Prophetic Courage

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

19th January 2025

Luke 4.14-30 

As we reflect on today’s Gospel reading,
            it’s striking to consider that Jesus’ inaugural sermon
                        in the synagogue at Nazareth
comes to us just days before another inaugural moment
            —the presidential inauguration in the United States.
 
While President-elect Trump prepares to take office
            with promises of building walls and asserting national dominance,
Jesus begins his ministry by proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favour:
            a vision of liberation, inclusion, and justice
            that transcends borders and boundaries.
 
The contrast couldn’t be more profound.
 
One inaugural address may centre on power, protectionism, and exclusion,
            while the other calls for the breaking down of barriers,
            the lifting up of the oppressed, and the radical inclusivity of God’s kingdom.
 
As we hear these words from Luke’s Gospel,
            we are invited to consider which vision
            will guide our lives, our communities, and our world.
 
Will we align ourselves with the ways of empire
            or with the ways of God’s kingdom?
 
So, to the gospel text; Jesus’ return to Galilee
            marks the beginning of a profound moment in his ministry.
 
Filled with the power of the Holy Spirit,
            he has been teaching in synagogues and gaining widespread acclaim.
 
People are talking about him,
            and his reputation precedes him as a teacher and prophet of great authority.
 
It’s within this context that he comes to his hometown of Nazareth,
            to the synagogue where he likely grew up worshipping,
            surrounded by people who knew him as a child.
 
This setting—intimate, familiar, and full of expectations—
            creates both an opportunity and a challenge.
 
The Gospel of Luke presents this moment
            as Jesus’ inaugural sermon.
 
He is handed the scroll of the prophet Isaiah,
            and he deliberately chooses to read from Isaiah 61,
            a passage filled with hope and liberation.
 
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” he reads,
            “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.”
 
With these words, Jesus declares the essence of his mission:
            to embody and enact God’s kingdom
            —a kingdom characterised by justice, freedom, and healing.
 
But then comes the moment that turns everything on its head.
 
As he rolls up the scroll and sits down to teach,
            he says, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
 
It’s a radical claim.
            He isn’t merely talking about the promise of Isaiah
                        as something distant or future-oriented;
            he’s saying it’s happening right now, through him.
 
This bold statement sets the stage for everything that follows
            —both the amazement and the outrage.
 
Why is this moment so significant?
            Because it challenges the listeners
                        to see beyond their expectations and prejudices.
            It invites them to embrace a vision of God’s kingdom
                        that is far broader than they imagined,
            one that crosses boundaries of race, class, and nationality.
 
And it asks something of us too.
            How do we respond when Jesus disrupts our comfortable assumptions
                        and calls us into a new way of being?
 
This is the question we carry with us as we step into today’s Gospel reading.
 
When Jesus reads from Isaiah and declares,
            “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,”
            he isn’t merely offering an interpretation of a familiar text.
 
He is claiming that the promises of liberation, healing, and justice
            spoken through the prophet are being realised through him.
 
It’s a moment of breathtaking audacity and clarity.
            In that synagogue, surrounded by people who knew him as Joseph’s son,
            Jesus makes a claim about his identity and mission that cannot be ignored.
 
The passage he reads is carefully chosen.
 
Isaiah’s words speak of good news to the poor, release for captives,
            sight for the blind, and freedom for the oppressed.
 
These aren’t abstract ideas;
            they’re concrete realities for people suffering
            under the weight of poverty, oppression, and injustice.
 
By choosing this text, Jesus signals that his ministry
            will prioritise those on the margins
            —the excluded, the vulnerable, the overlooked.
 
The “year of the Lord’s favour” evokes the Jubilee year,
            a time when debts are forgiven, land is restored,
            and communities are reset to reflect God’s justice and abundance.
 
Jesus proclaims that this radical reordering of society begins now.
 
But the power of Jesus’ proclamation
            lies not only in what he says but in how he embodies it.
 
He doesn’t speak as a detached commentator;
            he speaks as the anointed one
            through whom these promises are being fulfilled.
 
This is no ordinary teaching moment.
            It’s a declaration that God’s kingdom is breaking into the world
            in a new and transformative way.
 
Initially, the congregation’s reaction is one of amazement.
            They marvel at his gracious words
            and are struck by the authority with which he speaks.
 
But their amazement quickly turns to scepticism and hostility.
            They ask, “Is not this Joseph’s son?”
 
Their familiarity with Jesus becomes a stumbling block.
            How can someone so ordinary, so local,
            claim such an extraordinary role?
 
Their doubts reveal a deeper issue:
            an inability to see beyond their own expectations
            of who God can use and how God can act.
 
Jesus anticipates their resistance.
            He references two stories from Israel’s prophetic tradition
                        —Elijah and the widow in Zarephath,
                        and Elisha and Naaman the Syrian.
 
In both cases, God’s blessings extend
            beyond Israel’s borders to Gentiles.
 
These examples are not chosen at random;
            they underline the universal scope of God’s mission.
 
Jesus challenges the congregation
            to see that God’s grace is not confined to their community or nation.
 
It’s a message that disrupts their sense of entitlement and exclusivity.
            But this disruption is too much for them to bear.
 
Their initial amazement turns to outrage,
            and they attempt to drive Jesus out of town.
 
The radical inclusivity of God’s kingdom
            —the idea that salvation and liberation are for everyone,
                        not just a select few—
            is a hard truth to accept.
 
Yet it remains central to Jesus’ proclamation.
            For those willing to hear it, this message is good news.
 
It invites us to expand our vision, to break down barriers,
            and to join in God’s work of justice and restoration.
 
The Nazareth congregation’s shift from amazement to rejection
            underscores a profound truth about human nature.
 
We are often eager to celebrate messages of hope and liberation
            —as long as they don’t disrupt our comfort or challenge our assumptions.
 
But when the Gospel confronts us with uncomfortable truths,
            we are tempted to resist, just as the people of Nazareth did.
 
In their rage, the congregation attempts to silence Jesus.
            They drive him out of the synagogue and to the edge of a cliff,
            intending to kill him.
 
Yet Jesus, undeterred, walks away.
 
This act of rejection does not derail his mission;
            it underscores the cost of prophetic ministry.
 
The way of the prophet—and the way of the kingdom—
            is often met with resistance,
            but it remains the way of truth and life.
 
This story invites us to examine our own responses to the Gospel.
            How do we react when Jesus’ words
                        challenge our assumptions or call us to change?
            Are we willing to embrace the radical inclusivity of God’s kingdom,
                         even when it disrupts our comfort?
            And how do we treat the prophetic voices in our midst?
These are the questions that linger
            as we reflect on this moment from the beginning of Jesus’ ministry.
 
To be a prophet is to see the world as God sees it
            and to speak God’s truth into a disordered world.
 
It is a calling that demands courage, clarity,
            and a willingness to stand apart from the crowd.
 
Prophets are not simply predictors of the future;
            they are truth-tellers who challenge the status quo,
            often at great personal cost.
 
Jesus embodies this prophetic role perfectly.
 
His proclamation in Nazareth confronts deeply held assumptions
            and forces his listeners to confront their own prejudices.
 
This is the essence of prophetic ministry
            —to shine a light on the places where our human values
            fall short of God’s kingdom vision.
 
Yet, as Jesus demonstrates, such truth-telling is rarely welcomed.
 
The prophet’s words disrupt and disturb,
            calling people to repentance and transformation.
 
For Jesus, the rejection he faces in Nazareth
            is a microcosm of the resistance he will encounter throughout his ministry.
 
From religious leaders to political authorities,
            those invested in maintaining the status quo will oppose his message.
 
And yet, Jesus remains steadfast.
            He does not compromise the truth to gain approval or avoid conflict.
 
He continues to proclaim God’s kingdom,
            knowing that his path will ultimately lead to the cross.
 
For those of us seeking to follow Jesus,
            this prophetic role is both an invitation and a challenge.
 
We are called to be truth-tellers in our own time,
            speaking out against injustice
            and advocating for the values of God’s kingdom.
 
This can be daunting. It often feels safer to remain silent,
            to avoid rocking the boat.
 
But the Gospel compels us to act.
 
The challenges of prophetic ministry are many.
            It requires us to confront our own fears and insecurities.
            It demands that we risk rejection and criticism.
 
And it asks us to trust that God’s Spirit will sustain us,
            even when the path is difficult.
 
Yet the rewards of prophetic courage are profound.
            In speaking God’s truth, we participate in God’s work
            of redemption and transformation.
 
Through prophetic courage, we become vessels
            through which God’s kingdom breaks into the world.
 
At Bloomsbury, we are uniquely positioned
            to embrace this prophetic calling.
 
As a church committed to justice, inclusion, and compassion,
            we have the opportunity to be a beacon of hope in our city.
 
But this requires each of us to play our part.
            Whether through words, actions, or prayers,
            we are all called to contribute to the work of God’s kingdom.
 
The challenge here is for us take courage from the example of Jesus.
            To speak truth boldly, even when it is uncomfortable.
            To stand with those on the margins, even when it is costly.
 
And as we do so, we need to decide to trust that, in doing so,
            we are living out the calling of the Gospel.
 
For this is what it means to be a prophetic people
            —to embody the radical, boundary-breaking love of God in all that we do.
 
In 2025, the challenges Jesus addressed in his proclamation
            resonate just as profoundly as they did in Nazareth.
 
We live in a world grappling with systemic inequality, environmental crises,
            the plight of refugees, the resurgence of nationalism,
            and the marginalisation of vulnerable groups.
 
The prophetic call to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour
            invites us to confront these issues with courage and hope,
            embodying the Gospel in our context.
 
First, the call to bring good news to the poor
            challenges us to address the growing economic disparities in our society.
 
The gap between rich and poor has widened,
            with many struggling to meet basic needs
            while others accumulate unimaginable wealth.
 
As followers of Jesus, we are called to advocate for economic justice,
            support policies that uplift the marginalised,
            and engage in acts of generosity that reflect God’s abundance.
 
Second, Jesus’ proclamation of release to captives and freedom for the oppressed
            urges us to confront systems of oppression that bind people in our time.
 
Whether it is systemic racism, modern slavery, or unjust immigration policies,
            we are called to be voices for liberation.
 
This includes standing in solidarity with those who are marginalised
            and using our resources and influence
            to dismantle structures that perpetuate inequality.
 
Third, Jesus’ call for recovery of sight to the blind
            reminds us of the need for spiritual and societal healing.
 
In a polarised world, where misinformation and division cloud our vision,
            we are called to be peacemakers and truth-tellers.
 
This requires listening deeply to others,
            seeking understanding across differences,
            and embodying the reconciling love of Christ in our interactions.
 
Finally, the proclamation of the year of the Lord’s favour
            challenges us to embody hope in the face of despair.
 
The climate crisis, political instability,
            and societal divisions can feel overwhelming.
 
Yet, as people of faith, we are called to live as signs of God’s kingdom,
            demonstrating through our actions that another way is possible.
 
Whether it is through sustainable living, community organising, or acts of kindness,
            we can bear witness to the transformative power of God’s love.
 
Our commitment here at Bloomsbury to the values and practices
            of justice, inclusion, and compassion
            is a testament to the prophetic spirit that animates our community.
 
As we look to the future, let us recommit ourselves to this mission,
            trusting that the Spirit of the Lord is upon us.
 
Together, let us proclaim the good news, challenge injustice,
            and embody the radical inclusivity of God’s kingdom in 2025 and beyond.
 
So as we come to the end of our reflection on Jesus’ proclamation in Nazareth,
            we are reminded that his words are not confined to the past.
 
They resonate powerfully in our present,
            calling us to action in a world that desperately needs
            the hope, healing, and liberation of God’s kingdom.
 
The challenge before us is clear.
 
Will we, like the people of Nazareth, resist the radical inclusivity of God’s grace?
            Or will we open our hearts to the transformative power of the Gospel,
            even when it disrupts our comfort and calls us to change?
 
We need to take to heart the example of Jesus,
            who remained steadfast in his mission
            despite rejection and resistance.
 
His unwavering commitment to proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favour
            inspires us to persevere in our own calling as followers of Christ.
 
We are not alone in this work;
            the same Spirit that anointed Jesus empowers us
            to speak truth, challenge injustice,
            and embody the love of God in all that we do.
 
And as we leave this place, let us carry with us the vision of God’s kingdom
            —a vision of justice, freedom, and compassion that knows no boundaries.
 
Let us commit to being a prophetic people,
            standing with the marginalised, speaking out against oppression,
            and living as signs of hope in a broken world.
 
And may we find courage in the knowledge that God goes with us,
            equipping us for the work ahead.
 
For in Christ, the year of the Lord’s favour is not just a promise
            —it is a reality that we are called to embody here and now.
 
Amen.
 

A prophet for our times?

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
12th January 2025

Miniature from the Psalter of Eleanor of Aquitaine (ca. 1185)

Luke 3.1-22

Who, in your opinion,

            are the annoyingly simplistic prophets of our time?

 

Whose voice drives you to distraction

            because it fails to account for the complexity of the world?

 

Who leaves you shouting at the TV

            or shaking your head in frustration?

 

Hold that thought, and we’ll come back to it.

 

Our reading this morning is often called The Baptism of Jesus,

            yet the actual baptism is only briefly mentioned.

 

Much of this passage focuses on John the Baptist’s fiery ministry

            and the social and spiritual upheaval it heralds.

 

John bursts onto the scene like an Old Testament prophet,

            crying out from the wilderness,

            dressed in camel’s hair and speaking words of uncompromising judgment.

 

His message, at first glance, might seem harsh, even threatening.

            But beneath his vivid language of fire, axes, and winnowing forks

                        lies a profound message of hope:

                        God is doing something new.

 

The kingdom of God is breaking into the world,

            and all are invited to be part of it.

 

But there’s a catch.

            God’s new thing demands change—real, tangible change.

 

It’s not enough to hear John’s words

            or to show up by the Jordan River.

 

It’s not enough to claim Abraham as your ancestor

            or to rest on the privileges of heritage or tradition.

 

John’s call to repentance requires a complete reorientation of life,

            a turning away from “business as usual”

            and toward the in-breaking kingdom of God.

 

This morning, we’ll explore John’s proclamation, Jesus’ baptism,

            and what they mean for us in 2025.

 

Along the way, I invite you to keep thinking about those voices

            —the prophets of our time who call for change,

sometimes simplistically, sometimes uncomfortably,

            but always with the potential to reshape the world.

 

John’s cry for repentance isn’t a polite invitation to self-improvement.

            It’s a radical, disruptive call

            to reject systems of oppression and injustice.

 

He proclaims that the world is broken—profoundly out of joint—

            and that the people, their leaders, and their systems

            are all under judgment.

 

When the crowds ask, “What then should we do?”

            and John’s answers are strikingly practical and disarmingly simple:

“Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”

“Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”
“Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation; and be satisfied with your wages.”
 
This isn’t a theological treatise
            or a complex program for societal reform.
 
It’s about ordinary people doing ordinary things differently:
            sharing resources, treating others fairly,
            and refusing to exploit power for personal gain.
 
But John’s message is more than personal
            —it’s deeply communal and systemic.
 
He addresses the structures of society:
            the economic inequalities, the abuses of power,
            the entrenchment of privilege.
 
Tax collectors symbolize a system of exploitation that crushes the poor.
            Soldiers represent the machinery of Roman oppression.
 
When John calls them to repentance,
            he’s asking them not only to behave better
            but also to challenge the very systems they inhabit.
 
This call remains startlingly relevant.
 
In 2025, John’s cry echoes in the face of vast economic inequalities,
            climate disasters, and geopolitical tensions.
 
What might his message look like today?
Imagine John standing at the gates of multinational corporations,
            challenging CEOs to prioritize sustainability over profit.
Picture him addressing policymakers,
            calling for action to address the growing refugee crises.
Hear him speaking to us, urging us to examine our choices
            —what we buy, how we vote, how we live—
and how they either support or challenge
            the systems of injustice around us.
 
Repentance, in John’s vision, isn’t just a private turning of the heart.
            It’s a public turning of the world
            —a transformation of how we live together.
 
When John confronts the crowd, he doesn’t mince words:
            “Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’;
            for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”
 
Their privilege—their status as children of Abraham—is not the point.
            What matters is not where they come from
            but whether their lives bear the fruits
                        of justice, righteousness, and love.
 
This message strikes at the heart of a modern world shaped by privilege.
            Privilege is often invisible to those who have it,
            but John challenges us to confront it head-on.
 
Do we recognize the ways in which our lives are shaped
            by advantages we didn’t earn?
 
If we’ve never worried about food or housing, that’s privilege.
            If our voices are more likely to be heard,
            our opinions more likely to be respected, that’s privilege.
 
John doesn’t call us to feel guilty about privilege
            but to take responsibility for it.
 
Privilege isn’t a prize to hoard;
            it’s a tool to use in service of others.
 
So what might this look like for us today?

Sharing Resources:
John’s call to share coats and food reminds us to ask,
“Do we live as though our surplus belongs to those in need?”
 
Challenging Systems:
Like the tax collectors and soldiers,
            we are called to examine the systems we participate in.
Are we complicit in perpetuating injustice?
 
Amplifying Voices:
Privilege often comes with a platform.
Are we using our voice to amplify the cries of the marginalized,
            or are we staying silent?
 
John’s message is deeply uncomfortable.
            It forces us to see how privilege can insulate us
            from the realities of others’ suffering.
 
But it also invites us into something new:
            a life where privilege becomes a means of blessing,
            a life oriented toward the common good.
 
At the heart of today’s passage lies a profound moment:
            the baptism of Jesus.
 
But it’s a moment that raises questions.
 
Why would Jesus, sinless and divine,
            choose to undergo a baptism of repentance?
 
Why would the one who embodies God’s love and justice
            step into the waters alongside sinners, tax collectors, and soldiers?
 
The answer lies in the nature of Jesus’ mission
            and the heart of God’s kingdom.
 
Jesus’ baptism is not about his own need for repentance.
            Instead, it is an act of solidarity—
                        a deliberate alignment with humanity’s brokenness
                        and a declaration that God’s saving work includes everyone.
 
By stepping into the waters of the Jordan,
            Jesus identifies not with the privileged and powerful
            but with the ordinary, the marginalized, and the oppressed.
 
He joins the tax collector burdened by the guilt of exploitation,
            the soldier questioning his complicity in violence,
            and the ordinary person wondering how to live rightly in a fractured world.
 
This act of solidarity is radical.
            It flips the script on how we understand God’s power.
 
Jesus doesn’t come as a distant ruler or a condemning judge.
            Instead, he comes as Emmanuel—God with us.
 
He steps into our mess, our struggles, and our pain,
            showing us that God’s love is not reserved for the perfect
            but is poured out for all, especially those on the margins.
 
As Jesus emerges from the waters, the heavens open,
            and the Spirit descends like a dove.
 
A voice declares:
            “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
 
This moment is rich with meaning.
            It’s not just a personal affirmation for Jesus;
            it’s a revelation of God’s kingdom.
 
The heavens opening signify that God’s presence
            is breaking into the world in a new way.
 
The descending Spirit points to empowerment for mission,
            and the voice from heaven announces Jesus’ identity and purpose.
 
The words, “You are my Son, the Beloved,” echo Psalm 2,
            where the anointed king is declared God’s Son.
 
They also resonate with the servant songs of Isaiah,
            where the chosen one is upheld by God
            to bring justice to the nations.
 
In this moment, Jesus is revealed as both the messianic king
            and the suffering servant
—a leader who will bring justice
            not through force but through self-giving love.
 
This scene is deeply subversive.
 
The Spirit descending like a dove
            contrasts sharply with the Roman eagle,
            a symbol of imperial power and conquest.
 
God’s kingdom is not about domination but about peace.
            It’s not about ruling through fear but about transforming through love.
 
Jesus’ baptism isn’t just an act of solidarity;
            it’s also a moment of transformation
            —not for him, but for us.
 
In his baptism, Jesus sanctifies the waters,
            making them a symbol of new life.
 
He shows us that the way into God’s kingdom
            is not through privilege or power
            but through humility, repentance, and renewal.
 
This transformation is not merely individual.
            It has profound communal and systemic implications.
 
Jesus’ baptism marks the beginning of a ministry
            that will challenge the status quo,
            confront systems of oppression,
            and proclaim good news to the poor.
 
It is a call to reimagine the world,
            to see it through the lens of God’s justice and mercy.
 
For us, baptism is both a gift and a responsibility.
            It’s a gift because it declares that we, too, are God’s beloved children.
It’s a responsibility because it calls us
            to live out the values of God’s kingdom.
 
Baptism invites us to participate in the ongoing work of transformation
            —to turn away from the “business as usual” of the world
            and to embody the radical love and justice of Christ.
 
As the Spirit descends on Jesus in the form of a dove,
            we’re reminded that God’s power is not coercive or violent.
 
The dove, a symbol of peace,
            contrasts with the fiery language John uses earlier in the passage.
 
Yet the two are not opposed.
 
The fire of God’s judgment and the peace of the dove
            are both part of God’s work in the world.
 
The fire burns away the chaff
            —the selfishness, greed, and injustice that distort God’s creation.
 
The dove points to the renewal and peace that come
            when God’s kingdom takes root in our lives and communities.
 
Together, they show us that God’s work
            is both purifying and restoring.
 
When we follow Jesus through the waters of baptism,
            we, too, receive the Spirit’s call.
 
We are invited to let the fire of God’s judgment refine us,
            burning away what does not belong,
and to let the peace of the dove shape how we live in the world.
 
So the baptism of Jesus is not just a historical moment;
            it’s a declaration of the kind of life God calls us to live.
 
It’s a life of solidarity with the marginalized,
            a life that embraces transformation,
and a life that bears witness to the in-breaking kingdom of God.
 
Through his baptism, Jesus stepped into the waters of human brokenness.
            He aligned himself with those crying out for change,
                        those burdened by systems of oppression,
                        and those yearning for hope.
 
He didn’t come as a detached saviour,
            standing apart from the struggles of the world.
 
Instead, he immersed himself in them,
            showing us that the path to redemption begins with solidarity.
 
For us, baptism is both an affirmation of our identity as God’s beloved
            and a commissioning to live as agents of God’s justice and peace.
 
The question, then, is this:
            What does it mean for us to live out our baptism in 2025?
 
First, it means stepping into solidarity with those who are suffering.
 
Like Jesus, we are called to wade into the waters of the world’s pain
            —not as saviours but as companions.
 
In the face of the ongoing refugee crises,
            we are called to welcome the stranger, advocate for humane policies,
            and provide tangible support to those fleeing war and persecution.
 
As climate disasters continue to devastate communities,
            we are called to challenge the systems and behaviours
            that fuel the crisis and to work toward sustainable, life-giving change.
 
Where inequality and injustice persist
            —whether in our own neighbourhoods or on a global scale—
            we are called to stand with the oppressed and amplify their voices.
 
Solidarity isn’t passive; it’s active and costly.
 
It means listening deeply, acting courageously,
            and staying committed, even when the road is hard.
 
Second, living out our baptism means embracing transformation.
 
Jesus’ baptism was a moment of divine affirmation:
            “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
 
This affirmation wasn’t just about Jesus’ identity;
            it was about his mission.
 
When we hear those same words spoken over us in baptism,
            we are reminded that we, too, are called to a mission of transformation.
 
This transformation begins with us,
            as we allow the fire of God’s Spirit to refine us,
burning away what doesn’t belong
            —our selfishness, our complicity in injustice, our fear of change.
 
But it doesn’t stop there.
 
Baptismal transformation is also about the world around us.
 
It’s about reimagining our communities, our nations,
            and our world in the light of God’s kingdom:

• A world where resources are shared so that no one is left in need.
• A world where power is used to serve, not to exploit.
• A world where peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of justice.

Finally, living out our baptism means remembering who we are:
            God’s beloved.
 
This identity isn’t based on what we achieve or how well we perform.
            It’s not diminished by our failures or enhanced by our successes.
 
It’s a gift—freely given and unshakable.
 
When we live from this identity,
            we are freed to love without fear,
to give without holding back,
            and to stand for justice without seeking recognition.
 
We are freed to align ourselves with God’s vision for the world,
            knowing that we don’t do this work alone.
 
The Spirit who descended on Jesus like a dove
            is the same Spirit who empowers us today.
 
The fire of God’s love and the peace of God’s presence
            are with us as we live out our baptismal calling.
 
So, what does all of this mean for us as we leave this place today?
 
It means asking, Who needs my solidarity?
Who are the people or communities I am called to stand with,
            even when it’s uncomfortable or costly?
 
It means reflecting, Where do I need transformation?
What attitudes, behaviours, or systems in my life
            need to be refined by God’s Spirit?
 
And it means remembering, Who am I?
As someone baptized into Christ, I am God’s beloved,
            called to live out the values of God’s kingdom in the world.
 
John the Baptist’s cry still echoes across the centuries:
            “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”
 
Jesus’ baptism shows us what this preparation looks like
            —not in grand gestures or abstract ideals
            but in lives marked by solidarity, transformation, and love.
 
May we, as God’s beloved children,
            take up this call to action.
 
And may we work together
            to live out the in-breaking kingdom of God,
where valleys are filled, mountains are made low,
            and all flesh sees the salvation of our Creator.
 

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/