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2 Corinthians 4. 1-16, St Matthew 9. 9-13
It is a truth, not universally acknowledged, that Christianity flourished in these islands long before Augustine came to Canterbury and Milletus came to London. Just one year after Augustine landed near Canterbury a devout monk and scribe became Bishop of Lindisfarne Before that he had spent several years in the monastery scripting and decorating the most treasured of Anglo Saxon documents, now in the British Library. In the Lindisfarne Gospels the monk spent as much time meditating as writing and his reflection on the character of St Mathew is rendered at the beginning of the gospel by the magnificent letters M, A. The painting is an icon in itself. The main letter is made of two great bows and five animal heads are introduced, two of them combined to form a single face. It is as if the personality of Matthew intercedes into the wild surroundings of the coast of Northumbria. So let dear Matthew intercede in and for today’s wilderness of Westminster. In his memoirs stretching to 16 chapters he refers to himself only twice and then very briefly. He writes about himself in the third person. There is no self- justification, no excruciating apologies and no criticism of others. Just fact - and we are left at the end with an assessment and portrait - of - someone else. But his story begins with Matthew with his head down, preoccupied with his accounts and the safety of the money he is collecting. The people who come to him are grudging, not only because he is collecting taxes but because he is the representative of an occupying power. In provincial Galilee they see very little spent on public amenities and more on the soldiers who keep them supressed. These grudging tax payers also suspect, probably correctly, that Matthew is taking his percentage from what they resentfully give him. It is a world full of blame, relentless conflict, entrenched attitudes, secrecy and lies. Of course it couldn’t happen in today’s enlightened parliamentary democracies. Matthew endures it because it’s his livelihood and because he is obsessed by his calculations and profits. He keeps his head down. In fact Matthew’s very existence is inseparable from his table. And then, as he momentarily looks up to his next reluctant face, he catches the eyes of a passer-by. Jesus is always passing by. That divine movement of the earth’s creator is walking in the dusts and amongst the tax payers of Galilee. It is at once ultimate and intimate. But for that glance which passed between these two we would not have this gospel, this very Jewish and provincial take on the life of God amongst us. What was it about that moment which triggered a spontaneous call from Jesus ? What was it that caused Matthew’s immediate response and provoked a radical change on his life purpose ? We only know that a flash of insight can open up new horizons of thought and action. With a piece of art when we see something we had never seen before, when we are touched by Mozart or Britten to which we have been treated this morning, when a bible reading is seen from a different angle, when a hungry person is fed or a homeless person is given a welcome, we receive a glance from the One who delights in us. God can do a lot with a glance as Matthew knew and as Peter also knew. We know that a glance can mean a thousand words. That mutual trust can arise from the meeting of eyes. It reminds us that God is the principal of life’s principles. That he is always present and ready to intervene. In the words of Thomas Aquinas ‘ God is pure act’. In Matthews’s case he tells this story with detachment as if he is speaking about another person in the past. We contrast the old Matthew preoccupied with worldly gains, working for the extortion of non-roman citizens and a shady character on the fringes of society. We contrast that with the other Matthew who commits himself to the service of the disenfranchised, working for the people he has once exploited. Then we move to the scene where Matthew exchanges the table of discord for the table of hospitality. The table of disputes and contracts for the table of generosity and freedom and trust. Jesus is round Matthews’s table lying down propped by one elbow as was the custom. Instead of avoiding eye contact, the guests glance around with welcoming faces to fellow guests. Instead of head bowed in defence of their obsessions, their heads are facing upwards in a position of vulnerability, sharing and acceptance of the others around the table. The scene demonstrates that the deepest meaning of Christian discipleship is not the work done for Jesus but what is enjoyed in his company. So today we gather round the table at St Matthews thankful to him for inviting Jesus to preside here and offering us this place of divine hospitality. We leave all our negotiations around other tables behind. When we hear others asking ‘ what do these people think they are doing ? They do not conform to our view of modern society. ‘ , we are relaxed to hear Jesus saying ‘I have not come to call righteous, but sinners’ What a relief. Thank you Matthew. Thank you Jesus. Another monk from the north east – Bede of Jarrow who bridged the Celtic and Catholic traditions – wrote in his homily for this day ‘ Matthew could understand that Christ, who was summoning him away from earthly possessions, had incorruptible treasures of heaven in his gift ‘. So be it this day and for ever. Sources Jane Austen – Pride and prejudice Janet Backhouse – The Lindisfarne Gospels, p60 Father Simeon – Fire and Mercy, p 419f Thomas Aquinas – Wis 7.26f Bede – Hom. 21 CCL 122, 149-151
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The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street
We are in the early stages of the holy season of Advent and in the final stages – thank heavens – of the General Election Campaign. So it may be timely to ask this question: Do the ancient spiritual messages of Advent have any relevance to the secular shambles of our modern Parliamentary democracy? Now this is my first Advent sermon as an ordained priest. But “my previous” as we call it at Pentonville included fighting seven general election campaigns as a Parliamentary candidate. And if any voter had ever asked me on the hustings the question that I’ve just asked you in this church today, I would have thought that I was dealing with a religious nutter. In the years of “my previous” I would probably have dodged the question or brushed it away with a touch of mockery. But a journey from politics to priesthood makes one look at life differently. So I now think if we ponder carefully on all three of our readings we can find intriguing clues that the First Advent and the words of John the Baptist do offer significant sign posts for this weeks General Election and what may follow it. For example, high on the list of grievances that have been frequently voiced in all parts of today’s electorate are “that the system isn’t working” and that “we don’t trust our leaders”. 2 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street Well, the system and the leaders weren’t working in ancient Israel either. The tyranny of Herod; The occupation of the Romans; And the uselessness of the political leaders described in our reading as “you brood of vipers” all made the Judeans a restless, unhappy people who had lost trust in their system. Until suddenly out of nowhere arrives this strange figure of John the Baptist, drawing crowds in the desert with a message far more profound than “Get Brexit done” or “Let’s have a second Referendum.” John the Baptist had a straightforward uncompromising message: – Repent. Now Repentance sounds a hard sell to our secular society. This is partly an English Language problem. The word in our native tongue, never adequately defined, vaguely conjures up a picture of: ─ sayingsorryoverandoveragain, ─ standinginthecorner, ─ writingout100lines, ─ doingpenance, ─ orinoldentimes,wearingsackclothandashes. Not much voter appeal there! But in the Greek language in which the Gospels were originally written the word for repentance is Metanoia. And Metanoia literally means: Meta – a change Noia – of mind 3 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street More richly translated as “A change of heart and mind”. Now that was a much more understandable proposition to the people of Israel. They knew their system was broken. They understood the symbolism of a voice crying from the wilderness of the desert. And we can grasp it too. For in our personal lives we all have our crossings of the desert. Spiritually we can discover that the desert is the place where we meet God. Moses, David and Jesus himself all found that the barren desert can paradoxically be fertile ground for testing and transformation. It was from the desert that John the Baptist turned up the volume of his call to repentance by quoting the words of the Prophet Isaiah: “Make straight in the desert A highway for our God” These words had a symbolism too. In ancient Israel there were almost no roads let alone highways – only a few rural sun baked tracks. However, the Roman historian Josephus tells us that by royal command King Solomon did build certain causeways or highways of black stone on the 4 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street approaches to Jerusalem in order to give new routes of access to pilgrims coming to pray in the temple. *** So, what new highways or bridges do we need to build in our Parliamentary democracy today? Let’s start in the unexpected territory of religion. Last Saturday The Financial Times had a prominent feature article headlined “Religion has returned to the political stage”. The opening line of the article said “Religion has been discussed during this election more than in any election in living memory”. That’s true. Who could believe that the Chief Rabbi, courageously supported by Archbishop Justin would have felt the need to intervene so powerfully to warn against the scourge of antisemitism. Or who would have expected, until it was re-ignited by the recent terrorism on London Bridge, that Islamophobia would be rising on the agenda of some far-right groups. New highways of tolerance and understanding away from both these hateful prejudices need building up in our modern politics. Our reading from Isaiah is a helpful signpost here. 5 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street The prophets vision of a holy mountain where wolves and lions live peacefully alongside lambs and goats has a message for our increasingly polarised society, too often embittered by extreme statements on social media. Isaiah’s message is reinforced in our reading from Romans where St Paul declared: “May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another”. Harmony has been in noticeably short supply at Westminster in the past year or two. So, let’s hope and pray that the new House of Commons will contain fewer MPs convulsed with the roarings of mad Brexit disease – in either direction. Instead let’s pray for a fresh intake of new legislators who will lower their voices, and deliver their election promises: MPs who will cooperate with more cross party statesmanship on national issues like expanding social care for the elderly and who will work without Brexit bitterness for the common good under impartial Parliamentary chairmanship. These fruits of Westminster repentance, if they happen, will not be revolutionary innovations. These are the paths of trust that have served our Parliamentarians well in the past. Until recently every daily session of the Lords and Commons commenced with the reading of what was known as the Prayer for Parliament. Father Philip will 6 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street know it by heart because he often reads the prayers in the House of Commons when the Speaker’s Chaplain is unavailable. This prayer was written in 1661 after the civil war and the restoration of the monarchy and it calls upon all Parliamentarians “to lay aside all private interests, prejudices and partial affections” and to strive for “the uniting and knitting together of all persons ...in true Christian love and charity towards one another”. The mission statement of that 17th century prayer for Parliament is not all that far from the opening statements of John the Baptist in the 1st century. After telling his desert audience to repent, John added the command: “Bear fruit worthy of repentance”. Then he proclaimed the power of the greater one who was coming after him and declared: “He will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and with fire”. Now this is where the Advent message of John the Baptist becomes more uncomfortable. For he shifted, as our reading records, to the agricultural and almost apocalyptic imagery of the threshing floor, the winnowing fork and the burning of chaff “with unquenchable fire”. What is the meaning of these puzzling words to our modern world? I don’t suppose many of us would recognise a winnowing fork or a threshing floor if we saw one. 7 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street And what exactly is chaff? When I was a young newspaper reporter in old Fleet Street there was a joke doing the rounds: Question: What does the Editor do? Answer: The Editor separates the wheat from the chaff – and then prints the chaff. Still true today perhaps, to judge by the volume of irrelevant chaff in the news reporting of the election. But God, much more seriously, does want us to separate our spiritual grains of wheat form the unsatisfying husks of chaff in our own lives. This call for separating the good from the bad, which was made in the First Advent by John the Baptist, was repeated over and over again by Jesus in his parables. He called for the separation of the sheep from the goats. He called for the separation of the wheat from the tares or weeds. He called in the parable of the net for the separating the good fish from the bad fish. Perhaps it is one of the more neglected Advent messages that we should try to make this separation of wheat and chaff in our own lives. 8 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street Advent can be the ideal time to do this. A time when we quieten our souls. Intensify our prayers. And wait for the mystical murmurings and knockings which can be the harbingers of the coming of Christ in our hearts. *** Clearing away the irrelevant chaff in our busy self-centred lives is difficult. For Advent is also the season of proliferating seasonal distractions such as: Christmas shopping life; Christmas party life; Christmas Commercial life; And family gatherings at Christmas can all be full of chaff. Even church life is not always immune from chaff. To give an unexpected example of the separation challenges think even in carol services of the difference between the agreeable musical chaff of the lyrics in “Ding Dong Merrily on High” compared to the holy wheat of the mystery of the incantation so powerfully captured in Charles Wesley’s immortal lines: “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see Hail the Incarnate Deity”. *** 9 The Revd Jonathan Aitken Advent 2 Sermon for Sunday 8 December St Matthew’s Westminster, 20 Great Peter Street For a few more days we will probably be distracted from the coming of the Incarnate Deity by the cacophony and chaff of electioneering. But as we move closer to the coming of the word made flesh, may we put aside the distractions of the outside world of politics or anything else. Instead, may we quietly concentrate on growing the spiritual wheat in our souls so that in the words of our Gospel Reading: “They may bear the fruit of our repentance”. May we rise to the challenge of John the Baptist’s call to us this Advent. Amen Isaiah 43: 16-21
Phillipians 3: 4-14 John 12: 1-8 We have spent these five Sundays of Lent reflecting on our challenging but perhaps slightly too imaginative theme of “Dancing in the Desert”. From my one and only experience of spending an unbearably long week in Rub’ al Khali, the vast Empty Quarter of the Arabian desert, I would say that having any sort of fun there, like dancing, would be an extremely improbable activity Sermon for the first Sunday in Lent 2019: part of the series 'Dancing in the desert: exploring faith in the wilderness'
Genesis 15. 1-12, 17-18 Philippians 3.17 – 4.1 St Luke 13. 31-end When I heard the title of our Lent series I was puzzled – where had they got that from?, what did it mean? So what did I do? I googled it. Google came up with a progressive metal anthem. Not my scene at all: the music was a wild discordant cacophony, the lyrics, bellowed by the performers mostly nonsense. There was a sort of refrain: “Everybody’s going to a party, have a real good time/Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine.” That was the one part of the whole thing that made a least a little sense. The rest seemed to be a mass of disjointed fragments some of which made sense on their own but collectively…? I could only assume it was an incoherent cry of protest against the nihilism of our world today. Sermon for the first Sunday in Lent 2019: part of the series 'Dancing in the desert: exploring faith in the wilderness'
Deuteronomy 26. 1-11 Romans 10. 8b-13 St Luke 4. 1-13 The Gospel reading today relates the desert experience to end all desert experiences. As we hear: 'Christ was led by the Holy Spirit in the wilderness, where, for forty days he was tempted by the devil'. We may have different images of a desert: endless sand dunes, constantly shifting; flat and featureless, stretching for miles; the blistering heat, or the freezing cold at night, perhaps. But the desert into which our Lord entered was stony and rocky and full of temptation. Maybe that is closer to the deserts of our lives. Jeremiah 33: 14-16
Thessalonians 3: 9 to end Luke 21: 29-36 Before I first joined this congregation at St Matthew’s 21 years ago I used to think that Advent was just another season of the Church - although a rather jolly one with: pop up calendars at Sunday School; cheerful Carols like Ding Dong Merrily on High; mince pies for us choir boys; while the grown-ups were given a glass of sherry with the Rector after Matins. This time last year at extremely short notice, I was asked to preach on Remembrance Sunday in Brixton Prison.
This was quite a challenge because there had been no Christian Chaplain in Brixton for several months. That was why I got a rather panicky telephone call from the Governor’s office 24 hours before Remembrance Sunday 2017 asking me, even though I was not ordained at the time, if I could come in and lead the service as a layman. For good measure, this military sounding voice on the line said rather firmly “And the Governor does want a proper, formal Remembrance Day Service with a full two-minute silence”. Aye, Aye Sir, I more or less replied but with some anxiety. Trinity 5 ~ Psalm 130
2 Corinthians 8:36 – end Mark 5: 21 to end May I speak in the name of the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen Our God is a God of Surprises. And on one level, nobody here today is more surprised than I am to find myself standing before you preaching my first sermon as an Ordained Deacon in the new creation of Father Jonathan. Thank you God of Surprises! Yet on another level perhaps those of you who are regular members of our congregation will not be so surprised - for reasons that have little to do with me. I say this because it is in the DNA of this small church that we frequently and regularly inspire, encourage, guide and prepare candidates for ordination. Proverbs 8.1,22-31, Colossians 1.15-20, John 1:1-14
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable to you O God, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen. Today’s lectionary readings took me a little by surprise! It feels only yesterday that I was preaching from chapter one of John’s Gospel on Christmas Day. This past week the two Christmas trees at St Stephen’s finally came down, along with the rather sad looking Christmas Ponsettias on each window sill. The crib set was carefully packed away, and at 8am on Friday morning we celebrated the feast of Candlemas – the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. At the beginning of that service I read those poignant words: “Today we are looking back to the day of Christ’s birth and forward to the coming days of his passion”. The message was clear - these are transitional times. How then do we inwardly digest the poetic prose of John’s gospel at this particular time on the Second Sunday before the start of Lent? Readings: Isaiah 64: 1 – 9, Corinthians 1: 3 – 9, Mark 13: 24 - end
“Will we enter the season of Advent with faith or with fear?” This was the challenging question put to our congregation by Father Jamie in his Sermon here two Sundays ago. So let me pick up his gauntlet with the help, or arguably with the hindrance, of today’s readings. |
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