The Limits of Good Works: Sermon Preached on 11th August 2024 (Eleventh Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on August 11, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

Ephesians 4. 25-5.2; John 6. 35, 41-51

“Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

Do you find some of the teachings of Christianity a little hard to swallow? That eternal life is a reality? That Jesus Christ actually rose from the dead? That Christ is actually present today whenever Christians break bread and share wine in His name? All this stuff is quite challenging to the common viewpoint of our times that only material things that really matter and that the main goal of the Church is to change the world.

He’s got the whole world in His hand… and about a septillion other worlds too!

These days, we tend to put the difficulties that many people have with these mystical beliefs – difficulties, indeed, that some of us here probably have with these beliefs – down to living in an era of science and reason. When people find the more mysterious teachings of the Faith hard to accept, it is tempting to reduce Christianity to the Cult of Militant Niceness, where the Church is all about its good works, and we don’t talk too loudly about the weirder stuff Jesus Christ taught.

But none of this is new. The section of John’s Gospel from which this morning’s reading comes from is all about that. People got into little boats and sailed across the Sea of Galilee to keep up with Jesus, because they wanted to see Him feed them and heal them—but instead He gave them a cryptic message that the He was bread come down from heaven, that whoever ate this bread would live forever, and that the bread He would give for the life of the world was His flesh. No wonder they started muttering. Soon after today’s Gospel reading, the complaints got so bad that even some of Jesus’ closest followers abandoned Him. The things that Christ taught about His own nature, about death and eternal life, have always been hard for people to believe.

If we say the Church is all about its good works – which is what most people who aren’t particularly committed Christians want to hear – then we are making the same mistake as the crowds who muttered when Jesus didn’t give them the good works they wanted. Here’s one problem with a Gospel of good works—I hope none of us thinks that we are better people than others because we are Christians. That’s not what Christ taught at all. We all know atheists, and Jews, and Muslims whose basic goodness puts us to shame; we all know that being a Christian hardly makes us perfect.

That isn’t anything new either. Look at what St Paul had to write to the Christians in Ephesus – warning them against bitterness and anger and squabbling. Of course, they were called to live better lives than that, but they clearly often failed, otherwise he wouldn’t have had to write.

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Gratitude at Lammastide: Sermon Preached on 4th August 2024

Posted on August 7, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Peter’s, Poulshot for the Wiltshire Countryside Club annual service

Leviticus 23. 9-14; Matthew 15. 32-39              

“You shall eat no bread … until you have brought the offering of your God.”

For many people in this country, the wisdom and awareness of human nature that used to be provided by Christianity are now sought for in self-help literature, counselling, and the psychology of the Sunday supplement and the social media meme. It is therefore interesting when these modern forms of religion share the same perspective as the Old Faith. One thing Christianity and pop-psychology agree on is the importance of gratitude, and the benefits that flow from being grateful for what we have. No less a source than the Harvard Medical School’s in-house magazine – I googled it – tells me that when we are grateful, we improve our health, deal better with adversity, and build strong relationships.

A combine harvester in a cereal field on a day of thin cloud and hazy sunshine, almost completed its job.

Taking in the harvest at Stanton St Bernard in Wiltshire’s picturesque Vale of Pewsey, 3 September 2024 © Gerry Lynch

Lammas is all about remembering with thanks that it is God who us gives us all that we have. It is God who gives the miracle of natural growth – and it is a miracle, much as familiarity tends to blind us to that. It is God who gives the sun, and the rain, and the seasons that govern our production of food. And it is God who gives us the skills to work with the fruits of nature to sustain ourselves and our nature—not just the skills of the farmer, but of everyone else who makes a living from the countryside, from the man who repairs the combine harvester to the woman who organises the transport of the food to the supermarket. For as much as He is the provider of the bounty of nature, God is also the source of us, and of our skill and diligence. God does not only all this for us, but also gives us the beauty of the natural world, including so many of our agricultural landscapes, which sustain and nurture our souls.

On the face of it, offering of a loaf to God is a pretty limp thank you present for so much. But the loaf symbolises the deep gratitude of our hearts and our souls, and it is appropriate that we offer this symbol of our gratitude now, when the harvest is still ongoing.

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Don’t Be Useful!: Sermon Preached on 4th August 2024 (Tenth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on August 4, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

Ephesians 4. 1-16; John 6. 24-35

“…they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing?””

We all want the Church to be useful. And what’s wrong with that? We all want to be useful ourselves, don’t we? But in that, there are grave dangers. Some of them are flagged up in this morning’s Gospel reading.

Half a loaf of artisan bread, covered in seeds, on a flat serving base with a buttering knife beside it.

By Cottonbro Studios, public domain, downloaded with thanks from Pexels.

In it, the crowd flocks to Jesus wanting signs and works. In John’s Gospel, it follows immediately after Jesus performs two spectacular miracles, feeding the Five Thousand and then walking on water. After the feeding of the five thousand, the crowd declares Him a prophet and tries to make Him king against His will—that was last Sunday’s Gospel.

The trouble with spectacular events, however, is that nothing is ever enough; the crowd always wants more. Just one hit of excitement and validation is rarely enough. We know that from the celebrity culture of our own times.

So it’s appropriate that this reading marks the start of a change in the relationship between Jesus and the crowds, one that defines the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel. I’m always careful about reading too much into ‘chapters’ in the Bible: they weren’t created until the 13th Century and although they’re useful for us in finding our way around a massive collection of writings, they don’t always reflect natural sections. But John 6 is a coherent sub-story in its own right, it’s a very long one, and a very significant one, which we hear over five successive Sundays.

After the crowd’s initial delight at two miraculous works, Jesus doesn’t follow up with more, but instead gives them a strange teaching that He Himself is bread from heaven, giving life to the world, greater than the manna with which Moses miraculously fed their ancestors fleeing persecution in Egypt. Here’s a point that’s easy to miss—Jesus is pointing out here that He is greater even than Moses. Moses gave the people food to satisfy their physical needs, but Jesus will feed them with eternal life. So also, while Moses gave the people the law, Jesus will give them something even greater than a set of rules that nobody can keep correctly all the time—forgiveness of their sins. Jesus represents a new set of promises God is making with the human race, promises that will be sealed, it will eventually be revealed, on the Cross.

Soon after, the crowd will turn on Jesus because He won’t give them miraculous bread on demand but teachings that are hard to swallow. The sixth chapter of John will end with even some of Jesus’ own disciples abandoning Him. If our faith in God depends on Him giving us what we want, when we want it – if it depends on God being “useful” – then it is a faith built on sand, and it will crumble as soon as it faces a real challenge.

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David Could be A Bad ‘Un: Sermon Preached on 28th July 2024 (Ninth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on July 28, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

2 Samuel 11. 1-15; John 6. 1-21

“David wrote a letter… ‘Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him, so that he may be struck down and die.’”

Our first reading today is a bit of a shocker! But that’s only part why I opted to have the Old Testament reading rather than the Epistle at this service. This reading doesn’t just have a plotline that would put Emmerdale to shame, but it speaks to two important questions about our faith. Firstly, what sort of people does God use to do His will in the world? Secondly, what is the Bible for?

A coloured lithograph in Naïve Art style by the painter Marc Chagall; it depicts King David standing upright, wearing a crown, and holding a harp, serenading Bathsheba sitting on an expensive-looking chair. They are sat outside, in what seems to be a garden, under a sunny sky.

Marc Chagall, David with Bathsheba (1980).

We’ll come to those in a moment, but let’s be clear that the soap opera plot was definitely one of the reasons why I chose this reading. It’s so memorable that I can tell you exactly where I was when I first heard it. I can still remember that it was a particularly beautiful summer morning. I know it was relatively soon after I had started attending St George’s, the church in Belfast which did so much to form me spiritually. Now, because the readings in church run on a three-year cycle, it has to be an exact multiple of three years ago on the nearest Sunday. It was 27th July 1997, in other words twenty-seven years and a day ago, and the day before my twentieth birthday, a time when faith was really coming alive for me.

Now, this isn’t a particularly pleasant reading, but it grabbed my attention forcefully, as I’m sure it did yours. It stoked my already building interest in the Bible. Teenage males are often particularly gripped by the grizzlier bits of the Bible, and I heard it on my very last day as a teenager.

Most people think Christianity is all about being terribly worthy and a little beige, and is therefore something for worthy, rather beige, perhaps rather dull people. The truth is that God works through real human beings; there are a few saints and a few monsters around, but most of us are a mix of light and dark.

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One Cross for a Divided Church: Sermon Preached on 21st July 2024 (Eighth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on July 21, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

Ephesians 2. 11-22; Mark 6. 30-34, 53-56

“Christ … that he might reconcile both unto God in one body by the cross…came and preached peace to you which were afar off, and to them that were nigh.”

The Church should be like one big family. We all agree with that, don’t we? It sounds very sweet and wholesome—until we remember what our own families are actually like in practice, and until we remember how we ourselves sometimes behave within them. As we all know, members of families don’t always see eye-to-eye on everything and they can sometimes fall out and start rowing. Don’t get me wrong—families are great. I wouldn’t be without mine. But they aren’t perfect.

A high modernist rood screen. St Mary and St John are squat and disordered, Mary buried deep in a headscarf; both are facing the congregation. Christ, in contrast, is lithe and sinewy, his contorted facial features hidden in shadow.

The rood in the Old Catholic Augustinerkirche in Zürich. This was executed by local sculptor Franz Fischer during the church’s reordering of 1958-9. © Gerry Lynch, 11 July 2019.

This morning’s epistle reading, from Ephesians, is written to a church that is clearly, like many families, struggling with divisions. There are two factions here—one Jewish, and very clear that followers of Jesus Christ should, like good Jews, be circumcised; the other faction come from Gentile backgrounds, and cannot see why circumcision should be required for those of true faith in Christ. In fact, although this has traditionally been thought of as a letter to the Church in the city of Ephesus, no specific city or congregation is named in the text, and it may have been a more general letter to churches at a time when the number of Christians from non-Jewish backgrounds was growing rapidly, and tensions were rising.

From our perspective, circumcision seems like an arcane reason for a church to be divided, but pause and think about it for a moment, and it soon becomes obvious that it is rooted in issues that still cause deep divisions today’s Church – one is identity; the other is whether Christians are called to engage with the world to transform it, or instead to maintain our purity as a people set apart from the world. These are precisely the reasons why we’ve ended up so divided over women’s ordination, or same-sex marriage. Most of us are also terribly sure that only our side of those debates really understands what Jesus Christ taught us.

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Faith Heals Us: Sermon Preached on 30th June 2024 (Fifth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on June 30, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne and on Poulshot Village Green

Mark 5. 21-43

“your faith has made you well”

We’ve all been in situations where what people don’t say is more important than what they do. That’s certainly true of Jesus in this morning’s Bible reading. But to understand why, let’s look first at exactly where today’s reading sits in the overall story of Mark’s Gospel.

A realist painting. Jesus, standing upright and in white robes, holds the hands of a girl, who is lying on a bed, also in white robes, and somewhat darker skinned.

Ilya Repin, Raising of Jairus Daughter (1870), hangs in the Mikhailovsky Palace, St Petersburg.

Today’s reading consists of the last two miracle stories in a run of four, all set in Galilee early in Jesus’ mission, that Mark uses to establish Jesus’ power. Between them they establish Jesus’ power over the forces of nature, over disease, over demons, and over death. Last week in church, we heard one of the other of these stories, the stilling of the storm on the Sea of Galilee; the other story, the casting out of demons into a herd of pigs from the poor tormented madman who self-harms constantly, is also one of the most familiar of Jesus’ healing miracles.

The supernatural elements of these stories can make them seem remote from our world. Yet look more closely and we see people who, while perhaps living in a very different culture with very different technology from us, are people who tick just like us. The way Jesus is constantly mobbed by crowds as He travels around these little market towns and fishing villages in Galilee reminds me very much of today’s celebrity culture. Not everyone in these towns and villages thinks well of Jesus, and as much as the adulation of the crowds, the abuse He receives from the Pharisees reminds me of our own culture and its toxic side, which social media has revealed to be regrettably widespread. A third reminder of our own world is the desperation of the chronically ill people who approach Jesus seeking healing, people like the woman with the issue of blood—and for all that we can cure many diseases in a way that would seem almost magical to the people of Christ’s time, the reality is that at some point most of us end up living with chronic and debilitating illnesses, and the fear and misery they bring is unchanged.

That’s the context for us to notice what Jesus doesn’t say here. He doesn’t say, “I’m the Son of God.” He doesn’t even say, “I’m sent from God.” He certainly doesn’t say, “I can heal people by magic, and I deserve to be paid for it—so front up with the readies, folks!”

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Waiting Patiently for Harvest: Sermon Preached on 16th June 2024 (Third Sunday after Trinity)

Posted on June 16, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

Readings – 2 Corinthians 5. 6-10, 14-17; Mark 4. 26-34

“The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head.”

The image depicts a vast, undulating farmland under a clear sky during golden hour. Rows of crops stretch across the landscape, their textures highlighted by warm sunlight. In the distance, gentle hills complete this serene rural scene.

Tan Hill from Allington, 10 June 2024 © Gerry Lynch

On Monday evening shortly after eight, I popped into Devizes to buy a few things at Lidl, and was captivated by the quality of the late evening light; the amount of rain we’ve had this Spring has made the air unusually clear when the Sun does shine, and the greens of the landscape are especially vibrant at the moment. Luckily, I had taken my camera with me and, being at that side of Devizes already, set off along the road that goes through Horton and on into the heart of the Vale of Pewsey. There is a particularly attractive prospect on the north side of the road just before entering the hamlet of Allington from the Devizes side. Wheat fields, clambering up the foot-slopes and catching the late evening sun beautifully at this time of year, are overlooked by the ridge of hills crowned by Tan Hill, the second highest point in Wiltshire; which always looks to me like a sleeping dragon, the green of its scales being caught by the fire of the setting sun.

It is especially interesting to look at the individual stalks of wheat at the moment – the head and the stalk are certainly there, but we are still some weeks away from it being ripe enough to harvest.

We take plant growth for granted – yet it is a miracle. A wheat seed averages only around 6 millimetres in length, or a quarter of an inch, yet it can turn into a plant that is taller than we are. We bury the seed in the ground and God gives the growth. Mustard seeds are even smaller, only one or two millimetres in diameter. Around 1,500 could fit along the edge of the altar, literally millions of them piled on top of it. How does a mustard seed turn into a mighty tree so big that birds can nest in it? It seems impossible to believe that they are the same organism. Yet they are.

Animals, including humans, also grow from tiny simple seeds and tiny simple eggs into complex adult forms. Some creatures even change forms at different points in their lives – caterpillars turn into to butterflies; tadpoles turn into frogs and toads.

It seems strange to assume that growth, and indeed, transformation, can only take place in our physical bodies. Surely it can also take place in our souls.

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Was Jesus Mad?: Sermon Preached on 9th June 2024 (Second Sunday after Trinity)

Posted on June 9, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

Readings – 2 Corinthians 4.13 – 5.1; Mark 3. 20-35

“When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, ‘He has gone out of his mind.’

Have you ever heard a passage of Scripture and thought to yourself, ‘Jesus could be a bit bonkers, couldn’t he?’ Have you ever formed that thought but immediately suppressed it as un-Christian and maybe a bit blasphemous? It would be understandable to suppress a thought like that.

But, in this morning’s Gospel reading, we find Jesus’ own family – His brothers, His mother who would remain with Him right to the Cross, thinking either that He was nuts, or at least that a mob might do Him harm because they thought He was nuts.

Indeed, in crazy times, it’s the sane people who can seem to be nuts. Jesus lived in crazy times for the Jewish people of the Holy Land. We, too, live in frankly crazy times, as you’ll have noticed if you’ve watched the news recently.

Sensible people want to do the right thing; sensible people want to be good. Doing good is, of course, a very good thing. We all know, however, that none of us is good all of the time.

People who aren’t Christians think the Church is all about doing good; they think it’s an organisation for good people to celebrate and promote goodness in the name of a good holy man called Jesus Christ who lived a long time ago. It’s therefore easily dismissed as irrelevant to people who want to live in the present, and who know they aren’t always good all the time.

The Church too often colludes with this, by constantly trying to justify its existence with good works, as if it were a charity or an NGO. The Church, however, isn’t about goodness, but something far more wonderful – grace. Goodness is something we try to achieve through our own efforts; grace is a gift from God.

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Cow Parsley and Heaven: Sermon Preached on 2nd June 2024 (Second Sunday after Trinity)

Posted on June 6, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Christ Church, Worton

Readings – 2 Corinthians 4. ; John 3. 1-17

 “…we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.”

A sprig of cow parsley in full flower, close-up.

Cow parsley: in June, as common as muck, but a sign of life’s persistence; © Gerry Lynch, 24 July 2017.

Driving from Worton towards Seend the other day, I marvelled at the quantity of cow parsley in the hedges. The landscape is particularly thick with new growth when blossoming May gives way to bowery June. Yet I was struck by a rather sombre realisation. In just a few months, it will start to die back as we speed towards the dead, dark, weeks of December.

St Paul writes in this morning’s epistle reading that, “We are always being given up to death for Jesus’s sake.” Everything in this universe must eventually die. Not only living things, but, although we rarely think about it, the stars, and even the atomic particles which make up all matter, dead or alive. Their lifespan is almost beyond the human imagination, but is nonetheless finite. Indeed, science tells us that without the death of many stars over many billions of years, the complex elements which make up humans and all other living beings simply could not exist. Each of us too must eventually give way for new life. We are not meant to live forever, not in this universe, anyway—but as Christians, we have faith that Jesus Christ, the eternally living God, by dying opened the way to eternal life for us.

We human beings are indeed “clay jars”, as St Paul puts it: fragile creatures, with a limited lifespan, and far from perfect. Yet we are of such immense value that God gave Himself up to death for our sakes to give us the most valuable treasure possible, eternal life.

St Paul knew we were not meant to be perfect, any more than we are meant to live forever in our mortal bodies. Paul had once thought he was a particularly holy follower of God because he was so diligent in keeping all the rules which he found in Scripture. He forgot was that although God’s written word is indeed treasure, he was a clay jar. The vision of God he had on the road to Damascus was such a violent experience that it left him literally blind. Yet he considered it the most valuable experience of his life, one that taught this over-intense and rather self-certain man that it is a dangerous thing to be too sure you know God’s will.

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Love is Our Nature: Sermon Preached on 26th May 2024 (Trinity Sunday)

Posted on May 26, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Holy Cross, Seend and Christ Church, Bulkington

Readings – Romans 8. 12-17; John 3. 1-17

“When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”

When we cry to God the Father, it is the Holy Spirit calling within us, rhyming with our own human spirit, and bearing witness to the fact that as children of God, we are His joint heirs along with Christ. That’s an attempt to paraphrase in more understandable language what St Paul wrote in today’s epistle reading from the Letter to the Romans. We are heirs of God, His legitimate inheritors, jointly with Jesus Christ, and the fact that we instinctively cry to God as our heavenly Father reveals that the Holy Spirit is at work within us.

A modern recreation of a medieval sculpture of the eponymous Holy Trinity, on the south column of the chancel arch at Holy Trinity Micklegate, York.

A modern recreation of a medieval sculpture of the Holy Trinity, at Holy Trinity Micklegate, York. © Gerry Lynch, 1 April 2017.

We often hear the phrase that we are made ‘in the image and likeness of God’. This is not just a fundamental teaching of Christianity, but one that we inherited directly from the Jewish faith where this statement is made in the Genesis creation story during the ‘sixth day’. While Christianity has more in common with Judaism than it does with any other religion, we part company very dramatically in our belief in the Holy Trinity, that God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

So when we say we are made in the image and likeness of God, we don’t mean that we are made in the image and likeness of the Father alone—although certainly in His image. But we’re also made in the image and likeness of the Son, Jesus Christ. That seems to follow logically, as Jesus is God made human. There’s something much more mysterious, however, about the nature of Jesus. Jesus is not just the babe of Bethlehem or the preacher of Galilee, but also the eternal Word who was with God before time began. We human beings are like God, Father and Son, perhaps most obviously in that we are begetters of life, as the Father begat the Son, and were also ourselves begotten by our earthly fathers and mothers.

We are also made in the image and likeness of the Holy Spirit. There are two ideas from the sermon I preached on the Holy Spirit last week for Pentecost that I want to repeat on Trinity Sunday. The first is this: the Holy Spirit is many things, many of them beyond human comprehension, but one certain thing is that the Holy Spirit is love. The Holy Spirit is the love that the Father and the Son each have for the other, love as a person in its own right, flowing not only among the Father and Son but outwards into the Church and the whole universe. The second is this: the Holy Spirit is in many ways alien and difficult to understand; it is unbiddable—as St John records Jesus saying in today’s Gospel, when we are born of the Spirit, the wind blows where it wills and we have not the foggiest idea where it comes from or where it goes. We are made in the image of this Holy Spirit as much as the Father and the Son, and therefore made in the image of love, of this wild, unbiddable, uncontrollable, freely moving being. Love and freedom are at the very heart of what it means to be human, and the points at which our human nature most obviously touches the nature of God.

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