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.
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