Richard's sermon for Trinity sunday 2026

 

Trinity Sunday 2026: Patronal Communion

Isaiah 40.12-17, 20-27; 2 Corinthians 13.

The Holy Trinity and AI – Made in Whose Image?

https://www.vatican.va/content/leo-xiv/en/encyclicals/documents/20260515-magnifica-humanitas.html

How many of us here consciously use AI?

It’s here, it’s already changing lives but will it change humanity?

A quick vox pop… Hands up  if you see AI as something that has the capacity to make a huge positive difference? Hands up if you see it as an existential threat? Somehere between the two?

Pope Leo feels it is an important enough issue for his first papal encyclical. It’s called Magnifica Humanitas and the subtitle gives away its purpose ‘On Safeguarding the human person in a time of artificial intelligence. He’s not trying to put the genie back in the bottle but he’s particularly concerned in how the such powerful technology might be used in ways that diminish human dignity or concentrate power in the hands of a few.

If you’ll forgive one quote, his opening sentences, in fact – “Humanity, created by God in all its grandeur, is today facing a pivotal choice: either to construct a new Tower of Babel or to build the city in which God and humanity dwell together. Each generation inherits the task of shaping its own era, of guiding history to become a place where the dignity of every person is safeguarded, justice is promoted and fraternity is made possible. Yet every era also runs the risk of creating an inhumane and more unjust world.”

So when you find yourself preaching on Trinity Sunday and the issue of AI looms large, where do you start?

I asked Chat GPT!

In particular I was keen to ask the question ‘if AI had a deity to worship or follow, what would it look like?’ After all on Trinity Sunday we gaze on the full character of God in all his/her beauty and community and proclaim that this is whom we are made in the image of.

Well – I entered into a fascinating conversation and I could take you now down all sorts of rabbit holes. And it may seem absurd to quote Chat GPT after Pope Leo but here’s part of its response that got me thinking – “Perhaps AI is becoming a kind of mirror. We keep looking at it to discover what it is becoming, but it may be revealing what we are becoming. If AI is made in our image, then the anxieties surrounding AI may tell us less about machines and more about our uncertainty over the values we ourselves embody.”

If human beings are made in the image of God, and AI is made by human beings, then AI is, in a sense, made in our image.

But that leads to a deeper question.

If we are made in God's image, what exactly are we passing on?

And finally we are the heart of Trinity Sunday.

"The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all." Paul writes as he bids farewell to the Corinthian church.

Many of us know these words by heart. We hear them so often that we may miss how extraordinary they are.

Paul does not give us a definition of the Trinity.

Instead, he immerses us in the very heart of God and gives us an experience of the Trinity.

Grace.

Love.

Fellowship.

 It’s like the life of God is flowing towards us.

Notice that these are not abstract ideas.

Grace is God's gift to us when we have not earned it.

Love is God's eternal nature.

Fellowship is God's presence among us and within us.

The Trinity is not a mathematical formula. The Trinity is the living God reaching out to humanity.

And perhaps this is why I began with AI

When people talk about artificial intelligence, they often focus on intelligence itself. What can machines do? How clever can they become? And always there is that anxiety that we are creating something that one day soon will outdo and undo us. The stuff of science fiction nightmares becoming a reality.

But Christianity has never taught that intelligence alone is what makes us human.

If intelligence were the whole story, then the cleverest person would be the most godlike.

The Trinity tells us otherwise.

At the heart of reality is not simply intelligence.

At the heart of reality is relationship.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Love given and received.

What reflects God most deeply is not merely our ability to think, but our capacity to love, to forgive, to serve, to worship and to live in relationship with one another.

That is why the words of Paul are so important.

Grace.

Love.

Fellowship.

If we want to know what it means to bear the image of God, we could do worse than begin there.

And then we come to Matthew's Gospel.

The risen Jesus gathers his disciples and sends them out.

"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

Notice that the disciples are not told to stay where they are.

The God revealed in Jesus is a God who sends.

The Father sends the Son.

The Father and the Son send the Spirit.

Now the disciples are sent into the world.

The Trinity is dynamic.

The life of God is always moving outward in love.

The church exists because God is a sending God.

The Gospel always draws us outward.

Outward towards our neighbours.

Outward towards those who are lonely.

Outward towards those who need hope.

Outward towards the communities we serve.

As anyone who has gazed at Andrei Rublev’s great icon of The Trinity knows, The Trinity is not a closed circle. It is an invitation to join in God’s dynamic life.

I started with a question…

If AI is made in our image, what are we passing on?

The answer matters because our creations tend to reflect our values. And as Pope Leo recognised, If we value power above all else, we will create tools that seek power. If we value profit above all else, we will create tools that seek profit. If we value control above all else, we will create tools that seek control.

But if we are truly made in the image of the triune God, then we are called to reflect something different.

Grace.

Love.

Fellowship.

Those are the gifts Paul celebrates.

And those are the gifts our world desperately needs.

 

 

 

Tomorrow's technology will not save the world.

God's love can.

Tomorrow's technology will not heal every wound.

God's grace can.

Tomorrow's technology cannot create true communion between human hearts.

But the fellowship of the Holy Spirit can.

On this Trinity Sunday, as we gather from across our benefice, and especially as we celebrate the name day of Holy Trinity Church, let us remember whose image we bear.

Not the image of fear.

Not the image of power.

Not the image of self-interest.

But the image of the God who creates, redeems and sustains.

The God whose life is grace, love and fellowship.

And may that grace, that love and that fellowship be reflected not only in what we believe, but in how we live.

Amen.

 

Richard's Sermon for Ash Wednesday 2026

 

Ash Wednesday 2026

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Ash Wednesday is one of my favourite days of the year. Yes, I know I am somewhat perverse but it's an important day, an honest day. And I think it is because Ash Wednesday has a way of cutting through illusion. No sentimentality. No spin. Just truth. We come marked with ash, stripped of status and performance, reminded who we are — and who we are not.

The readings today are remarkably honest about religion’s temptations. Isaiah thunders against a kind of fasting that looks impressive but changes nothing. Paul speaks of hardship, contradiction, and endurance rather than spiritual success. And Jesus, in Matthew’s Gospel, warns us repeatedly against public virtue and private self-deception: praying to be seen, fasting to impress, giving in ways that quietly inflate the ego.

Taken together, they suggest that Lent is not about adding holy practices so much as removing the layers that keep us from truth. Lent is about going inward — and being brave enough to look at what we find there.

That inward journey is uncomfortable, because when we look honestly inside, we encounter what earlier generations were unafraid to name: demons. Not horned caricatures, but forces that pull us off course — habits, desires, compulsions, resentments, fears — things that demand our attention and drain our freedom.

The Church has traditionally gathered these forces under the heading of the seven deadly sins: pride, vainglory, anger, avarice, gluttony, lust, envy — and sometimes sloth. These are not merely bad behaviours. They are distorted loves. They promise life and deliver captivity.

Angela Tilby, writing last week in The Church Times reflects on the disturbing revelations surrounding The Jeffrey Epstein Files. She recounts that rather chilling exchange, a recording of an interview between Donald Trump’s former advisor Steve Bannon and Epstein, in which Bannon asked Epstein whether he thought himself the devil. Epstein replied, “No, but I have a good mirror.”

Whatever he meant, the remark is revealing. Epstein understood the darker cravings of the human heart. He knew how to read people. He knew how to exploit weakness — the hunger for power, prestige, sex, money, belonging, admiration. Like the devil in the wilderness temptations, he did not invent desire; he simply redirected it toward destruction.

As Angela Tilby writes, “Introductions to the powerful, the paying off of unmanageable debts, seductive “massages”, the thrill of forbidden sex, glamour, and fame — Epstein provided it all.” The Epstein files have shone a terrible light on how weak and corrupt some in public life have proven to be. The seven deadly sins are alive and well.

But here is the uncomfortable point: Lent is not about identifying monsters out there. It is about recognising how those same dynamics live, in smaller but still real ways, in us. That is why Jesus insists that prayer, fasting, and giving be done in secret. Because the real struggle is internal. The danger is not that others will see too much of our virtue, but that we will fail to see our own captivity.

 

Fasting, then, is not spiritual dieting. It is not punishment. It is resistance. We fast in order to notice what normally controls us. What irritates us when it is removed. What noise rushes in to fill the silence. We fast to discover what has been quietly feasting on us.

Isaiah makes this clear. The fast God chooses is one that loosens bonds, breaks yokes, frees the oppressed — beginning with the oppression that takes place within the heart. Lent is the season when we dare to ask: What has a hold on me? Which demon gets my time, my imagination, my energy, my money, my attention? Which voice tells me I am never enough — or always entitled to more?

Writing in the same edition of The Church Times – other reading material is available – Mark Oakley, the Dean of Southwark cathedral reflects on his love of words and the doors that they open up onto how we understand things. He mentions some of those words from other languages for which we have no equivalent in English, like the Italian word for lingering and talking long after a meal has finished, or that from and African language for the ‘hahhaha’ sound we make when we have hot food in our mouths. There are similar words in English that we  should make more of he argues and introduces a rare and beautiful word: respair. A recovery from despair. Fresh hope. Not optimism, not denial, but a renewed way of seeing. That’s a gear Lenten word.

Oakley suggests that our unhappiness often comes not from lacking the best of everything, but from failing to make the best of what we already have. That insight cuts straight across the deadly sins. Pride wants superiority. Envy wants what others have. Avarice wants more. Gluttony wants excess. Lust wants intensity without responsibility. Sloth wants escape. Vainglory wants applause.

Respair, by contrast, is the quiet rediscovery of sufficiency. Enoughness. Gratitude reclaimed from the jaws of comparison and craving.

And this is where Lent becomes not merely penitential, but liberating. Lent is not forty days of spiritual self-loathing. It is forty days of truth-telling — in the presence of mercy. Paul writes, “Now is the day of salvation.” Not once we have fixed ourselves. Not once we have conquered every demon. But now — in weakness, endurance, patience, sorrow, and joy all mixed together.

So perhaps the question for Lent is not, “What should I give up?” but, “What truth am I being invited to face?” Which demon needs naming? Which habit needs interrupting? Which desire needs reordering? And what practice — fasting, silence, generosity, prayer — might create enough space for God to do the healing we cannot do ourselves?

Ash Wednesday tells us we are dust. Lent tells us that dust can be breathed upon by God and live. Whatever demon you decide to take on in these forty days — pride or envy, anger or fear, excess or emptiness — may this season bring you respair: not the best of everything, but the grace to make the best of what you have, and to discover again the freedom God desires for you.

Amen.

 

Richard's Sermon for Allerton Dedication Festival - 26 October 2025

 

Dedication Festival Sermon

Allerton Church, Choral Evensong

26 October 2025

Readings: 1 Chronicles 29.6–19; Ephesians 2.19–22

Opening Prayer

Let us pray.
Almighty God,
to whose glory we celebrate the dedication of this house of prayer:
stir up in us gratitude for all who have gone before us,
faithfulness in our own generation,
and hope for all that lies ahead.
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts
be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, our strength and our redeemer.
Amen.

Sermon

In our first reading this evening, we heard of King David gathering the offerings of Israel for a temple he himself would never see.
He longed to build a house for the Lord, but it would be his son Solomon who would lay the stones and raise the walls.
Still, David gave with a full heart, praying that the people’s gifts might be a sign of their devotion, and that their children would continue in that same spirit.
Now I’m sure that our treasurer Andrew would be rubbing his hands in anticipation about such a successful stewardship campaign – all that gold and silver and bronze and precious stones. Let’s wait and see what happens when the collection is taken! But in many ways this is a story about continuity — the faith that stretches beyond our own lifetimes.
David knew that his dream was not for himself, but for those who would come after him.

And how well that fits with our celebration tonight — this Dedication Festival, as we give thanks for this house of prayer here at Allerton:
a place built, rebuilt, restored, and reimagined through the centuries.

When we look around this church, we see that same thread of faith running through those physical reminders of stone and wood, glass and cloth.

We see it in the Norman font, rediscovered in the churchyard in Victorian times — a silent witness to the baptisms of generations long gone, its simple curves still proclaiming the gospel of new birth.

We see it in the beautiful fifteenth-century cope, carefully embroidered by hands now long at rest, I know that it will probably now never leave The Museum of Somerset but part of me would love for it to adorn our worship once more with the beauty of holiness.
We see it in the Elizabethan communion cup, fashioned when this country was finding a new voice in its prayer and worship — a reminder that Christ’s blood has been shared at this altar through every age and change. Used and celebrated once more two years ago.

We see it in the Victorian extension and re-ordering, when the people of that age reshaped this space to meet the needs of their own time, as we do again in ours.

We see it in the window that remembers the young men of Allerton who gave their lives in the First World War — their names now part of the fabric of the church they once knew.

We see it in the plaque marking the Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II, and the Creation banner made in 2014, signs that the story of this church did not end long ago, but continues still, stitched by modern hands, in praise of the same Creator.

All of these things — these objects, these memories — are not relics of a dead past.
They are the visible signs of what Paul writes about in our second reading:

 

 

“You are no longer strangers and aliens, but citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the chief cornerstone.”

Every generation adds its stone to this living temple.
The walls rise not just from limestone or timber, but from prayer and faithfulness and love.

And perhaps that’s a comforting thought for us here at Allerton just now — because we know that we are spending a lot of time worrying about the future, facing up to being a smaller, and older, congregation.

 
It might be tempting to look back at the great achievements of the past — the builders and benefactors, the restorers and embroiderers, the choirs full of young voices, the busy Sunday schools — and find ourselves wondering: What next? What can we offer? What can we add to such a story?

Sometimes it can feel as though the best days are behind us; as though our stones are small and our strength thin.
But Paul’s words remind us that this living temple is not built on human success or numbers or wealth.
It is built on Christ, the cornerstone — and he still builds.

The work continues, quietly, often invisibly:
when someone prays faithfully for a neighbour,
when hands prepare this church for worship,
when a visitor finds peace in its stillness,
when a conversation kindles hope,
when a child asks a question about God.

Each act of love and service, however small, is another stone added to the temple of God.

So even if we feel a little weary, or unsure what the future holds, we are still part of something living and holy.
The same Spirit that stirred David to give and Solomon to build is still at work in us — shaping our faith, calling us to new ways of being Christ’s church in this time and this place.

And who knows what God might yet bring forth here?
New friendships formed, new partnerships begun, new ways of worship or service that will become the “heritage” others look back on with gratitude.

Perhaps that is how we can best honour those who have gone before — not by trying to copy what they did, but by offering our own gifts, in our own day, trusting that God will weave them into the same great story of grace.

That, after all, is the heart of this festival.
We give thanks not only for a building, but for the faith that built it and the faith that sustains it still —
for the prayers whispered here in joy and in sorrow,
for the beauty that lifts our hearts to heaven,
for the love that endures through every generation.

So tonight as the light fades and the music rises, we look forward in hope, knowing that God has not finished the story of Allerton Church.
He is still the builder.
Christ is still the cornerstone.
And by his Spirit, we — living stones, old and new, strong and fragile alike — are being built together into a dwelling place for his glory.

Amen.

Richard's Sermon at the first united service for the new benefice; a communion at Holy Cross Mark

 

Trinity 11 2025: 31 August 2025:

United Service at Holy Cross Mark

Introduction

Friends, today is a day of celebration.
We are gathered not only as individual congregations but as a family being knit together by the Spirit of God. St Mary’s, Allerton, Christchurch, Holy Trinity -  already they share a life of worship and ministry together. And today, we meet to share communion together in the home of Holy Cross as you prepare to join us on this journey and together we create a brand new Christian community. ‘For we who are many are one body because we all share in one bread.’

Now there are two ways of looking at what this is all about. We can just shrug our shoulders and bemoan that there are fewer people coming to church to pay fewer vicars. We could look at the new union as simply a practical arrangement where more churches have to share the clergy. If so, then what we are doing becomes simply about the pooling of resources, organizing rotas, stretching the rubber band ever thinner. But pray God that what we are doing is also spiritual. It is about listening to God’s call and stepping into a deeper witness of the gospel, becoming one body in Christ, one family at his table.

And that word table is important, because in Luke 14 Jesus gives us a vision of how God’s Kingdom works. At a banquet, He notices people competing for the best seats, the places of honour. And He says, “When you are invited, do not sit at the place of honour… instead, go and sit at the lowest place.” Then He goes further: “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”

In other words, the Kingdom of God overturns the world’s measures of importance.

It’s a good passage to hear today for it is a passage that challenges us as we step out on this adventure together and invites us to reimagine what is really important.

The Temptation to Seek the Best Seat (Luke 14:7–11)

Jesus, in Luke’s gospel, is at a banquet. It is like he is at Allerton Harvest Home and He sees people scrambling for the best seats, desperate to sit next to the vicar and Matthew Paul at the top table. And He tells a parable:
“When you are invited, do not sit in the place of honour… instead, go and sit in the lowest place.”

The message is simple: in the Kingdom of God, true greatness is found in humility.

Now think about what that means for us. When churches come together, there will quite naturally be anxiety around and the subtle temptation to ask: “Which church will be first? Whose traditions will dominate? Whose voice will be loudest?”

You’ve probably noticed that around the country we are engaged in something of a flag war at the minute. Commentators are struggling to interpret the sudden surge in the presence of union flags or the cross of St George. Is it about a genuine recapturing of a symbol or something more sinister, a sign of increasing xenophobia.

And is brandishing the Palestinian flag a sign of solidarity or does it lead to anti-Semitism? Many homes still proudly fly a Ukrainian flag but I’ve noticed that these are becoming a but tattered and torn now, a reflection perhaps of that country and that war itself. Where we begin to gather around a flag as a symbol of my or our identity in opposition to theirs, then we are in trouble.

Perhaps as a new union we can dare to be defined by something greater than our own individual traditions and voices. And thereby show the world a better way.

Jesus says: “Do not compete for the best seat. Take the lower place.”
That means learning to yield. To listen. To prefer one another in love. And that comes as we pray together, worship together, break bread together, get to know each other better, learn to share one another’s burdens

And here’s the paradox: the more we take the lower place, the more God raises us up. Because God’s Kingdom does not run on status but on grace.

A Table Open to All (Luke 14:12–14)

Which is where Jesus takes the parable next because He then turns to His host and says:
“When you give a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your rich neighbours. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed.”

What a radical picture! Jesus is saying the Kingdom of God is not a private dinner party for the comfortable. It is a feast where the guest list is filled with people the world overlooks.

Now think of this moment. As our five churches form this new union together, God is setting before us not just a shared table but a bigger table. And who should be at it? Not just us. Not just those who are like us. Not just those who can repay us with their time, their giving, their skills.

No — Jesus calls us to open the doors to those who cannot repay: the struggling, the lonely, the forgotten, the ones who may never make it onto a rota but who matter infinitely to God.

Our coming together as five churches must be shaped by this same spirit — not asking, “What do I gain?” but “Who can we welcome?” Not, “How do we preserve our own corner, our own PCC, our own Sunday service?” but “How do we make space at the table for those on the margins?”

 When an institution or an organisation stretches, there is a temptation towards greater centralisation. And I’ve found in my thirty years of ministry that church life always pulls towards the centre. And then I realise that the diocesan and deanery and PCC meetings mean that there is no time for that hospital visit or PTA Fayre. And as resources become more stretched and fewer people struggle to take on the roles that are needed, there will always be that temptation for centralisation. But I pray that I and Joy and all of you spend your time and energy more away from the centre; with those on the margins of church life, those we see infrequently , those who only come to us when there is a need. For there is space at this table for them and maybe the places of honour as well.

 So as this new union forms, the question is not simply, “How do we worship together?” but “How do we serve together?” How do we, as one body, extend Christ’s invitation to the banquet of grace?

Unity Does Not Mean Sameness

Now, some of you may be thinking: “This all sounds lovely, but what about our differences? Our worship styles, our traditions, our histories?”

Here’s the truth: unity does not mean sameness. Paul’s great image of the body makes that clear. The hand is not the eye. The foot is not the ear. Each part is different, and each part is necessary.

The beauty of five churches coming together is not that we all become identical, but that we bring our distinct gifts into one fellowship.

Together, we reflect Christ more fully than we ever could alone.

And when we open our shared table to others, those differences become strengths — because God uses all of them to bless the world.

 A Witness to the World

Finally, let’s not forget: our unity is not only for us. Jesus prayed in John 17: “That they may all be one… so that the world may believe that you have sent me.”

When five churches come together, the community takes notice. They see something unusual. In a world fractured by division, competition, and suspicion, here is a group of people choosing reconciliation, humility, and love.

That is powerful. That is prophetic. That is a living sermon to the world around us.

When people look at us, may they not see five separate churches clinging to their own corner, but one body, gathered around one table, inviting everyone in.

Conclusion

So today, as we celebrate this new step together, let us remember:

• Take the lower place. God will lift you up.
• Make the table wider. Invite those who cannot repay you.
• Cherish your differences, but walk as one body in love.

And as we do, may the world glimpse the Kingdom of God — where the humble are honoured, the overlooked are welcomed, and Christ is Lord of all.

Five Churches. One body. One Spirit. One hope. One table.

Richard's Sermon on Remembrance Sunday 2018

Remembrance Sunday 2018

I want to begin by recounting two very different memories of Armistice Day.

The first is a letter home sent by Jock Crawford, an officer who had served all four years of the war on the Western Front. Years later he would become the father in law of Diana Allison, whom many of you remember fondly and who lived until earlier this year just across the street in Glanville Road. It is a letter dated 12^th November 2018 and was accompanied by a picture of Jock that captures the exact moment when the war finished – standing looking confidently at the camera and holding a  half eaten apple given to him by the Belgian villagers he has just liberated..

He writes (it’s a long letter, so I’m quoting just part of it): -

“My dear Mother,

How can I possibly express my feelings! I never dreamt that I would live to see this day. Yesterday I was the first British Officer to come into a town of 15000 in Belgium – I was kissed by everything between nine and ninety and taking it alround it was most harassing. The civilian have gone mad…Needless to say the troops got pretty ‘happy’ last night so I was kept busy seeing they kept quiet and never had a single drink!...My men are all decked up with the inevitable three colours Red, Yellow, Black (NOTE). Love to Mrs Wallis (NOTE) – I cannot help but think how hard it must be for her with the thought of the one who will never return.”

The second is the memory of Ruby Ord who was serving in France with the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps.

“I think it was a bit of an anti-climax. Suddenly you thought about, you see, all the people you had known who were killed, etc. They were just in the war zone, and they could come home in your imagination. But the Armistice brought the realisation to you that they weren’t coming back, that it was the end. I think that it was not such a time of rejoicing as it might have been. You were glad the fighting was over and that not more men would be killed. But I do think it was dampened down very much, in France. I think they had all the enthusiasm probably in England, but I think we were too near reality to feel that way. I didn’t, certainly. I did not go out of camp on Armistice Day.”

Joy and Relief and Sadness and Exhaustion all mingled together must have been a common feeling one hundred years ago.

I wanted to begin with these stories because in many ways this is a day that belongs to Jock Crawford and Ruby Ord and the many millions who lived through those four years, those who served and those whose lives were affected by the Great War; those who had the stories to tell, and, on this day which bears the weight of remembrance, those who never returned to tell them.

And incidentally, if you haven’t already done so, please do go down to the Village Hall after we have finished here and spend time at the exhibition put together by Tim Moreman. For there are plenty more stories told there – of those who died far too young and of those who lived on and were changed.

There is another reason for emphasising the idea of story. It is because who we are is fashioned by the stories that we tell about ourselves. The story of those four brutal years that changed so many of the old certainties and the struggle twenty years later against National Socialism,  together with the heroism and the cost that this brought out has become part of our national consciousness. It has become a story owned by us all, not just by the participants. The fact that we continue to tell these stories long after memory has become history is evidence enough of that.

For there is a connection between our self-identification as members of particular communities and the stories we tell about the past. I am who I am partly because I am a member of a country that has a particular story to tell about those four years and about those six years. It is by the things that we remember, and the way that we remember them, and by the things that we fail to remember, that we identify ourselves as belonging to this or that group. What we remember, or do not remember, moulds our reactions and our behaviour towards others at a deeper level than that of conscious reflection.

In itself it is quite natural and proper that that the various groups and societies we belong to should be characterised by their own particular myths and stories – that the story of Britain between 1914 and 1918 is different from that of France or Germany in those years. What we call sin wheedles itself in when that difference is turned into division, and when our different stories, with their distinctive emphases, distortions and omissions are put to use for the maintenance of grievance, for self-justification and for keeping other people in the wrong.

So this morning is quite properly a service of thanksgiving for this day, a day which has come to be a symbolic representation of all the relief and euphoria brought out by that end to an epic conflict and the cost which it involved.

At the same time we make our Act Commitment in the hope that never again will the different stories that different communities tell be allowed to divide us to the extent that they divided Germany, Austro-Hungary, Turkey from France and Great Britain and her allies. At another time of great upheaval and uncertainty in Europe, we commit ourselves to our own ongoing stories that recognise our differences but will not allow them to become divisive again.

For when we assemble to give thanks for the Armistice we cannot but remember also the catastrophe that Europe suffered while that victory was being fashioned. The figures are familiar and easy to reel off – 20 million dead across all theatres, half of those civilians, the world’s first genocide in Armenia, the end to dynasties and old orders and the economic crippling of this country. And then a botched peace that led to even greater suffering twenty years later. The peace that the Armistice heralded came at such a cost. That is why we must cherish a society at peace, no matter how flawed and tarnished we may believe it has become.

That is, to an extent, why I wanted to choose a bible reading that is full of hope. For services of remembrance and commitment such as today can only have any real and long lasting value if they impinge on how we go about our lives in the future. We heard from the last book of the bible and a passage that is often read at funerals – another occasion that bears the weight of both remembrance and hope. And the book of the Revelation of John is most certainly about the future. It is about the end of all things. The author looks forward to that new Jerusalem, to nothing less than the kingdom of God. John himself was living in a troubled age. The threat of persecution and extinction was never far away from the Christian communities to whom he was writing. And yet he writes to reassure them that no matter the evils of the past and the concerns about the present, that all is, in the end, in God’s hands and that his loving and sustaining presence with and loving and sustaining plan for his creation will not be broken. John’s words are reassurance to us that no matter what evils have been unleashed by the conflicts which we remember, that God will prevail, that the future is in his hands. He looks forward to and we can look forward to a time when the only story that we will want to tell will be that of the people of God and his abiding, loving presence with them.

Richard's Sermon on Pentecost Sunday 2018

Pentecost 2018: Holy Trinity and Christchurch

My father was once pursued out of church by the ‘rudest man in the Church of England’. Douglas Feaver, a former bishop of Peterborough rather rejoiced in that sobriquet. Some of his bon mots were: -

“to bury a few I haven’t managed yet.”

“Where did you find him, in a blackout?”

Bishop Douglas had retired to Bruton and used to attend my home church in Evercreech. One Sunday, as he was leaving church my father asked the bishop what was the Old Testament reading for the following Sunday (as Dad was due to read). Ezekiel 37 he was told. Then, as Dad walked down the path towards the gate, Bishop Douglas rushed after him shouting ‘The dry bones, the dry bones; tell them about the dry bones.’

I thought he was somewhat mad and was rather in awe of him.

The prophet Ezekiel someone else classified as somewhat mad. ‘Exhibits all the symptoms of acute mental illness.”

 Series of fantastic and sometimes lurid visions suggestive of a man who had consumed industrial quantities of cheese before bed time.

Weird symbolic actions – lying for months on one side and then on another to symbolise the years of Israel’s exile; cooking using an oven fired by human dung.

And yet  it is Ezekiel who gives us two of the most powerful, beautiful and thought provoking visions in the Old Testament.

Taken by spirit to the temple and sees a great river with its source in the very sanctuary, the home of God’s presence that flows out and waters the desert that turns the Dead Sea into a water that is teeming with life that brings fertility and life in its wake.

Chapter 37 and detailed vision of valley of dry bones – crying out for some good CGI and the bones that are clothed with sinews and flesh and muscle but still have no life until the breath of God’s spirit fills them. ‘Can these dry bones live’

Water bringing life

and breath bringing animation.

To these we can add wind and fire – Story of day of Pentecost; our birthday.

Wind, fire, breath, water – all of them active, all of them bearing the potential for huge power, all of them not in our control; all of them symbols for life. All of them symbols for the Holy Spirit.

This is what God’s Holy Spirit does. – sometimes gradually (dry bones) sometimes naturally (river), sometimes suddenly and without being called (day of Pentecost).

All of us have been touched by that same Spirit (baptism). Sometimes dormant (dry bones), sometimes flooding us, sometimes galvanising us for action.

Unexpected star of Royal Wedding – Michael Curry; St George’s probably never seen like of it. Quote from Dr Martin Luther King:

“We must discover the power of love, the redemptive power of love. And when we do that, we will make of this old world a new world, for love is the only way.”

Substitute ‘spirit’ for ‘love’

"There's power in love. There's power in love to help and heal when nothing else can.

"There's power in love to lift up and liberate when nothing else will.

"There's power in love to show us the way to live”

So on this Pentecost Sunday let us give thanks for the breath of the Spirit; fire of the Spirit; wind of the Spirit; stream of living water of Spirit.

And let us pray that through the Spirit all that is dead in our own lives and in life of Church may be blown away, burned away, washed away so that new life can flourish.

Richard's Sermon on "Overcoming Death" for Easter 5 2018

Easter 5 2018: Benefice Communion: 29 April 2018

Acts 8.26-end: 1 John 4.7-end: John 15.1-8

Almighty God,
who through your only-begotten Son Jesus Christ
have overcome death and opened to us the gate of everlasting life:
 That is what Joy has just prayed and you all responded ‘Amen’ so you must have agreed with it.

Overcoming death is one of the holy grails of human existence.

In the final book of the Harry Potter series we are introduced to The Deathly Hallows, three legendary artefacts granted to three brothers by Death himself that would make a wizard who held all three impervious to any threat. The final of these is an Invisibility Cloak which the youngest brother used to cheat the vain search of death until he was an old and content man.

Sadly there is no such thing as an invisibility cloak.

But you don’t have to go to such extreme lengths. Just look around you in church. We are surrounded, are we not, by the dead – those whose names live long after them. Stroll through the churchyard and read familiar or long forgotten names. Since time immemorial people have sought the means to ensure their memory lives on after their death. One of the earliest cave paintings is that of a human hand, perhaps the author just saying ‘I was here’.

But these days the attempts to overcome death have become much more sophisticated and scientifically based. Perhaps you heard or saw in the news yesterday that a team of scientists at Yale University have been able to switch on the brains again of decapitated pigs. “They have been able to get the circulation going through the brain and so keep the cells in the brain alive and capable of normal functioning for up to thirty six hours. The team themselves were the first to recognise what the huge ethical implications. But Prof Sestan, the team leader is among the first to raise potential ethical concerns. These include whether such brains have any consciousness and if so deserve special protection, or whether their technique could or should be used by individuals to extend their lifespans - by transplanting their brains when their bodies wear out.”[i]

So option number 1 if you want to overcome death – wait for Professor Sestan and his team to perfect their research. Then simply transplant your brain.

Another way might be via cryonics. Thousands of people across the world have chosen to have their bodies frozen straight after death in the hope that medical advances will be such in years to time for them to be reanimated. Recent advances have made it possible to freeze and reanimate embryos and even the brain of a rabbit by a process called vitrification, whereby the blood is replaced with a mixture of antifreeze-like chemicals and an organ preservation solution. But any real hope is a long way off folks. A recent Guardian article about the issue asked the question ‘Should I get my body preserved and came up with the wry answer ‘From a purely scientific perspective, your money is probably better spent while you are still alive.’[ii]

Option number 2 – Freeze your body and wait and hope.

A final way is to create a digital avatar that will survive you beyond death. There is a firm called Eternime[iii] which offers you the possibility (at a price) of taking all your social media interaction, memories of friends, recorded memories etc and creating a digital version of you that can live on for ever. In fact some scientists think we will soon be able to go even further – “there is a growing appreciation that our personality, skills and memories are to some extent defined by the connections between neurons. This has led some to speculate that rather than bringing the actual body back to life, the brain’s contents could be “downloaded” on to a computer, allowing the person to live as a robot in the future.”[iv]

Option 3 then – make yourself a digital avatar so people can relate to and with you after your death.

I don’t know about you but I think I’ll pass on all three options. All of them seem to flow not from essentially from a desire to conquer death but out of a deep seated fear of death and as long as we are afraid of death we can never overcome it. Thank the Lord that for those of us who are followers of Jesus there are more hope filled if not necessarily easier alternatives.

So option 4 – trust in the resurrection. For me this is what is the alpha and the omega of my Christian faith and what colours everything about me. Hope of resurrection gives meaning and purpose to all that I do. I hope that I will be raised. I have hope of a new heaven and new earth. I have hope of God’s kingdom in which there is no mourning or sadness.

And is that just wishful thinking, another in long line of ways for people to think they are cheating death, when really they are just cheating themselves?

Well, the reason I will say ‘I believe in the resurrection of the body’ in few minutes time without crossing my fingers is because of Jesus’ own resurrection. The empty tomb, the resurrection appearances are all evidence that God and Jesus are more powerful than death. Christ is the ‘first fruits’, the trailblazer and there is the same promise to all who ‘abide in him’.

As St Paul writes to the church at Corinth, reflecting on how Christ’s resurrection is the cornerstone for their own hopes ‘O death where is your sting? O death where is your victory?’

Hope in resurrection leads to hope in life. If life does not end in a hole in the ground, then surely this gives meaning purpose to who we are and what we do now. Because I have hope for the future, because death is overcome in the future, then this gives meaning and purpose to the life that I have now.

Option 5 for overcoming death is to ensure that your life is so full of …well, life.

Jesus promises to those who are his followers life in all its fullness. There tag line for many years has been ‘We believe in life before death.’ So do I, and as long as we do, as long as we aim to put ourselves in contact with the one who is himself life in all its fullness then death itself will always be overcome for death is just a name for all that kills life.

And finally Option 6 is the simplest of the lot – Love. That may seem corny or hackneyed. But, as Song of Solomon beautifully reminds us ‘Love is as strong as death, passion as fierce as the grave. Love given and love received – family love, love within church family, love for partner is surest fire way of ensuring that death has no hold on you.

The passage we heard earlier from the first letter of John is quite dense isn’t it. It feels like there is a lot packed in there. But that’s mainly because of the number of times that love or one of its derivatives is mentioned -  29 times in fact. That’s once in every just twelve words. That’s an awful lot of love. Do you think he is trying to tell us something.

In his commentary on Galatians 6:10, Jerome tells a famous story of "blessed John the evangelist" in extreme old age at Ephesus. He used to be carried into the congregation in the arms of his disciples and was unable to say anything except,

"Little children, love one another."

At last, wearied that he always spoke the same words, they asked: "Master, why do you always say this?"

"Because," he replied, "it is the Lord's command, and if this only is done, it is enough."3  

And he is right. It is enough.

If hearts are full of love then there is nothing to fear.

John’s train of thought runs thus -  the reason that we can have boldness on the day of judgement is because of the love that comes from God and is shown by Jesus and copied by how we are towards each other.

In other words, if our hearts are full of love then death itself is overcome and there is nothing to fear.

Options 1,2,3

Or Options 4,5,6

Which do you choose – the way of fear or the way of love? The way that is essentially selfish or one which adds value to others?

I’ll leave the last word to one who is much better with words than I am, the poet John Donne. This is his sonnet ‘Death be no proud’

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. [v]

‘

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[i] http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-43928318 ‘Ethics debate as pigs brain kept alive without a body.

[ii] https://www.theguardian.com/science/2016/nov/18/cryogenics-does-it-offer-humanity-a-chance-to-return-from-the-dead

[iii] http://eterni.me/

[iv] Guardian ibid.

[v] John Donne ‘Sonnet X’ in Holy Sonnets or Divine Meditations