Ash Wednesday 2021

Here is the transcript of my sermon for Ash Wednesday.

Ash Wednesday

Reading: Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21

One of my favourite passages in English Literature is the opening to Charles Dicken’s novel, A Tale of Two Cities. Many of you will be familiar with it. Let me read you the passage:

‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way …’ (A Tale of Two Cities, Para.1, Line, 1)

The best of times and the worst of times. This, I think, describes rather well our own times.

Why they may be described as the worst of times is obvious. We are living through a pandemic the like of which none of us could ever have imagined even just over a year ago when it first began. It has resulted in Governments around the world having to take actions that are more of the kind that you would expect in war-time: locking down their citizens and taking economic measures the consequences of which we are all going to have to live with for many years to come.

If, for example, a politician before the pandemic had suggested Government borrowing and spending of the magnitude we are seeing, people would have thought them mad. And yet billions of pounds and dollars have been spent without even the whisper of opposition. Commonsense, however, tells you that there will eventually be a price to be paid, and it will be the young who have to pay most of it. The pandemic itself may eventually go away, but its effects will be with us for long time to come.

The financial cost, however, is as nothing compared to the cost in human life and suffering. The number of deaths from COVID has been a tragedy unseen since the second world war. However, there is not only death and physical suffering, terrible though this is, but also the psychological, emotional, and mental suffering it is causing. It is having a significant impact, on the one hand, on the elderly, who have been particularly isolated from family and friends, and, on the other, on children whose parents are fearful of them going outdoors and who forbid them to play with their friends. We have yet to see what psychological effect all this will have on young children who have been locked up and deprived of schooling and who are being brought up surrounded by images of death, disease, and dying.

The worst of times indeed.

Imagine, however, if this had happened 20 years ago, when I first came to Hong Kong. Yes, we had the internet, but it was still relatively in its infancy. We hadn’t heard, for example, of smartphones, Facebook, YouTube, and Zoom. You may think that not having heard of them would not be not such a bad thing, but I certainly wouldn’t be talking to you now if we didn’t have them.

The internet and the communication it makes possible represents a technological achievement that has made living in lockdown more bearable and is now changing the way we work, study, shop, play, and live. This Lent, for example, I have registered for a Virtual Pilgrimage to the Holyland. It may be just a small thing that I am able to do this, but it is symbolic of great human achievement and ingenuity.

And great human achievement in these times isn’t confined to technology and communication. The speed, for example, at which vaccines have been developed would not have been possible in previous times.

And this, the best and worst of times, has brought out the best and worst in people. The best, as we see medical staff selflessly working around the clock to care for those who are infected, and workers in Care Homes putting themselves at risk to look after the old and vulnerable. We have also seen the heroic efforts of people volunteering in different ways to help others less fortunate than themselves.

But we have seen the worst too as we see people who put others at risk by refusing to abide by the restrictions. Those whose selfishness goes even further and who not only don’t obey the Law, but organize parties and social gatherings knowing that it is precisely such events that spread the virus.

Then there are those like the so-called ‘social influencers’ who care more about getting a tan in the sun than they do about people gasping for breath on ventilators. Their selfishness is mirrored by the behaviour of rich nations. The rich nations only care about getting vaccines for themselves, so they can open their economies, and couldn’t care less about poor nations. The poor nations, for their part, don’t have an economy to open, and people in them are being left to die while the rich nations look forward to basking in the sun of economic recovery.

It has brought out the best and the worst in Churches as well. The best as Churches have sought to provide services online and to offer pastoral support to those who are lonely, isolated, and afraid. The Church has genuinely tried to reach out to those who are sick and to those who have been bereaved, and, in reaching out, to offer them comfort and help.

But the worst too as many church members have abandoned all thought of church and who will probably never return. And this is not to mention the scandal of the Church so readily allowing the pandemic to achieve what the black death and world war failed to achieve. We have kept our supermarkets open, while shutting our places of worship. Jesus words: ‘man shall live by bread alone’ have a cutting edge to them this Lent.

What, you may be wondering, has this selective Litany of good and bad got to do with Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent? Well, Ash Wednesday also reminds us of the worst in us. The best in us we don’t need any reminder of for we are quick to see it.

There is much that we as individuals can accomplish and do. But we can do it because we are made by God in the image of God, and being in the image of God means we are capable of great creativity and achievement. We reflect something of the character of the God who created us in the way a great painting reflects the character of the artist who painted it.

We don’t, however, need to be reminded of our capacity for greatness. We are always telling ourselves how amazing we are and how much we can achieve if we just believe in ourselves. ‘Just do it’ is the slogan of an age certain it can do just about anything if it puts its mind to it. We are careful, however, to leave God out of any explanation of how we are able to do anything that is worth doing.

Ash Wednesday reminds us, however, that, no matter how great our achievements, we are also capable of great wickedness and sin. Our Collect today talks about how God ‘hates nothing’ he has made. We like that. But it goes on to speak about ‘acknowledging our wretchedness’. We don’t like that. We don’t like being told that we are sinful, rebellious, and will die. St Paul tells us that ‘all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’ (Romans 3:23) and ‘the wages of sin is death’ (Romans 6:23).

Death is the one thing none of us can escape. Tragically, the virus has killed many people, but our sin will kill us all. The Imposition of Ashes is meant to challenge us and remind us of our mortality: ‘remember you are dust and to dust you shall return’. It reminds us of our weakness and our limitations. For we too will die.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus says:

‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’ (Matthew 6:19-21)

Ash Wednesday is the start of Lent. This is a time in the Church’s year for spiritual reflection. It is a time to reflect on our own lives as individuals: to reflect on who we are, what we have become, and who we can be.

The times we are living through should themselves cause us to pause and think: to ask ourselves what matters most to us and to examine our priorities. Lent this year, seen in the light of the times we are in, gives us the chance to ask where our own heart is.

Do we, for example, long for the end of the pandemic and a return to normality so we can go out to eat, drink, and consume again without restriction? Is our main concern being to travel and book a holiday? Or are we looking forward to being able to meet with the body of Christ and to worship God together again? Are we longing to receive the body and blood of Christ? Have we felt hungry and thirsty without it?

The experience of the present time should, in other words, lead us to look at the condition of our hearts, that is, our spiritual condition. Some people give a great deal of thought to their physical well-being. They will wear, for example, smart watches that monitor every bodily function, but, sadly, they don’t give more than a passing thought to their spiritual health.

Lent is 40 days long because Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness preparing for his public ministry. He was challenged there during this time about his own priorities and attitudes.

Would the focus of his ministry be on material well-being: what would come first bread or the Word of God? (Matthew 4:3-4; Luke 4:3-4)

Would he seek power and glory as he pursued his dream of being the Messiah or would he worship God and serve only him? (Matthew 4:8-10; Luke 4:6-8)

Would he see God as the One who was there to serve and protect him whatever he did, or would he trust God whatever happened to him? (Matthew 4:5-7; Luke 4:9-12)

We know the answer. Jesus chose the hard and lonely path of suffering and death rather than the easy and popular path of self-fulfilment and success. And he challenges us to do the same. For us, his followers, his path is to be our path, for it will only be by losing our lives for his sake that we will find them.

As humans, there are times when we long for the best, but all too often end up doing the worst. As St Paul puts it:

‘For the good that I would I do not; but the evil which I would not, that I do.’ (Romans 7:19)

As followers of Christ, we know that there is no good in us and that left to ourselves we will only stumble and fall. In the Communion Service, we say together the Prayer of Humble Access:

‘We do not presume
to come to this your table, merciful Lord,
trusting in our own righteousness,
but in your manifold and great mercies.
We are not worthy
so much as to gather up the crumbs under your table.’

It may seem that this makes being a follower of Christ sound very gloomy and miserable. St Paul, however, wrote that it was when he was at his weakest that God was at his strongest (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). It is after death that there comes resurrection (Romans 8:11).

In our Collect, we asked God to ‘create in us new and contrite hearts’, and, at Easter, we will see that there is indeed the hope of new life, but it is life we will only find when we are prepared to acknowledge our wretchedness, abandon trust in our own righteousness, and turn away from sin and follow Christ, as we are urged to do in our service.

I began by quoting one of my favourite passages of English literature. I would like to close by quoting from one of my favourite books, the Lord of the Rings. Tolkien saw his great trilogy as expressing the truths of the Christian faith. He said it began implicitly Catholic and ended explicitly so. At one point Frodo says to Gandalf:

‘I wish none of this had happened.’

Gandalf replies:

‘So do all who live to see such times; but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.’

The time of the pandemic will pass, but what will we be like when it does?

Lent gives us the opportunity to make sure that for each of us the best time is yet to be.

Amen.

Epiphany

Here is the transcript of my sermon for Epiphany. 

Epiphany

Reading: Matthew 2:1-12

This Sunday, we celebrate Epiphany, although the Feast of the Epiphany itself actually falls on January 6. Traditionally, Twelfth Night, the evening of Epiphany, is the time to take down the Christmas decorations for another year. If you don’t take them down on January 6, you are supposed to leave them up until Candlemas on February 2.

There is, though, some confusion as to exactly when Twelfth Night is. Some take it to be the evening of January 6, others the evening of January 5. The reason there is some confusion is because, liturgically, the day begins the night before! For us, a new day begins at midnight; liturgically, however, the day begins at sunset. The evening of Twelfth Night, then, is January 5 and the twelfth day, January 6.

Whenever it is, for many, Epiphany is simply the official ending of Christmas with Epiphany being completely overshadowed by the Christmas season. Epiphany celebrates the coming of the Wise Men and the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, but we have already read and thought about this during our Christmas celebrations. In some ways, it all feels like a bit of an anti-climax to do so again.

Liturgically, this time can all feel a bit flat and dull, something of a let down, as we wait for Lent and the season of preparation for Easter. The Roman Catholic Church, for example, calls the Sundays after Epiphany ‘Ordinary Time’, like the Sundays after Trinity and Pentecost, and it can feel a very ordinary time indeed.

And yet, in the Eastern Orthodox Church, Epiphany has always been an important celebration. Historically, it has in the past overshadowed Christmas, although in the Eastern tradition, there is also at Epiphany an emphasis on our Lord’s baptism as well as on the revelation of his birth.

Some churches, however, including more recently the Church of England, see Epiphany not as the end of a season or as an alternative to Christmas, but as the beginning of a new season: Epiphany-tide. Epiphany-tide brings together the celebration of Epiphany itself and the two feasts of the Baptism of our Lord and that of his Presentation in the Temple, otherwise known as Candlemas.

By now, I imagine I am beginning to lose people, if I have not lost you already. There is, however, a point to all this, which I will come back to. But before I lose all of you altogether, let us think about Epiphany itself. As I have said, Epiphany marks the manifestation of Christ to the world and to us Gentiles, in particular. This is why we have as our Gospel reading the account of the visit of the Wise Men. The Wise Men represent the Gentiles being led by the star to Christ, the light of the world.

In the sermon for the First Sunday of Christmas, I pointed out that we don’t know exactly how many Wise Men there were. Traditionally, of course, there were believed to be three. They were even given names: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. In the Gospel of St Matthew, however, we are only told they gave the baby Jesus three types of gifts. The precise number of Wise Men themselves must remain a mystery.

But regardless of how many there were, who were these anonymous men of wisdom? The word for them in Greek is ‘magi’, the word from which we get the word ‘magician’. They would have been part of an eastern royal court; again, precisely where, we are not told. They would have acted as counsellors or advisers to a king or queen. Part of ancient wisdom was being able to read the signs and portents of the times, including astrological signs believed to be seen in the sky and stars at night.

But why are they sometimes referred to as kings? Well, as we have heard in our Old Testament reading (Isaiah 60:3; cf. Psalm 72), Isaiah speaks of kings coming to worship and bringing the wealth of the nations. Furthermore, in the ancient near east, there was the idea of the ‘wise ruler’, King Solomon being an example of such a monarch. But again, that they were kings is just speculation. Best, then, just to stick with the name, ‘Wise Men’. They were influential and important pagans, who were clever, connected, and wealthy.

These pagans had seen a sign in the night sky that they interpreted as meaning that something portentous and significant had happened in the land of the Judah: a child had been born King of the Jews. Quite why this was of any significance to them, however, is not immediately obvious. Judea, after all, was not that important a place. Surely men of their position didn’t embark on a long journey to greet every royal birth?

The answer to this particular mystery may be provided by something that doesn’t always get commented on. Several ancient pagan writers such as Suetonius and Tacitus point out that, amongst the pagans, there was a rumor that a king would come out of Judea, that a great ruler would arise from within the land of Judah. It may be that this belief was one the Wise Men had heard of and explains why they were prepared to go to all this trouble and expense. The child to be born was more significant than simply one who might become king of a small and insignificant nation.

Believing, then, the birth of this king to be momentous, they decide to go and find him. Knowing him to be born a king in the land of the Jews, not unnaturally, they go to where you would expect to find such a child: the palace in Jerusalem. If you know anything at all about King Herod, you will see the funny side of this. King Herod was paranoid about people wanting to get rid of him so that they could seize power for themselves. Herod killed several members of his own family because he believed they were plotting against him.

The Roman Emperor Augustus is quoted as saying: ‘I would rather be Herod’s pig than his son’ (Macrobius, Saturnalia, 2:4:11). The joke here being that as Jews didn’t eat pork, his pig would be safe. No-one else, however, was. Herod’s subsequent slaughter of all the boys in Bethlehem under two is entirely in character (Matthew 2:16-18).

St Matthew describes the reaction to the arrival in Jerusalem of the Wise Men from the east as one of alarm. St Matthew writes:

‘When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him …’ (Matthew 2:3)

At first, this might seem like an exaggeration on St Matthew’s part. It isn’t at all. In fact, we know from St John’s Gospel that Herod’s fear of losing power was shared by the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem. Their reaction to the news of Jesus’ birth is similar to their feelings towards him in the time leading up to his death. St John writes towards the end of Jesus’ life:

‘So the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered the council and said, ‘What are we to do? For this man performs many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.’ (John 11:47-48)

Quite clearly, both Herod and the Jerusalem authorities take the Wise Men entirely seriously. They don’t, for example, understand the Wise Men to be talking about a boy for whom his parents have great but unrealistic ambitions! When Herod calls the Chief Priests together, he asks them where ‘the Messiah is to be born’ (Matthew 2:4). The Wise Men are not just seeking a king; they are seeking the King, and it is this that heightens the sense of panic amongst those in power in Jerusalem.

And so, Herod decides without hesitation to do what the Herods of this world always do when there is a threat to their power, he plans to have the potential threat removed before it can become an actual threat. The plot is simple. Herod will help the Wise Men find whom they are seeking, and they will tell him exactly where the child is when they find him. Herod makes this promise on the pretence that he too will go and worship the child. So, after consulting the Chief Priests, the Wise Men are directed to Bethlehem, where the prophet Micah said the Messiah would be born (Micah 5:2).

The Wise Men find the child, and offer him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. There have been attempts to see symbolism in these gifts. Myrrh, for example, was a valuable spice that was used for embalming dead bodies. Along with aloes, it was one of the spices that Nicodemus took to anoint the body of Jesus (John 19:39). The gift of myrrh, then, is taken as a symbol representing his death. St Matthew himself, however, doesn’t point to any symbolic meaning for the gifts. They are simply expensive gifts fit for a king, offered from the Wise Men’s ‘treasure chests’.

This is where our Gospel reading breaks off. In St Matthew’s Gospel, however, we learn that both the Wise Men and Joseph are warned by God in dreams to change their plans so as to keep the baby safe. The Wise Men go back to their country a different way by-passing Herod and Jerusalem; while Joseph takes Mary and Jesus, and flees to Egypt.

Not unsurprisingly, Herod is furious when he discovers the Wise Men have outwitted him and, in a final throw of the dice, tries to kill Jesus by ordering the slaughter of all boys in Bethlehem under the age of two. It’s a terrible atrocity as the Holy Innocents are murdered, but it is too late. The Holy Family have escaped.

So, what does all this say to us? I intend in future sermons to discuss the significance of the revelation to the Gentiles of Christ as the King of the Jews. For now, I want to focus on what I think is an important message that this passage has for us both as a Church and as individuals.  It is:

The rulers of this world will always expect us to think like them. We, however, are to have the mind of Christ.

Herod and the Chief Priests are terrified. Herod because he is totally paranoid; the Chief Priests because they realize that if there is any attempt to unseat the ruler appointed by Rome, then they will not only lose what freedom and independence they have, they will also lose their own power and position.

They simply assume that Jesus will be a threat to them. They cannot imagine anyone who believes himself to be the Messiah not wanting political power. To the bitter end, they believe that this is what Jesus is seeking. And so, in about thirty-three years’ time, Jesus will be crucified as the King of the Jews that the Wise Men came seeking, even though, as Pilate himself realizes, Jesus resolutely refuses to be the sort of King those in authority think he must want to be and that people hope he will be.

The baby Jesus was a threat to those in power simply by his existence, and their instinctive reaction is to kill him. The default position of this world is still to kill, or at least to silence, those who follow Jesus.

Historically, there have been times when the rulers of this world have found themselves in a position where crucifying us is not an option for either political reasons or simply because there are too many of us. Tertullian, at the end of the 2nd century wrote of those who, in their hatred of Christians, blamed every misfortune on them:

‘If the Tiber reaches the walls, if the Nile does not rise to the fields, if the sky doesn’t move or the earth does, if there is famine, if there is plague, the cry is at once: ‘The Christians to the lion!’ What, all of them to one lion?’ (Apologeticus ch. 40)

He continues with the scathing observation:

‘As often as we are mown down by you, the more we grow in numbers; the blood of Christians is the seed.’ (Apologeticus ch. 50, sect. 13)

When our numbers become too great for us all to be murdered, because they assume that like them political power is what we want, instead of crucifying us, they offer power to us in the hope that by giving it to us they can control us. Often, they have been right. The offer of political power and influence is infinitely more dangerous to us than killing us.

At a crucial point in his ministry, our Lord asks his disciples who people think he is. The disciples reply that people have various opinions about his identity. ‘But who do you say that I am?’ he asks them. St Peter answers for them all:

‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’ (Matthew 16:16)

Jesus tells Peter that it is God who has revealed this to him, but even though this knowledge is given by God himself, our Lord won’t let them share it:

‘Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.’ (Matthew 16:20)

The reason soon becomes clear. When our Lord goes on to talk about the sort of suffering and death that he must face, Peter is horrified. How can this possibly happen to the Messiah? Our Lord responds unambiguously and says to Peter:

‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’ (Matthew 16:23)

The insight that Jesus is the Messiah that Herod tried to kill at his birth is an insight granted by God. The belief that being the Messiah is about power and not suffering is thinking inspired by Satan. It was exactly this way of thinking that Jesus had to face head on in the wilderness at the very beginning of his ministry, but rather than seeking political power, Jesus instead submits to it and is crucified by it.

Both the Chief Priests and Jesus’ followers were clear in their own minds that for Jesus to be the Messiah, it must mean him gaining political power. Jesus rejects the expectations of both friend and foe seeing them as temptations of the devil.

When we are tempted by the offer of political power, we sometimes tell ourselves that the reason we should accept it is because of the good we can do if we have it. The poor can both be fed and have the Gospel preached to them. Other times, we accept the offer because we like having a seat at the VIP table where the important people sit and where the decisions that matter are taken. It makes us feel powerful and important. Most times, our reasons for accepting the offer is a combination of the two: a desire both to feed the poor and to satisfy our own hunger for power. Every time, the Church is the loser.

Historically, the Church of England is an example of a church which has been guilty of accepting the offer. The Anglican Church originally came into existence because of its willingness to acquiesce to political power, and it received substantial power as its reward. The expansion of the Anglican Church throughout the world went hand in glove with the march of colonial power. It suited the Anglican Church’s purposes in the past when colonialism was triumphant and popular; it may now pay the price in the present when colonialism has come to be seen as one of the deadly sins.

The terrible irony is that many in the Anglican Church are now apologizing and repenting of the church’s support of colonial powers in the past, but church leaders are making their apology and repentance, not to God, but to the new political elites who have taken the colonialists’ place. The reason, however, church leaders are abasing themselves in this way is in the hope of being able to make new alliances with the powers of this world, and so maintain their position and privilege. There is further irony in the fact that the present desire for power and popularity that is leading church leaders to apologize for the church’s past behaviour is exactly what, historically, led the church to be such an enthusiastic supporter of colonial expansion and oppression.

Geographically, certain sections of the church in the United States provide us with another example in the present. Some churches in the States put their complete faith in Donald Trump, ostensibly because of the influence they believed supporting him would give them. Again, for some it has been because they genuinely hoped that supporting him would enable them to influence government policy for the good. For others, however, it has been because of the thrill that attending prayer breakfasts and being allowed access to the White House has given them. They have had their reward, and they too will now pay the price.

Tragically, even when we want power for pure motives: not for its own sake, but because we genuinely want to use it for what we believe to be good ends, more often than not, we find that when it comes to power, rather than the Church exercising it, it ends up controlling us.

St Paul points us to a different way:

‘For though we live as human beings, we do not wage war according to human standards, for the weapons of our warfare are not human weapons, but are made powerful by God for tearing down strongholds. We tear down arguments and every arrogant obstacle that is raised up against the knowledge of God, and we take every thought captive to make it obey Christ.’ (2 Corinthians 10:4)

When the Wise Men arrive at the house where the Holy Family are staying, they see the child with Mary, his mother. If those who sought to kill the child had been able to ask her, Mary would have told them what Jesus years later tells Pilate: his kingdom is not of this world (John 18:36). God is the One who brings down the powerful from their thrones (Luke 1:52). Earthly seats of power (whether in palaces, parliaments, or places of worship) are dangerous places to sit, no matter how tempting the offer of them may seem. The rulers of this world demand that we worship them; Wise Men worship Jesus and offer him alone their gifts.

What does all this mean for us individually? We may tell ourselves that we have no personal political ambitions, but the desire for power, position, and prestige is not confined to the political arena. We still seek it for ourselves in other areas of life, not least in our places of work, at home, and in the church itself. And, as well as seeking it personally for ourselves, we look up to those who have it and despise those who do not. We value the powerful and look down on the weak.

Jesus told his disciples specifically that they were not to be like this. He said:

‘You know that those who are recognized as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and those in high positions use their authority over them. But it is not (to be) this way among you. Instead whoever wants to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must be the slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’ (Mark 10:42-45)

Our Lord, not only teaches us to reject worldly power and ambition, by his life and death he gives us an example of what we are to be like instead.

The Wise Men came seeking him who was born the King of the Jews. The Chief Priests and Jesus’ disciples were in fundamental agreement as to what this meant. Jesus saw it very differently. He provided his own definition as he hung on the Cross with the words, ‘King of the Jews’ above his head. His crucified body gives the meaning of the words and the words their meaning.

As, however, I hope we will see during the season of Epiphany, while Jesus defines what it means to be the Messiah of his people, he, nevertheless, is born and dies as the King of the Jews. We will only find him for ourselves when we like the Wise Men seek him as the King of the Jews. Not as a generic king, but as a specifically Jewish king, who saw his coming and ministry as being in fulfilment of the Hebrew Scriptures on which he based his own understanding of what he had come to do.

And so, as we enter the season of Epiphany, may the God who led the Wise Men to Jesus, the King of the Jews, lead us to him. And may we too worship him, not by seeking power and glory, but by taking up the Cross and following him who died for us, and who promises to be with us always to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20).

Amen.

The Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity

Here is the transcript of my podcast talk for the Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. I have also posted separately the parable I have written to go with it!

The Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity

Gospel Reading: Matthew 22:15-22

At this moment, in 2020, we are living through tumultuous times. We are all having to change the way we live because of the present pandemic. The pandemic will eventually come to an end and, at the end of it, all our lives will doubtless have been affected. We are, though, also living through other events that too will permanently change our lives, more so than even the pandemic. We are witnessing huge political and social changes both in the west, not least, for example, in America with the presidential election and the BLM movement, and also here in Hong Kong with, for example, the protests and the national security law, which is China’s response to them.

This week’s Gospel reading raises, then, an important question for believers. Our Lord said, ‘Give to the emperor the things that are the emperors, and to God the things that are God’s.’ But what is the emperor’s and what is God’s? And what, more broadly, should be our attitude to the ‘emperors’ of today? How are we to view those who rule and those who aspire to rule in the world?

Our Lord’s saying had a context, and we need to begin by seeing what that context was. In Matthew’s Gospel, the incident described in our Gospel reading took place during what we now refer to as Holy Week, that is, the week leading up to the crucifixion of our Lord. In Matthew chapter 21, St Matthew has described how our Lord, on what we know now as Palm Sunday, rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. This seemingly innocuous act, which we have domesticated and, dare I say, trivialized, was, in fact, a highly inflammatory and political act. It was how the prophet Zechariah said the Messiah, the rightful King of Israel, would enter the holy City when he appeared (Zechariah 9:9).

The significance of Jesus’ action was not, however, lost on the crowd. ‘Hosanna to the Son of David,’ they cry (Matthew 21:9). This cry is an acknowledgement that Jesus is the true heir to the throne of David, the greatest King Israel had ever known. That our Lord chose to make this symbolic act at Passover, which celebrates the people of Israel’s liberation from slavery under a pagan ruler made it all the more pointed and significant.

Our Lord didn’t stop there. He proceeded to the Temple where he ‘cleansed’ it by violently getting rid of those who were desecrating it (Matthew 21:12-17). No wonder that those in positions of power and authority demand to know by what authority he does this (Matthew 21:23). Jesus, however, refuses to tell them; he tells them, instead, three parables.

The first parable (Matthew 21:28-32) is about a man who had two sons whom he wants to do work for him. One son, at first, seems unwilling, but eventually he does what his father wants. The other son claims to be willing, but does not do what his father asks. Jesus says the tax-collectors and prostitutes, those regarded as the worst type of sinners, are like the first son because despite their sin, they have repented and put their faith in him. The religious leaders are like the second son. They might claim to be obedient, but they don’t do what God wants. They are all talk.

The second parable (Matthew 21:33-44) is about a landowner who had a vineyard that he leased to tenants who try to get it for themselves, killing the landowner’s son in the effort. Jesus says that the religious leaders are like those tenants and God will punish them just as the landowner punished the wicked tenants.

The third parable (Matthew 22:1-14), which we looked at last week, is about a King who held a wedding feast that all those who were originally invited refused to go to. The King gathers unlikely guests in their place, punishing those who would not come. But even the new guests can’t expect to get in unconditionally for many indeed may be called, but few are actually chosen.

St Matthew tells us:

‘When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they realized that he was speaking about them. They wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowds, because they regarded him as a prophet.’ (Matthew 21:45-46)

Unable, then, to act directly against Jesus, the chief priests and Pharisees instead try to entrap him. In an attempt to do this, they send along their representatives together with the ‘Herodians’ to ask him a question. The Herodians are not a group we know a lot about. It was a group made up of those who supported the political government of the day. Herod himself was the Roman appointed ruler of Galilee where Jesus comes from. Think the pro-government parties in parliament today.

They begin by flattering Jesus and saying that they know he will give an honest answer. The question the representatives of the Pharisees and the Herodians then ask Jesus seems reasonable enough. They say to him:

‘Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?’ (Matthew 22:21)

This helps to explain why the Herodians are there. At first, it seems strange that the Pharisees should team up with the Herodians. The Pharisees didn’t like Roman rule any more than most of the people did. The Herodians, however, depended on the Romans for their position and influence. While, however, the Pharisees hate the Romans, they hate Jesus more. They know that if Jesus says that it is unlawful for the Jews to pay taxes to Rome, then the Herodians will do their work for them. Jesus will be dealt with ruthlessly.

However, if Jesus tries to escape by saying it is lawful to pay taxes, then he will have discredited himself in the eyes of the people. Everyone hates taxes, but the tax to the Emperor was about more than money. It represented Israel’s political slavery to Rome. By making the Jewish people pay it, Rome demonstrated who it was who had the power. How could someone who claimed to be their King, believe it was lawful to acknowledge someone else as the ruler over them?

The Pharisees have been opposed to Jesus from the start of his work, and Jesus has now in his parables made his view of them plain. This is their chance to get rid of him or, at least, to thoroughly discredit him.

The Pharisees, like everyone else, Jesus’ own disciples included, probably thought that becoming King, over-throwing the Romans, and establishing his Kingdom in this world was actually Jesus’ goal.

Given this, their calculation is that Jesus has little choice but to say that taxes should NOT be paid to the Emperor. The Jewish people were subject to a greater law than that of the Romans. Jesus was acting like he was the King; if he wanted go on being seen as the King he had to answer, or so they thought, that it was not lawful to pay taxes. Once he did this, they would have him. End of problem. And they wouldn’t have to lift a finger, the Herodians would do that for them. The Pharisees could claim they have asked a legitimate question, it is not their fault what happens as a result of Jesus’ reply to their question.

Jesus gives what is universally regarded as a brilliant answer. He asks for the coin used for the tax. This is a silver denarius. It was the equivalent of the daily wage of a labourer. On one side, it had the image of the Emperor with in Latin the words: ‘Tiberius Caesar Augustus, son of the divine Augustus’. On the other, it had the image of a goddess with the words, ‘High Priest’. The Pharisees themselves couldn’t be blamed for having the coin – as some commentators suggest they should be– but they could be blamed for holding on to it. Jesus tells them:

‘Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.’ (Matthew 22:21) 

The problem for the Pharisees is that they assume that Jesus is like them; that his goal is political power and position. They don’t know that this was one of the Devil’s tests that Jesus had faced at the start of his ministry. Jesus had, at the outset of his ministry, resolutely rejected the offer of the very power and glory that everyone thinks he is now in Jerusalem to claim.

Jesus does seek a kingdom but, as he says to Pilate after being betrayed by one his own disciples, his ‘Kingdom is not of this world’. If it were his followers would be fighting for him (John 18:36). Pilate himself would have no authority over Jesus if it hadn’t been given to him ‘from above’ (John 19:11). Pilate and his limited power isn’t important or powerful enough to waste time in fighting. Jesus’ Kingdom is a different type of Kingdom. The powers Jesus is about to confront are greater than Caesar’s armies, and Jesus’ way of defeating them is by suffering and shame, not through power and might.

It still is his way.

Jesus saw a cross and, in this sign, he conquered. In AD312 before a critical battle, Constantine, who sought to be Emperor himself, also saw a cross in a vision, and seeing it as a sign, used it to conquer the armies that opposed him. In so doing, he transformed the cross into a symbol of the very power our Lord had rejected as demonic.

The Emperor Constantine was to offer the Church a similar partnership to that which the Devil offered Jesus. This time the offer was accepted. The Church went on to enter a relationship with the world and with those who exercised political power in it that has shaped it ever since.

[I have tried to explain how I see this relationship in a simple parable. It is available to read in the Christ Church Facebook Group and on my own personal website.]

Now to be fair, the relationship has not been all bad. A recent book by the author, Tom Holland, tellingly called Dominion, describes some of the good. The Church has exercised influence over the world, but, equally, the world has exercised influence over the Church. This, however, is not the time to rake over the past. It is what it is. Far more important is where we are now and where we go from here.

As I try to make clear through the parable, the world has decided it has had enough. It wants a divorce. And in the same way that former lovers often end up hating one another, the world is increasingly hating and despising the Church it once loved and used.

The Church, for its part, finds it hard to let go of the relationship it has had in the past with the political powers of this world and which has been so central to how it understands itself and its mission.

It is particularly hard for Anglicans. We took getting into bed with earthly rulers to a new level of intimacy. In the 16th century, when the Pope refused to grant the King of England a divorce, we stepped up and obliged, and so became identified with the state in the most intimate of ways. As England, and then Great Britain, marched on to become a world super-power, we marched enthusiastically with her.

Those who point the finger at the Church and accuse us of complicity in the colonialism of the past have a point. Again, personally, I don’t think it was all bad. After all, in even a destructive and abusive human relationship, a child can be born who goes on to do great and good things. So, too, with our relationship with political power. We can be proud of our children despite the inappropriateness of the relationship through which they were born.

However, just as people in relationships that are coming to an end find it hard to let go and do all they can to please their lover in the hope that the relationship can be saved, so too it seems we are willing to do what we can to maintain a relationship that, in reality, ended, to all intents and purposes, many years ago.

Perhaps worse still, to change the metaphor, we are so used to having a seat at the table of earthly political power and influence that we don’t want to lose it. Power not only corrupts, it is highly addictive.

We need to accept it is over, and come to terms with what it means for us as the Church. Rather than mourning what is lost, we need to see this moment in history as a chance to re-think what our role and mission in the world ought to be. This is an amazing opportunity. In the same way as someone who is eventually freed from an abusive relationship can begin to regain their self-respect and confidence and so begin find their own identity outside of their former relationship, so, too, the end of Christendom (the name given to the partnership between the church and the world) can be a chance for us to re-discover our calling to be the people of God.

It will be painful, as the end of all relationships, even abusive relationships, always are. However, instead of re-writing our liturgy, re-defining our doctrines, and changing our ethics to please the world and hold on to our place in it, we have a chance to abandon the idolatry that is at the heart of any relationship with earthly political power and instead to ‘worship the Lord our God and serve only him (Matthew 4:10).

By accepting the relationship is over, our liturgy can be about worshipping God rather than about being relevant to the world; our doctrine can be about what God has revealed to us about himself, not what we think the world might find it acceptable to believe; and our ethics can be about obeying God, not accommodating to the values and attitudes of society around us.

Make no mistake, this is not going to be easy. Old habits die hard. Ironically, our former partner may make it easier for us. So far, the world has tolerated its former partner. There is now evidence that it wants rid of us altogether. The reaction, for example, to Amy Coney Barrett’s nomination to the Supreme Court in the United States exposes how some feel about any suggestion that faith in Christ has a place to play in a nation’s life. The nomination of a woman and a mother you would have expected to be welcomed, instead she has been vilified for no other reason than actually believing what the Roman Catholic Church teaches. Such reactions are by no means confined to the United States. We can all expect more of the same.



How then is the Church to see its mission in this brave new world determined to go it alone? For many, political power and involvement have been so integral to how they understand the Church’s mission that it remains inconceivable to them that we should abandon it, even though the political powers have not only abandoned us, but are now often openly hostile as well. The statements of Church leaders, for example, continue to make more mention of the political issues of our day than they do of God. Who do they think is listening to them? We are urged in our mission to be ‘for the City’. In chapter 11, Matthew writes:

‘Then he began to reproach the cities in which most of his deeds of power had been done, because they did not repent. ‘Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes. But I tell you, on the day of judgement it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum,

will you be exalted to heaven?
No, you will be brought down to Hades.

For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day. But I tell you that on the day of judgement it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom than for you.’ (Matthew 11:20-24)

Was our Lord ‘for the city’ when he said this?

Our mission statements too continue to focus primarily on social and economic areas, and this at a time when many are desperate for spiritual meaning and, ironically, are turning to ancient forms of paganism to find it. New age beliefs and practices are thriving. In schools, mindfulness and positive education seek to fill the void that has been created by the very materialistic philosophies that are taught in those same schools.

Now is the time to change.

Here, in this world, ‘we have no lasting city, but we are looking for the city that is to come’ (Hebrews 13:14). Our’ citizenship is in heaven. And it is from there that we are expecting a saviour, Jesus Christ our Lord’ (Philippians 3:20). While we wait for him, we ‘set our minds on things that are above, not on things that are on the earth’ (Colossians 3:2).

These words from the New Testament are like a forgotten language to us, but one we need to learn to speak again. We will do so knowing the trouble it will bring. In this world, we will have trouble (John 16:33) and in the same way it hated our Lord, as we again speak for him, so too it will hate us (John 15:18).

Rather than being surprised at the society’s hatred of us, we should be happy. Did not our Lord warn us that this is what we should expect if we are faithful to him? Did he not say:

‘Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.’ (Matthew 5:11-12)

We rejoice to be the Church of the martyrs; those who ‘love not their lives unto death’; those who see the Cross not as a sign of triumph and glory in this world, but of defeat and death; those who rejoice, not in having power and position, but in suffering and service. We rejoice to be a Church which is not ashamed of the Gospel, knowing that it is the ‘power of God unto salvation’, a power that no earthly power can ultimately resist. A Church which rejects the Devil’s offer of all the Kingdoms of this world because we know that our Kingdom is from above.

At this critical moment in history, we are called to be the Church that our Lord said he would build. We are no longer to be the Church of those in political power or of those who crave that power for themselves. We give, as our Lord commanded, to the emperor what is the emperor’s, that is, the respect and the revenue which is his due. To God, however, we give what is God’s, that is, everything we have and everything we are for he has given us everything he is.

‘Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures’ (1 Corinthians 15:3). Now is the time for us to die to the world and to ourselves, and to begin to live for him.

Amen.

The Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity: The Parable of John and Jane

This is a parable I have written to go with this week's sermon for the Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.

The Parable of John and Jane

John and Jane weren't the most likely of couples. They got together after Jane helped John get through a crisis in his life, and they stayed together after it. There were always tensions between them, but somehow they managed to get over them. John was not an easy person, but Jane seemed to bring out the best in him. It seemed that there was nothing he couldn't do with Jane by his side guiding him and encouraging him.

John's influence on Jane was not nearly so positive. John valued power and success. And it was largely to please him that Jane pursued and did well in a career that made money and won her respect. She was never truly happy, however, and, despite her outward achievements, at times she didn't feel she was being the person she truly was inside.

After a while together, the strain got too much for Jane and she had a breakdown. John and Jane got through it, but something had changed in their relationship. John still looked to Jane for support, but John became increasingly the dominant partner and Jane more and more dependent upon him.

Then John got bored with Jane. He felt she was holding him back. Things he had once liked about her, he no longer liked. There was so much more he could do without her. He resented her constantly nagging at him and telling him what to do. Their relationship didn't come to a sudden end, but it was clear to those who knew them that something had changed and that John was spending less and less time with Jane.
Jane sensed John's increasing lack of interest in her, which only heightened her own insecurity and lack of confidence. She had been with John so long now, and had come to rely on him. She was used to the life they had together. She simply didn't know how to live without him.

So she did all she could to win him back. She pleaded with him. She changed her appearance to make herself look like the other women John was taking an interest in. She spent more and more time seeking to help John in his life to the neglect of her own life and work. Staying with John and keeping John in her life was now her main goal.

John realized that Jane could still be useful to him. After all, he was able largely to do what he wanted. If Jane was happy to give him the freedom to live as he liked and was willing to fit in with his plans, then why should he care? He had to give her the odd present to keep her happy and spend time with her now and again, but this was a small price to pay. And he could always just get rid of her if she became too big a nuisance.

Meanwhile, Jane's friends, who loved her deeply, became seriously anxious about her. They could hardly recognize her any more. They pleaded with her to end her relationship with John. To be the person she really was, but it was as if Jane had forgotten who that person was.

Her friends reluctantly came to believe that it was going to take something terrible to happen to bring the relationship to an end. They noticed that John was getting more and more impatient with Jane and feared that it wouldn't be too long before that 'something' happened.

But how was Jane going to cope when it did?

The Parable of John and Jane (explained)

The story of John and Jane is an all too familiar one and the chances are we all know of people who are, or who have been, in similar relationships.

There is some value in going over the past and looking at the history of the relationship and how things got to how they have, but the pressing issue for Jane is what happens now. As the saying goes: 'it is what it is'.

Many people, normally women, find themselves in abusive relationships, but just can't bring themselves either to accept the relationship is at an end or to end it before it destroys them completely. They would rather put up with the abuse than end a relationship that they have so much invested in. And if they are in love with the abuser or even derive material benefit from being with him, it is so much harder.
It's easy to see all this when you are on the outside looking in. And all too easy to give advice, which we, if we were in the same position, would find hard to take ourselves.

This doesn't, however, alter the fact that Jane needs to end the relationship and begin the long, slow journey of finding both healing and her true self.

It would, of course, be better if Jane came to realize that for herself and took the painful and necessary steps needed to free her from the relationship. Tragically, that is not often what happens. More often, it takes 'something', and usually the 'something terrible' that Jane's friends fear, to be the catalyst for change.

The good news, as many have found, is that once the break has taken place there is a sense of liberation and peace. It doesn't mean, however, that Jane will find the future easy. Her freedom will come at a price. She will not have the security that her relationship with John, for all its abuse, gives her. Materially, she will probably be worse off. There will be an inevitable change in her relationships with people who knew her as part of a couple. The loss will take some considerable time to adjust to and building a new life for herself free from John is going to take time.

But the hope is that Jane will find discovering her real identity and purpose in life both exciting and fulfilling. With love and support, Jane will come to see that she has much to give. Above all, hopefully, she will see she is beautiful, intelligent, and of value.

And, looking back - that is, if she has the time in her new life to look back - she will realize that she didn't need John after all. The question of the relationship between the World and the Church, both what it is and what it should be, is a difficult one.

All are pretty much agreed that it has been changing for some time and that the relationship that once existed, exists no longer. But given that the relationship has changed, and given the way that it has changed, what should the relationship be now?

All can probably agree with these comments about John and Jane's relationship. They are ones that I think most people would agree with. Agree, that is, when they are about an abusive human relationship between two individuals. But what when the relationship is between communal or social groups? For example, between society and the Church?

If the relationship in which the Church now finds itself with secular society were a relationship between a man and a woman, we would know exactly what needed to happen. It is only because we, the Church, have become addicted to the abuse in the way many abused victims become addicted and subjugated that we can't see what is staring us in the face.

It is frightening and challenging to go back to the Story itself, and then to the comments on it, and read them both simply changing the name 'John' to the 'World' and 'Jane' to the 'Church'.

If you have the time, I think you will at least find it an interesting exercise!

The Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity

Here is the transcript of a talk I have written for this week, the Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity.  I am working on making my talks and sermons available as a podcast.  This is a work in progress, but the link to the first two is here:

Ross Royden Podcasts

I will continue to make the transcripts available here!

The Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity

The Gospel Reading: Matthew 22:1-14

The Gospel reading for this week is a particularly challenging one. It is a parable in two parts. The first challenge is simply to understand what Jesus meant when he first told this parable. Understandably, we want to know what it means for us, but, when Jesus told a parable, he had in mind people and situations at the time he was telling it. St Matthew tells us specifically which people our Lord had in mind with this parable. The parable is told to the ‘chief priests and Pharisees’ (Matthew 21:45). This helps to explain the first part, at least, of the parable.

A King has invited people to a wedding banquet for his Son. The time for the banquet has arrived, and the King tells his slaves to go out and tell everyone who has been invited that it is now going to take place. Being invited to such a grand banquet is a great honour. It would be today; it most certainly was then.

Strangely, however, those who have been invited can’t be bothered to go. The King sends other slaves to ask those invited to come. Still they will not. That’s bad enough, but, worse still, some not only don’t want to go, they don’t want to hear about it, and kill the messengers. The King, not unsurprisingly, is furious and sends the army to kill those who had murdered his slaves and to burn their city.

The wedding, however, is still to go ahead. So, the King sends his slaves out again. This time, they are to invite anyone they can find whoever they are, good or bad. The slaves do as they are told and gather ‘all whom they found’. Thanks to their efforts, the banqueting hall is filled with guests.

This is a powerful message, but all very straightforward when it comes to understanding what it means. Israel had been invited to God’s messianic banquet. This was a banquet spoken about by the prophets. It is described in our first reading this week in chapter 25 of Isaiah. Most of the people of Israel, however, are indifferent, but some, such as the chief priests and pharisees whom our Lord tells this story to, go further, and kill the prophets sent by God. The burning of the city is a prophecy of the destruction of Jerusalem, which took place in AD70 and which Jesus will speak about more later in chapter 24 of the Gospel.

The people of Israel had been the intended guests at God’s heavenly banquet, now those not originally invited will be invited to take their place. This refers to the Gentiles. The Gospel of Matthew concludes with our Lord sending his disciples out to call people whoever they are from every nation just as the King does in the parable. Jesus’ last words in the Gospel before his ascension are:

‘Go therefore and make disciples of all nations …’ (Matthew 28:19)

In fact, as we have seen in our series on St Paul’s letter to the Romans, this, in fact, is not quite the end of things. God still has some surprises in store. The people originally invited will get another chance. ‘All Israel’ will one day be saved (Romans 11:26). Until then, we Gentiles are the chief beneficiaries of Israel’s disobedience.

What, however, is not quite so straightforward when trying to understand the parable, is what the second part of the parable means.

After the King’s slaves have gathered everyone they have found into the wedding hall, the King comes in to see his guests and notices one of the guests not wearing a ‘wedding robe’. The King asks him how he managed to get in when he is not dressed properly. He is silent. He has no explanation. Given that all the guests were made to come at such short notice, that they were there at all you would expect to be cause for some celebration! After all, when would they have had time to get dressed?

This has led some commentators to suggest that what we have here is another parable that was originally separate from the one in the first part, but which has been added on to it. If that’s the case, Matthew has not done a very good job of either making that clear or of blending it in. Others have suggested that at weddings at the time, the host of the wedding would provide proper clothing for the guests to wear and that this particular guest had refused to wear it. That would be a great explanation, if that was, in fact, the practice at the time, but there is little evidence that it was!

Whatever the explanation, there is a guest not dressed as the King expected him to be and, as a consequence, he suffers arguably a greater punishment than those guests who were originally invited and who killed the King’s messengers. It is one thing to kill the King’s messengers, another entirely, apparently, not to wear the right clothes! The badly dressed guest is thrown into ‘outer darkness’ where there is ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’. His punishment will last a long time!

Now these are stories, so we have to be careful about interpreting them over literally. But they are stories designed to make a point. They do have a meaning. Just as the slaves gathering everyone in, for example, refers to the Gentile mission, so too the punishments in both parts refer to something, as especially does the guest who is not dressed as the King expects. That the badly dressed guest symbolizes something is clear; quite what that is, however, is not.

Jesus concludes the parable with a saying that is meant to sum up its meaning. The trouble is that rather than making its meaning clearer, it clouds it even further. Jesus says:

‘For many are called, but few are chosen.’ (Matthew 22:14)

I can’t help finding a bit amusing the lengths people go to in order to try to explain that when Jesus uses the word ‘chosen’, he doesn’t mean that God chooses some and not others. Most of the commentators are at pains to explain that the ‘chosen’ are those who have themselves willingly chosen to respond to the invitation.

Presumably then, if we apply the same sort of reasoning, when Jesus, in John’s Gospel, says to his disciples, ‘you did not choose me, but I chose you’ (John 15:16), what Jesus is actually saying is, ‘I did not choose you, you chose me’!

When will we accept that our salvation comes from God and not from ourselves? We are so desperate to hold on to some role for ourselves that we focus on ourselves and our response rather than on God and his grace in reaching out to us in Christ. We have to allow God to be God. It was the King who issued the original invitation to the guests, the King who sent his messengers when the banquet was ready, the King who orders the murder of those originally invited and the burning of their city, and the King who sent his slaves to get replacement guests. It is also the King who has the badly dressed man thrown out.

The only freedom exercised by people in the parable is by the guests who refuse to go to the banquet, by those who murdered the messengers, and, then, by the one who turns up not dressed properly.

Now clearly, we cannot press all the details in the story to describe how God works, but if the story teaches anything, it is that God is in the driving seat. Yes, of course, we have a role to play, but the initiative lies with God both in issuing the invitation in the first place and then deciding how to judge our response.

So, what about our response?

For those to whom the parable was first told and to whom its message was directed, their response had catastrophic consequences. It resulted in the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple and the passing over of Israel - for a time at least.

From this and the subsequent gathering of replacement guests, we learn that we live now in a time when God wants to gather people regardless of their background into his Kingdom. We too can be part of the Kingdom of God. But what of the badly dressed man?

There have been all sorts of suggestions as to what this means. Most of the suggestions focus on the fact that he is not wearing a ‘wedding robe’ and on what the wedding robe symbolizes. The suggestions include that it represents repentance, faith, or good works. While it is true as Jesus elsewhere makes clear that we will not be able to enter God’s Kingdom with out repentance, faith, and good works, the parable itself does not make it clear that this is what Jesus means here.

The idea that the wedding robe refers to all three can be had from the previous parable in chapter 21

A more fruitful approach is to ask not what the lack of a wedding robe represents, but what the man without a wedding robe himself represents. I would suggest that he represents all those who think they can enter the Kingdom of God on their own terms. This, then, does indeed include those who think they can enter God’s Kingdom without repentance, faith, and good works, but, more fundamentally, he represents those who think they can be saved on their own account; that they are perfectly OK just as they are.

This is what St Paul describes as having ‘confidence in the flesh’ (Philippians 3:4). It is as if the man is saying, ‘I get to choose what I wear, there is no dress code that I have to follow. I am fine dressed as I am.’ He represents both those proud of their own ability and their achievements and those who think they don’t need to do anything. They have complete confidence in themselves.

In the letter to the Philippians, St Paul describes how before coming to know Christ, he saw himself as blameless. Now, he describes himself as:

‘… not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith.’ (Philippians 3:9)

If we rely on ourselves, we are going to be in for a nasty surprise. The badly dressed man was speechless when questioned by the King. We too are not used to being told what we should wear. We get to decide, or so we think, what is right and wrong, what we should or should not do. But that’s not how it works. We follow the dress code of the restaurant or we don’t get to enjoy the meal. We enter in the way the King says or we too get thrown out in the way the badly dressed man was.

Now, even as I say this, I know that all too few will take it seriously. We are so used to thinking that we are in control of our own destiny and that, in any case, God, if there is a God, couldn’t possibly be the sort of God who would reject anyone whatever the cause.

However, here’s the thing: the Bible is clear that one day ‘we must all appear before the judgement seat of Christ’ (2 Corinthians 5:10). God will decide whether we get to stay or are made to go.

So, before that happens, let us take God’s invitation seriously and seek to enter his presence, his way, while we still have time.

Our Lord said:

‘Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it.’ (Matthew 7:13-14)

May we be amongst the few who do.

Amen.