Sermon for the Easter Vigil 2017

15th Apr 2017

Sermon for Easter


‘What a difference a day makes’ we might say as we come to this glorious Easter time. Within the space of three days, everything for the Christian Church has now utterly changed. And in the passing of this brief period of time - of Holy Week and now of Easter, the Church has endured the pain of Christ's death in the deep solemnity of Passiontide and now all is transformed. The Church’s Easter proclamation proceeds out of the Passion of Christ, and through his Resurrection we proclaim new life to the world. This is now become our glory. And our joyful cry is “Alleluya!”  


Salvation has been encapsulated into one week; the saving events into three days, and now the day of Resurrection comes to us tonight to startle and amaze us and carry us ever forward. The days of Lent and Passiontide have come together as one stream, leading inexorably towards its Resurrection fulfilment.  The life that Easter makes possible is tonight brought to us as a delicate flame, The Light of the Risen Christ proclaimed as “Christ our Light”, appears first as a small, flickering light in the church's darkness and is then acknowledged in the the singing of the ‘Exsultet’ as the living symbol of everlasting life..


The Vigil of Old Testament Readings is for the recapitulation of our Christian Faith; the tracing of our spiritual origins. It marks a slow progress. It begins with The Creation Narrative in Genesis, and then proceeds to Exodus, to the Crossing of the Red Sea and to the Valley of the Dry Bones and then to the promise of the coming of the One who will communicate to us as one heart speaking to another. We make ready for the Resurrected Christ in this way. We go backward and deep into the past to go forward. The resurrected life of Jesus Christ carries all before it! The Easter Liturgy becomes a profound celebration of the sacramental life that God has granted us through the blessing of the baptismal waters and of the renewal of our Baptismal vows. We are to discover Easter in the outpouring of Baptismal grace. Thus invigorated, we then come to celebrate the Easter Eucharist, warmed and inspired by the presence of the great Paschal Candle; ‘Christ our Light’.


I was in Waitrose this afternoon and saw the sad sight of Easter eggs that had become too difficult to be sell. They sat on their shelves, forlorn, with their expensive price tickets waiting to suffer the ignominy of being reduced by half, or even more when the supermarket’s ‘Easter effect’ had become redundant. We live in a supermarket economy in which sell-by dates mix with sales trends and Waitrose’s marketting strategy which runs absurdly with and at variance to the Church's calendar. In the popular mind’s eye, not much is known about Maundy Thursday or Good Friday except as little known adjuncts to Easter. Lent is passed by, forgotten... after all how do you market Lent?


For Christians Holy Week and Easter is the significant, the profound time; one in which Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday each belong to one another.  The Church allows us to inhabit these days of intense contemplation with a profound awareness and emotional experience of their truer, deeper meaning. The passing of this profound time is made in and through The Son's self-offering. It is experienced by the Church as (traumatic) kairos, God’s time, bristling like electricity, Alpha and Omega, our beginning and our end. Christians may not speak of an ‘Easter Effect’ or of ‘The Easter Experience’ without it’s having been ‘gone through’, lived, written on our hearts and made alive in our witness to the saving events of the Christian faith. We then become those same witnesses to the resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ who rushed to the tomb. We become the ones who must now proclaim and share this message as a message of life and of hope in the discovery that he has risen and that life is now changed and transformed for good. We become like them witnesses to a world and to lives made new. As the hymn reminds us, Christ is Risen! We are Risen! We are become God's Easter people and 'Alleluya' is now our song!


The contrary movement lies in the ’emptying out’ of the true Easter, and of the return to our unsold but expensive eggs! We see a society which no longer relates Easter to Resurrection.  ‘On the third day he rose again from the dead’ we say in the Creed. "All is made new in Him!"


We must proclaim this truth with our lives, as in the Exsultet, the song of praise to the Easter candle, Christian Faith is-with-us as a flame bravely burning, lit by Christ our morning star:


May this flame be found still burning

by the Morning Star:

the one Morning Star who never sets,

Christ your Son,

who, coming back from death's domain,

has shed his peaceful light on humanity,

and lives and reigns for ever and ever.



We value the Christian manner of time-keeping as it draws us more surely into Holy Easter, proceeding out of the life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, not by accident, but in and through God’s own kairos, his time.


The joyful message of Easter is that now God’s time and our time have become everlastingly one and the same, and this is cause for Easter as the time of real and unspeakable joy.


Amen.  Alleluya!

Sermon for Good Friday 2017

14th Apr 2017

Good Friday Sermon 2017



This Good Friday morning, as I was walking my dog in Argyle Square, I passed alongside a group of men seated at one of the benches, drinking from a large brandy bottle which lay on the ground in front of them. One of the men greeted me and told me of how important it was to be a Christian and of how much he had learnt from his mother. He then proceeded to recite from memory whole chunks from St John’s Gospel and the words for Good Friday from John 3.16 “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whoso believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life”. I was astonished and moved. I had only been listening earlier this morning on the radio the same words set to music for Stainer’s ‘Crucifixion’. God is reminding me and you on this Good Friday that he sent his Son to save the world and you and I as the world and you and I are found. He has not come to perfect the world but to save it.


Eternal God, in the Cross of Jesus Christ we see the cost of our sin and the depth of your love: in humble hope and fear may we place at his feet all that we have and all that we are, through Jesus Christ our Lord.  


Good Friday sees God’s love shown in giving his Son to a fallen and a largely ambivalent world. Christ dies in a Jerusalem swollen in population to ten times its normal size, and busy and preoccupied in coming to Jerusalem for the Passover. Nothing particularly new there, for even this morning as our Good Friday walk of witness wended its way around the King’s Cross churches, you passed working scaffolders, joggers, men delivering beer barrels, a boy practicing his basketball skills and a speeding ambulance passing by with screaming siren. Christ comes to us in the thick of life and speaks to us there. And in the crowd this morning, the crowd of Christians making this walk of witness were Christians who know all too well that if Christ is the God who dies for love of you and me he is the One who dies for all that we have to suffer and for all we have to understand and to bear, of all those things that have caused us pain and disappointment as well as those things which bring us that joyful and self-confident exuberance which we find when faith is refreshed from the stream of love which flows out of the Cross in blood and water. This morning the Good Friday King’s Cross Walk of Witness wended its way around the district as in a dance, where life and death and everything else in between finds a partnering of the ambivalent world with the passionate expression of faith, of the Jesus who gave himself not just for the Christian gathering, but also includes others in the dance, too, even those who feel they are on the outside looking in.


Good Friday takes us to a place in which we may know Christ only in the fact of his suffering and death. In this way is God leading us to know the Cross as a sign of contradiction and the confounding of expectations based on casual certainty or stubborn ambivalence.  The Cross comes to shatter our illusions about a God we enjoy calling ‘The God of Love’ without  responding to that love which ‘searches us out and knows us’.  We believe that God meets us in his crucified Son at those times and in those situations in which life threatens we are tested to the uttermost. Christ reveals in his saving death the plain fact of our mortality with the accompanying fact of its beauty and tragedy all held in the one hope. It is God’s desire that we should be at one with Him, at one in our selves and at one in our world. The Cross surely beckons. It is God searching us out and knowing us at the deepest levels of our being. Here is a poem from Fr John Ball, former parish priest at Holy Cross which touches on these very elements of faith  and struggle:




It is the holding together that is hard –

The resisting of the centrifugal forces

Acting on mind and heart

That break the tenuous links of thought and feeling.

And then there is the fear (which on black days

Transmutes itself into a dark seducer

Parodying hope) that the next revolution of the hand

Upon the sadly common clock

Will bring the final, the inoperable rupture,

and burst the dams of past

And present

And future pains.


It is the holding you must help us in (O God):

We cannot enter heaven in fragments

The gates will not allow of that.

And you must give the means to keep it

If you love us, as I fear you do.


Father John Ball, Parish Priest, Holy Cross Church,

Curate and Vicar 1969-1977


The Spanish Mystic, St John of the Cross tells us that


“…we too must have our Cross as our beloved had his Cross until he died the death of love”.


St Paul was certain that to be Christian at all was to share a Cross with the One who dies on the Cross. His Christianity was also a longing,


That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death. Philippians 3.10


We come before God wounded, vulnerable and broken. That is our Cross. And it is Christ, who lies before us in this church dedicated to the Holy Cross who tells us this. And the teaching we receive from the Cross is the teaching that issues out of Christ’s own manner of living and dying, as the Letter to the Hebrews informs us:


“…during his life on earth, Jesus offered up prayer and entreaty, aloud and in silent tears, to the one who had the power to save him out of death, and he submitted so humbly that his prayer was heard”.


We all have our crosses to bear and they are not little ones. We are cross bearers too. Many people come to this church in King’s Cross battered and bruised by life. One of these visitors said to me that she had come into this church because prompted. For out of all her suffering came a prayer, which appeared out of apparently nowhere. It was one which told her that something that to give, something had to be done. But this prospect was awful because with it the terrible realization of all that had gone before and what had brought her to this place. The pain was numbing and deadening. But she came into church as many at rock bottom do – to come to a place of sanctuary with the promise of healing. And her coming into this church and the sense of communion with God had both helped and exacerbated the pain and the ever encroaching plague of hopelessness. This is the scope of the Cross.  ‘It is after all a terrible thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Terrible, because all is caught up in God, even and especially when no easy resolution lies in sight…life as unfinished business, the painful waiting for a deliverance which lies beyond immediate reach, the pain of remaining where we are in the midst of so much that is intractable and insoluble with the possibility of the healing of past hurts and their memories… This is a true Cross.


But this is not to be the end of the matter. The Cross is proclaimed sadly and yet joyfully, for it has become our true centre, the revelation of divine love, and the arrival at the place of truer witness. This is the Cross through which the pain of this world’s living and longing can be held and channeled and healed. All is being drawn into the Cross as he said “When I am lifted up I shall draw all things to myself”. We are to bear the Cross as the Cross bears us, for in it the promised Resurrection to new life is already being made. In this divine and human at-one-ness is the true ‘good’ which we celebrate and honor and mourn on Good Friday. This is the declaration of the man in Argyle Square this morning. The man who could proclaim the central message of Good Friday amid the fact of a life which remained so painful, so incomplete, so bewildering and so unresolved : the declaration in fact and in form of a true Cross, ever bounded by God’s real love for all of us.


We take the Cross of Cross into our hearts and lives on this solemn, holy day. May it be for us our life, our witness and our true hope, even unto our very own death.

Sermon for Maundy Thursday 2017

13th Apr 2017

Maundy Thursday



Let us also go (with him), that we may die with him.  John 11.16.


On this Maundy Thursday night we experience the final events of Jesus’ life as a ministry in the raw. Nothing can disguise the fact that what at first looks like an ordinary domestic scene; the scene of the Last Supper, is fraught with tension. The very name ‘Last Supper’ sounds ominous, and it is. It foretells an ending; a death; Jesus’ death, but not yet. It foretells the betrayal by Judas. It takes place in a room that has, Luke mysteriously tells us, already been prepared. The supper itself is preceded by foot washing and then the words of Jesus over the bread and wine ‘This is my body’; ‘This is my blood’. Jesus’ words and gestures all point to a future for which the disciples are unprepared, for they, despite Peter’s pleas, are to desert Jesus in his greatest hour of need. Jesus’ words are also foreboding, because they speak from the point view of a world which will never be the same again. Everything in this Gospel reading is both as it should be and yet it is ominous, and then there is in the Maundy Thursday liturgy the sense of disorientation and then reorientation as tonight’s we witness tonight’s solemn celebration (yes, celebration) of the Holy Eucharist. The altar hangings are of white and they surpass the purpled hues of Lent and Passiontide. For even in the midst of his own harrowing Passion, Christ gives us the gift of the Holy Eucharist, the gift of Himself. This evening’s liturgy is therefore in part, one of thankfulness for this inestimable gift. The celebration of the Eucharist tonight is followed by the stripping of the Church and putting out of lights, and this speaks to us speaks to us of Christ’s final self-emptying and the accompanying sense of loss and a dereliction.


The reorientation that we undergo tonight is the one that takes us from the strange and temporary safety of the upper room to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus sweats blood and suffers the agony of his destiny the falling away of the disciples and his betrayal by Judas. The sharing of the supper, with its foot-washing and eating, is soon overshadowed as Jesus prepares to accept his own death in the agony of the Garden and a renewed trust in the Father’s will in the matter of his own going unto death. There is in John’s Gospel the confident assertion that all these apparently disconnected and ominous signs form one single Gospel narrative, the narrative of Passion which is understood as the manifest expression of the Father’s will. For John The Father “had given all things into Jesus’ hands, for Jesus had come from God and was going (back) to God’ (John 13.3a). We are bidden to witness these things and to watch and wait through the hours ‘til midnight when the church is plunged into total darkness as we enter upon Good Friday.


How can it be possible for us to reconcile the terribleness and randomness of human fate, and our fate in particular, with God the Father, who knows it all before it comes to be? How can it be possible that the love of God in Jesus Christ reveals itself as simply and as intimately as in the washing of feet? Can we bear to allow God to get that close to us? Can we bear to accept that God loves us at such close range and so intimately? The washing of the feet is done as Jesus comes to heal the neglected, the shameful, the barricaded and the lost parts of our nature. Just as the suffering servant Jesus humbles himself and is ready to serve us, so we are to learn to serve one another. Jesus pours the cleansing waters of his healing over those parts of our human nature that may have become ingrown and hardened and fatalistic or cynical. Tonight he beckons you and me into his necessary Passion, which will be for our soul’s salvation.


All things, on this Maundy Thursday evening, orientate us towards both the cost and the purpose of Christ’s sacrificial love. But equally, they invite us to accept the awkward fact that Jesus wishes to serve us and our needs before ever we rush to serve him. At the heart of human confusion, the love of God remains, immoveable, unshakeable, purposeful and everlasting. This is what makes sense of the chaos of Maundy Thursday.


But for now, for tonight, all this must be put on hold. It will be enough to echo the words of doubting Thomas,



Let us also go (with him), that we may die with him.  John 11.16.

Sermon for Palm Sunday 2017

9th Apr 2017

Palm Sunday 2017

Holy Cross Church



The liturgy for Palm Sunday couldn’t be more dramatic as we meet this morning and gather to process around the church. And as we do this, we sing All Glory Laud and Honour, a hymn of praise to Christ’s majesty, which we sing with our palm crosses as a reminder that that this Palm Procession is leading us to Calvary. As we return to the church and then re-enter it we are entering Jerusalem with Jesus. We are entering his fateful Passion, his trial, his death on the Cross and his Resurrection from the dead.


Holy Week is called holy because it embodies in Jesus Christ the love of God the Father in the sacrifice of his Son’s body and the outpouring of his Son’s blood. This is what we call in the Holy Eucharist, ‘a full, perfect and sufficient sacrifice, oblation and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world’. Holy week contains everything that is necessary to Christian Faith. It lies at the heart of what we believe as Christians: that God the Father sent his son to die for our sins and to rise again from the dead. He did this as a costly act of love and to show us that we are loved by God even before we know we are loved. And on this day, Palm Sunday, and at this time, before we walk with Christ into Holy Week, it is the Church’s duty to ask you in the strongest terms to make time to come to the Holy Week liturgies. To commit yourself, as best as you are able, to the worship of the Church as we observe the holiest week in the Christian calendar. You can only know the mystery of Christ’s Passion, Death and Resurrection by entering into it and by finding it as you would find something buried within. We are here this morning readying ourselves to encounter the living Lord as he shows us the way to the Father’s glory. We are bidden by the words of Thomas before the raising of Lazarus when he said, ‘Let us go with him that we may die with him’.


Jerusalem today is a place of terrible contrasts. It is a jumbled up mix of warring factions. The old city is bounded by Jewish, Christian Muslim and Armenian quarters. The Church of the Holy Sepulcre stands in the middle of the city as the most holy Christian site in the world, and built over Golgotha, the place of the skull, where Jesus died on the Cross. But even in this Holy Church, differing Christian denominations fight over contested spaces from within the building, and there are often angry scuffles and even violence. Nearby is a busy souk or market, with smells of spices and coffee and freshly slaughtered meat, as well as hundreds of shops selling Christian souvenirs and trinkets.


Well may Jesus wept over Jerusalem. But it is to this Jerusalem of human chaos and doubtful charm, a crazed and yet indifferent kind of Jerusalem, and a holy Jerusalem too, that Jesus enters on Palm Sunday.


As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, "If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace -- but now it is hidden from your eyes. Luke 19.41-42.


In the church of the Holy Sepulcre you may queue for hours to get to the place where Jesus died on the cross, and then watch others burying their one arm into the ground and down to the rock below and then they touch Golgotha. You stand waiting and impatient and wonder why you’re waiting. Then it is your turn to reach down and touch the rock on which the Cross of Christ once stood. You realise that for a few brief seconds you are the only person in the world touching that rock. The experience is immediate and was for me, overwhelmingly moving.




This is the famous stone
that turneth all to gold;
for that which God doth touch and own
cannot for less be told.


George Herbert ‘Teach Me My God and King’



This morning we go to join Christ in Jerusalem, where we know he will meet suffering and death. We go with him just as we are; knowing all the deficiencies we bring to the task of living and loving, but we go at first reluctant; but nevertheless in faith, aware of God the Father’s love going before us, guiding us and lighting our path and drawing us deeper into the wounded, sacred heart of Jesus. We go with Jesus to Golgotha. And you are invited in this Holy Week to enter into these mysteries, to walk with Christ, to wait and watch with Christ, to sit at the foot of the cross, to wait at the tomb, and to experience the joy of his Resurrection and your resurrection.  “If we are united with him in a death like his, we will surely be united within him in a Resurrection like his”. (Romans 6.5). 


But for now, as we enter on Holy Week we pray:




Holy God,

Holy and strong,

Holy and immortal,

Have mercy upon us…



Sermon for Passion Sunday 2017

2nd Apr 2017

Sermon for Lent 5 Year A     The Raising of Lazarus


Jesus said to them, “Unbind him. Let him go free”. John 11.44.


The Raising of the dead man Lazarus, and his emergence, after four days out of the tomb, is perhaps the most spectacular of the signs and miracles of Jesus. John’s account places this event before that of the Passion of Jesus and it prepares us for next Sunday’s Palm Sunday entry into Jerusalem and for His judgement, suffering and death. The raising of Lazarus is linked to the Resurrection of Jesus from the Dead. It also allows us to see that it is in Jesus that our own hope of the Resurrection from the dead is founded.


In Christ Jesus our lives, all that we are and all that we do, find their true meaning. He who has become one of us, lived as we do, has made holy all that we are and all that we do… He has made our joys and laughter holy, our daily tasks as well, and so too, our suffering, and also our dying. These are now holy things, sanctified because he has touched them.


                                                                                                  Cardinal Basil Hume Seven Last Words.


You will see as you look around this church, that like Lazarus, all our statues, all those objects in the church that remind us of the glories of the Christin Faith, are bound in cloth, and some tied with ribbon as the tombs at the time of Christ were sealed. And these coverings will not be removed until we celebrate the Lord’s Resurrection on Easter Day. John’s Gospel and our coverings provide powerful scriptural and visual evidences for this time being a time when things appear to be winding down. The whole shape and form of the Church’s worship becomes graver and more stark and intense. We are being prepared for the saving events of the Christian Faith in the judgement, death and then beyond that, the Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.


We should not assume that what we are doing is either entering into a mere drama or paying lip-service to these things, or acting them out two thousand years after the events to which they speak. No, we are embarked upon something which is for us life-saving. If, as is potently cried in the funeral Service ‘…in the midst of life we are in death’, then we are expressing something which lies at the heart of our life’s experience.  In the ‘league table’ of emotionally traumatic events, lying always at the top of the list for ever is the death of a loved one, normally a spouse. Both inside and outside marriage relationships there have been countless instances for which love and life have become for two loving correspondents a state of being in the one flesh. There have been relationships in which things have been spoken and shared which have been of inestimable value and of everlasting and deepest significance. There has been abundant love. And where there has been abundant love there has been abundance of hope. And when I place all these statements in the past tense, I have not reckoned upon the quality which may lie in them and in all relationships where deep love has been shared. It is that quality which even after the death or ending of such relationships, something sure and lasting has continued. The joy and pain of it have been mingled and mixed. “All that will survive of us is love” says Philip Larkin in his poem ‘An Arundel Tomb’. And this is resurrection.


No wonder then, that in this account of the raising of Lazarus, we find that smallest passage in the Bible; the one which says ‘Jesus wept’. We know that Lazarus was a very good friend. We are provided with a fascinating insight into the humanity of Christ. “See how much he loved him!” say the crowds. Jesus is in distress and our translation has it that ‘he gave a sigh which came straight from the heart’. If we have experienced these things we may wonder at times and ask the eternal question “Why?” It answer is found or rather discovered in Christ and in the very meaning of his coming, and in particular the compassionate and hopeful nature of his ministry, even to the dead!


This Raising of Lazarus allows us to recognise that the Christian Faith is one which rests on the certain hope of the Resurrection at the last day. This is a  hope not founded on a philosophy or a superstition, but in Christ alone. We should not be ignorant in this matter but attentive to its profound significance.


I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope… 

                                                                                      1 Thessalonians 4.13


Finally, The Raising of Lazarus, in bringing us to this point of the realisation of our mortality and of the Christ as ‘The Resurrection and the Life’ of all things, is preparing us for what is and what is to come. In the formal sequence of the Church’s calendar, we are placed somewhere between the climax of the Lenten Season and the coming of Passiontide. The Raising of Lazarus, if it came to us as a piece of music would come as the ending of an overture. It would fill us with the hope of the resurrection of the dead even as we begin to approach the means by which this must come about. It is to next Sunday that we begin to turn, and of the entry of Christ into Jerusalem to the acclamation of the people and the waving of palm branches. All life and death will be met in him. But first we must wait. Wait in the joy and the painfulness of human being. We wait as those who are surely provided with the hope that is being set before us.



Blessed are you,

O Tie that Binds

One person to another

In the miracle of love.

O Everlasting Moment,

O Hope That Never Dies,

Be with one devastated

By death’s visitation.

Be their life in death,

Their hope in despair,

Their promise of love everlasting,

Now and for ever.




Miriam Therese Walter








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