Thursday, 11 May 2023

The Love of God

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
14 May 2023
 

Romans 3.28-30; 5.1-11
  
A man fell into a pit and couldn’t get himself out.
 
A Subjective person came along and said ‘I feel for you down there’
            Objective - ‘Its logical that someone would fall down there’
 
Pharisee - ‘Only bad people fall into pits’
            News reporter wanted the exclusive story on the man’s pit
 
Confucius - ‘If you had listened to me, you wouldn’t be in that pit’
            Buddha - ‘Your pit is only a state of mind’
 
Realist - ‘Yep, that’s a PIT you’re in there, my friend’
            Scientist calculated the pressure necessary in PSI to get him out of the pit
 
geologist told him to appreciate the rock strata in the pit
            tax man asked if he was paying taxes on his pit
 
council inspector asked if he had a permit to dig a pit
            evasive person came along and avoided the subject of his pit altogether
 
self pitying person - ‘You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen MY pit!’
            Charismatic - ‘Just confess that you’re not in a pit’
 
Optimist - ‘Things could be worse’
            Pessimist - ‘Things will get worse;
 
Jesus - seeing the man,
            took him by the hand and lifted him out of the pit
 
And this little parable takes us, I think, right to the heart
            of what Paul is trying to demonstrate in his letter to the Romans:
which is that the way Jesus responds to the depths of the human situation
            is quite unlike that of anyone else.
 
Jesus does not come along with helpful words of encouragement,
            he doesn’t muck around with solutions that won’t work.
 
Rather, God’s response to human sin, to human suffering,
            to our collective and individual ‘pits’
was to reach out to us at the moment of our deepest need
            by sending Jesus on a rescue mission for humanity.
 
In his death on the cross, Jesus opened the way
            for people to be lifted out of their pits of isolation from God.
 
This is what Paul was getting at
            when he wrote his letter to the Romans.
 
Paul’s letter to Rome can sometimes seem very confusing,
            and even a fairly short passage such as ours for today
            could sustain multiple sermons.
 
Famously, Martyn Lloyd-Jones preached every week for 13 years
            on the book of Romans,
            at Westminster Chapel.
 
Well, I promise not to do that,
            unless you ask really nicely!
 
But do you remember studying poetry at school?
            How you have to keep reading same small section over and over
                        and how you get more from the words, each time you read it?
            I’ve always been amazed at how much meaning can be generated
                        from so few words
 
Well, the letter to the Romans is rather like poetry,
            and on first reading it can be rather confusing,
            with careful word choice conveying whole rafts of ideas.
 
But this is also what makes it so interesting,
            and it repays careful and detailed study.
 
So, to set the scene for our passage for today:
            Paul has spent the first part of the letter looking at the story of Abraham;
                        exploring how Abraham came to know God,
                        and explaining how Abraham’s relationship with God
                                    was not something he earned
                                    but rather emerged from his faith in God.
 
The key issue that Paul’s addressing in the opening chapters
            is that of how it can be right
            for God to deal with Jews and Gentiles on the same basis.
 
The children of Abraham, the Jewish people,
            are the people of God, the heirs of the covenant.
So how, Paul is asking, can it be true
            that God is now also seeking a relationship with the gentiles?
With those who have not history of being God’s people,
            no story of covenant faithfulness to define them?
 
To begin answering this, Paul speaks of sin,
            and he frames sin as a universal plight, experienced by all people,
            regardless of their heritage, ethnicity, or behaviour.
 
And so Paul issues his great statement of human sinfulness,
            proclaiming that ‘all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’ (3.23).
 
None of us, whatever our religious tradition or faith background,
            can attain the glory of God.
 
We are, each of us, whoever we are, broken people,
            and our relationship with God is correspondingly broken.
 
There is no-one who is righteous in their own right,
            not Jew, not Gentile, not even Father Abraham himself.
 
The keeping of the Covenant Law doesn’t make a person righteous,
            any more than any other moral code.
 
And so we come to the next step in Paul’s logical progression through the letter,
            and we heard it in our reading earlier:
 
‘For we hold that a person is justified by faith
            apart from works prescribed by the law.’ (3.28)
 
Whatever good the Jewish Law achieved,
            and certainly from Paul’s perspective as a Torah-observant Jew
            there were many good reasons to live within the demands of the Law,
but despite these goods, the law itself did not make a person righteous,
            it did not make a person in right relation with God.
 
And this is because there is nothing we can do,
            in and of ourselves, to make ourselves right with God.
 
Rather, the broken relationship with God, characterised by human sin,
            can only be mended by God’s action.
 
We cannot find our own way out of our own pit,
            only God can rescue us.
 
And so Paul says that a person is justified by faith, not by works.
 
This word ‘justified’ probably needs a little explanation…
            in modern colloquial language, we would often use ‘justify’
                        to convey a sense of ‘finding a good excuse for something’.
 
For example, I might come up with a reason to justify losing my temper,
            or being late for a meeting.
 
This isn’t the meaning Paul has in mind in Romans.
 
Rather, I think we can get closer to his meaning,
            if we think about how we use the word ‘justify’
            when we’re typing a document in a word processor.
 
Unjustified text has a raggedy right edge,
            whereas ‘justified’ text lines up neatly at both the left and right margins.
 
This sense of justify being to ‘make something right’,
            is closer to what Paul means
            when he says a person is justified by faith, not by works.
 
A person is made right, straightened out
            in their relationships with other human beings and with God,
            by faith, and not by works.
 
If ‘sin’ is a relationship with God gone wrong, with a raggedy edge,
            then ‘faith’ is that relationship with God straightened out, put right.
 
We are justified by faith, not by works.
 
And so, Paul takes pains to show that even Abraham,
            the founding father of the Jewish people,
                        knew God by faith first, not by works.
 
And, he goes on, if this is true for Abraham
            then it is true for all people, Jew or Gentile.
 
None of us know God by our own efforts,
            and none of us can lift ourselves out of the pit
            of our broken relationship with God.
 
The only solution on offer
            is that God first reaches out to us;
and Paul’s conviction is that God does this in Jesus Christ
 
He makes the point three times in our passage:
 
while we were still weak … Christ died for the ungodly (5.6)
while we still were sinners … Christ died for us (5.8)
while we were enemies … we were reconciled to God (5.10)
 
the mending of the broken, unjustified relationship between humans and God
            must begin with God reaching out to people in their pits of despair and sin.
 
What comes next, of course, is the human response,
            as people then have to learn to live in the light of God’s gracious act of mercy.
 
This, for Paul, is where the Jewish Law fitted,
            it was Israel’s appropriate response,
            to God’s calling them to be a holy chosen people.
 
But, as one might say,
            other appropriate responses are also available…
 
Do the Gentiles need to keep the Jewish law?
            Well, Paul will argue that they do not.
 
Rather, they must live by an equally demanding ethic,
            the ethic of the Spirit.
 
The person pulled from their pit,
            who has had their life restored to them,
has not been rescued to then dig new pits and fall into them!
            Rather they are rescued to live life as life should be lived,
            in renewed relationship with their creator.
 
The result of this, says Paul, is that
            “We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ”
 
Compare this with the basic human condition…
            Most people are not at peace with God.
Just look at the world around us:
            a world characterised by wars, arguments, and fighting.
The sad truth is that most people are not at peace!
 
And this is a symptom of the underlying problem,
            which is that humanity lives most of the time in rebellion against God.
The power of Sin over people’s lives
            separates them from God,
            and creates the context for all kinds of destructive behaviours.
 
Whereas Paul asserts that, through Christ
            a new relationship with God is possible – a peaceful one.
 
In dying for all people, Christ has broken the power of sin
            to dominate and distort human lives and relationships.
 
We are lifted out of the pit of conflict with God,
            and have the possibility of peace with God.
 
The sad truth is that as Christians,
            we frequently don’t live out the reality this relationship.
But it is still there,
            and we often need reminding of that
 
So Paul goes on to do just that:
            He underlines the new relationship available to those
                        who accept Christ as their Lord and saviour.
 
Paul says that those who have the grace and peace
            that comes from this restored relationship
            “rejoice in the hope of the glory of God”
 
Another word for “rejoice” here is “boast”,
            and so Paul says that we ‘boast in our hope of the glory of God’.
 
This good news of a restored relationship with God
            as something to be excited about,
            something we can boast of!
 
This is a proper response to what God has done
 
Often we read or hear great theological truths about God:
            Truths such as:
                        We are saved!
                        We have peace!
                        We have grace!
            And these truths inspire us!....
                        to nod politely and say “what wonderful theology!”
 
Well, for Paul, this is more than theology:
            this is a relationship, and a life-changing one
 
But Paul doesn’t leave it there (he rarely does)
            Not only are we to rejoice, or boast, when things are going well,
He also says that we are to boast in suffering and affliction.
 
The point here, is that the life of faith
            is not a life of guaranteed success.
 
Contrary to what preachers of health, wealth, and prosperity might assert,
            in either the first- or twenty-first centuries,
the true life of faith is a life after the pattern of Jesus,
            and that includes the suffering of the cross:
 
Against those who would try to shame him
            because of his sufferings for the sake of the gospel of Christ,
Paul rather asserts that such suffering
            is a clear indication that salvation is under way.
 
It is not a reason to renounce God,
            nor is it a contradiction of faith.
 
Rather, suffering strengthens patience,
                        and matures character
                        and leads to hope
and Paul assures his readers that this hope is not idle,
            that the process has already begun:
 
“Hope does not put us to shame,
            because God’s love has been poured into our hearts
            through the Holy Spirit” (v.5)
 
The love of God is already in our hearts through the Holy Spirit,
            and it is this concept of ‘the love of God’
            which ties together all the various theological and ethical concepts
            we find in this passage.
 
Note: it’s not our love of God;
            rather, it is God’s love for us,
            made known in sending Jesus to rescue us.
 
God’s love is unconditional, not earned.
 
And this love which God has for us,
            is expressed in his gift of Jesus, which gives us peace with God,
            and is expressed in a certain hope for the future
                        which in turn gives us a new perspective on suffering.
 
This hope, this confidence in the future, has a firm foundation:
            it is grounded in the death of Jesus.
 
We have already seen what this has achieved,
            as sin ceases to be a barrier between ourselves and God,
            and we enter into a relationship with God
            that would not be possible otherwise
 
The death of Christ, understood in this way,
            is an expression of the love of God.
 
On the cross, as Jesus dies,
            the love of God is satisfied.
 
God’s wrath is reserved for the twin forces of sin and death,
            at work in the world to diminish, distort, and demean humans.
 
Paul makes this point by building up to us:
            Someone might die for a good person
            they might even die for a righteous person
            but it is very unlikely that someone would choose to die for a bad person.
 
And yet… Christ died for sinners
            “God proves his love for us
            in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” (5.8)
 
No-one can claim to be “good” before God,
            and thankfully none of us needs to!
 
God shows love for us by doing, through Jesus,
            what not one of us could do for ourselves.
 
We are, by God’s grace, reconciled to God,
            justified, declared righteous,
            gifted a restored relationship with God.
 
And this is not something that can be earned,
            it comes only because of God’s love for us.
 
And so Paul returns to the subject of rejoicing:
            Not only in the hope of glory,
            not only in afflictions,
            but also in God
 
He encourages Christian congregations
            to show their joy in their relationship with God.
 
“we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ,
            through whom we have now received reconciliation”
 
Our restored, renewed relationship with God
            is something about which we can be profoundly joyful.
 
And as such, it should affect our worship and the way we live.
 
This is not just something to try and tease out
            of a rather complicated letter
            which was written nearly 2000 years ago.
 
Because Paul’s letter was written to real people,
            in a real church, with real problems, facing real issues.
 
They were trying to share the Gospel of Christ
            in a community which was not really interested in what they had to say.
 
Does this sound familiar?
 
If so, then Paul’s message to the Christians in Rome
            is as relevant today as it was then.
 
If we want others to come to know the good news of Jesus
            if we want people to find the way out of the pit in which they are trapped,
 
Then we need to let the relationship we have with God
            affect our worship and the way we live.
 
What if we can grasp in our lives what it means for God to love the unlovely,
            to desire deep relationship with those currently far off,
            and to be willing to take the first step towards reconciliation.
 
What if we can live these godly values into reality in our lives?
 
Dare I suggest that if we allow God to work in us in this way,
            if our worship is real and joyful
            if our relationship with God in Christ by the Spirit is all-important to us,
then others too will be saved.
 

Friday, 5 May 2023

A time to be born and a time to die

A sermon for the funeral of Ron Gleed
5 May 2023

Ecclesiastes 3.1-8
Everything Has Its Time
For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal;
a time to break down and a time to build up;
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek and a time to lose;
a time to keep and a time to throw away;
a time to tear and a time to sew;
a time to keep silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace.
 
Our reading just now, from the Hebrew Bible,
            contains Ron’s last words to Liz.
 
We had phoned him on the Thursday evening,
            because we were flying off on holiday the following morning.
 
Ron said that he wasn’t feeling very well,
            and so I prayed with him over the phone,
                        and said we’d see him next week when we got back,
            before handing the phone over to Liz.
 
They chatted for a while, and as they said goodbye,
            Ron quoted from Ecclesiastes:
 
‘Darling’, he said, ‘there is a time to be born and a time to die’.
 
And so here we are.
 
Sometimes the task of the minister at a funeral
            is to provide those who are attending
            with a summary of the person’s life:
you know the kind of thing:
            where they were born, what they did, who they loved…
 
In other words, sometimes it is sometimes the task of the minister
            to talk about the person who has died.
 
But Ron wanted a sermon, not a tribute,
            he wanted words to be spoken about God, and not just him.
 
You only have to look at the way he has told the story of his life
            in his own words on the back of the order of service,
            which he left ready for us, created in his own inimitable style,
to realise that what Ron wanted for this occasion,
            was to point beyond himself,
to God who is made known to us in Jesus, by the Spirit.
 
So on this occasion, this Minister, who is also a son-in-law,
            will reflect for a few moments
                        on what it means to live a life before God,
            and for Ron to have lived his life
                        in the light of God’s love.
 
For everything there is a season
            and a time for every matter under heaven
 
Some of you will have been here with us in this place
            on the 3rd September 2007,
when we said goodbye to Eileen, Ron’s wife for 45 years,
            after her long battle with Alzheimer’s Disease.
 
And today, we gather again because Ron has joined Eileen
            in the eternal embrace of God’s love.
 
All that is good in our lives,
            all the love we give, all the love we receive,
            all the grace that we embody:
all these are gathered by God and held fast for eternity.
 
But all the failings of our lives,
            the good we could have done but didn’t
            the love we might have given but which we withheld,
            the grace which we denied:
all these are forgiven by God,
            and remembered no more.
 
Because although life is fleeting,
            God is eternal,
and God’s love and mercies endure forever.
 
And so…
For everything there is a season
            and a time for every matter under heaven
a time to plant
            and a time to pluck up what is planted;

Throughout our lives, we each of us sow seeds in the world:
            seeds of love, hope, and joy.
 
We invest in relationships, friendships, and children;
            in projects, hopes, and dreams.
 
But in this sowing, we run a risk,
            because not every seed grows to maturity,
            and not every plant grows healthy
 
As Jesus himself put it in John’s gospel,
            speaking about his own death:
 
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
            it remains just a single grain,
but if it dies it bears much fruit. (John 12.24)
 
Jesus knew that the promise of new life
            is always inextricably interwoven with the reality of death.
 
The American author Henry Cloud writes that,
            ‘Endings are part of every aspect of life.
                        When done well, the seasons of life are negotiated,
                                    and the proper endings lead to the end of pain,
                                    to greater growth...and to better lives.’
He concludes:
            ‘Endings bring hope.’
 
And here is a profound mystery for us,
            as we gather to contemplate the mystery of life and death:
the seeds we sow in the world,
            that fall into the ground and die,
            yet grow and bear fruit beyond our understanding.
 
And so…
For everything there is a season
            and a time for every matter under heaven
a time to kill and a time to heal;
          a time to break down and a time to build up;
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
            a time to mourn and a time to dance;

Ron was of an age where he did National Service,
            and he enjoyed serving with the RAF in Cyprus.
In fact, I always suspected that he was secretly of the opinion
            that his younger son-in-law
            might have benefitted from a few years of military discipline!
 
But this time of military service,
            during which he discovered his personal relationship with God through Jesus,
            was followed by a lifetime of spiritual service,
with the joys and trials of family life,
            set against a dedicated involvement in his local church here at Ranelagh.
 
Ron and the family shared the laughter and sorrows
            of being part of this church community,
rejoicing with those who rejoiced,
            and weeping with those who mourned.
 
And it is this community aspect of church life,
            that is so important to the journey of Christian discipleship.
We need one another, because we are incomplete without each other:
            it is through the body of Christ
            that we meet and are met by the risen Jesus.
 
Even in recent years,
            when ill health meant Ron could not attend in person,
            he threw himself into church attendance by Zoom.
 
Sundays were a whirlwind of online services,
            with Ron even diligently catching up
            on my own church’s services from London.
 
And so…
For everything there is a season
            and a time for every matter under heaven
a time to throw away stones
            and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace
            and a time to refrain from embracing;


Those of us who have spent time in Felixstowe, the Suntrap of the East Coast,
            will know that the beach here is one of stones, not sand.
 
And the stones of the Felixstowe beach continually shift with each new tide,
            sometimes gathered together against the breakwaters,
            sometimes thrown and scattered by the storms.
 
Ron loved to look out of his study window at the seafront,
            and Liz has often spoken to me about how, for her,
            the North Sea is an image of God: vast, unknowable, inexorable,
                        powerful, tantalising, and peaceful.
 
And within this metaphor, we are the stones,
            we are gathered together, and thrown apart,
we build our lives for a time, and then the tide turns,
            and all our efforts pass into memory,
and that is how it should be.
 
We do not build for eternity;
            that is God’s prerogative.
Rather our task is to play our part
            in building the kingdom of heaven in the here and now,
            living as if it were true, until it is true.
 
And so we come to the truth that Ron knew,
            which he spoke to Liz on the phone just a couple of days before he died.
 
And this is that for each of us, life is fleeting,
            and there is a time and a season for all things.
 
There is a time to be born, and a time to die.
For everything there is a season
            and a time for every matter under heaven.

Tuesday, 25 April 2023

Somewhere to believe in

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
Sunday 30th April 2023


Psalm 19.1-6,14
Acts 13.1-3; 14.8-18


Last week, our post-Easter journey
            through the formative years of the early Christian community
took us to that pivotal moment of Peter’s vision of unclean animals,
            the divine command to kill and eat,
and his realisation that what God has declared clean,
            humans should not declare unclean.
 
The outworking of this was, as we saw,
            that the boundaries around the community of faith were blown apart.
No longer was God the holy prerogative of one group of people,
            but rather the good news of God made known in Jesus
            was for all people, without distinction.
 
And so, at the end of our story from last week,
            Peter baptised Cornelius the God-fearing Centurion, along with all his family.
A happy ending for all:
            and thus the Gospel went to the Gentiles.
 
Except, this was actually only the first act of a much longer drama…
            because although Cornelius was a Gentile,
            he was also the proverbial thin-end-of-the-wedge.
 
You see, he was already a God-fearer,
            he was already keeping the ten commandments,
            and observing the requirements of the Jewish law
                        to keep himself and his family ritually pure.
 
Cornelius may have been un-pure to Peter,
            until his vision convinced him otherwise,
but there was much more inclusion still to come.
 
In fact, the issue of how much of the Jewish Law
            gentiles were to be required to keep if they became Jesus-followers
            would dominate the early decades of Christianity,
with Peter and Paul having a significant falling out over it,
            before reaching a compromise solution.
 
You see, whilst Peter took the message of Jesus to Cornelius,
            Paul was taking it into places Peter hadn’t even imagined.
 
And this is what we see going on here
            in our reading today from the book of Acts,
when we meet Paul and Barnabas embarking
            on what becomes known as Paul’s First Missionary Journey.
 
It’s the late 40s, so about 15-20 years after the time of Jesus,
            and they set off from Syrian Antioch on the Eastern Mediterranean,
journeyed by boat to Cyprus,
            then again to the southern coast of Turkey,
before heading inland to end up in the region
            of the two cities of Lystra and Derbe.
 
Just as an aside here,
            the distances that Paul and his colleagues covered
            on his various missionary endeavours is immense.
 
A few years ago, Liz and I visited Turkey
            to visit biblical sites in the area around Ephesus,
and we would drive for two or three hours on a fast motorway,
            in 40 degree heat, to get from one place to another.
 
It is quite astonishing to think of Paul
            doing these trips overland on foot or by horseback.
 
But anyway, back to our story.
 
Lystra was a Roman colony,
            and although people in the countryside around it
            would have spoken the local dialect as well as ancient Greek,
                        (the language of the New Testament );
            archaeological evidence suggests that in the city itself,
                        the dominant language for at least official inscriptions was Latin.
This was a thoroughly Romanised city.
           
What this meant was that, as far as we know,
            when Paul and Barnabas visited Lystra
they were encountering people
            who had no background knowledge of Judaism at all.
 
This was not a crowd of God-fearing centurions
            desperate to convert,
it was a crowd well-versed in the Graeco-Roman pantheon,
            with no knowledge of Israel’s God at all.
 
And so, Paul went to the open space in the town,
            the first century Roman equivalent of Speakers’ Corner,
and started to tell people
            that the living God could be encountered
            through the Spirit of God’s son Jesus
who had been killed and yet was alive.
 
For the crowd in Lystra this was a new story.
 
He wasn’t trying to convince them
            that Jesus was their long-awaited Messiah,
            as he did when speaking with a Jewish audience;
and unlike Peter with Cornelius,
            he had no shared knowledge of the Hebrew Bible to fall back on.
 
This was evangelism from first principles,
            trying to explain the good news of Jesus
            to people who didn’t even know who God was!
 
Of course, they knew who the gods were
            – the Greek and Roman gods at least –
but they didn’t know who the one God was,
            the God who had been revealed to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
                        to Moses and the Prophets,
            and to their spiritual descendants down to Jesus
                        and then on to Paul himself.
 
And so Paul speaks about God,
            and one man who had been lame from birth was listening,
            and he found the capacity to make the leap of faith, and was healed.
 
It is surely not insignificant that the outcast, the beggar at the gate,
            was the first person in that city to have an experience of faith.
 
As is so often the case with miracles in the New Testament,
            the result of his healing
            was that his exclusion from society was removed.
 
No longer would he have to sit and beg, unable to work.
            His encounter with the good news of Christ restored him,
                        removed the cause of his shame,
            and lifted him up, literally, to his feet
                        to take his place alongside the other citizens of the city.
 
I wonder if we might ponder for a moment
            who, in our world, are the excluded,
            who are cast down, and unable to take their full place in society?
And I wonder if we might consider the structures and systems
            that are at work in our world
            to keep these people bowed down to the ground?
 
I’m thinking, as we explored last week,
            of the racism that still runs through Western society;
and I’m thinking of the homophobia
            that still strikes deep into our church communities.
 
These exclusions of people based on their God-given identity
            run contrary to Peter’s revelation
that no person whom God has declared clean
            should ever be called unclean.
 
But I’m also thinking of the structures of inadequately regulated capitalism,
            where workers are exploited, where people are commodified,
and where who your parents were and where you were born
            still profoundly affects your ability to live a good and healthy life.
 
What, I wonder, would it be
            for us to do to people in our world
            what Paul did in Lystra,
to look at them intently, to really see them,
            to see those whom others ignore,
            and to say to them, ‘Stand upright on your feet’.
 
Sometimes, there is a mindset amongst some Christians
            that social justice is some kind of distraction from preaching the gospel;
that taking concrete and practical action in the world
            to address the injustices of people’s lives
is in some way not missional.
 
Well, in response, I say, ‘Tell that to Paul!’
 
When he found himself in a city
            where no-one spoke the language of faith,
            where the only gods being worshipped
                        were the gods of fear, exploitation and domination,
            his first missional activity
                        was to raise a broken man to his feet.
 
And I believe we should be doing the same.
 
This is why we are involved with London Citizens,
            taking action with others to bring about justice
                        for some of the most broken and bowed down people in our city,
            people whose circumstances of birth
                        have dictated their lack of opportunity to flourish and stand tall.
 
Through our partnerships with London Citizens,
            we lift them to their feet, we help them stand tall,
and we do so because we see them, and we choose to stand with them,
            and we do this because we believe
            that God loves all people, without exception.
 
Sometimes I hear people bemoaning the fact
            that we no longer live in a Christian country;
upset that people don’t know the name of Jesus except as a swear word;
            at a loss to communicate the wonderful gospel
                        of the good news we have received,
            because those beyond the church
                        no longer speak the language of faith in the way they once did.
 
Well, as Francis of Assisi may not have actually said,
            ‘Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.’
 
Or, perhaps to put it around the other way:
            ‘When words fail, preach through deeds’.
 
Action to address the injustices of society is a gospel imperative,
            and Paul knew this well, as we see in our reading today.
 
But the people weren’t yet hearing him clearly.
 
They saw the transformation in the life of the man,
            but they didn’t yet have a framework of faith
            to understand what they have just seen.
 
The only matrix they had for this kind of conversion in a person’s life
            was that of their existing religions,
and so they proclaimed that the gods had come down to them in human form,
            and started to worship Paul and Barnabas as Zeus and Hermes.
 
And then it escalated as the local priest of Zeus
            came from his nearby temple with some oxen to offer as a sacrifice.
 
Let’s think about this for a moment:
            the only matrix through which the locals knew how to respond
                        to a work of divine liberation,
            was one which required an act of sacrifice by humans in response.
 
And there is something deeply human
            about this desire to sacrifice something to the gods
            in exchange for divine favour,
                        or in payment for blessings received.
 
In our interpersonal relationships with one another,
            we are hardwired to a transactional understanding of what it means to relate.
 
If someone comes to dinner at your home, they will bring a gift
            – a token offering to express their gratitude for your hospitality.
 
If someone gives you a gift with no reason,
            maybe just because they thought you’d like it,
the chances are you’ll reply,
            ‘Oh, that’s so kind, I’m sorry I don’t have a gift to give you back’.
 
We are not used to receiving without expense.
 
At a commercial level, the transactions are more quantified:
            we know what work is expected of us,
                        and what we will receive in remuneration,
            but there is still an expectation of giving something up
                        in order to receive something back,
            whether that is time, or effort, or money…
 
And humans have been writing this transactional system
            into their theology since time immemorial.
Most ancient religions included some aspect of sacrifice in exchange for blessing.
 
What was unusual about Christianity
            was the conviction that this sacrificial system had come to an end.
The once-for-all sacrifice of Jesus,
            the sinless one who died to unmask and expose
            the forces of evil that keep people trapped in cycles of sacrifice,
is a central message of Christianity.
 
And so Paul and Barnabas are quick to resist the offer
            of the locals in Lystra to hail them as gods and offer sacrifices to them.
 
This then opens up their moment to preach,
            to turn deeds into words,
to teach those who lacked the appropriate grammar of faith
            the new language that would help them give shape
            to belief based on grace and not demand,
                        on free gift rather than transaction.
 
When I was preparing this sermon,
            I was discussing it with Dawn, and she told me a story.
 
There was once a village, and their local priest every day came and took a chicken to sacrifice to the local gods, to keep them happy.
 
But the village had a problem, they were running out of food and the people were hungry.
 
They turned to their priest who said that the gods were angry and punishing them with hunger, and required more sacrifice. So, they sacrificed two of their precious chickens that day.
 
But still they were hungry, so they sacrificed three chickens the next day. Yet still they were hungry.
 
And then a prophet arrived, and proclaimed that it was the will of the high God that they should sacrifice no more chickens.
 
And soon the people were no longer hungry.
 
The problem with sacrificial systems
            is that they demand more and ever more to sustain themselves.
From grain, to animals, to money, to time,
            and yes eventually to human lives.
 
We literally sacrifice people on the altars of our gods,
            and if you think we don’t, just go and walk around the West End
            and see the broken lives of the people begging on the streets,
most of whom are the victims of people trafficking,
            being exploited unto death to fund the organised crime syndicates
            that supply this city’s insatiable demand for illegal drugs.
 
This is why we need the good news of a God who says,
            ‘The sacrificing stops here!’
 
This is why we need the good news of a God
            who sees the outcast, the vulnerable, and the exploited,
                        and declares them pure and holy,
            raising them up and setting them on their feet.
 
This is a gospel message for our time,
            every bit as much as it was for the Pagans of Lystra.
 
And so, having demonstrated God’s concern for the broken,
            and having challenged the culture of transactional sacrifice,
Paul then, and only then, attempts to frame his faith in words.
 
And he does so by using what theologians these days
            would call ‘natural theology’.
This is the attempt to establish religious truths by rational argument,
            without reliance on revelation.
 
So Paul points them to nature,
            saying that the witness to the goodness of God
is to be found through observing
            the heavens, the earth, the sea and all that is in them,
in the rains from heaven and the fruitful seasons,
            in good food to eat and in hearts full of joy (14.15-17).
 
If Peter has established that God is already at work
            in the world beyond Israel,
Paul here takes this to the next level:
            God is woven in and through creation,
and can be known through our experience
            of the goodness of the world around us.
 
The place Paul goes to establish common ground,
            a common grammar of faith, with the Pagans of Lystra,
is to go back beyond the prophets, beyond Moses,
            beyond Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
to the goodness of the created world itself.
 
And in our world,
            where people no longer share the grammar of faith with faithful Christians,
where our words and our proclamations fall on ears that are deaf
            not because they cannot hear us, but because they cannot understand us,
I wonder if we need to put our faith
            in the truth that actions can speak louder than words.
 
From works of justice,
            to a passionate commitment to creation-care and environmental responsibility,
if we are not walking the talk,
            we are not preaching a message that deserves being heard.
 
The God we worship,
            who calls us to follow by the example of Jesus,
            and who inspires our hearts by the Spirit,
is the God of the poor, the vulnerable, the exploited, and the broken.
 
But God is also the God of the cosmos,
            whose being is interwoven through all things,
who is known in nature, experienced through science,
            and worshipped through mystical encounter.
 
As Graham Harvey says,
‘the world is full of persons, only some of whom are human, and life is always lived in relationship with others… All that exists lives… all that lives is holy” 
            https://www.christiananimism.com/
 
Noel Moules agrees, suggesting that,
everything that exists is both alive and sacred, with all things being interconnected and related: that the earth, along with each animal, plant, inert object and natural phenomena are persons (or potentially so); a community of creation requiring harmonious relationships between humans, their ancestors and wild nature, nurtured by respectful and sustainable life ways
            https://www.christiananimism.com/
 
Or, as the Psalmist put it,
 
The heavens declare the glory of God;
            the skies proclaim the work of God’s hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
            night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. (Ps 19.1-3, NIV)
 
This is our faith, these are the words of our faith,
            and our calling is to proclaim the good news of God
who is, as Paul put it in his letter to the church in Ephesus,
            ‘one God and Parent of all,
            who is above all and through all and in all.’ (Eph.4.6).