Today we celebrate the feast of the Epiphany, the wise men from the East travelling far from home to find the Christ child. Our readings are full of wonder: the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh brought by the wise men in Matthew 2:1-12, echo the prophesy in Isaiah, 60:1-9, that the nations will be drawn to God’s light bringing with them, gold, frankincense, camels and rams. For Isaiah these gifts are for the rebuilding of the city of Zion, God’s home on earth. But in Matthew the gifts are offered to a child, a child soon to be made homeless by Herod’s genocide, a child who will grow up with no place to lay his head. Both readings are resonant with the idea of home: Isaiah foresees the children returning home from far away; the wise men need to find another way home. God’s home is no longer a fixed place but travels alongside those who flee injustice, those who are desperate to find a home. We discover that, wherever we come from, our true home is to be found in travelling with God and that, finding ourselves at home in God, we are at home everywhere.

This first Sunday after Christmas our readings move from the joy of Christ’s birth to ponder what it means for God to dwell with us. The God who comes to us is not necessarily the God we expected. Both Simeon in the gospel, Luke 2:22-40, and Paul in his letter to the Galatians 4:4-7, perceive that this God is not just for those who were expecting God, for those “under the law” but for all peoples. Yet both still distinguish between peoples of different nations and different faiths: Simeon between the Gentiles and the people of Israel and Paul between those born under the (Jewish) law and those adopted into the household of God (Non-Jews). Both recognise the radical inclusivity of God and yet can’t quite move beyond the old hierarchies. Simeon rightly predicts that the move towards full inclusion will generate tensions, that Christ will be “a sign to be opposed”. The radical inclusivity of God is still opposed both in the world and in the church. On this first Sunday after Christmas Simeon and Paul ask us a question: are we, who are adopted by grace prepared to accept all those who calls into the divine family? and if so, are we prepared, like Mary, for the suffering that may accompany living out God’s generous hospitality? Are we prepared to welcome a God who is different from the God we expected?

On the third Sunday of Advent every year we celebrate John the Baptist but the readings are not about John, they are about the one he comes to prepare for. When questioned about who he is, in John 1:6, 19-28, he tells us who he is not. It is not about him, he here to tell us about another; one who is unrecognised, the one who stands among us, yet we do not know. The one announced in Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11 who will bring healing, freedom, comfort and renewal to all God’s people. Unlike John, who calls to us from the empty wilderness, our lives are full and busy and we know who we are: colleague, neighbour, parent, friend. But like John, the only truly important thing about us is our calling to recognise Christ in our midst and prepare the way for God’s promise to be fulfilled in bringing good new to the oppressed, binding the brokenhearted, granting liberty to the captive and proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favour.

Both our readings today cry out to us from the wilderness. The People of God in Isaiah 40:1-11, have been forcibly taken from their homeland to be slaves in a foreign place. In Mark 1:1-8, it is John the Baptist whose voice calls to us. When we find ourselves in the wilderness our readings instruct us to cry out. The exiles in Isaiah are not sure whether this will do any good: “what shall I cry?” “the people are but grass” no one is listening, no one cares, will speaking really make a difference, will anything change? God gives us a hint, the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, because “the mouth of the Lord has spoken”. We need to remind ourselves that words are the most powerful thing we have: in the beginning God spoke and the whole world of possibilities came into being. If we want to find a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert we need to find our voice. And then we need to use it. To bring to light all the ways in which our world can leave people in the wilderness and to reimagine a world in which the wilderness can be transformed.

We're all doomed! Wars and rumours of wars, death, persecution, famine and earthquakes. Every age sees parallels between the difficulties of their own times and apolcalyptic texts such as the one we hear this morning in Matthew 24:1-14. The advice given then is still pertinent to us now: beware being led astray; learn to endure; these are but the birth pangs... Our passage begins with the disciples being impressed by the size and grandeur of the temple. Jesus responds by predicting its collapse. The things that look strong and secure are not necessarily the ones that you should put your trust in: Temples crumble, nations fall, markets crash, economies tank. In an uncertain world Jesus does not offer us certainty. We can never work hard enough, be pious enough, acceptable enough, or attain enough to leave all our uncertainties and insecurities behind. Instead, faith shows us that our security lies in relationship. Today as we welcome the newly baptised we recall that we are loved, that our security and our identity rest in God who created and sustains all things and loves us unconditionally. This may not give us certainty but it gives us confidence and courage to live as people whom God claims as her own.

It is pretty easy to distinguish a sheep from a goat. It is also pretty easy to distinguish a king from his subjects, one with power from one with no power: those being served have power and authority, those serving them do not. It’s all pretty binary and straightforward. But what happens when the sheep start acting like goats and the goats like sheep? Today we celebrate the feast of Christ the King. At first sight, the Kingdom of God looks pretty binary too: the sheep are in, the goats are out, those who serve are in and those who do not are out. Jesus has just given power to those who do not have it and taken it from those who do. But Jesus never takes power from anyone or exerts power over anyone. Instead, he offers everyone the opportunity to use their own power. When we choose to use our power to serve, not those with power but those without power; when we give voice to the voiceless, champion the weak and care for those in need, we become part of the Kingdom of God.

As we head towards the end of the church year and our texts focus on the end times. Like last week, both of our readings this morning are about judgment. Zephaniah 1:7-18, predicts a harsh outcome for his people; a similar fate awaits the lazy servant in the parable of the talents in Matthew 25:14-30. The same reason is identified by both texts: misuse of the gifts that have been given. The book of Zephaniah charts the undoing of God’s good creation by humanity: a desire to possess and hoard and to use resources for solely for our own good. The poor servant in the parable does not appear to have been acting for personal gain, instead he acts out of fear: it is better, he thinks, to preserve what he has than risk losing it. The root of this fear is a lack of trust which prevents him from using what he has. Both readings ask us to consider what we place our trust in and what we look to for security. Do we trust God to provide us with all we need to flourish? Everything we have and everything we are, is given freely. God trusts us to risk using it to build up of the whole of God’s creation.

This Sunday is Remembrance Sunday when we gather at the war memorial to honour the lives of those whose lives have been given and taken away in wars and conflicts past and present. It is a day of deep reflection, a time for sorrow and penitence. Our first reading, Amos 5:18-24, lambasts those who would glorify judgment and punishment, recalling that we are all under judgment and calling us to live lives of justice and righteousness in which every life is treasured and valued. In our gospel, Matthew 25:1-13, Jesus tells the parable of the wise and foolish virgins awaiting the arrival of bridegroom: a symbol of the arrival of God’s reign of peace and justice. His concern is with how we respond to its delay. This is a real concern for us as we experience seemingly endless conflict: do we resign ourselves to the inevitability of conflict or do we remain faithful to the vision of peace and reconciliation? And if so, how is this faithfulness lived out in our lives together?

We're all doomed! Wars and rumours of wars, death, persecution, famine and earthquakes. Every age sees parallels between the difficulties of their own times and apolcalyptic texts such as the one we hear this morning in Matthew 24:1-14. The advice given then is still pertinent to us now: beware being led astray; learn to endure; these are but the birth pangs... Our passage begins with the disciples being impressed by the size and grandeur of the temple. Jesus responds by predicting its collapse. The things that look strong and secure are not necessarily the ones that you should put your trust in: Temples crumble, nations fall, markets crash, economies tank. In an uncertain world Jesus does not offer us certainty. We can never work hard enough, be pious enough, acceptable enough, or attain enough to leave all our uncertainties and insecurities behind. Instead, faith shows us that our security lies in relationship. Today as we welcome the newly baptised we recall that we are loved, that our security and our identity rest in God who created and sustains all things and loves us unconditionally. This may not give us certainty but it gives us confidence and courage to live as people whom God claims as her own.

Thursday 2nd November 7pm.

The service provides a time and place for quiet prayer and reflection, so that we can remember before God all those we have loved who have died.

There is a list at the back of church for you to add the names of the loved ones you would like to be remembered.

Today we celebrate the feast of All Saints and both our readings speak of those saintly ones who have been through suffering. Revelation 7:9-17, tells of those who have been through tribulation but now, God blesses them and wipes the tears from their eyes. In the New Testament it is not just the few who have experienced persecution who are called saints but the whole community of believers. In Matthew’s version of the beatitudes, Matthew 5:1-12, those who suffer: the hungry, the oppressed, the bereaved, are blessed not because of their suffering but because their suffering is addressed: blessed are the hungry, not because they are hungry, but because they shall be filled. Here it is not God who will wipe the tears from their eyes but the peacemakers and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. In a community of saints there is no longer any need for Saints, particular, special, venerated individuals, because there is no need for the one to be sacrificed for the many – instead the many work together to ensure that the one never has to be sacrificed.

Today we celebrate Harvest Festival. It is a time to give thanks for all we have and a time to share our abundance with others but more than this it is time to consider where our real security lies. In our Gospel, Luke 12:16-30, Jesus tells the parable of the wealthy farmer who stores up more and more produce. He is not a fool because he is successful, he is not gained his wealth by dishonest or unethical practise. He is a fool because, when his goods are all stored up he thinks he has achieved his goal; his wealth is not a means to an end, to live well, it has become an end itself. He was a fool because he was insular, fixed on his goal. Note how he talks to himself using “me”, “my”, “I”, over and over again. He has no understanding of his dependence on God or others or their dependence on him. In Deuteronomy 8:7-18, God is happy to bless her people with abundance but warns us not to think: “my power and the might of my own hand have gained me this wealth”. True security, real abundance is found in our relationships with God, with one another, with the earth on which we depend.