Sermon for the 16th of March - Second Sunday of Lent

Lectionary Readings for the Second Sunday of Lent

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, ‘Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.’ But Abram said, ‘O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?’ And Abram said, ‘You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.’ But the word of the Lord came to him, ‘This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.’ He brought him outside and said, ‘Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.’ Then he said to him, ‘So shall your descendants be.’ And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness. Then he said to him, ‘I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.’ But he said, ‘O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?’ He said to him, ‘Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtle-dove, and a young pigeon.’ He brought him all these and cut them in two, laying each half over against the other; but he did not cut the birds in two. And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.

As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying
darkness descended upon him. When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire-pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, ‘To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.

Psalm 27
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh— my adversaries and foes— they shall stumble and fall. Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise up against me, yet I will be confident. One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple. For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will set me high on a rock. Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord. Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud, be gracious to me and answer me! ‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek his face!’ Your face, Lord, do I seek. Do not hide your face from me. Do not turn your servant away in anger, you who have been my help. Do not cast me off, do not forsake me, O God of my salvation! If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up. Teach me your way, O Lord, and lead me on a level path because of my enemies. Do not give me up to the will of my adversaries, for false witnesses have risen against me, and they are breathing out violence. I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

Philippians 3:17-4:1
Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation so that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself. Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.

Luke 13:31-end
At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, ‘Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.’ He said to them, ‘Go and tell that fox for me, “Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.” Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”’

Sermon for the Second Sunday of Lent

You might wonder at the illustration you see on the cover of the order of service this morning. It is fire. Not a barbeque grill with the gas turned up high, not the dancing flames of a camp fire, with marshmallows toasting on sticks, warming Girl Scouts who have been out on a hike. But I wanted to choose an image of flames of fire that sustain themselves, that never die down, that cannot be controlled. Like God.

In the book of Exodus, Moses came up against flames of fire as he approached a bush in the wilderness. He wondered at this sight, that the fire was not consuming the bush. It was God who called out to him from the flames to confront him, to tell him that he had heard the cry of his people that had risen up to Him out of the land of Egypt, and that he was choosing Moses to lead them up out of slavery. Moses, in awe and wonder, could only take off his shoes out of reverence and hear the words God said.

To go even farther back in the Old Testament, to Genesis, here is another passage about God's appearance, to Abraham. What do we make of this passage, this passage that was given to us for today?

As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him. When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire-pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces.

These verses preserve a primitive ritual, a ritual of covenant-making. Two partners to a covenant stride down the path that has been formed by animals, cut in half and laid opposite one another. They thereby lay themselves open to a curse should the covenant be broken. But what is extraordinary about these verses in Genesis is that it is only God who appears to make this journey. Abraham does nothing. He only receives: on that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram. A covenant that God chose to make, in the form he chose to make it. This is a scene full of mystery and wonder, suffused with awe at the manifestation of God Almighty, the Yahweh of the Hebrew people.

God promised Abraham in this covenant ceremony that his descendants would become like the stars of the sky in number. And so it came to be.

But it leaves us with a dilemma: how do we make sense of the mysterious and terrifying God of the ancient people of the Hebrews, our ancestors in the Faith---a God who manifested his Presence in darkness and with fire---with the God who sent His Own Son to the world to manifest his own greater Light? A God, as the psalmist says, who is our Light and our Salvation? One who manifests infinite care for us, even the least of us. How do we reconcile these two images?

Lent is traditionally a season of sombre tones---of putting away temptation, of reflecting on who we are in relation to the One we follow.

It is a special, extraordinary time in the Christian year when we are offered a chance to seek God in silence and stillness, silence and stillness we so rarely manage to preserve in the daily course of our lives.

It can offer us a way to go deeper, a way to encounter the God of our lives, this God who is both terrifying and tender.

Last week Father James spoke of three classic stages encountered on the Christian journey through Lent: purgation, illumination, and union.

The three classic ways that Christians have attempted to undertake this journey are through the practices of fasting, charitable giving, and prayer.

I should say, an increase of fasting, charitable giving, and prayer, because the hope is that the Christian life regularly involves some degree of all of these practices.

The continued embrace by Christians of these three disciplines, as they are also called, through the passing centuries, have been the means of attaining a greater closeness to God, of enabling our greater spiritual good. A means of helping us along the path to a fuller, deeper sense of the joy of life as a Christian person.

As to fasting, you don't have to be like Anthony in the desert. Go without some meals. Be conscious of what you consume.

As to greater prayer, find a time and place that is right for you, and keep to it for these remaining days of Lent. Create silence and stillness.

As to charitable giving, at the back of your order of service is a highlighting of our Lent appeal for this year: it is through USPG, the United Society of Partners in the Gospel, contributing funds to the Al Ahli Hospital in Gaza, where so many are still in such desperate need. It is one of the few hospitals still standing there, a testimony to Christian compassion for those from all faiths and all traditions. Please consider giving to this worthy cause, this Lent!

These disciplines will change you.

I made an amusing mistake this past week, one typical of me. Rushing along, intendingtoattendtheecumenicalLentcourseourKensingtondioceseisofferingon Wednesday evenings, I ran into the beautiful sanctuary of St. Mark's Coptic Church right as the service was beginning. It only gradually dawned on me, as the ancient liturgy of St. Basil the Great went on, and continued to go on for some time, that I was the only non-member of the congregation there. No familiar faces from the diocese in any guise whatsoever. But I wanted to stay until the end. When it came time to receive the eucharist, I observed that everyone had taken off their shoes to walk up the central aisle to receive the bread and then, a second time, the wine. With heads covered. So I did the same. And it was a reminder to me of Moses and his encounter with God in the burning bush, and the reverence with which I hope always to receive the sacrament of communion.

I realised as I was walking home that the Lent course had been taking place in the basement below. Same time, same church, wrong floor. But not wrong, because I received what I needed to receive as I encountered God in that place.

We cannot control God, or the ways in which He appears to us. But we can seek Him out in the ways that our tradition has handed down to us: in fasting, greater giving to those in need, and in prayer.

The psalmist says:

‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek his face!’ Your face, Lord, do I seek.

May the God of our ancestors reveal Himself to us in the stillness and silence of this Lent. And may we be enabled to respond in awe and love to the one who through all seasons keeps covenant with us.