Evensong on Sunday 23rd January at 6:30 pm.

January is always a hard month for me; the excitement of Christmas is over, the days are short, the nights are long, energy and bank balances are low. So the super abundance, resources, and the excess of joy in our readings this morning feels hard to connect to. In Isaiah 62:1-5 the people of God are told of a future time when they will be a crown of beauty, renamed My Delight is in Her. But for now they are desolate and forsaken. They cannot envisage how they will get from desolation to delight and this is really the point: In John’s gospel (John 2:1-11) Jesus performs his first ever miracle by turning water, gallons of it, into the best wine, but the jars start out empty, they do not even contain water. It is often only when we have run dry, when our own resources have been exhausted, that we allow God the space to do anything at all. And that anything at all is so often more than we could ever have hoped for.

'Epiphany’ is a Greek word meaning ‘manifestation’, ‘appearing’, or ‘revelation’. Each week in this season we have a story which reveals something more of the meaning and purpose of the Incarnation which we celebrated at Christmas.

As the festive season draws towards its end and a new year begins, we reflect upon the meaning of the Epiphany. Twelve days after the birth of Christ, God revealed Himself to the Gentiles in the form of his only son.

This year the first Sunday of Christmas falls on Boxing Day. We will not be holding our usual Sunday services but we shall celebrate a short said mass in church at 10.30am.

In our last Sunday before Christmas we are given a glimpse of something truly radical. Our texts are still facing doom and disaster: in our first reading, Micah 5:1-5, the little nation of Israel is under siege, humiliated and oppressed by its mighty neighbours; in the Gospel, Luke 1:39-55, Mary, poor, disgraced and possibly in fear of her life, is running away. Yet here is hope in the face of hopelessness. And the hope comes not from the strong and the powerful but from the poorest and the weakest. In response to Elizabeth’s welcoming embrace Mary lets loose a song of revolution: if God is in her womb, then the world is truly turning upside down. A future of justice and peace will be brought forth by the little and the lowly, and Bethlehem, the most insignificant town in the most insignificant nation, will be the birth place of a new way of living with power to transform our world.

Good news? What good news? We are now well into Advent and the themes of judgment and repentance are growing louder. John the Baptist, Luke 3:7-18, starts by calling us a brood of vipers and ends with a warning that on the day of judgment the chaff will be burnt with an unquenchable fire; which doesn’t sound very good newsy to me. But judgment always comes joined with the assurance of forgiveness. The word of judgement is always a word of salvation, it shows us where we are going wrong and how we can change for the better. John gives specific advice to his hearers: share with one another, do not abuse your power, use your position to the benefit of those around you. Judgment is hard to hear but it is ultimately liberating, bringing with it the chance of being restored into a joyful relationship with God, one another and the whole of creation, poetically imagined by Zephaniah 3:14-20.

In Advent, the season of looking forward, the season of hope, we hear of a time when the people of God, like us, were longing for change and the word of the Lord came to them. Our reading, Luke 3:1-6, begins with a list of all those who held power and authority: an emperor, a governor, three tetrarchs and a high priest. But the word of the Lord does not come to any of them. It comes to John in the wilderness. John has left the centres of power behind searching for god knows what. It is here, in the middle of nowhere, in a place of vulnerability and uncertainty, that John hears God’s voice. The voice tells him that God will come, that God is coming, that change is possible, and asks him to prepare the way, to call for change. In a world of vulnerability and uncertainty change is often the last thing we want yet is the one thing we can count on. Are we ready to embrace it?

Advent Sunday: Today is New Year’s Day in the life of the church. We begin the year by looking to the end; the end of all years and all time. We look to the promise that we have been given that the world will be made afresh; that all that is broken will be healed; all that is crushed will flourish. It is a season of hope and expectation.

Our gospel reading this morning, Luke 21:25-36, may not seem that hopeful at first glance; it speaks of distress, confusion and fear. Whether we are at the beginning, at the end or somewhere in between, no life is free of distress, confusion or fear. But our hopefulness, our belief in what is possible, shapes how we respond. Christ tells us we are to stand up, raise our heads, and look for the signs of the kingdom that are surely springing up around us.

Today we celebrate the feast of Christ the King.

The focus of this festival is not on Christ, king of the universe in heavenly glory as shown to us in the reading from Daniel, but on how we follow Christ here on earth and use the power he has given to us.

If Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 gives us a vision of Christ, the human one, being given all power and authority, the gospel, John 18:33b-37, uncovers a little of the nature of this power.

Pilate has earthly power, economic, political, social, military. When he questions Christ’s kingship he is pointing out that Christ has no power in this court.

Christ replies that he was born to testify to the truth. And the truth he seeks to tell is the truth of those without power. This truth is always at odds with how the powerful see the world.

We too are called to share in Christ’s “kingship”; God’s power is available to us too. It is the power to speak truth and live truth even when it challenges those with earthly power.

War feels like the end of the world. It ends lives but it also destroys communities, homes, livelihoods and futures.

In Scripture war and conflict are often presented in an apocalyptic light as a sign of the end of all things, but in our readings today they are also presented as birth pangs.

It is easy to misread today’s scriptures as a justification, or at least an acceptance, of war as redemptive violence, but this is never the case with a God of love. Violence can never birth peace. The challenge for us is to see what needs to be torn down in order that peace can be born among us. Can we bear to let go of things we held dear to bring into being justice and peace?

As we begin the countdown to Advent our readings call us to repent:

In Jonah 3:1-5,10, God threatens the people of Nineveh with destruction which results in a communal change of heart. In the gospel, Mark 1:14-20, Jesus begins his ministry in the shadow of John the Baptiser’s execution with a call to repent.

What makes these readings more than stern hectoring is the call to believe in the good news: salvation is possible, disaster can be avoided. In the week of COP26 this is a message we need to hear: salvation IS POSSIBLE. All we need to do is repent. Literally turn around, change direction, return home. Home to God, home to a sustainable way of life, home to a world of justice and equity.

As ever with our beautiful non-coercive God, no one is forcing us, we have a choice, but there is a time frame.

The kingdom of God is near. Will we choose it?

Today we celebrate the Feast of All Saints, marking the beginning of the season of remembrance. As the year draws to its end we turn our minds towards endings, and so both our readings today ponder the mystery of death.

In Isaiah 25:6-9 God describes the feast that he will give for his people, a feast at which they will eat the finest food and wine and God will eat death. Surrounding cultures believed in a god of death called Mot who swallowed people when they died. God is bigger than death, big enough to utterly consume death, and so set his people free to live, for to be part of God is to be part of life. We celebrate this in our baptism when we are called to die to a way of life bound by the fear of death and be given a part in the divine life, reborn as creatures who are unafraid of death and so can be fully alive.

In our gospel (John 11:32-44) Jesus again shows that the life of God is bigger than death. Here the community are called upon to unbind Lazarus from his grave clothes and set him free. We too are called to unbind one another from fear of death and to set one another free to live life abundantly.

Do we know what we want?

For several weeks we have heard Jesus asking those who come to him what they want: the rich young ruler wants eternal life, James and John want glory and honour. Today (in Mark 10:46-52) it is blind Bartimaeus’ turn and he wants mercy. He wants it so badly that he is prepared to throw away his cloak, his only possession, to get it. Where the rich young ruler and the earnest disciples hold on to what they have, Bartimaeus let’s go.

Our Old Testament reading (Jeremiah 31:7-9) looks forward to a time when the kingdom of God, a reign of justice and peace, is restored by putting those who have nothing (the lame and the blind, the women and children), those who are on the margins, in the centre. When their needs are met, the whole community flourishes.

In the well-off West we are often blind to what it is that we really need and to what is required of us if we are to receive it.

As we approach COP26 we may also need our eyes opening to what it we must let go of if we are to receive what we need: a world in which resources and responsibilities are shared.

Today’s readings go to the heart of the human experience: What are we here for? Does our life have meaning and purpose?

In our Old Testament reading Job is railing at God for his suffering. What has he done to deserve this?

In the Gospel this week James and John are arguing over their status; they want to be important; they want to be significant.

In each reading their lives are put in perspective. They are shown, on the one hand, how tiny and insignificant their lives are in the sweep of the universal history and, on the other hand, how this broad view gives them back a different kind of significance. What they achieve and acquire is ultimately worthless, yet their own individual being is part of the great and beautiful sweep of universal history and salvation. When we let go of our egos and accept our innate God-given godliness, we can inhabit our lives as a tiny, yet unique and particular, facet of God’s glorious story.