Preached by Canon Gary Philbrick at St Mary’s, fordingbridge at 6.30p.m. on Sunday, May 19th.
The two readings we’ve heard this evening could be characterised as ‘No Fear’ and ‘Fear’!
The first was a story I’m sure most of us will remember from childhood, the story of Daniel in the Lion’s Den.
It’s a shame we didn’t hear the first few verses of chapter 6, which set the scene. Daniel was one of the young, noble Israelites who were taken from Jerusalem to Babylon after the defeat of King Jehoiakim of Judah by King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon in 598BC after a siege of Jerusalem.
By command of Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel, along with the other able young men, received an education in the ‘literature and language of the Chaldeans’, so that they could enter what we would call ‘the Civil Service’.
By the beginning of Chapter 6, some years later, the then King, Darius, divides his Kingdom into three, each part with a President, and under each President 40 Satraps, accountable to the President. Daniel’s distinction in the role of President was such that Darius is planning to make him President of the whole Kingdom – which isn’t going down too well with the other Presidents and the 120 Satraps.
And this is where our story begins, as the Presidents and the Satraps conspire against him. They know they won’t be able to find fault with his Presidency, so they decide to pick on his faith instead. Verse 5 reads, ‘The men said, ‘We shall not find any ground for complaint against this Daniel unless we find it in connection with the law of his God’’ [Dan 6:5]. So, they have a cunning plot, which is to convince Darius to sign a law – a law of the Medes and the Persians which cannot be changed – a law stating that anyone who offers worship to anybody else than Darius the King would be thrown into the lion’s den. And they have Daniel in their grasp!
He, knowing the law has been signed, continues to pray as he always has. He shows no fear, doesn’t change his daily pattern of prayer – praying three times a day with the windows open towards Jerusalem – and acts as if nothing has changed.
He shows no fear.
It’s not difficult to think of modern parallels. A young man, fleeing from war in his own country, ends up in another country as a refugee, works hard, gets a good job, and is accused of ‘coming over here and stealing our jobs’, etc.
A person who dresses differently is attacked in the street. Someone who practises a different faith from the majority – who may not practise their own faith, but resent people who are different – someone who practises a different faith from the majority, or dresses differently, or eats different foods, might be told to ‘Go back where you belong’, even if they are second or third generation immigrants, who belong here, or if they have nowhere safe to go back to.
Even though everyone who lives in this country is the descendent of an immigrant at some point in their past, we still have the tendency to be afraid of, or repulsed by, people who are different; and that difference might be colour, dress, sexuality, social class, nationality, faith, or almost anything else.
Daniel was doing a really good job as President, but was targeted because he was different. And, in his case, he showed no fear – not an easy thing to do.
The Bishop of Truro, Philip Mounstephen, at the invitation of Jeremy Hunt, the Foreign Secretary, has chaired a report on the persecution of Christians around the world – a draft of the findings was published about a week ago, and the full report is due out in the next month or so. The findings are shocking. They show that the persecution of Christians in some parts of the world has neared genocide levels. The Bishop writes:
Evidence shows not only the geographic spread of anti-Christian persecution, but also its increasing severity. In some regions, the level and nature of persecution is arguably coming close to meeting the international definition of genocide, according to that adopted by the UN.
It is not only Christians who are persecuted for their faith – something like 1/3 of the world’s population is so persecuted. But Christians form about 80% of those who are persecuted.
Those who were here last week in the morning, or at Breamore, or at the Churches Together Lunch, may have heard something about the charity ‘Open Doors’ which tries to support Christians around the world who are persecuted. Irene, who spoke to us, gave examples of their work in the Middle East, Nigeria and Kyrgyzstan. We have their literature at the back of the Church.
Like Daniel, many Christians around the world who are persecuted, or discriminated against, because of their faith show no fear in the face of the difficulties they experience. They continue to need our prayers and support.
The second Reading we heard earlier, from the end of St Mark’s Gospel, takes the opposite track. What most commentators think is the original end of Mark’s Gospel, Chapter 16, verse 8, ends with the words, ‘ἐφοβοῦντο γάρ’, ‘For they were afraid’ – a rather odd ending in English, and even more so in Greek.
We heard the final events of Good Friday, when Joseph (of Arimathea) lays Jesus’ body in the tomb hewn out of the rock and rolls a stone in front of the tomb to seal it; and of early Easter morning when the women arrive at the tomb and find that same stone has been unexpectedly rolled away.
It’s always worth reading the versions from the different Gospels side by side – in this case, we have four versions to look at – and seeing the similarities and differences between the accounts.
Mark’s Gospel is all about the women. They find the tomb is open, the body has gone, the young man – is he an angel, as in other Gospels, or is he a young man? Is he Mark himself, as some have suggested? The young man is sitting in the tomb, and he tells them not to be afraid, Jesus is risen, go and tell the Disciples. And having received this amazing news, ‘They went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid [Mk 16:8].
Unlike Daniel, and in different circumstances, they were full of fear. And, we might think, quite justifiably!
Why does Mark end his Gospel like this? What was he saying to his first readers and to us? Think back to the beginning of the Gospel. Mark 1:1 reads, ‘The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God’. Mark sets out his stall at the very brisk start of this Gospel.
And now, at the very end of the Gospel, he seems to be saying, ‘So, that’s what I said at the beginning. What do you make of it? It’s over to you, now! You’ve heard the story, you’ve got the evidence, is this ‘the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God’?
Now, clearly, the message did get out. The other Disciples came to realise that Jesus was risen. He appeared to them and to others, and the gift of the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost, and the Church was born, and people have borne witness to the risen Christ down all the ages since then, in easy places, and in the terrible places of persecution.
But Mark seems to be inviting us to make our choice. Fear or No Fear? Will we be like the women, saying nothing about our faith because of fear; or will we be like Daniel, continuing to do what we know to be right, even in the face of difficulties?
None of us knows how we would react in the ‘time of trial’, but we can begin practising now. Amen.
Preached by Canon Gary Philbrick at a Service on the Sunday Next Before Lent, when the Gospel Reading tells of Jesus’ Transfiguration on the mountain top, and in the context of a Service with Prayer for Healing.
II Corinthians 3:12-4:2, Luke 9:28-36
This Sunday Before Lent, in our Lectionary of readings, is Transfiguration Sunday. Both readings we have heard are about mountain tops – either telling the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus himself on the mountain top in the Gospel Reading; or reflecting on that story years later, when Paul, in his Second Letter to the Corinthians writes about Moses on the mountain top, and says ‘All of us… are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit’ [II Cor 3:18].
‘Transfiguration’ is a tricky word to translate. We could use the Latin ‘Transformation’, or the Greek ‘Metamorphosis’, or the more commonly used ‘Transfiguration’. Whichever word we use, it’s about one thing being changed into another, or, to put it another way, something being revealed for what it really is – in this case, the true nature of Jesus.
In the Orthodox Church of the East, icons are vital to the well-being of the Church, and the Icon of the Transfiguration, of which we have a copy here, is thought of as the foundational icon of them all. The essential thing about the Icon of the Transfiguration is that it reveals what some of the Orthodox call ‘The Light of the Eighth Day’ [See, e.g., Gregory Palamas at http://www.pravoslavie.ru/english/38767.htm]. This is the light of the end of the Book of Revelation, the light which needs neither Sun nor Moon to make it shine, the light in which we will all bathe after the end of time, the light which will sweep us all up into the love of God at the end of all things, the light revealed by Jesus on the mountain top, and seen by Peter and James and John.
And what is Peter’s response to this vision of glory, when Jesus is transfigured, and Moses and Elijah appear with him? In the words of the Transfiguration hymn we will sing at the Offertory:
’Tis good, Lord, to be here,
Thy glory fills the night;
Thy face and garments, like the sun,
Shine with unborrowed light.
‘It’s great here, Lord, with you in glory and with the others – let me build three huts for you, so that we can stay here and enjoy the glory.’
I hope that’s a sentiment we could echo this morning: ‘Tis good, Lord, to be here’. Good to worship and witness together, to be together in this ancient and prayerful building, and to be, I hope, stronger together than we would be apart.
Good to be together for what Milton Jones describes in one of his 10 Second Sermons: ‘Church should be like everyone arriving with one piece of the jigsaw’ [Milton Jones, 10 Second Sermons…and even quicker illustrations, p. 20].
But it’s not only when we are gathered that the Church is important; it’s also when we are scattered.
The last verse of the hymn I’ve already quoted is:
’Tis good, Lord, to be here.
Yet we may not remain;
But since Thou bidst us leave the mount,
Come with us to the plain.
Milton Jones [ibid.] puts it like this: ‘If we’re on a journey: in the same way that the services are not the motorway, a Church is not the Services’.
Our time together on a Sunday morning sends us out for our Christian lives lived in the rest of our week, in all the different places where we find ourselves. Here, in Church, is the Service Station, if you like, where we are re-fuelled and refreshed, re-awakened to God’s Word, and, hopefully, transformed by his presence in Word and Sacrament, and re-charged to go out from here to serve him in all that we do, and with all that we have.
Jesus, with Peter, James and John, had to come down from the mountain. And, in fact, none of them had very long to bask in the glory. The next story in Luke 9, as soon as Jesus comes down from the mountain, is of Jesus meeting the crowd, healing an epileptic boy, and straight after that he again predicts his death. And that’s so often the case for us, as well. We may have a wonderful time of worship, but then, as soon as we leave, the reality of life crowds in on us again – but it is precisely there, in the realities and difficulties of everyday life, that God is to be found. Not just on the mountain top, but out in the real world as well. If our faith doesn’t do anything for us on a Monday morning, then what we have done on a Sunday hasn’t really been very helpful.
‘’Tis good, Lord, to be here’, but, Lord, when we go, ‘Come with us to the plain’, be with us in the day to day realities of our life, in our relationships with others, in our family or health problems, in all the joys and sadnesses of everyday life.
So, we could say that worship is about ‘Transformation’, or ‘Metamorphosis’, or ‘Transfiguration’. And over the coming weeks, during Lent, we’re going to be reflecting on worship, both in our Sunday Sermons, based on the actions of Jesus as the Last Supper – ‘He Took’, ‘He Blessed’, ‘He Broke’, ‘He Gave’ – and also in the Lent Groups, which will be reflecting on Prayer. There are groups on Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons in Fordingbridge, and Thursday evenings in St Boniface – full details in Partners.
We’ll be reflecting on worship, and hoping to deepen our understanding of worship and prayer.
‘’Tis good, Lord, to be here’.
And one of the ways we can be transformed is through prayer. In a few moments, after the Prayers of Intercession, the will be the opportunity to come forward for prayer. And when we talk about ‘Prayer for Healing’, we’re not just talking about physical healing, but about spiritual and mental healing as well.
The words ‘healing’ and ‘health’ come from old words for ‘wholeness’, and are linked to the word ‘salvation’ as well – salvation in the sense of applying ‘salve’, or ointment.
For some people, illness or disability is physical and obvious, and we want to pray for that person’s wholeness, healing and salvation. For many, the lack of wholeness is hidden – it’s in our memories, our guilt, or our shame.
Everyone is in need of healing of some sort, for everyone has a disability, a lack of wholeness, in some way or another.
So, if you choose to come forward for the laying on of hands with prayer for healing, you may like us to pray a simple prayer for you, or you might like to ask us for healing for something or someone in particular. It’s up to you.
One last quote from Milton Jones [Ibid.]: ‘Church is a bit like being a member of a gym. Some people like the idea of going but don’t. Others go, but aren’t really training for anything. And some actually use it to help them with the race they’re running.’
What is the race we are running? What are we training for? You could say we training for mountain climbing! We’re training to be up there on the mountain top with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, Peter, James and John. We training here on earth to be Kingdom Builders, so that we may join in God’s work here, and finally be with him for ever in heaven, where the Kingdom of God will be complete, and we’ll live in the Light of the Eighth Day, on the mountain top for ever.
That’s quite an exciting race to be running, and one that is worth the training!
After Communion, I shall pray:
we see your glory in the face of Jesus Christ:
may we who are partakers at his table
reflect his life in word and deed,
that all the world may know his power to change and save.
This we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.
Preached by Canon Gary Philbrick, 3rd Sunday Before Lent, 17/II/19, at Evensong at St Mary’s, Fordingbridge.
Psalm 6, Hosea 10:1-8,12. Gal. 4:8-20
Lord Jesus, stride into this mess of words, fit the pieces of this puzzle together, and make some sense of them, to your glory. AMEN.
As we’re surrounded by jigsaws, I want to spend a few moments developing some thoughts about God’s plan for us, each a part of his jigsaw, leading on from this morning’s Service.
And this sermon is a bit like a jigsaw – we’ll have a look at various pieces, and then see how they fit together.
You can tell that our readings from the Lectionary this evening are heading towards Lent! The Prophet, Hosea, was writing in the 8th century BC, in the period just before the Fall of Samaria, the Northern Kingdom, which was overrun by the Assyrians in 722 BC.
Like other Hebrew Prophets, Hosea was sharply aware of the way the Israelites were falling from God, worshipping at altars to false gods at what were known as ‘The High Places’, and, like other prophets, Hosea uses the analogy of adultery – Israel was being unfaithful to her God.
But Hosea not just a ‘prophet of doom’, but also a ‘prophet of hope’. The first reading ended: ‘Sow for yourselves righteousness; reap steadfast love; break up your fallow ground; for it is time to seek the LORD, that he may come and rain righteousness upon you’ [Hos. 8:12].
Lent is a time for ‘seeking the Lord, while he may be found, calling upon him while he is near’, as another of the great prophets, Isaiah, puts it [Is. 55:6]. It’s a time for reflecting on our own sinfulness, but only insofar as it reminds us of God’s graciousness, forgiveness and mercy.
While I was on a boat from France this week, I read ‘The Boy in the Dress’, by David Walliams. It’s the first of his books that I have read, and I was very impressed – it’s very well written, funny and very moving. I saw the story on television a year or two ago, but when I checked BBC iPlayer, it’s not currently available. It rather reminds me of Billy Elliot, which you may have seen a few years ago – similar themes.
Very briefly, Dennis lives in a very sad and repressed family – his father is very sad and lonely, since his wife left him, and tries to assuage his pain by over-eating. John, the older brother, is rather distant, and blames his mother for leaving them all. Dennis, the younger brother, and main character, aged 12, is starved of love, and misses his mother all the time.
He develops an interest in fashion, and buys a copy of the Vogue Magazine one day, when there is a dress on the front cover similar to one his mother used to wear. His father is appalled when he discovers it under the mattress of his bed. Through a funny sequence of events, the misfit Dennis meets, Lisa, the coolest girl in school, and it turns out she’s really interested in fashion and design – and on one fatal day, Dennis tries on one of her dresses, and loves it.
At Lisa’s suggestion, he pretends to be her French pen pal, and ends up going to school in a dress, getting discovered, being expelled, and nearly missing the final of an important football competition. All ends well when the whole football team, to the horror of the very strict headteacher, plays the second half of the final in dresses, they win the cup, his father is very proud of him, and they begin to talk properly, and through a funny sequence of events, which I won’t reveal, Dennis is reinstated in school.
It’s an interesting exploration of someone who feels different, a piece of the jigsaw that doesn’t quite fit in. In the macho world in which Dennis lives, an interest in fashion, especially women’s fashion, is just not acceptable – and it’s a very painful process for him, and those around him, to work out how he does fit in.
And it makes me wonder how many of us feel we don’t quite fit in somehow – I think we probably all feel different from other people. And with good reason – we are all different, we’re all different pieces of the jigsaw, but all are needed to make the whole picture as God intended it to be.
Does anyone watch Grantchester? Based on the novels of James Runcie, son of the former Archbishop of Canterbury, set in the late 50s/early 60s, and centred around a detective, Jordie, and a Vicar, Sidney Chambers in the earlier series, and now Will Davenport, and some other lovely characters, each episode has a crime which Jordie, who’s very sceptical about God and the Church, needs Will’s help to solve. There very well written – but I don’t know how Will finds time to do his parochial duties, as he seems to spend all of his time with Jordie!
In the Episode before last, Leonard the Curate notices a little girl take thruppence out of the collection plate, rather than putting something in. After the Service, being rather a stickler for the rules, he tears a strip off the girl for stealing – but Will ends up by giving her the thruppence, as she’s clearly in need of it to buy food, and, eventually, and for complicated reasons, Will is hauled over the coals by the Archdeacon for not upholding the rules of the Church and teaching the children of the Parish not to steal.
The whole series, both with Sidney and Will as the Vicars, is a really interesting exploration of people’s motives, and of how pain and stress in one part of life affects how they deal with others parts. Leonard is dealing with his own sexuality, Jordie is worried about his family, Will has a terrible father, who dies in an episode a week or two ago – all of them are affected by what is going on around them, but all of them are trying to do the best with the pieces of the jigsaw they’ve been handed.
And that’s what we do in life, isn’t it. We struggle with what we’ve got, with what we have to face, and somehow we try to see how all the pieces fit together, and what it all means. Like Will, as long as we can hang on to the fact that God loves us, we can see a way through – but that’s often very difficult to do. Will’s sermons at the end of most programmes are delightful, preaching how we need God’s love in our everyday lives.
As we have my friend, Ann Lewin, with us this evening, I thought I’d ask her to read one of her poems – it’s called, ‘The Puzzle’, and is very appropriate for this weekend – it comes from her book, which I recommend, of course, called ‘Watching for the Kingfisher’.
The jigsaw pieces lie there, some
Jagged and broken by harsh treatment,
Others smooth from constant handling.
Glowing with life and colour.
Some fall into place, others with
Little apparent meaning wait
Connections, or disentanglement
From wrong attachments.
Life’s puzzle, with no master plan to guide,
Teases my understanding.
Some pieces pierce
With painful memory, some call out
Thankfulness and praise, others
I dare not contemplate, heavy with
Fear of what might be revealed.
Surrounded by mystery,
I struggle to make sense of what I see.
If only I knew the mind of the designer.
Ann Lewin in Watching for the Kingfisher
If all the pieces in a jigsaw were the same, there wouldn’t be much fun in it. And that seems to be God’s thought, too. God seems to love variety, to create everything and every one differently.
The sociologist, theologian and priest, Professor Leslie Francis, calls this ‘a Theology of Individual Difference’ – we’re all created individually by God, all created to be different, all loved for who we are, not just who we would like to be. We’re all pieces in the jigsaw lovingly made by God, and he has a place for each of us in his Kingdom of Love. AMEN.
Preached at the Unity Week United Service at St Mary’s, Fordingbridge, on Sunday, January 27th, 2019 – also Holocaust Memorial Day.
Deut. 16:11-20, Luke 4:14-21
Lord God, take my words and speak through them, take our minds and think through them, take our hearts and set them on fire with love for you, through Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.
There’s not been very much in the news this week to make my heart sing. However, there was one thing on Tuesday evening that really piqued my interest: and that was the enormous rise in the sales of poetry books. Can you believe it? After many years of sales just bobbing along at about the same level, suddenly, in the past two years, there has been a 25% increase in the sales of poetry books. And, equally extraordinary, is that the rise has been fuelled by young people, by lots of people reading poetry on the internet – apparently Instagram is a top place for finding good poetry – young people reading poetry on the internet, and then going out and buying the books.
Really, the young people of today, spending their time reading poetry? Fantastic!
And I wonder how much that is a reflection of the world we live in, where discourse is continually being cheapened, where politicians are displaying very poor leadership skills, where some world leaders communicate in rude and demeaning Tweets.
These young poetry lovers are looking for language that means something, language that gives life, language that speaks of truth, of depth, of something beyond the everyday.
So, have we, as the Church of this place, all our Churches worshipping together – have we got something to offer?
Of course, we have. We speak of the Word made flesh, the creative Word of God, the Word made flesh who speaks, and lives, and dies, and rises again.
Our Gospel Reading this morning comes from Luke 4, what is sometimes called ‘The Nazareth Manifesto’, the first words we hear from Jesus as an adult.
Now, the structure of the opening chapters of Luke’s Gospel is fascinating – we don’t always look at Bible stories in the context of their wider settings, but it’s a really useful thing to do.
All of chapter one is about the birth of John the Baptist, the overshadowing of Mary by the Holy Spirit, and the interactions between Elizabeth and Mary, and it contains two of the great pieces of poetry of the New Testament – the ‘Song of Mary’, usually called the ‘Magnificat’, and the ‘Song of Zechariah’, usually called the ‘Benedictus’. In chapter one – and we always need to remember that the verse and chapter divisions only date from around the 16th century; the original was written without verses, chapters, or sections headings – in chapter one Luke is setting out the preliminaries.
In chapter two, Jesus is born, is visited by the shepherds, is circumcised, is presented in the Temple – the occasion of the third great poem in Luke, the ‘Song of Simeon’, the ‘Nunc Dimittis’, and we hear the one story in the New Testament of Jesus as a child – his visit to the Temple when he was twelve.
Chapter three returns to John the Baptist, who quotes from the Prophet Isaiah, ‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord”’ [Lk 3:4], and Jesus is baptised, ‘And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased”’ [Lk 3:22].
And the chapter ends with a genealogy, tracing Jesus’ ancestry back to Adam, the son of God – these genealogies are hardly ever read, but we reflected on the Matthean version at the Unity Week Prayers in Hyde on Wednesday afternoon, and it was well worth the time spent thinking about it.
And so, we arrive at chapter 4, Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, being tempted, and, eventually, we reach our Gospel reading, when Jesus returns to Galilee, and pitches up at the Synagogue in Nazareth, ‘as was his custom’ [Lk 4:16].
And after all of this, what are his first words as he begins his ministry of preaching the Kingdom of God? Where does he go, he, the Son of God and the Word of God, to set out what he is on earth for?
Like John the Baptist, he reaches for Isaiah, that great Prophet of the Old Testament, and reads,
‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour’ [Lk 4:18-19].
What sort of a Word is this? It’s not setting forth his doctrine of God; it’s not calling people to repentance; it’s not on the surface of things really demanding anything of his hearers.
And yet, it’s enough to set him on his path to the Cross and to Resurrection. Those few simple words, very familiar to his hearers, but now put into a new context, tell all those in authority to beware – God is not automatically on their side. Instead, God chooses to have a bias towards those who need him most, a bias to the poor, the captives, the blind, the oppressed, all those on the outside, rather than those on the inside – who already probably have the resources to look after themselves.
Is that the message we as the Church proclaim today? It’s a real challenge for us, especially for us a Western Christians, living in an extraordinarily favoured part of the world, in spite of all the difficulties we face in this country.
Perhaps if our message were more like Jesus’s, and if our words were clearer and more challenging, and if we were able to speak of justice and peace and compassion and hope more effectively, all those young people and others who are longing for words that make a difference would be attracted to the man behind the message, Jesus Christ himself.
Today, as well as being the Sunday of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, is also Holocaust Memorial Day, chiefly commemorating the murder of some 6 million Jews, and many Romas, homosexuals, disabled people and others, during the Second World War. The full horror of the Nazi killing machine is impossible to comprehend, and one can only catch glimpses of it through novels, history books, films, poetry, museums, such as Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, and in other ways. I’ve just finished reading a difficult but ultimately hopeful account of survival called, ‘The Tattooist of Auschwitz’, which I recommend. The numbers of those who died are very difficult to estimate, as many of the records were destroyed towards the end of the War, but of the estimated 6 million who died, around 1½ million were children.
But I want to tell you the story of 300 children who survived. They are known as the Ambleside Jews, Ambleside being a town at the Head of Windermere in the Lake District.
In 1945, the British Government welcomed around 750 children who were rescued from the Auschwitz Concentration Camp. This was following the 1939 Kindertransport, when around 10,000 predominantly Jewish children were brought here from Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland. Of the 750 who arrived in 1945, 300 were transported directly from Auschwitz to the Lake District, landing at Carlisle Airport, and being bussed to Ambleside, to an Estate called Calgarth.
You can hear more about this by downloading the BBC Radio 4 edition of ‘Open Country’ from last November called ‘The Windermere Boys’, where you can hear some of the boys themselves talking about their experiences, and what it was like.
When these 300 boys, aged 3-16, came to Calgarth, they were amazed to find that they had beds, toilets, food – there’s a story that when bread was put on the table for them at meal times, it all disappeared into their pockets – they didn’t know whether there would be another meal after this one or not.
Here’s part of a wonderful eye-witness account – when they first arrived, all the clothes they needed hadn’t arrived, but that didn’t stop them enjoying themselves: ‘I was walking home from school and I saw big white strip coming towards me on the street. I didn’t know what on earth it was. As it got closer I realised it a long line of boys. They had arrived from Poland but their new clothes hadn’t. They didn’t let that stop them though, so they were walking through the streets in their white vests and underwear.
‘There were lovely boys. Part of the lake was once cordoned off to make a swimming pool and the boys would often be down there. They were all so delighted and grateful to have been brought here. It was hard to believe the atrocities they had seen and lived through. They said coming to Windermere was like being in paradise’ [https://www.lancashirelife.co.uk/out-about/places/the-inspiring-story-of-how-windermere-helped-300-jewish-chldren-fleeing-the-nazis-1-1646490].
It’s a wonderful, hope-filled story, and shows how this country can be when it rises to the need of a particular hour. But there is an interesting postscript – and this is where your buttons come in. You might like to hold them now.
The Calgarth Estate was largely demolished, and is now the site of a secondary school, called ‘The Lake School’, and a couple of years ago, the students had a visit from one of the Ambleside Boys – now an old man, of course. They were amazed to hear the story of what had happened on the site of their school, and one of the pupils, known as ‘B’ wanted to find some way of visualising the 6 million who died in the Holocaust, and especially the 1½ million children. So, she came up with the idea of collecting buttons, one for each child, which will form the basis of a permanent memorial in the Lake District. This plea for buttons went viral, and they’ve been collected from all over the world – exceeding the 1½ million initially requested, and now within sight of the 6 million to commemorate all of those who died.
As a symbol of hope, of remembrance, and of our desire for justice with peace for all people, you are invited to hold the button for a moment longer, and think of the one life which it represents, and then, during our next song, the buttons will be collected, and later on sent to the Lake School as our contribution to the permanent memorial. And I’d be very glad to have a volunteer to count them before they are sent off.
As we hold our button, as we think of Jesus, the Word made flesh, and as we remember those who died in the Holocaust, and as we look forward with hope, a reflection from the Unity Week Prayers.
Forgive us how we’ve devalued you:
‘We live in hope’ and yet don’t hope to live,
‘Hope so’, when we have none in our hearts.
Show us who you really are:
disturb the deathly ease of our despair
and give us the courage to embrace your pain:
impudent in the face of hate,
unrelenting under oppression,
daring to resist the entropy of division.
Goad us to take up that felon’s cross
whose agony laid empty the grave.
A Sermon preached at Hyde Church on January 13th, 2019, by Canon Gary Philbrick
Acts 8:14-17, Luke 3:15-17,21-22
The celebration of Christmas by Christians of East and West is complex.
In the West, we celebrate Christmas on Dec 25th, and Epiphany on January 6th – a concentration on the Nativity of Jesus in the first of these, and a concentration on the arrival of the Wise Men on the second. In the East, Christmas is celebrated on December 25th, except that when the calendars changed from the old Julian to the new Gregorian calendar, starting in 1582, the date slipped to January 6th – so that is when many Eastern Christians now celebrate Christmas. What we call Epiphany, the Manifestation of Christ, they call Theophany, the appearance of God. For many, that also has slipped because of the calendar change, and is celebrated on January 19th.
And the Feast of Theophany is not just about the arrival of the Wise Men from the East – there are three main themes – The Wise Men, the Baptism of Christ and the Wedding Feast at Cana of Galilee; three ways in which who Jesus was and is manifested to the world.
In the West, the celebration of the Baptism of Christ has been a bit patchy. But from the 1960s, the time of the Second Vatican Council, this Feast of the Baptism of Christ has been celebrated on the Sunday after the Epiphany. And, in fact, next Sunday, we shall her the story of the Wedding Feast at Cana in Galilee – so, over three Sundays we shall have heard the traditional three readings for the Theophany.
In the tradition of the Orthodox Churches of the East, the Baptism of Christ, which is celebrated at Epiphany, is one of the major days in the Church’s year. On that day there is the impressive ritual of ‘The Blessing of the Waters’, a tradition dating back until at least the 4th Century. It’s a slightly barmy festival, when many daring young Orthodox men brave the chilly waters to dive for a cross after it has been blessed by a priest and thrown into the water – sometimes having to break the ice to do so. For his gallantry, the first man who recovers the cross is said to have good luck throughout the coming year. The day long festival also includes the blessing of small boats and ships, and later on there is entertainment, music, dancing and food to all those present. It’s a rather wonderful ceremony, celebrating a very special occasion.
So, let’s have a look briefly at the Readings we have been given this morning, and see how they are connected, and how they reflect on the Baptism of Christ.
Had we heard the Old Testament Reading set for today from Isaiah 43, we would have heard the promise that ‘When you pass through the waters I will be with you’. In fact we’re going to be singing these words in our next hymn, ‘Do not be afraid’. In this passage from Second Isaiah, the Lord is promising to redeem his people. Now, ‘redemption’ has become an almost entirely religious word. But, of course, redemption is about an exchange, giving up something to get something else back. I think about the only place that this meaning is still clear is on supermarket money-off vouchers and other similar things. The voucher can only be redeemed for what it says – 10p off the price of a packet of cornflakes, or something – and you’ll sometimes see a redemption value on the back in the small print – usually .01p.
Here, in Isaiah 43, the Lord is promising to redeem his people, to buy them out of slavery, to bring them back to the Promised Land. And he is willing to pay a high price – ‘I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you, because you are precious in my sight’. So, the Lord is promising to redeem his people, and assuring them that they will be safe when they pass through the waters. These are promises of God for us, as well as for the ancient Hebrews.
Turning to Acts 8, we have a very short passage from the early expansion of the Church from being just a Jewish Church to including Gentiles as well. It’s very briefly told, but was an enormous question for the early Church – could non-Jews receive the Gospel. I suppose to get an idea we’d have to compare it with the discussion a few centuries ago about whether Africans could be Christians; or the current debate for some people about whether gay or transgender people can be fully part of the Church. Peter and John hear that the Samaritans – a deviant group as far as Jews are concerned – that they have received the Word of God and had been baptised, they went down and ‘prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit’. They ‘laid their hands on them, and they received the Holy Spirit’.
Once again, a clear connection with the Baptism of Jesus, with our calling as the company of the baptised, and with the spread of the Gospel throughout the world.
And so, we arrive at the Gospel reading, the story of the Baptism of Christ as told in Luke’s Gospel – because this is the year of Luke in our three-year lectionary.
I did, a few years ago, spend some time comparing the accounts of the Baptism of Christ in the four Gospels, but am not going to do that today – but if you have time later, you might like to read all four narratives, and see the similarities and differences.
Luke’s account is brief, especially, as in the way the Lectionary is set, we miss out two verses in the middle of the passage which look forward to the arrest of John the Baptist by King Herod Antipas.
John points to Jesus, as in the other Gospels, by saying that the one more powerful than he is coming, whose sandals he is not worthy to untie.
And then, after the Baptism of the people, and after the Baptism of Jesus, when Jesus ‘was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased’’.
You might like to have a look at the first image on the sheets you’ve got – ‘The Baptism of Christ’ by David Bonnell. If you’d like to, chat for a few moments with someone near you about what you can see in the image, and how it strikes you.
(The image can be found here)
You’ll notice that in our Gospel Reading Luke doesn’t actually say who baptised Jesus. He is part of a crowd which is baptised, and that after his baptism, Jesus is praying. This is one of Luke’s favourite subjects – Jesus’ prayer life. Jesus is often found praying in Luke’s Gospel – and in the others, too, of course, but in Luke in particular. And as he was praying after his baptism, the Holy Spirit descended upon him ‘in bodily form’ as a dove. Luke seems to be emphasising that this is a real experience. It is not just a vision, or a dream, but it really happened. So Luke is emphasising Jesus’ prayer life, and the reality of the experience he had.
Jesus didn’t become God’s Son at his Baptism, as some early Christians who were considered heretical by the Church thought. He didn’t receive the Holy Spirit for the first time at this point – the Holy Spirit overshadowed Mary when she conceived him, and the Holy Spirit had been with him during every moment of his life. But, in his Baptism and by the descent of the Spirit,
‘his divine Sonship, veiled behind the form of a servant, was revealed for the first time to the eyes of faith. It was the descent of the Holy Spirit that openly declared Jesus to be the Messiah. His baptism was the solemn moment of commissioning when he was shown to be the suffering servant of God, the high priest, who by offering his life in sacrifice would take away the sin of the world [John 1:36]. The anointed one, [the Messiah, the Christ], became the appointed one, appointed to act on behalf of sinful humanity with his heavenly Father.’ [The Glenstal Book of Icons, Gregory Collins, p.63]
And this is a strongly Trinitarian Feast. Jesus, the Son, is going down into the waters. The Holy Spirit descends in bodily form, as a Dove. And the voice of the Father is heard. When we were baptised, we were baptised in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. All Christians are Trinitarian, in the sense that our relationship is with God as Holy Trinity, Three in One. This is a particularly strong theme for the Eastern Orthodox.
You’ll see this in the icon at the bottom of the page you have (Search for ‘Icon of the Baptism of Christ). What can you see in the image? Again, have a chat with a neighbour. Jesus is in the waters, sanctifying them, showing that he has become a part of the creation he has made and loves. The Holy Spirit is descending in the form of a Dove. And the light of the Father streams down, through the Holy Spirit and on to Christ’s head.
We can see the paradox that Jesus Christ is revealed as God through an act of submittal to a mere man, John the Baptist. Though John is baptizing Christ, it is the former who is shown bent over in reverence to the latter, but with his face turned toward heaven and beholding the miracle of the Theophany; despite being the baptiser, he is not central to the scene. Near to John is a tree and you might just be able to see that an axe has been laid at the root, reminding us of John’s own preaching to those who came to him, as recorded in Matthew’s Gospel: ‘And now also the axe is laid to the root of the trees: therefore every tree which brings not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire’ [Matt 3:10]. On the opposite bank to John the Baptist, angels wait invisibly to receive the newly baptized Christ and clothe him. And so, on the left is the forerunner of Christ, John, with his sermon of repentance represented by the tree and axe; on the right, the angels wait with reverence to accept the newly revealed Son of God. In the middle – the moment of revelation itself [https://iconreader.wordpress.com /2011/01/06/baptism-of-christ-the-theophany-icon/].
‘The mystery of Christ’s Baptism depicted in this icon is a powerful reminder that the Son and the Spirit are like the two hands of God by means of which he shapes and saves the world’ [The Glenstal Book of Icons, Gregory Collins, p.65].
We are Trinitarian Christians, called to live out our lives in the power of the Spirit, and in union with Christ, praying to the Father in their Name.
This is an exciting call for all of us at the beginning of this year – as this new Year begins, how are we, as individuals and as the Church in this place, to fulfil that calling. As we reflect on Christ’s Baptism, we might reflect on what God might be asking of us in this coming year. Are we being called to something new, as individuals, as a Church? Can we grow in love and service, in closeness to God? Is there something in particular we’re being called to do, which we might have been putting off? Thinking about and praying around the Baptism of Christ can help us in discerning our own calling from God.
So, I end with an Orthodox Hymn for the Theophany, which is printed on by the side of the Icon image – you might like to take the sheet home with you to reflect on these images further.
When you, O Lord, were baptised in the Jordan, The worship of the Trinity was shown. For the voice of the Father bore witness to you, Calling you the beloved Son, And the Spirit in the form of a dove Confirmed his word and sure and steadfast. Orthodox Hymn for the Epiphany.