Sermon: The Temple Within (Nov 16th, 2025, Year C)

Readings

2 Thessalonians 3.6–13 – Now we command you, beloved, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to keep away from believers who are living in idleness and not according to the tradition that they received from us. For you yourselves know how you ought to imitate us; we were not idle when we were with you, and we did not eat anyone’s bread without paying for it; but with toil and labour we worked night and day, so that we might not burden any of you. This was not because we do not have that right, but in order to give you an example to imitate. For even when we were with you, we gave you this command: Anyone unwilling to work should not eat. For we hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work. Now such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living. Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.

Luke 21.5–19 – When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, he said, ‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.’ They asked him, ‘Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?’ And he said, ‘Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, “I am he!” and, “The time is near!” Do not go after them. ‘When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.’ Then he said to them, ‘Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. ‘But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defence in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.

Sermon

In our Gospel reading this morning, the disciples are admiring the splendour of the Temple in Jerusalem — the heart of their worship, the visible sign of God’s dwelling among his people. “How it is adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God,” they say. And Jesus’ response must have shocked them: “The days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”

For the Jewish people, the Temple was the holiest place on earth. It was where heaven and earth met — the dwelling place of God’s presence. To suggest that it would be destroyed was not only distressing; it was almost unthinkable. How could God’s people live without the Temple?

Anyone ever been to Jerusalem? Only the base of the Temple remains – the Temple Mount on a part of which the “Dome of the Rock” is built. But that base of the Temple itself is awe-inspiring. The smallest stones in the structure weighed 2 to 3 tons. Many of them weighed 50 tons or more. The largest existing stone is 12 meters in length and 3 meters high, and it weighs hundreds of tons! The walls towered over Jerusalem, over 400 feet in one area. Inside the four walls was 45 acres of bedrock mountain shaved flat, and during Jesus’ day a quarter of a million people could fit comfortably within the structure. Imagine that.

But of course, we know now that 40 years later Jesus’ prediction came true. In 70 AD the Temple and Jerusalem were destroyed by Titus as the Romans took the city.

But also, Jesus knew something his disciples did not yet understand — that God’s presence would no longer be tied to one building, one place, or one city. Through his death and resurrection, the dwelling of God would move from stone walls to living hearts. The new temple would not be built of marble or gold, but of faith, and love, and the Holy Spirit.

The old Temple was indeed magnificent — but it was also limited in some ways. You had to travel to Jerusalem to draw near to God. Only priests could enter certain areas. And even then, the presence of God was veiled and separated. But Jesus came to tear down that veil. He came to open the way for all of us to become the dwelling places of God.

Saint Paul writes elsewhere, “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” This is the astonishing truth of the New Covenant: that the same God who once filled the Temple with his glory now chooses to make his home in our hearts.

And this brings us to Paul’s words in 2 Thessalonians. He reminds the church not to become idle, but to live faithfully, working quietly and persistently for good. Why? Because being God’s temple is not a passive calling. It is a living, breathing, daily commitment. The Spirit of God within us moves us to serve, to love, to persevere — especially in difficult times.

In the Gospel, Jesus warns that hard days will come — persecution, confusion, fear. Yet he tells his followers, “By your endurance you will gain your souls.” In other words, the true strength of faith is not shown in the splendour of buildings, but in the steadfast hearts of believers who trust that God is with them, even when everything around them falls apart.

And perhaps that is a word we need to hear in our own time. Many of our churches are beautiful — and rightly so. They are places of prayer, history, and hope. But the church’s true glory is not its stonework; it is its people, filled with the presence of God. The church is not the building — it is the Body of Christ, living and active in the world.

When Jesus spoke of the Temple’s destruction, he wasn’t dismissing the value of sacred space. He was pointing to something greater: that God’s dwelling is no longer limited to a single place. Wherever a believer stands in faith, wherever love is shown, wherever truth is spoken — there God is present.

So, whether we gather in a great cathedral or a small village church, whether we pray at home, at work, or on a quiet walk — the same Spirit fills us. We are the living temples of the living God.

Our calling, then, is to live as people in whom God truly dwells. To be patient in doing good, as Paul says. To be steadfast in faith, even when the world seems to shake around us. To show, by our lives, that the light of Christ still shines — not in gold or stone, but in human hearts made new by grace.

May we, then, cherish our churches, but never confuse them with the Church. May we give thanks for the beauty of our buildings, but even more for the beauty of holiness in our lives. And may we, the living temples of God, go out into the world bearing his presence, his peace, and his love.

Amen.

Sermon: Remembrance Sunday (2025, Year C)

Readings

2 Thessalonians 2.1–5, 13–17 – As to the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our being gathered together to him, we beg you, brothers and sisters,not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as though from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here. Let no one deceive you in any way; for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction.He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God. Do you not remember that I told you these things when I was still with you? But we must always give thanks to God for you, brothers and sisters beloved by the Lord, because God chose you as the first fruits for salvation through sanctification by the Spirit and through belief in the truth. For this purpose he called you through our proclamation of the good news, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by our letter. Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word.

Luke 20.27–38 – Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to him and asked him a question, ‘Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.’ Jesus said to them, ‘Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. Indeed they cannot die any more, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.’

Sermon

Today we gather, as generations have gathered before us, to remember. We remember those who have laid down their lives in war — men and women who faced fear and hardship so that others might live in freedom and peace.

We remember the suffering of civilians caught in the crossfire of history. We remember the grief of families, and the long shadow that conflict casts upon communities. And yet we remember not only with sorrow, but also with gratitude and with hope — hope rooted not in wishful thinking, but in the promises of God.

In our first reading from 2 Thessalonians, Paul writes to a community that is anxious and uncertain. Rumours were spreading; fear was taking hold. The Thessalonians thought the end might already have come, that perhaps they had been forgotten or left behind. Paul’s response is pastoral and steadying. He says:

“Do not be quickly shaken or alarmed… stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught.”
And then he offers these words of comfort: “May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word.”

Those are words we need to hear today. Because remembrance is not only about the past; it’s about how we live now and into the future. Paul calls us to “stand firm” — to hold fast to faith, to goodness, to compassion — even when the world feels unstable, even when evil and violence seem to prevail. That same steadfastness marked those we remember today — people who stood firm in dark times, often at great cost. Their courage reminds us that hope can endure even in the midst of great suffering.

And yet Paul’s message points beyond human courage to divine faithfulness. We are held, he says, in the love of God who gives “eternal comfort and good hope.” That word eternal is vital. It means that the hope we cling to today — for peace, for justice, for renewal — is not fragile or temporary. It is anchored in the very life of God, who brings life out of death.

That truth shines through our Gospel reading from Luke 20.

The Sadducees, who do not believe in the resurrection, come to Jesus with a question meant to trap him. They paint a rather absurd scenario about a woman who has had seven husbands, asking whose wife she will be in the resurrection. But Jesus sees through their argument. He tells them that life in the resurrection is not a simple continuation of this one — it is something new, transformed, beyond death’s reach. He ends with these extraordinary words:

“He is not God of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

Those words are at the very heart of Christian remembrance. When we name before God those who have died, we do not do so as if they are gone into nothingness. We do so believing that they are alive to God — held in his eternal love, beyond the reach of death or decay.

The crosses in war cemeteries, the war graves in our own cemeteries, the names carved on memorials, the faces we hold in memory — all of them are alive to him. And one day, in the fullness of God’s kingdom, all will be made new.

That is the hope we proclaim in this service, and especially as we come to Holy Communion. At this table, heaven and earth meet. Here, we remember the sacrifice of Christ, through whom life has conquered death. Here, we are united with all the saints and with all who have gone before us in faith — those we remember today among them. For in Christ, time and distance and even death itself are overcome.

So as we remember today, let us do so with faith, gratitude, and courage. Let us remember and give thanks for those who stood firm in their generation. And let us resolve to stand firm in ours — to be people of peace in a world still torn by violence, to be people of hope in a world still shadowed by fear.

And may the God who is not the God of the dead but of the living — the God who gives eternal comfort and good hope — comfort our hearts, strengthen our hands, and guide our feet into the way of peace.

Amen.

Sermon: The Hope of the Saints (All Saints, 2nd Nov, 2025, Year C)

Readings

Ephesians 1.11–23 – In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; this is the pledge of our inheritance towards redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of his glory. I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love towards all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power. God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come. And he has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

Luke 6.20–31 – Then he looked up at his disciples and said: ‘Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. ‘Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. ‘Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. ‘Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. ‘But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. ‘Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. ‘Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. ‘Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets. ‘But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

Sermon

Today we celebrate All Saints — a day when the Church lifts its eyes beyond the present moment to the great company of men and women who have gone before us in faith. It is a day to give thanks for all the saints — known and unknown — who have shown us what it looks like to live in the light of Christ.

I wonder who you think about when you hear the word saint? It might be one of the apostles, those first followers of Jesus Christ who lived with and learned directly from him. It might be one of the great canon of saints that have been declared as such by the church in the thousands of years since. But it need not be either of those. It might be a member of your family; a friend; a colleague or a neighbour who has shown you in some way, big or small, what it means to live a life of faith and follow in the steps of Jesus.

In our reading from Ephesians, St Paul reminds us that the life of faith is not an accident or a passing choice, but part of God’s great purpose. “In Christ we have obtained an inheritance,” he says, “so that we might live for the praise of his glory.” And he prays that “the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints.”

That phrase — “among the saints” — is at the heart of today’s feast. The saints are not distant heroes of the past, carved in stone or painted in stained glass. They are the people, ordinary and extraordinary, through whom the light of Christ has shone. Some are well known — Mary, Peter, Francis, Julian: I am sure that these are names that you are more than familiar with. Others are remembered only by God. But together they form that great communion of saints — those who have lived and died in the hope of Christ.

Paul’s prayer is that we might share that same hope. That we might see ourselves as part of that communion, already drawn into God’s eternal purpose. The saints are not a separate class of Christians — they are the family to which we already belong. And our calling is to live as they lived: trusting in the power of God, not in the power of the world.

That is what Jesus shows us in our Gospel reading. In Luke’s version of the Beatitudes, he says: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be filled.”

Here, Jesus describes the life of those who live by the values of his kingdom — a life turned upside down from the world’s standards. The saints, in every age, have come to live that reversal. They have come to know that true blessing is not found in wealth or comfort or success, but in the deep joy of belonging to Christ. They have loved their enemies, forgiven those who hurt them, and trusted that God’s power is made perfect in weakness.

And that same Spirit that filled them fills us today. As Paul says, it is “the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe—the same power that raised Christ from the dead.” The saints did not live holy lives by their own strength. They lived by grace — the grace that flows from Christ’s death and resurrection, the grace that is offered to us now at this holy table.

So when we come to Holy Communion today, we do so not alone but surrounded by the great cloud of witnesses — the saints in glory and the saints on earth. Heaven and earth meet as we share in the one bread and one cup. The boundaries between this world and the next grow thin, and we are reminded that we too share in that “glorious inheritance among the saints.”

At this Eucharist, we are given a foretaste of that inheritance. Here, rich and poor, strong and weak, come together as one body. We receive from Christ’s hand the bread of life and the cup of salvation, not because we deserve them, but because of his overflowing grace. This is the table where the Beatitudes come to life — a table where the hungry are fed, the mourning find comfort, and enemies are reconciled in peace.

All Saints calls us, then, both to gratitude and to hope:

Gratitude for the lives of those who have shown us Christ’s love — those who have blessed us by their faith, their courage, their compassion.

And hope — that we, too, might bear that light in our own time and place; that the eyes of our hearts might be enlightened to see the world as Christ sees it; and that, by his grace, we might live as citizens of his kingdom in the here and now.

So let us give thanks for all the saints, and pray that we may join with them in the life of heaven — living, as they did, for the praise of God’s glory.

Amen.

Sermon: The Grace of Humility in the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (26th Oct, 2025, Year C)

Readings

2 Timothy 4.6–8, 16–18 – As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing. At my first defence no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them! But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory for ever and ever. Amen.

Luke 18.9–14Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax-collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’

Sermon

Both of our readings this morning draw us toward the same virtue — humility — that deep awareness of who we are before God, and the quiet confidence that flows from trusting not in ourselves, but in Jesus Christ.

In the Gospel, we meet two men at prayer in the Temple — one a Pharisee, the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stands tall, sure of himself, certain of his righteousness. He thanks God, yes — but his prayer is less a thanksgiving and more a self-congratulation: “I thank you that I am not like other people.” His eyes are lifted upward, but his heart looks only inward.

The tax collector, by contrast, cannot even raise his eyes to heaven. He stands at a distance and prays simply, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” It’s a short prayer, a simple prayer — but it’s the one that reaches God’s heart. Jesus tells us that it is the tax collector, not the Pharisee, who goes home justified.

The difference lies not in who they are, but in how they come before God. The Pharisee’s prayer is about self-assurance; the tax collector’s prayer is about dependence. The first trusts in his own goodness; the second throws himself upon God’s mercy. And in that posture of humility, the tax collector finds grace, forgiveness, and peace.

Humility, then, is not self-hatred or false modesty. It’s not pretending we’re worse than we are. True humility is the recognition that all we have and all we are depend on God’s mercy. It’s the open-handedness that allows us to receive grace.

Saint Paul, writing to Timothy near the end of his life, shows us what that humility looks like in practice. “I am already being poured out as a libation,” he says, “and the time of my departure has come.” Paul knows his earthly ministry is drawing to a close. Yet he looks back, not with pride in his own achievements, but with confidence in God’s faithfulness. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith… The Lord stood by me and gave me strength.”

Paul doesn’t boast of his endurance; he gives glory to the One who sustained him. Even when he was abandoned, when no one came to his defence, he could say, “The Lord stood by me.” His humility springs not from despair, but from faith — a faith that knows our strength, our righteousness, even our perseverance, come from Christ alone.

That is the same humility we are called to bring — to our prayers, and to our daily living. When we kneel at the altar today to receive the bread and wine, we come as those who have nothing to offer except our need of God’s grace. We come not boasting of our worthiness, but trusting in Christ’s mercy: “We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table, but thou art the same Lord whose nature is always to have mercy.” And when we rise from the table, we are sent out to live humbly — not self-reliant, but Christ-reliant.

To be humble in prayer is to be honest: honest about our failures, our dependence, our gratitude. To be humble in daily life is to listen before speaking, to serve before seeking recognition, to forgive as we have been forgiven.

Humility doesn’t mean weakness. Paul was anything but weak. It means knowing where our strength comes from — from the Lord who “rescued me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom.” It means living with the quiet assurance that God’s grace is enough; that in it is truth and that the truth of his mercy defines us more than our own strength or our mistakes ever could.

That’s an idea that God pointed me to elsewhere this week. Philippa Smethurst, a psychotherapist who specialises in trauma therapy wrote an article in the latest edition of the Church Times that I commend to you. It is titled “Freedom is found in Facing Reality.” In it Smethurst writes that humanity’s collective refusal to face reality has grown into one of the great spiritual crises of our age; that we need to face truth objectively, and – as St. Paul alludes to in our reading today – that we need to face it as if it were a long race, rather than a sprint. Smethurst also says that for our facing truth to be sustainable, meaningful and for it to do us all good, we need to do it with humility. To quote Smethurst directly:

“Humility is not timidity or weakness: it is the courage to stand before the vastness of reality — and before God — without trying to control it. One moment of cosmic wonder each day reminds us that we do not make truth, or will it: we serve it.”

And so, as we continue our journey of faith together — it is my prayer for us all that through joys and hardships, successes and stumblings — we learn to pray together with the tax collector’s honesty and humility, to serve with Paul’s courage, and to trust with the same humble faith that knows Christ will stand by us and bring us safely home, for he is our truth.

To him be glory forever and ever. Amen.

Sermon: The Destruction of the Temple and Safeguarding Sunday (17th Nov, 2024, Year B)

Reading

Mark 13.1–8 – As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, ‘Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, ‘Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?’ Then Jesus began to say to them, ‘Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, “I am he!” and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumours of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.’

Sermon

As I began preparing for this morning’s sermon, I found myself wondering why this particular passage from Mark’s Gospel appears in the lectionary. The whole of Mark chapter 13 deals with the signs of the end of the age — yet these opening verses seem focused only on the coming destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem and a warning to beware of being led astray.

So, let’s pause for a moment and try to capture the scene as it unfolds.

As the disciples leave the Temple in Jerusalem, they can’t help but marvel at it. “Look, Teacher!” they say. “What massive stones! What magnificent buildings!” Jesus stops, looks back with them at the splendour of the Temple, and then replies, “Do you see all these great buildings? Not one stone here will be left upon another; every one will be thrown down.”

And, to put it bluntly, the disciples are gobsmacked.

The Temple wasn’t just any building — it was the very foundation of their faith, the centre of Jewish life and worship. This was the place where Jesus himself had been dedicated as a baby, where as a young boy he had discussed the Law with the teachers, and where, throughout his ministry, he had come to pray and to teach.

Now he is saying that it will all be destroyed. How could that be? Surely nothing could bring down those massive walls. Surely this, of all places, was safe — this was God’s place.

Has anyone here ever been to Jerusalem? Today, only the base of that great Temple remains — the Temple Mount, on part of which the Dome of the Rock now stands. Even the base itself is awe-inspiring: vast blocks of stone that tower over the streets below. If the foundation is that impressive, imagine what the Temple must have looked like in its glory days!

The smallest stones in the structure weighed two or three tons. Many weighed fifty tons or more. The largest surviving stone measures some twelve metres long and three metres high — hundreds of tons in weight!

The builders didn’t even use mortar; the stones’ sheer weight held the whole structure together. The Temple walls rose high above the city — in one section, more than 400 feet. Inside those walls lay 45 acres of mountain top, levelled flat, large enough to hold a quarter of a million people at once.

Even now, standing before the remains, you can easily imagine how magnificent it must have been. And yet, Jesus’ prophecy came true. About forty years later, in 70 AD, the Temple and much of Jerusalem were destroyed when the Romans, under Titus, besieged the city.

The people had indeed been led astray — by false hopes, by worldly concerns, by those who promised salvation apart from God.

So what does this passage mean for us today?

For me, it speaks about a new foundation.

In the Old Testament, the Temple was the dwelling place of God, fixed in one location — Jerusalem. But when Jesus came, everything changed. In the New Testament, the presence of God is no longer centred in a single building or city. Instead, there is a new Temple: the dwelling place of God within each believer’s heart.

Through faith in Jesus Christ, and through the gift of the Holy Spirit, God now lives in us.

As that great hymn reminds us,

“The Church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord;
she is his new creation, by water and the Word.”

St Paul puts it plainly in his letter to the Corinthians:

“Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit lives in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16)

The focus of the new covenant in Christ is not on buildings — however beautiful they may be — but on God himself, living and active in his people.

If we are God’s temple, what does that mean for the way we live?

We might no longer need the Temple rituals or the ceremonial law, but that doesn’t mean God’s moral or spiritual law no longer matters. Paul urges us,

“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” (Romans 12:1–2)

As Christians today, we can appreciate the beauty and usefulness of our church buildings — after all, we’ve just spent a good deal of money ensuring that this one doesn’t collapse around us! But as we discussed in our recent mission planning meeting, we also recognised that we must spend less time worrying about the fabric of our buildings, and more time nurturing the spiritual health of our people and our community.

This passage from Mark gives us encouragement in that. It isn’t meant to make us anxious about the future, nor to keep us up at night worrying about our buildings. It was originally written to comfort early believers who were struggling to make sense of their world — and it offers that same comfort to us.

Our calling is to remain faithful, to keep our eyes fixed not on worldly events or human institutions, but on Christ himself, our firm foundation and our hope for the future.

Postscript

I’d like to add a brief postscript, because today’s reading — with its themes of buildings, foundations, and misplaced confidence — feels especially relevant this week.

Many of you will have been following the news about the publication of the Makin Report, which exposes the appalling abuse carried out by John Smyth and the Church’s failure to act. I use the word horrific quite deliberately. I’ve read every one of its 253 pages, and it truly is 253 pages of horror. As Bishop Nick wrote recently, there can be no mitigation, no defence, for what has been revealed.

And it is a painful irony that today — long before the report’s publication was scheduled — has been designated Safeguarding Sunday.

The report, and indeed Archbishop Justin Welby’s resignation, affect us all as members of the Church of England. They remind us that the Church must never hide behind failure or defensiveness. Instead, our confidence must rest in our continuing vocation — to worship faithfully, to follow Christ in discipleship, and to serve others with integrity.

Even in the face of such terrible wrongdoing, we are called not to conceal or to pretend, but to bring light into the darkness — to commend what is good and true.

Scripture is clear: Christ’s followers are called to support and protect those who are weak, vulnerable, or wounded. This is how the world will know the truth of our Gospel.

Safeguarding, then, is everyone’s responsibility. It isn’t a bureaucratic burden or a distraction from our mission — it’s a vital expression of what the Church is meant to be: a place of safety, compassion, and truth.

So, just as Jesus called his disciples to look beyond the splendour of the Temple and to place their trust in him, so we too are called to look beyond our buildings and institutions, and to place our trust firmly in Christ — the cornerstone of our faith.

If we do that, then the Church truly can become a safe place for all people, and those who have suffered abuse can know that the light of truth will never again be hidden.

Amen.