When Only the Blind See: Sermon Preached on 27th October 2024 (Last Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on October 27, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Holy Cross, Seend

Hebrews 7. 23-28; Mark 10. 46-52               

“…he began to cry out, and say, ‘Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on me.’”

A blind man sits on a stool, playing a spike fiddle sitting vertically on his knee; he is on a bridge with a glass barrier, and below him is a main road.

A very elderly, blind, man busking in Chengdu by playing the erhu, a two-stringed, bowed, instrument which has a reputation for being difficult to play. © Gerry Lynch, 6 October 2024.

When I was on holiday in China a few weeks ago, I saw a very elderly, blind, man busking on a pedestrian bridge in the city of Chengdu, one of these Chinese cities that many people have never even heard of even though it has a larger population than London. He was playing an instrument called the erhu, a two-stringed instrument not entirely different from a violin, which my Chinese friend told me was known to be particularly difficult. He was playing it beautifully, little noticed by most of the Sunday shopping crowds that walked past, and completely invisible to the throngs of mopeds and buses passing below.

How often we miss what is truly valuable and extraordinary in the world, because it is in the hands of those not considered important.

This morning’s Gospel story works on many levels, some of them very clear from even a simple reading, and some of them less obvious. Let’s look at some of the less obvious things. The first thing to notice is how the blind beggar first speaks to Jesus—“Son of David, have mercy on me”, he cries. “Son of David”. That’s interesting, because it’s not a term that Mark uses often in his Gospel. That should lead us to ask whether its use here must be significant.

Firstly, it identifies Jesus, obviously, as a descendent of David. Now, this is interesting, because unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark doesn’t start with his Gospel with a family tree for Jesus, but instead jumps straight into the action with John baptising Jesus in the River Jordan. More than this, however, Son of David was one of the titles that Jews of the time used to refer to the hoped for Messiah, a king who would deliver them from foreign occupation and usher in a truly godly kingdom characterised by fairness and justice.

So, this desperately poor, disabled, man has realised a profound truth about Jesus which those around him are blind to, and they don’t have the sense or patience to listen to what he’s saying.

How often we miss what is truly valuable and extraordinary in the world, because it is in the hands of those not considered important!

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Earthly Power or Eternal Glory?: Sermon Preached on 20th October 2024 (Twenty-First Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on October 20, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

Hebrews 5. 1-10; Mark 10. 35-45

“Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”

What do you want to get out of the Bible? Some of us seem to want a collection of wise sayings and inspirational quotes, and the Bible certainly contains these. Some of us get more from the earthier and more frank stories of sometimes appalling human behaviour, that speak to the human condition in ways that we often prefer to avoid thinking about. There are plenty of those sort of tales.

Russell Brand in 2020, By Raph_PH on Wikimedia Commons, used under CC BY 2.0

This morning’s Gospel reading is one of my favourite stories from the Bible because it does both. It gives us one of Jesus’ most significant sayings, that those who wish to be great should be the servant of all; and then it addresses the reality that, even in the presence of God incarnate, most of us aren’t actually capable of being as good as that all of the time. We’re a bit more self-interested than that, or at least the vast majority of us are. While I hope I’m not as shameless in my desire for a comfortable, influential, life as James and John, when I’m honest with myself I know that I certainly don’t approach the Christlike ideal of pure self-sacrifice all that often. I may not be vain enough to demand to sit at Christ’s right hand, but I certainly enjoy being ‘the Rector’ and the social rôle that even in 2024 still goes with that in a place like rural Wiltshire.

The truth is that we all approach the throne of heavenly grace with mixed motives. There is, I hope, true faith and genuine devotion there for most of us. There are also other things. Sometimes it’s hope for an answer to a prayer that is really quite self-serving. ‘Go on, God’, I find myself saying as I see the Euromillions signs in the village shop, ‘I don’t want £112 million: but think of all the wonderful things I could do – for you, of course – with five numbers and a bonus ball.’

Our mixed motives aren’t always as avaricious as that. For some of us, church gives us a nice group of friends and there’s nothing wrong with that. Some of us are looking for an institution that will give a moral lead to a society that seems quite rootless, and there’s nothing wrong that that either. Still others want to be part of an institution that can campaign for justice for the poorest and most vulnerable, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. But if earthly goals are the only aim of our Faith, then we miss much that is important about what Jesus Christ actually taught.

I suspect most of us have heard of the celebrity Russell Brand. Brand has been at the end of a number of very serious allegations about his behaviour towards women, and back in the days when he was still the darling of the BBC, he often had a notably cruel broadcasting style. But everything is OK now because in May, Brand was baptised in the River Thames by no less a figure than Bear Grylls, the celebrity survivalist and England’s Chief Scout. By September, Brand was baptising people in rivers himself.

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Soul Harvest: Sermon Preached on 15th September 2024 (Sixteenth Sunday After Trinity, Harvest Festival)

Posted on September 15, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

James 3. 1-12; Mark 8. 27-38

“Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine figs?”

The harvest comes at the end of a long process. Some of the seed for next year’s wheat will probably be planted in the next few weeks, to benefit from the last weeks of autumn warmth and sunshine, so it can develop a stable root system before the winter, and be less vulnerable to drought in spring.

A large combine harvester completing the reaping of a field, with dust atmospherically coming from its rear.

Taking in the harvest near Stanton St Bernard in the Vale of Pewsey. © Gerry Lynch, 3 September 2023.

Yet at the same time, this year’s harvest still isn’t complete. There are still, for example, a few fields of maize around that might not be harvested until well into October. The late apples and pears still won’t be ready to pick for weeks yet. And many of our root vegetables and leafy greens reach their prime in the middle of winter – the parsnips don’t taste their best until they’ve been through their first hard frost.

Managing all this takes enormous skill from our farmers and a lot of education in science and, if they want to make a living from it, business. It also takes machinery, and electricity, and fuel. And also, whether we want to acknowledge it or not, pesticides. Of course, the weather plays a major role, especially in a year like this when the spring and first half of the summer were so consistently cold and wet. In fact, during the first summer I spent in Devizes, between the lockdowns in 2020, terrible storms came in August and ruined much of the arable harvest, and I spent the autumn walking past fields left in a terrible state. Viruses can also ruin a crop; they hit plants in waves just like they hit humans.

Most of all, much patience is needed to take the crops from sowing to harvest, and while agricultural knowledge and technology makes us much less vulnerable to crop failure than our ancestors, even now there is no guarantee of success. Yet despite the risks from storms and disease, a crop can’t be harvested early—the crops aren’t fit for consumption until they are ripe.

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Disability, Demons, and Gays (Oh, My!): Sermon Preached on 8th September 2024 (Fifteenth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on September 8, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

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

James 2. 1-17; Mark 7. 24-37

“…he sighed and said to him, ‘Ephphatha’, that is, ‘Be opened.’”

A few weeks ago, an acquaintance messaged me out of the blue to tell me he was thinking about his relationship with God, and asked my advice on the best way to start reading the Bible. I gave him my usual advice: start with Mark’s Gospel – as it happens, the source of most of our Sunday Gospel readings in 2024 – then Genesis, then Revelation, then John’s Gospel, then Acts… and if you’re still keen at that point, it’s time to subscribe to some Bible Reading Fellowship notes.

This is the cover of Games Workshop's book "Realm of Chaos: Slaves to Darkness". Brightly coloured painting of demons overseen by a dark god.

Did you spend some of your adolescence in the company of this book? © Games Workshop and used under Fair Use doctrine.

This acquaintance is a journalist, and it was obvious from some messages he sent me as he started his journey through Mark that he was comfortable with the rich multi-layered symbolism of the story, and indeed enjoying it greatly.

Then, a few days ago, he asked if I knew any disabled biblical scholars or theologians who were worth reading. As it happens, my acquaintance is disabled, and one consequence of his disability is a very severe speech impediment.

So, knowing that he had just read the section of Mark that I am preaching on this morning, I asked for his thoughts on a story of a deaf man with a speech impediment being healed when Jesus says: “Be opened.”

My friend, alert to the multiple layers of symbolism in the text, said this struck him as relating to being “open to and opened by the love of God”. As for healing, his disability is, to him, simply part of who he is—it must therefore also, he said, be part of his Christian Faith. “I don’t think Jesus would want me not to be disabled or spend every day hoping for a cure”, he wrote to me.

He has faith that God has made him as he is. Therefore, he needs no healing. Not from his disability, anyway—although, like all of us, there is doubtless much from which he does need to be healed.

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Angry People Click: Sermon Preached on 1st September 2024 (Fourteenth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on September 2, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at Christ Church, Worton

James 1.17-27; Mark 7.1-8, 14, 15, 21-23         

“…let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger…”

Angry people click. If there’s a catchphrase that captures the nervous mood of the 2020s, it’s that one. On the Internet, and on our TV screens, there is a brutal competition for our attention and our time. With thousands of articles and programmes available to us at the touch of a button, websites and TV channels have to find ways of getting people to read or watch their content rather than any of the myriad alternatives.

A young man, head looking back over his shoulder, with a luxuriant moustache and neatly trimmed beard, looks angrily at the viewer.

Self-Portrait (The Angry One) by Ferdinand Holder (1880-81), Hangs in the Kunstmuseum Basel, Switzerland.

There are various high arousal emotions that, if the right words trigger them in us, make us particularly prone to clicking on a link or watching a programme. Excitement, joy, and fear are all examples. But the most powerful of all is anger—if an editor can create a headline or a twenty-word synopsis that makes us angry, we are far more likely to read or watch their stuff; and that means the advertising revenue comes in to pay their wages.

How does it feel to live in a world where people constantly need to make us feel angry, or at least in some other sort of emotionally heightened state, to pay the bills? Look around you. Switch on the news. We are left feeling, permanently, that we are on the edge of some sort of civilisational crisis.

It’s tempting to think this started as some sort of nefarious plan by the dark lords of the Internet to make the world a worse place. But that wasn’t what happened at all. Around the turn of the century, the Internet put a tool into the hands of news editors and publishers that they’d never had before – they could try out different headlines and see which one brought most visitors to their website. Headlines that made people angry were often particularly effective. Then towards the end of the 2000s, social media emerged, powered by its algorithms that just worked out what content got people to spend longer on their platform, entirely blind to what the content was let alone the emotions it aroused.

The Internet is many things, and one of those things is a big mirror reflecting our instant, often unchosen, emotional reactions back at us. What they reveal about us isn’t particularly pretty. It turns out that we human beings have plenty of dark aspects to our character, even before we reflect on the way we seem to spontaneously form tribes and mobs. You might even say it confirms the doctrine of original sin.

Anger has a power. It tends to overwhelm other emotions, and crowd out reason. Anger demands our attention. Perhaps that’s why St James warns his readers in today’s epistle to be “slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.”

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Eat Me!: Sermon Preached on 25th August 2024 (Thirteenth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on August 31, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne, Christ Church, Worton, and Holy Cross, Seend

Ephesians 6.10-20; John 6.56-69   

“…whoever eats me will live because of me”

Let’s imagine that one Sunday, after church, over coffee and cake, that I told you… to eat me. Would you think I’d gone a bit nuts? You probably wouldn’t be entirely sure what I was getting at, but let’s be honest, you wouldn’t think I meant something entirely wholesome if I, you know, told you to eat me.

What if I went on to tell you to drink my blood? Tell the truth, you wouldn’t just find that weird, but completely disgusting. You might even send an e-mail to the bishop’s office when you got home from church, asking him to have strong words with the clearly wayward Rector of the Wellsprings Benefice.

So, I have a fair bit of sympathy for the disciples when they start complaining to Jesus about the strange and difficult teaching He’s asking them to accept in today’s Gospel reading. I mean, ‘I am the living bread come down from heaven, and whoever eats me will live forever’—it’s really bizarre stuff isn’t it? We tend to accept the idea of eating Jesus’ flesh and drinking His blood because the Church has been teaching it for 2,000 years; and we’re all familiar with the idea from childhood; and we also acknowledge Jesus as the Son of God, so we’re prepared to accept things being said by Jesus that wouldn’t accept from anyone else. But don’t let that obscure how strange these ideas are.

An oil painting of St Peter, with a beard, wearing a tunic, clasping his hands, looking upwards with a pleading look on his face.

St Peter Penitent (1639), by Guercino. Hangs in the National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh.

And to the disciples in those early days, Jesus was just a teacher from Nazareth. A very clever teacher who seemed even to be able to perform miracles. But just a teacher. Once you heard Him asking you to drink His blood, you might even start wondering whether His power to work miracles came from God or from, you know, the other direction. It’s no wonder that a lot of His followers walked away from Him at this point.

Christianity is weird. It’s a profoundly strange faith. It isn’t about common sense—not the common sense of the 21st Century West, but also not the common sense of anyone at the time of Christ: not of pious Jews nor clever Greeks nor imperious Romans. At the heart of Christ’s teachings, are things that turn our conventional view of the world upside down. At its core of it is the concept that God gives us what we don’t deserve, because in fact we aren’t good enough to deserve anything; what God gives us, He gives us freely out of His love. And because we could never be good enough to pass any purity test, God closed the gap that humanity’s sin opened between us and Him Hithrough giving up Himself, in the person of Jesus Christ, on the Cross.

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Bread of Eternal Life: Sermon Preached on 18th August 2024 (Twelfth Sunday After Trinity)

Posted on August 18, 2024 by Gerry Lynch

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

Ephesians 5. 15-20; John 6. 51-58

“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life…”

Funerals, and ministry with the bereaved and dying, are a big part of my job. Some people seem to think they need to sympathise with me for this. If people ask me what I’ve been doing in work, and I say I’ve taken a funeral, or spent time with someone who is terminally ill, they’ll often say, “I am sorry…”, or “How sad for you.”

A brightly coloured, early 14th Century, breviary illustration of Jesus, in blue robes and with a halo, observing many full baskets of bread being carried by the people around him, while the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove hovers over the scene.

The Feeding of the 5000, from the Breviary known as the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, executed ca. 1411-16.

This is less the case among churchgoers, I’ll grant you. It more often happens in the pub, or when I’m sitting outside Caffé Nero in Devizes smoking my pipe. Among those who actually practice the Christian faith, people are more likely to accept that death, while a cause of great pain to at least some of those left behind, is also the gateway to something else.

One of the great privileges of priesthood is to minister to someone who is going to their death in absolute confidence in the promises of Christ. There are times in every clergyperson’s life when they know they are being ministered to and fed by their flock, and not the other way around—and a situation like this is one of them. In a strange way these are times when one learns that a belief in eternal life is worth it for what it brings to this life alone; that even if it weren’t true then it would still be one of the most valuable gifts one could have. But this sense of rightness and peace with ourselves and with the cosmos that faith in eternal life brings is itself a sign that it is true—that this is the reality that God made us for.

Now, obviously some people think this eternal life business is rank nonsense: pie in the sky when you die and all that. But it was ever thus. That’s a big part of what’s going on in this morning’s Gospel reading. I preached about this a fortnight ago in this church, because we’re having readings from the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel five weeks in a row. We could briefly summarise the story of John 6 like this: the people think Jesus is great when he’s performing miracles, but once he starts telling them that He’s bread come down from heaven that gives eternal life, they start muttering about how weird it all is and eventually turn on Him. And it isn’t just members of the general public who turn on Jesus in the end, but even some of His closest followers.

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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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