Gratitude That Saves

Preached at Holy Trinity, Huddersfield
25th September 2016 (9am): Harvest Celebration
Luke 17:11-19

Lord, none of us have come here today to hear me speak. We want to hear you speak. So send your Holy Spirit among us that we might hear your living Word, Jesus Christ, addressing us and calling us to yourself. In His name, we pray. Amen.

“Steve,” Mike asked, “how do you feel about preaching at Harvest?”
“Sure, that sounds great” I said. “What’s the theme this year?”
“Toilet twinning,” Mike said.
“Toilet twinning?” I asked.
“Toilet twinning,” Mike said.
“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

So here I am today, tasked with preaching on the story of Jesus cleansing the ten lepers at a Harvest service at which the focus is toilet twinning. How on earth am I going to accomplish this daring feat of interpretive acrobatics, you may be wondering? Well, the simple answer is that I’m not, not if I want my preaching ministry here to be more than a flash in the pan…

But, I’m pleased to say that when it came to write something, I put my hand to paper and I was really on a roll… But before you’re all flushed away by the predictability of these puns, let’s get to the text—a text which, as I hope you will soon see, brings us not only to the very heart of what our Harvest celebrations are about, but even to the very heart of what our worship itself is about.

Next year marks 500 years since the start of the Reformation, which many of you will know began in earnest when Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the castle church in Wittenburg. Once when this great Reformer of the Church was asked to describe the nature of true worship, he gave this short, sweet and succinct answer: “the tenth leper turning back.” The tenth leper turning back—that is what true worship looks like, Luther said.

Jesus is on His way to Jerusalem. He’s on His way to the cross. And as He makes His way to that ultimate showdown, He passes through a village on the border of Galilee and Samaria. Socially, this is a murky area Jesus is walking into. The Samaritans were regarded as heretics, foreigners, even enemies of the Jews. Most Jews would have kept their distance from Samaria, preferring to walk around it rather than to go anywhere near it. Jesus approached when others stayed away.

But then the boundaries are muddied yet further when ten lepers approach, coming as close to Jesus as they dare while still keeping their socially prescribed distance. They shout out to Him for mercy. Jesus sees them. And seeing them, He tells them to act as if they’ve already been healed, He tells them to go and show themselves to the priests (who acted as the health inspectors of the day) to verify that they were indeed free from their leprosy.

In faithful obedience, they do as Jesus says. And as they go, they’re all healed. One of them, though, sees what has happened and immediately he turns around and starts singing and praising God. He runs and falls at Jesus’ feet and starts thanking Him for what He’s done. Jesus, however, is rather disappointed. “Where are all the others?” He asks. His disappointment is only compounded by the fact that the one who comes back to thank God is the one everybody would least expect—a Samaritan.

But then Jesus says something rather odd. He tells the former leper to get up off the floor and go on his way, saying, “Your faith has made you well.” But hasn’t Jesus already made him well? Isn’t that the point of the story—that all ten lepers were healed? So why single out this one and tell him that his faith has made him well? Unless the blessing Jesus confers on the tenth leper is something other than that which all, including the other nine, had previously received.

That this is the case is suggested by the fact that Luke chooses the Greek verb sozo, translated here, “made well,” to report what Jesus says to the former leper. Sozo certainly means ‘to make well,’ but it also means much more than that. It means ‘to heal,’ ‘to restore,’ ‘to make whole,’ ‘to deliver from harm,’ ‘to save.’ What we have before us, then, is a story of ten lepers being healed and one being saved. There is a health, a wellness, a wholeness, beyond the restoration of their physical condition, but it is only the tenth leper who returns to Jesus praising God who receives it.

Why? What makes the tenth leper different from all the others? Well, he was a Samaritan. We know that. But that doesn’t explain why he returned and all the others didn’t. It merely shows up the lack of response from among the Jewish lepers, who everybody would have expected to show some gratitude. No, the real difference between the tenth leper and all the others is that he saw that Jesus had healed him. It seems breathtakingly obvious, doesn’t it? But it’s true.

Ten lepers were healed, but only one saw that healing as a gift from God, and as a result of that seeing, returned to praise God at Jesus’ feet, through whom the gift of healing came. Giving thanks to God is what our worship is all about. We say ‘thank you’ to somebody when they do something for us or give something to us. The words ‘thank you’ are a response; they are words we use to acknowledge a gift—the receipt of something from outside ourselves. The tenth leper worships God because he recognises that his healing is God’s gift.

The tenth leper worships God and he is saved. He is not saved because his worship of God is something good he has to offer God. He is saved because his worship of God names what it means to be saved. We were made to worship God. And so, when we worship God we are made whole—we are saved. Worship is our salvation. The faith that saved the tenth leper, the faith that saves us, is the faith that acknowledges our utter dependence on the God who is our Creator, our Redeemer and our Healer.

The real blessing Jesus offers the lepers is not their healing (as real and significant as that is); it is the freedom, made possible by their healing, to see their lives as the gift of God. Worship flows from such seeing. But worship also teaches such seeing. We come to Church every Sunday to learn to see things as they truly are. We come to Church every Sunday to learn to see everything that exists as God’s gift to us to make Him known and make our lives a communion with Him. We come to Church every Sunday to have our lives continually turned back to God in grateful dependence, just like that tenth leper.

All is gift. In worship we learn that and in worship we celebrate that. The German mystic, Meister Eckhart, once said, “If the only prayer you ever say is ‘thank you’ it would be enough.” And the reason he can say that is because when we give thanks to God we acknowledge our lives as being made possible by His gift. Worship is fundamentally about gratitude—the gratitude of the creature to the Creator, the redeemed to the Redeemer, the healed to the Healer. In worship we are reoriented to the reality that all is gift, and as, by faith, we enter into that reality, we are saved.

It is no accident therefore, that Luke tells us that this healing happened on Jesus’ way to Jerusalem, on Jesus’ way to the cross. Similarly, it is no accident that the central act of Christian worship is and always has been the Eucharist, which literally means “thanksgiving.” It is the gift of God through Jesus Christ at the cross that makes life with God possible for all of us. Like the lepers, Jesus’ death is sufficient for the healing of the whole world; but it is only those who respond in faith by worshipping the God that heals them who are saved by it.

Worship teaches us to see all things coming from God’s hand so that the world might know Him. And that includes us. Just as everything exists as God’s gift to us, so we also exist as God’s gift to the world. The gratitude that sees everything as God’s gift to us would make us God’s gift to others. And so it is also with the Eucharist. We do not come to the Table to be filled up purely for our own benefit. No. We who share Christ’s body are to live His risen life; we who drink His cup are to bring life to others; we whom the Spirit lights are to give light to the world.

Today, on this day of Harvest celebration, we are asked to see something so mundane and trivial as our toilets as God’s gift to us. 2.5 billion people (40% of the world’s population) don’t have a clean, safe place to go to the loo. To give you a rough idea of how many people that is, it’s enough to fill the John Smith Stadium over 100,000 times. Will you join me, then, in flushing your money down the toilet in an act of gratuitous praise to the God who makes our life possible? Are you willing to risk worshipping a generous God? Amen.

Come and See

Preached at Holy Trinity, Huddersfield
11th September 2016 (10.45am): Trinity 16
John 1:35-51

Hello. My name is Peter. Simon Peter—yeah, that’s right, ‘the Rock,’ as Jesus liked to call me. You may remember me from such glorious episodes as walking on water, confessing Christ at Caesarea Philippi, and that sermon at Pentecost. You may also remember me from some slightly less glorious episodes such as sinking in the water, telling Jesus He had no business washing my feet, and denying three times I ever knew Him. Either way, I expect you’re wondering how on earth I got involved in all this. Good question. I’m not entirely surely myself. It just, sort of, happened. I’ll tell you the story, if you like?

Well, it all began a few years ago. It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon and I was at home cleaning the nets after a hard morning’s fishing. Then, out of nowhere, my brother Andrew comes crashing through the door like a hurricane. “Simon, Simon! The Messiah—we’ve found Him! I’ve seen Him. Quick. Grab your coat, you’ve got to come, see.” Well, he was speaking so quickly I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. “Slow down,” I said. “You’re not making any sense. What’s happened? Where have you been?”

Still trying to catch his breath, he tried again: “The Messiah—we’ve found Him! We’ve found the Messiah!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I didn’t mind telling him so. “Andrew,” I said, “don’t be so stupid! If the Messiah has finally decided to make an appearance, wouldn’t everybody know about it already? Besides, what on earth would the Messiah be doing around here? What on earth would he be doing with the likes of a fisherman like you, eh? Shouldn’t he be in Jerusalem sorting out the Romans, giving Herod a good kick up the backside or something? Honestly, I’ve never heard such rubbish.”

But Andrew wasn’t deterred. He wasn’t having any of it. He was adamant. “Simon, shut up and listen to me,” he said. “We’ve found the Messiah, you’ve got to come and see.” By this time, I remember beginning to get a little spooked by it all. I mean I’ve never seen Andrew in such a state. He was just so insistent. He really did seem to think that he’d found the Messiah. Something had clearly happened. I didn’t know what yet, but I thought, at least for his sake, I ought to hear him out. So that’s what I did. I said to him: “Andrew, just tell me what’s happened. Tell me where all this is coming from.”

“We’ve found the Messiah—that’s what’s happened!” he said. “I was out with John and…” “Hold on,” I interrupted. “You don’t mean John the Baptist? I’ve told you before about hanging out with him. He’s not right in the head. The guy wears clothes made of camel’s hair; he eats locusts for crying out loud! I should have guessed that loony was behind all this nonsense.” But Andrew wasn’t put off. “No, you don’t understand,” he said to me. “John’s a prophet—he’s the one Isaiah spoke of all those years ago, the one who would make straight the way of the Lord. Well, today, I was with him and suddenly he stretched out his bony finger towards a guy walking past in the distance and started yelling, “There He is, there He is—the Lamb of God!” So I went.

“Yeah? And then what happened?” I asked. “Well, me and my mate who was there with me, we both started running. We ran over to Him and started following. Then He turned around and asked us, “What are you after, boys? What are you looking for?” Well, we were both a bit tongue-tied, but it was getting late so we asked Him, “Where are you staying, Teacher?” I was going to invite Him back home, you see. Can you imagine it—the Messiah under our roof? But before I got the chance to say anything else, He told us to come and see. So we did.”

“Yeah? And then what?” I asked Andrew again. “Well, we saw where He was staying, we stayed with Him the rest of the day while He talked to us about God’s Kingdom, and then I came out here to get you, so you could meet Him too. So are you coming, or not?” I sat there, stunned. I didn’t know what to make of it all. I still wasn’t sure I believed him. But he’s my brother. I know him. We grew up together. Of course he told a few white lies back when we were younger. Yeah, he played a few practical jokes on me before. But this was different. He was convinced I needed to meet this man, this Jesus of Nazareth.

“Just come and see,” Andrew pleaded again. “That’s all I’m asking. If you still think I’m crazy, fine. But you’ve got to come and see.” After a slight pause (I remember it, as if it was yesterday), he asked me, “Simon, what have you got to lose? If I’m right, do you really want to say that you had the chance to meet the Messiah, but you were sat at home fiddling with the fishing nets?” He was right, wasn’t he? I knew it. The stakes were just too high. If this guy really was who my brother seemed to think He was, who John the Baptist seemed to think he was, the least I could do was to meet Him and find out for myself.

“Come and see,” Andrew reiterated. Jesus had obviously made quite an impression on Him. So I stood up, grabbed my coat, and no sooner had I done that than Andrew took me by the arm and started pulling me down the road to where Jesus was. When we got there, let’s just say Jesus didn’t disappoint. I’ve never met anybody like Him before. Jesus took one look at me and said, “Ah, Simon, John’s boy—you’re going to be my Rock, just you see.” He just has this way with people. He knows them before He’s ever even met them. It’s incredible! Well, it’s fair to say that from that moment on He had me hooked.

Andrew and I stayed with Him that evening and He talked on into the night. We completely lost track of time. The next morning when we woke up, Jesus was there, bright as a button, saying, “Get up you two, we’re off to Galilee!” We barely had time to rub our eyes before we were on the road. Jesus was a man on a mission. We struggled to keep up. Philip, a friend of ours from Bethsaida, was up ahead. All of a sudden, Jesus called out to him, “You there, you, follow me!” And he did. Just like that. I’d never seen anything like it before.

I remember standing there and thinking, “Wow! This guy’s got something. His words have power. He says, “Follow me,” and people just drop everything and come, just because He’s the one saying it.” And do you know what Philip did then? He ran on ahead as fast he could to find his friend Nathanael. “Nate!” he cried, bursting with excitement. “Nate, we’ve found the One, the One all the Scriptures speak of, and His name is Jesus—Jesus, Joseph’s son from Nazareth.” Nathanael looked puzzled. “Nazareth?” he scoffed. “Can anything good come from a small little Galilean backwater like Nazareth?”

By now Philip’s words were sounding all too familiar. “Come and see,” he said, “why don’t you just come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael walking up the road with Philip, he said to us who were with Him, He said, “Our ancestor Jacob, the father of our nation, was a liar and a cheat, but look, here comes an Israelite who know how to tell the truth!” Nathanael overheard what Jesus said and replied, “I’m sorry, have we met before? How do you know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you coming. I saw you sitting comfortably in the shade of a fig tree long before Philip even called you.”

Well, you should have seen Nathanael’s jaw drop. He couldn’t believe it. There in front of him was someone who knew him better than he knew himself. “Teacher,” he stuttered, “you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Looking back on it, that must have been what Jesus meant when He told us that Nathanael was an Israelite who knew how to tell the truth. But Jesus wasn’t finished yet. “That’s nothing,” Jesus said to Nathanael, “If you believe simply because I told you I saw you under the fig tree, then stick around me a while longer and you’ll see things that’ll blow your mind.”

Jesus went on, “You mark my words, and you’ll see heaven open and angels going up and down upon the Son of Man as if by a ladder.” We all stood there dumbstruck, “He couldn’t mean… Could He?” You see, it’s written in the Scriptures that once when our ancestor Jacob was on his way from Beersheba to Haran, he stopped for the night and had a dream of a ladder reaching up to heaven with angels going up and down on it. He woke up with a start and said, “Surely the Lord is here in this place, and I’ve been completely oblivious!” So he called the place “the Gateway to Heaven.” At the time, I had inkling that Jesus was special, but here He was calling Himself the Gateway to Heaven… Wow! The rest, as they say, is history.

And that’s how it happened. That’s how I am where I am. I know that a lot of people talk about me—Peter, the Rock—as if I’m some kind of spiritual ‘big cheese’, but I’m not. I’m not here because I was anything special. I’m here because my brother Andrew met with Jesus and wanted me to meet with Him too. I’m here because my brother Andrew had his life changed meeting Jesus, and he knew that Jesus would change my life too. I’m here because my brother Andrew spoke three simple words to me: “Come and see.” Since the Spirit’s come, I haven’t stopped saying the same thing to other people: “Come and see—there’s someone I need you to meet.” So the question is: are you coming, or not?

MP3 Audio Recording available on the Holy Trinity Huddersfield website:

Dressed for the Battle

Preached at Holy Trinity, Huddersfield
31st July 2016 (10.45am): Trinity 10
Ephesians 6:10-24

“Pray for me,” Paul says, “so that when I speak, a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it boldly, as I must speak.” (vv.19-20)

Saints, would you pray this for me this morning? Let us pray:
Gracious and loving God, we thank you for the mystery of the gospel, the mystery of the Good News that you have reconciled and united all people and all things in your Son Jesus Christ. Give me power through your Holy Spirit to proclaim this gospel as boldly as I ought, not because I have confidence in my own words, but because I have confidence in Him whom I proclaim, your living Word, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Good. Now if it’s a bad sermon, it’s your fault for not praying!

We come, today, to the end of our current series of sermons working through Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Paul has explained the greatness of God’s purpose from eternity to unite all things in Christ and to create a new, united community in Him (the Church). He has underlined what a high calling it is to be part of this new community and the importance of living a life “worthy” of it—the whole of their lives and every single relationship, from the home to the workplace, are to be influenced and shaped by their new identity in Christ.

Now, at the end of this great letter, Paul warns the Ephesians that if they are truly going to be a new community in Christ, it won’t be easy. In fact, it will bring them into a spiritual battle of cosmic proportions. It will require them to stand up and fight against foes of unimaginable strength and unspeakable evil. If you thought being a Christian was about going to church, keeping your head down and generally trying to be ‘nice’ to people, think again. Being a Christian is something that requires us to “put on the whole armour of God.”

“Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.” (v.10)

Why would Paul say this unless the Christian life was something for which we needed strength? It may come as a surprise to some, but the overriding message that God wants to impress on us here is that there is a war going on and that by virtue of being Christians, by virtue of our baptism and incorporation into Christ, we are part of it. Indeed, we acknowledge this every time somebody is baptised. After the decision for Christ is made and the person is marked with the sign of the cross, the person leading the service addresses them and says: “Do not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified.”  At which the whole congregation joins together, saying: “Fight valiantly as a disciple of Christ, against sin, the world and the devil, and remain faithful to Christ to the end of your life.”

To be a Christian, to be a disciple of Christ, enjoins upon us the need to fight. The Good News, the Gospel, the εὐαγγελίον, is the announcement of victory in battle. It is the announcement of Christ’s victory over the powers of sin and death, the victory of God’s kingdom with judgment for God’s enemies and salvation for God’s people. To be baptised is to be made a member of God’s people by being brought into the company of the crucified Christ. And because it is to be brought into the company of the crucified Christ, it is to be brought into Christ’s conflict with the powers that crucified Him.

A new community in Christ that owes its sole allegiance to God is a threat to the Devil’s dark dominion. He will do everything he can to stop it. He will sow seeds of sin and sedition that sprout and spread until they destroy the new society God has made. And the Devil is wily. It starts subtly—with a bit of grumbling here, or with a bit of coarse joking there, or with the odd power play rearing its head in our relationships. Satan knows how to divide people. He’s been doing it since he turned Adam and Eve on God and on each other. If God is creating a new community in Christ, don’t expect the Devil to take it lying down.

Living a life worthy of God’s high calling upon us is no mean feat. We are in a battle. But it isn’t for us to defeat sin, the world and the devil; that’s what God does in Christ. Our job is to join with Christ in His resurrection-rage against their death-dealing dominion. Therefore, Paul says: “Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armour of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” (vv. 10-11) There is a battle. We are part of it. But the strength we need comes from God, and not ourselves.

And it’s just as well because our enemies aren’t blood and flesh. Our battle isn’t against other human beings. No. Our battle is bigger than that. Our Enemy is more powerful than any human enemy. The enemies we see are real enough, but spiritual forces of darkness that we can’t see animate them. We are involved in a cosmic conflict. Evil is organised, it’s strategic, and it’s deeply embedded in every structure, every system and every institution. Therefore, to combat such a powerful, cunning and unscrupulous Enemy, we need all the strength that God, and God alone, can supply.

“Our struggle,” Paul says, “is against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (v.12). The word he uses for ‘struggle’ describes a wrestling match, hand-to-hand combat, a soldier’s close-quarter grappling. Our Enemy might be in the heavenly places, but the war waged against us is very close to home, it’s right here on our doorstep. Hiding in the trenches is not an option. There are no neutral parties in this war. Instead, there are only two options: to stand and fight with Christ, or to collude with the Enemy either actively joining his ranks, or passively let him get about his business.

The Enemy wants us to break ranks and run, preferably without even fronting up. God encourages us to take up His whole armour so that we might stand our ground, remain in the battle and fight (v. 13). We are to go out like heavily armed soldiers, like people who know that their Enemy is going to throw the kitchen sink at them. One preacher told his congregation that he didn’t want any Christian streakers running around his church. It wasn’t enough to wear “the helmet of salvation,” they must wear the whole armour of God. I’m sure I speak for Mike in saying that neither of us want to see any kind of streakers in this church.

Put on. Take up. These imperatives dominate vv. 13-17. Each is plural and each implies that activity is required on our part. The struggle is not an individualistic one. The struggle belongs to all the baptised. We are in it together. God supplies the strength. God supplies the armour. But it’s up to us to stand in His strength. It’s up to us to put on and take up His armour. The armour of God doesn’t just fall on us like rain. It has to be claimed. We have to make it our own. Sometimes I wonder if we don’t spend so much time polishing our armour that we never actually make it to the front line.

“The apparel oft proclaims the man,” says Polonius in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. In other words, the way we dress says something about who we are. The call to “put on” and “take up the whole armour of God” is the military version of clothing ourselves with the new self that Paul talks about back in Ephesians 4:24. As there, so here Paul says that baptism confers on us a new status, which is marked by the wearing of a new set of clothes—the whole armour of God. To be dressed like a Christian, then, is not to wear a dog collar, or a cross around our neck, or even a t-shirt that says, “I love Jesus.” No. To be dressed like a Christian is to be dressed for the battle.

“Fasten the belt of truth around your waist”—any lack of integrity between your faith and your action will hinder your movement. “Put on the breastplate of righteousness”—let Christ’s righteousness protect your innermost parts until it becomes your very own. “As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace”—God’s kingdom advances as the Good News is spread and new converts are won. “Take the shield of faith”—let your unwavering trust in God extinguish all the Devil’s fiery arrows. “Take the helmet of salvation”—hold up your head with confidence, knowing that God’s final victory is assured. “Take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God”—yield God’s word, the word that speaks of Jesus, as your only weapon, and remember that it’s only as the Spirit points people to Jesus that it’s effective.

We must be dressed for the battle. And therefore, we must pray: “Pray in the Spirit at all times, in every prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints” (v. 18). Prayer is an expression of our dependence on God. And because we are completely dependent on God, our prayer must be comprehensive, which Paul indicates by the use of four uses of the word ‘all’: we are to pray at all times, in all ways, with all perseverance, for all the saints. It’s not enough to pray at some times, in some ways, with some perseverance, for some of the saints. Prayer must be all encompassing if God’s armour is to fully encompass us.

We are in a battle. We must be dressed for the battle. And the means by which we (the Church) take hold of God’s armour is prayer. When we enter the new community of Christ through baptism, we come as those who have been conquered, enslaved and trodden down by sin, the world and the devil. Sunday by Sunday, however, we’re sent out as pardoned, liberated and fully-armed soldiers of God, whose vocation it is to fight valiantly against sin, the world and the devil through an indomitable, unrelenting and indefatigable campaign of love at Christ’s command.

The words, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” are not just nice words intended to send us out with a warm fuzzy feeling as we leave the church building. No. These words are our battle cry! These words remind us who we are, and what we’re here for. The Church’s task, strange as it may sound, is not to change the world. The Church’s task is to be the Church—to be that new community in Christ who, having been released from slavery to sin, have peace with God and are free to do what they were truly created to do: to love and serve the Lord. By doing that, God will show the world what the world is meant to be.

Peace, not violence; love, not hate; service, not power—these are the strategies of God’s holy war. Therefore we fight the spiritual forces of evil every time we forgive someone who’s hurt us, every time we pray for our enemies, every time we open our hands and give to the poor. When we walk out of church, we are to go in God’s strength, as God’s people, free to live in God’s world in God’s way. This is our battle. The question is: are we dressed for it? Let us pray that we might be, and then let us stand and fight like the soldiers of God we are. Amen.


A Hymn for Ascension Day

Christ is now gone up above, Alleluia!
Our victorious Lord of love, Alleluia!
Human flesh brought into God, Alleluia!
Pleading for the earth He trod, Alleluia!

Christ’s redeeming work complete, Alleluia!
God and Man in Him now meet, Alleluia!
See His hands, His feet, His side, Alleluia!
Wounded Man now glorified, Alleluia!

See Him at His Father’s side, Alleluia!
He whom we had crucified, Alleluia!
He whom we condemned to die, Alleluia!
Prays for us our cause on high, Alleluia!

Hail Him there, our Great High Priest, Alleluia!
Sacrifice, who makes the feast, Alleluia!
Enter we within the veil, Alleluia!
Where His prayer forev’r prevails, Alleluia!

Set we, then, our hearts above, Alleluia!
Where Christ is: our Life, our Love, Alleluia!
For in Christ our Head we know, Alleluia!
Where He led we too shall go, Alleluia!

Christ has left us not alone, Alleluia!
Pours He blessing from His throne, Alleluia!
Promise of the Father giv’n, Alleluia!
Frees for us the Pow’r of heav’n, Alleluia!

In the Spirit, may we rise, Alleluia!
Dwell with Christ beyond the skies, Alleluia!
Bond of sacred unity, Alleluia!
Show us Him we long to see, Alleluia!

Come, Creator Spirit, come, Alleluia!
Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come, Alleluia!
Christ has died, and Christ is ris’n, Alleluia!
Christ will come again from heav’n, Alleluia!

Tune: Easter Hymn

The Glory of God

Preached at Wycliffe Hall Chapel
20th April 2016: Morning Prayer
Psalm 135; Exodus 33; Luke 3:15-22

Gracious God, pour out your Holy Spirit upon us that in our poor speaking and weak hearing we may discern your voice and see your glory in the face of Jesus Christ, in whose name we pray. Amen.

“Show me your glory,” Moses asks the Almighty. He’s got some chutzpah, hasn’t he? Surely he was already pushing his luck pleading with God not to destroy the Israelites for their peccadillo with the golden calf. Their action, after all, was tantamount to committing adultery on the wedding night. And to make matters worse, we’re told they pawned their engagement ring to pay for their night with a prostitute—the jewellery they plundered from the Egyptians, the riches that were a down payment on richer blessings still to come.

God had paid for Israel. He had bought her freedom from slavery. And it was for that very reason that the first of God’s Ten Commandments was that he didn’t want them fooling around with other gods. Surely God was well within His rights to end it, to end them, right there in the wilderness. But Moses not only pleads for this ragtag band of sorry losers, he pleads for them by insinuating that dumping Israel in the desert would make God look bad, that it would play poorly in the Egyptian newspapers the next morning.

That Moses’ intercession should see the Lord relent of His white-hot rage was surely victory enough. But alas, it appears not. God tells the people to leave Horeb, to take possession of the land He had promised to their ancestors and to enjoy its milk and its honey. To push the matrimonial metaphor a little further, God tells the Israelites to take the wedding presents, go on the honeymoon and live in the marital home He’d prepared for them. Now to me, that sounds like grace. It is far more than this wretched people deserves. But the catch is: God Himself will not be going up among them.

Moses hears this for the disastrous word it is. Canaan may have been the land God promised to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, but he knew there was no promise to be found in the land without the presence of God. And so, Moses does the unthinkable. He does something that most of us probably would hesitate to do in our pastoral counselling. He pleads the victim of adultery to come back and live with the partner who had defiled their marriage bed with a prostitute on their first night together. It’s not enough for God to send His angel ahead of them. Unless the very presence of God Himself goes with them, all is lost.

I wonder whether we hear God’s word for the devastating word that it is, or whether we are really more interested in God’s blessings than God Himself. Do we hear God’s words, “Take the house, take the car, take the money,” and mourn because God also says, “I will not go up among you”? The Israelites were at least able to recognise what a hole they were in unless God went with them. And so, they stripped themselves of their ornaments, the ornaments they used to fuel their sin, and dressed themselves before God as the poor beggars they now knew they were.

The camp now polluted, Moses goes and pitches the tent of meeting “outside the camp, far off from the camp.” The Israelites’ sin had thrust a wedge between them and God. And yet, grace upon grace, God continued to meet to with Moses there. The people would stand at the entrance of their tents, see the pillar of cloud indicating that God had not completely withdrawn His presence from them, and they worshipped. Here in this tent we meet a God who, though ineffably, unspeakably holy, simply will not be deterred from approaching us. Still God comes to His messed-up, good-for-nothing, deadbeat people. He will not be stopped.

Moses would not even contemplate going forward without God and he begs God to extend the favour he personally enjoys towards the people as a whole. Eventually, God relents. After all, this is a God whose desire is, and always has been, to be God-With-Us. It is as a pledge of the favour he has with God and that God truly will dwell among the people without destroying them that Moses makes his bold request, “Show me your glory.” In Hebrew, the verb is in the causative form, the hiphil: “Make me to see your glory.” Moses knows well enough that we don’t see God through any resources of our own. God is the Subject as well as the Object of revelation. All knowledge of God comes from the side of God.

“Show me your glory,” says Moses. And God says, “I will show you my goodness.” God’s goodness is His glory, a glory known more in mercy than in majesty. God’s goodness is God’s willingness to maintain His presence among a people who have so successfully demonstrated their skill at betraying Him. The goodness God shows to Moses is that He should deign to come so close as to brush past him as he hides in the rock. God’s glory is God’s presence. More precisely, God’s glory is God’s presence with us. That the Creator God should dwell among finite human beings is remarkable enough; that He should choose to be in relationship with those who have a track record of infidelity and betrayal is frankly astounding.

God’s glory is to be seen in His self-deprecating willingness to be God-With-Us; to be born in poverty, to grow up in obscurity, to live the life of a restless peripatetic, to be mocked, betrayed, denied and abandoned, and finally to die on a cross beside two criminals. The cross is the inevitable consequence of God’s decision to be God-With-Us. For this is our response to love. For God to be God-With-Us is for God to be vulnerable with people He knows full well are going to hurt Him. But God’s goodness is His refusal to be safe. If a holy God was going to dwell with wretched sinners like us, it was clear that one of us was going to die. We just didn’t expect it to be Him.

In Jesus’ life, death, resurrection and ascension, we see a better Moses pleading the case for God’s presence among sinful humanity, and His intercession being heard. Moses could only see God’s back, the “afterglow of the effulgence of His presence,” as Robert Alter puts it. Anybody who has looked into the face of Jesus Christ on the cross has seen God’s glory head-on. Is it any wonder, then, that so many should turn away in horror from the sight of a God whose glory is a cross? It is a truly terrible sight, and one that only God can make us to see the glory of.

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world. Amen.

A Hymn for Easter Day

Let us with gladness enter
The joy of Christ our Lord;
Let first and last together,
Receive His love’s reward;
If any now are weary,
Let them in Him find rest;
If any now are strangers,
Let them be Jesu’s guest.

Come now, the feast is ready,
The Table is prepared;
For Christ has made the banquet
And no expense is spared;
Come one, come all, together,
Alike, come rich and poor;
Let no one go home hungry,
But eat, all, and adore.

Grieve no more your poverty,
The kingdom is for you;
Mourn no more your frequent falls,
Forgiveness has won through;
Hollow is Death’s boasting now,
For on that hallowed tree,
Death and Hell discovered God
And He has set us free.

All hail the mighty Conqueror,
O’er sin and death and hell;
For tasting our Redeemer’s flesh,
Death’s strong dominion fell;
And now is hell in uproar
For Christ has now it mocked;
And captive now to Jesu’s love,
Its gates have been unlocked.

Sing now, for Christ is risen,
The pow’r of Death is done;
Celebrate the victory,
That Christ our Lord has won;
Christ is risen and the tomb
Is emptied of its dead;
Christ is risen, life shines forth
In Christ our risen Head!

Tune: Ellacombe

Inspired by the Easter Homily of St. John Chrysostom