blood of Christ. A
Sacrament is a physical outward sign of inward grace. It can’t be
emailed to you or viewed on the internet. It is wonderful to have so many
here this morning, and I look forward to more of us being able to return
to St Giles as and when it is prudent to do so. We should all especially
think of those who are still shielding at this time.
As I wrote this sermon for recording last week, there had been an
emerging story in the news of a terrorist attack in Reading, where
several people have been stabbed and killed in a park there, with
numerous others injured. Since then we have gone through the sadly
well trodden path of learning more about what has happened, and more
about the person who has committed this atrocity, and the stories about
those who have been killed. Inevitably these will be lovely, decent
people, with families, who had just been out for the afternoon with their
friends, and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This is of course not an isolated story; bad things are happening to good
people all over the world, seemingly all of the time, and this raises a
If God loves His Creation and all that is within it, why does let bad things
happen. Some have raised this question about Coronavirus, which has
been killing many thousands of people all over the world. Why would
God allow it?
Quite naturally, when we experience our own pain and suffering we look
for answers; Why? Why me? What have I done to deserve this?
Some people will turn to God, relying on their faith in God, to get them
through it, to give them strength, whilst others turn away from God and
distance themselves from Him.
If we can continue to turn to God during our trials and tribulations, we will
see the Love of God manifested in Jesus, and through his Disciples, to
the whole world.
As we heard in our Gospel reading this morning, we are given some
advice by Jesus; ‘Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am
gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my
yoke is easy, and my burden is light’.
However this isn’t a ‘quick fix’. Following our Lord is not without its
challenges and does not guarantee there being no more pain and
suffering or injustice. This is why, when we do take up Jesus’ yoke, life
will still be burdensome, but in the end there will be rest.
By giving us this rest, we will be able to get on with our lives, and in
doing this we should strive to do the will of God. His teachings give us
the means to do this.
What is clear is that there is still a yoke and burden to carry, and even
though this may be light, we carry this trusting in ‘Lord’s heart of Lord’s
heart of gentleness, meekness, and humility as we carry it in Him and
with Him’, and this requires Faith.
That said, this is very easy to say. The challenges and burdens that
some carry are far greater than others, and for some must be
unbearable, and I am amazed at the strength of faith shown by many,
despite their circumstances, and these people should be an inspiration
to us all.
As one reflection on this reading points out, ‘Amidst suffering and pain,
we should follow the Lord and take the yoke and importantly learn from
Him. When we follow the Lord, life will be lighter as God lives in us’.
Sunday 28 June Trinity 3 by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 10: 40 - 42
Joan Chittister – an American Benedictine is described as one of the most influential religious and social leaders of our time. She is the only nun I have ever met who shops at Harrods. But this is a sermon about hospitality and welcoming the stranger – not shopping.
Hospitality is a central characteristic of the Benedictines life. Perhaps that says something about those drawn to Benedictine spirituality. ‘Whoever welcomes you welcomes me said Jesus to his disciples’. You can find yourself staying in a Benedictine community today with others who seem as equally strange as you.
Chittister comments: of all the questions to be asked about the nearly 1500 year old Rule of St Benedict…one of the most pointed must surely be why one of the great spiritual documents of the Western world would have in it a whole chapter on how to answer the door….. She continues, ‘The way we answer the door is the way we deal with the world…The chapter on the porter of the monastery is the chapter on how to receive the Christ in the other always. It is Benedict’s theology of surprise’…..Some of us discover the dimensions and demands of that surprise when we answer the door to the uninvited, the unexpected and possibly the unwelcome. How to receive Christ in the other: whoever welcomes you welcomes me said Jesus.
Rabbi Lionel Blue learnt to welcome from his grannie – who had next to nothing – but who stood outside the door on the Sabbath inviting the poor and the hungry to share her cabbage borscht and roast lung. He said, ‘Nearly all my religious attitudes stem from her.’
He used to do place-of-worship crawl – he said the sermons were of interest, but they were the recipe for godliness, not the dish. That comes afterwards: at St Giles’ we call it coffee. This is when our visitors know that they are really wanted for themselves and we are pleased to see them. Sodom and Gomorrrah were destroyed because of the lack of hospitality to strangers.
The film Babette’s Feast can be read as a parable by those who are searching how to embody in life the faith we profess in words, and the story is told through hospitality. Babette arrives in an austere pleasure denying community – they would describe themselves as devoutly religious and God-fearing. She wins the lottery and spends all the money on ingredients and wine for her feast. The neighbours are invited and sit eating in disapproving silence until, after a bit, the outsider comments on the delicious food. Then the diners begin to smile, and enjoy the exquisite dishes and the wines. The ungracious community is transformed and finally Babette – the Christ figure, is made welcome by the two grudging sisters she has been living with for fourteen years.
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. (Hebrews 13:2) Amen
Sunday 21 June Trinity 2 by Alex Norris
‘The Student is not above the teacher’.
I wonder how many teachers would agree with that, or students for that
At the moment, many of us will be listening to ‘the experts’, those who
know their subject inside out. Epidemiologists, Scientists, public health
experts, biologists, microbiologists….you name it, there is an expert for
everything. Anytime there is a major disaster an expert, or pundit will be
made available who can advise the masses on what is going on, on all
manner of subjects and situations.
We can learn from the experts. This is how it has been for our whole
lives, the teachers at school, for those that went into higher education,
the lecturers, and then in the workplace, a similar structure exists. There
is this hierarchy of knowledge, and especially at the moment, during
these unprecedented times, we turn to those who ‘know’ to find out
what's going on, and what we should be doing. Daily briefings from
No.10, the never ending news cycle with their interviewees, it's available
to us all of the time, day and night.
However, there is a different hierarchy, a bigger hierarchy, that puts all of
this into perspective. God the Father, and the Son, and the Spirit.
‘Do not be afraid of them’
Jesus is clear, at the end of the day, when all is said and done,
everything will be made known, there will be no secrets, so what we are
whispered can be shouted from the rooftops. We need to respect the
power and knowledge of God, which surpasses anything that we can
find here on earth. Because of this, we should remain loyal to God, and
his Son, as each one of us is known unto God, and each one of us is
valuable to God; I love the expression, ‘even the very hairs of your head
are all numbered’, I suspect that this number will vary massively from
person to person, but it makes it so personal for each of us.
Expert or not, we all have a lot to learn from God, through Jesus. Whilst
we are being inundated with opinion and quite often important advice, for
our own well-being at the moment, this is only temporary. What we are
all going through with this pandemic, as unsettling and inconvenient as it is, is only temporary.
God's teachings, and our relationship with him are eternal, and God will
always be there for us, everything else around us will not. We
sometimes need to be reminded of this.
Near the end of the reading there is seemingly a very incongruous
statement from Jesus; ‘Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace
to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword’.
He then goes on to describe the division that he intends to cause.
Contrary to your initial understanding of this sentence, it is not violent at
all. There is a lot of commentary around these verses, but I think this
explains it neatly; The metaphor of the sword describes how unbelievers
may respond to the Gospel, not how we communicate it. Jesus is
describing the impact of the Gospel on those who hear it, and he uses a
family metaphor as this would be accessible to those who were listening
to him at this time.
For me, it is clear that Jesus is the teacher above all teachers, and that
we should listen to what he has to say, and value this above all else.
In a world that is so troubled, especially with what we have been seeing
in the United States, it is clear that we still have a lot to learn, and whilst
there is violence and terror in the world, along with all the experts who
can help us understand it more deeply, let’s remember the teachings of
Jesus, the wish for his Kingdom, here on earth, as in heaven.
As verse 31 says, ‘don’t be afraid’.
Sunday 14 June Trinity 1 by Katharine Rumens
Exodus 19: 2 – 8a; Matthew 9: 35 – 10: 8
We know that we are an inventive and resourceful lot and many of you are happy to contribute to the weekly letter, including the sequence of parables.
This week we have a poem: the parable of the bluebells written by Caroline. She says, ‘The parable element here is to do with timing. Don’t be afraid to begin a project at an apparently unpropitious moment. Welcome helpers who may have their own reasons for working with you.’
Today’s readings – Moses and Jesus and their badly or well-timed projects and their helpers.
Moses’ helpers didn’t need a reason to be chosen to come on board. They are elders and born to it. In that inhospitable desert terrain at the foot of Mount Sinai, Moses couldn’t pick and choose, he was presented with his companions. At best they are a reluctant bunch of nomadic wanderers – they’ve complained, they’ve grumbled, they’ve been ready to stone him. Still, God is faithful and if they will obey God, God offers the people the possibility of becoming a priestly kingdom and a holy nation. If….
Jesus also had to deal with a group of people who were pretty assorted, a theologian observes that Jesus built conflict and potential disaster into his inner circle: all those clashing personalities and expectations. Today’s account of the summoning of the twelve is too good an opportunity not to quote from the St Paul’s lecture by Helen Bond and Joan Taylor on Jesus’s female disciples. No women’s names appear in that list of 12 men, although we know there were women in the Jesus movement.
The 12 tribes of Israel: by the time of Jesus there were 2 tribes left - 10 had been wiped out by the Assyrians. In Jesus Israel will be restored: hence the 12 ness – and maleness. Bond and Taylor argue that these were not the only disciples. In Matthew’s gospel they are sent to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Mark’s gospel is more specific about how they are sent: two by two. Like animals into the ark – female and male.
What is the point of bothering of including female followers? Picture the scene, the disciples are in the marketplace surrounded by a crowd. In that time and place, a woman in the crowd could not have come up to a male disciple – women did not speak to men they were not related to. Who is going to minister to them? A woman asking for healing - this can only be done by another woman. It is she who will lay on hands and anoint with oil. Women spread the word to other women, and they followed Jesus. Not just the 12 but 12 plus.
Moses and his awkward squad, Jesus and his 12 plus, ourselves – inventive, resourceful even in a pandemic, with our own reasons for being part of the church community. May we too be borne on eagles’ wings.
7 June Trinity Sunday by Alex Norris
As we think of God, this Trinity Sunday, we marvel at the sacred mystery of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. However, we do so in unprecedented times. Clergy are now allowed back into their churches, and soon, so will all the faithful, as we continue the process of returning to some sense of normal. In coming back to our church building, I have reflected on how the church has been here for us all, and remains here for us all.
On Trinity Sunday, we have come to the end of an amazing journey, from God sending Christ for all of us, through the miracle of the Nativity, then learning from his teachings, parables and sermons, and all that he did in his earthly ministry. We then went through the emotional rollercoaster of Holy Week, and Christ's betrayal, Crucifixion and victory over death with His resurrection. Christ has now returned to his father, through the mystery of his ascension, but we have not been left alone, asThe Holy Spirit remains with us, to be with us, to guide and to counsel us. We are not left alone.
Our Gospel reading today reiterates the message of God’s continual assurance andpresence through the Trinity, and the great commission that Christ gave to His Disciples then, and this instruction still stands today, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely, I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
Similarly, the Old Testament reading from Isaiah gives comparable assurances, first,through a series of questions, we are shown the power of God over all the nations,culminating with this conclusion, “The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth...He gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless”.
Whilst the world is battling Covid-19, with the nations waging their own war against this virus, with varying successes, Trinity Sunday provides us with a timely reminder that we are not alone, that God is with us always, that we will be strengthened by the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But not only this, but that this should be shared among all the nations, as a message of hope, optimism, and strength.
Even though we are not able to worship God corporately, and access to our church buildings is regulated, God’s church here on earth is very much alive and thriving, reaching out to many millions of people. We are not cut off from the presence of God, God is with us wherever we may be, in Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and through this sacred mystery of the trinity, God will be here with us, whatever our situation, until the end of time.
Sunday 31 May Pentecost by Katharine Rumens
Today is the Feast of Pentecost: the gift of the Holy Spirit is not designed to fill us with religious feelings, or give us unshakeable certainty, or enable us to impress others with our religiosity ...the gift is given primarily to allow the disciples and us to do what Jesus told us to do – which is to be his witnesses in Jerusalem in all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth.
We are back in the glory of our church. I love this space. Others have been critical: John Betjeman couldn’t stand the Victorian stone cladding and thus had no affection for St Giles’ inside or out. A N Wilson in his 1983 book on Milton wrote, “In the middle of the Barbican stands St Giles’ doggedly, bombed and repaired, the last imaginable little memory of that vanished City that Shakespeare knew. It is a bleak church, with little atmosphere.”
So there is no hope for the Holy Spirit, rushing, burning, wind and flame of Pentecost being felt here. Was Wilson right and the church he dismissed in 1983 our experience of St Giles’ today? Here prayer is no longer valid.
In a socially-distancing conversation I asked one of you what made a church holy. You said, because it’s consecrated – it is set aside as water is at baptism, bread and wine at the Eucharist. Blessed in the name of God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. A blessing that is held in the memory of the stones and that perhaps we sense as we step into a church.
A novelist who names neither God nor the Holy Spirit puts it like this, ‘Buildings are not beautiful because of their shapes or patterns, the bricks or stones that make them. What are transfixing are the ideas and dreams and longing they encase. They stand as memorials to the lives of the people who made them, who raised the money to raise the walls, who buried the men who fell from the scaffolding…The hope at the centre of my life is expressed in the church spire directing us to look beyond the everyday. To stop and think, to look outside ourselves.
Christians, Muslims, Jews and all faith groups have been locked out of their places of worship for so many weeks. We open for private prayer this week. And when we are able to worship here again together, will we find it has become that bleak church with little atmosphere? The Holy Spirit having faded away though disuse in spite of the candle continuously burning above the aumbry?
The disciples had been living for weeks with anxiety, fear, sadness and disappointment. And had recently witnessed a second finality, first the crucifixion, then the Ascension. At Pentecost they discovered through earthquake, wind and fire that they are not on their own, the Spirit of God is with them.
The Lord is here
His Spirit is with us
In you, in me, in our homes and in this consecrated building, I am confident that His Spirit is with us. Amen
Sunday 24 May Easter 7 by Katharine Rumens
Acts 1: 6 – 14
As a member of PCC said at a zoom meeting recently, we are in betwixt and between times – as we are liturgically today… between Ascension Day and Pentecost.
Betwixt and between times are confusing, we stand on the edge and look back to the world as it was and forward to the unknown - the new normal. We are told it has the potential to be exciting: the spiritual writer Richard Rohr describes this liminal space as an inner state and sometimes an outer situation where we can begin to think and act in new ways. We have left one stage of life but not yet entered the next – it allows for something genuinely new to happen, because we are receptive and teachable.
Perhaps that gives us an insight into how the disciples were feeling – they also were living through betwixt and between times. Those opening verses of Acts – today’s first reading portrays a group of people bewildered by recent events: the terror of Good Friday. The fear, and the guilt of failing as friends. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there were then rumours that Jesus was alive – oh yes, it’s all most confusing.
Did the disciples think things would settle down and continue as they had hoped? Surely now Jesus will take over Israel, and that they will be part of the new ruling party.
But it’s not like this – they will have to carry on without him- it is not for you to know. Not yet. In the betwixt and between they have learnt two things: to stick together and to be faithful in prayer.
At the PCC zoom meeting I asked what we thought we were learning in this strange time and what do we see as beneficial to take into our new normal world.
We said, coffee time, Sunday worship and companionship shape our week. Next week Sundays may just seem a little more normal as we will return to church to film. Bread has not been broken there since 16 March. Since then I have presided at my dining room table – where food is shared, minutes recorded at meetings and cake eaten.
Many of you know this room well, for conversations, meetings and especially for gathering after church in the summer, parties and PCC suppers.
Domestic space is holy. The Gospels are full of Jesus spending time with people in their homes – there are more accounts of the incarnate God in private homes than there are in temples and synagogues. What is clear from the scriptures, is that God is present and active in upper rooms, around dining tables and in living rooms – today as much as once upon a time in Palestine.
In sharing services online from my home, you have all been invited into this downstairs room. A young man reported that he found the intimacy of being invited into the Archbishop’s kitchen to share worship on Easter Day – even virtually- a turning point in his journey of faith.
In these betwixt and between times, may we find our way through the new normal. And may we be receptive and teachable.
Sunday 17 May Easter 6 by Katharine Rumens
Acts 17: 22 – 31 John 14: 15 – 21
Mary Lennox, Harry Potter, Peter Pan. All children liberated from the expectations and limitations of those who have parents. Children who found themselves, thus unimpeded on the threshold of adventures - because they were orphans and there were no parents to get in the way. They were not like other, ordinary children to whom such adventures did not happen.
In life and in adulthood, I don’t know if Marilyn Munroe, Malcolm X or John Lennon attributed their being exceptional people to the fact that they too were orphans.
Sit in the café at Coram Fields and see the names of orphans from life and literature named from floor to ceiling on the walls around you. Go into the museum and see the display of tokens of the mothers who, two hundred years ago, gave up their babies to the Foundling Hospital
The heart-shaped disc token for an unknown child engraved with the words “You have my Heart though we must Part.” The button, the scrap of fabric, the nut – other tokens left with the child so that one day, perhaps one day the mother and child could meet again. Tokens that speak of a sort of death, of heartbreak, desperation and poverty. In spite of the hall of fame in the café, the reality of being orphaned, was and still can be tragic.
The bible references to orphans are those of the helpless and destitute: the psalmist is beset by the wicked and deceitful who ask that the Psalmist’s children be orphans and his wife a widow. By night the orphans shelter in ruins and by day they wander about and beg. Yet, from the beginning their parlous state is recognized in law, and along with the alien and widow, they are to be left part of the harvest. They are not to go hungry.
I will not leave you orphaned said Jesus – he anticipates that the disciples will be bereft at his leaving them – which is the root of the word orphan. The bereaved ones. In that culture he may as well have said, the bottom will not fall out of your world. You won’t be a non-person. They are not to be left like that for long….in a little while – just wait, hang on there, then they will be drawn into the fire of God’s love with the coming of the Holy Spirit.
John’s gospel opens with the well-loved words and the promise of God being with us and among us however bewildering and strange our world. In the beginning was the Word …and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.’ God is here. We are coming to the end of the 40 days of Easter; Thursday is Ascension Day. We wait with the disciples for the promise of another Advocate, a Comforter, to dwell with us forever.
Comforter, Intercessor, Counsellor – the Paraclete. A comfort to us who at this time may be feeling orphaned or bereaved, frightened and anxious. Let us remember the words of Jesus as we survive this pandemic: ‘I will not leave you orphaned.’ We are not abandoned to shelter on our own in the ruins.
Sunday 10 May Easter 5 by Katharine Rumens
Acts 7: 55 – end John 14: 1 – 14
We probably need no introduction to our own dwelling places right now. Stay home, save lives, protect the NHS. The housebound haven’t set foot outside their front door in weeks. Kitchen tables become school and work desks, we are told to separate our space if possible and not let work and life merge into one. Divide the day, establish a routine, keep rest and work apart. It’s easy for her I hear you muttering from your sofas – clergy are used to working from home, they only have to shut the study door to have the luxury of rattling around in all the other rooms of their mansions.
Many must be feeling very ambivalent about their dwelling places as lockdown continues. Especially if your dwelling place is unsafe, overcrowded or has only ever been the place you have returned to sleep. Some people have lifestyles that mean they are never at home. Interpret that as you will.
In today’s gospel, the disciples are worried – do not let your hearts be troubled. Jesus’ friends are anxious even when he is among them. This is the man they have walked, eaten, laughed with, listened to and watched transform people’s lives. At this point he’d confused them by insisting on washing their feet; then they sit down to supper. Round the table Jesus speaks to them, afterwards they will go across the Kidron Valley to the garden. These chapters of John’s gospel are known as the final discourse – Jesus taking his leave - if only the disciples could grasp what he is saying.
Not just them though: are we really not able to call this world ‘home’? We who set so much store by our bricks and mortar and now Zoom meetings give us the chance gleefully to peer into other people’s living spaces. Fancy having those curtains, has he read any of those books? I would say we’re pretty hung up on our homes and the sense of permanent protection that we yearn for.
Yet the author of the book of Hebrews soberingly writes, ‘Here we have no lasting city’. (13.14) Get over it, you can’t take it with you. Stephen dies a horrible death with his eyes fixed on the heavenly vision. Jesus holds before us a picture of God’s many dwelling place to which we are all invited. God’s house is not for members only.
In response to Thomas’s question, ‘How do we know the way?’ Jesus replies that he is the way – as Christians were once known as those who belonged to ‘the way.’ For Stephen and all those who have been martyred for their faith the way of the cross Is one of suffering.
Those who walk the way of Jesus must do his work as we prayed in the Collect: grant that by your grace going before us you put into our minds good desires, so by your continual help we may bring them to good effect.
Faith is not constrained by lockdown – the way lies before us.
Sunday 3 May Easter 4 by Katharine Rumens
John 10: 1- 10
During the week we held a funeral outside the west door as we also did last month for Keith. I conduct a short service by the hearse including Psalm 23, the commendation and the committal. Such occasions are in their way (you may say) satisfactory. Psalm 23 – the set psalm for today, ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you – the Lord who is my shepherd, are with me.’ Words that continue to console. It was used for the first time at funerals in the 1928 prayer book – we have moved to the cities but we look back to the fields and the way of life of our forebears and this image of God and Jesus for comfort.
Jesus as the good shepherd is one of the earliest recorded images of him. 3rd and 4th century depictions on catacomb murals, sarcophagi and grave slabs show a stocky man with a huge sheep – more a small horse – on his shoulders. A common prayer in the early Church was the one made for the deceased, that they should be led to heaven ‘borne on the shoulders of the Good Shepherd’. We have been carried from the earliest times.
26 April Easter 3 by Katharine Rumens
Luke 24 13-35
The Road to Emmaus. The road to recovery.
We know from our weekly Zoom time that we have competitive walkers among us. In pacing your flats, some of you are wearing out your carpets, others stride round the gardens, some circle the church. I am told the number of steps really matters, it is a serious business. If you don’t clock up the necessary distance - why bother? It’s just a waste of time.
Today’s gospel – two walkers on the road from Jerusalem joined by a third who they don’t recognise. Are they running away? Guilty by association. Best make themselves scarce and come back when it’s quietened down again.
Solvitur Ambulando –it is solved by walking is attributed to St Augustine. He is not alone – the travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor "passionately believed that walking constituted the sovereign remedy for every mental travail". That’s why it’s worth bothering with even if our number of steps is pretty rubbish some days. Moreover, walking therapy makes all sorts of claims like reducing blood pressure, improving strategic thinking, enhancing creativity, and reducing depression.
It well might be solved by walking – but these two on the road to Emmaus have a lot on their minds. It is still the first day of the week – they had eaten with him on the night before he died and then run away when things got out of hand. Jesus had been put to death and now there were rumours that the tomb was empty and that he had, in fact, risen from the dead as he told them he would. Yes, they have a lot on their minds, there was a lot to try and make sense of. Was there nothing to show for the past three years? Has it all been a waste of time. “But we had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.” Hope crashing down because of the crucifixion and it all ending in failure. The Romans are still in charge, God’s people are still oppressed and seemingly far from being redeemed.
When the teaching was over they had to begin working it out for themselves. On the road Jesus joined the walkers who find themselves telling him everything he already knew. When they got to the village, they invited him in, and at table he took bread, blessed and broke it. As the host would do.
Then just when they thought they caught a glimpse of how it all could be for evermore, he vanished. There was nothing they could do but hurry back to the starting place – Jerusalem - and talk some more.
By the time Luke’s gospel was written, the church’s common meal was in some unique sense thought to be the meeting place between the believer and the Lord of life.
Right now, we are only allowed to break our daily bread with those in the same house or flat. The churches remain shut, we are not allowed to share in the physical breaking and eating of bread on Sunday mornings. May we glimpse in our changed world that breaking bread – even in a remote form - is still the meeting place between ourselves and the risen Lord.
Sunday 19 April Easter 2 by Katharine Rumens
John 20:19-to the end
We are being told that when all this is over – when we are well again - we will have to reinvent ourselves, reinvent our communities, our economies – perhaps our churches too. When I hear our leaders telling us about reinvention I am not sure if it is a threat – things will not be the same again –and adjusting to the new reality will cause great hardship, or it is the promise of new exciting horizons: we have the chance of a new beginning unencumbered by what weighed us down in the past.
Our new reinvented selves, we who are followers of Jesus Christ who is the same yesterday, today and for ever.
Telling the gospel afresh in each generation means that theologians stray into reinvention to get our attention like the ‘fresh paraphrase’ that brings the text alive? In this case bible stories are told as mini-blockbusters – perhaps with matching merchandise on sale in the foyer afterwards
On the other hand, a Professor of New Testament Language and Literature recommends ‘The Word on the Street’ which helped him discover angry and sad voices in passages of the Bible that had left him indifferent, and made him laugh at other passages so familiar that he had never see the healthy irreverence, humour and irony they expressed.
Rob Lacey tells today’s gospel very briefly like this:
Trouble is, Tom missed it all. He comes back, but Jesus is gone; the guys as high as kites. He’s dubious: I’m not Mr Gullible. I want proof.
I’m not sure if I am ready for a mini-blockbuster or for hearing Thomas the disciple called Tom. This would put him among the Jims, Andy, Pete, Phil and Jack and the rest of a crowd probably more at home flogging fish down at the harbour rather than standing over us in stained glass or painted by the great masters.
Did anyone ever dare call Thomas Aquinas Tom? Or Thomas Beckett, or Thomas Merton?
Thomas one of the twelve who was not with the others when Jesus came on the first day of the week. Thomas who was not shown Jesus’s hands and his side. Thomas who did not receive the gift of the Holy Spirit on that occasion. It’s lonely being Thomas at this point in the story – kept in the dark for a week. It’s a road of faith he has to take by himself in his own time. Then he will believe. Thomas’s scepticism is probably more useful to us than the disciples’ faith – even if we never venture into the familiarity of calling him Tom.
Thomas stands as a representative of those removed by decades from Christianity’s foundational events…as he stands for you and me. And so let us look with kindness upon the story – as this one told for children.
One of Jesus’ close friends was missing – a man called Thomas. He had gone to Golgotha, wanting to see the place where Jesus had died.
Another week passed. Thomas was still sunk in grief. Every day he went to Golgotha – the pain of losing Jesus was unbearable – almost like the pain of crucifixion. We manage grief at our own speed. That is why Thomas wasn’t there – and how can you touch the very life of God. Thomas didn’t try. He simply answered ‘My Lord and my God’ who is the same yesterday, today and for ever.
Sunday 12 April Easter Day by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 28: 1 – 10
They tell the story differently – the gospel writers. Mark narrates that as the women entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe. Luke enlarges on that and writes of two men in dazzling clothes. Matthew includes an earthquake and it is not just a young man, or two men in dazzling robes but an angel of the lord descending from heaven.
He does not want us to miss the significance of this encounter and what it means in terms of a new world order. Matthew – author of the book of dreams and angels, and of cosmic upheaval here announcing that Jesus has been raised from the dead.
Joseph dreams back in the beginning, an angel tells him a child is to be born, and again an angelic dream to ensure the child’s safety in Egypt. As day was dawning an angel of the Lord descended from heaven – not in the familiar darkness of the Christmas story, but in the unfamiliar darkness of the tomb.
Confronted by the blinding light of this fearsome angel from heaven, the guards who had been posted to ensure that nothing would happen to Jesus’ body were so frightened that they shook and became like dead men. Those who thought they were alive are now like the dead, the one thought to be dead is now alive.
Those who thought they were alive now discover that what they took for life is death. What we thought we valued like new clothes, fine dining, a fancy holiday and a fast car are not life-giving in the way that the love of friends and family is. The blessing of good health, the blessing of birdsong and the blessing of the coming of spring. These are life-giving; stuff and yet more stuff is not.
Lawrence was a deacon in the church of Rome in the middle of 3rd century in charge of the holy things – the chalices, candlesticks and the treasury. The prefect of Rome heard about this wealth and asked Lawrence to place it before him. Lawrence promised to bring forth all ‘the precious possessions of Christ.’ He gathered the poor, the disfigured and the destitute and presented them, ‘There are the church’s riches, take them.’ This is our wealth.
May Easter, this year in a climate of anxiety and uncertainty, bring us alive. May the resurrection of Jesus Christ create in us a life freed from the death that can grip our everyday lives. Do not be afraid said the angel. Jesus has been raised from the dead and is going ahead of you to Galilee. The risen Jesus is ahead of us and we must set out after him.
5 April Palm Sunday by Katharine Rumens
It shouldn’t happen like this. It should happen with the arrival of the horse box and the bells ringing. It should happen outside in the sunshine by the west door, trumpets and drums and excitement, the organ playing triumphantly as we then move with the donkeys into church. Palm branches decorating the pillars, babies in buggies, curious children, regular members of the congregation, and those who have come for the first time waiting to see what will happen next. The readings, the singing, the sending out of those processing on to St Paul’s. Then when the bustle of the crowd is over: the sounds of voices and music has receded, the drum beat grown fainter as the procession moved away through the City to the Cathedral.
Then the Eucharist quietly continues in St Giles’ in the spring sunshine.
It shouldn’t happen like this – we are learning to navigate the new normal. We begin holy week not out on the streets but from behind the closed doors of our homes. For us too this is a first time and we are waiting to see what will happen next. We are apprehensive, we can be easily frightened, we just don’t know how long it will all go on for. Or if we too or those we care about dearly become ill.
It shouldn’t happen like this. A king making a triumphal entrance wants pomp and splendour - nothing but the best. Victors in battle do not ride into their capital cities on asses, they ride on magnificent horses.
How can we look up to you Jesus if you ride a donkey like the peasants do? How do we know that you really are someone special? You are worth following? It’s all most confusing. Of course, the whole city in turmoil was saying ‘Who is this’. They didn’t all get it in spite of the words of the prophet Zechariah.
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!
Should aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
Lo your kings come to you;
Triumphant and victorious is he,
Humble and riding on a donkey,
On a colt the foal of a donkey.
It should happen like this if only they’d thought about it.
During Lent members of the congregation are invited by Katharine to preach a sermon entitled 'God at Work.'
As the church was closed because of the Coronavirus pandemic before this series was complete this is the last one this year.
Sunday 15 March Lent 3 by Tim Passey
‘Where do you want to be in five years time?’
How many of us go through life with a really clear plan for what we want to achieve?
Does anyone else think this interview question prospective employers often ask is a bit, well, uninspired. I mean, it’s great to have ambition, but how do you know what the future holds or what God’s plans are for you?
When Katharine asked me to give a God at Work sermon, I was slightly apprehensive. But I said yes.
Mostly I say yes. I’m a seize-the-day sort of person.
However, I don’t much like talking about myself. I’m not an extrovert. I prefer my own company. Despite that, I am a team player. And because I do mostly say ‘yes’, I often find I’m the one picking up the dropped ball at work; the one who steps in at the last moment when the team hasn’t got its act together.
I sometimes think I spend half of my working life making stuff up. This is one of the challenges that comes with working in a consulting environment in a niche area. I work in strategy in a narrow part of the commercial healthcare sector. You hope that you ultimately deliver solutions on the slightly less wrong side of the no-right-or-wrong answers equation. I suppose though I must be adding value somewhere.
God at Work to me is about God at work, at work, at home, and in everything I do… God at Work in my life. It’s exactly about saying yes, seizing the day, doing my best and having faith that God won’t let me fall down.
Earlier we prayed together in the collect… ‘Give us insight to discern Your will for us’.
We go to God in personal prayer, often when we need direction. But how well do we listen for the answer or recognize His intervention? I know I sometimes hit and hope in prayer and it’s not until later, on reflection that it becomes apparent I owe some thanks.
Some of you will know that I enjoy running ultramarathons. ‘Enjoy’ is probably not the best word. But when 26 miles got boring, I started entering 100km races – that’s about 65 miles in old money. I run on trails in the mountains, often in the rain, the mud, the cold. And for long stretches I’m alone. Running for 24 hours, through the night is mentally as well as physically exhausting. There are times when it would be easier to just give up and hand in my race number. Last year I ran the Jurassic coast from Weymouth to Exmouth. It was midsummer, the shortest night of the year, but even so it was darkest just before the dawn and a real challenge to resist the urge to quit halfway. But these races have an excellent habit of clearing the mind. During them I find some objectivity. And I find God. Maybe it’s because I’m in my element, the great outdoors, I find myself feeling thankful for the ability just to be out there. However self-inflicted, my races serve as a reminder to look for that bit of perspective in everyday life too.
I’ve worked a lot of my career overseas. I spent a decade in Singapore and Hong Kong. It’s lonely starting out in a new market. The culture’s different; in fact, everything’s different. When I first went to Asia, I was also joining a new company, so no-one at international HQ in London knew me; no-one knew my market; no-one understood its challenges. I had to be self-sufficient, resilient and utterly down to earth. Kind of like running an ultramarathon then.
And because I’m a bit of a perfectionist, if things are not done properly or my teams don’t function, I worry. Worry and isolation make a bad combination. One of my human resources colleagues in London would try to reassure me, saying ‘don’t worry so much Tim, you’re just catastrophising’. And it’s true. When you’re isolated you lose perspective. The obstacles get bigger than they really are, just like the race becomes never-ending. Sometimes you need someone to give you a sense check. But you need more than that.
And I recognize now that my relationship with God has changed and grown over time. When I first went overseas to work, I recognize now that God wasn’t a partner. He was still at work in me – I know that – but he wasn’t at my workplace, because I wasn’t inviting Him into my office. I was trying to do everything by myself.
Charis and I married towards the end of my time in Hong Kong. We moved to the UK in 2015. It was a leap of faith to leave a job in a region in which I was now a specialist with no secure prospects. It was around this time too that I realised I needed to just trust God more, to put God first. Taking time to reflect I could look back and see all of the challenges He had got me through… and God wasn’t going to let me down now. We first landed in Manchester because I had an apartment there, but I’d never lived there, so there was none of the comfort and familiarity of ‘coming home’. And, of course, it was Charis’ first time to live in the UK. But we were warmly welcomed at St Ann’s, the parish Church of Manchester City Centre and felt embraced as a part of the Church community for the first time, certainly as a couple.
I’d spent half a year back in the UK consulting and exploring more permanent opportunities. Charis was now back in Hong Kong waiting for her visa to come through, so I was on my own again, travelling to and from Oxford. I’d just led a big pitch opportunity for a client. I was feeling apprehensive, but I was consciously trusting God a lot more. I knew that He hadn’t let us come back to fail. This was in contrast to leaving for Asia a decade earlier. A week before my consultancy expired, the efforts paid off, and I was offered a good position. Ever peripatetic, we relocated to Oxford and I suppose we were settling down although neither Oxford nor the UK quite felt like home.
Well, I’m all for seizing the day and it wasn’t long after that I was approached about an opportunity in the middle east. It wasn’t a region I had any particular interest in, we were sort of settling down and so I went into interviews with a degree of skepticism. Obviously then, four months later, we found ourselves creating another new life in Dubai and I was heading up a new joint venture.
I’m not sure I ever received a clear signal to take that job. But it certainly delivered on the promised challenges, predictable dysfunctional infrastructure and general new market chaos. But again, saying yes to an opportunity served a purpose. We put God first, we committed ourselves to one of Dubai’s two churches, we made friends there and felt a part of that community. And the middle east offered spectacular experiences to offset the traumas of the working day. One long weekend we drove a 1,400-mile road trip across Oman’s deserts to near the Yemeni border to visit the small but quite spectacular area of the Arabian Peninsula that receives the monsoon rains. There we found ourselves the only two Christians among multitudes of holidaying Muslims making their pilgrimage at the tomb of Job. By saying yes to the opportunity, we had added another layer of experience, diversity and insight to life and work.
This move actually set us on a trajectory for a return to the UK with the same company, this time to London and to St Giles, a place where both Charis and I have felt more engaged with the Christian life than probably at any other time. And last Easter I was confirmed at St Paul’s Cathedral. We’ve valued playing our part in the life of the church community, whether that’s stacking crates at the food bank collection or just bringing a bake for Sunday morning coffee.
Today’s readings helped me reflect on my own story; Paul reminds the people of Rome that we glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
So back to the question…’Where do you want to be in five years’ time?’
For me, I feel blessed that while I probably do still worry more than I should, I’m glad I’ve never felt the need to worry over this rather mundane question, because as long as I let Him in, God is at Work in my life.
Sunday 8 March – Lent 2 by Gail Beer
Starting nurse training at Barts in 1977 it was a surprise to discover some of my new colleagues, like myself, had been influenced in their choice of profession by Audrey Hepburn in ‘The Nun’s Story’ and Deborah Kerr in the ‘The Black Narcissus’.
I would be Audrey, struggling against the world and myself to do good, healing with a quiet calm, battling irascible surgeons, or Deborah, full of self-doubt, dispensing compassion and comfort. Nursing would make me a good person and I would be doing Christian work. God and Hollywood played a big role in my choice. My declared intention was to train, go down the Congo and deliver babies in Africa. Being a nun was an option! One friend still mockingly refers to me as Sister Perpetua.
We appeared subject to the same rules as nuns, hard work, long hours, no money, a uniform code and, in our case, no men in the nurse’s home. It wasn’t a glamourous life but there were plenty of irascible surgeons.
The real discovery was that I liked caring for people at the end of their life, especially the elderly. Lifesaving surgery and waving goodbye to the gratefully cured wasn’t as satisfying. Delivering a baby is amazing, birth is greeted with great joy but dying, the last thing we do on Earth is met with sadness. Mortality, the thing that makes us human, fearfully hidden. For me looking after people at the end of their lives has been an absolute privilege for which I am grateful and indeed humbled.
From my first ward I found doing the simple but, essential things for patients deeply satisfying; giving a drink, combing hair, getting those pillows comfortable (that really is a tough one). Each patient a person, not a task. I felt privileged that they let me care for them. ‘There are three things a good nurse should possess’ my tutor told me ‘Kindness, Kindness and Kindness’. Often quoted words alongside St David’s ‘do the little things that you have seen me do’.
In the late 70’s and early 80s most of the very elderly had lived through two world wars. I looked after lonely, elderly ladies that never married, elderly men who had been on the western front, younger people who had experienced WW2, refugees, some with their concentration camp numbers on their arms. I still cringe at the memory of trying to wash a tattoo off an inner arm. Many shared big stories but mostly we talked about their loves, family, and often their parents, the everyday mattered most.
On night duty, in the still of the early morning, patients whispered about the things they wished they had done, and guilt and lessons learned too late. Many spoke of their blessings – not the material things but family, friends and life itself. I never met anyone who wished they had been more unkind or more selfish. Many would ask if I believed in God? Did I think there was an afterlife?
Speaking to the chaplaincy became an everyday occurrence and many took comfort from talking to someone, including non-believers. The fear of there being a God was as great as the fear of there not.
It wasn’t all serious, I heard lots of funny stories; the elderly ex Barts nurse who told me how to get my boyfriend into the nurse’s home a la 1932.
The elderly east end lady trapped on a broken bath hoist three foot up in the air. Waiting for the fire brigade to arrive and having discussed the merits of firemen, she disclosed to me that in her head she was only 23 and whilst her body had aged, she had not. I think that’s true of all of us. Her approach to life - forgive people, don’t take things too personally, accept people as they are, acknowledge your own faults (but only sometimes), laugh a lot and have a good time in the Green Man Public House.
Death can bring out the worst in people too, family feuds and resentments were played out on the ward. One middle aged man who I had moved away from the bedside for a quiet word about his behaviour, told me that if ‘Dad didn’t hear the family rowing, he might think he was dying’! We both laughed nervously and then he burst into tears.
During this time, I had a very chatty relationship with God, occasionally went to church, toyed with a more formal approach but was always too busy. My belief was unshakeable.
That changed one glorious summer day at the Royal London. A man in his early 40s came into resus and died. His wife and young children were with him and his wife blamed herself for his sudden death from a brain haemorrhage. As the senior nurse in charge of the hospital I took his wife and her mother to the mortuary to see him; their grief was unbearable.
Later walking across the garden in the glaring sun I cried because he would never see another stunning blue, blue day like this, so why should I. I went and sat in the chapel to talk to God, angry and sad. In all the years of looking after people at the end of life and being amongst so much grief I had never been so affected by a death. Peter, our chaplain, came in and we talked about how I felt about God, why was I angry.
During our subsequent discussions we identified that going to the mortuary daily, sometimes more often, facing death in this mechanical way had become too stressful. I spent a lot of time thinking about my own mortality during this difficult period, but it strengthened my belief and made me more thoughtful and considered about my faith. The death of an unknown man reconnected me with myself and God
In 2008 I left the NHS for a while, burnt out by my role on the board at Barts and the London. Having become institutionalized, I was bereft with no hospital to hide behind. I was also getting divorced, but worst of all God no longer spoke to me. The disconnection was sudden and unexpected, demonstrating to me the brittleness of the relationship. I begged God to speak to me; God did, but I could not hear. In took four years before I heard God again and I realised I could not take my faith for granted. I would have to work harder at it, so here I am today. It’s still ‘work in progress’
To return to the beginning; have I become Audrey or Deborah? Well we are all an Audrey or a Deborah; finding our own way as belief dictates; coping with the highs and lows of life. I have learnt to deal with the everyday and the extraordinary as best I can. Failure is part of the plan; there is more to learn from trying than triumph.
I have come to terms with my own mortality. I, like I suspect many others am afraid when I contemplate the moment of death but trust in God to be with me.
Whatever happens after is unknowable but, I believe that Jesus did die to show us the way and I hope a kind nurse will be at my side when it is my time to leave.
Sunday 1 March – Lent 1 by Kathryn Elsby
We don’t often talk about God in my place of work, and when I mentioned doing something at St Giles’ over the weekend, my colleague Mark was very surprised to discover that I was a Christian and went to church, and thinking about it, I too am surprised. Mark was surprised and possibly alarmed the other day when I told him that he was going to feature in my sermon.
As a child Christianity was an important part of my life, my family went to church, I attended Sunday school, enjoyed reading religious stories and Jesus was frequently mentioned at home. In those days I had no doubt that God was at work everywhere, with Christianity the only true religion. I accepted the line from the Sunday school hymn,
“O soon may the heathen of every tribe and nation Fulfill Thy blessed Word and cast their idols all away”.
My father was in the RAF and until I was six, he was based at RAF Patrington and we lived in Withernsea, a small seaside town on the Yorkshire coast, attending the church of St Matthew. I was able to look at the church from outside last year, and it brought back memories of sitting inside, gazing at the stained-glass windows. At this time, I had a very literal belief and am told that when we visited a local village called Hedon, I misheard the name as heaven and was very disappointed not to see Jesus, God and the heavenly host of angels there.
When my father was posted to Cyprus it was decided that we needed a home in the UK, so my mum and I moved to live near to her parents in the mining village of Blackhall in County Durham. There my family participated actively in the parish life of St Andrews Church, I went to Sunday School, to church services with my family (although I did incur a kneeling ban as I kept fainting on other members of the congregation) My mother helped with numerous church events, my grandma was a stalwart of the Mothers Union, and my grandad ferried goods and people about in his car. I loved reading, and I covered my children’s bible in greasy marks whilst eating my breakfast toast. Amongst my more usual games I played at giving communion to the dog. We had assembly with hymns and prayers every day at my primary school, many of my friends went to church or chapel, the vicar’s daughter was in my class at school, Christianity was a day to day part of my life.
I was confirmed together with the cohort of my Sunday school class. I was disappointed that none of my classmates continued to attend church, but I went to communion most Sundays, and always left the service with a feeling of “the peace of God which passeth all understanding”. I became a Sunday School teacher and loved teaching my class. At thirteen I went on a day retreat to a nunnery and enjoyed the day of silence and prayer. I contemplated becoming a nun, but what with my fainting when kneeling problem and the prospect of giving up my teddy bear, to the relief of my family, I decided that it was not for me.
I continued to enjoy reading, and over the next few years I read many books and realised how narrow our village life was. I learnt of other religions, beliefs and ways of living and my faith that I had felt to be so strong started to crumble. I no longer enjoyed the Sunday school teaching; I saw how petty some church members were. I did not like the restrictions placed on women by the church. I was unable to discuss my loss of faith with anybody; when I declared that I no longer wanted to go to church I think that my family thought I was just being difficult.
At the same time as I left home to start university in London my parents moved away from Blackhall and it was easy for me to make a clean break from the Church. I no longer prayed or read the Bible, I did not think about God, I did not think that I needed him in my life. In this time, I had abandoned God, but he never abandoned me.
As I grew older, I realised that I did still believe in God, but I was not interested in joining a church community. John and I were married in church and were both determined not to break the vows that we had made before God. We did not attend church but named our first child Christopher and had both of our children christened. We sent them to St Paul’s Cathedral school, and we attended the Advent and Palm Sunday services that they participated in. I occasionally popped into the cathedral for a communion service, feeling a connection to God in comfortable anonymity. As a family we often visited churches and cathedrals as tourists, I started to feel the presence of God in these holy places.
Several years ago, Christopher came back to live with us in the Barbican and announced that he had been going to Church in Cambridge and would like to continue doing so here. Where should he go? We suggested that as St Giles was our parish church that this was the natural one to try first. He liked it here and started to attend every Sunday, took confirmation classes and was confirmed. I decided to keep Chris company occasionally, and discovered that I enjoyed the services, found the congregation and clergy kind and welcoming. A year or so later my father was dying of cancer, the best day for me to visit him was Sunday and being unable to come to many services I realised how much I missed coming to St Giles. When I was staying with my parents a day or so before he died, I was at my wits end. On a short walk out by a bleak village green I felt God in the cold wind, he gave me strength to cope, God was at work. I now come here most Sunday mornings when in London. God, Christopher and St Giles Church have been at work restoring my faith.
Sunday 23 February -The last Sunday before Lent
by Katharine Rumens
Exodus 24: 12 – end and Matthew 17: 1 – 9
It will soon be time for the seasonal influx of tourists to go home and those in Venice and Brazil to take off their masks, show their faces and put away their costumes for another year. The two months of Carnival from Christmas to Ash Wednesday are about to end. We can hide behind our masks and dressing up clothes. They are a handy disguise for all types of pretence, games, conspiracies and nastiness. And we call it only a game.
It’s not just allowing our shadow side to come out and play, Carnival serves another purpose. We are mortal creatures, who come into this world and in the natural order of things, depart from it without our consent. The poet Auden wrote that we must eat, drink, defecate, belch and break wind in order to live, and procreate for our species to survive. To us as individuals we need to celebrate the unity of human race as mortal creatures. That we are not alone is a cause for rejoicing – that all of us, irrespective of age, gender, status, talent, are in the same boat. That is worth taking to the streets – and canals – for. We know that one day all masks must fall, all roles must come to an end, all the parts that we play before the world and before ourselves. To see face to face and know fully as we have been fully known.
Two whole months of jokes and parties before we present ourselves unmasked on Ash Wednesday. Quite clearly, in order for us to receive the mark of the cross in ash on our foreheads we have to take our masks off. We will make our confession, hear those ancient words: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ. Words that we cannot hide from. Have mercy upon us. Ash Wednesday is a time for us to drop our masquerading and look the 40 days of Lent in the face.
Lent is not tidy. Storms Ciara and Dennis have brought chaos to parts of the country over the last weeks. Cities are in lockdown because of Coronovirus – and thousands infected.
Winter is not leaving without blustery battles that push things over and mess things up. The names of the months tell it how it is: February – the feast of expiation, purification, March – the spirit of war. Lent, if we honesty face its fury, will leave the landscape littered with bits and pieces of ourselves. And by the end? To find ourselves somewhere different from where we started. The promised land of Easter. To have come home.
At this point I have to make a bit of a leap and bring us down to earth with some reference to today’s readings and say – what about Moses? It was tough on him, he never got home…those final verses of Deuteronomy – God showed Moses the whole Land – and let him see it with his eyes, but he was not to cross over there. Moses died in the land of Moab. So near and yet so far. Never has there arisen a prophet in Israel whom the Lord knew face to face. (Deut 34: 10)
Today’s first reading is about one of those face to face encounters on the mountain. My own feeling is that Moses couldn’t wait to get away from the Israelites. ‘Come up to me on the mountain.’ Never was an invitation from God more welcome. The people escaped slavery in Egypt and pretty immediately started complaining. Who did Moses think he was? 17:7 the people quarreled with Moses, Is the Lord among us or not? Is anybody in charge, or are you making it up as you go along? Moses appointed judges over thousands, hundreds, fifties and tens in order to create some sort of order and manage disputes.
He was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights – and the people felt neglected and started playing up. When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain they gathered round Aaron and said, ‘Come, make gods for us.’ And the result was the golden calf and the fury of God and Moses.
But what did Moses realistically expect? Docile patience? Obedience? His prolonged absence wasn’t going to change these stiff necked and rebellious tribes into a load of pious, law abiding people.
I think it highly unlikely, but if we are so caught up the cloud of our piety and good works for 40 days and 40 nights this Lent, we too can expect our family and friends to feel neglected. And that when we decide to come back down to earth again we may just find that they have gone elsewhere in search of diversion.
Things are different in Lent, although this year with the lighting project in full swing, we will have to do things more simply. But as usual, we will hear one another’s stories in the God at Work sermons on Sundays, some of us will meet to ponder the psalms on Saturday mornings, and we will travel through the week together with simple disciplines to help us pay attention to the small things. Like greeting someone eg thanking the bus driver, saying good morning to the staff in the tube, or at the reception desk. According to the latest survey by the Office for National Statistics Britons are increasingly ignoring their neighbours and relying on social media for human interaction. We can do things differently in Lent,
This year the theme of Christian Aid’s Count your Blessings challenge is climate change. The themes of awareness, repentance, forgiveness, and so on seem massive, but when it comes down to it it’s much more manageable. In these first days, we are asked to give 20p for every tap in our house.
On Monday there was a lecture at St Martin in the Fields. A BBC religious affairs correspondent said afterwards that his questions had been deliberately provocative. He asked if the bishops in the Church of England were a liability – or words to that effect. The vicar said the bishops present an impoverished view of the church. At St Martin’s, he said– which doesn’t just apply to them, we are trying to model communities that reflect the ideals of our faith. What we stand for.
In Lent let us be mindful of modelling what we stand for. Not with our heads in the clouds but with our feet on the ground. Amen.
Sunday 16 February by Alex Norris
Matthew 6: 25-34
This morning’s text covers some fairly significant themes: The pursuit of material gain in relation to how God provides for us AND the relation of our reliance on God to Anxiety and Worry. I also think that the lectionary has placed this reading at an interesting time in the church's year, as we are only a couple of weeks away from the penitential season of Lent.
St Matthew concludes with this advice:
So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.
This morning, as we near the season Lent, I shall be focussing on Worry.
As William Powell famously said; I highly recommend worrying. It is much more effective than dieting.
A lot has been said about Worry. I hope that my following words will not only bring some theological enlightenment to this sadly common emotion, but I also hope that we can draw some practical advice from St Matthew’s Words.
Worry is an emotion that is an intrinsic part of the human condition. As an entity, it has no respect for age, race, colour, creed or economic circumstance. So, whilst a schoolboy may be worrying about his exam results, it’s a fair bet Her Majesty the Queen may also be worrying about the affairs of state.
Irrespective of who we are, how much money we have or how powerful we are it is a given that we all will have worried at some point in our lives. I suspect that as I stand here before you, we all have worries of our own. I know I certainly do.
I have recently started a new job and have been worrying about how I will fit in with the new team, understand the technology I have never used. Worrying has contributed precisely zero to helping me with any of this.
How does today's reading help us with understanding worry and more importantly how to deal with it? Would it be right for us as Christians just to leave everything up to God, in the hope that it will all come right in the end?
I would suggest that an initial reading of our text from St Matthew hardly provides the practical advice and comfort that a person needs who for example is facing severe economic hardship, or other such imminent calamity.
I believe that St Matthew’s advice is a little more sophisticated than this and that a different reading of the text is needed to glean the advice we need.
The word worry comes from the Greek word merimnao, which literally means drawn in opposite directions or being pulled apart. It’s a destructive word that gives us the image of futility, of doing nothing, of suffering.
There is a distinction that I feel that needs to be made between Worry and Concern.
Concern is where there is a situation and one works to resolve or alleviate it, whereas worrying is fearing about what is going to happen whilst not doing anything about it.
In some schools of thought, Worry is regarded as a sin, because the worrier is abandoning their hope in God, and not trusting in him. As Christians, we believe in an all-loving and benevolent God. Simply put: by worrying we are denying God. This might seem like a very uncompassionate statement to make, but if we put our emotion to one side it can offer some theological clarity to how one should deal with worry.
As a concept worry is time spent in the future. It is easy for us to take on board what may be going to happen tomorrow. It pre-occupies us or draws us apart… today.
We are given some great advice in our reading today, which we would all do well to adopt in our lives. ‘Don’t worry about tomorrow….today's trouble is enough for today.
Or as the expression goes: Do not be afraid of tomorrow; for God is already there.
This though, is probably far easier said than done.
Having concern for things is constructive and leads us to take measures to do all we can to resolve a situation, and where there is nothing more to be done, we need to have the strength of faith to entrust the matter into God's hands.
Worrying does not change anything and in a way, is an expression in our lack of trust in God having things covered. Taking control of a situation before it takes control of us must be better than sitting back, burying one’s head and worrying and hoping it all goes away. And in the instances where that is simply not possible, entrusting it to God is the only constructive thing that one can do. We have to trust in God's plans for us all.
As Mahatma Gandhi said, "There is nothing that wastes the body like worry, and one who has any faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever."
Slowly changing our attitude to the way we deal with problems will begin to help us free ourselves of the destruction of worry. Leaving tomorrow's problems until tomorrow AND doing all we can out of concern today WHILST entrusting the rest to God is a good start to freeing ourselves from the yoke of worry.
As Jesus asks: Can any one of you, by worrying add a single hour to your life?
With the season of Lent nearly upon us, I know many are turning their thoughts to what is going to be given up or taken up.
There are many admirable things we can do, but maybe we should set ourselves a bigger challenge; To use the period of Lent as a time to start to change our attitude toward worry and to truly reflect on our circumstances differently.
I should be clear here, what I am not saying is that we all simply give up worrying for Lent, as I doubt ceasing worrying can be likened to stopping eating chocolate or giving up drinking for 6 weeks…. it's a far more intrinsic part of our psyche.
However, with prayer, and some time set aside for reflection I think it could help make our lives less stressful, and start to change our way of dealing with issues and problems in our own lives. It would also help us to re-examine our own relationship with God, which as Christians we should be doing during Lent.
God is present with all of us, whatever the situation. Why not try and lay some of our concerns on God. Surely this is one of the purposes of prayer.
I think Mary C Crowley says it best: Every evening I turn my worries over to God. He's going to be up all night anyway.
Maybe it's time for us to do the same.
Today I’d like to finish with a prayer: Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present our requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
Sunday 9 February 3 Before Lent by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 5: 13 -20
When the Worshipful Company of Salters invites you to preach at their annual service held on the second Tuesday after Pentecost – I suggest you do not choose to preach on Matthew 5: 13. You can see their point: a company in existence for over 700 years has potentially heard 700 sermons about being salty. And even salt has its limits. Same old, same old ‘You are the salt of the earth,’ you can see why they are ready for something new. That doesn’t stop the odd rogue preacher telling them that they have to be spicy and add flavour to the world, or that salt is so essential in our diets that the Romans used to be paid in ‘salt money’ ie paid a salary. They – and by now – I have heard it all before, although no-one to my knowledge has spoken about their original proximity to the Worshipful Company of Bakers before the fire of London. Salt for the bread of the world, the Bread of Life.
And all this is very informative – and a bit dull. And although it is contrary to contemporary thinking to make a big thing of salt, at lunches and dinners in the Hall, the salts are prominently placed on the tables. These ornate ciboria of sweet Vendee salt, or pink Himalayan crystals are handed round with a sort of reverence. Our neighbours are not apologetic about salt.
I am less well informed about our other neighbours the Worshipful Company of Wax Chandlers – they didn’t get their charter till 1484, and lost out on the church candle business at the Reformation. These days they are keener on bees which leaves the way clear for the Tallow Chandlers who were responsible for the street lighting in the City. The nature of salt does not change but the ways of generating artificial light does and the lighting industry is now represented by the Worshipful Company of Lightmongers. Their motto is ’Dominus illuminatio mea et Salus mea’ (The Lord is my light and my help).
We are surrounded by promoters of salt and light in the city. Perhaps we should expect it to be a more Godly place.
Salt and light, salt or light – salt and light function very differently. Salt works when it is not noticed. We’ve cooked something fancy, and it tastes good because salt has enhanced its flavour. We only notice salt in food if there is too much of it. We only notice salt if it is rubbed into the wound because it really hurts. We only notice salt if a path is cleared in the snow. The symbol of salt has a bewildering range of allusions in the bible from Lot’s unfortunate wife to Elijah purifying a poisoned spring with the stuff.
By contrast, light is a more familiar metaphor from the Creator’s ‘Let there be light,’ in Genesis to the city whose light is ‘the glory of God and whose lamp is the Lamb’ in Revelation. Light is the supreme symbol of the divine. If hidden, as Jesus points out, it is of no use to anyone. The teacher tells us we are the light of the world, we are to be visible – registering with those out there as, at night, lamps burning in Jerusalem would make the city visible for miles around. We are not to flee to the safety of invisibility, sometimes it’s so much easier to slip into the shadows and hide. It’s less trouble all round that way.
Tuesday is the 30th anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s – Madib’s - release from Robben Island. He and others did not hide their determination to dismantle the legacy of aparteid by tackling institutionalised racism and by fostering racial reconciliation. That day Mandela was able to walk out of the prison gates and raise his right fist for the first time in 27 years.
We know he was a controversial figure for much of his life. Critics on the right denounced him as a communist terrorist and those on the far-left deemed him too eager to negotiate and reconcile with apartheid's supporters, he gained international acclaim for his activism. His light did shine in the world.
When he was released, he spent the night at Desmond Tutu’s house. ‘When I greeted Archbishop Tutu, I enveloped him in a great hug; here was a man who had inspire an entire nation with his words and with his courage, who had revived the people’s hopes during the darkest of times.’
Light in the darkest times- ‘it was the desire for the freedom of my people to live their lives with dignity and self-respect that animated my life – sustained it through the winter of imprisonment. That transformed a frightened young man into a bold one, that drove a law-abiding attorney to become a criminal, that turned a family-loving husband into a man without a home, that forced a life-loving husband to live like a monk.’ Dominus illuminatio mea et Salus mea.
Salt and light. 2 metaphors for the church to be. As salt the church is to be a hidden, but nevertheless vital presence in the world. The symbol of light speaks of the prophetic role of the church. There is no point in her prophets hiding away, no point in her teachers remaining silent, no point to us if we are not seen and heard.
Mandela challenges us. Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking….We are meant to shine…we were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same……
Sunday 12 January Baptism of Christ 1 Epiphany by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 3: 13 – end
Of all my predecessors, the one I would most like to have tea at the Ritz with is Lancelot Andrewes, Anglican Divine, scholar, linguist, Bishop and Vicar of St Giles’ 1588 – 1604. If his erudition overwhelmed me, we could always discuss sandwich fillings and the decor.
He would be especially useful in preparing today’s sermon as he preached and wrote at length on baptism. Here is the whole Trinity in person, the Son in the water, the Holy Spirit as a dove and God in the voice. The only other time the Trinity appears in the bible – Andrewes reminds us – is at the very beginning, the beginning of creation. There we find God, and the word was God creating, and the Spirit of God moving upon the face of the waters.’ In the baptism of Christ, we have the new creation.’
The refrain of his sermon to the Court of James 1 in 1615 is that in baptism the ‘Gates of heaven are opened’ ‘And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him.’ In baptism nothing can separate us from the love of God. What follows his baptism is an important stage in Jesus’s setting out on his ministry. After a baptism we might go on to a party, eat nice food and a piece of cake, and back to work on Monday. In Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus goes straight into the wilderness to understand his vocation before his ministry begins. A question for us about the love of God – those gates opened to heaven – in times of wilderness.
Andrewes wanted to involve the people at every stage of a baptism – although he was a bishop by the time he preached to the Court – he had been among people as a parish priest. The faithful at St Giles’ had helped shape his ministry. Today’s account – Matthew’s – indicates baptism as a private matter - John was the only witness. That’s why Andrewes preferred Luke’s account. ‘Now when all the people were baptized and when Jesus also had been baptized.’ His message: Jesus was baptized among the people in the river, not in a basin by himself.’ No special privileges for posh people, no private baptisms in royal chapels.
I don’t know where the font would have been in the church Andrewes knew. In making their improvements, the Victorians placed it between north and south doors, where the organ loft now is. Perhaps the St Luke’s font is in the more original position, to remind us as we come into church of our baptism. Theologically it would make more sense to have the font directly at or by the north door, so we couldn’t miss it. But it be a trip hazard and get in our way and we can’t have that.
A liturgist comments that, ‘Many discussions about baptism ‘policy’ at a local level fail to take into account that baptism is primarily an act of God and a focus for His grace in the future. Jesus did not have to qualify for God’s anointing Spirit. The anointing Spirit was given freely.’
So what do we require locally? What barriers do we put in the way of God’s grace? What qualifications do we require? My Roman Catholic colleague stipulates that one or both of the parents is baptized a Catholic – which, when pressed, he modified to ‘baptised within the Roman Catholic church’ which is more like it. Also, one of the godparents has to be ‘baptised a Catholic’ as he would put it. Baptisms – especially ones with lots of family and friends, happen outside the main Sunday service. So, the family are not made to feel awkward by the Mass.
My Methodist colleague will do 2 for 1 if neither parent is baptised – ie one or both of the parents are baptized with the baby. For her the question is what the impetus is to have the baby baptized when they themselves are not? She feels there is room for exploration and preparation. Baptisms happen in the service on Sunday morning.
I like to think I have a completely open approach – except I don’t. Families we have not met before are invited to come to church on two Sunday mornings before the baptism, and to come back afterwards to the Christingle Service which seems reasonable to me. Common Worship helps me make by point about attendance – I say, that there are words of welcome for everyone to say and we can’t welcome a child we have never met before. Oh yes, I will do the baby…but, and if someone you want to be a godparent is not baptized, they may be sponsor but not a godparent. Baptisms happen on Sunday mornings within the Eucharist even if you do plan to bring 150 guests. I am with Luke here, not in private with Matthew.
It was a Sunday morning and there was a baptism. I was a curate and getting used to the surprising manifestation of the grace of God. The baptism has taken place. The intercessions been offered. We stood for the Peace. All the hand shaking indicated to the baptism party that we had come to the end of the service. They too shook hands and then left. There was a big window onto the street and the clergy could see what was happening. We were singing the offertory hymn and they were having a cigarette before getting into their cars.
On another Sunday morning we were waiting for the baby to arrive with her family and friends. We’d done the visit, filled in the form, the church was set up, but there was no baby, so we had to start the service without them. They didn’t turn up. Perhaps they couldn’t get up in time, suggested my colleague. There was a message during the week, could we do the baptism at their house because it would be easier to video. A few Sundays later they did show up on a Sunday morning and the baby was baptized.
In baptism the gates of heaven are opened and reveal the great mystery that is the grace of God.
Sunday 5 January - Epiphany by Katharine Rumens
Matthew 2: 1 – 12
The God project is hitting the ground – and the visitors have their part to play. On the one hand, the shepherds about their work up on the hillside. They are interrupted by something that frightens them – but not for long. Shepherds are made of sturdy stuff. They are instructed to find the Christ child. They practice their team-building skills – and consult – they said one to another. There is consensus – they will follow these bizarre instructions, no-one has a different idea, no-one says ‘let’s stay here and sleep on it. Better wait for morning.’ They are given the information they need – guesswork is not required - they know their destination. Some of us are happier if we know where we are going, what we are making for. The shepherds followed orders and having seen the child – they made known what had been told them about the child – although no one had suggested they do that. The shepherds followed clear instructions and get where they are supposed to go without mishap.
On the other hand, today’s magi come from the East. Luke’s community could picture a local hillside and put themselves in the story among the shepherds. Matthew’s community are asked to launch themselves into the unknown. The East – the world beyond the Roman Empire, these are visitors from the great gentile beyond. These magi – who in the broader sense of the word could be charlatans and quacks, fairground folk – are not the sort of people who fit easily into holy scripture, or into a known frame of reference.
The travellers saw a star which they knew how to make sense of. Presumably Matthew would allow that there were others who saw the same star, marveled momentarily and went back to eating their supper. ‘Not interested. Too much bother. Leave it to the experts. It’s not for the likes of us.’ The magi have less to go on than the shepherds, they are not told what has happened or where to go. They merely had seen a star at its rising. Matthew implies that the star disappeared after they saw it, and only reappeared after their potentially disastrous visit to Herod. ‘Ahead of them went the star that they had seen at its rising.’ A lot of this journey is in the dark, this is a far riskier undertaking.
We presume it is their curiosity that motivates them. Why foreigners would want to pay homage to a Jewish king is unexplained. Curiosity seemingly equipped them for their journey and are not afraid of asking for help. ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’ They had not done their homework on Herod king of this troublesome region, but their ignorance doesn’t make them cautious or stop them asking.
These enquiries cause a full-scale political crisis – all Herod’s staff are summoned. Rightly so, the birth of Jesus is a threat to worldly thrones and empires. The magi do get to pay homage to the child, they pay attention to a dream that comes upon one or all of them and leave for their country by another road. Mission accomplished.
All they had to go on was a star at the beginning and end of their journey – much of their way was without glittery guidance. Instead it was their initiative, their hunch, their instinct and curiosity that kept them going mile after mile. That, in the end, it would all prove worthwhile. And yet, on the face of it, so very little to go on – and who trusts hunches?
‘Let manger, star and angel choir unhinge us from our sleep and sorrows,’ says the poet. (Vajda) What does it mean to be unhinged by a star?’ It may have something to do with being thrown off-balance, especially when we seem to have lost sight of our star and find ourselves thrown back on our own resources.
At primary school I was on the side of the magi every time – the costumes were so much more interesting than the dressing gowns and tea towels of the shepherds. Crowns and shiny gifts, lengths of old velvet curtain: we could do exotic in Wiltshire. There were those who were different among us, although we did not begin to connect our travellers from the east with the magi of the nativity play and their touch and go journey. Anthony’s family were not like us, his Russian grandmother sat by the fire in the kitchen and drank tea without milk. His father was a furrier. Anthony explained to the class what a furrier was because we didn’t know. Jan’s family had come from Poland. His mother cooked funny food and lots of cabbage. The east was an unknown country that revealed itself in everyday living if only we had recognized it at the time.
There is a search for difference underway in Whitehall. Magi are seen as necessary for new ways of doing things. Star gazers are being invited to apply, described as, ‘Super-talented weirdos.’ The search is on for an unusual set of people with different skills and backgrounds because, according to a key adviser, it’s time for radical reform. The adviser also requires a personal assistant who will need extreme curiosity and be prepared to give up weekends on a regular basis. The adviser is looking for the brilliant, the troublesome and the innovators.
Fairground folk, not conventional young professionals in suits. This innovative approach may attract annoying people who might not look right or who lack social graces, but if they are loyal and signed up to the project you could not wish for better workers. Time will tell if this wacky approach is worth it.
Magi – a story of travellers who were unhinged by a star and thrown off balance into risky living. A story for all time, a story for now.
Where to visit us:-
St Giles' Cripplegate Church
London EC2Y 8DA
Registered Charity Number 1138077
The weekly Sunday Eucharist is now only in church as the online services via our YouTube Channel have finished.
There will be orders of service and printed copies of the readings set out safely in the pews. If you would prefer to use an iPad or phone, please download the readings and service sheet here
Previous Eucharist services are still available on the St. Giles' YouTube Channel if you are unable to join us in church. Later we hope to live-stream our services
A suggested prayer for those coming to St Giles' for the first time or returning after the lockdown.
Almighty God, we praise you for the many blessings you have given to those who worship you in this house of prayer: and we pray that all who seek you in this place may find you, and, being filled with the Holy Spirit, may become a living temple acceptable to you; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
The church is open for private prayer
The church is open from 11.00-16.00 Monday-Friday for private prayer. Please observe social distancing and any other instructions required when visiting the church.
Private Prayer and Reflection on first Thursday 6 August from 13.00-13.30
During lockdown we have continued to pray together in our own homes on the first Thursday of the month. As the church is now open again you are invited to join others in church. Please bring the prayer sheet (available on the Service page of the website) with you. If you are not able to join us, we hope you will continue to pray with us wherever you are.
The monthly sessions on the first Thursday of the month from 13.30-15.00 will resume on 3 September.
Funeral of Mollie Munn
Wednesday 12 August
17.00 Mollie’s coffin will be escorted into church and rest at St Giles’ overnight. The church will be open during the evening for people to pay their respects.
20.00 Compline after which the church will be shut.
Thursday 13 August
09.30 Funeral in church
10.15 Hearse and one limousine depart for committal at City of London Crematorium.
The Annual Parochial Church Meeting that was to take place on Sunday 29 April has been postponed to Sunday 13 September.
The 2019 Annual Report is availabe on the Future Events page.
2020 Dates of PCC meetings in church at 19.30
Tuesday 15 September
Monday 23 November
Parish Office Opening Hours
Tel: 020 7638 1997