I remember visiting the former East Germany when I was a lot younger, the cobbled motorways, the strange food, particularly dishes based on a perception of what Western food was made by people who had never eaten it, and the taste of disappointment and uncertainty about what the future would hold. In many ways, things have not changed so much, you can go to Stralsund near the Polish border and see a town beautifully restored but where there is little or no work to be had. The outside has changed, the inside is similar. John Le Carré’s novel, The Secret Pilgrim, tells of a young man, a member of the UK intelligence services, visiting the former East Germany to liaise with a spy. Against all proper procedure, acting from anxiety to do things right, he carries in his pocket some cards on which were written details of the spy network. The visit goes well, and it is only on his return that he notices that the cards are missing, that they must have fallen out of his pocket.Shortly afterwards, the spy network is rolled up, resulting in torture and loss of life. This leads to the young man having a mental crisis and confessing to his superior in the intelligence services what he had done. The superior writes: “Then the appalling banality of what the young man had told me got through to me: that you could lose a [spy] network as easily as you could lose a bunch of keys.” That allegory holds true for church communities too, we can just lose what has been built up by accident.Sin involves free choice and decision, and although world history is full of sins that are big and thought through and destructive, I wonder if there’s not an important part of the story of sin that is not unlike careless, unthinking banality, almost like losing a bunch of keys through lack of thought and care. We just forget the importance of keeping peace for a moment, and there is war. We forget the importance of our Christian pilgrimage, and there is the devil.Jesus is revealed to us as ‘being full of the Holy Spirit,’ presumably a reference to his baptism, when the Holy Spirit ‘descended upon him in bodily form, as a dove.’ So we come to his self-disclosure: Jesus was ‘fed by the Holy Spirit and ate no human food’ but, being human, he was hungry. When the devil asked him to turn a stone into bread he was not asking Jesus to perform some cheap circus trick. He was tempting Jesus to break his fast, to suggest that he could only be sustained by human food.The second tempting of Jesus becomes ‘cosmic.’ The Devil shows him all the kingdoms of the world and tells him that he may have their authority and glory if Jesus would only fall down and worship the devil. This is a blatant lie because they were not his to give. That is why Jesus, quoting Deuteronomy, dismisses his pretentions: ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and Him only will you serve.’In the final temptation Jesus is asked to throw himself from the pinnacle of the temple, in the belief that God will protect him from harm. The devil, who himself quotes scripture, is then told: ‘You shall not tempt the Lord your God.’So then, what is disclosed to us for reflection during Lent? What do we have which we are not to lose? What do we carry which is of great value? Given the Spirit at baptism, which we carry, we are to reflect that it is our spiritual lives in God that will sustain us: ‘We cannot live by bread alone.’ A challenge to the materialist culture of our day which is easy to be sucked into. That is why the rich are condemned in St Luke’s Gospel; not because they are rich, but because they see in wealth a security that can only come from God. The final temptation continues the theme. It is not simply about the abuse of power and riches: it is a thundering denunciation of the descent into idolatry that their worship implies. This is personified by the devil, who is a liar – true worship is the worship of God and, according to John, the devil ‘is a murderer from the beginning.’The point about idols is that ‘we know their names.’ We feel we can manipulate them and be in control of them. We feel that we can break the rules and it won’t matter, that we can drop the cards and if things unravel it won’t be our fault. So we must not turn God into an idol by putting him to the test and we must value the practices of a holy Lent. All this is surely why this passage is such a splendid opening for Lent, as it faces us with the truth about Jesus and how life is to be lived at the deepest level of our being – it is then about the self-disclosure of Jesus to us and our gift of the Spirit who will sustain us in all the ‘testing’ of our lives, and remind us not to lose the network of sacraments and devotions and salvation which has been entrusted to us and which, sometimes, we carry around a little too casually. There is a point to Lent, and it may be that we should remember the greatness of the faith which we hold.
I dislike standing here as most of you know. I don’t object at all to talking about the Bible, quite the opposite, but I object to standing up here doing so while all of you are, to put it bluntly, down there. I only do so because the microphone is better here and most visiting clergy like to be up here feeling safe and secure with notes in front of them, and there is a need for consistency of course. However, speaking from a lofty height does bring with it the charge of ‘Hypocrite!’ Anyone who stands up in public and offers spiritual or moral teaching faces the occupational pitfall of ‘hypocrisy’. Our lofty words and indeed physical position can never be matched by the reality of our lives. And not only the preacher but every Christian, indeed every person striving to be good, faces the same test of not being a hypocrite. It seems that we dare to observe the speck in others eyes while ignoring the one in our own, but thus is life, people hold each other accountable to standards which they do not themselves always live up to and cannot wait to stretch them out on the rack of public opinion, judgement and malice until every one of their bones are broken. Many like to dismiss an entire community, or race, or church as not meeting their personal expectations and do not rest easy until they have broken as much of that community as they can.So hypocrisy is a word used now to mean ‘does not do what I want’ or ‘does not say what I want to hear’ rather than genuinely having ingrained double standards, and we all fail to keep our moral standards to some degree (unless we’re setting our bar too low, which would be just as wrong, if not worse). Maybe we are all neo-hypocrites then, or maybe we have forgotten what it is to forgive and to love, because it’s hard if not impossible to love what you hate, so if you convince yourself that you hate something, or something is not what you want, you will contort yourself on the rack of your own judgement until you resemble a grotesque parody of a body. Or just look on twitter, or facebook, which may be easier.It's no surprise that we don’t need to be self aware to lay a charge of neo-hypocrisy, you can just say what you want and walk away, as though words have no meaning, which is the natural auto da fe of a world where there are different truths and prayers are thought to be weapons at worst or idiocy at best, and universally directed to a God who is not there to hear them. A wise teacher knows that which they are ignorant of, a faithful disciple knows the long path ahead, but many care to experience neither. Maybe there, in that sentence, is a truer definition of hypocrisy? In other words, as long as we are aware of the log in our own eye, and take steps to remove it, nothing prevents us calling the attention of others to the general problem of specks in eyes, or even to their particular speck in the eye, though we may not see clearly to help them actively remove it.In the present scandals in the Church, we need humility more than ever. Jesus says that ‘every tree can be told by its own fruit’, and that we draw good or bad from the store of goodness or badness in our heart. People might be justified in questioning the goodness of the Church when the outward actions of her members (especially in high places) are so visibly rotten. We urgently need humility to heal us all the way down, rooting us totally in Christ, until our inner core is pure, far purer than our outward appearance. That would eliminate all hypocrisy, however we define it.Jesus instructs us ‘to take the log out of our own eyes before we try to take the speck out of our neighbours’ eyes.’ If we didn’t have a log in our eye, then we would see that others are created in the image and likeness of God and therefore valuable and precious in the sight of God and therefore we would not judge them, but love them as part of our own self. Therefore we need to remember that we are sinners in need of God’s mercy, so that we may recognise and love other sinners- for by doing so, we build up the Body of Christ and build up our church, by loving each other and helping each other not to sin. That’s the love we are called to, and the model of a church.So pray for others rather than talk about them, judge them, or make our assessments about them. Our Lord Jesus calls us to love our enemies and pray for those that hurt us. If there is a sin issue that should be addressed then that should be done in a loving and caring way because it is our own body that we are healing. Finally, we should care for others when the situation permits. Meaning, be there for them, rather than pointing out their faults and sins because ultimately we are called to bring others to Christ and help them overcome their sinful struggles through the love, grace, and mercy of God. If the Lord leads you, guide them through the scriptures and through the sacraments of the church on how to live a life of wholeness and restoration and for all of us, in three days it will be Lent, so we can all make a new beginning together in Christ, to whom be the glory until the end of the age.
Picture this: a long-standing friendship or close family relationship suddenly breaks down. It might begin with a careless word or a misunderstanding, something trivial that grows into a wedge neither side can remove. Or it might not even be a dramatic fallout, just the daily challenges of living or working alongside someone whose presence grates on us. These are the moments that test our patience and stretch our willingness to forgive. This is the reality Jesus addresses in today’s Gospel (Luke 6:27-38), where He offers one of the most challenging and transformative teachings of the Christian life: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” This is not passive endurance or sentimental love. It is active, self-giving love, a choice to break the cycle of animosity and reflect the mercy of God Himself. We see this love in action in today’s First Reading (1 Samuel 26), where David spares the life of King Saul, despite being hunted by him. David’s mercy prefigures the love Jesus calls us to, a love that is not dependent on the worthiness of others but rooted in the faithfulness of God. This same love is echoed in the Responsorial Psalm: “The Lord is compassion and love, slow to anger and rich in mercy.” God’s mercy meets us in our brokenness, not treating us as we deserve but lavishing grace upon us. And as St. Paul reminds us in the Second Reading (1 Corinthians 15:45-49), we are called to reflect the image of Christ, rising above the limitations of our earthly nature. St. Augustine reminds us that this kind of love is only possible through grace: “Human effort alone cannot achieve it; we must abide in Christ.” This abiding in Christ requires an openness to being transformed by His mercy, not just as recipients but as vessels through which it flows to others. When Jesus says, “Love your enemies,” He is not merely asking us to avoid conflict or be passive in the face of hostility. He is calling us to an intentional and radical response, to actively seek the good of the other, even when it feels undeserved. This challenges our natural instincts for self-preservation, pushing us to lean into the limitless love of God, who shows mercy to the just and unjust alike. But what might this look like in our lives today? Consider the woman who had a falling-out with her brother following a family bereavement. For years, their relationship remained broken. Then one day, she sent him a simple note: “I miss you. Can we meet for coffee?” That small act of vulnerability began a journey of reconciliation. Think of the teacher who patiently encourages a disruptive student, seeing potential where others see only problems. Or the family member who lovingly tends to a loved one with dementia, even as they grieve the loss of the person they once knew. These acts of love, often unseen and un-thanked, reflect the self-giving love of Christ. They remind us that loving enables us to reflect God’s mercy. Such love may not erase pain or resolve every conflict, but it opens the door for God’s grace to transform our hearts. In Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, the father’s embrace of his wayward son captures the essence of God’s mercy. But we might find ourselves more often in the shoes of the older son, arms crossed in resentment, feeling the unfairness of extending grace. Yet the father’s example calls us to step forward, to let go of our grudges, and to participate in the reconciling love of God. The choice of the older son reflects the choice we face daily: to remain bound by bitterness or to step into the freedom of forgiveness. This freedom is not just for the other person, it is for ourselves. When we choose mercy, we can release the burden of resentment and allow God to work in us and through us. But I want to say that mercy is not simply about sentiment; it is a way of being. In moments of tension, it can mean choosing silence instead of retaliation, a soft answer in place of an angry response. It may be as simple as holding back a harsh judgment or resisting the urge to gossip. These small decisions to mirror God’s mercy have the power to build peace, brick by brick, in our relationships and communities. The mercy Jesus teaches is deeply countercultural, especially in a world that prizes strength and retaliation over humility and forgiveness. To love as God loves requires us to lay aside pride and self-interest. It asks us to trust that true strength lies in vulnerability, and true justice in mercy. St. John Chrysostom said, “When mercy is shown, heaven is opened.” Ultimately, Jesus Himself is our model for this radical love. On the cross, He prayed for His executioners: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” This is the love that redeems the world, a love that transforms fear into trust and enmity into reconciliation. This is not a love we can generate on our own. It is a love that flows from Christ, nourished in us through prayer, the sacraments, and a deepening relationship with Him. Each time we gather at the Eucharist, we are reminded of His ultimate act of self-giving love. We are invited not just to receive but to go forth and embody that same love in the world. To love beyond measure is not easy, but it is possible when we open our hearts to grace. Perhaps it begins with a quiet decision to let go of a hurtful remark or a prayer for someone who frustrates us. Maybe it’s reaching out to repair a broken relationship, choosing kindness in the face of hostility, or helping someone without expecting thanks. Even the smallest step toward mercy can be transformative. These moments, small and large, become the building blocks of a life lived in the image of Christ. They draw us deeper into His heart and align us with His Kingdom, where love triumphs over hate, and mercy over judgment. Here at the Eucharist, we are nourished by Christ’s own sacrificial love. As He offers Himself to us, He equips us to embody His mercy in the world. The love we receive here strengthens us to go forth and live the Gospel, to love as He loves, without limits or conditions. Let us leave our worship today not just as hearers of the Word but as doers, ready to reflect God’s compassion in our relationships, our community, and the world. May we strive to live the words of Jesus: “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.” Closing Prayer Merciful Father, You call us to love as You love, without limits or conditions. Strengthen us to forgive, to serve, and to bless, even when it is difficult. Transform our hearts, that we may reflect the compassion of Your Son and draw others into the abundance of Your grace. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Suffering, loneliness, illness are things that nobody wants. We do our best to get rid of them. Doctors, nurses, researchers, social workers, people with clear religious commitment and people with none, faith-healers, rationalists – all strive to rid the world of its problems. It is an effort which unites so many people from different places and backgrounds, although there are plenty of squabbles along the way about whose method is best. So it is not surprising that, when the gospels present Jesus, the stories show him as a healer, someone who can cure people and help to lift the burdens that they are carrying. What would be the point of a saviour who couldn’t make any practical difference. So, in the story told in today’s passage from Luke’s gospel, a crowd of people was following Jesus, a man who had a reputation for being able to heal people’s illnesses and take away their problems. They came from all over the place looking for help, practical help. And what did they get? A sermon! That probably sounds all too familiar for many people who have approached religious groups for help. And the sermon or the talking-to that they have to listen to is often about what they must have done wrong to deserve all that has been happening to them. People suggest, for example, that AIDS is a punishment from God for a lifestyle they can’t approve of, or that poverty is the product of laziness and so on.But that is not the line that Jesus takes. He starts his sermon by saying, ‘Blessed are you poor…, blessed are you that are hungry…’ Now the word that is usually translated as ‘blessed’ or ‘happy’ doesn’t mean the sort of happiness you might experience at a good party. It comes originally from a word that describes the straight flight of an arrow. I think the best translation of it would be ‘on the right track’. So Jesus is not saying you’ve done something wrong if you’re poor or hungry or are bullied and so on. Quite the opposite: you’re probably on the right track if things like that are happening to you. I don’t think he’s suggesting that suffering of any kind is a good thing or that you’ve got to go looking for it. It’s a message of encouragement. Problems come along to everyone, but when things do go wrong it doesn’t mean it’s your fault, God hasn’t given up on you.The sermon goes on to give some guidance about how to cope with life in general. It’s all based around an idea of love. It is a kind of love that is free and generous. It’s a matter of trying to respond well even when people are unkind to us; trying to heal damaged situations by forgiveness where that’s possible; trying to improve our own reactions instead of just being critical of what other people are doing. It gives a whole framework for life. Nothing in the sermon comes across as being superficial or easy. Trying to be as open to people as it suggests means being prepared to allow ourselves to be very vulnerable. We are going to be hurt, we are going to be taken advantage of. But, says Jesus, when that happens we are probably on the right track.Jesus came announcing a great reversal. ‘The first will be last, and the last first.’ The Kingdom would turn the world as we know it upside down. That is just the point of the woes and beatitudes. By them, Jesus exhorts us to start living as subjects of the Kingdom of God, no longer of the kingdoms of this world.It’s true that one way that Jesus draws the distinction between those kingdoms is in terms of present and future suffering and satisfaction: go hungry now, he seems to be saying, so that you may later be satisfied. That might lead us to think that here we have just an exaggerated statement of the familiar sober calculation promoting delayed gratification in the pursuit of virtue. Another, more fundamental way Jesus distinguishes the kingdoms is in terms of the source of the satisfaction they provide. The woes are directed at those who contrive their own wealth and satisfaction and joy and respect. Like Jeremiah, the woes curse the one ‘who puts his trust in man and relies on things of flesh’. Blessed rather are they who receive from the Lord, who make the Lord their hope.Who for us Christians is this Lord, but Jesus himself? The beatitudes are a call not to prudent and respectable living, but to unwavering discipleship. A key to their significance is found in the culminating declaration, ‘blessed are you when people hate you, drive you out, abuse you on account of the Son of Man’. Poverty, hunger, grief, and persecution are not and cannot be made good in themselves. Suffered for the sake of the Gospel, however, in union with Jesus, these are the means of holiness and the promise of a glorious future. As St Paul says, if Christ is not raised from the dead, then we Christians labour pitiably and in vain. But Christ has been raised from the dead. There is the great reversal: death has given way to life. And that is the curious, narrow way we are called to travel. Thank God we can still rely on healing in various forms, some more or less miraculous, but there’s something just as important and more within the reach of everyone. To be able to love and accept ourselves, to give someone else the support of love and maybe some guidance if it is needed, even to be able to make someone feel better about themselves, is to bring a kind of healing that is very real and very important. It may not be spectacular but it can still be a miracle
