Christ the King

Sermon preached at St James’ Church, Bolton, Bradford on 22 November 2015

John 18.33-37

One late afternoon in 1980, someone rang our front door-bell and Yvonne went to answer it. We lived in Derwent Road back then. The two men on the doorstep said they were police detectives and they wanted to speak to a Mr Neil Booth. ‘Oh,’ said Yvonne. ‘That’s my husband. He isn’t back from the office yet. Do you want to come in and have a cup of tea while you wait?’ ‘No,’ they said. ‘We’ll come back later’ … And they did. They wanted to know where I had been on a particular evening and if I could produce an alibi for my whereabouts. Fortunately I could — which was just as well, because at that time I was slim and had dark hair and a dark beard, and the two public-spirited ladies who lived next door to us had been in touch with the police to say they were pretty sure I wasn’t quite who everyone thought I was. Oh no. I was really — wait for it — the Yorkshire Ripper.

Bless them, they were wrong. It was a case of mistaken identity. I wasn’t who they thought I was. But it’s not my identity I want us to think about this morning, but the identity of Jesus. Who is he? Who do we think he is? And might we be just as mistaken about him as the ladies of Derwent Road were about me? Who is Jesus? It’s a very important question. Get that answer wrong and we’ll get most other things wrong.

Now, next Sunday is Advent Sunday — the start of the new church year — and over the course of the four weeks that will begin then, the answer coming loud and clear to the question ‘Who is Jesus?’ will be: the baby born in Bethlehem … Mary’s boy-child … ‘infant holy, infant lowly’ … ‘away in a manger no crib for a bed’.

But then, once Christmas has been and gone, and the three kings of Epiphany have disappeared back into the east, we will start the countdown to Easter — 27 March in 2016, in case you were wondering — and over the course of those ten weeks the answer to the question ‘Who is Jesus?’ will change. It will increasingly become: ‘the man upon the cross, my sin upon his shoulders’ … the one ‘led like a lamb to the slaughter in silence and shame’. That’s who Jesus is: the Crucified One of Calvary.

Except that then, within three days, the answer will change to become: the Resurrected One; then (forty days later) the Ascended One, then … Well for the remainder of the church year until it all begins again, we fill the gap by looking at the life of Jesus between his birth and his ascension, and we come up with a variety of answers to the question ‘Who is Jesus?’ Jesus is the Teacher. He is the Healer. He is the Miracle Worker. He is ‘The man who lived in Galilee unlike all men before’.

And all that is fine. With every fresh focus through the passing weeks of the church year we are given new and different answers to the question ‘Who is Jesus?’ And they’re all true. They’re all true. But the trouble is that, even taken together, they are inadequate. Or perhaps it’s better to say they are incomplete. Who is Jesus? All of the above, yes … but so much more.

And so it was that, in 1925, to correct the deficiency, Pope Pius XI of the Roman Catholic Church, instituted a Feast day — a Festival — to encourage God’s people to contemplate what the ‘so-much-more’ about who Jesus is might be. And that Festival is today. It’s the day we celebrate … what? Well, Steve has already told us it is the Feast of ‘Christ the King’. But, sadly, you know, that is a rather watered-down version of what the feast day started out by being and what it really is. It is really ‘The Feast of Jesus Christ the King of the Universe’. And today, on the last Sunday of the Church’s Year, as we turn our eyes upon Jesus, that is the Jesus we are meant to see … ‘Jesus Christ the King of the Universe’.

That is the missing answer to the question ‘Who is Jesus?’ And it is, I believe, the one answer that alone makes sense of all the other answers and gives true meaning to Jesus’ birth, life, death, resurrection and ascension, and gives us a proper perspective for our faith.

The Feast of Jesus Christ, the King of the Universe. Now you can see why we had that reading from John’s gospel. Because in it and the verses that follow it, Pilate asks Jesus in a variety of ways: ‘Are you a king?’ And in a way, this morning, we are invited to stand alongside Pilate and ask Jesus that very same question. We’re invited to search our minds and hearts and to take a long hard look at the Jesus we follow and worship, and to ask ourselves ‘Is that who Jesus really is to me? Is he a king … and if so, the king of what? The King of the Jews? Or more than that  … The King of the Universe? Is that what I truly believe?’ I would suggest that if we can be brought to the point of answering in complete honesty ‘Yes’, it will profoundly change our lives.

Canon J B Philips once wrote a book called ‘Your God is Too Small’. And you know what, he was right; our God is too small. And I’m absolutely certain that, in the estimation of all of us, without exception, our Jesus is  too small. I tell you this. There is not a single member of this congregation who, when he or she gets to see Jesus as he really is, will turn to the person next to them and say: ‘Really? That’s Jesus. What a let-down. What a disappointment. He’s not nearly as awesome and wonderful as I thought he was going to be.’

Quite the contrary. Jesus’ best friend John — the disciple whom Jesus loved, the one who was at his right hand at the Last Supper and lay his head on his breast, the one who was in the inner circle of Jesus’ friends and knew the human Jesus better than anyone else … That John, the apostle John, when he was in exile on the island of Patmos near the end of his life, had a glimpse of Jesus as he really is in eternity, and do you know how it affected him? ‘I fell at his feet,’ he said ‘as though I was dead’. That’s how the reality of who Jesus is affected him. But how about us?

What is it we see when we think of Jesus, or speak of him, or pray to him, or sing about him? A Robert Powell look-alike from Jesus of Nazareth? A Jim Caviezal look-alike from The Passion of the Christ? Or the man in the watercolour painting I remember from my Sunday School wall in West Hartlepool: the man with long golden hair and blue eyes and a spotless white robe ‘suffering the little children to come to him’ as they gather round his feet and sit in his lap?

Even if we try to stretch our imagination to see beyond that man from Galilee and to think of the ascended and glorified Jesus at the Father’s right hand in heaven, all we generally manage to do is add some shining robes and some special halo effects to our normal visualisation. Well, I’m sorry, but that Jesus is still too small. Way too small. And my job this morning, on this particular Sunday, is to try to throw out some thoughts and ideas that will hopefully enable the Holy Spirit to draw back the curtain for you on Jesus as he really is, right now — the King of the Universe.

To do that, I first need to take you back in time. Back before the birth in Bethlehem, back before King David, back before Moses, back before Abraham, back before Adam and Eve, back before the dinosaurs, back before the earth was formed, back before there was a universe at all. In fact, I need to take you back to what the author of the book of Genesis and the author of the Gospel of John both call ‘the Beginning’.

In the 17th century, James Ussher, the Archbishop of Armagh, calculated that ‘the Beginning’ took place on Saturday, October 22, in 4004 BC … but he couldn’t, of course, have got it more wrong if he’d tried. For we now know with great certainty just how old creation is — though the numbers involved are absolutely mind-blowing. In fact, the Beginning that the book of Genesis talks about took place 13.8 billion years ago. That is when, according to the book of Genesis, God created the heavens and the earth.

But the writer of the Gospel of John has something even more mind-boggling and stupendous to add to that. ‘In the beginning,’ he tells us, ‘was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.’

So who is this ‘he’, this ‘him’, this ‘Word’? A few verses later John tells us. The Word is the One who, 2,000 years ago, ‘became flesh and dwelt among us.’ He is Jesus.

Let’s just stick with that for a minute. We normally have this reading from John’s Gospel at the end of the Christmas Carol service, and because of that, any awesome thoughts that it might spark off in us are quickly snuffed out by ‘O Come all ye faithful’ (wonderful carol though it is) and the mince pies and the mulled wine which literally bring us right back down to earth. But just let’s stick with it now and let’s try to grasp the enormity of it.

What John is saying is that, before there was anything that we would recognise as existence, there was a kind of Fellowship of Love called ‘God’ … and it consisted of the Father, his son, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. And in the heart of this triune God there arose the idea of the universe and of creatures who could be drawn into the life of the Trinity itself to share in the love and joy that Father, Son and Spirit already eternally shared together.

There was then a ‘let’s do it’ moment in the mind of God and the decision that the creation would take place though Jesus. He would be the architect and builder of the universe and of every last thing in it. Every atom and molecule would have its origin in him. Every planet and star and constellation and nebula. His would be the hands that, as Graham Kendrick puts it ‘flung stars into space’. And more than that, he would hold those stars and all other created things together.

Hear how Paul puts it in his letter to the Colossians: ‘In him — in Jesus — all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers — all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.’

Think what that means. You don’t have to be a quantum physicist nowadays to know that nothing is as solid as it looks. Just one tiny grain of sand is made up of 17 million, million, million molecules. That is 17 with 18 zeros after it! Just one grain of sand! And everything in the material universe is made up of molecules. But molecules aren’t solid. Each molecule is made up of atoms. At the centre of each atom are neutrons and protons surrounded by electrons. And in each neutron and electron are even smaller particles called quarks. And everything — quarks, neutrons, protons, electrons, atoms, molecules — effectively float in nothing. They’re not attached to each other; they are simply held together in a kind of dance that makes them what they are — a sand dance, a water dance, an iron dance.

And what holds them in place — in what one physicist has called ‘the astounding interconnectedness of the universe’ — is some kind of … energy. But what energy? Where does it come from? What is it that holds everything together and connects everything together? Well the answer to that, folks, whether you believe it or not, is the Word, Jesus Christ, the King of the Universe. ‘All things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.’

What Paul is saying is that if Jesus lets it all go … loses his grip … even for a nanosecond, everything, absolutely everything that is, will cease to be. The universe will simply vanish.

The universe. Let’s talk about the universe. We’ve talked about ‘small’ — the grain of sand with its 17 million, million, million molecules — so let’s talk about ‘big’ for a moment. We all know you measure distances in space in light years. That, as you might expect, is the distance that light travels in a year. In terms of miles, it’s 6 million, million miles a year. But even if you could travel at that speed, the speed of light, do you know how long it would take you to reach the edge of just the known universe. 46 billion years! And there may be even more universe or universes that are still undetected. Wow!

But here’s the thing. Jesus Christ is King of it all. In Hebrews 1, he’s called the one ‘through whom God made the universe’ and ‘who sustains it by his powerful word.’ That’s why I’ve put some science in the sermon this morning! Jesus is King of everything from the inconceivably big to the inconceivably small. He is king of every molecule in every grain of sand and he is king of every star and every planet, whether it’s on our doorstep in the Milky Way or at the outer edge of the universe 276 thousand million, million, million miles away. And my question for each of us this morning is: Is that what we truly believe?

You see, I suspect there are some of you looking back at me now who don’t even want to face that question. I can almost hear you silently shouting: ‘Stop it, Neil. Please, just stop it. I don’t want to know … Such ideas of bigness and smallness frighten the living daylights out of me. I just want to stick with the Jesus I’m used to: the one who’s my saviour and friend. If I go along with what you’re saying, he can’t be my friend any more. Nobody that big, that important, and that powerful could ever even notice me let alone listen to me when I talk to him.’

Really? Why not? You see there’s another truth about Jesus that we choose to neglect almost as much as the truth that Jesus is the creator and sustainer of the universe itself and everything in it. And Paul tells us what it is in Ephesians chapter 1 …

Even before the world was made,’ he says, ‘God had already chosen us to be his through our union with Christ, so that we would be holy and without fault before him. Because of his love God had already decided that through Jesus Christ he would make us his children — this was his pleasure and purpose.’

His purpose, please note. That is what creation was all about.

‘In all his wisdom and insight,’ Paul goes on, ‘God did what he had purposed, and made known to us the secret plan he had already decided to complete by means of Christ. This plan, which God will complete when the time is right, is to bring all creation together, everything in heaven and on earth, with Christ as head.’

There are a dozen sermons in those verses but the key point we need to grasp is this. At the same ‘time before time’, when the Trinity of Love decided to create the universe through Jesus, they had already decided it was to be the home of the human race. That was the very purpose of creation. The human race wasn’t an after-thought. And the Trinity of Love had already decided that each member of that human race — you and me included — would, through his or her union with Jesus, become sons and daughters of the heavenly Father. That was all part of the package. ‘Even before the world was made,’ says Paul, ‘God had already chosen us to be his children!’

How wonderful is that! If only we could all get hold of that and take it to heart. How many Christians are there who are striving to work, pray, and believe their way into something they are already in if only they knew it. God chose you specifically, by name, before the first star became a raging furnace of life and light. You already belong to him and with him. You are already family! All he asks of you is that you wake up, smell the coffee, and come to the table. Wake up to what is already yours in Christ.

Oh, yes, you say. But that was before we went and ruined everything. What about sin and evil and the almighty mess we’ve made of Planet Earth? Well, let me tell you, the Trinity of Love knew all about that too before the universe came into being. In the Book of Revelation, Jesus is called ‘the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.’ And do you know why he’s called that? Because, before the universe was even created through him, Jesus said to the Father and the Spirit: ‘We all know what’s going to happen, don’t we? They’re going to mess up. They’re going to mess up big time. They’re going to alienate themselves from us. They’re going to turn their backs on us and choose darkness rather than light. They’re going to embrace their own destruction. But we can fix it; and here is how …

‘I’ll go down there into the muck and mess. I’ll go down deep. I’ll go down into death and hell itself and I’ll defeat them and destroy the darkness. And then I’ll trust you Father and Holy Spirit to pull me back up and when you do I’ll bring the whole human race with me. However long it takes I’ll rescue them from the dump. I’ll clean them up and make them new and I’ll set them free to be one with us and to share and enjoy with me every blessing that is mine …

‘Here, in eternity, before we even light the blue touch-paper and make the Big Bang … before you, Father, say “Let there be light” … I, Jesus, willingly bind myself in love and friendship and blessing to every human being there will ever be and I swear to bring every last one of them here, into this, our fellowship of the Trinity, that we may all love and delight in one another for ever and ever. Amen.’

And that, by the way, is the Gospel. You may have heard it differently. You may have been told that the Gospel is that you can receive Jesus into your life. No. The Gospel is that Jesus has already received you into his life … and that he did so before he created the universe.

The bigness of Jesus isn’t a problem, you see. It isn’t a problem because the greatness of his power and his majesty is entirely matched, measure for measure, by the greatness of his love. And the two together mean that he not only wants you in his life and wants to spend eternity with you, but that he has the power — the almighty power — to make that happen. Indeed, he has already made it happen in eternity — and is unstoppable in his commitment to remove every hindrance, every barrier that you yourself or all the powers of darkness combined might, here in time, try to put in the way.

That’s why you really don’t want or need a little Jesus, a provincial Jesus of the kind we are all too often willing to settle for … a Jesus who is not much more than an invisible version of the man from Galilee.

The real Jesus, the true Jesus — the one we celebrate today — is so much bigger than that. He is indeed the King of the Universe. And please hear this — he loves you. He really does. You! Specifically you! He chose you and decided to die for you before all worlds were made.

People talk of Jesus taking on flesh and going to the cross, you know, as if it were God’s Plan B after God’s Garden-of-Eden-y Plan A had gone horribly wrong. No. There never was a Plan B. The Incarnation and the Cross were always part of Plan A. When Jesus died and rose again and ascended to the Father, you died and were raised in him and carried with him to the Father’s arms. It’s all there in Ephesians 2 — ‘But God … out of the great love with which he loved us … made us alive together with Christ … and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus.’ Note the tense of the verbs. Made … raised … seated … past tense! Perfect tense! It has already happened. It’s a done deal and it’ s the real deal.

That is the glory of the gospel. He is yours and you are his for all eternity. And nothing … nothing whatsoever … can ever alter that: ‘neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation.’ That is the truth and it is true because Jesus Christ is the King of all creation … the King of the Universe … and he has ordained it to be so and has made it so. He is the lover of your soul, the one in whom you live and move and have your being, and the one who has decreed that he will never, ever let you go. Amen

The Good Samaritan

Sermon preached at St James’ Church, Bolton, Bradford on 30 August 2015

Luke 10:25-37

Words are strange things aren’t they? Little bundles of sound that are right now leaving my mouth and floating through the air to enter your ears where, hopefully, they have the same meaning for you as they have for me as I’m speaking them. Unfortunately, though, they don’t always do that, do they? Words that are spoken, or written, can mean one thing to the person who speaks or writes them and something entirely different to the person who hears or reads them …

Anyone seen that delightful film ‘Paddington’? Yes? Then you’ll recall the hilarious moment where the little bear from the Andes, still adapting to life in Britain, is about to descend into the London Underground when he suddenly spots a sign saying “Dogs Must Be Carried on the Escalator.” Oh no! He doesn’t have a dog! What is he to do? Well he rushes off and finds one, doesn’t he, so that he will not be breaking the law by going down to the platform empty-handed.

But even when the sense is clear, a word can have different meanings, can’t it? At Crown Court recently, there was a young chap on trial, charged with dangerous driving. ‘Will you tell the Court what gear you were in at the time of the collision?’ asked the barrister. ‘Just the usual,’ said the young man, ‘jeans, trainers and a sweat-shirt’. ‘Gear’, you see, has more than one meaning. And so, of course, do lots of other words.

As some of you know, before I retired (long time ago now) I was a tax specialist – an expert in tax law. Which meant I had to spend a great deal of time ferreting out from tax cases and Hansard and so forth precisely what particular words and phrases used in the various Finance Acts actually meant: what they included … and, usually more to the point, what they didn’t include. The law said something or other was taxable … but what exactly was that something or other? My job was to find out.

One of the more famous tax cases I remember concerned the humble Jaffa cake. Was it cake – as its name suggested – or was it a biscuit? Huge sums of money were at stake. Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs claimed it was a biscuit and so should attract VAT at the standard rate. McVities – who I understand still produce 2,000 Jaffa cakes a minute – argued no, it was indeed a cake and should therefore be zero-rated. The Tribunal who heard the case weighed up the pros and cons. The product’s name was, they thought, neither here nor there. But it was a fact that, if you went shopping for Jaffa cakes, you would find them on the biscuit counter and not on the cake counter. However, a Jaffa cake was, they discovered, made from a thin batter rather than the thicker dough usually used for biscuits; and because of its spongy texture it could be bent, whereas a biscuit was usually crisp and could be snapped. Not only that, but they found that when Jaffa cakes went stale they became hard like a cake rather than going soft like a biscuit. So what were they? All things considered, the Tribunal decided a Jaffa cake was indeed a cake after all. Result … McVities 1, Revenue 0. And it all came down to definition.

Definition and law belong together. Wherever there are laws there are people and things to which the law applies and people and things to which it doesn’t apply. But which are which? You need definitions to decide. And that applied just as much to the Law which God had given the Jews as it did to any other kind of law. God’s law said, for instance, that you mustn’t work on the Sabbath. But what was work? The law itself didn’t say. So the Jews had legal specialists – experts in the law who were known as scribes – who tried to interpret the law and set the definitions. The law was the law and had to be obeyed. If you were a Jew, your relationship with God depended on it. Obey it and God loved you; break it and you were out in the cold … or down in the heat perhaps. But you had to know what the law was if you were going to obey it or break it – and that’s where these lawyers came in. Their business was to tell you. And it was one of those lawyers who popped up in this morning’s reading. He was there in the crowd around Jesus.

Now it says he was wanting to test Jesus but that doesn’t mean we must think of him as a bad man or as someone out to get Jesus. No, not at all. He would have been passionate about the law and it was no doubt his passion that took him to Jesus that day. Knowing that Jesus was claiming to speak on behalf of God himself, he had a very important question to put to him. One to which he genuinely wanted God’s own answer. ‘What,’ he asked Jesus, ‘must I do to inherit eternal life?’ In other words: ‘Which parts of God’s law are so essential that they encompass all the rest of the law and will, if obeyed, unlock the very gate to God’s kingdom?’

‘Well … you tell me,’ says Jesus. ‘You’re the lawyer. What do you think?’

‘Hmn. Well, first must be the command we recite every morning and evening – You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and strength and mind,’ says the lawyer. ‘And I would add to that the command: Love your neighbour as yourself.’

‘Couldn’t agree more,’ says Jesus. ‘So … why not go and do it?!’

Maybe there was a little laughter from the crowd at this point. They liked to see a lawyer being put in his place, and that’s what Jesus – in the nicest way possible – had just done. The lawyer was beginning to look rather foolish. So ‘seeking to justify himself’ the Bible says … in other words, seeking to show that he wasn’t being quite as stupid as the crowd seemed to think he was … the lawyer whacks the ball back into Jesus’ court with another question – a question of definition. ‘That’s all well and good,’ he says. ‘But who is my neighbour?’

He knows (as does everyone else) that ‘a neighbour’ includes one’s family and presumably the people one shares a pew with in the synagogue on Saturday; but who else? It’s not an easy question to answer. The Hebrew word for neighbour, you see, had a wide range of meanings. One of them was ‘friend’, another was ‘workmate’, but yet another was ‘fellow citizen’. So, the scribe is saying to Jesus: ‘When God commands me to love my neighbour, who is it exactly that he’s commanding me to love. Is it just my family and friends? Or does it extend to my workmates whether I’m friends with them or not. Or might it even extend to all other Jews? And if it does extend to all other Jews, is it only ‘good’ Jews or all Jews? It’s an important question, Jesus. I really want to know. Loving can be costly. I don’t want to go spending love on people who don’t fall within the definition. Where do I draw the line? What are the limits? Where are the boundaries?’

So Jesus tells him – and the crowd around him – a story. A parable. You know what a parable is, don’t you It’s just a story; but a story with a twist in the tale. A story that’s designed to make a point and to make it in a memorable and unexpected and even shocking way. So Jesus tells this parable, this story, of a man who sets off from Jerusalem on his donkey to travel the long and winding road to Jericho in the Jordan valley bottom far below. Seventeen rocky and very dangerous miles that – despite the pictures in Bible Stories for children – nobody in their right mind would ever travel on foot. If you valued your life, you went down the Jericho road on a donkey as fast as you possibly could. That’s because it was notorious in Jesus’ day for the bands of robbers that lurked in its nooks and crannies and behind its rock-falls, just waiting to set upon anyone who turned the corner and strayed within their range. And in Jesus’ story it was just such a band that fell upon the man the story seems to be about – beating him up, stripping him of his clothes, stealing his money, his donkey – everything he had – and leaving him there at the roadside, slowly bleeding to death.

By now the crowd are hooked. They’ve heard such tales. They know all about that road. They dread ever having to travel on it themselves. The poor devil! What’s going to happen to him now?

‘Well, what happens,’ says Jesus, ‘is that there’s a clip-clop in the distance, getting closer and closer, and around the corner comes … a priest!’

‘A priest, eh? Well thank goodness for that. Let’s hope he’s in time. Let’s hope he can do something to save the poor guy lying at the roadside.’

‘Alas, no,’ says Jesus … ‘The priest could help but he doesn’t. He takes one look at the dying man, digs his heels in the donkey’s side and gallops off. I mean, who knows? The robbers might still be around! Self-preservation! You’ve got to save your own skin while you’ve got the chance.’

The crowd shake their heads in disgust. ‘Cor. Typical!’ says someone.

‘Ah, but wait,’ says Jesus. ‘There’s someone else coming. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. It’s a Levite on his donkey.’ (You can think of Levites as being like church wardens or readers. They’re not Priests but they’re still very religious and do a lot of stuff in the temple.) So here round the corner comes a Levite.

‘Oh, thank heavens for that. So he stops, does he?’

‘No. Not a bit of it. He takes a look, but then he too takes off in a cloud of dust, galloping down the road after the priest.’

‘Oh, heck. So is that it? Is the man in the gutter doomed to die?’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Can you hear? Clip-clop, clip-clop. There’s someone else coming.’

‘Ah …’ The crowd have got the hang of it now. They can see where this is going. It’s an ‘Englishman, Irishman, Scotsman’ story isn’t it? They’ve had the priest – the religious professional. They’ve had the Levite – the half-and-half. And now they’re expecting the real ordinary bloke, salt of the earth – just like one of themselves, coming round the corner; and at last there’ll be someone to do something for the poor devil lying in the pool of blood with the vultures circling overhead.

‘But no,’ says Jesus, ‘Coming round the corner is a … wait for it … clip-clop, clip-clop … a SAMARITAN!

‘Nooo! Samaritans are the pits. They something you scrape off the bottom of your sandal. The only good Samaritan is a dead Samaritan. What’s a Samaritan doing in the story?’

‘Well,’ says Jesus, ‘this one is coming to do what the priest and Levite failed to do. Having come round the corner he sees the half-dead Jew and in an instant, without a thought for his own safety, he’s off his donkey and running to help him. Moved with compassion, he applies first aid – uses oil and wine to clean and sterilise the wounds – bandages him up (presumably by tearing his turban or some of his own garments into strips) – puts him on his donkey and gets him to the nearest inn on the outskirts of Jericho. Not only that, but he gives the inn-keeper enough money to look after the man for over three weeks. “And don’t worry if it costs more,” he says, “I’ll sort it out when I return.”’

The crowd are silent. Stunned. Speechless. Jesus turns to the lawyer. ‘So,’ he says, ‘the question I want to ask you is not whether the man who fell among thieves falls within the legal definition of “neighbour” for any of those who encountered him on the Jericho road; but which of those who encountered him on that road him showed a true spirit of neighbourliness towards him?’

There can, of course, be only one answer and the lawyer gives it. ‘The one who showed him mercy,’ he says, grudgingly. He cannot even bring himself to utter the word ‘Samaritan’.

‘Yes,’ says Jesus. ‘So now you go and do the same.’

Notice that Jesus never spells out for the lawyer who a ‘neighbour’ is. He never actually answers the lawyer’s question. Nor will he answer our question today if we’re asking him whether, for example, those refugees and asylum seekers stacked up now in ‘the Jungle’ in Calais and longing to get into Britain, are our ‘neighbours’. And that’s for the very good reason that the question is unanswerable, and should never be asked. It should never be asked because love doesn’t define neighbours, it discovers them. If you are looking for limits before you start to show love, you have no love in your heart to show and it’s impossible for you to love your neighbour anyway. If you do have love in your heart, it will show you who your neighbours are without your ever having to define them. That’s why one newspaper got it absolutely right when it said this last week that Britain doesn’t have a problem with immigrants, it has a problem with compassion. The Samaritan was ‘moved with compassion’ and that’s what caused him to recognise the injured Jew as his neighbour.

Now I suppose we could leave it there. We’ve discovered the point of Jesus’ parable. That love discovers neighbours; it doesn’t define them. That they’re just there – the people, whoever they are, who fall within the circle of mercy and compassion that is created by our love. That the bigger our love, the wider the circle and the more ‘neighbours’ we shall find it to include.

But I cannot leave it there without pointing out something that you may not yet have realised. That on a very deep and meaningful and personal level, this story is actually about Jesus himself … and us. A great many of Jesus’ stories are.

In the Gospel of John – chapter 8 – the religious leaders come to Jesus and set about insulting him in the worst way they know how. ‘Are you not a Samaritan,’ they say, ‘and demon-possessed?’

‘No, I am not demon-possessed,’ Jesus replies. But please note, he doesn’t say, ‘I am not a Samaritan.’ Why? Because he’s happy to be called a Samaritan. He’s happy to be the Good Samaritan. He’s happy to be the one who – though despised and rejected of men – becomes their saviour and the saviour of all the world.

And we, of course – you and I – each one of us – is the man at the roadside. We have all fallen among thieves. We have all been robbed of the riches that were our birth-right as children of God. We have all been beaten up by the circumstances and traumas of our lives. We have all been left for dead at one time or another. And indeed there are perhaps those of you here who are feeling half-dead and abandoned even now.

Not that you’re going to let anyone see it, of course. No more than I am. Because we cover up, don’t we? It’s what we do – we’re British. Stiff upper lip and all that. Laugh and the world laughs with you. Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile. Put on a brave face. Big boys don’t cry.

But none of it fools Jesus, thank God. He is on his donkey – he likes riding donkeys – and he’s coming down your Jericho road and mine; just as he has been for the last two thousand years. He is the Good Samaritan after all – so where else would he be. He’s looking for beaten up people like you and me. And when he sees us, he stops and moved with compassion* he comes to us. He comes to us this morning. This is a healing service and, if we are willing, Jesus will come to us right here, in this place, to bind up our wounds; to put us on his donkey; and to carry us to safety. His love is so great that the circle of his mercy and compassion is without limit, so there is no-one here who is not his neighbour. And he loves his neighbour. He loves you. The only question is: Will you let him be your good Samaritan this morning?

In a moment we’re going to play some gentle music and I’m going to invite you to come to the Communion rail here, if you wish to do so, and receive an anointing with oil – just as the man at the roadside was anointed with oil by the good Samaritan. You can come for yourself or for another. It’s all very simple … just come, be anointed, go back, and pray. But before we do that, let me pray for all of us …

Lord Jesus, Good Samaritan to us all. Draw close to each one of us now in your mercy and compassion. Stoop to bind up our wounds of body, mind and spirit. Heal us by your grace; and to take us to the inn of your abiding presence where we can find comfort, sustenance, shelter and peace, and be made whole again. For your kingdom’s sake. Amen.

*  The Greek verb for ‘to be moved with compassion’ is splagchnizomai and, apart from here, is only ever used of Jesus himself in the Gospels.

A poem which may be sung as a hymn to the tune Westminster or any other ‘My God how wonderful thou art’ tune.

Not to appease an angry God
Nor satisfy his wrath
Did Jesus Cross-ward set his face
And tread his lonely path.

His sacrifice – like that of lambs
Slain in the temple court –
Was not of penalty but praise,
And no forgiveness bought.

Forgiveness from his Father flowed,
As ever, full and free;
But that we might its sweetness taste
He brought us to the Tree.

Repentance there – the Father’s gift
To every love-washed soul –
Unstops our hearts and ushers in
The life that makes us whole.

Christ died to carry into God
Our fear and pain and woe
That God in Christ hung on the Cross
Humanity might know.

Christ’s heart in God thus ever beats
With understanding grace
So naught but arms of welcome can
Await the human race.

One day, within those loving arms,
All stumbling souls will find
The Father of their heart’s desire,
All merciful and kind.

Then – when God’s love has had it’s way –
And all the lost are found,
We’ll join together in his feast
And joy will know no bounds.

(c) Neil D Booth 2014

Always Enough of Everything

The point is this:the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work. 2 Corinthians 9.6-8.

On British television, the BBC regularly shows repeats of Dad’s Army – a sitcom first broadcast from 1968 to 1977 about the Home Guard (local defence volunteers) during the Second World War. An episode that I watched last night had a scene in which we saw Corporal Jones going about his daily business as the local butcher in Walmington-on-Sea. There was a long queue of women in his shop and the woman at the front handed over her ration books.

jones‘Oh dear, Mrs Peters,’ says Jones, ‘You haven’t got much there. Only a shilling on each.’

‘Is that all I’ve got?’ she asks.

‘I’m afraid so,’ says Jones. ‘I can let you have three little lamb chops and a bit of corned beef.’

Mrs Fox, the lady next in the queue, fares a little better, but none of them get all that they need, for those were days of great hardship and austerity. Food was in short supply and by 1942 almost everything apart from vegetables and bread was being rationed.

Back then, in the UK, you lived out of the insufficiency of your ration book.

Well that little episode must still have been in my mind this morning, I suppose, when I read the passage set out above from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians; for its last sentence really made me sit up with a jolt. What was it that Paul was saying? God is able to provide me with every blessing in abundance? He can see to it that I always have enough of everything? Really? Well if that is so, why do I so often live out of what I see as the insufficiency of my ration book?

I began to think of the kind of things I say that betray my ‘poverty’ mentality:

I’m running out of sympathy.
My patience is exhausted.
It’s way beyond my means.
My compassion’s wearing a bit thin.
I simply don’t have the time.
I’ve nothing left to give.

The trouble is that in church on Sunday I pay lip service to a very different way of going on. I happily sing Don Moen’s lovely song (based on Joel 3.10 KJV) ‘Give thanks with a grateful heart’ and bellow out along with the rest:

And now let the weak say “I am strong.”
Let the poor say “I am rich
because of what the Lord has done for us.”

But the reality is that I live as if I am weak and poor and incapable of meeting most of the needs I would encounter if I truly engaged with those around me. If what Paul says is true, however, then I can afford to be generous with time, with money, with grace, mercy, compassion, patience … everything.

There really is no ration book. I’m not going to run out of anything.

For the fact is that I am no longer living in the pig sty of the far country where I have nothing. I am now in the Father’s house. I have the best robe on me. I have a ring on my finger and shoes on my feet. And my Father is rich beyond all imagining. Psalm 50.10 says he owns the cattle on a thousand hills (so forget about meat rationing, Mr Jones.) And the promise is that he will ‘fully satisfy every need’ of mine according to those riches – ‘his riches in glory in Christ Jesus’ (Philippians 4.9).

It has ever been so for those who belong to God and recognise his ownership. ‘The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want,’ said David. Or as the hymn puts it:

The King of Love my shepherd is;
his goodness faileth never.
I nothing lack if I am his
and he is mine for ever.

That is the truth. The truth I need to be living in and living out of today. The truth that I will ‘always have enough of everything.’ Wow!

And this, of course, finally makes sense of a verse that has often puzzled me: Luke 8.18 ‘For to those who have, more will be given; and from those who do not have, even what they seem to have will be taken away.’ In other words; when I recognise the abundance that is mine in Christ and begin to live out of that abundance, the well will never run dry. The five loaves and two fishes will continue to multiply. But if I choose to deny the abundance I have and resolve to live as one who has nothing to spare and nothing to give, the abundance itself that truly was mine will, sadly, be lost to me.

Night Vision

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter). The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” John 1.35-51.

I find it quite astonishing how sometimes the Spirit will throw things together (Greek: paraballō!) so that we are suddenly able to grasp some truth that has remained hidden from us before. This has happened for me just now – during last 24 hours – and I’d like to share the experience in this post.

First, yesterday morning, I just ‘came across’ a few lines in a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning that so captivated me that I decided to commit them to memory. They are from ‘Aurora Leigh’ and they are these:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
but only he who sees, takes off his shoes …

Second, early yesterday evening, there ‘happened to be’ a natural history feature on the BBC One Show where the nocturnal activities of stag beetles were being monitored using an infra red camera that made the invisible visible.

Third, last night, I ‘chanced upon’ a podcast of a short homily by the Franciscan priest Richard Rohr in which he made this startling comment: ‘Spiritual seeing is always a participation in the eyes of God.‘ In other words, we only see truly – see things as they really are – when we see through God’s eyes and not our own.

Then, fourthly, I read this passage from John this morning and found certain words leaping out at me. Here it is again with those words bolded:

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter). The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

What a lot of looking and seeing is going on in this passage – by John, by the disciples and by Jesus himself.

Jesus always sees with the eyes of God and it is with those eyes that he ‘sees’ Andrew and another disciple (John) begin to follow him. That is what makes him turn to see with his physical eyes what he has already seen with the eyes of God. But seeing them with his human eyes, he then sees into their hearts with the eyes of God and observes the spiritual search that is going on there. That is why he asks them what they are looking for – what they are trying to see but are unable to see. They don’t know how to answer his question, so they say the first thing that pops into their heads: ‘Where are you staying?’ And, at that, Jesus appears to answer their question, but in reality says something far more profound. ‘Come and see,’ he says. But it is not ‘come and see where I am staying;’ it is ‘come and really see.’ ‘Come and see with my eyes. Come and see the world and everything in it in a completely different way. Come and see the hidden reality. Come and see with the eyes of God.’

All true seeing takes place as a result of coming to Jesus. All true seeing is through his eyes, and his eyes only – the eyes of God.

On a superficial level, Andrew and John came and saw where Jesus was staying; but immediately, in starting to follow Jesus, they began to see so much more. Andrew tells his brother: ‘We have found the Messiah.’ What insight! In coming to Jesus, Andrew had begun to see with the eyes of God.

It is a similar story with Nathanael. Jesus sees him on two levels – with the eyes of man and with the eyes of God – and then Nathanael, in coming to Jesus and beginning to follow him, begins to see with the eyes of God too. ‘You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!’ he exclaims. Again, what insight!

And, at that, Jesus promises Nathanael something wonderful – something that I believe he promises to you and me too … That we will see greater things than these. That we will see heaven opened.

jacobsladderWhat does Jesus mean by that? Well, the story to which he refers is that of Jacob in Genesis 28. Jacob is on the run from his brother Esau whom he has cheated out of their father’s blessing. Stranded in the middle of nowhere one night, he decides to sleep rough. But he dreams and sees a ladder set up between heaven and earth with angels ascending and descending. And at the top of the ladder is the Lord, who speaks to Jacob and blesses him and promises always to be with him. When he wakes, Jacob looks at the unremarkable barren bit of land on which he has slept and at the stone that he has used as a pillow and he says: ‘Surely the Lord is in this place and I didn’t know it’ (v 16).

Suddenly Jacob is aware, with Elizabeth Barrett Browning, that earth is crammed with heaven and every common bush is afire with God. Suddenly Jacob, like the naturalist on the One Show, has (literally) got night vision and things that were invisible are visible. Suddenly Jacob is seeing with the eyes of God.

‘And so will you,’ says Jesus to Nathanael. ‘And so will you,’ he says to me. ‘It is simply a matter of coming to me, following me, and being prepared to look out at the world and everything in it through my eyes. Then, it will be for you as for the man who once said. “I was blind, but now I see” (John 9.25). You too will really see. You will have night vision.’

The Night Will End

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30.5b.

Because of the medication I take, I often suffer from an extremely dry mouth at night which causes my tongue to stick to the roof of my mouth and makes breathing so difficult that it wakes me from my sleep. One night on holiday it was so bad that I was awake fourteen times, attempting to ‘unglue’ my tongue. Each time I looked at the clock, hoping that it was almost morning; but for the greater part of the night it was not and there was still a lot of discomfort to be endured.

Once morning had arrived and I was out on the patio with a mug of tea in my hand, listening to the birdsong, and watching as dawn broke over the mountains, I got to thinking of all those poor souls for whom nights are endless because of things far worse than my dry mouth; and with the above verse from Psalm 30 in my mind I suppose, I found myself writing this poem …

IMG_2335The night will end.
However deep the pain,
However much the praying
seems in vain,
The night will end.

The night will end.
However memory dims,
However strong the ache
in heart and limbs,
The night will end.

The night will end.
However sore the eyes,
However anguished are the unheard cries,
The night will end.

The night will end,
Somewhere a bird will trill
And joy-filled dawn will break beyond the hill,
And night will end.

I hope it might help someone for whom the nights are always far too dark and far too long.

By Their Fruits

I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. John 15.1-6.

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted on this blog for a while, and that is because I have been on holiday in Crete and working on a new book. However, while on holiday and sitting in the little shady corner where I did my writing each day, something caught my eye from the very start, and I feel the need to write about it this morning.

IMG_3364I’d like to begin by asking you to look closely at this photograph I took of my writing corner and see if you can see what it was that I saw. Start in the bottom left-hand corner and work up towards the top-right.

Bunches of grapes? Yes – there are several of them, hanging there, half-hidden among the foliage that has draped itself over the patio wall.

Now I don’t know about you, but whenever I see a bunch of grapes my mind immediately jumps to the passage from John 15 that I have set out above; but when I saw these grapes on holiday I suddenly began to see that passage in a new light.

Until then, you see, I had started (as does John 15) with Jesus. ‘Do I know him as the True Vine?’ I would ask myself. The answer would be, ‘Yes;’ so, OK, I would then move on to me, a branch, and ask myself ‘Am I abiding in Jesus?’ Again I would answer,’Yes;’ and at that point I would conclude, ‘OK, so I have no need to worry about the fruit – the promise is right there in John 15 that there’ll be “much” of it – whether I can see it or not. I mean, I’m aware that I’m not always loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, generous, faithful or self-controlled; but I try to keep those deficiencies well-hidden and others presumably don’t notice them.’


Seeing the grapes on holiday turned my approach on it’s head. I started with the grapes. Yes, they were real – I picked one and tasted it. Full of pips (which I’m not used to in supermarket grapes) but quite sweet. Not perfect (I’ll come back to that) but real or ‘true’ grapes. So there must be a branch. I pulled the foliage aside until I found it; and there it was, coming over the wall from the adjoining property. But where was the vine? I still don’t know. Presumably, it was somewhere on the property to which I had no access, or even the property beyond that – I just don’t know. But what I do know is that, even though I couldn’t see it, the true vine was there somewhere because there were true grapes on the branch that had crept into the little courtyard where I was doing my writing.

And it began to dawn on me, looking at those grapes each day, that they are the proof of the branch ‘abiding’ in the vine. And they point to the reality of the vine itself. Do I want others to know that Jesus is real? Then I need to be bearing much fruit. Am I bearing much fruit? No? Then I need to get real – I’m kidding myself about my abiding in the vine.

IMG_3450I said earlier that the grapes were not perfect – you can see that for yourself from the second image. But they are recognisably grapes. They are not cherries or apples or bananas or figs. Jesus said: ‘You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles?’ (Matthew 7.16).

Only when I am a branch abiding in the True Vine will I bear the true fruit – the fruit of the Spirit – and bear it in abundance; and Paul tells me what that fruit is: Jesus-like ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.’ (Galatians 5.22-23).

Moreover, he tells me it is a single fruit, not nine fruits – it is a bunch of nine grapes, if you like. And this morning, every morning, I need to be asking myself: Are there such bunches hanging in abundance all over my life?

If not, then I really do need to question and to re-assess the nature of my abiding in Christ.


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