As we approach the end of the liturgical year, many of the readings encountered at Mass may seem rather apocalyptic, looking towards the end…..the end times; end of an era. The context of today’s gospel is that we are coming to the end of Jesus’ ministry. We are fast approaching the cross. Apocalyptic scripture may seem devastating; it is very often imagery based and yet while it seems to be very violent and full of suffering, there is also always a message of hope alongside the stern warnings we may read or hear. Today’s gospel is no exception as Jesus foretells destruction, tribulation, family rifts but promises the hope of life eternal for those who remain steadfast in following Him. And our very short Old Testament reading from Malachi has the same warning followed by hope – ‘all the arrogant and evildoers will be stubble’ while the ‘sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings’ for those who remain in fear of the Lord.In today’s gospel, Jesus is foretelling destruction and devastation, and it may appear that this is a foretelling of the eschaton, the end times, as Revelation portrays it. But the majority view of scholars and theologians is that Jesus is foretelling the destruction of the Temple in 70 AD, the very Temple which is being so admired and revered by His companions. This Temple (not Solomon’s Temple, that one was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BC) – this Temple is the second Temple which was completed around 516 BC. It was then expanded by Herod the Great over a period of a number of years into the majestic, imposing structure being admired. And this is important. The Temple – so beautiful and magnificent was nonetheless impermanent. Jesus tells of its total destruction, stone by stone. Now to the Jews, this would have been almost an anathema; imagine the total destruction of places or buildings that we revere (and I’m sure there will be a variety of thoughts as to what they may be) but it would have seemed like the destruction of everything that the Jews held dear, something which was deemed to be representative of the permanence of God’s power. But it was manmade, and nothing which is manmade is permanent. The Temple is a building, a structure, a thing and by its very being it is impermanent.Its destruction along with the routing of Jerusalem by the Romans in AD 70, had profound consequences for Judaism, heralding the end of the Jewish national state for nearly 1900 years and it also brought about a move in religious practices from the Temple into the synagogues.As Jesus’ discourse continues, He foretells great woes, catastrophes, wars, uprisings, nation against nation, famine, earthquakes – sound a bit familiar…? But He says that these events are necessary. They must take place before the Parousia – the coming of the eternal Kingdom. He warns us not to panic, not to be led stray by the ‘noise’ and in particular not to be drawn towards anyone who promises a quick fix, a simple immediate answer. These are the false messiahs. The constant crises of the world are the necessary chaos leading towards the coming of Christ’s eternal Kingdom. But Jesus tells His followers, and us, that the more personal trials and tribulations that they/we will undergo will be opportunities to proclaim the good news. ‘This will be your opportunity to bear witness.’ For them/us to use the ridicule, persecution to proclaim for Jesus. And this is not easy, believe me. Now I’ve never been persecuted for my faith, but I have been ridiculed, or rather God/Jesus has been ridiculed to me. And I have felt ill equipped to stand up for my faith, felt unable to rationalize my beliefs. I never had the self-confidence to stand up for my faith, for Jesus, to proclaim the good news. I am getting better, gaining a little in self-confidence, but it is still very much something I need to work on. But this is what we are called to do as Christians. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – it’s out there, outside of the church where we enter the mission field, where we need to be ready to share our stories, whenever the Lord gives us the opportunity.However, opposition makes Christianity thrive. In the early church, the more Christians martyred, the stronger Christianity became. ‘The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church’ (Tertullian 2nd century AD). The early Christians were given power, powerful power, by the Holy Spirit. The same Spirit working in and through us today. As Jesus foretells, Christianity will cause familial division (has done and still does). And althoughpersecuted, ridiculed, Christians are assured of rewards in heaven, that not a hair on our heads will be lost. Now this does not mean an end to earthly suffering, we just need to consider how many souls are remembered in the Martyrology for example, but it does mean life eternal for those who hold fast to God and do not deny Jesus Christ, if we keep our eyes on Jesus as an Ordinand in my college group often says.But Jesus advises that our hardships are not stumbling blocks. They are stepping stones. The crises are not a defeat but a platform. Our weaknesses, our despairs are a conduit for God’s greatest moments of strength. St Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians that God’s grace is sufficient for us; His powers are made perfect in our weakness. The Holy Spirit is with us and so we don’t need to rehearse clever arguments but if we cultivate a deep, abiding relationship with Jesus Christ, He will be our guide, will never leave us, because nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.At the end of our gospel, Jesus tells us ‘By your endurance you will gain your lives.’ Endurance is not just surviving the storms of life; it is using these storms to give weight to our testimony. Everything man made will eventually perish – our buildings, possessions. The world can take it all away, even our very breath. But our testimony, our witness will remain.So, let’s not cling to the temporary temples of our world – they will fall.Let’s remember that the chaos we experience and see all around us – these are like the birth pains preparing the way for Christ’s return.And let’s use the trials and personal tribulations we experience as God given platforms to bear witness to our Lord Jesus Christ.The Spirit goes ahead of us when we witness, preparing the way, giving us the word and granting us courage. Our faith grows by expression – we must share it – we must witness. (Billy Graham)
I hope that what we do here, how we witness, is of some consolation to those who visit occasionally. Sometimes at baptisms and funerals, I occasionally think ‘why did you want the service in a church’, because it can seem as though I am the only person in the room who believes in what we are doing. Maybe people feel some consolation from the fact that there are those who still believe. Do Christians actually believe in life after death? It depends on what is meant by life. One of the consequences of the two world wars was that the flood of deaths led to a rather banal idea of life after death, as many people began praying for the dead for the first time, they also therefore imagined a slightly strange vision of what the life of the world to come actually is.We can see this in the flourishing of spiritualism after the first war. The life of the dead was perceived in terms of the technology of the time. The dead could talk over the telephone, as it were, with the medium as an operator, connecting the calls, wobbling the tables, offering a show.Yet the reality went with a certain lack of mystery. The imagined world was just our own world, but without the pain. “It’s very nice here,” the dead would say, as if phoning from a boarding house in Skegness. ‘Auntie Joan is here too and it’s always sunny’. The knowledge of the afterlife was limited to the travel experience of the medium, and presumably if foreign holidays were common in 1920, the dead would be saying ‘it’s just like being in Torremolinos, only the food is nicer’.During the second war another way of taking away the pain was found: a host of films about life after death designed to reassure troops and civilians. ‘Here comes Mr Jordan’, ‘A Guy named Joe’, and ‘Blithe Spirit’ are examples. Death was a blip in our ongoing existence, something hardly noticed as we proceed in our happy lives, enjoying cocktails with the dead, seeing it all clearly only, strangely, there is no God, just another life.It’s understandable that in time of war people should feel tempted to run away from the reality of death. “Nothing is going to happen, nothing will hurt you,” cooed nanny in the nursery as she tucked the children into bed. “In the morning you will wake up in the same bright nursery you fell asleep in.” But Death is real. We endure something terrible in our death. Human beings long for a continuance of this life and cannot conceive of something different. That’s what lies behind the Sadducees’ questioning of Jesus.They deny the resurrection, but the resurrection they deny is one that will lead to everything continuing as normal. Their argument against the resurrection fails at the first premise: people who are married in this life will stay married in the next, just like in ‘Blithe Spirit’. But Jesus replies that they will not. The question then arises: why is there no marriage?The answer is: because there is no death. It’s because we are mortal that we need to perpetuate our race by procreation. That’s life as we live it, but the next life is described in strange terms in today’s Gospel. It’s a whole new age which we must be ‘worthy to attain’ without any guarantee that all will succeed. It comes after death, and in that age ‘they cannot die any more for they are equal to angels and are sons of God, being sons of the resurrection’.Christ, born into this world, does not marry or have children because he is to be the beginning of the new life where there is no death. Instead, in that life, we share in the common sonship of Christ, waiting to complete that sharing by our own resurrection.When that day comes, we will wake up, not in the nursery where we fell asleep, but to a life beyond death – a life more radically different from this life than the life of adults differs from the life of children. It will be a life for people who have truly grown in Christ. How it will be, we do not know, but we know that Christ is waiting for us, that God is incarnate there, that it is the end of every human life on earth and that we come here to witness to that.So next time when we sit in church watching occasional visitors wonder what on earth is going on, maybe we can tell them, say ‘this is a hard journey, but we come here to take it together, in faith, hope and love’.Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
Some time ago, there was a meeting looking at regularising the rites of deliverance in the Church of England. As most of you will guess, I was at the meeting. I was reasonably quiet, because I had successfully argued for ‘other occasional texts as may be needed’ to be inserted into the Canon, and indeed, ‘Other Occasional Texts’ pretty much sums up the entire liturgy by which I live and minister. At one point, the insurance company were saying that we would be unable to practice deliverance ministry with those under the age of 18, and I kept quieter yet, thinking ‘I hope that nobody mentions that the Rite of Baptism which we all use contains an exorcism’. It’s a little one, but babies are generally little, so it is felt to be sufficient, and you may well have missed it – but just after the oil of Catechumens is applied to the head of the candidate and before the water is blessed and exorcised, the candidate is as well. Life starts – true life in Christ starts – as we may wish it to continue.During the ordination rite of a priest, the bishop hands him a paten and a chalice, saying, ‘Accept from the holy people of God the gifts to be offered to him. Know what you are doing, and imitate the mystery you celebrate; model your life on the mystery of the Lord’s Cross.’ Knowing what you are doing presupposes knowing who you are—and we are all of us part of the Body of Christ, blessed, consecrated, Chrismated, exorcised and set free. Know what you are doing, that is, know who and what you are, and therefore keep focussed on those things which will deepen our knowledge of God in us, of Emmanuel, God with and within us. The whole of the crib which we will soon erect in the Actors' Chapel is contained within us, an Incarnation in Body and Blood, the co-redemptive power of Mary, the faith of Joseph and indeed the waste of the animals, all that makes for Saints, and all that makes for Sinners. In small matters, not knowing what we are doing might be comical or annoying, but in graver matters it could prove dangerous. Mistaking a minefield for a picnic ground is not generally a good idea. But not knowing who we are is a greater mistake by far. Not recognising the mark of Christ within us and obscuring it by living the lie of self-importance, egotism and self-reliance puts ‘me’ before ‘Him’, and Saints are marked by God within them.On a larger scale, if the Church did not realise what she is doing, she might think she is in the business of facilitating meetings, of proffering biscuits and pouring tea and fixing pointing and slates, but these things do not make us Saints. But really and truly, she is at war:‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places’ (Ephesians 6:12).This is not something we are about to face; this is what we are already in the midst of doing—waging war—whether we like it or not. Here we are, and here with Christ we stand, knowing that our power and authority is His, given to His holy church to cleanse and redeem and sanctify, literally, to ‘make Saintly’.We are at war, and it’s a disaster when we don’t realise it. People seek God in the Church and so often they find compromise, sandwiches, poor quality coffee, fundraising, rotas – anything, in fact, other than clear Biblical truth and encounter with God and an encouragement to live authentic lives of discipleship – to become, in fact, Saints. This is not to say that the other things do not matter, they do. We have to do many things, including wearing clothes and blowing our noses, but nobody became saved because they did so. Let us love people and each other enough to tell them the truth, and to live justly and righteously. If the Church forgets who she is, then she fails to believe sufficiently. Then we would have a travesty of mercy: if sin be no longer sin, why would we need mercy?We, the Church Militant, need the prayers of the Church Triumphant as we wage this war against darkness: a war of love over fear, of life over death, of grace over sin. Know what you are doing but know first who you are, and thank God for those who have gone before us.Who are we? I think that each of us discovers that to which Jesus Christ beckons us. It’s to be born. Our identities as people go from one birth to another. And from each birth to birth we’ll end up bringing to the world the child of God that we are. The Incarnation, for us, is to allow the reality of Jesus to embody itself in our humanity. The mystery of the Incarnation remains what we are going to live. We celebrate the vast throng of saints today, each utterly different; each completely themselves by being one in Christ. Know that you are to be one of them.
I don’t know about you, but I always find there’s something wonderfully levelling about the weekly ritual of putting out the wheelie bins. Whatever kind of house we live in, whatever car is parked outside, every week the wheelie bins stand side by side on the pavement. And when you’ve been away, perhaps on holiday, how heartening it is to return and find that a neighbour has quietly wheeled yours out and back again. No fuss, no announcement… just a simple act of thoughtfulness, a small reminder that some of the everyday things in life happen quietly, in ways that level us and draw us together. It’s often in such small, ordinary gestures that true humility shows itself. I’ve always found myself drawn to people who carry within them that quiet, natural humility, the sort of folk who don’t seek the spotlight but whose lives quietly shine all the same. They don’t act for applause or recognition. They simply respond out of love… they get on with it.It’s a humility you see in places like hospitals, where not only doctors and nurses, but porters, administration staff, cooks, and cleaners go about their work, rarely seeking praise. It’s not recognition that fuels their service, but a deep, steady sense that caring for others and doing their task faithfully is, in itself, meaningful. These are the values that guide their work. In a world that seems to thrive on appearances and comparisons, it’s easy to fall into the trap of measuring our worth by what we own or how we’re seen. We all know the neighbour who always seems to have the newest car on the drive, the latest phone in hand, the carefully curated social media post showing the perfect holiday, the perfect home, the perfect life. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying good things, of course, but when our hearts start to crave status, or the need to “keep up,” we begin to miss the real, deeper riches.And that’s exactly the heart of today’s Gospel. Two men go to the Temple to pray. One stands tall, sure of himself, thanking God that he isn’t like “other people.” The other stands at a distance, aware of his need for mercy, and says nothing but, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jesus tells us plainly… it was the second man, not the first, who “went home justified.” It’s a parable about the heart. The tax collector knew he needed grace. The Pharisee, religious, respectable, confident, did not. His problem wasn’t that he did good things, but that arrogance had closed his heart. Arrogance can blind us to grace… humility opens us to it. The early Church often reflected that what condemns us isn’t the size of our faults but our refusal to seek forgiveness. God’s mercy is always vaster than our failings. The lesson is about honesty… Faith begins not in self-satisfaction but in the recognition of need. It isn’t about building a case for ourselves before God, but about learning to stand empty-handed, knowing that everything we have is a gift. That’s why today’s first reading from Sirach tells us that “the prayer of the humble pierces the clouds.” God doesn’t measure our success or public image but listens to the voice of those who truly know their need.In the second reading, we hear St Paul’s voice near the end of his life. He isn’t boasting of achievements but quietly trusting: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” The reward he hopes for isn’t a trophy, it’s more like a moment of humility… seeing ourselves as we truly are, limited yet beloved, without pretence. The tax collector in today’s Gospel saw that truth and trusted that God’s mercy would meet him there. This kind of humility has sustained and shaped the Church across the centuries. Think of St Francis of Assisi, who left wealth and privilege to embrace poverty… not as a show, but as an act of trust in God’s providence. He became one of the most beloved saints, not because he sought greatness, but because he showed humility and loved deeply.The Eucharist itself teaches us how to pray like the tax collector. Before receiving the Body and Blood of Christ, we say the words: Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed. The sacrament reminds us, each week, that God’s mercy and love is always waiting for us… like our outstretched hands, ready to receive.If you want to see this humility at work, you don’t have to look far. It often shows itself in the smallest, most ordinary acts… the neighbour who drives a friend to a hospital appointment… the friend who quietly leaves shopping at the door of an elderly person who can’t get out… the neighbour who wheels in next door’s bins because they know the family is away. These aren’t grand gestures, but simple, unnoticed acts of kindness. They reveal a heart turned outward, not inward… a life lived not for show, but for love.Think of the welcomers at the church door, offering a smile and a kind word to all who enter, creating a space where everyone feels at home. Think of those who clean the church, tidy the parish hall, sweep the floor, polish the brass, or wash the linen, not to be noticed, but because they care. Of those who set out chairs, make tea, or quietly clear away at the end of an event. Of the elderly and housebound who faithfully pray for St Stephen’s, because love has formed a rhythm in their hearts. So much of the Church’s life is built, day by day, through these humble acts of love… grace at work in hearts that pray, serve, forgive, and quietly show up… hearts that, like the tax collector, simply and honestly standing before God. The invitation this Sunday is to let go of comparison. So much of modern life encourages us to measure ourselves against others, to “keep up with the Joneses.” But Jesus invites us to leave all that behind. The tax collector didn’t compare himself to anyone; he simply stood before God as he was, unpolished, but honest. That’s the beginning of real prayer. The humble are those who know they need mercy and who recognise that everyone else does too. When we live this way… when we let go of arrogance and welcome humility, we begin to glimpse the Kingdom of God already at work around us, already alive in the faces of those we meet. So today, for the week ahead may God grant us the grace to pray with honesty, to live with humility, and to walk gently with others. For the humble heart, Christ tells us, will not be sent away empty. Amen.
