Growing in Wisdom

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

Sunday 5^th January 2025

 

Albrecht Dürer, Jesus among the Doctors 

Proverbs 3.13-18
Luke 2.41-52

When I was teaching Biblical Studies at Cardiff University,
            back in what feels like a lifetime ago,
there were a couple of memorable occasions
            when I concluded that there was a student in the class
            who knew more about the subject that I was teaching than I did!
 
On both occasions, I’m pleased to say,
            the students in question went on
            to achieve doctorates in Old Testament studies.
 
And I’m left with that feeling all teachers get from time to time
            —realising that one’s students have exceeded the ability of their teacher.
 
I guess this is how the teachers in the temple must have felt
            as they disputed theology with the twelve-year-old Jesus.
 
Artistic depictions of this scene are often called ‘Christ among the Doctors,’
            which takes the word ‘doctor’ back to its original meaning
            of being one who is qualified to teach,
rather than its more recent usage referring to medical practitioners.
 
Now, I’m not going to get drawn into the debates on social media
            as to whether holders of doctoral degrees should use the title “Doctor,”
            or whether it should be reserved for those who know how to save a life.
 
Instead, I want to focus on the deeper origins of the title
            —not only the title ‘Doctor’ but also the academic award of PhD.
 
The origins of the PhD degree, the Doctorate in Philosophy,
            lie in the medieval church,
where it was an award granted to those
            who demonstrated excellence in philosophy, the ‘love of wisdom.’
 
The word ‘philosophy’ is itself a joining of two Greek words,
            phileo, meaning to love, and sophia, meaning wisdom.
 
So, philosophy means, literally, the ‘love of wisdom.’
 
And a doctor of philosophy is, at heart,
            a teacher of the love of wisdom.
 
Interestingly, this word philosophy occurs only once in the New Testament,
            in Paul’s letter to the Colossians (2:8),
where it describes those who were so in love with the idea of wisdom
            that they were falling out of love with Jesus.
 
But the words phileo and sophia (love and wisdom) occur many times
            and are presented as attributes
            to which followers of Jesus should aspire.
 
We are called to love, and we are called to wisdom.
 
But these are not neutral terms:
            we can love the wrong things,
            and we can be wise in the wrong kind of wisdom.
 
The followers of Jesus are called to love God and to love their neighbour (Mark 12:30-31).     And they are also called to grow in the wisdom of God.
 
Our story from Luke’s gospel,
            of the young Jesus among the doctors in the temple,
challenges us to think about wisdom
            and how we can follow Christ’s example
            of growing in wisdom as the years go by.
 
The Education of Jesus
When Jesus enters the temple, he is still officially a child.
 
The age of maturity for Jewish men in that period was 13,
            and Luke specifically tells us that Jesus was only 12.
 
Partly, this may be because Luke likes the number 12,
            which symbolises God’s continuing revelation.
 
So in Luke’s gospel the 12 tribes of Israel are echoed by the 12 apostles,
            and Jesus in the temple at 12 symbolises the intersection
                        of historic Judaism and the new relationship with God
                        that Jesus was bringing into being.
 
But Jesus is not disputing with the doctors in the temple.
            He’s learning from them.
 
This isn’t some know-it-all wunderkind coming in
            and showing the establishment the error of their ways.
 
There’s no hint here of replacement theology,
            with Jesus supplanting the wisdom of Israel.
 
Rather, Jesus listens and asks questions;
            he is a student of his heritage,
            learning from those who are themselves lifelong students of wisdom.
 
Within the Jewish tradition,
            wisdom is more than a concept.
 
Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible is sometimes personified as a woman
            with whom people can relate
and those who live alongside Wisdom for many years
            can themselves become wise (Proverbs 8).
 
Solomon’s famous request to God
            was not for riches or power,
            but for Wisdom (1 Kings 3:1-15, 4:29-30).
 
And here, in Luke’s gospel, we meet Jesus,
            a child on the edge of adulthood,
listening and questioning, not lecturing or teaching,
            growing in wisdom as he grows in years.
 
The Wisdom of the Wise Men
As we celebrate Epiphany Sunday today,
            it is fitting to also reflect on the wisdom of the Magi who sought Jesus.
 
These wise men from the East
            exemplify the kind of wisdom we are called to emulate.
 
Their journey to find the Christ child
            was not driven by a pursuit of power or self-interest
but by a deep longing to honour and worship
            the one who is wisdom incarnate.
 
The Magi remind us that true wisdom
            requires both discernment and action.
 
They discerned the significance of the star and acted on that insight,
            undertaking a long and challenging journey to meet Jesus.
 
In doing so, they showed a willingness to seek beyond the familiar,
            to take risks, and to offer their treasures as a sign of their devotion.
 
This is wisdom in action:
            seeking Christ, honouring Christ, and offering their best to Christ.
 
Their story challenges us to consider
            what it means to seek Jesus in our own lives.
 
Like the Magi, we are called to discern where God is at work
            and to respond with courage and faith.
 
Their journey was not merely about finding a child;
            it was about encountering the presence of God
            and being transformed by that encounter.
 
For us, this means that wisdom is not just about intellectual understanding
            but about spiritual openness
            and a willingness to follow wherever God leads.
 
The gifts the wise men brought—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—
            symbolize their recognition of Jesus’ kingship, divinity, and sacrifice.
 
In the same way, our growth in wisdom
            calls us to offer our own gifts to God:
            our time, talents, and love for others.
 
This is the heart of true wisdom
            —a life orientated toward God and lived in service to the world.
 
Education Beyond the Classroom
So, back to Jesus among the doctors in the temple;
            and this story challenges us to reflect on how we grow in wisdom today.
 
Education matters deeply, but not only formal education.
 
We live in an era where misinformation is rampant.
            Social media and digital platforms
            often prioritise the loudest voices over the wisest ones.
 
The ability to discern what is good, what is true, and what is just
            has never been more crucial.
 
Take, for example, the growing divide
            over issues like climate justice or artificial intelligence.
 
Decisions made today will profoundly impact future generations.
            But how do we navigate these complex issues wisely?
 
As Christians, we are called to a wisdom
            that transcends political slogans and popular opinions.
 
We are called to a wisdom grounded in love
            —love for God, for creation, and for each other.
 
Wisdom is not just about knowing what is right but doing what is right.
            And this kind of wisdom is often best learned in community.
 
Just as Jesus learned in dialogue with the doctors in the temple,
            so we grow in wisdom by engaging with one another,
            sharing perspectives, and challenging assumptions.
 
One of the evils of populism
            is that it isolates people from those who think differently,
as people polarise into cliques and echo chambers.
 
In the Christian community we must resist this,
            we are called to learn from one another through our differences,
respecting voices with which we disagree,
            and being willing to change as more light and truth emerge from God’s word.
 
A Deeper Look at Jesus in the Temple
This, after all, is the pattern of Jesus. He goes to the temple to learn.
 
One of the remarkable aspects of this story
            is the way Luke portrays the humanity of Jesus alongside his divine wisdom.
 
Here we see a young boy who is both learning and teaching,
            both searching and revealing.
 
This interplay between seeking understanding and embodying divine insight
            speaks to the dual nature of Christ
            and offers us a profound model for discipleship.
 
What strikes me particularly is how this scene bridges two significant ideas:
            the humility to learn and the courage to share.
 
Jesus, at twelve, demonstrates a willingness to sit among the elders,
            to listen, and to ask questions.
 
This is not an act of arrogance
            but of curiosity and respect.
 
For us, this serves as a reminder
            that wisdom begins with listening.
 
In our polarized world, where shouting matches often replace dialogue,
            Jesus’ posture of listening
invites us to recover the art of meaningful conversation.
 
And yet, Jesus is also unafraid to speak.
 
His answers amaze those who hear him,
            not because they come from a place of self-promotion
but because they are deeply rooted in his identity and mission.
 
For us, this means that true wisdom
            involves both receiving and giving, learning and teaching.
 
It challenges us to hold these in balance,
            ensuring that our pursuit of knowledge
never outpaces our commitment to share in God’s love with others.
 
Wisdom Through the Eyes of Community
The communal aspect of this story is also worth noting.
 
Jesus is found after three days,
            a detail that resonates with the later resurrection narrative
            in which Jesus is raised from the dead on the third day.
 
His parents, frantic with worry, search among their relatives and friends
            before returning to the temple.
 
This reminds us that wisdom and faith are not solitary pursuits;
            they are embedded in the fabric of community.
 
For Mary and Joseph,
            their understanding of Jesus’ identity deepens through this experience.
 
But they do not fully grasp his words
            —“Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”—
rather, they treasure them in their hearts.
 
This treasuring reflects the ongoing journey of faith,
            where understanding unfolds over time
            within the context of relationships.
 
In our own faith communities,
            we are called to support one another in this journey.
 
Like Mary and Joseph, we may not always understand
            the ways God is working in our midst.
 
But by treasuring these moments,
            by holding them prayerfully and communally,
            we grow together in wisdom and faith.
 
Just as Jesus grew in wisdom and favour with God and humanity,
            so too are we invited to grow
                        —not in isolation but through shared experience,
                        shared learning, and shared grace.
 
The Blessings of Wisdom
Our other reading today from Proverbs 3:13-18
            provides us with a poetic vision of wisdom's value.
 
This passage from the Hebrew Bible gives us a rich image
            of wisdom as a source of profound blessing
—a tree of life, offering happiness, peace,
            and honour to those who pursue her.
 
In the context of Luke’s story,
            it helps us understand why Jesus’ time in the temple,
            sitting among the teachers and growing in wisdom, is so significant.
 
Jesus’ pursuit of wisdom is not just for his own growth
            but for the flourishing of all who would follow him.
 
For us, the call to seek wisdom
            is equally transformative.
 
It reminds us that true wealth lies not in material gain
            but in the pursuit of understanding and the ways of peace.
 
This is wisdom that reshapes our priorities,
            leading us to paths of justice, mercy, and joy.
 
As we reflect on this, let us ask ourselves:
            How can we embrace this tree of life in our own lives?
 
I wonder what steps we can take
            to ensure that wisdom becomes a guiding principle
            for our decisions, relationships, and actions?
 
Growth in Wisdom and Spiritual Depth
As we reflect on the story of Jesus growing in wisdom,
            we are reminded of our own commitment this year
            to grow in both wisdom and spiritual depth.
 
This is a vital part of our shared journey as a community of faith,
            and it speaks to the deep hunger many of us feel
            for spiritual nurturing and fellowship.
 
One of the ways we seek to meet this need
            is through our monthly Sunday afternoon "Breathing Space" sessions,
where we gather to share, to pray,
            and to hear what God is doing in our lives.
 
These times are an opportunity to pause amidst the busyness of life,
            to listen for God’s voice,
            and to encourage one another on the path of discipleship.
 
Growth in wisdom and spirituality is not only about personal transformation;
            it is about deepening our capacity to love.
 
True wisdom is found in the love of God, the love of one another,
            and the love of our neighbour and all creation.
 
It is a wisdom that moves us to care for the earth, to work for justice,
            and to build relationships of compassion and understanding.
 
As we gather in Breathing Space,
            we are reminded that our growth in faith is not an individual pursuit
            but a communal one, drawing us closer to God and to each other.
 
This integration of wisdom and spirituality
            equips us to live out our faith in the world.
 
It strengthens us to face challenges with grace,
            to discern God’s will in complex situations,
and to embody Christ’s love in all we do.
 
It calls us to a deeper engagement with life
            —a life rooted in prayer, reflection,
            and the pursuit of wisdom that is both transformative and sustaining.
 
Let us embrace this journey together,
            confident that as we grow in wisdom and spiritual depth,
            we are being shaped into the people God calls us to be.
 
Discipleship as Lifelong Learning
The very word disciple means student,
            follower, a committed learner.
 
And each of us who considers ourselves disciples of Jesus
            is called to learn—from Jesus and from one another.
 
But learning isn’t simply the acquisition of knowledge.
            It’s about transformation.
 
Knowledge is valuable,
            but it’s only a step toward the true goal, which is wisdom.
 
The wisdom that comes from Christ
            is categorically different from the wisdom of the world.
 
Paul captures this beautifully in 1 Corinthians 1:21-25,
            reminding us that “God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom,
            and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.”
 
As we look ahead to 2025,
            let us commit ourselves to the pursuit of wisdom.
 
For some, this might involve engaging
            with new opportunities for learning.
 
Perhaps you’ll join a study group, take a course,
            or read a book that challenges your thinking.
 
For others, it might mean deepening relationships within the church,
            learning from those whose experiences differ from our own.
 
And for some, it will mean cultivating spiritual disciplines,
            creating space to hear God speaking through Christ by the Spirit.
 
Growing Together in Wisdom
Wisdom is learned through interaction with people,
            as Jesus discovered in the temple,
but it is also acquired through spiritual discipline,
            as we learn to hear God’s voice.
 
As we start another year,
            my challenge to each of us is to make 2025
            a year where we seek to grow in wisdom.
 
This wisdom is not just for our benefit
            but for the benefit of the world.
 
We are called to be wise in love,
            wise in justice, and wise in faith,
as we follow Christ
            and bear witness to God’s wisdom in our lives.
 

Embracing God's Promises in the New Year

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church 

29 December 2024

The prophetess Anna (1639) by Rembrandt, Kunsthistorisches Museum

Luke 2.21-38
Isaiah 40.28-31
 
Well, we made it through Christmas!
 
And here we, once again, the faithful few
            gathering in worship in the heart of London.
 
So, how are you doing this week?
            How are you finding the quiet yet charged days
            between Christmas and New Year?
 
Is this a time or rest for you?
            Or a time of catching up, clearing up, and taking stock?
 
Certainly in our house, the decorations are still up,
            but the initial buzz of celebration has calmed.
 
And this morning I want to suggest
            that this is the perfect moment to pause, to reflect, and to look ahead.
 
So today, we turn to Luke 2:21-38 and meet Simeon and Anna,
            two figures whose lives speak to us about faith, resilience, and hope
            as we prepare to step into the unknown of a new year.
 
Simeon and Anna stand out early in Luke’s narrative of Jesus' life,
            as people of deep faith and extraordinary resilience.
 
Simeon, described as "righteous and devout,"
            lived with a promise given by the Holy Spirit:
            that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Messiah.
 
Imagine the years of his waiting,
            of wondering when or how God’s promise might come to pass.
 
Yet, we are told, Simeon’s faith did not waver.
 
And Anna, similarly, had known sorrow
            —widowed after just seven years of marriage,
she had spent decades worshiping in the temple
            through fasting and prayer.
 
Her life, though marked by loss,
            was also marked by an unwavering hope in God’s redemption.
 
These two figures from the nativity story in Luke
            remind us that faithfulness often involves enduring seasons of waiting.
 
And today, we can see parallels
            in the lives of countless individuals
            who hold fast to hope amidst challenges.
 
Consider those advocating for climate justice,
            who persist despite setbacks and slow progress.
 
Think of communities displaced by conflict,
            the refugees from Ukraine, Syria, or Gaza,
            who cling to the hope of peace and restoration.
 
Simeon and Anna’s faithfulness
            mirrors the tenacity of those who refuse to give up on hope,
            even when the timeline is unclear.
 
Theologically, their faith challenges us
            to rethink what it means to wait for God.
 
Waiting, in the biblical sense, is not passive resignation
            but an active engagement with God’s purposes.
 
Simeon and Anna’s waiting was filled with prayer,
            with worship, and with openness to the Spirit.
 
In their steadfastness, they model what it means to trust
            that God is present and at work, even in the long silences.
 
The lives of Simeon and Anna were marked
            by a profound sense of anticipation.
 
They lived in a time of Roman occupation,
            when the Jewish people longed for liberation
            and the fulfilment of God’s covenant promises.
 
Simeon’s words, when he holds the infant Jesus, are striking:
            he sees in this child the salvation of God,
            not only for Israel but also for the Gentiles.
 
His prophetic insight is a radical vision of inclusion
            and redemption that transcends boundaries.
 
And I wonder how do we, as followers of Christ,
            live in anticipation of God’s work in our time?
 
This coming year, as we face global uncertainties
            —whether economic instability, the rise of populism,
            or the ongoing impact of the climate crisis—
we are called to hold onto hope.
 
Anticipation, as Simeon and Anna show us,
            is not a passive posture.
 
It involves aligning ourselves with God’s vision for the world
            and actively participating in its unfolding.
 
In our community at Bloomsbury,
            we see glimpses of this active anticipation.
 
Whether it is through our involvement in London Citizens,
            striving for social justice,
            or our interfaith work promoting peace and mutual understanding,
we are living out the call to be people of hope.
 
Just as Simeon and Anna waited expectantly for God’s Messiah,
            so we are called to anticipate and embody
            the kingdom of God in the here and now.
 
In the midst of their waiting,
            Simeon and Anna embody the message of Isaiah 40:28-31.
 
This ancient passage, written during the Israelite exile in Babylon,
            speaks of a God who does not grow weary or faint,
            and offers assurance that those who wait for the Lord will renew their strength.
 
Simeon and Anna’s lives are a testament to this truth.
 
Despite the years of waiting, their faith did not falter;
            instead, it was continually renewed
            by their deep connection to God through prayer and worship.
 
Isaiah’s imagery of soaring on eagles’ wings,
            running without growing weary,
            and walking without fainting
speaks to the resilience and endurance that come from trusting in God.
 
For us today, I think this passage offers encouragement
            as we face our own seasons of waiting.
 
Whether we are longing for something in our personal life,
            seeking after justice in our communities,
            or grappling with global challenges,
Isaiah assures us that in our struggles we can be sustained by God’s strength.
 
I’m thinking of the countless acts of perseverance we witness in our world:
            healthcare workers tirelessly caring for the sick,
                        activists campaigning for systemic change,
            and ordinary individuals offering support to those in need.
 
These are modern echoes of the strength Isaiah describes,
            a strength rooted in the faithful hope
            that a better future is worth both waiting and working for.
 
In a world where cynicism often feels like the default response to life’s challenges,
            the assurance of hope articulated by Isaiah during the exile
            remains something we need to hear.
 
Cynicism tells us that things will never change,
            that our efforts are futile,
            and that it is safer to disengage than to risk disappointment.
 
Cynicism keeps people from voting, from taking action,
            but Isaiah reminds us that God does not grow weary or faint.
God is at work in the world,
            calling a new and better future into being.
 
And this assurance lifts our eyes
            beyond the confines of human limitations
            to a God whose strength renews and sustains us.
 
In a time when political failures, environmental crises,
            and social injustices can harden hearts,
Isaiah offers an alternative:
            the radical choice to trust in God and to live as people of hope.
 
Hope construed in this way is not naive optimism;
            it is rather a defiant declaration that God is still at work,
            even in the darkest moments.
 
As followers of Christ, we are called to reject cynicism
            and instead to soar on eagles’ wings,
strengthened by the knowledge that God’s faithfulness endures,
            and empowered to participate in the renewal of the world.
 
And so we find ourselves back at God’s great moment
            of intervention in human history,
the birth of Jesus as God with us,
            and his presentation in the temple.
 
One of the most striking aspects of this story
            is Simeon and Anna’s ability to recognize the Messiah
            in the form of a vulnerable infant.
 
In the temple’s busy courts,
            filled with the noise and activity of daily life,
            they saw what others did not.
 
Their spiritual attentiveness allowed them to discern God’s presence
            in the midst of the ordinary.
 
And I find myself wondering, how often do we miss God’s presence,
            how often do we miss God’s intervention,
because we are too distracted
            or too focused on what we think salvation should look like?
 
In our fast-paced lives, particularly in a city like London,
            it is easy to overlook the sacred moments that unfold in the everyday.
 
Yet, as theologian David Lose reminds us,
            the Gospel of Luke continually points us
            to a God who works through the ordinary
—a baby born in a manger, shepherds on a hillside,
            an elderly prophetess in the temple.
 
Today, we might find God’s presence
            in the small acts of kindness we witness:
a neighbour helping another through a crisis,
            volunteers at food banks offering dignity and care,
            or even the quiet moments of prayer and reflection that ground us.
 
Like Simeon and Anna, we are called to cultivate a spiritual attentiveness
            that allows us to see God’s work in unexpected places and people.
 
So as we step into the unknown of a new year,
            the stories of Simeon and Anna,
                        alongside the prophetic assurance of Isaiah,
            invite us to embrace this moment with hope.
 
Their faithfulness reminds us that trusting in God’s promises
            does not mean ignoring the challenges before us
            but rather facing them with resilience and vision.
 
It means holding onto the belief
            that God’s kingdom is breaking into the world,
            even when the path is unclear.
 
In our lives, this might look like committing ourselves
            to prayer and action for a cause that reflects God’s justice and mercy
—whether it’s advocating for climate care,
            working towards peace, or standing in solidarity with those in need.
 
Simeon and Anna also challenge us
            to seek God’s presence in the midst of the ordinary.
 
Their attentiveness reminds us to make space in our own lives
            for silence, reflection, and worship,
trusting that God speaks in the stillness
            and reveals the divine in the unexpected.
 
This year, we can resolve to cultivate practices
            that open our eyes to God’s presence
—whether through moments of daily prayer,
            sharing as part of a small group,
            or serving in ways that express God’s love.
 
Isaiah’s words call us to find renewal
            in the strength of God’s unwavering presence.
 
In a world that often leaves us weary,
            we are reminded that those who wait for the Lord
            will have their strength renewed.
 
This waiting is not passive but active,
            as we draw on God’s power to sustain us
            in the work of hope and justice.
 
When life feels overwhelming,
            we are called to lean on God’s grace,
            finding rest and renewal in the assurance that God is with us.
 
Finally, like Anna, we are called to share the good news of hope
            with a world longing for redemption.
 
In our daily lives, we can proclaim Christ’s light
            through acts of kindness, hospitality, and courage.
 
Whether it’s through the welcome we offer to a stranger,
            the encouragement we give to a friend,
            or the justice we pursue in our communities,
we are invited to embody the hope that Simeon and Anna lived.
 
So, as we prepare to leave behind one year and step into another,
            let us do so with renewed faith,
            grounded in the knowledge that God’s promises are sure.
 
Let us wait with hope, seeking God’s presence, and finding strength in God’s love,
            as we proclaim the good news of Christ’s light to the world.
 
For in the waiting, the seeking, and the sharing,
            we will discover that God is faithful, God is present,
            and God’s kingdom is already breaking into our midst.
Amen.
 
“Wait and See (Simeon and Anna)” by Richard Bauckham
https://artandtheology.org/tag/simeon/

Waiting with Mary

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

22^nd December 2024

 

Luke 1.26-38, 46-55
1 Samuel 2.1-10
 
In case you hadn’t noticed, Christmas is nearly upon us!
 
Even in the most tardy of festive households,
          the tree has been decorated by now;
Our carol services are over,
          and the final Christmas countdown has well and truly begun.
 
For many of us, particularly for the younger members of our families,
          the anticipation is almost too much to bear.
 
We can’t wait for Christmas Day, for the celebrations,
          the family gatherings, and the joy of marking Christ’s birth.
 
And yet, the church calendar tells us something else.
          We are still in Advent—still in the season of waiting.
 
Advent is a time that resists the rush to the celebrations of Christmas.
          It asks us to pause, to reflect, and to sit with the tension of waiting.
 
It reminds us that the story of salvation didn’t arrive
          fully formed in a single moment,
          but rather unfolded in God’s time.
 
But waiting isn’t easy,
          especially when our culture urges us to move faster and faster.
 
Yet Advent invites us to embrace the waiting as holy time
          —a time to prepare our hearts, to listen for God’s call,
          and to watch for signs of God’s work in the world.
 
As we look to Mary and Hannah today,
          we find two women who knew what it meant to wait.
 
And their stories remind us that waiting is not passive,
          but active and hopeful.
 
It is a time to trust in God’s promises,
          to prepare for the new things God is doing,
          and to live in the light of the hope that Christ brings.
 
So, even as the world rushes towards Christmas,
          let us take a moment today
                   to pause and wait with Mary and Hannah,
          allowing their faith to guide us in this season of expectation.
 
Hannah’s prayer from the pages of the Hebrew Bible
          is clearly echoed in the themes of Mary’s Magnificat.
 
And through the words of their songs, their poetry, their prayerful utternaces,
          we encounter two women, two ordinary individuals
          whose lives were dramatically shaped by God’s intervention.
 
Hannah’s longing for a child and her joyous thanksgiving
          resonate with Mary’s story of unexpected motherhood.
 
Together, they invite us to reflect on the challenges and hopes
          that accompany a life shaped by faith.
 
But Mary and Hannah’s stories are not fairy tales of easy triumph.
          They are accounts of real human struggle, resilience, and trust in God.
 
Mary’s Magnificat and Hannah’s prayer sing of a world turned upside down
          —a vision of justice and liberation
that begins not in the halls of power
          but in the lives of the humble and the vulnerable.
 
And their faith inspires us to wait with hope,
          even in times of uncertainty.
 
From religious icons to school nativity plays,
          the image of Mary is universally familiar.
She is revered in Christianity and Islam
          and often portrayed as serene and holy.
 
Yet Luke’s Gospel invites us to meet Mary as she truly was
          —a young, poor, Jewish girl
          whose life was upended by God’s extraordinary call.
 
Likewise, Hannah’s prayer of exaltation
          comes after years of sorrow and struggle,
showing us that God’s transformative work
          often begins in the most unexpected places.
 
Mary lived under the shadow of Roman occupation,
          an era marked by oppression and uncertainty.
 
Like millions of young women today
          —from Palestinian refugees awaiting justice
          to teenagers in conflict zones like Sudan—
Mary’s story begins in a context of instability and vulnerability.
 
She was an ordinary girl facing extraordinary circumstances.
          And yet, God chose her to bear the Messiah,
          showing that divine action often arises in the least expected places.
 
Hannah’s context was similarly challenging.
          As a childless woman in ancient Israel,
                   she faced societal shame and personal anguish.
 
Her prayer in the temple reflects her deep pain and longing.
          Yet, when God answered her prayer,
she responded not with possessiveness
          but with gratitude and dedication,
offering her son Samuel back to God.
 
Both women’s stories remind us
          that God’s promises often emerge
          from human vulnerability and struggle.
 
As we gather on the cusp of 2025,
          the cry of the Magnificat still resounds
          in the protests against injustice and inequality in our time.
 
From the cost-of-living crisis in the UK
          to the global outcry for climate justice,
the themes of Mary’s song feel as urgent as ever.
 
“He has brought down the powerful… and lifted up the lowly.”
          This is not just an ancient hope; it is a call to action.
 
Similarly, Hannah’s prayer proclaims God’s justice
          in lifting the needy from the ash heap
          and breaking the bows of the mighty.
 
Their songs challenge us to look at our world and ask:
          where do we see the hungry being filled,
          and where do we see the proud being brought low?
 
Both women’s contexts also speak
          to our shared human experience of waiting.
 
Hannah waited through years of heartbreak
          before God’s promise was fulfilled in her life,
while Mary faced the long, uncertain journey
          of raising the Messiah.
 
Waiting on God’s promises is a thread that connects us to their stories
          and invites us to trust in God’s faithfulness
          even when the path ahead seems unclear.
 
But when the angel greeted Mary,
          her response was not instant jubilation.
She was “perplexed” and deeply troubled.
 
Her fears were real—pregnancy out of wedlock in her culture
          carried severe risks.
She faced the prospect of rejection by Joseph,
          condemnation by her community,
          and the practical difficulties of raising a child in poverty.
 
Yet Mary’s response,
          “Let it be with me according to your word,”
          demonstrates her openness to radical trust in God.
 
Hannah’s story similarly reflects this dynamic of fear and faith.
 
For years she endured the pain of childlessness,
          a condition that brought her exclusion and shame.
Yet her heartfelt prayer at the temple
          demonstrates her unwavering trust in God.
 
When her prayer was answered,
          she responded not with possessiveness but with gratitude,
          dedicating her son Samuel to God’s service.
 
Both women show us that courage is not the absence of fear
          but the willingness to trust in God’s faithfulness.
 
Their stories invite us to reflect on our own fears and uncertainties.
          Have we ever faced a moment when God’s call seemed overwhelming?
          Have we struggled to trust in God’s plans for our lives?
 
Like Mary and Hannah, we are invited to respond with faith,
          even when the path ahead is unclear.
 
Their story reminds us that God often calls us to step into the unknown,
          trusting that we are part of something far greater than ourselves.
 
And Advent reminds us that such faith often involves waiting.
 
Mary’s journey was not a quick triumph.
          She waited for her child to grow, watched him face rejection,
          and stood by the cross as he was crucified.
 
Her life teaches us that God’s promises
          are fulfilled in God’s time, not ours.
 
Hannah also knew the pain of waiting.
          Her years of longing for a child seemed endless,
          and yet she continued to trust in God.
 
When her prayer was answered,
          it was not just a personal victory
but a moment that contributed to the larger story of God’s work in Israel.
 
Today, we wait for justice:
          for an end to the war in Ukraine,
                   for meaningful climate action,
          for systemic change to address wealth inequality.
 
And can we, like Mary and Hannah, learn to wait in hope,
          trusting that the God who began a good work
          will bring it to completion?
 
Such waiting is not passive, of course.
 
Like Mary, we prepare our hearts and our communities for God’s action.
 
This may involve advocacy, prayer, or acts of service,
          but it also involves a deep trust
          that God is at work in ways we cannot understand.
 
How might we, in our waiting,
          cultivate the kind of faith that sustains us through uncertainty
          and allows us to hold on to hope?
 
How might we see our periods of waiting
          as opportunities to grow in trust,
rather than simply as obstacles to be endured?
 
The story of Mary’s miraculous pregnancy
          reminds us that salvation, however it comes to us,
          is always God’s initiative.
 
In our culture of achievement, where value is so often tied to productivity,
          Mary’s story subverts this narrative.
 
It is not our efforts that bring God’s kingdom to birth in the world,
          but God’s gracious action.
 
Similarly, Hannah’s story also highlights God’s initiative.
 
Despite her deep longing for a child,
          it was ultimately God who acted in God’s time,
          transforming her sorrow into joy.
 
This does not mean passivity, for Mary, Hannah, or us...
          Instead, it calls us to align ourselves with God’s purposes.
 
Like Mary and Hannah, we say, “Here am I,”
          ready to participate in the unfolding of God’s justice and peace.
 
Our part is to trust and to act in response to God’s initiative.
 
Think of the ways in which these stories
          remind us of our dependence on God
          —not as a crutch but as a source of strength.
 
How might we reframe our own efforts,
          seeing them not as attempts to earn God’s favour
          but as responses to God’s call?
 
When we trust that God is the one who initiates and sustains,
          we can find freedom from the pressures
          of perfectionism and self-reliance.
 
The songs of Mary and Hannah resonate across the millennia,
          not merely as words on a page
but as melodies that echo
          through the lives of those who hear them.
 
Music has a unique power to embed truths within us.
          When set to rhythm and melody, words become more than speech
                    —they sing their way into our souls,
          shaping the way we think, act, and believe.
 
Hannah’s prayer and Mary’s Magnificat
          are not just declarations of faith;
they are acts of creation,
          singing the reality of God’s justice into being.
 
Through their music, these women gave voice
          to the transformative work of God,
a work that continues to resonate in the lives of the faithful today.
 
Their songs are not static relics of the past.
          They are living, breathing invitations for us to join in their melody
                    —to allow their faith to write itself into our lives,
          so that our actions, words, and hopes
                   begin to echo their trust in God.
 
When we sing their songs,
          we are reminded that faith is not confined to moments of worship.
 
It carries into every part of our lives,
          giving shape to the prayers we pray, the actions we take,
          and the hopes we nurture.
 
Their music lingers in time,
          reminding us that the rhythm of God’s justice
                   is one that calls us to dance, to act,
                   and to sing in harmony with God’s purposes.
 
The hymns and songs we sing in church
          do more than lift our spirits;
rather they root us in a tradition
          that proclaims hope, justice, and love.
 
They challenge us to live lives
          that embody the truths we sing.
 
As Mary’s Magnificat and Hannah’s prayer
          have sung themselves into being through centuries of faithful living,
so too are we invited to continue the song
          —to let its melody inspire the way we speak, serve, and hope.
 
How might we allow the songs of faith to echo in our lives?
          How might the melodies of Hannah and Mary inspire us
          to create harmonies of justice and hope in the world today?
 
Through their voices, may we find courage to sing our own songs of faith,
          carrying their truths forward into the world.
 
So, as we wait with Mary and Hannah this Advent,
          let us embrace their faith and courage.
 
Like Hannah, who trusted God through years of longing,
          and like Mary, who responded to God’s call
          with a resounding “Yes,”
we too are invited to trust in God’s promises.
 
Their stories remind us that God’s work
          often begins in moments of human vulnerability
          and grows into something transformative.
 
As Mary sang:
          My soul magnifies the Lord,
          and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.
 
So may we be bearers of God’s justice, peace, and love,
          trusting that the God who called Mary and Hannah calls us too,
to be part of the salvation of the world.
 
Amen.
 

Rebuilding with Vision

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

15 December 2024

Isaiah 9.6-7; 61.1-11
Luke 4:16-21
 
This week, as we draw to a close
            our journey through the prophetic literature of the Old Testament,
we come to Isaiah 61,
            a passage bursting with hope and renewal.
 
It feels particularly poignant to read these words in this Advent season,
            as we reflect on what it means to wait in expectation
            and prepare for the coming of Christ.
 
But Advent is also a time for recognising
            that we are a people in need of restoration
—a people called to participate in the rebuilding of God’s world.
 
Isaiah 61 is set in the post-exilic period,
            after the Israelites returned from Babylon.
 
The return was supposed to be the fulfilment of their hopes,
            the moment when everything was made right.
 
But the reality was far from what they had dreamed.
            The city was in ruins, the temple destroyed, and the community fractured.
It wasn’t just the physical rebuilding that was daunting;
            it was the task of reimagining what their life together could be.
 
And Isaiah’s vision speaks directly to this moment of despair.
 
He proclaims good news to the oppressed, the binding up the broken-hearted,
            and he declares liberty for the captives.
 
He acknowledges the pain and loss
            but also casts a vision for a renewed society
            where God’s justice and righteousness flourish.
 
This context resonates deeply with our own.
 
The year 2024 finds us living in a world grappling with political turmoil,
            economic inequality, and the ongoing consequences of climate change.
 
In recent months, we've witnessed the resurgence of populism and nationalism,
            with divisions growing both within and between nations.
 
Economic uncertainties have left many feeling vulnerable,
            while the cost-of-living crisis continues to weigh heavily on families.
 
In such a world, the call to rebuild can feel overwhelming.
            Like the Israelites, we may find ourselves wondering where to begin.
 
But Isaiah reminds us that rebuilding begins with a vision
            —a vision that centres the vulnerable,
                        recognises the brokenness of the world,
            and proclaims God’s promise of restoration.
 
Isaiah’s vision also offers a profound blueprint for such rebuilding.
 
First, it centres the marginalised.
He begins by speaking directly to the oppressed,
            the broken-hearted, and the captives.
 
In doing so, he reminds us that any vision of renewal
            must start with those on the margins of society.
 
This is a consistent theme throughout Scripture:
            God’s work of restoration always begins with the least, the lost, and the last.
 
Second, Isaiah’s vision is one of transformation.
He speaks of exchanging ashes for a garland,
            mourning for the oil of gladness,
                        and a faint spirit for a mantle of praise.
 
This is not about superficial fixes or returning to the status quo.
            It is about deep, systemic change
            —a reordering of society that reflects God’s justice and righteousness.
 
And third, Isaiah’s vision is grounded in hope.
Even as he acknowledges the pain and loss of the present,
            he dares to look forward to a future
            where righteousness springs up like a garden in full bloom.
 
This hope is not naïve or wishful thinking;
            it is a bold proclamation that God is at work, even in the midst of despair.
 
As we reflect on this vision,
            we can draw inspiration from our own history as a church.
 
Bloomsbury has faced its share of challenges over the years,
            yet time and again, it has risen to the task of renewal.
 
During the Second World War, when attendance dropped to just a handful,
            the church became a sanctuary for service personnel passing through London.
 
After the war, faced with the stark reality
            that the old way of being a church could not continue,
the congregation embraced the challenge of starting afresh.
 
That resilience is a reminder to us today
            that the people of God are no strangers to the work of rebuilding.
 
Whether it is the literal rebuilding of a city after exile
            or the metaphorical rebuilding of a community after trauma,
the call remains the same:
            to participate in God’s work of restoration with courage and faith.
 
So what does this look like for us as we look now to 2025?
            How do we embody Isaiah’s vision in our own time and context?
 
One area where this vision feels particularly urgent is housing.
 
The housing crisis in the UK has reached critical levels,
            with thousands of people unable to afford a place to call home.
 
Through our work with Citizens UK,
            we have seen how communities can come together
                        to advocate for affordable housing
            and challenge policies that perpetuate inequality.
 
This is Isaiah’s vision in action
            —a society where the vulnerable are not forgotten
            but are placed at the centre of our rebuilding efforts.
 
Another pressing issue is the environment.
 
The climate crisis is not just a future threat;
            it is a present reality that demands urgent action.
 
Isaiah’s image of righteousness springing up like a garden
            is a powerful reminder that our relationship with the earth
            is part of God’s vision for restoration.
 
As a church, we are called to be stewards of creation,
            advocating for policies that protect the planet
            and living in ways that reflect our commitment to sustainability.
 
And then there is the task of rebuilding community.
 
In a world increasingly defined by division and isolation,
            the church has a unique role to play as a place of welcome and belonging.
 
This is not just about what happens within our walls;
            it is about how we engage with our neighbours,
                        build bridges across differences,
            and work together for the common good.
 
As we reflect on Isaiah’s vision
            for a world transformed by justice and healing,
we see its fullest expression in the life and ministry of Jesus.
 
In Luke 4:16-21, at the very beginning of his public ministry,
            Jesus stands in the synagogue, takes the scroll of Isaiah, 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.”
 
Then, he declares, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
 
This moment is profound.
            Jesus does not merely announce Isaiah’s vision; he embodies it.
 
In his ministry, we see what it means to bring good news to the poor,
            to bind up the broken-hearted, and to set captives free.
 
Jesus heals the sick, welcomes the outcast,
            feeds the hungry, and challenges systems of oppression.
 
Through him, Isaiah’s proclamation becomes tangible, practical, and immediate.
 
But note what else Jesus does:
            he locates the fulfilment of Isaiah’s vision in the present.
“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
            Not tomorrow, not in some distant future, but today.
 
Jesus calls us to see that God’s work of justice and restoration
            is not something we wait passively for;
it is something we participate in actively, here and now.
 
In our context, this call is just as urgent.
 
Isaiah’s vision, as fulfilled in Christ, challenges us
            to confront the injustices of our world with the same boldness.
 
Who are the poor and broken-hearted in our society today?
            Who are the captives yearning for liberation?
Whether it is families trapped in cycles of poverty due to rising living costs,
            refugees seeking safety and belonging,
or communities facing the devastating impacts of climate change,
            Isaiah’s—and Jesus’—words compel us to respond.
 
This response must go beyond charity
            to embrace systemic change.
 
Jesus’ proclamation invites us to imagine and build a world
            where the oppressed are truly free
            and the structures of injustice are dismantled.
 
It calls us to ask hard questions
            about how our churches, communities, and nations
            reflect—or fail to reflect—God’s justice.
 
As followers of Christ, we are not only recipients of this good news;
            we are also its bearers.
 
The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, too,
            anointing us to continue Jesus’ mission of liberation, healing, and restoration.
 
This mission requires courage, creativity,
            and a deep commitment to the values of the kingdom of God.
 
At the heart of all this is the need for a clear vision.
 
Just as Isaiah’s words gave the Israelites a framework
            for imagining a renewed society,
so we too need a vision to guide us.
 
At Bloomsbury, we have already articulated this vision
            in our values, mission, and vision statements.
These are not just words on a website; they are a call to action,
            a reminder of who we are and what we are called to do.
 
As we look to the future, let us keep this vision before us.
            Let us commit ourselves to the work of justice, compassion, and hope.
Let us dare to believe that God is not finished with us
            —that the Spirit of the Lord is upon us,
anointing us to proclaim good news,
            to bind up the broken-hearted, and to rebuild the ancient ruins.
 
So as we gather this Advent,
            we hold together the tension of what is and what will be.
 
We acknowledge the darkness of the world,
            but we also proclaim the light of Christ.
 
We lament the brokenness of our communities,
            but we also commit ourselves to the work of restoration.
 
Isaiah’s vision calls us to live in hope
            —not a passive hope that waits for God to act,
            but an active hope that participates in God’s work of renewal.
 
It is a hope that dares to believe that the future can be different,
            that the present does not define what is possible,
and that God’s promises are as true today
            as they were thousands of years ago.
 
And as we consider the hope that Advent invites us to,
            it is vital to recognise the role of prayer in nurturing this hope
            and equipping us for the work of justice and restoration.
 
Prayer is not merely a private act of devotion;
            it is a generative practice that opens us to the presence of God,
                        deepens our attentiveness to others,
            and cultivates the courage and compassion needed to act in the world.
 
Such prayer begins with attentiveness.
 
In prayer, we turn our gaze toward God,
            seeking not only to speak but to listen.
 
This attentiveness to the divine
            reshapes our understanding of ourselves and the world.
 
It reminds us that we are part of something larger than ourselves
            —a story of redemption and renewal in which God invites us to participate.
 
But prayer also calls us to be attentive to others.
 
Isaiah’s vision centres the poor, the broken-hearted, and the oppressed,
            reminding us that God’s work of restoration is deeply relational.
 
In prayer, we bring before God the needs of our neighbours,
            our communities, and the wider world.
 
This practice cultivates empathy and compassion,
            expanding our capacity to see and respond to the suffering of others.
 
Such devotional spirituality is not a withdrawal from the world
            but a source of strength for engaging with it.
 
As we sit in the presence of God,
            we are reminded of the power of the Spirit to transform and renew.
 
This encounter with divine grace
            gives us the courage to face the challenges of our time
—to stand against injustice, to advocate for the vulnerable,
            and to work for the flourishing of all creation.
 
We see this in the example of Jesus,
            who often withdrew to pray, even in the midst of his ministry.
 
Those moments of solitude and communion with God
            sustained him for the demanding task of healing, teaching,
            and confronting systems of oppression.
 
In the same way, our prayer life can become the wellspring
            from which we draw the strength and clarity to act.
 
In our interconnected world, prayer also broadens our perspective,
            reminding us of our shared humanity.
 
As we pray for the global community,
            we become more aware of the injustices that cross borders
            —climate change, economic inequality, and the plight of refugees.
 
This awareness challenges us to move beyond parochial concerns
            and to embrace a vision of justice and peace that is truly global.
 
Advent therefore invites us into a posture of waiting and watchfulness,
            and prayer is the practice that sustains this posture.
 
As we wait for the light of Christ to break into the darkness,
            prayer keeps us grounded in hope.
 
It shapes us into people who not only long for a better world
            but are ready to work for it,
            confident in the knowledge that God’s Spirit is with us.
 
So may this Advent be a time of renewed devotion,
            as we open our hearts to God and to one another.
 
May our prayers lead us to act with courage, compassion,
            and unwavering hope in the promises of God.
 
May we, like the exiles of old,
            embrace this vision with courage and faith.
 
May we commit ourselves to the work of rebuilding,
            trusting that God’s Spirit is with us every step of the way.
 
And may we, in this Advent season, proclaim the good news
            that Christ comes to bring light to the darkness,
            hope to the despairing, and life to the world.
 
Amen.