Recognising a king when you see one

Here’s my sermon/reflection from Greenfield Church’s services this weekend. If you’d like to watch the whole service, you can find it here: https://youtu.be/q1nZ0ei3RzM. It’s based on the readings Luke 23: 32-43 and Jeremiah 23:1-6, which are here: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+23%3A32-43%3B+jeremiah+23%3A1-6&version=NIV

Could you recognise a king?

Of course, we’d all probably recognise our new king, even if it still feels a bit weird to call him King Charles instead of Prince Charles, and even though we haven’t got used to singing “God save the King” instead of “God save the Queen”.

And even if you weren’t sure what he looked like, you’d know if he was coming: the streets would be lined with people, security would be be ultra-tight, and when he arrived you’d see the motorcade and the Royal car itself, complete with flags on the bonnet etc.

You’d recognise the King.

But what if you didn’t find yourself in the midst of a prepared royal visit? What if you were somewhere where you wouldn’t expect to see a king (or queen)? Would you recognise a king there?

During the Blitz in London in WW2, as people emerged to discover their homes and businesses had been bombed to smithereens, the King and Queen of the time famously visited the East End to see the damage and the survivors. And looking at the pictures now, it seems strange to see the king in his military uniform and the queen in her fine dresses and furs standing amongst the rubble and ruins.

But if you’d been there, you’d have recognised them, even if it was the last place you expected to see them.

But would you recognise a king who’s being executed?

And I don’t mean, would you know who they were.

Kings have been executed throughout history, and part of the point is to see the hated ruler being given his comeuppance.

No: would you recognise as your king someone who’s being put to death?

The unrecognised king

Many of those gathered round the cross of Jesus couldn’t – wouldn’t – recognise Him as king.

In fact, seeing Him on the cross was the sign they’d been looking for that He wasn’t the true king.

The leaders of the people, the soldiers, even one of those executed with Him: it was inconceivable to them that this man, this weak, dying, humiliated man could ever have been a king.

Sure, the sign above his head called him “The King of the Jews”. But it was a parody, a farce, a mockery of the man whom many had claimed would be their king – as well as a warning to others not to try to claim the same thing.

And so the leaders mocked him: “Let him save himself if he’s the messiah of God!”

And the soldiers joined in: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”

And one of the criminals joined them, too, though perhaps with a hint of desperation in his voice: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

Oh, they knew a king alright – and they knew that this wretch couldn’t possibly be one.

“Remember me…”

But there was one person saw Jesus differently.

One person who was capable of recognising Him as a king.

That other criminal who put the first one in his place and who spoke of Jesus’ innocence.

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom”.

Wow! What an incredible thing to say!

That either of them had a future beyond their certain death…

That that future could involve a kingdom…

That Jesus could be the king of that kingdom.

How could he say any of that? How could he call the dying Jesus a king? How could he claim a place in his kingdom?

Well, perhaps this criminal knew that there on the cross, Jesus was doing what He’d always done: Putting himself amongst and welcoming the sinners, the law-breakers, the despised and rejected.

The ones whom everyone else said were write-offs, Jesus said were actually lost and needed finding – and that He had come to do just that.

What it takes to recognise a king

And now, even on the cross, even as His life is unjustly taken from Him, He does it again. He takes His place amongst the criminals and becomes King to one of them; the one who is ready to recognise what true kingship means:

Not pageantry and high security.

Not wealth and finery and gold and jewels.

Not military might and political power.

No, the true King is the one who’ll go and find the lost, who will go looking for all those whom the leaders and rulers have abandoned and bring them back and offer them paradise.

That’s what the Jeremiah passage is talking about: the people had been abandoned by those who were supposed to lead them to safety. Now they were scattered in exile – but God would send a new shepherd, a new king, who would go after them, find them, and make sure they could never be scattered again.

That’s why this criminal recognised Jesus as King: because He was the One who was doing exactly that, He was the One who would build a kingdom out of the lost, the hopeless and the helpless, a kingdom that would outlast even the empire that was putting Him to death.

Could you?

The criminal recognised Jesus as this King, even as they both succumbed to death.

Will you?

Could you accept as your king someone who willingly took his place amongst the criminals, those who deserved the death sentence?

Could you accept as your king someone who was willing to undergo the pain of the cross and the humiliation of the taunts and teasing of the powerful who saw him there?

Could you accept as your king the One who gave Himself over to death, who deliberately made Himself look like a failure?

And will you see Him as the One, true king of the kingdom that is like no other, yet which will outlast them all?

It’s harder than you think!

It means seeing yourself as unworthy, just as that criminal did.

It means recognising your need of Him and His death on the cross for you.

It means humbling yourself to accept the reign of someone who looked a fraud and a failure in the eyes of so many.

And if you will recognise Him as your king, what will you do about it?

Because the way that King Jesus chose – the way of the cross and all it brings – is the way He calls us to follow, too.

Will you walk this way, even if it means sacrifice?

Will you choose, not the path of ease or glory, but the path of serving others and putting them even before yourself, without seeking reward or repayment?

Will you show others what it means for Jesus to be your king, and call them to do the same, even if they ignore or misunderstand you?

But if you can…

Because if you will, then something glorious awaits you: paradise.

Not just “a room in heaven” as we often picture it. Paradise here was just the waiting room, the stop-off point before the final destination:

Resurrection.

Life.

Eternity with Jesus, the One who came looking for us, died so that we could be found, and who offers us something more wonderful and lasting than anything the kingdoms of our world could give.

Can you recognise the king? Will you accept Him as your king?

Cover picture by Jametlene Reskp, unsplash.com

Remembrance: extraordinary

My sermon/reflection for Remembrance Sunday at the weekend; you can watch the whole service here: https://youtu.be/0qHwW4Vj0B4

Is there someone in particular you remember on Remembrance Day?

For me, it’s my granddad. Harry Smith, or Sergeant Henry Smith, to give him his full title.

What’s perhaps a little unusual is that Granddad didn’t die in world war 2. But I’ve got to know a bit more about his story, and it’s quite remarkable: he was in the RAF, based  down  in Kent. In July 1940, on a routine patrol mission, his plane was shot down over the Hook of Holland. The other three members of his crew were killed; Granddad was taken POW and was in camps in Poland for the rest of the war, during which time both his parents died.

But my brother and sister and I didn’t know him as Sgt Henry Smith, rear gunner and former POW. He was Granddad, who lived with Grandma in Willerby, just outside Hull. After the war, he’d returned to England, married Edna, our Grandma, raised a family and  worked as a civil servant and then as a minister in the United Reformed Church. If you didn’t know his story – and he only once talked about it – you wouldn’t have guessed how eventful those 6 years had been.

Sgt Henry Smith (Granddad), RAF Detling, 1939

Ordinary people, extraordinary events

Forgive for talking so much about my Granddad.

But this is one of the things that I find most remarkable, at Remembrance and whenever I think of the wars this country has been involved in.

These were – and are – huge, world-changing events with consequences that reverberate down the decades.

Yet those involved in them, those at the centre of them, were mostly ordinary people. They weren’t brought up to be heroes or do extraordinary and brave things. Afterwards, those who survived mostly went on to live what we would call ordinary lives.

Yet for those few years, they were at the epicentre of these earth-shaking happenings, ordinary people suddenly finding themselves at the centre of these extraordinary events.

A bit like the disciples.

Jesus has just told them that the Temple – the beautiful, imposing building, the sign of God’s presence with His people – will be razed to the ground. No stone will be left on top of another.

If we’re talking about extraordinary events, then for the people of Israel, this was as  extraordinary, and devastating, as any war.

He tells them that they’ll hear about wars from all over, that false prophets will claim this is the end of the world, and that there’ll be earthquakes and famines and comets and all sorts that some will see as signs of the end.

So He’s talking big stuff here: huge events that will reshape the world  as they knew it, things they couldn’t possibly hope to be able to control.

At the centre of it all

But then, He suddenly focuses in on the disciples themselves.

“They will seize you and persecute you,” he says. “You will brought before kings and governors,” He tells them.

Suddenly, as these extraordinary events begin, the disciples are at the very centre of things. They’re not just spectators of the show: they’re central to all that’s about to happen.

Now, we can over-exaggerate how simple and uneducated the disciples were; they must have had a bit of gumption about them.

But they were not brought up to be the main players in a cosmic, heavenly drama like this. Yet Jesus is telling them that, just like those ordinary people thrust into the centre of world-changing wars, they will find themselves playing a key part in all that’s He’s saying will unfold.

What is that part? What will they be doing?

Opportunities

Jesus tells them that the arrests and persecution and imprisonment they face will be their “opportunity”.

I don’t know if Granddad or any other POW saw their captivity as opportunity. But Jesus says that as they face priests, governors and even kings, they will have the chance to speak, to testify.

To what?

To Jesus.

These ordinary people will get the chance to proclaim to the great and good that Jesus, who died on the cross in seeming shame and defeat, has been raised by God from the dead and is now Lord over all the earth.

That no other power, whether people, laws, buildings, spiritual powers – nothing has greater power or authority than Him. The fall of the Temple will be a sign of this.

And that He calls all people, extraordinary and ordinary, to turn to Him, and find God’s forgiveness and new life in Jesus.

And if you read the book of Acts, kind of the sequel to Luke’s Gospel, you’ll find that’s exactly what they did.

Ordinary people will be called to do extraordinary things: those who seem nothing in the eyes of the world will be testifying to the powerful and mighty about the One they’ve come to see as greater than all.

Just as ordinary people – especially those whom we remember today – were suddenly called to play their part in events that reshaped our world.

Just as we – seemingly ordinary Christians – are sent to be part of God’s extraordinary, ongoing work in the world; the work that flows out from what the disciples first declared to the great and the good.

Declaring the Lord

It’s our job, our calling, to declare to the world that Jesus Christ is Lord of all, that no power – government, military, even religious – has power over Him, and that in Him is healing, forgiveness and new life for all who will turn to Him.

Why? Why do we need to declare this?

Because we think it’d be nice for people to know?

Because we want more people to come to church?

Because it’ll get us more brownie points in heaven?

No: because this is the message that the world needs to hear.

For the first time in many years, there is war being fought in Europe as we remember the fallen. A time we thought had passed has come back to haunt and threaten us, as Ukrainians fight to defeat an unprovoked and brutal invasion, a display of ugly, naked power.

All this as wars are fought in so many other countries, as we still deal with the threat of covid, as the great and the good meet in Egypt to debate how to tackle the crisis facing our environment.

Feeling ordinary, doing the extraordinary

Against all this, we might feel as if we have nothing. Only God can change these situations, right?

Well, yes. But He uses us to do this work.

To speak of and to show the way of peace, the way of self-sacrifice, the way of hope, the way of putting others first that Jesus lived out and calls us to live out.

To tell others that Jesus is Lord and that in Him, and in Him alone, is everything that the world fights over.

To go to the ordinary, ignored and forgotten and tell them how, in God’s Kingdom, they are lifted up and treated as extraordinary.

Maybe we won’t get to stand before kings and rulers to say this.

Maybe we won’t face persecution and death because of this – though let’s remember our brothers and sisters who face exactly that.

Maybe we won’t see the fruits of what we do, just as the fallen whom we remember today didn’t see the outcomes of their efforts.

But if we do this we’ll have been part of something extraordinary, something wonderful that God is doing in His world.

We’ll have been making real the hope that we express every Remembrance Sunday: that the deaths of those we remember today, soldiers and civilians, won’t be in vain.

That the peace we long for will one day take hold, and there will be no more names added to memorials and books of remembrance.

That hope is only truly possible through Jesus Christ. Our job, however ordinary we feel, is to show and share and speak this news, so that others might believe and the hope become a little more of a reality.

Cover photo by Jelleke Vanooteghem on Unsplash

Resurrection – a whole new world?

Rather belatedly, here’s my sermon/reflection from last Sunday. It’s based on Luke 20:27-38, in which Jesus and the Sadducees debate the resurrection. You can watch the whole service from which it’s taken here.

“I wish it could be different.”

How many times have you thought or said something like that?

Maybe as you look around your house and picture all the ways you could spruce it up and make it look amazing.

Maybe as you think about your life and the things you’d love to do. How many people went into lockdown with grand plans to change their life for the better, and came out feeling exactly the same?

Maybe as you watch or hear the news and hear stories about war, financial crisis, fears for the environment, refugee crises – stories we’ve heard time and again – and we wish we didn’t have to hear them any more, we wish the world could be a better place.

There’s a real tension between how we’d like things to be – how we imagine things could be – and how they really are. We long for the first and that just makes settling for the second that much harder.

What’s the answer? Is there anything that can bring the two together?

An Insecure Future?

Of course, for some people, it’s the other way round.

The future fills them with dread; the present gives comfort, confidence, maybe even power. And any change might upset all that, might take away what they hold dear.

If the future looks bleaker than the present – and for many, it does right now – then we kind of want to hold on to what we have now: sure, it may not be great, but it’s better than what’s ahead of us.

But if you’re powerful, if you’re in control, if you benefit from the status quo, then you’re not going to want that disrupting.

The Sadducees: “This is all you get!”

Take the Sadducees who question Jesus in our gospel passage.

We don’t know massive amounts about them, not as much as we do about, say, the Pharisees.

We do know they were a religious group in Jerusalem – and we do know they had power.

Not overall power, of course – the Romans were in charge, of course.

But they were in charge of the Temple. And that meant they were pretty much in charge of the whole religious life of Israel.

What they said, how they interpreted the Bible, the rules and commands they set were what counted. They could decide, so they thought, who did and who didn’t have access to God Himself.

And that situation kind of suited them. Sure, ideally the Romans wouldn’t be there controlling everything, but they were doing alright with how things were. Change wasn’t really necessary.

So talk of resurrection was not welcome.

Partly because they didn’t see it in the Bible – it just wasn’t there for them.

But partly because resurrection meant change, and change might mean they were no longer in power, and that meant… disaster, if only for them.

“One Bride for Seven Brothers” – not coming to a stage near you…

Hence their rather strange question to Jesus about the brothers and their wife. Not so much “Seven Brides For Seven Brothers” as “One Bride For Seven Brothers”.

It was designed to make people who believed in resurrection look stupid: how could God allow a situation where one woman ended up as the wife of seven brothers?

That’s daft – God would never do that!

So the status quo was the only option: this was how God had set things up to be and this is how they’d remain. So off you go and get those silly thoughts about resurrection out of your head.

Except, Jesus wasn’t about to do that.

Because they’d spectacularly missed the point.

Resurrection isn’t just picking up where you left off, carrying on after a brief interruption.

Everything changes.

Why?

Overcoming Death

Because death has been overcome.

So much of our lives, so much of our world, whether we dare to admit it or not, is governed by the fact that everything will one day die. Nothing ever lasts for ever.

Autumn is a beautiful season: but the gorgeous reds, oranges and yellows of the leaves are signs of retreat and death as winter takes hold.

So many of our fears and anxieties hold us either because we know our lives are limited, or because we fear something that might bring that end a lot closer than we’d like.

And part of Jesus’ point is that the reason we have marriage, give birth to babies and so on is to keep things going because we know time is, relatively, short for us.

But if death has somehow been overcome, then all of that changes. The walls have come down and the possibilities are, literally, endless.

So the situation with the seven brothers for one bride is daft: but it’s daft because that situation won’t ever arise – it won’t be needed any more.

Life will go on in a completely new, wonderful and indestructible way.

Our lives, the lives of those we have loved – because yes, we will see them again – the whole of our world will be utterly transformed.

Those fears we hold and the things we do to try and hold them at bay – they’ll disappear.

And those who use those fears to try and control things – they’ll lose their power.

The God of Life

How? Because God is the God of life, not death.

He has been right from the beginning, as Jesus points out when He quotes from the story of the burning bush.

Our world, our universe, was made out of God’s life and was made for life. Death doesn’t belong here, it’s an aberration.

And through Jesus’ own resurrection from the dead, God has made that a reality. As He raised His Son from the tomb, God began that work of undoing death and the hold it has on us all. His life entered the world through the open tomb and the One who came out of it, forcing death to let go of its grip on the world.

For those who like things the way they are, those who gain or hold power because of the way things are, for people like those Sadducees, that’s a scary prospect.

Dare to Dream… now!

But for those of us who are caught between the dreams of how things can be and the depressing reality of how things are, resurrection says to us that those dreams don’t need to stay dreams.

That that future, that hope, that imagination that thrills our hearts and just for a moment shines a shaft of light into our lives – that can become reality.

In the future? Yes, of course. We look forward to the day when this work will be completed, when the great promises of the Bible about a new heaven and a new earth will be fulfilled.

But what about now?

Dare we believe that this future that we sometimes dare to imagine could in some way become reality now?

Because Jesus has been raised from the dead: resurrection has begun. God’s transforming power is at work now. Things can change, lives can be transformed, hostile powers can be defeated, good news can be shared.

And maybe we can do something to show that; maybe God can help us to do and say the things that will bring that resurrection reality into our world now.

Sticking with something, even when it seems hopeless.

Daring to follow that idea that seems a bit mad and unrealistic, and to believe that God might be behind it.

Refusing to let our lives be crushed by the cynicism that death can bring.

Giving to others; helping those in need; planting seeds and saplings; telling someone else about the hope you gain from Jesus…

All these things can be signs that the realities of our world that crush us and rob us of life aren’t the end of the story.

All of them are signs that those who try to cling to power purely for their own good will not win out.

All of them are signs that the resurrection Jesus spoke of, looked towards and brought about through His resurrection is coming, and that through the God of the living life, not death, will win the day.

Zacchaeus – more than meets the eye?

As a way of actually getting some content on here, I’ve decided to post my sermons/reflections in case they’re of value to anyone. Here’s yesterday’s, which is based on the story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10). You can watch the whole service here: https://youtu.be/tVAC5AAMOb4.

What do you see when you hear the story of Zacchaeus?

What do you imagine?

What pictures are in your mind’s eye?

Perhaps it’s a Sunday School or Junior Church group singing that song.

I suppose the trouble is that it stops about 2/3 of the way through the story.

Perhaps it’s a young children’s Bible or story book about Zacchaeus, with cute and cartoony characters on it, normally with the man himself either up a tree or rather awkwardly climbing down.

Now: I have no problem with children hearing and telling and exploring this story in their own way – after all, Jesus said that the Kingdom of God belongs to such as them.

But is that all we see this story as? A story of a short man who climbed up a tree to see Jesus and was rewarded by hosting a tea party for the Son of God?

A story about a short, but resourceful, man who was able to find a way to see Jesus when all other routes were blocked off?

A nice, sweet story about redemption?

Some see it as a story of the vindication of Zacchaeus: they claim in his little speech to Jesus, he’s saying that he always gives away half his possessions and refunds 4x anything he wrongly charged people. Jesus is merely pointing this out to the rest of the crowd.

What do you see in the story of Jesus?

The reason I ask about what you see is because the story of Zacchaeus is in a sense a story about seeing: about what people see, who people see, and how they see them.

For example: while the song and the storybooks see Zacchaeus as merely short, and maybe a bit funny, perhaps a little bit mean, the people of Jericho did not see him that way.

He was, in their words, a sinner: a traitor working for the Romans; an extortion artist; a man who’d got rich by ripping off the people of the town and, quite probably, the other tax collectors who worked for him.

He was, in short, a right… well, I can’t say that word. Use your imaginations!

That’s how they saw him: not as comic relief, but as someone to be righteously shunned. And maybe they were glad he couldn’t see Zacchaeus.

Which is, of course, another of the “seeings” in this story.

Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus, but couldn’t, because he was too short.

We don’t know why he wanted to: maybe it was the thrill of seeing someone famous, like the crowds outside Downing Street when something important’s happening, or the people waiting outside the Stage Door of the theatre.

Maybe he just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Or maybe he’d heard about how this Jesus treated people like him. He’d heard the stories – and the complaints – of how Jesus had a tendency to eat and drink and keep company with tax collectors and sinners.

To welcome them and not run away from them.

To show them – dare he think it – some love that no one else did.

We don’t – can’t – know the reasons why Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus. But I wonder if this was part of it.

Because it seems like Jesus did see people like him differently to everyone else.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Jesus was oblivious to what they were up to; I don’t think he thought they were just “misunderstood”.

After all, in one parable he compares them to a younger son who takes his inheritance before his father dies and blows it all on wild living. That’s not good, or just “misunderstood”.

He knew their sin. He knew their state. And he knew the damage they’d caused others.

But he saw them not just as sinners, but as people who were lost. Who’d taken the wrong route, got themselves in a mess that they couldn’t get out of and needed someone to get them out of it.

And the only way they were going to undo that damage was by being found – by being seen.

So Jesus saw Zacchaeus. Looked up in the sycamore tree and saw him, perhaps before Zacchaeus saw him.

And Jesus saw what he’d seen in other tax collectors: a lost son of Abraham, who was hurting himself and others and needed bringing home.

So he invited himself round to stay – as you do.

And, Luke tells us, “all the people” saw this. More seeing.

Now, in the story before this, “all the people” had seen Jesus do something else – give sight to a blind man on the outskirts of the city.

And when “all the people” saw that, they praised God for this great miracle.

But when “all the people” saw Jesus go to Zacchaeus’ house, they did not praise God. They did not give thanks for a miracle. They grumbled and complained, “he’s gone to the house of a sinner”, as if Jesus wasn’t in the regular habit of doing just that.

Which is a shame, really. Because they were seeing a miracle of equal grace and power as the one they’d just seen.

They just didn’t recognise it. They didn’t see what was happening in the right way.

But Zacchaeus did.

He’d seen what Jesus was truly about. He knew that Jesus wasn’t a human reward chart for those who thought they did well; he was a human lifebelt for those who knew they were sinking fast, possibly taking others with them, and needing help urgently.

And Zacchaeus saw it, took hold hold of it and clung to it for dear life.

So he gives away half his stuff – right there and then. And he promises to give back 4x as much to anyone he’d defrauded.

I bet if you’d gone back to Jericho later on, what you’d have seen is a massive refund queue outside Zacchaeus’ house or office.

But what we saw at that moment was God’s grace doing its saving work in Zacchaeus’ life.

And what does Jesus see in all of this?

Salvation.

Mission accomplished. Someone brought back from the brink, rescued from ruin, someone who belonged in the family but who’d hurt it restored and renewed, able to stop hurting others and himself and give them life instead.

So back to that question: how do you see the story of Zacchaeus?

What about Zacchaeus himself: a short man in a tree? A scoundrel, thief and traitor? A lost soul who needed someone to bring him home?

What about Jesus: a nice guy who does something good for someone? A potentially good man with a bad habit of spending time with the wrong people? Someone who brings God’s grace to those who need it most?

And what about that grace of God that reaches out and changes Zacchaeus’ life?

The grace that refuses to see someone just as a write-off, or beyond the pale, but that goes after them to try and bring them back – how do you see it?

Do you see it at work in your life at all?

Have you seen it change or transform someone else’s life?

Who are the Zacchaeuses of our day who need to see, hear and receive that grace? The ones whom it might not be popular to go to, but who are longing for a change, a way back, someone to find them and drag them home.

We live in a world that loves to divide people into goodies and baddies: people it can praise and venerate and people it can dismiss, ignore, cancel.

Jericho saw Zacchaeus as squarely in the ‘baddie’ camp: but Jesus saw more than that.

How can we ask and allow Jesus to change the way we see people, the ones we’re tempted to write off as baddies?

How can he use us to help them to see him and his wonderful, saving grace?

Picture by Aaron Burden, unsplash.com