ONLY JUSTICE – AND THE AMBLESIDE JEWS – A Sermon for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity

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’ [].

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 [ /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.


A Sermon preached by Canon Gary Philbrick at Holy Ascension Hyde on the Feast fo Christ the King, November 25th, 2018.

Rev 1:4b-8, Jn 18:33-37

How are your Christmas puddings coming along?  I only ask as today is often called ‘Stir-up Sunday’, from the words of the Prayer Book Collect for today, which is also today’s Post Communion Prayer: ‘Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’  That’s a call to prayer and a call to action.

So, if we’ve not yet stirred up our Christmas puddings, then we need to get on with it!  If we’ve not stirred up our wills to bring ‘forth the fruit of good works’, then we need to get on with that, too.

More importantly, in terms of our Lectionary and our worship this morning, it is the Feast of Christ the King, one of the more recent Festivals of the Church’s year.

The Feast of Christ the King was instituted in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, in a Papal Encyclical, and was kept on the last Sunday of October – the Sunday before All Saints’ Day.  In 1970, Pope Paul VI moved it to the last Sunday of the Church’s year, today, immediately before the Sundays of Advent.  From there it became a part of the Common Lectionary, used by most of the Churches of the West, including Roman Catholics, Methodists, and, since the late 90s, the Church of England and other Anglican Churches.  When we hear our readings on a Sunday morning, we are listening to the same readings as are being used in most of the Churches of Western Christendom – that’s a lot of people all focusing on the same passages of Scripture!

As we’re on the last session of the Bible Course after the Service today, let’s focus on the broad sweep of the Biblical narrative of Jesus’ life, and how that was interpreted by the Early Church.

Just about 2,000 years ago a baby was born in very ordinary circumstances in Bethlehem.  His parents were there for the Census.  There was no room in any of the hotels, so the baby was born in a cave, or a cattle stall, outside the inn.  We don’t know much about this child’s upbringing – his father was a carpenter, and we assume that he was brought up as a carpenter also.  The only story we know of his childhood was when he was twelve, and his parents had taken him to Jerusalem.  They lost him in the crowds there, and when they found him, he was teaching the doctors of the Law in the Temple, and they were amazed at his wisdom.

When he was around 30, he was baptised by the prophet John, in the wilderness, near the Jordan.  This began a very different phase of his life – the start of his public ministry.  For around three years, he travelled round Galilee and the area around Jerusalem.  He gathered disciples around him, taught them, taught the crowds, told parables, stirred up a good deal of hostility in some places, performed miracles, cured people, went off on his own to pray, walked on water, and did much else.  He was called ‘Rabbi’ or ‘teacher’ by those around him.

One day, on the road to Caesarea Philippi, he asked the disciples who people thought he was, and after some groping around, Simon Peter said, ‘You are the Messiah,’ the one anointed by God, what we would call ‘The Christ’.  An amazing statement.  He then predicted his suffering and death in Jerusalem.

A lot of hopes built up around this man, so much so, that when he went into Jerusalem at Passover time, great crowds built up around him, people shouting ‘Hosanna to the Son of David’.  They expected a King who would free them from Roman oppression.

A few days later, after a lot of political wrangling, Jesus was arrested and tried by the leaders of Israel.  The crowd turned against him, and he was crucified.  So much for the King of the Jews.

A couple of days later though, on the Sunday, rumours began to circulate that he was alive – he had risen from the dead.  Various people saw him, including, a week later, St Thomas the Apostle, Doubting Thomas, as we know him.  He saw Jesus and said, ‘My Lord and my God’.  What extraordinary words from a Jew to use about someone with whom he had spent the previous three years.

After Pentecost, the Church began to grow – the word about Christ, the risen Saviour, the one who had come to his people, began to spread.  The stories about Jesus, the things he said and did, were told all over the Mediterranean area – many people became ‘Followers of the Way’, later known as Christians.

Paul became a Christian after his conversion on the Road to Damascus, where he was going to persecute the Christians.  Soon after, round about 50AD, about 15-20 years after Jesus had died and risen, Paul began to write letters to the Churches he had founded.  Think back to where you were 15 years ago to see how short a time that is, how quickly the Church had spread.  In one of those Letters, Paul describes Jesus as ‘The image of the invisible God, all things are held together in him, in him God chose to dwell in all his fullness’.  Just pause for a moment to think about the magnitude of those claims being made about Jesus so soon after his death and resurrection.

Not many years later, people felt the need to write down all the stories about Jesus which were circulating in the Church – partly to remember them, and partly to sort out the helpful from the dross.  Round about 100AD, perhaps earlier or later, the fourth of the Gospels was written, opening with the words, ‘In the beginning was the Word, the Word was with God, and the Word was God’.

During these years of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, and the early years of the Church, through its worship and its experience, the Church had come to realise that the man Jesus was God Incarnate, God, the creator of the universe, in human flesh.  They also realised that God had also revealed himself as Holy Spirit – the presence of God with them in their worship and in their lives.  And the Church began a period of reflection about who Jesus Christ was and is, which was intense for the first few hundred years of the life of the Church, but which has continued until today.

Around 312AD the Emperor, Constantine, became a Christian, and shortly after so did the whole Roman Empire.  The Christian Faith was no longer a matter of concern just for the Church – it became a matter of concern for the whole of the known society.  And there were disagreements – how was Christ God?  How could he be fully human and fully God?  Did he have a human mind or a divine mind?  Was he born from God before time, or did he simply exist from the beginning?  Was the human nature of Christ swallowed up by the divine?  These were important questions, and the Church wrestled with them for many years.

In 325 the Emperor summoned a Council to meet at Nicaea, across the water from Constantinople, to talk about these questions.  The burning issue at this Council was the origin of Christ – I won’t bore you with the details, but some people were arguing that Christ was not ‘True God’ – he was a sort of ‘demi-god’, a second order God, subordinate to the one true Father.  Now, since the very earliest days of the Church, statements of faith had been produced, summarising what Christians believe – we find some of these in the New Testament.  The Council of Nicaea produced a Creed, and this Creed said that Christ was ‘True God of True God, begotten, not made, of one being with the Father’.  This Creed was developed at further Councils of the Church during the next 150 years, until it reached the form in which we know it by 481 – we call it the Nicene Creed, the one we say here on Sundays in some parts of the church’s year, more properly known as the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed – you can see why we just call it the Nicene Creed.

It was written in Greek, translated into Latin, and, at the time of the first Prayer Book in 1549, made its way into English – the version which we used was ‘tidied up’ in 2000 when Common Worship was introduced.

During all these hundreds of years of debate, the Church had a very simple line – if Jesus wasn’t fully human and fully divine, then he couldn’t be our Saviour.  To bridge the unfathomable gap between God and us, he had to share fully in God – only God can save us – but he had also to be fully human – he had to be one of us to save us.  ‘What has not been assumed has not been healed’.  ‘God became a human, so that humans could become godlike’. Christ is both God and man ‘without confusion, without change, without division, without separation’ as the Council of Chalcedon in 481 put it.

Each week when we say one of the Creeds or Affirmations of Faith, we are repeating the result of hundreds of years of reflection by the Church on the meaning of the life of the little baby who was born at Bethlehem 2000 years ago.  We are repeating what the Church has affirmed, and has affirmed because it leads to our salvation – the life, death and resurrection of Christ has changed for ever our relationship with God.  It has opened ‘the gate of heaven to all believers’.

Christ is the King – so the Church has always believed, and so we proclaim today.  That is what, as Christians, we try to show in our worship and, equally as important, in our lives.

Let’s proclaim that faith as we say the Creed, as Christians have done, Sunday by Sunday, using the words of the Apostles Creed, for over 1600 years.  AMEN.


A Sermon preached at Fordingbridge and Breamore Churches on the Feast of St Mary Magdalene, July 22nd, 2018, by Canon Gary Philbrick.

Ps. 42:1-7, II Corinthians 5:14-17, John 20: 1-2, 11-18

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.

St Mary Magdalene is a really significant figure in the New Testament.  At twelve mentions in the four Gospels, she occurs more often than most of the Disciples.

So, let’s start with what we do know about Mary Magdalene, before moving on to what we don’t know.

The most likely reason for her name, Mary Magdalene, which distinguishes her from the many other Marys in the Gospels, is that she came from the fishing town of Magdala on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, about three miles North of what was then the brand new City of Tiberias, founded by the Herod Antipas, who is mentioned in the Gospels, and named in honour of the Roman Emperor, Tiberias.  So Magdala was part of the very Romanised section of Israel, although that doesn’t mean that Mary herself was part of the Roman community.

Her first mention – and this is really important for the later part of our story – her first mention is at the beginning of Luke, chapter 8: ‘Soon afterwards [Jesus] went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources’ [Luke 8:1-3].

So, she was part of that group of at least reasonably wealthy women who travelled with Jesus and his Disciples, and who supported him in his ministry.  And, apparently, this group of women had been cured of various illnesses, both physical and mental.  In Mary’s case, we are told that ‘seven demons had gone out’ of her – a detail that is also mentioned in the so-called ‘Longer Ending’ of Mark, a later addition to the rather abrupt ending of Mark 16.

This introduction of Mary Magdalene in Luke 8 is quite early on in Jesus’ ministry, so it appears that Mary and the other women supported Jesus for quite a while.

And all four Gospels are agreed that Mary Magdalene was there at the time of Jesus’ Crucifixion and Resurrection, although the four Gospels have slightly different accounts of what happened. In Mark, the earliest of the Gospels, just after Jesus has breathed his last, and the centurion has said, ‘Truly, this man was God’s Son’, we are told, in similar words to those we’ve heard from Luke’s Gospel: ‘There were also women looking on from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome.  These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem’ [Mk 15:40-41].  Those verses give a fascinating insight into Jesus’ ministry to women, in contrast to much of what the Gospels say about his ministry to men.

Matthew, in chapter 27, repeats Mark’s words, although, apart from Mary Magdalene, he names the women slightly differently [Matt 27:55-6].

But, after Jesus has been buried in the tomb provided by Joseph of Arimathea, Matthew adds, ‘Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb’ [V. 61].

Interestingly, Luke, who is very sympathetic to women, doesn’t mention Mary by name at the crucifixion, but simply refers twice to ‘the women who had followed him from Galilee’ [Lk 23:49, 55].  And John, like Mark and Matthew, names Mary Magdalene as one of those ‘standing near the cross of Jesus’ [Jn 19:25].  So we have good evidence that Mary was present for the Crucifixion, and probably the burial, of Jesus on the first Good Friday.

At the Resurrection, all four Gospels agree that Mary Magdalene was among those who came to the tomb early on the Sunday morning.  In the Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke, the women are sometimes described as bringing spices to anoint Jesus’ body, but in all of them it is the women who discover that the stone has been rolled away, and that the tomb is empty [Matt 28:1, Mk 16:1ff., Lk 24:1ff, esp. v. 10].  We’ve become so used to this, but the fact that it was women who were the first witnesses to the Resurrection, in a society where women’s testimony in courts of law was considered of very dubious reliability, is really significant.

But it is in John’s Gospel, in the passage set at the Gospel Reading for today, that the most significant encounter between Mary Magdalene and Jesus takes place [Jn 20:1-2, 11-18].  Mary finds the tomb empty, runs to fetch Peter and ‘the Disciple whom Jesus loved’, usually thought of as John, and then is in the Garden by the empty tomb, when she sees whom she thinks is the gardener, but we know is Jesus, and she discovers that fact when he addresses her by her name.  His words to her, ‘Do not hold on to me’ [V. 17], are often known by their Latin translation, ‘Noli me tangere’, and this scene has given rise to a whole series of paintings, both in the Western and Eastern traditions of art, such as the second of the icons on the hymn sheet you have.

St Mary Magdalene is clearly a really significant figure in the New Testament.

But I just want to pause for a moment to reflect on what the Gospel’s don’t say.

If you can remember as far back as the beginning of this sermon, we heard how Mary Magdalene was introduced in Luke, chapter 8, along with the other ‘some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities’ [Lk 8:1-3].  But at the end of Luke 7 [36-50] there is a really important story about Jesus being invited to a meal at the house of Simon the Pharisee, and a woman, known to be a sinner, comes in and washes Jesus’ feet with her hair – it’s worth reading, as it’s a very moving story.

But what the Luke doesn’t say is that this woman was Mary Magdalene.  And, as we’ve heard, he introduces her in chapter 8 in a very different way.

John’s Gospel has a similar story in chapter 12, where it is Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, who anoints Jesus feet with expensive pure nard, leading to an interesting dispute with Judas about the poor.

And yet, by the 7th century, Pope Gregory the Great, in a sermon on the story at the end of Luke 7, remarks, ‘This woman, whom Luke calls a sinner and John calls Mary, I think is the Mary from whom Mark reports that seven demons were cast out’ [Patrologia Latina 76:1239].  This comment has had a very unfortunate effect on Mary’s reputation, and she has been assumed to have been a prostitute, and portrayed as such in in lots of different ways – think of the song in ‘Jesus Christ, Superstar’, or Dan Brown’s book, ‘The Da Vinci Code’, with its supposition that Mary Magdalene and Jesus were married, and had children – for which, although it’s a cracking good story, there is no historical evidence at all.  And just in the common imagination of who Mary Magdalene is.  He was a very naughty Pope to say such a thing about her!

There is a tradition, reflected in the icon of Mary you have on the sheet, where she is holding an egg, that she became a leader in the Early Church, and preached, amongst others, to the Emperor Nero.  She is said to been the first to have used an egg as a symbol of the Resurrection, as we still do at Easter today.  As with so many other women in Scriptures, we simply don’t have the evidence to know clearly – we know that Mary, the Mother of Jesus, was around in the Early Church, but very little is said of her in the Acts of the Apostles or the other New Testament writings, and it’s the same with Mary Magdalene.

What we do have in the Gospels is a picture of Mary as a faithful disciple, a supporter of Jesus, both financially and by her presence in Galilee and Jerusalem, a part of a group of well-of women who had been attracted by Jesus’ message, and stayed with him through the trauma of the Crucifixion, and were witnesses to his Resurrection.

What might we learn from her story?

Faithfulness in discipleship; following Jesus through thin and thick – we often have to go through the ‘thin’ in life, before we get to the ‘thick’; the importance of financial support for the mission of the Church.

And, above all, as we reflect on the encounter between Mary and Jesus in today’s Gospel, the importance of looking for Jesus in the unexpected places – in the gardener, in the person we bump into in the street, in the member of our family whom we find most difficult.  If we are able to look and to listen through our tears and frustrations, we will hear Jesus calling our name, as he did in that one word he said in the garden on the first Easter Day – ‘Mary!’

Jesus calls each of us by name, and when he calls our name, it is with love, as it was with Mary.  So often, we are so preoccupied with our own lack of worth, and poor image of ourselves, that we miss the gentle, loving call of Jesus on our lives when we most need it.  As we hear in the Book of Isaiah, ‘I have called you by your name, you are mine’ [Is 43:1].

We’ll keep a few moments of quiet to reflect on what we have heard of Mary Magdalene’s story and significance, and, if you wish, to look at the two icons on the hymn sheet – in the silence we might reflect on how we are called by our names, and we are loved by Jesus.

And then, after a pause, I’ll read a poem by Ann Lewin, whom some of you have met, and who wrote the book we used for our lent Course this year.


Known by Name


Who were you, Mary

From whom devils were cast out?

Did you disturb respectability

By washing his feet with tears,

An uninvited guest;

Or in embarrassing extravagance

Pour precious ointment on his head?

Were you notorious in your day,

Or a woman in the crowd from Magdala,

Who found new purpose

Being set free to love,

And used your gifts

In faithful ministry?


Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

Perhaps, like all of us,

You were a mixture:

Damaged and healed;

Longing to be loved,

And struggling to relate;

Passionate and reserved

By turns, working out

Costly discipleship.


The important moment

Was when you heard your name,

And answered and were sent,

No longer clinging to what kept you safe,

Strong in the power of the risen Lord,

To witness to new life.

[Ann Lewin, Watching for the Kingfisher, p.68]


A sermon preached at Godshill, Hale and Fordingbridge Churches on St Swithun’s Day, July 15th, 2018, by Canon Gary Philbrick

a.m.: Ps. 20

James 5:7-18

Matt 5:43-48

 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.

That’s a challenging Gospel Reading.

As part of the Sermon on the Mount, and following on from the Beatitudes, Jesus said to the crowds: ‘You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy’. But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you… Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’ [Matt 5:43-4, 48].

That really is a ‘counsel of perfection’!  Can Jesus really have thought that his fallible friends, the Disciples, could ever have been perfect, let alone the large crowds who have come out to him on the mountain?

Or, more likely, is he exaggerating to make a point?  Even bad people love those who love them back.  But, he says, I tell you, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you… Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’.

And what sort of perfection does he mean?  What would it be like to be perfect, if we could follow his command?

I think that if we could grasp what Jesus is trying to tell us in these verses, then the Christian life would become a lot less complicated, and a lot more inclusive and appealing.  If we could really learn to love everyone, our enemies and our friends, those we like and those we can’t stand – if we could really learn to love everyone, then everything else would fall into place.  Love would be the benchmark for all of our actions.

I’ve had a week of really interesting conversations – with the 30 or so teenaged Air Training Cadets during the ‘Padre’s Hour’ on Tuesday, as we discussed forgiveness, suffering, hatred and cannabis!; with the little children, KS1, of Hyde School on Wednesday, as we talked about the story of the Little Red Hen [FB: It’s in the Children’s Corner here if you want to remind yourselves of the story] – and the two possible endings to the story; with the Year 6 children of Breamore School as we planned the End-of-Year Service for this week, and their contribution, reflecting on ‘Everyday Heroes’; and with some friends who kindly brought a take-away with them on Friday night, and wanted to talk about prayer.

And all of these conversations boil down to love – love of God, and love of our neighbour.  Love should be the benchmark for all of our actions.

Today is St Swithun’s Day.  No doubt the weather forecasts were broadcast from Winchester Cathedral this morning, where he is buried, as they usually are on his Feast Day, and you probably know the poem:

St Swithun’s day if thou dost rain

For forty days it will remain

St Swithun’s day if thou be fair

For forty days ’twill rain nae mare

Or a Buckinghamshire variation has:

If on St Swithun’s day it really pours

You’re better off to stay indoors.

There is probably some truth to this saying – if it’s unsettled on July 15th, it probably will be for the coming weeks, and vice versa if it’s fine – which it looks like it will be this year.

Swithun was Bishop of Winchester from 852 until his death in 862 or 863. Little is known of his life that can be traced with historical certainty.  Swithun was born of noble parents in Wessex, an area that was in the process of becoming the most influential of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, and he was educated at Winchester Minster.  When he had passed boyhood, he received clerical orders from Helmstan, Bishop of Winchester, and was chosen to become Chaplain to Egbert, King of Wessex, and given the responsibility for the education of Egbert’s son Ethelwulf.

On the death of Helmstan, he was appointed as Bishop of Winchester by the now King Ethelwulf, with the consent of the clergy.  He was elected and consecrated on the 30th October, 852, by Abp Ceolnoth.  During the period of his office the Kingdom of Wessex grew in reputation and influence throughout the land, despite Viking attacks. The post of Bishop of Winchester also grew in importance and influence during the time of Ethelwulf’s reign.

Later legends give Swithun a reputation for compassion and evangelism, but it is his intellectual ability and learning for which he was first remembered.

He is credited with having caused the Latin Annals of his See to be edited and so to have contributed to the later compilation of the ‘Anglo-Saxon Chronicle’, the most influential history of Anglo-Saxon times.

He was a builder and his works included a stone bridge across the Itchen at the eastern gate of Winchester. The statue of him in the Great Screen at Winchester Cathedral shows him holding a model of the bridge he built – there is a photograph in Partners this week.

His kindness is illustrated by a legend of his making whole a basket of eggs carried by a market-woman that was broken on his bridge.  When crossing the bridge, she was jostled and dropped her basket of eggs. The saint took pity on her – and made her broken eggs whole.

These sorts of legends are common about saints, especially famous ones, and, like all the legends surrounding St Nicholas, they often have a basis in a grain of historical truth.

As evidence of his humility it is told that when Swithun was about to dedicate a Church, he always went to it on foot however great the distance, going by night to escape observation.  I often wonder whether he came to any of our Churches in the mid-ninth century.

His humility caused him, when dying, to ask to be buried outside the main door of the Cathedral in a place where he would be trodden on by the feet of passers-by and receive raindrops from the eaves.  He died on 2nd July 862 or 863 and was duly buried just outside the threshold.

However, some 90 years later, when the new Saxon Cathedral was being built, Ethelwold, the great Bishop of Winchester at that time, decided to move Swithun’s remains into a shrine in the Cathedral, despite dire warnings that to move the bones would bring about terrible storms.  Swithun was duly translated on July 15th, 971 and, though many cures were claimed and other miracles observed, it apparently rained for forty days as forecast.

His commemoration in popular culture seems to date from this period rather than from his life.

In 1093, once the initial phase of the current Norman Cathedral next to the Old Minster had been completed, Swithun was again translated, apparently without incident, to the Retro-Quire, which was then enlarged around 1200 to cope with the flood of pilgrims coming to his shrine.  The Shrine lasted until the 1530s when it was destroyed under the reforms of Henry VIII, and very little of the original Shrine and of St Swithun remains.

However, you’ll be pleased to know that in the 12th century, Bishop Reinhald, formerly a monk of Winchester, travelled to Norway, taking Swithun’s right arm with him, and it was placed in the newly-consecrated Cathedral in Stavanger, dedicated to Swithun, and there it remains to this day.  And we still maintain links with Stavanger Cathedral to this day.

One or two things we might want to note from the life of St Swithun.

He was a monk in the Benedictine Community of Winchester.  One of the great strengths of the Rule of St Benedict is the notion of hospitality, of welcoming the stranger in the name of Christ.

The second strand of the life of St Swithun is his concern for the poor, for the marginalised.  He noticed people around him in need – the old woman whose eggs got broken, for example, or the fact that the poor of Winchester needed a bridge across the river, so that they could trade more effectively.

And the third strand of Swithun’s life is his intellectual life.  He was a life-long learner – one of the great themes of education in our day.  How do we continue to be learners, in our Christian lives as well as in all other parts of our lives?  How do we stop ourselves getting stuck intellectually and on the journey of faith?

The four PCCs of the Partnership have been working on our values, what we really think we are about as the Churches and Parishes of the Benefice.  And the phrase we’ve come up with, after much prayer and discussion, is ‘Growing in Faith, Reaching Out to All’ [Repeat].  I hope it’s a phrase which will resonate with you, and be memorable enough to guide us in our praying and our decision-making: ‘Growing in Faith, Reaching Out to All’.

It will begin to appear on Partners, PCC Agendas, Parish Magazines, the website, and so on.

It’s a cross-shaped phrase [Explain].

St Swithun was a great Bishop of Winchester, by all accounts a genuine human being, and a great Patron Saint of the Diocese, and his ministry seems to embody the values we have discerned for ourselves: ‘Growing in Faith, Reaching Out to All’.