Readings

Colossians 1.15–20 – He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Matthew 8.23–27 – And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him. A gale arose on the lake, so great that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him up, saying, ‘Lord, save us! We are perishing!’ And he said to them, ‘Why are you afraid, you of little faith?’ Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a dead calm. They were amazed, saying, ‘What sort of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?’

Sermon

There is a wonderful moment at the end of today’s Gospel when the disciples look at Jesus and ask one another: “Who then is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?” It is the right question.

They have been with Jesus for some time. They have heard him teach. They have watched him heal. They have seen something of his authority and his compassion. But suddenly, out there on the lake, they glimpse something more.

The wind drops. The sea becomes calm. And they look at Jesus and wonder: Who is this? Our reading from Colossians gives us an answer. “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created.” All things.

The hills and valleys. The oceans and rivers. The birds above us and the creatures beneath the soil. The trees and flowers, the insects and animals, the great sweep of galaxies beyond anything we can see. All things have their origin in God.

And then Paul goes further: “All things have been created through him and for him.” That last phrase matters enormously on this Feast of Creation in Christ. Creation is not simply the backdrop against which the human story takes place. It is not scenery. It is not merely a collection of resources placed at our disposal. Creation is for Christ. It belongs to him.

That changes the way we look at the world. A woodland is not simply so many tonnes of timber. A river is not simply water available for our use. A field is not simply an economic asset. Other creatures do not derive their value solely from whether they are useful to us. They belong within a creation which exists through Christ and for Christ. And we belong within it too.

That is something we sometimes forget. We talk about “humanity and nature” as though the natural world were something over there, outside us. But we are creatures too. We breathe its air. We drink its water. We eat food grown from its soil. The elements from which our bodies are made come from the same earth beneath our feet.

We are not spectators of creation. We are part of it. Which makes the little boat in Matthew’s Gospel such a powerful image. The disciples are out on the lake when suddenly a great storm rises. The waves begin to swamp the boat. These are experienced fishermen, yet even they are frightened. And Jesus is asleep. So they wake him:

“Lord, save us! We are perishing!” There is something painfully recognisable about that cry. Because we too inhabit a world in which the waters sometimes seem to be rising around us. We see a climate changing more quickly than many ecosystems can adapt. We see habitats disappearing, species declining, forests burning, oceans warming and communities facing drought, flooding and increasingly unpredictable weather. And it can feel overwhelming. The problems are so large and our individual actions can seem so small that we are tempted either to despair or simply to look away.

What difference can I make? What difference can one household make? One church? One community? But Christian hope is not the same thing as pretending there is no storm. Jesus does not tell the disciples that the waves are imaginary. He gets up in the middle of them. And that matters for us, too.

The Christian response to the ecological crisis cannot be panic, but neither can it be indifference. It begins with remembering who Christ is. “He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”

The world is not ours to save as though everything depended upon us. But neither are we free to neglect it. We are called to live faithfully within God’s creation: to receive it as gift, to cherish what God cherishes, to repair what we have damaged where we can, and to resist ways of living which treat the earth simply as something to consume.

Most of that will not be dramatic. It may mean using less, wasting less, travelling differently when we can, protecting habitats, planting things that help other creatures flourish, supporting those already bearing the heaviest cost of environmental change. For a church it might mean looking carefully at our buildings, our land, our energy, our purchasing and the way we use the resources entrusted to us. None of those things alone will calm the storm. But that does not make them insignificant.

Faithfulness has never depended upon being able to solve everything. And Colossians gives us an even deeper reason for hope. Paul says that through Christ God was pleased “to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.” Notice again those words: all things. The scope of Christ’s reconciliation is as wide as creation itself.

The Christ through whom the world was made is the Christ through whom God is reconciling the world. That means our care for creation is not some fashionable extra added onto the Christian faith. It belongs within the great story of creation, incarnation, cross and resurrection.

And that story comes very close to us here at Holy Communion. We bring bread and wine to this table: ordinary things of the earth, fruit of soil and rain and sunshine, shaped by human hands. Creation becomes part of our thanksgiving. And through these created things Christ gives himself to us.

So perhaps today, as we receive bread and wine, we might allow ourselves to see the world around us differently. Not as property. Not as scenery. Not as an endless supply of things for us to use. But as creation held in Christ. Creation loved by Christ. Creation being reconciled through Christ.

And then perhaps the disciples’ question becomes ours: “Who then is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?”

Colossians answers: He is the image of the invisible God. In him all things were created. Through him and for him all things exist. In him all things hold together. And through him God is reconciling all things to himself.

This is Christ. And this is his creation.

May we learn to receive it with gratitude, to tend it with humility, and to cherish it with love.

Amen.