Today in worship, we were delighted to ordain and welcome three new elders. A rather massive cake and wee celebration followed!
A good day, I think.
Below is this morning's sermon...
READING: Ephesians 2:11-22
READING: Revelation 21:1-7, 22-27; and 22:1-5
SERMON ‘For what shall we pray?
Pt 1/heaven on earth’
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations
of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord,
our strength and our redeemer, Amen.
Story is a powerful thing.
We were reminded of this on Wednesday
at the Guild by visiting storyteller and fellow Aussie, Sarah Agnew.
Sarah told us several stories.
First, we heard some of her own story:
we discovered her long-held passion for all things Shakespeare -
that master teller of stories -
and of how Sarah wept with joy upon finally realising a life-long dream:
visiting Shakespeare’s home, his birthplace.
She then moved us into darker places -
telling us stories of persecution and punishment for being different, other.
A story of humanity set amidst the inhumanity of World War 2,
was followed by a story from early 19th century Iceland:
the story of Agnes Magnúsdottir - the last woman to be executed there.
As the stories unfolded, darkness moved to light:
we heard the story of John Newton, and of how he
came to write that well-beloved hymn, ‘Amazing Grace’
and oh, how we sang that first verse with feeling at the end of that particular story.
And finally, a brief story: a joyful and fun recounting of apple-eating -
we were almost wincing with her as she bit into that imagined apple.
It was a great evening and we’re hoping she’ll come back
and visit with us again in the New Year
Story is a powerful thing:
Who are we?
What is our story?
How did we get here, and why are we here?
... Where are we going?
These questions apply not just to each one of us as individuals,
they can also be - and have been - asked of the church, us:
Christ’s body here on earth.
As the church, what is our story?
How did we get here?
Why are we here?
and where are we going?
Stories have a beginning, a middle, an end.
And we are a community of story.
The Church began on the day of Pentecost,
with the promised coming of the Holy Spirit,
It was formed by those who had walked and talked with Jesus,
and who shared his story with others...
Others, who, down through the centuries, passed the story on,
spread it throughout the world.
A story shared, even now, here in this small corner of Christ’s body,
in the Upper Clyde, nearly 2 000 years later.
Story is a powerful thing:
And within our community of faith, we tell stories within stories.
Last Sunday, in bread and in wine, we shared the story
of that last meal Jesus had with his friends,
as we remembered him in the Sacrament of Communion.
Over these five weeks, we’re sharing the story
of the prayer that Jesus taught the disciples -
his prayer, which we say weekly.
It’s a prayer that, when unpacked, also tells us stories:
of whose we are, whom we serve;
of those matters that are important enough in life to bring before
the Creator of the Universe, Our Father.
The prayer tells a story, too, of heaven and earth and the
kingdom of heaven on earth -
‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven’
Story is a powerful thing.
And stories have a beginning, a middle, an end.
If the story of the church begins on that day of Pentecost
through the sharing of Jesus’ story,
then, along with countless generations since that day:
we’re somewhere in the middle part of our story as the church -
a wee bit further along the middle perhaps, than the Ephesians.
However, in our reading from Ephesians,
we, like the community of believers in Ephesus,
are reminded that we are citizens of the heavenly kingdom.
Through Jesus, we are:
‘fellow-citizens with God’s people
and members of God’s household...’
Essentially: members of the household of heaven.
And in our reading from the Book of Revelation,
we hear the ending of the story...
of how things all turn out,
...of where we’re going.
Written at a time when the Roman Empire was stepping
up its persecution of the early church -
where people who professed faith in Christ
suffered and died for that faith,
John, disciple and seer, reveals the ending of the story.
To a people suffering under the weight of the relentless Roman machine -
efficient, ruthless, deadly,
John gives comfort:
the might of the Roman Empire may be terrifying indeed,
may claim to be an eternal empire,
but, set against the One who created the heavens and established the earth,
the One who is eternal,
Rome is nothing.
It will wither and fade.
Rome will be defeated.
In the end, it is not evil empire that wins out,
but the kingdom of God.
In his vision, the last of many visions -
the last of his ‘revelations’ -
John shows God’s kingdom come and God’s will done.
And, here’s the ‘on earth as it is in heaven’ part:
the heavenly city comes down to earth:
there’s no separation anymore between God and humanity -
We see God, face to face,
we see God who makes his home among us.
Now, we know in part:
then, John tells his audience, we shall see face to face.
Story is a powerful thing.
And in this story of endings and new beginnings,
what do we learn of God’s kingdom?
Perhaps that
this parish is a little piece of heaven on earth already...
Because the picture painted by John of the kingdom of heaven
tells us that a river runs through it - but enough of the River Clyde!
In Revelation, John describes the River of the Water of Life,
flowing from the throne of God and of the lamb, through the New Jerusalem.
And we see the Tree of Life, bearing fruit all throughout the year:
now all can eat and be satisfied for there are no longer any prohibitions.
The leaves bring healing:
nations healed,
the curse revoked.
Humanity healed and liberated from self-destructive behaviours -
‘nothing impure will enter’
for all impurities will have been made pure,
all will be reversed.
What we’re seeing is the re-creation of Eden:
in the ending, we see the beginning of that older story.
What of God’s kingdom?
It is a kingdom in which God’s servants will also
reign with God - not reigning ‘over’ anyone -
for unlike Rome, this is not a rule of domination,
but of mutual community and sharing.
In God’s kingdom, there’s no temple because there’s no need:
God dwells with us.
In God’s kingdom, there’s no more night:
the Lord will be the light upon his servants
In God’s kingdom, there are no shut gates:
the gates are open all day...and as night has gone,
the gates are ever open, welcoming of all -
even foreigners are invited into
the kingdom of heaven where there’s sanctuary and space
and enough room for all to find a home.
In God’s kingdom, there’s no more tears:
the horror and heartbreak and suffering have passed -
the old has gone, and the new has come.
Life has defeated death.
New Testament scholar, Professor Barbara Rossing, comments that:
‘Revelation seeks to make God’s vision of beauty so persuasive
and real that the audience will “come out” of the evil empire
in order to enter into the promised land of blessing and healing’
I love the way pastor and poet, Rick Fry, puts a more modern take on this vision of John’s,
for readers and listeners here and now:
It ends where it all began.
There will be a time when we make it
through the darkest valleys of cooking appliance bombs,
bubble-bursting economies, bone-chilling diagnoses,
our own personal failures, dead-ends, loneliness and fears.
We will make our way through the shadows
towards the shimmering river of life,
leading to the primordial garden,
where we will be healed by the leaves
and the sweet grainy fruit of the tree of life.
We will no longer turn our faces towards the wall in order to hide our shame.
Rather, the Lamb will lead us to the New Jerusalem.
The gates will be open wide.
In thanksgiving we will enter.
No more hatred, envy, or fear.
God will be present among all the wandering people of the nations.
We will find ourselves streaming into this strange city
along with the peoples of different cultures,
peoples of times past and future.
We walk by a faint glimmer of light now,
yet it grows more defined as the glory of God halos the city skyline,
welcoming us home.
Story is a powerful thing.
But, as the church, we don’t just sit back
and wait for the ending of the story.
‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,
on earth, as it is in heaven’
We see ahead to the ending, but, implicit in the prayer we utter weekly,
is a call to be bringers in of that kingdom now.
A call to work to recreate Eden...
to work towards seeing heaven on earth.
It is a call to social justice:
we are the ones who are to be peace-bringers,
for we tell the story of the Prince of Peace -
we are his people.
As his people, we are to seek ways
of living together peaceably, harmoniously;
to look to the needs of each other, not just look to ourselves.
We’re to be consolers, called to acts of compassion,
called to wipe away every tear from every eye.
To bring healing of heart and mind
and body and soul - to one another
and to the wider community of humanity;
to bring others into the promised land of blessing and healing;
to give of ourselves in love,
just as Christ, in love, gave himself for us.
And, as we do so, yes, it will be costly,
for nothing truly worthwhile is easy.
The following verses are widely attributed to Mother Teresa,
who understood a little about costly giving:
and while I address these generally to all of us,
I address these particularly to our 'almost' elders
Ursula, Teresa, and Aileen:
As you take up your new role of giving and serving this
community of faith as elders,
this is both a charge and a challenge to you:
People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends
and some genuine enemies.
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you.
Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.
Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, will often be forgotten.
Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.
Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.
Story is a powerful thing.
And we know the end of the story, as people of faith.
But here, and now, in the middle of the story,
how then, shall we live?
What story will we create within the communities
and villages in which we live and work?
Will it be a story of self-service or self-giving?
Will it be a story of darkness or a story of hope, and light, and life?
Will it be a story in which we can pray truly:
‘thy kingdom come, thy will be done,
on earth, as it is in heaven’? Amen.
