Keeping the Sabbath

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

2 February 2025

Luke 6.1-16

If I’m honest, arguments about Sabbath-keeping

            haven’t really been particularly significant

            in my personal understanding of Christian discipleship.

 

Growing up, Sunday always seemed less about rest and more about activity.

            At the age of 13, I took my first Sunday job,

                        starting with a morning paper round

                        and eventually moving on to working in the papershop itself.

 

            My Sundays began at 5 a.m.,

                        and I would rush straight from work

                        to church band practice before the morning service.

            Then there was afternoon Bible Study, the Evening Service,

                        and the after-church Evening Youth Group.

 

Sabbath rest?

            It wasn’t exactly top of my priorities.

 

Later, as a minister, ‘working’ on Sundays came with the territory,

            as it does for many professions:

                        healthcare workers, police officers,

                        farmers, and retail staff, just to name a few.

 

I suspect many of you can relate to the feeling that Sunday

            —rather than being a day of rest—

            is often one of the busiest days of the week.

 

For church members, Sundays are often filled with rotas,

            responsibilities, and commitments

            that leave little space for stopping and breathing.

 

I still remember the ‘Keep Sunday Special’ campaign of the late 1980s,

            when various Christian groups protested

            against proposals to allow shops to open on Sundays.

 

It was a heated debate, but most of the Christians I knew

            were quietly pleased they could finally pop to the supermarket

            on their way home from church.

 

It seemed practical considerations had triumphed over the call to rest.

 

However, I did encounter some Christians

            who took a more rigid approach to Sunday observance.

 

Friends in the Strict Baptist tradition would have no television, no work,

            and—intriguingly—no cooking on Sundays.

 

The wife, and yes, it was always the wife,

            would have to prepare the food by midnight on Saturday

            so it could simply be heated up on the Lord’s Day.

 

Their commitment was impressive,

            though I couldn’t help but wonder whether such strictness

            obscured the deeper intention of the Sabbath.

 

For most of us today,

            the idea of Sabbath has shifted dramatically from its roots.

 

The Jewish Sabbath, celebrated from Friday evening to Saturday evening,

            was a cornerstone of Jewish identity and faith.

 

Early Christians, many of whom were also Jewish,

            would observe the Sabbath on Saturday

            and then gather for worship on Sunday—the day of resurrection.

 

Over time, as Christianity moved from being a Jewish sect

            to a predominantly Gentile religion,

            the focus shifted entirely to Sunday.

 

By the time of Constantine in the fourth century,

            Sunday had become enshrined as both a day of worship and a day of rest.

 

But for the Pharisees of the first century,

            Sabbath keeping was a crucial marker of faithfulness to God

            in a world of Roman occupation and economic exploitation.

 

Their commitment to Sabbath was not about arbitrary rule-keeping;

            it was about resisting systems of oppression

            and affirming God’s sovereignty over human life.

 

But here’s the challenge:

            even the best traditions can lose their way.

 

When rules take precedence over compassion,

            or when rituals become rigid instead of life-giving,

the original intent of practices like Sabbath can be obscured.

 

This is the tension we see in today’s passage.

            Jesus doesn’t reject the Sabbath; he reclaims it.

 

He reminds his followers—and us—

            that God’s laws are always oriented toward flourishing, renewal, and life.

 

As we reflect on this text,

            I want us to consider what Sabbath might mean for us in 2025.

 

In a world that never seems to stop,

            where productivity is prized and rest feels indulgent,

            how can we reclaim the Sabbath as a gift of grace?

 

How might this ancient tradition speak into the rhythms of our lives,

            our church, and our city?

 

These are the questions I’d like us to explore together today.

---

Sabbath as Resistance

You see, Sabbath was never just a rule;

            it was a profound act of resistance.

 

In the ancient world,

            where economies operated on relentless cycles of productivity,

the concept of Sabbath stood out

            as a defiant proclamation that human beings are not defined by their labour.

 

The command to rest on the seventh day

            wasn’t simply a spiritual discipline;

            it was an economic and social disruption.

 

It declared that the value of a person

            lies not in what they produce

            but in their inherent dignity as children of God.

 

The Sabbath commandment found in the Ten Commandments

            is grounded in two key stories: creation and liberation.

 

In Exodus 20, Sabbath is rooted in the rhythm of creation.

            Just as God rested on the seventh day,

                        so humanity is called to rest

                        and reflect on the goodness of God’s provision.

 

But in Deuteronomy 5, the emphasis shifts to liberation.

            The people of Israel are reminded that they were once slaves in Egypt,

                        where their worth was measured

                        solely by their ability to produce bricks for Pharaoh.

 

Sabbath, then, becomes a weekly reminder

            that they are no longer slaves.

 

It is a gift of freedom, a declaration that their lives belong to God,

            not to oppressive systems.

 

This liberating vision of Sabbath was deeply countercultural.

 

In a world where the wealthy landowners

            exploited their workers relentlessly,

insisting on a day of rest was an act of rebellion.

 

It disrupted the economic norms of the day,

            offering a foretaste of God’s kingdom where all people

                        —regardless of status—

            could experience rest and renewal.

 

And yet, as with all good things,

            the practice of Sabbath could be co-opted.

 

By the time of Jesus, the Pharisees

            —in their zeal to preserve this sacred tradition—

had developed detailed rules

            about what could and couldn’t be done on the Sabbath.

 

Their intentions were noble;

            they sought to protect a practice

            that had been integral to Jewish identity for centuries.

 

But over time, these rules became burdensome,

            especially for the poor and marginalized,

who found themselves hemmed in by regulations

            that prioritized form over substance.

 

Jesus’ actions in Luke 6 challenge this distortion.

 

By allowing his disciples to pluck grain

            and by healing a man with a withered hand,

he reclaims the Sabbath’s original intent.

 

His question, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath,

            to save life or to destroy it?”,

cuts to the heart of the matter.

 

The Sabbath is not about rigidly adhering to rules;

            it is about life—life in all its fullness.

 

In this way, Jesus reasserts the radical nature of Sabbath.

 

It is not a burden but a gift.

            It is not a restriction but a release.

It is not about exclusion but inclusion.

 

The Sabbath, as Jesus teaches it,

            is a space where the kingdom of God breaks through,

            bringing healing, restoration, and hope.

 

As we think about our own lives and context,

            we might ask: what would it mean to recover the Sabbath

            as an act of resistance today?

 

In a culture that glorifies busyness and equates rest with laziness,

            how might we embody a countercultural rhythm of rest and renewal?

 

And how can we ensure that our practices

            —both personal and communal—

            reflect the liberating, life-giving spirit of God’s kingdom?

 

These are not easy questions, but they are vital ones.

 

Today I want us to explore how Jesus’ vision of Sabbath

            challenges us to rethink our priorities, our traditions,

            and our understanding of what it means to live faithfully in a restless world.

 

Jesus: Lord of the Sabbath

When Jesus declares that he is “Lord of the Sabbath,”

            he is making an audacious claim

            —one that would have reverberated through his Jewish context.

 

To call himself Lord of the Sabbath is to claim authority

            over one of the most sacred institutions of Jewish life.

 

It is a statement not only about the Sabbath

            but also about who Jesus is.

 

He is positioning himself as the one

            through whom God’s purposes for the Sabbath are fulfilled.

 

At its heart, this declaration challenges us to reconsider

            how we view Jesus’ relationship with the law.

 

Jesus does not abolish the law; he fulfills it.

            He embodies its deepest intentions.

 

The Sabbath was always meant

            to point toward the restorative power of God

            —and in Jesus, that restoration comes to life.

 

The healings he performs on the Sabbath

            are not violations of the law;

they are manifestations of what the law was always meant to achieve:

            wholeness, healing, and flourishing.

 

In Luke 6, the healing of the man with the withered hand

            is a powerful example of this.

 

Jesus does not wait for another day to act.

            He sees the man’s need and responds immediately,

            restoring him to health.

 

This act is a living parable of the kingdom of God

            breaking into the present moment.

 

It reminds us that God’s priorities

            are not bound by human regulations or timetables.

Compassion and restoration take precedence over ritual.

 

By claiming lordship over the Sabbath,

            Jesus also redefines authority.

 

The Pharisees saw their role as guardians of the tradition,

            but Jesus challenges them to see that true authority

            comes from aligning with God’s purposes.

 

This alignment is not about rigid adherence to rules

            but about embodying the spirit of the law.

 

The Sabbath, as Jesus reveals, is not an end in itself;

            it is a means of encountering God’s grace.

 

For us today, this raises important questions.

 

How often do we allow traditions, however well-meaning,

            to become barriers to grace?

 

Do we, like the Pharisees, sometimes prioritise rules over relationships,

            or form over substance?

 

Jesus’ example calls us to constantly re-evaluate our practices,

            ensuring that they reflect God’s life-giving intentions.

 

Moreover, Jesus’ lordship over the Sabbath

            invites us into a deeper trust in God.

 

Sabbath is ultimately an act of faith.

 

It is a recognition that we are not defined by what we produce,

            and that the world will not fall apart if we stop and rest.

 

In a culture that often equates busyness with importance,

            embracing the Sabbath is a countercultural declaration

            of trust in God’s provision.

 

As we reflect on Jesus’ lordship over the Sabbath,

            let us remember that this is not just about

            what we do or don’t do on one day of the week.

 

It is about how we live every day.

            It is about aligning our lives with the rhythm of God’s grace,

                        seeking restoration for ourselves and others,

            and trusting in the sufficiency of God’s love.

 

In doing so, we honour the true spirit of the Sabbath

            and proclaim Jesus as Lord not only of the Sabbath but of our entire lives.

 

Reclaiming Our Rhythms

This idea of reclaiming Sabbath rhythms for our lives today may feel abstract,

            but it is profoundly practical.

 

In our fast-paced world,

            where productivity often takes precedence over well-being,

the concept of Sabbath challenges us to stop,

            to breathe, and to trust in God’s provision.

 

Reclaiming the rhythms of Sabbath means creating intentional spaces

            for rest, reflection, and renewal

            —not as an afterthought, but as an essential part of our discipleship.

 

For some, this might involve rethinking how we structure our time.

 

In a culture that rewards busyness and multitasking,

            we need to rediscover the sacredness of rest.

 

What would it look like to carve out moments in our week

            where we step away from work, social media, and endless to-do lists?

 

These pauses are not about escaping reality;

            they are about grounding ourselves in the presence of God,

            who invites us to be still and know that he is God.

 

But reclaiming Sabbath is not just about individual rest.

            It is also about communal rhythms.

 

As a church, how can we create spaces

            that reflect the restorative heart of the Sabbath?

 

This might mean reimagining how we gather for worship,

            ensuring that our services are not just another activity on a packed schedule

            but a genuine encounter with God’s grace.

 

It might also mean prioritising ministries

            that offer respite to those who are weary

—whether through hospitality, pastoral care,

            or advocacy for fair working conditions in our wider society.

 

At Bloomsbury, we are already taking steps in this direction.

 

Our "Breathing Space" gatherings, for example,

            are an opportunity to step away from the noise and busyness of life

            and enter into God’s rhythm of grace.

 

These times of intentional reflection remind us

            that deepening our spirituality is not about adding more to our plates

            but about creating room for God to move in and through us.

 

Reclaiming Sabbath rhythms

            also means challenging the systems that rob others of rest.

 

How can we, as a church, advocate for those

            whose lives are dominated by relentless work, exploitation, or anxiety?

 

The call to keep Sabbath is a call to seek justice

            —ensuring that everyone, not just the privileged,

            can experience the rest and renewal that God intends.

 

Ultimately, reclaiming our rhythms

            is about aligning our lives with God’s vision for the world.

 

It is about saying no to the relentless demands

            of a culture that equates worth with productivity

and yes to the abundant life that Jesus offers.

 

It is a radical act of trust in the God who provides, sustains, and renews.

 

And it is an invitation to participate in the in-breaking kingdom of God,

            where rest, restoration, and renewal are not luxuries

            but essential characteristics of life as it was meant to be.

 

The challenge of Sabbath today

            is not about adding another rule to follow

            or another item to check off our to-do list.

 

It is about reorienting our lives around God’s grace.

            It is about trusting that the world will not fall apart if we stop.

 

It is about creating space for God to work in us and through us,

            so that we can be renewed and restored for the work of God’s kingdom.

 

The Sabbath is not just a day;

            it is a posture of the heart.

 

It is a reminder that we are not slaves to the systems of this world

            but children of a God who loves us, sustains us, and calls us to rest.

 

May we rise to this challenge, embracing the gift of Sabbath

            and living into the abundant life that Jesus offers.

Amen.

 

Bread for the World

Sermon for ‘Bread for the World’ informal eucharist 

at St Martin in the Fields

22^nd January 2025

John 6.22-59  

Good evening, everyone.
 
As we gather here in the heart of London,
            in this space that has long stood as a sanctuary
            for those seeking nourishment for body and soul,
I’d like to invite us this evening to reflect on the words of Jesus:
            “I am the bread of life.”
 
These are words both comforting and confronting
            —an invitation to be fed,
            but also a challenge to consider what it is we hunger for.
 
Consumerism and Consumption
We live in a world that tells us, relentlessly,
            that we are what we consume.
 
This past Christmas season provided a stark reminder of that truth.
            Did you know that in December,
            UK shoppers spent billions online in just a matter of days?
 
Retailers announced record sales figures
            even as food banks issued urgent pleas for donations
            to meet unprecedented demand.
 
The cost-of-living crisis rages on,
            yet our society is caught in a tension:
the pressure to consume and the reality of scarcity.
 
But this isn’t just about money or shopping;
            it’s about the deeper narratives that shape us.
 
Consumerism tells us that fulfilment lies just one purchase away.
            But consumption—whether of food, possessions, or even experiences—
            can never fully satisfy the human soul.
 
And so, we are left hungering for something more.
 
The Bread of Life in Context
Jesus’ declaration that he is the bread of life
            comes against this backdrop of human hunger,
            both literal and spiritual.
 
In John 6, we meet a crowd who had followed Jesus
            after he miraculously fed thousands with just a few loaves and fishes.
 
Their physical hunger had been met,
            but Jesus wanted to take them deeper.
 
“Do not work for the food that perishes,” he said,
            “but for the food that endures for eternal life.”
 
The crowd’s response is telling.
            They ask for another sign,
            referencing the manna their ancestors received in the wilderness.
 
And here, Jesus makes a bold claim:
            “I am the bread of life.
                        Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,
                        and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
 
A Counter-Cultural Act
To say that Jesus is the bread of life
            is to offer a direct challenge to the narratives of consumerism
            that dominate our world.
 
At communion, when we break bread together,
            we enact a counter-cultural story.
 
The broken bread is not a commodity to be bought or sold;
            it is a gift, freely given.
 
It calls us into a new kind of economy
            —one of grace, not greed;
            of sharing, not hoarding.
 
This is not just a spiritual truth but a deeply practical one.
 
The act of coming to the table of Jesus compels us
            to examine how we live in the world.
 
How do our consumption habits
            —what we eat, what we buy, how we spend our time—
            reflect our hunger for Jesus, the true bread?
 
Modern Examples of Hunger and Hope
Let’s bring this closer to home.
 
In the UK today, we see both abundance and scarcity
            in stark juxtaposition.
 
Food waste from supermarkets runs into the millions of tonnes,
            while families struggle to afford even the basics.
 
Housing developments spring up across our city,
            while homelessness persists on our streets.
 
Yet even in the midst of this brokenness,
            there are glimpses of hope.
 
Community fridges, mutual aid networks,
            and initiatives like The Connection at St Martin’s
remind us of what is possible when we commit to sharing what we have.
 
These are not just acts of charity; they are acts of solidarity,
            rooted in the radical sharing that Jesus models for us.
 
Bread in the Wilderness
As we reflect on Jesus’ claim to be the bread of life,
            we are reminded of another story of bread
            —the manna in the wilderness.
 
For the Israelites fleeing slavery in Egypt,
            manna was a daily reminder of God’s provision.
 
They could not store it up;
            they had to trust that God would provide each day.
 
The daily dependence on manna
            became a metaphor for the spiritual nourishment found in God’s word.
 
As Deuteronomy 8:3 reminds us,
            “One does not live by bread alone,
            but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.”
 
Jesus’ audience would have understood this connection.
 
But when Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life,”
            he was taking it further.
 
He was not just offering a metaphor; he was offering himself.
 
The Bread That Truly Satisfies
So what does it mean to eat the bread of life?
 
It means allowing Jesus to nourish
            not just our bodies but our souls.
 
It means trusting in his promises
            even when the world feels uncertain.
 
It means recognising that the bread he offers
            —his own life, broken for us—
is the only thing that can truly satisfy our deepest hunger.
 
But this bread is not just for us as individuals;
            it is for the world.
 
Jesus’ invitation to “eat” the bread of life
            is an invitation to participate in his mission.
 
When we share in the bread and wine at communion,
            we are reminded that we are called to be Christ’s body in the world
            —broken for the sake of others, poured out in love and service.
 
Eternal Life in the Present
Jesus’ promise of eternal life is not just about life after death.
            It is about life here and now
            —a life of abundance, of justice, of peace.
 
When we live in the reality of God’s kingdom,
            we begin to see each moment as part of eternity.
 
As Francis of Assisi once said,
            when asked what he would do if he knew he were to die that evening,
            “I would finish hoeing my garden.”
 
This perspective liberates us.
            It frees us from the fear of scarcity and death,
            allowing us to live generously and courageously.
 
It calls us to challenge the systems that dehumanise and exploit,
            and to proclaim, in word and deed, the good news of God’s kingdom.
 
This is what happens when we break bread and share it in memory of Jesus.
 
At communion, we learn to see the world
            through the eyes of those who suffer and are marginalised.
 
We take the bread of life and the wine of suffering into ourselves,
            and we are transformed as we identify with the crucified Christ.
 
A Call to Communion
So as we gather at this table tonight,
            we are not simply consuming bread and wine.
 
We are participating in a story that upends the logic of our world.
 
In the broken body of Christ, we see the cost of consumption
            —but also the possibility of redemption.
 
Jesus’ self-giving love challenges us
            to confront the systems of exploitation and greed
                        that dehumanise us
            and to commit ourselves to living differently.
 
This is not easy.
 
It requires us to unlearn habits of entitlement and accumulation
            and to embrace instead a posture of gratitude and generosity.
 
It calls us to ask hard questions:
            How do the choices we make as individuals and as a society
            reflect our hunger for justice, for peace, for the kingdom of God?
 
Closing Invitation
As we approach this table,
            let us come with open hands and open hearts,
            ready to be fed but also ready to be changed.
 
Let us take within ourselves the bread of life that is Jesus,
            trusting that in him, our deepest hungers can be met.
 
And as we rise from this meal,
            let us go out into the world as people nourished and sent,
            committed to sharing the bread of life with others.
 
May we, through Christ,
            learn to hunger for justice more than comfort,
            for community more than consumption,
and for the living bread that sustains us in every season.
Amen.
 

Busy Cleaning Nets

 A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

26^th January 2025

 

Isaiah 6:1-8

Luke 5.1-11

I have a friend who has, over the years,

            occasionally invited me to go fishing with him.

 

Reflecting on this now, I realise how much his descriptions of fishing

            —the patience required, the moments of sudden unexpected action,

                        and the trust that eventually all the effort will be rewarded—

            mirror the themes of our passage this morning from Luke’s gospel.

 

Fishing, I’m told, requires a willingness to embrace uncertainty

            and a readiness to act when the moment is right,

and these speak to like the life of discipleship

            that Jesus offered to the fishermen by the sea of Galilee.

 

My friend tells me of the excitement of the catch,

            the thrill of the chase, and all that!

 

He’s shown me countless photos of himself

            proudly holding record-breaking carp,

and he speaks eloquently of the peacefulness

            of sitting for hours in God’s creation

with time to think, reflect, and receive from God.

 

Well, I have to say, I can’t see it myself!

 

I may be speaking from a position of ignorance,

            but it all sounds to me like a lot of time

            and not a lot to show for it.

 

Certainly, this had been the experience of Simon, James, and John

            —fishing partners incorporated, Sea of Galilee, Founded 18AD.

 

They had spent the best part of the last decade

            learning their profession as fishermen.

 

Night after night, they would set out in their boats,

            making their way into a sea brim-full of fish

            in the hope of bringing home a reasonable catch.

 

They had the equipment, the theory, and the lake.

            Yet on the morning Jesus came along, they had no fish.

 

It’s a vivid image—professionals with years of experience,

            their best equipment, their hard-won knowledge,

            and yet: empty nets.

 

And then along comes Jesus, not a fisherman but a carpenter,

            telling them to go out again and try something new.

 

Into the deep waters,

            where the risks are greater but so are the rewards.

 

Let’s step back for a moment.

 

Simon, James, and John were no novices.

            They were seasoned professionals

            who understood the intricacies of their trade.

 

They knew the best times to fish,

            the precise locations on the Sea of Galilee

                        where fish were most likely to gather,

            and how to read the weather patterns

                        to ensure a safe and successful outing.

 

Their years of practice had honed their skills to an art.

            Yet here they were, on this particular morning,

            with nothing to show for all their expertise.

 

It’s against this backdrop of their deep knowledge and disappointing results

            that Jesus’ command to try again

                        —in a way that defied their professional instincts—

            stands out so starkly.

 

These were people who knew their stuff,

            their nets were carefully cleaned and mended, the holes just the right size:

                        big enough to let the tiddlers through,

                        small enough to catch the fish worth catching.

 

They had everything in place for success—everything except fish.

 

And, to make things worse, when Jesus shows up,

            it turns out he’s brought a crowd with him,

            people longing to hear the word of God.

 

The problem is, there isn’t really anywhere for him to stand

            where he can make himself heard.

 

So he asks Simon if he can borrow his boat,

            and after teaching the crowd, Jesus turns to Simon

            and suggests they set out into deeper water and try again.

 

Imagine Simon’s internal reaction:

            “It’s time for bed. The fish are all hiding today.

            Who does this carpenter think he is?”

 

Yet somehow, Simon’s respect for Jesus prevails.

            “If you say so,” he replies, and lets down the nets.

 

What happens next is nothing short of miraculous.

            The catch is so abundant that the nets begin to break,

            and the boats start to sink.

 

Simon, overwhelmed, falls to his knees,

            recognising in this moment not only Jesus’ power but his own unworthiness:

            “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

 

But Jesus’ response takes things in a different direction:

            “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”

 

And so, when they brought their boats to shore,

            they left everything and followed him.

 

Isaiah’s Vision: A Call to Deeper Trust

Before diving into the lessons we might draw from Luke’s fishing story,

            let’s reflect for a moment on our Old Testament reading from Isaiah 6:1-8,

which provides a striking parallel

            to Simon Peter’s experience.

 

In Isaiah’s vision, he encounters the overwhelming glory of God,

            filling the temple with majesty and holiness.

His immediate reaction is one of unworthiness:

            "Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips!"

This prefigures Simon Peter’s similar response

            as he falls to his knees before Jesus,

            overcome by a sense of his own inadequacy:

            "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!"

 

But in both stories,

            God’s response is not condemnation but commissioning.

 

Isaiah’s lips are touched with a burning coal,

            symbolising purification and readiness for mission.

 

Peter hears Jesus’ words of reassurance:

            "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people."

 

Both men are called not because they are perfect,

            but because they are willing to respond in faith.

 

This is a reminder to us that God’s call often comes when we feel least qualified,

            and it is God’s grace alone that equips us for the task ahead.

 

Going Deeper in Our Spirituality

This year, we have committed ourselves as a church

            to deepening our relationship with God and with one another.

 

Jesus’ call to Simon Peter to venture into deeper waters

            is not just a metaphor for mission;

            it is also an invitation to go deeper in our spiritual lives.

 

Isaiah’s encounter with God shows us that deep spirituality

            begins with a recognition of God’s holiness

            and of our need for his cleansing grace.

 

Just as Isaiah’s lips were touched with the coal,

            so we too are transformed

            when we open ourselves to God’s refining presence.

 

One of the ways we are doing this as a community

            is through our monthly ‘Breathing Space’ meetings,

            and I do hope you will be staying for this today

            after coffee at the end of the service.

 

These gatherings provide an opportunity to pause, to reflect,

            and to grow in our relationship with Jesus

            through the Spirit that inspires us.

 

In these quiet, prayerful times, we share our experiences,

            articulate our faith, and listen for the voice of God calling us deeper.

 

Like Simon lowering his nets at Jesus’ command,

            these moments require trust, vulnerability,

            and an openness to what God might reveal to us.

 

Deepening our spirituality isn’t always comfortable.

            It may involve facing aspects of ourselves we’d rather avoid

            or allowing God to reshape our priorities.

 

But just as Simon Peter discovered abundance in the deep waters

            and Isaiah was empowered to say, "Here am I; send me,"

so we too will find that when we make space for God,

            we encounter grace, renewal, and the joy of a closer walk with Christ.

 

This story is not just about fish, you see.

            It’s about calling, transformation,

            and the willingness to trust Jesus enough to go deeper.

 

So what lessons might we draw for 2025?

 

1. The Risk of Deep Water

Jesus calls Simon to leave the shallow waters

            and head into the deep.

 

For us today, this might mean addressing

            some of the most pressing and uncomfortable issues in our world

                        —climate change, systemic racism, economic inequality—

            and recognising that the answers may not be simple or immediate.

 

It could involve stepping into relationships or ministries

            that challenge our assumptions and stretch our faith.

 

The deep water is a place of risk,

            but it is also where true transformation and abundance are found.

 

For us as a congregation, the deep might represent

            stepping into areas of ministry where the outcomes are uncertain

            —engaging with marginalised communities, tackling systemic injustices,

                        or starting initiatives that challenge the status quo.

 

It might mean committing to conversations about diversity and inclusion,

            or facing the discomfort of addressing issues like mental health,

            poverty, or environmental responsibility in a meaningful way.

I hope you’ve all got 9^th March in your diaries for the afternoon with Evelyne

            where we will be taking a fun but challenging look at the biodiversity crisis,

            and what we can do to address this.

 

The deep is daunting,

            but it’s where transformation happens.

 

In the same way, we are often called to step out of our comfort zones.

            As a church, it’s tempting to stay in safe, familiar places,

            engaging only with those who are already here

                        or with those who fit our expectations.

 

But Jesus’ call is to cast our nets where the risks are higher

            —to engage with people and communities that may challenge us,

            stretch us, and even, at times, frustrate us.

 

In her commentary, Karoline Lewis writes that this story

            illustrates the surprising and unsettling nature of discipleship.

 

It’s not about maintaining the status quo;

            it’s about being open to transformation.

 

Are we, as a church, willing to risk breaking our nets and rocking our boat

            for the sake of the catch Jesus promises?

 

Think about the ways in which our world has changed in recent years.

            The cost-of-living crisis has left many struggling to make ends meet.

            Political uncertainty has created fear and division.

 

And in the church, the challenge of engaging younger generations

            remains a pressing issue.

 

These are our deep waters

            —places of need, vulnerability, and potential.

 

Will we venture into them, trusting Jesus to provide?

 

2. The Call to Collaboration

When Simon’s nets began to break, he called his partners for help.

            This is a powerful reminder that we cannot do this work alone.

 

The church is not a solitary endeavour but a collaborative one.

            And in 2025, as we navigate the challenges of our time,

                        partnerships—with other churches, other faith communities,

                        and even secular organisations—are more important than ever.

 

Our work with London Citizens is a great example.

 

Just last year we partnered with other local organisations

            to campaign for fairer wages for healthcare workers across our city,

            resulting in several major employers committing to the Living Wage.

 

This collaborative effort not only brought justice to hundreds of workers

            but also demonstrated the power of working together

            to bring about meaningful change.

 

This tangible impact reminds us of what can be achieved

            when we step out in faith and work collaboratively

            for justice and the common good.

 

It’s a reminder that when we trust Jesus to guide us,

            the results can exceed our expectations.

 

By joining with others, we amplify our voice and extend our reach,

            working together for justice, equity, and the common good.

 

But this kind of collaboration requires humility and trust.

            It means being willing to share the catch,

            even when it threatens to break our nets.

 

3. The Danger of Empty Nets

Simon’s initial response to Jesus was one of scepticism:

            “We have worked all night and caught nothing.”

 

How often do we, as individuals or as a church,

            feel this same sense of futility?

 

We’ve tried everything, but the nets are still empty.

 

Jesus’ response to Simon reminds us

            that success in ministry is not about our efforts alone

            but about our willingness to obey his call.

 

It’s not about having the best equipment

            or the most sophisticated strategies

but about trusting that Jesus knows where the fish are.

 

Are we willing to let him direct our efforts,

            even when it goes against our instincts?

 

4. The Call to Inclusivity

When we cast our nets into deep water,

            we don’t get to choose what we catch.

 

The kingdom of God is inclusive,

            drawing in people from all walks of life.

 

Are we prepared to welcome those whom Jesus sends our way,

            even when it’s messy or uncomfortable?

 

This might mean opening our doors to those experiencing chaos in their lives

            and navigating the complexities that come with offering real support.

 

It could involve welcoming people with challenging pasts

            or those whose lifestyles and perspectives

            stretch our understanding of community.

 

These situations are not always easy,

            but they reflect the radical love and hospitality of the kingdom of God.

 

Are we willing to let go of our preconceptions and preferences

            to embrace the diversity of God’s kingdom?

 

The abundance of the catch in this story is a sign of God’s generosity.

            God’s grace is not limited by our expectations or boundaries.

 

This abundance challenges us to expand our vision

            and to be a community that reflects the radical inclusivity of God’s love.

 

A Question for Us

So where are we as Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church in 2025?

 

Are we out in the deep water, casting our nets with faith and courage?

            Or are we moored in the shallows,

            cleaning our nets and reminiscing about past catches?

 

The choice before us is clear.

 

We can play it safe, remaining anchored in comfort and familiarity,

            or we can take the risk of trusting Jesus and venturing into the unknown.

 

It’s not an easy choice.

 

The deep water is daunting, and the catch may be overwhelming.

            But it is also where Jesus is calling us to go.

 

As we move forward together,

            may we have the courage to let down our nets,

the humility to work with others,

            and the faith to trust that Jesus will provide.

 

And may we, like Simon, James, and John,

            leave everything and follow him.