Sermon - The Rev. Tim Jones

Feb. 1, 2004

How does God use you?  This life of yours, given by God.  How open do you let it be to God?  How do listen to God?  How do you hear what he is saying to you?  And how does God speak through you?  In your words and in your actions, are you even aware of the possibility of God at work?  When we finish our time of worship every week, we almost always hear the words, "Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord."  What kind of a game plan do you have for how you might do those three things: Live your life in peace, loving God (which is hardly a passive thing) and serving God?

 In our first reading this morning, we heard Jeremiah relate the occasion of his sense of vocation, to speak out for God, to be a prophet for the Lord in the face of the hostility of those in power.  It was not something he wanted to do, nor was it something he felt in any way qualified to do."Truly I do not know how to speak," he said, "for I am only a boy." 

Jesus, by contrast, could speak, and could speak well, with intelligence and authority, it seems, from an early age.  "All spoke well of Jesus," reports St. Luke, "and [they] were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth."

The problem for Jesus, though, was not so much that he couldn't speak, or didn't want to speak, but rather that his audience were reluctant to hear.  They were happy to hear him reinforce what they already believed; but they were not happy to be challenged, to have their presuppositions and attitudes thrown into doubt.  It is almost as if they were unwilling to have to do the hard thinking.  I rather suspect that going to synangogue then had a similar dynamic to church going now.  Attendance encouraged one in one's faith; it was a comforting, grounding experience, in which the familiar truths were defended and held up as  worthy and good.

Jeremiah was afraid of speaking up because he felt under qualified.  Jesus' home audience were unwilling to hear what he had to say because it would disturb the comfort of their religious world.

And we are afraid to speak because ... ?  Why exactly?  And what is it that we won't hear?

I remember once as a schoolchild being shocked in class one day bcause the math teacher gave us a math test.  It seemed a terribly unfair thing to do.  We had been given a math test the previous week, and the whole class had done badly, so Mr.  Garfitt warned us that somtime in the near future, at an undisclosed date, we would have the self same test all over again, and if we did not do well, we would be in big trouble.  So to our disbelief and horror, there we were being handed out our test papers all over again.  None of us had done any preparation at all.

Our math class was in a small, two classroom building building set a hundred yards or so away from the rest of the school.  In the other classroom, it was a different story altogether.  There, the science teacher had told the class that they were about to learn about sexual reproduction in the animal kingdom.  I remember that class.  It was very exciting.  First, we learned all about worms.  We were sent out onto the school lawns with milk bottles full of potassium permanganate, which when poured over a square yard of grass would encourage earthworms to come to the surface in search of a mate.  We could then crouch around and watch the earthworms mating.  It was very exciting.  And then the next lesson came the film.  The film was very exciting.  It talked about reproduction in humans.  It SHOWED reproduction in rabbits!  It was all very exciting.  While we were having our math test, we could hear class 4B next door, in a state of frenzy because the film they were about to see.  We knew when the film started, because the class next door went quiet without the teacher shouting at them.  In our misery, we began our unfair, unreasonable math test.

After a couple minutes, a strange thing happened.  The school fire alarm sounded for just a couple of seconds.  BRRinggg!!  Then nothing.  It had never done that before.  For those of us in the math test, though, it was clearly enough to demonstrate that our lives were at risk if we stayed indoors.  We abandoned our desks and our education, and, to the protests of our teacher, walked dutifully out to the playing fields.  In the other classroom, though, the alarm caused no alarm.  It had only rung once.  Why let the remote possibility of a fire somewhere in the school interfere with something important?  The class stayed where they were, and ignored the teacher, who wondered aloud whether they ought to evacuate the building!

There is a twin set of problems in the life of faith, all to do with speaking and hearing.  For those of us charged with speaking, there can be a nervousness about raising issues which are known to be controversial or difficult.  For those of us who think it is not our place to speak out, we can all too easily ignore the responsibility we have to raise our voice against injustice, or against wrong doing. All of us can risk hearing only what we want to hear, refusing to listen to those with whom we disagree, and refusuing even to risk amending our faith through engagement with the scriptures, with theological reading, or even with discussion about matters of faith.

So if we are reluctant to speak, and we are disinclined to hear, how does God use us?  This life of yours, given by God.  How open do you let it be open to God, if you are slow to hear?  How do listen to God?   What do you do when you don't like what you hear?

And how does God speak through you? Do you imagine that you are a disciple of Christ through whom God cannot be bothered to speak?  Or is more likely that you feel unqualified or disinclined to speak of God, or speak of faith, or share the good news of Christ?

When we finish our time of worship every week, we almost always hear the words, "Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord."  Get a plan!  Do not hear those words, and do nothing.

Recite together Psalm 71:6, 15-17

Rev. Tim Jones - Sermon

January 11th 2004 (Epiphany 1C) Luke 3:15-16, 21-22

     Today is Anglican Communion Sunday. Throughout the world, about one per cent of the world's population will mark this day. Here in northeast Mississippi, it perhaps seems strange to think that Anglicans are that numerous. It sometimes doesn't feel like it. Worldwide there are about the same number of Anglicans as Baptists. The Roman Catholic Church by contrast is about 10 times larger than the Anglican Communion. It is a strange thing, the way that we Christians divide ourselves up. We can be so defensive about our own particular traditions, our own little sub sets of beliefs, our own particular way of doing things. I am terribly guilty of this myself. It is a little like when I was a child at boarding school. We would go about our lives, dressed in our grey, maroon and yellow uniforms, grumbling about the school and singing songs to make fun of it. But whenever we would go out on a school trip, say to a concert, we would see children from another school. It would be a school really very similar to our own, with similar traditions, similar teachers and similar pranks. And we children from Lisvane School would look at children from Bramcote School, in their grey, red and black uniforms, and we would stand a little closer to our fellow Lisvane-ites, and we would stare at the children from Bramcote, and we would SCOWL. Let no one be seen to have FRIENDS from Bramcote! How easy it can be to slip into the same frame of mind today. As if the Anglican Communion were without faults or problems, that we feel we can look down our noses at other denominations. We would do well to remember just how similar we all are.

I am reminded of a story about a Baptist couple who decided to acquire a dog. "This Baptist couple felt it important to own an equally Baptist pet, so they went shopping. At the kennel specializing in this particular breed, they found a dog they liked quite a lot. When they asked the dog to fetch the BIBLE, he did it in a flash. When they instructed him to look up Psalm 23, he complied equally fast, using his paws with dexterity. They were impressed, purchased the animal, and went home. That night they had friends over. They were so proud of their new Baptist dog and his major skills, they called the dog and showed him off a little. The friends were impressed,and asked whether the dog was able to do any of the usual dog tricks as well. This stopped the couple cold, as they had never thought about him doing "normal" tricks. "Well", they said, "Let's try it out." Once more they called the dog, and they clearly pronounced the command, "Heel!" Quick as a wink, the dog jumped up, put his paw on the man's forehead, closed his eyes in concentration, and bowed his head, clearly praying for healing and deliverance." They had been deceived! He was Pentecostal!!" It's a funny story, probably originating from a Baptist or a Pentecostalist. It is also a little wry, because of course almost every Christian denomination cares about the Bible and prays for the healing of those who are sick.

That is not to say that there are not genuine divisions and disagreements between the various denominations. I believe that it is acceptable, even desirable, to baptise babies and infants into the Christian faith. Baptists would disagree with me. I would argue that it is not necessary or even desirable to invest ultimate church authority in the office of one person. The good Christians of Vatican City would probably disagree with me. There are differences, and the points of contention are important, and worth thinking about, and even well worth arguing about. But they are not worth our falling out of love about, even if we have fallen out of unity. Religious belief is itself a strange thing, weaving its way in and out of our lives, in and out of our consciousness. It is perhaps only in those moments of acute anxiety, moments of particular challenge, or danger, or heartache, that we discover what we really believe.

I am reminded of a story about an atheist Scotsman. "This atheist was spending a quiet day fishing when suddenly his boat was attacked by the Loch Ness monster. In one easy flip, the beast tossed him and his boat high into the air. Then it opened its mouth to swallow both. As the man sailed head over heels, he cried out, "Oh, my God! Help me!" At once, the ferocious attack scene froze in place, and as the atheist hung in mid-air, a booming voice came down from the clouds, "I thought you didn't believe in Me!" "Come on God, give me a break!!" the man pleaded. "20 seconds ago I didn't believe in the Loch Ness monster either!"

The Anglican Communion is at a moment of particular anxiety, of particular challenge, right now. It is just one of many Christian denominations. It does not believe itself to be the only correct denomination. It came into existence because of a variety of historical circumstances and occurrences, and so it should be no surprise that we find ourselves dependent still upon historical contingency. I hope that at this moment of particular challenge, we will discover what we really believe, not just about God, but about ourselves and each other as the Church. This denomination is the one which has nurtured me in my faith, and the one in which I find myself best able to renew and express my gratitude to my Creator for my life and my redemption in Jesus Christ. I hope to goodness that the Holy Spirit does not limit his activity to the Anglican Communion, but I know the Spirit to be able to breathe in our funny traditions and our silly vestments. I know that the traditions that have developed within Anglicanism over the 20th century of tolerance, respect for each others' faith, commitment to justice and integrity are good traditions, and that we should be glad of them. Each of us, as Christians, should nurture those qualities within ourselves as part of our own Christian spirituality, and give thanks to God for those Christians, of this denomination and others, from whom we inherit them.

I know that there are problems, even perhaps dangers ahead for the unity of Anglicanism. But I hope that we can, together with all Christians, as we comprise together the Body of Christ in the world, even broken as we are by our squabbles, our divisions and our sins, hear the voice of the Father, and know it to be about us and about our ministry. "You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."