Hope for the Bad Guys: Sermon Preached on 30th March 2025 (Fourth Sunday in Lent)

Posted on March 30, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary the Virgin, Bishops Cannings (Devizes Deanery Evensong)

Prayer of Manasseh; 2 Timothy 4. 1-8

“Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil: the Lord reward him according to his works!”

Karel van Mander Manasseh, Repentant Sinner from the Old Testament (1596). In the collection of the Getty Museum, Los Angeles.

Have you ever heard of Manasseh, whose prayer was our first reading this evening? He is one of the main bad guys in the Old Testament—or at least he started out that way. He became the King of Judah when the great prophet Isaiah was an old man. Unlike his father, Hezekiah, who had been a pious man, Manasseh was an open worshipper of idols who abandoned many of the most important tenets of the religion of Moses, David, and Solomon. Although Isaiah’s end is not recorded in the Bible, there is an ancient Jewish tradition, going back many centuries before Christ, the Manasseh had Isaiah executed by sawing him in two. He had evidently spoken too many truths for the comfort of the new man in power.

Now, I wonder how many of you had even heard of the Prayer of Manasseh before this evening, let alone that the Church of England lectionary occasionally sets it as a reading in church? The Prayer of Manasseh comes from the collection of writings known as the Apocrypha, which your Bible may or may not include—although if you’re an Anglican, it should include it. The Thirty-Nine Articles say that the Church should read from the Apocrypha “for example of life and instruction of manners”, but that they cannot be used to establish any doctrine. They are enlightening writings to read, but don’t have the weight in Christian teaching of canonical Scripture. The New Testament contains many references the Apocrypha, and these writings enjoyed a prominent place in the early church.

Interestingly while some parts of what we Anglicans call the Apocrypha are regarded as fully part of the Old Testament in Roman Catholic teaching, the Prayer of Manasseh isn’t among them. It has roughly the same status in Roman Catholic teaching as it does for Anglicans. But it is fully part of the Old Testament for some our Orthodox brethren, and this long prayer of forgiveness for the gravest of sins is used in the Orthodox liturgy for compline, or night prayer.

After some decades of ruling Judah in an ungodly way, Manasseh was captured by the Assyrians and taken away in chains. The Second Book of Chronicles records that in prison in Babylon, Manasseh returned to the fear of the Lord, after which he was released and restored to his throne. This is supposedly the prayer he prayed in jail.

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The Tough Message of Mother’s Day: Sermon Preached on 30th March 2025 (Mothering Sunday)

Posted on March 30, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Christ Church, Worton and Holy Cross, Seend

Colossians 3. 12-17; John 19. 25-27

“…he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’”

A painting depicts a somber scene of the Crucifixion. At the center, a figure is nailed to a wooden cross, wearing a white cloth around the waist. The sky is dark and stormy, adding to the dramatic atmosphere. Below the cross, several figures are gathered, dressed in robes typical of ancient times. A woman in a striped robe kneels at the base of the cross, her head bowed in grief. To her left, another figure in a white robe stands with hands clasped, looking up at the cross. To the right, a woman in a light blue and white robe also gazes upward, her expression one of sorrow. In the background, other figures, including soldiers in armor and onlookers, observe the scene. The ground is rocky and barren, emphasizing the bleakness of the moment.

James Tissot, “Woman Behold Thy Son” (1886-94), in the collection of the Brooklyn Museum.

Sometimes you’ll hear people complain that Mother’s Day, a modern commercial invention, has eclipsed Mothering Sunday, the traditional celebration kept on the Fourth Sunday of Lent, which is today. Mothering Sunday was traditionally the time that people who worked a long way from their homes came back to their “mother church”, the place where they were baptised and became a child of the Church. Of course, as a result, they had a chance to see their families. You’ll most often hear the complaint about Mothering Sunday being abandoned from a certain type of slightly grumpy old-fashioned High Church clergyman. Although I am very much such a grumpy old-fashioned High Church clergyman, I am in fact quite strongly in favour of Mother’s Day and that we keep it in church.

You see, Mother’s Day does two things at one—certainly it speaks into our own lives and our own families. Yet it also speaks into one of the beliefs about God and the universe that makes Christianity truly unique—that Jesus Christ is God made human. Jesus Christ is God, every bit as much as the Father, the maker of the universe, and every bit as much as the Holy Spirit, the mysterious force of life and love which circulates everywhere, and which we find rather difficult to understand. For Christians, Jesus Christ is not just a wise and holy teacher, and not even a prophet, but God Himself.

You may be wondering how Mother’s Day speaks into this. We see it in today’s very short Gospel reading—the incredible, horrendous, scene on Cross where Jesus, close to death, has been abandoned by all His followers except for four women, including His mother, and ‘the disciple he loved’ – generally assumed to be St John the Evangelist. Jesus asks John to take care of his mother. Think of what’s going on here: Jesus must be in physical agony, exhausted and close to death, and His main concern is the welfare of his mother. When we think of ‘the love of God’, we tend to think of something remote and abstract, perhaps even a bit overwhelming and frightening. But this isn’t remote or abstract love—it isn’t love for a great principle or a sort of universal love for all of humanity, wonderful and important as these things are. This is the love of one person in particular for another actual person, in the face of death. Most of us have experienced the sheer intensity of love when someone we love is dying; it can be overwhelming even when it doesn’t involve a brutal public execution. This is what God’s love is like—so intense it can be overwhelming, and felt for you in particular.

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Salisbury Springtime Shots

Posted on March 25, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

On my day off this week, I took a friend from overseas to Salisbury. Of course I took my camera with me. It started off gloomy (and chilly!), but the light improved as the afternoon wore on. Here are five photos to remember the day by.

A photograph of the interior of a Gothic-style church, taken from the central aisle looking toward the altar. The church features tall, pointed arches and stone columns that support a wooden ceiling with exposed beams. Rows of wooden pews line both sides of the aisle. At the center of the image, a large, modern wooden baptismal font shaped like an inverted cone stands prominently. Behind the font, a colorful medieval wall painting depicts a religious scene with figures and vibrant details, set within an arched frame. Stained glass windows on either side allow light to filter in, illuminating the space. The overall atmosphere is serene and historical, blending ancient architecture with a contemporary element.
St Thomas’s in Salisbury—a 21st Century font in a 15th Century building with a 16th Century painting of the last judgement. © Gerry Lynch, 24 March 2025.
A photograph captures the interior of a Gothic-style cathedral, showcasing its architectural grandeur. The focal point is a set of three tall, arched stained glass windows at the far end, filled with vibrant colors—reds, blues, and golds—depicting religious scenes and figures. The windows are framed by intricate stonework, with pointed arches typical of Gothic design. The cathedral's high, ribbed vaulted ceiling and rows of slender columns line the walls, creating a sense of verticality and space. On the left side, several lit candles cast a warm, orange glow, adding a soft ambiance to the scene. The overall atmosphere is serene and reverent, with light streaming through the stained glass, illuminating the stone interior.
The Great Rose Window at Salisbury Cathedral © Gerry Lynch, 24 March 2025.
A photograph captures the interior of a grand Gothic cathedral, showcasing its long nave leading toward the altar. The space is characterized by towering stone columns that support a high, ribbed vaulted ceiling with intricate patterns. The columns are evenly spaced, creating a rhythmic series of pointed arches along the walls. On both sides, tall stained glass windows fill the cathedral with colorful light, featuring vibrant hues of red, blue, and gold in religious designs. The windows are set within pointed arches, typical of Gothic architecture. At the far end, the altar area is framed by a large arched window, also filled with stained glass, casting a glow over the space. Rows of orange chairs are arranged in the center of the nave, leading up to the altar, which is adorned with ornate woodwork and religious artifacts. On either side of the nave, stone effigies and memorials are visible, adding to the historical and sacred atmosphere.
Salisbury Cathedral shot from just east of the font using my widest zoom at its widest setting – 14 mm on a full-frame camera. © Gerry Lynch, 24 March 2025.
A photograph captures the exterior of a large Gothic cathedral during what appears to be either sunrise or sunset, with the sun low on the horizon casting a warm, golden light. The cathedral features a tall, pointed spire at its center, surrounded by intricate stonework, pointed arches, and numerous smaller spires along the roofline. The building is constructed of light-colored stone, with large arched windows visible along its sides. In the foreground, a well-maintained grassy lawn stretches out, dotted with a few leafless trees, suggesting a winter or early spring setting. A paved pathway runs through the grass, leading toward the cathedral, with a few people walking along it, adding a sense of scale to the massive structure. The sky is clear with a soft gradient from light to darker blue.
Just a hint of mist in the Cathedral Close towards sunset © Gerry Lynch, 24 March 2025.
A photograph shows an elderly person wearing a dark, hooded robe, sitting indoors near a large window. The background features a blurred view of greenery and plants, with soft natural light filtering through the glass, creating a serene atmosphere. The robe appears slightly worn, with visible dust or small specks on the fabric. The setting suggests a peaceful, possibly contemplative environment, with elements like a door handle and additional plants visible in the background.
Dom Francis at St Benedict’s Priory © Gerry Lynch, 24 March 2025.
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Time to Change Direction?: Sermon Preached on 23rd March 2025 (Third Sunday in Lent)

Posted on March 23, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Peter’s, Poulshot and St Mary’s, Potterne

1 Corinthians 10.1-13; Luke 13.1-9

“but unless you repent, you will all perish

If I’m being honest, I didn’t much like today’s readings when I sat down to prepare my sermon. ‘I know it’s Lent’, I thought to myself, ‘but surely we could have been set something a bit more hopeful than these.’ I’m not sure that I enjoy them any the more this morning.

A painting depicts a snow-covered medieval-style building, likely a church or cathedral, with a tall tower and a steeply pitched roof. The structure is made of dark stone, with small arched windows and a set of steps leading up to an entrance. A lone figure in a black cloak stands in the foreground, facing the building. The scene is set during a snowy day, with snowflakes falling and accumulating on the ground and rooftops. The sky is overcast with dark, moody clouds, and in the background, there are more buildings and a hilly landscape, also dusted with snow. The overall atmosphere is cold and sombre.

Repentance, by
Nicholas Roerich (1917). Hangs in the Nicholas Roerich Museum, New York City.

But real religion, which actually sheds light on the human condition, is more than uplifting spiritual Prozac. I don’t think you’re always meant to enjoy what you read in the Bible, or always to be lifted up by it. Some of the most important things for healthy and wholesome life aren’t uplifting—like going to the dentist, or eating your greens.

A Bible that only ever gave us a lift would be a Bible that only made sense in a world where everything always turned out right in the end. But the good guys don’t always win, mistakes sometimes have awful consequences, and sometimes life is just hard.

These are also an awkward pair of readings to preach 0n because they seem to disagree with each other. St Paul warns that those who stray from God’s path risk being punished by Him; Jesus, in contrast, says the victims of a building collapse were no more sinners than anyone else, and nor were the victims of persecution by the tyrannical King Herod.

Scripture isn’t a soloist, it’s a choir. If we take seriously the idea that the Bible was inspired by God, then we also need to take seriously that God caused it be written in the messy form it actually takes. If the Bible is a choir, then sometimes it sings like a Palestrina Mass, all pure intervals and authentic cadences. And sometimes the chords of Scripture’s harmonies are more challenging, like something you’d hear from Shostakovich or Benjamin Britten, or even like Schoenberg and Stockhausen. Sometimes the Bible has to speak into the dissonance that is part of real life. Sometimes the Bible has to speak into lives that have no easy answers; into our lives when there are no easy answers.

So, to understand what God is saying to us through His written Word in our own lives, in our own time and place, we need patient discernment, to listen to what God is saying through the bits that sit least comfortably with one another, and the bits that sit least comfortably with us. We need humility too, because we may not always understand what God is saying to us through the Bible. We also need to understand that what God says to us may change through our lives as we change—today’s life-giving new insight may become stale and deadening over time. God may often ask us to change direction.

And that’s where we see the harmony in this awkward pairing of readings. Both agree that the Christian life is about repentance. Repentance is a very loaded word, but it simply means to turn around, and start living as God calls us to. Repentance should be a journey that lasts throughout our lives, and it may be one where we may need to change direction repeatedly to get to where God is calling us. Sometimes following God’s call is like driving at seventy on a motorway—but usually it’s like finding our way through a maze of winding lanes that twist and turn. God never changes, but the world changes and we change—or we should change, or else we become stale.

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New Life and the Cross: Sermon Preached on 16th March 2025 (Second Sunday in Lent)

Posted on March 16, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Christ Church, Bulkington and Holy Cross, Seend

Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35

“For many live as enemies of the cross … their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven.”

A picturesque scene features a historic stone church with a tall, ornate tower and large arched windows, bathed in warm, golden sunlight. The church, St Mary's in Potterne, sits atop a gentle hill covered in lush green grass dotted with small yellow and pink wildflowers, possibly primroses. In the foreground, two leafless, gnarled trees with thick trunks stand on the hillside, adding a rustic charm. The sky above is clear with a soft gradient of blue, suggesting either sunrise or sunset. In the background, a red-brick cottage with chimneys peeks out, enhancing the serene, pastoral atmosphere of this springtime setting.

Potterne churchyard at sunset, 15 March 2025 © Gerry Lynch.

March can be a cold month but it’s full of new life. The song birds are in full cry as they stake out their territory for the year, but most of all it’s the flowers that catch the eye at the moment. The primroses and the daffodils are at their finest, adding dashes of yellow everywhere.

The natural beauties of the springtime raise our spirits and fill us with joy. But why should we find them beautiful? After all, if the cold, scientific account of human nature favoured by people like Richard Dawkins is correct, human beings are nothing more than the product of billions of years of random mutations and the survival of the fittest. In this view, everything that we are has evolved over time to do only one thing—to ensure we pass on our genes to the next generation. If that is true, it makes perfect sense that we find (some) people beautiful – for this helps us find a fit mate who will give us the best chance of producing offspring who will themselves survive.

But it makes no sense that we find daffodils and primroses beautiful. We don’t eat them, or their seeds and bulbs—in fact, they could make us quite ill. Of course, they’re very important to our survival because, flowering so early, they’re a critical nectar and pollen source for bumblebees and honeybees emerging from hibernation. But we didn’t need to worry about the survival of the pollinators until very recently.

It makes no sense that we find these flowers beautiful. Still less does it make sense for us to find music beautiful, or a handsome piece of furniture, or a great cathedral.

It makes no sense unless, of course, our lives have some sort of deeper meaning than mere survival, and we human beings are more than biological robots. We all know, I think, that we are made for more than that. When we look at the stars on a clear night we know instinctively that beauty is written into the meaning of the universe.

Our instinct for beauty is a sign that we were made for more than just life in time and space and matter.

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Faith in a Geopolitical Wilderness: Sermon Preached on 9th March 2025 (First Sunday in Lent)

Posted on March 9, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Peter’s, Poulshot and Christ Church, Bulkington

Romans 10. 8b-13; Luke 4. 1-13     

“Jesus… was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.”

In the wilderness, the rules and habits that helped us to flourish in civilised life no longer work; in fact, they can be a hindrance to survival. In the wilderness, we are thrown back entirely on our own resources. There is nobody to help us—except, of course, for God. The wilderness can kill us—or we can use it to allow our illusions about ourselves and the world to die. We can use it to teach us to trust in God, and God alone.

A barren desert landscape featuring a twisted, leafless tree with sprawling branches in the foreground. The ground is covered with dry, sparse vegetation and sandy soil. In the background, rugged, layered mountains rise under a vibrant blue sky with wispy, streaked clouds. Explain desert ecosystems Discuss desert photography

In the wilderness, Tankwa Karoo National Park, South Africa © Gerry Lynch, 27 January 2025

“We now live in a geopolitical wilderness where the post-Cold War order has collapsed.” I last used that phrase in a sermon three years and three days ago, on the First Sunday in Lent 2022, when we last had this pair of readings set for us. That was less than a fortnight after Russia launched its massive invasion of Ukraine. It is even more obvious today that the assumptions most of us held about the nature of the 21st Century world have turned out to be illusions.

We hear that frightening geopolitical wilderness reported every day in the news bulletins, so let us keep it in mind as we turn to today’s Gospel reading, for its detail is easy to overlook. 

Christ is challenged with three very specific temptations: the temptation to put worldly comfort before the Mission given to Him by His Father, symbolised by turning stones into bread; the temptation to take no responsibility for His own wellbeing, abusing God’s care for Him, symbolised by throwing Himself from a building and trusting in angels to catch Him; and the temptation to take power Himself as the solution for all the world’s problems, at the price of worshipping Satan.

These events take place immediately after Jesus was baptised by John, and immediately before He began His ministry of healing and teaching in Galilee. It is seems Christ, truly human as well as truly God, had to confront these temptations before He could brave the crowds who would for a time cheer Him as a wonder-worker, crowds who would try to seize him by force and make Him king.

Christian leaders in every age must confront these three temptations: the temptation to use the Faith as a means of obtaining worldly comfort; the temptation to hide behind the Faith as a means of avoiding personal responsibility; and the temptation to see the Faith as a means of solving the world’s problems.

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Mercy Transcends Justice: Sermon Preached on 5th March 2025 (Ash Wednesday)

Posted on March 5, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s Potterne

Joel 2. 1-2, 12-17; John 8. 1-11

“Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Ash Wednesday—a day when we think about our sinfulness. Is that depressing?

This painting depicts a religious scene set on a rocky mountaintop, featuring Jesus Christ in a blue robe with a red inner garment, standing on a peak and pointing towards a dark, winged figure representing Satan. Jesus has a golden halo around his head, symbolizing his divinity. Two other figures, likely angels, dressed in flowing robes, stand behind him, observing the scene. The background includes a golden sky and a detailed, colorful cityscape with fortified walls, towers, and domed buildings, painted in pastel shades of pink, green, and blue, extending across the hills. The overall style is reminiscent of medieval or Renaissance religious art, with a focus on spiritual symbolism and dramatic contrast between the figures.

The Temptation of Christ on the Mountain by Duccio (1308-11), originally part of an altarpiece in Siena Cathedral, now part of the Frick Collection, New York.

Well, I think it’s only depressing if we forget that thinking about our sinfulness is also an opportunity to think about God’s mercy. There’s a phrase I often use, that expresses one of the central truths of the Christian faith—God came to save us in the person of Jesus Christ not because we are good, but because He is love. We don’t save ourselves by being just about good enough to reach a pass mark for heaven set by a cosmic headmaster—instead God saves us out of His mercy.

I don’t think there’s enough mercy in the world. Mercy is easy to misrepresent as something soft-headed. One of the problems with the culture of our times, which is driven by what happens online, is that it usually lacks mercy. I think there are two main reasons for that. One is that most of us don’t realise when we type angrily behind our screens that there is a real person at the other end of the Internet receiving that anger. But this lack of mercy is also because on the Internet we’re always looking over our shoulders to see if what we’re doing is sensible and socially acceptable. Social media is a great X-ray machine into human psychology and it shows us that mercy is often seen as weak on transgressors and, in times of conflict, that exercising mercy is seen as letting the side down. This hostility to actually showing mercy is as prevalent among those who like to think of their attitudes as embodying kindness and concern for the marginalised as much as it is among the rest of us.

But that is to misunderstand mercy. When we show mercy, we don’t have to pretend that wrong has not been done to us. We show mercy when we choose not to take up the redress or vindication that would quite rightly be ours.

Perhaps in recent times, the Church has focused too narrowly on the idea of justice. Now, justice is a wonderful thing and I would hardly argue against it. But few of us would want to be on the receiving end of an entirely fair share of God’s justice for the worst things we’ve done in our lives. And there are other great aspects of human character, besides justice, to which Christians are called to live out. We all need mercy sometimes. If justice isn’t tempered by mercy, it can be a cold and even cruel thing.

Mercy transcends justice. When we are merciful we touch God’s nature.

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We Need Visions: Sermon Preached on 23rd February 2025 (Second Sunday before Lent)

Posted on February 23, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

Readings – Revelation 4; Luke 8. 22-25

“…the one seated there looks like jasper and cornelian, and around the throne is a rainbow that looks like an emerald.”

After a stormy week or so in the affairs of the world, the story of Jesus calming a huge storm on the Sea of Galilee seems obviously relevant. It’s tempting for me to say, “Well just read that again at home and trust Jesus in these stormy times.” Then we can all get our post-church coffee and get off to our Sunday lunch ten minutes earlier.

A vibrant, abstract mural featuring a central figure in a white robe with raised hands, set against a green background with yellow geometric shapes. The figure appears to be a stylized, solemn depiction, possibly religious, framed by an arch-like structure. Surrounding the central figure are dynamic, colorful panels with abstract representations of birds, flames, and human-like forms, adding movement and energy to the composition.

Graham Sutherland’s great east wall tapestry in Coventry Cathedral is full of imagery from Revelation. © Gerry Lynch, 2 August 2018.

That feels inadequate, and trite, given that we’ve all been on complex journeys of faith through our lives. The truth is that all of us go through stormy periods in our lives where we find it difficult to trust Jesus; there are times when we find it difficult to trust that God wants good things for us in own lives, and also when we find it difficult to trust that a loving God is in charge of the world. In moments like that, I’ve never found being ordered from the pulpit to have more faith did me any good.

Another thing to bear in mind is that we can have faith, and lose faith, in many things, not just in God, or that Jesus Christ was God. This is a time in our history when people are losing faith in many things—especially in institutions and leaders. No doubt some of them have misbehaved or misunderstood their mission and got things wrong, but without leaders and institutions we have faith in, any country becomes a fractured place where the strong dominate the weak, the crooked break the rules without fear of consequences, and where even the strong and successful live much less pleasant lives than they otherwise might.

I think important light on what is happening in our society and politics is shed by the first reading this morning from Revelation. You’re probably surprised to hear me say that, because it’s a reading full of vivid, almost fantastical imagery, of living creatures with six wings full of eyes on the inside, singing constantly before the throne God. It openly acknowledges itself to be the result of a mystical experience where St John of Patmos is “in the spirit”. You can see why many people dismiss Revelation as the ravings of a madman, perhaps even of a drug addict. It doesn’t always make much rational sense—you know, what does it mean to say that “around the throne is a rainbow that looks like an emerald”? Have you ever seen a rainbow that looks like an emerald?

It’s easy to dismiss this part of the Bible as worthless, and many people do. After all, what does this have to do with feeding the hungry and visiting the prisoners and all those practical things that Jesus commanded us to do? The things we are so often told are what Jesus was really interested in.

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Life Punishes the Late—Adapt or Die

Posted on February 20, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

This article was originally posted on Slugger O’Toole…

A large, cracked globe depicting a world map, resting on a pile of rubble and broken stones, symbolizing the breakdown of the old world order. The globe, shown in shades of blue with visible continents and grid lines, has multiple deep fissures running across its surface. In the background, shattered ruins of buildings are visible, set against a dramatic blood-red sky with hints of gray and purple, evoking urgency and turmoil.

This will be the first of many shattering weeks in 2025. Even the cleverest members of the establishment that is being routed have started to acknowledge publicly that the old order is dead. This isn’t a matter of a change in the personnel in charge, or even of long-standing diplomatic alliances, but of suddenly finding that the assumptions that most of us shared about how the world functions and how it should function are no longer correct. To think through what we might be about to experience, it might be useful to briefly explore the last time a world-historical shift of similar speed and scale took place.

On 7 October 1989, Soviet leader Mikhail Gorchbachëv visited East Berlin to help the incompetent geriatrics who ran the misnamed German Democratic Republic celebrate the 40th anniversary of their state. Although he was the leader of what was supposed to be their closest ally, East German security forces blocked streets to prevent their citizens from greeting the world’s most senior Communist—only vetted members of front organisations on planned demonstrationswere allowed near his cavalcade. Extra barricades were erected at Checkpoint Charlie, and day-trippers from West Berlin, normally welcomed for the hard Deutschmarks they spent in eastern shops and cafés, were turned away.

Nonetheless, a few East Berliners managed to find their way to vantage points overlooking the route, shouting “Gorbi help us!” in front of the world’s cameras. In private, away from the media, Gorbachëv warned Erich Honecker and his colleagues in the SED ruling party, bitter opponents of his economic and political liberalisation, that the USSR would not intervene to preserve their rule if their own people turned against them.

In October, power in the country still seemed to rest with its fearsome secret services, especially the widely-despised Stasi, far more competent than the SED’s gerontocracy. Many wondered if the Stasi would start shooting at the weekly Monday night demonstrations in the second city of Leipzig which grew into the tens of thousands after Gorbachëv’s visit. In the weeks that followed, events moved with such speed they were almost impossible to process at the time. By December, with the Berlin Wall open and the SED negotiating with the opposition, people wondered if the crowds that stormed Stasi regional headquarters across the country to prevent them shredding evidence of their crimes would lynch the occupants (they didn’t). A montage of West German TV evening news reports from the last three months of 1989 captures the blistering and often bewildering pace of events.

The situation was frequently misread as it developed, especially by the many in West Germany who, while despising the brutality of the SED and its secret police, saw at least some features of the Communist economic and cultural order as being superior to Western capitalism.

Very rarely has a video clip profoundly influenced me; an exception is a panel discussion on West German TV the night after the Wall fell on 9 November, which discussed the extraordinary events of the previous 24 hours. The right-wing journalist Gerhard Löwenthal, long a figure of ridicule on the Left for his televised rants about ‘Linksextremiste’, confidently predicted that reunification would soon follow. In Left-leaning West Berlin, his fellow panellists talked down to him and rolled their eyes; there had been no evidence over weeks of demonstrations, they told him, that East Germans wanted reunification rather than reform.

By February, the only question was how quickly the two Germanies would reunify. It was estimated that around 90% of East Germans favoured reunification. During the campaign for East Germany’s first and only free elections, centre-right parties led by Helmut Kohl’s CDU offered rapid reunification, the centre-left SPD offered reunification at more measured pace, and a slow reunification was proposed, ironically, by both the newly renamed former ruling party and the human rights activists who were the first to raise their heads above the parapet in early 1989 as a potential opposition. Commentators on both sides of the border expected the SPD to top the poll—surely, with democracy secure, East Germans would want to take the time to preserve the redeeming features of state socialism, it was reckoned, especially in this heavily working-class region. They were badly wrong. Kohl’s allies swept to victory, and by the first anniversary of Gorbachëv’s visit, the German Democratic Republic had ceased to exist.

2025—The End of an Era

February 2025 lies at the beginning of a period of destruction of existing structures, but more than that, the destruction of previously reliable political and even psychological assumptions about the way the world works. Trump is ripping up Europe’s post-1990 security architecture, as he promised in his successful election campaign. He is also ripping up the American domestic settlement on identity and race, also as he promised in his successful election campaign.

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A Faith for this World?: Sermon Preached on 16th February 2025 (Third Sunday before Lent)

Posted on February 16, 2025 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Holy Cross, Seend and St Peter’s, Poulshot

Readings – 1 Corinthians 15. 12-20; Luke 6. 17-26

“If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.”

Is your hope only for this world rather than what might be in the life to come? Is your faith in vain?

A painting depicting a scene by a body of water with a mountainous background. In the foreground, a large group of people, dressed in robes and head coverings, are gathered around a central figure who is seated on a rock. This central figure is also robed in white and appears to be teaching or speaking to the crowd. The people are seated on the ground, some standing, all attentively listening. The setting suggests a historical or biblical scene, with the atmosphere being calm and serene.

James Tissot, Jesus Teaches People by the Sea (1886-96), hangs in the Brooklyn Museum.

I always feel a little uncomfortable as an inclusive, liberal-minded, sort of priest in putting Paul’s case as bluntly as that. I realise many people do support the Church for what it does in this world, and many folk are loyal churchpeople and seek to be faithful to Christ as He taught us to live in this world, while not really believing in “the magic bits”. The Beatitudes, which are today’s Gospel reading, are often presented as a manifesto of hope for the future of humanity—if we could only fully embrace them and the rest of Christ’s teachings, really fully embrace them, we could create heaven on earth. Or so some say.

All of you welcome here, just as you are. That’s an important principle for a parish church that seeks to be a centre of faith and hope for the whole community; also I’ve had enough people tell me over the years I’m not a real Christian for me to tell anybody else the same thing. For what it’s worth I think that, on balance, over time, Christianity is good for earthly societies and Jesus Christ’s teachings, on those occasions when we really do live them out fully, do create little pockets of heaven here on Earth.

But I’m going to tell you why I believe in “the magic bits” and why I agree with Paul that if our faith is only for this world then we are to be pitied.

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