Reflection: Abide In My Love (7th May, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 15.7–21 – After there had been much debate, Peter stood up and said to them, ‘My brothers, you know that in the early days God made a choice among you, that I should be the one through whom the Gentiles would hear the message of the good news and become believers. And God, who knows the human heart, testified to them by giving them the Holy Spirit, just as he did to us; and in cleansing their hearts by faith he has made no distinction between them and us. Now therefore why are you putting God to the test by placing on the neck of the disciples a yoke that neither our ancestors nor we have been able to bear? On the contrary, we believe that we will be saved through the grace of the Lord Jesus, just as they will.’ The whole assembly kept silence, and listened to Barnabas and Paul as they told of all the signs and wonders that God had done through them among the Gentiles. After they finished speaking, James replied, ‘My brothers, listen to me. Simeon has related how God first looked favourably on the Gentiles, to take from among them a people for his name. This agrees with the words of the prophets, as it is written, “After this I will return, and I will rebuild the dwelling of David, which has fallen; from its ruins I will rebuild it, and I will set it up, so that all other peoples may seek the Lord— even all the Gentiles over whom my name has been called. Thus says the Lord, who has been making these things known from long ago.” Therefore I have reached the decision that we should not trouble those Gentiles who are turning to God, but we should write to them to abstain only from things polluted by idols and from fornication and from whatever has been strangled and from blood. For in every city, for generations past, Moses has had those who proclaim him, for he has been read aloud every sabbath in the synagogues.’

John 15.9–11 – As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

Reflection

In both of today’s readings, there is a question quietly sitting beneath the surface: who belongs? In Acts, the early Church is wrestling with whether Gentile believers must first become culturally Jewish before they can fully belong to the people of God. It is not simply an abstract theological debate. It is about identity, tradition, and fear. The Church is growing quickly, and growth often brings uncertainty with it. People begin asking: how do we hold on to what matters? What are the boundaries? What is essential?

Into that discussion, Peter stands and reminds the assembly of something important: God has already acted. God has given the Holy Spirit to Gentile believers just as he did to Jewish believers. God “made no distinction between them.” Before the Church had settled its arguments, before committees and councils had reached their conclusions, God had already poured out grace. That is often the way with God. We spend time drawing lines, while God is already opening doors. And then James speaks with wisdom and gentleness. The decision of the council is not to burden these new believers with unnecessary weight. They are not to be crushed beneath expectations they cannot carry. Instead, the Church seeks a way forward that protects fellowship, honours one another, and keeps the heart of the gospel clear.

And then we hear Jesus in John’s gospel saying: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” At first glance, these readings may seem quite different — one about church disagreement, the other about love and joy. But they belong together more closely than we might think. Because the question in Acts is ultimately this: will the Church remain rooted in the love of Christ, or will it become rooted in fear?

Jesus does not say, “Remain in anxiety.” He does not say, “Remain in suspicion.” He says, “Abide in my love.” The Church is healthiest when it remembers that it is first a community shaped by the love it has received from Christ. Not a community held together by uniformity or control, but by grace.

And notice something else in the gospel: Jesus says these things so that “my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” Joy is not always the word people associate with church meetings and disagreements. Yet here, even in Acts, we glimpse what joyful faithfulness looks like. It looks like people listening carefully to one another. It looks like making space for those whom God is calling. It looks like refusing to place obstacles where God has offered welcome. That remains a challenge for the Church in every generation. There are always temptations to confuse our preferences with the gospel itself. There are always moments when we risk making faith feel like a burden rather than good news. But today’s readings call us back to what is central: the grace of God given freely in Jesus Christ.

And perhaps that is the invitation for us today. To ask ourselves not simply whether we are busy with church life, but whether we are abiding in Christ’s love. Whether our words, our decisions, and our relationships are rooted in that love. Whether people encounter, through us, something of the joy of the gospel. Because when the Church remains close to Christ, it becomes a place where others can breathe a little more freely. A place where grace is visible. A place where people discover that God’s welcome may be wider than they had dared hope. And that, in the end, is good news indeed.

Amen.

Reflection: Fruitful Relationship (6th May, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 15.1–6 – Then certain individuals came down from Judea and were teaching the brothers, ‘Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved.’ And after Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and debate with them, Paul and Barnabas and some of the others were appointed to go up to Jerusalem to discuss this question with the apostles and the elders. So they were sent on their way by the church, and as they passed through both Phoenicia and Samaria, they reported the conversion of the Gentiles, and brought great joy to all the believers.When they came to Jerusalem, they were welcomed by the church and the apostles and the elders, and they reported all that God had done with them. But some believers who belonged to the sect of the Pharisees stood up and said, ‘It is necessary for them to be circumcised and ordered to keep the law of Moses.’ The apostles and the elders met together to consider this matter.

John 15.1–8 – ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

Reflection

In our Gospel reading, Jesus offers us one of his most vivid images: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower… Abide in me as I abide in you.” It is an image of life, connection, and dependence. Branches do not strive to produce fruit by effort alone; they bear fruit because they remain connected to the vine.

It is a gentle but profound reorientation. The Christian life is not first about activity, achievement, or even correctness; it is about relationship. To abide is to remain, to dwell, to stay close. Fruitfulness flows from that closeness.

And then we turn to Acts, where that simplicity seems to be under pressure.

In Acts 15, we find the early Church in disagreement. Some are insisting that new Gentile believers must be circumcised and follow the law of Moses. In other words, they are asking: what must someone do in order to truly belong? What are the necessary markers of faithfulness?

It is not a trivial question. It goes to the heart of identity, tradition, and faithfulness to God. And yet, when we hold this alongside the words of Jesus in John 15, we begin to see the tension more clearly.

Because Jesus does not say, “Produce fruit so that you may be part of the vine.” He says, “Abide in me… and you will bear much fruit.” The ordering of that phrase matters.

In Acts, the Church is discerning how to remain faithful to God while welcoming others into that life. And the danger, one that has never quite left the Church, is that we can slip into thinking that belonging is secured by external markers, by rules fulfilled, by the right credentials in place.

But the image of the vine challenges that instinct. It reminds us that life with God begins not with our effort, but with God’s invitation. It begins with being grafted into Christ, held there by grace. From that place, fruit grows, sometimes slowly, sometimes unexpectedly, but always as a result of that living connection.

There is also something quietly reassuring here. Branches do not anxiously measure their fruit against one another. They do not strain to manufacture life. Their task, if we can call it that, is simply to remain connected.

And perhaps that speaks into our own lives of faith. In a world, and sometimes even in a Church, that can feel full of expectations, demands, and comparisons, Jesus offers something both simpler and deeper: abide in me. Stay close in prayer. Remain in my love. Receive the life I give. And then, trust that fruit will come.

As the early Church in Acts gathers to discern, they are, in their own way, seeking how best to remain faithful to that life; to ensure that what they ask of others does not obscure the grace at the heart of the Gospel.

That remains our task too.

To be a people who are deeply rooted in Christ, who take seriously the call to faithfulness, but who never lose sight of where life begins: not in what we achieve, but in whom we abide. Because it is there, in that living connection with Christ, that we find not only our identity, but our fruitfulness, and ultimately, our joy.

Sermon: Do Not Let Your Hearts Be Troubled (3rd May, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 7.55–end – Filled with the Holy Spirit, Stephen gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!’ But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, ‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.’ Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, ‘Lord, do not hold this sin against them.’ When he had said this, he died.

John 14.1–14 – Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.’Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’ Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.’

Sermon

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

Jesus speaks these words into a moment of deep uncertainty. The disciples can sense that something is ending. The shape of their life with him is changing, and they do not yet understand what comes next. And it is into that uncertainty, not after it has been resolved, that Jesus says: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

I think the timing of Jesus’ words matter, because it tells us that this is not a command to feel calm. It is an invitation to trust. Trust, not because the situation is straightforward, but because of who he is. And that becomes clearer as the conversation unfolds. Thomas asks the question that perhaps everyone is thinking: “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

It is a question about direction, about certainty, about wanting something solid to hold onto. And Jesus responds, not by clarifying the route, but by redefining the question: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” He does not offer a map or a plan. He offers himself. Which means that the “way” is not something we master. It is someone we follow.

And that changes how we understand what it means to live faithfully. Because it means that the heart of the Christian life is not about having clarity over every step ahead. It is about relationship; about remaining in Christ, trusting him, walking with him. “Do not let your hearts be troubled… believe in God, believe also in me.”

Now hold that alongside what we have heard from Acts.

Stephen stands before a crowd that has already decided his fate. The situation is not uncertain in the way the disciples’ is. It is, if anything, brutally clear. There is no ambiguity about what is coming. And yet, in that moment, Stephen is described as “full of the Holy Spirit.” He gazes into heaven and sees “the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.”

That detail is worth pausing over. Elsewhere in the New Testament, Jesus is described as seated at the right hand of God. Here, he is standing. It is a small shift, but a significant one. It suggests attentiveness. Presence. A readiness to receive. Stephen is not alone. And because he knows that, because his gaze is fixed on Christ, his response is transformed. He entrusts his spirit to Jesus. And he prays for those who are killing him.

This is not detachment from reality. It is not denial of what is happening. Stephen is fully present to the moment. But his vision is larger than the moment. He sees beyond what is immediately in front of him.

And that, I think, is where these two readings meet.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus calls his disciples to trust him as the way, specially when the path ahead is unclear. In Acts, Stephen shows us what that trust can look like when it is lived out, when everything seems to be closing in rather than opening up. In both cases, the key is where the gaze is directed. The disciples are invited to look to Christ. Stephen actually does.

And that changes everything; not by altering the circumstances, but by reshaping how those circumstances are held.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.” That does not mean that trouble will not come. It does not mean that we will not face moments of fear, confusion, or even profound loss. But it does mean that those moments do not have the final word. Because the one who is the way has gone ahead of us.

“In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places… I go to prepare a place for you.” These are not just comforting words about the future. They are words that reframe the present. They tell us that our lives are held within a larger reality—a reality shaped by the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ. And so, even now, our lives are oriented somewhere. We are not wandering aimlessly. We are being drawn. Drawn into the life of God.

And that has implications for how we live. It means that when we find ourselves asking, “What is the way forward?” the answer may not come as a clear set of directions. Instead, the question becomes: Where is Christ in this? And how do I remain with him? It means that when we face situations that feel overwhelming, the invitation is not first to solve them, but to fix our gaze. To look again to Christ.

Not in a vague or abstract sense, but in the concrete practices of faith: in prayer, in Scripture, in the sacraments, in the life of the Church. Because these are the places where we learn to recognise his presence. These are the places where our vision is gently reshaped.

And, perhaps most challengingly, it means that as our vision is reshaped, so too is our response.

Stephen’s final prayer, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them”, is not an isolated moment of heroism. It is the fruit of a life oriented towards Christ. It is what happens when the way we follow begins to shape the way we love. That kind of response does not come easily. It stretches us. It exposes our limits. But it also points to the depth of what it means to follow the one who is the way.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.” These are not light words. They are spoken into the reality of fear and uncertainty. But they are also spoken by the one who has overcome death. The one who prepares a place for us. The one who stands to receive us. And the one who, even now, calls us to follow.

Not with everything mapped out, but with our eyes fixed on him.

Amen.

Reflection: The Dragon and The Lamb (23rd Apr, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Revelation 12.7–12 – War broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him. Then I heard a loud voice in heaven, proclaiming, ‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Messiah, for the accuser of our comrades has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God. But they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they did not cling to life even in the face of death. Rejoice then, you heavens and those who dwell in them! But woe to the earth and the sea, for the devil has come down to you with great wrath,  because he knows that his time is short!’

John 15.18–21 – ‘If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world—therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you, “Servants are not greater than their master.” If they persecuted me, they will persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also. But they will do all these things to you on account of my name, because they do not know him who sent me.

Reflection

Today, as we mark St. George’s Day, we hold together two striking images from our readings: the cosmic battle of heaven in the book of Revelation, and Jesus’ sober words to his disciples in the Gospel of John.

In the book of Revelation, we hear of war in heaven. St Michael and his angels fight against the dragon, that ancient symbol of evil, accusation, and destruction. It is vivid, dramatic language, full of conflict and, ultimately, victory. And yet, at its heart, the passage tells us something deeply simple: that evil does not have the final word. The accuser is cast down. Salvation and power belong to God. The victory is already won.

Tradition tells us that the familiar story of St. George slaying the dragon may well have its roots in a blending of George’s story with that of St. Michael. Whether or not that is historically precise, the image endures because it speaks to something we recognise: the longing for good to overcome evil, for courage to face what threatens life, for faith to stand firm.

But then we turn to the Gospel, and the tone shifts. Jesus does not speak of dramatic battles in the heavens, but of something quieter and perhaps more challenging. In the Gospel of John, he tells his disciples that they will be hated because they belong to him. There is no dragon to be slain with a sword, no visible enemy to defeat. Instead, there is the reality of rejection, misunderstanding, and the cost of faithfulness.

And so we begin to see that the victory described in Revelation does not always look like victory in the way we might expect. The triumph of God is not worked out through force or domination, but through steadfast witness; through those who remain faithful, even when it is difficult.

“By the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony,” the voice in Revelation declares, “they have conquered.” Not by strength of arms, but by faith, by truth, by lives shaped by Christ.

That reframes how we might understand St. George’s witness. Whatever the historical details, George is remembered not primarily as a warrior, but as a martyr; one who remained faithful to Christ in the face of opposition, even unto death. The dragon he faced was not a creature of scales and fire, but the very real pressures of a world that resisted the claims of Christ.

And that brings this close to home for us.

Because most of us will not face dramatic, mythical battles. But we do know what it is to live faithfully in a world that does not always understand or welcome that faith. We know what it is to hold to truth when it would be easier to remain silent, to choose compassion when indifference would be simpler, to follow Christ when it sets us at odds with the prevailing culture.

The call of today is not to go out and slay dragons, but to recognise where the quiet, daily struggles of faith are being lived out; in our choices, our words, our relationships. In doing so we trust that, in those places, the victory of Christ is already at work.

As it turns out, the dragon is not defeated by spectacle, but by faithfulness. Not by power as the world understands it, but by lives shaped by the Lamb.

So on this St. George’s Day, we give thanks not just for stories of courage, but for the deeper truth they point towards: that in Christ, evil is overcome; that in Christ, we are given strength to endure; and that in Christ, even the smallest act of faithful witness shares in the victory of heaven.

Amen.

Reflection: The Movement of God (22nd Apr, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 8.1b–8 – And Saul approved of their killing him. That day a severe persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria. Devout men buried Stephen and made loud lamentation over him. But Saul was ravaging the church by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women, he committed them to prison. Now those who were scattered went from place to place, proclaiming the word. Philip went down to the city of Samaria and proclaimed the Messiah to them. The crowds with one accord listened eagerly to what was said by Philip, hearing and seeing the signs that he did, for unclean spirits, crying with loud shrieks, came out of many who were possessed; and many others who were paralysed or lame were cured. So there was great joy in that city.

John 6.35–40 – Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. But I said to you that you have seen me and yet do not believe. Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away; for I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me. And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day. This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day.’

Reflection

There is a quiet thread that runs through both of our readings today: the movement of God’s life into places we might not expect.

In our reading from Acts, the Church is scattered. What began as a gathered community in Jerusalem is suddenly dispersed by persecution. It looks, at first glance, like a moment of loss; a breaking apart, a forced ending. And yet, as those early believers are scattered, they carry the good news with them. Philip goes to Samaria, a place of long-standing division and suspicion, and there the message of Christ takes root. What seemed like disruption becomes the very means by which the gospel travels further than before.

It is not a comfortable movement. It is not chosen. But it is real and it is fruitful.

Alongside that, in John’s Gospel, we hear Jesus speak with a different kind of steadiness: “I am the bread of life.” It is a statement of deep assurance. In a world that shifts and scatters, here is something, someone, who remains constant. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

And then those words of promise: “Anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.”

That is not simply an invitation; it is a commitment. A commitment that holds, regardless of where someone finds themselves; whether gathered securely, or scattered into unfamiliar territory.

When we place these two readings side by side, something begins to emerge. The scattered Church in Acts is not abandoned. The presence of Christ goes with them. The promise of John’s Gospel is not tied to a particular place, or a settled community, but to the person of Jesus himself.

So wherever the disciples go, even into Samaria, they do not go empty-handed. They go with the one who has already promised to receive all who come, and to lose none of those given to him.

And perhaps that speaks into our own experience more than we might first think.

There are times when faith feels settled, familiar, rooted in place and rhythm. And there are times when it feels more like scattering; when circumstances shift, when we find ourselves in places we would not have chosen, when the shape of life changes around us.

The question these readings gently place before us is not whether those moments will come, because as sure as eggs is eggs, they will, but where Christ is within them.

And the answer they offer is simple, but profound: he is already there.

The one who calls himself the bread of life is not confined to where things feel stable or known. He meets people on the move, in the unfamiliar, even in places shaped by division or uncertainty. And his promise remains unchanged: that those who come to him will be received, held, and not lost.

In Acts, the result of that is striking in its simplicity: there is joy in the city.

Joy, not because everything is easy, but because the life of Christ has taken root in a new place, among new people.

That may be the quiet invitation for us today. Not to seek out disruption for its own sake, but to recognise that wherever we find ourselves, whether settled or unsettled, Christ is present, and his life is still being offered.

And if we are willing to trust that, even gently, even tentatively, then we too may begin to glimpse something of that same joy.

Amen.