Readings

Philippians 3.4b–14 – If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless. Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.

Matthew 21.33–end – ‘Listen to another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a watch-tower. Then he leased it to tenants and went to another country. When the harvest time had come, he sent his slaves to the tenants to collect his produce. But the tenants seized his slaves and beat one, killed another, and stoned another. Again he sent other slaves, more than the first; and they treated them in the same way. Finally he sent his son to them, saying, “They will respect my son.” But when the tenants saw the son, they said to themselves, “This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance.” So they seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him. Now when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?’ They said to him, ‘He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.’ Jesus said to them, ‘Have you never read in the scriptures: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes”? Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.The one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls.’ When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they realized that he was speaking about them. They wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowds, because they regarded him as a prophet.

Sermon

In our Gospel reading this morning Jesus tells a story about a vineyard. And for those listening to him, the image would have been immediately familiar in the largely agricultural economy of his day. A landowner plants a vineyard, puts a fence around it, digs a wine press, builds a watchtower. Everything is prepared. Everything is provided. And then he leases it to tenants.

That detail is important, because from the beginning the vineyard does not belong to the tenants. They are entrusted with it. Their task is to tend it, nurture it, protect it, and in due course to give the owner what rightly belongs to him.

But somewhere along the way, something goes badly wrong. The tenants begin to behave as though the vineyard is theirs. When the owner sends his servants to collect the produce, they beat one, kill another and stone another. More servants are sent, and they receive the same treatment.

Finally, the landowner sends his son, saying, “They will respect my son.” But when the tenants see him, they say to one another, “This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance.” It is an extraordinary piece of logic. They think that if they can get rid of the heir, somehow the vineyard will become theirs.

And perhaps that is the heart of the parable. The tenants have confused being entrusted with something with owning it.

Now, for some context, Jesus tells this parable in Jerusalem in the final days before his death. The confrontation between Jesus and the religious authorities is becoming increasingly intense. And Matthew leaves us in little doubt that the chief priests and Pharisees recognise themselves in the story. “They realised that he was speaking about them,” he tells us.

But if we leave the parable there, safely confined to a dispute between Jesus and the religious leaders of his own day, we can rather easily avoid its challenge. Because the temptation of the tenants is not confined to them. It is a temptation that can affect the Church in every generation.

We too have been entrusted with a vineyard. We have been given the Gospel. We have been given the Scriptures. We have been given the sacraments. We have inherited churches built and maintained by generations before us. We have traditions, patterns of worship, communities and resources. But none of these things ultimately belongs to us.

The Church belongs to God. The Gospel belongs to God. The Kingdom belongs to God. And we are tenants in the vineyard. That doesn’t mean that what we have inherited is unimportant. Quite the opposite. If something has been entrusted to us, then we have a responsibility to care for it. But caring for something is different from possessing it. Possession says, “This is ours.” Stewardship asks, “What is this for?” And Jesus gives us an answer when he speaks about “a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.”

Fruit is what the owner of the vineyard has been looking for all along. So perhaps one of the questions this parable asks of the Church is quite simply: where is the fruit? Not: are we keeping everything exactly as we found it? Not: are we protecting what belongs to us? But: is what God has entrusted to us bearing fruit? Are people encountering the love of Christ? Are those who are lonely finding friendship? Are children and young people discovering that they have a place in the family of God? Are those who are struggling being supported? Are strangers being welcomed? Are we growing in prayer, generosity, forgiveness and hope?

Because a vineyard exists in order to bear fruit. And there is something hopeful about that image. God has already planted the vineyard. God has already done the work that makes fruit possible. At the beginning of the parable, the landowner does not simply hand the tenants an empty field and tell them to get on with it. He plants the vineyard. He puts a fence around it. He digs the wine press. He builds the watchtower. Grace comes first. So our task is not to manufacture the Kingdom of God by our own effort. It is to respond faithfully to what God has already given.

And at the centre of all that God has given stands the Son. The tenants see the son and reject him. Jesus then quotes from Psalm 118: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” The one who is rejected becomes the foundation of something new. Those words point us towards the cross and beyond it to the resurrection. Human rejection does not have the final word. Violence does not have the final word. Even death does not have the final word. God takes the rejected stone and makes it the cornerstone.

And perhaps that is where this rather fierce parable ultimately leads us. Not simply towards a warning about bad tenants, but towards Jesus himself. Because the Church will never bear the fruits of the Kingdom simply by trying harder to be a successful institution. We bear fruit when Christ is our cornerstone. When his love shapes the way we treat one another. When his compassion shapes the way we look at our community. When his generosity loosens our grip on what we imagine belongs to us. When his welcome becomes our welcome. When his life becomes visible in ours.

We are living, in many churches, through a time of considerable change. The Church we hand on to the next generation will inevitably look different from the Church we inherited. And that can sometimes make us anxious. But perhaps this parable gives us another way of thinking about it. The vineyard was never ours to preserve for ourselves. It was entrusted to us so that it might bear fruit.

Our calling is therefore not simply to guard what previous generations have handed to us, nor to change things merely for the sake of change. Our calling is to be faithful tenants. To receive gratefully. To tend carefully. To share generously. And to keep asking what fruit God desires from the vineyard entrusted to us here and now. Because one day we too will hand it on.

And perhaps the measure of our faithfulness will not be whether everything looks exactly as it did when we received it. Perhaps it will be whether, through God’s grace, the vineyard has borne fruit. Fruit in lives changed. Fruit in people welcomed. Fruit in faith discovered and deepened. Fruit in love offered freely. Fruit in a community which, however imperfectly, has begun to look a little more like the Kingdom of God.

The vineyard is God’s. We are privileged, for a while, to work within it.

So may Christ, the cornerstone, remain at the heart of all that we do. And may the vineyard entrusted to us bear fruit in abundance.

Amen.

Readings

2 Corinthians 9.6–15 – The one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work. As it is written, ‘He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor;    his righteousness endures for ever.’ He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness.You will be enriched in every way for your great generosity, which will produce thanksgiving to God through us; for the rendering of this ministry not only supplies the needs of the saints but also overflows with many thanksgivings to God. Through the testing of this ministry you glorify God by your obedience to the confession of the gospel of Christ and by the generosity of your sharing with them and with all others, while they long for you and pray for you because of the surpassing grace of God that he has given you. Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!

Luke 12.16–30 – Jesus told the people a parable: ‘The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, “What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?” Then he said, “I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But God said to him, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich towards God.’ Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them.’

Sermon

Harvest is one of those occasions when a church can look rather different from usual. There may be fruit and vegetables around us, tins and packets brought to be shared, flowers and autumn colours. Things which normally belong in kitchens, gardens, fields and shops suddenly find their way into church. And that is rather appropriate. Because Harvest reminds us that our faith is not separate from ordinary life. God is concerned with bread and soil, rain and sunshine, work and food, with what we have and what we do with it.

Our readings today ask a deceptively simple question: What do we do with what we have been given?

Jesus tells a story about a man who has been given an astonishingly good harvest. His land produces abundantly. So abundantly, in fact, that he has a problem. He hasn’t got enough room for everything. But notice: Jesus doesn’t say that the man has done anything dishonest. He hasn’t stolen his crops. He hasn’t cheated anybody. He has simply had a very successful harvest.

His mistake comes in what happens next. He says to himself: “What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?” And then he comes up with the answer. “I will pull down my barns and build larger ones.” Bigger barns. More storage. Keep it all.

If we listen carefully to the way Jesus tells the story, one little word keeps appearing. My. “My crops.” “My barns.” “My grain.” “My goods.” And finally: “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” The whole world has become about the landowner. He has received an abundant harvest, but somewhere along the way he has forgotten that receiving and possessing are not quite the same thing.

Perhaps we can try something together. You don’t need to move anywhere. You don’t need anything in your hands. Just hold your hands out in front of you for a moment. And close them into fists. Hold them tightly. Imagine for a moment that everything you value is in there. Everything you own. Everything you have worked for. Everything you worry about losing.

Hold on. Perhaps squeeze your hands just a little tighter.

It isn’t very comfortable, is it? And, of course, while our hands are closed like this, something else happens. We can’t receive anything either. So now, slowly, open your hands. Just leave them open for a moment. There is quite a difference between a closed hand and an open hand. And perhaps that simple movement tells us something about Harvest.

The Christian understanding of life begins not with clenched fists saying “Mine”, but with open hands saying, “Thank you.” The rich man in Jesus’ story looks at his harvest and sees possession. Harvest invites us to look at what we have and see gift. Our food. Our homes. Our abilities.  Our time. The people who love us. The communities of which we are part. The beauty of creation itself.

Not everything in our lives is easy, of course. Some people come to Harvest carrying considerable worries: about money, about work, about health, about family, about what the coming months will bring. Jesus knows that. That is why, after telling the story of the rich fool, he speaks about worry.

“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.” Those words can sound almost impossible if we hear them as Jesus simply saying, “Stop worrying.” But I don’t think that is what he is doing.

Jesus points his disciples away from themselves. Look at the ravens. Look at the lilies. Look at the world around you. Remember that you are part of a creation held within the generosity of God. Jesus isn’t pretending that food and clothing don’t matter. Quite the opposite. He knows that we need them. But he asks us not to let anxiety convince us that everything depends upon our ability to accumulate enough, protect enough and control enough.

The man with the barns believes that if he can just store enough away, he will finally be secure. And then God says to him: “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you.” His barns were full. But they couldn’t give him life. That then takes us to our other reading.

Paul is writing to the Christians in Corinth about generosity. He is encouraging them to contribute to a collection for Christians in need. And he writes: “God loves a cheerful giver.” That phrase is sometimes heard as though Christianity is simply telling us that we ought to give more money and smile while doing it! But Paul’s vision is much bigger than that. He describes a movement of generosity.

God gives. We receive. We give. Others receive. We all give thanks. And thanksgiving returns to God. Grace flows outwards. “The one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.”

That is not a promise that if we give away ten pounds God will somehow make sure that twenty pounds appears in our bank account. It is an image of the kind of life God’s generosity makes possible. A life in which we are no longer simply asking, “How much can I keep?” Instead, we begin asking, “What can I share?”

Harvest makes that wonderfully practical. What has been brought into church today will go to people who need it. Something which was sitting in one person’s kitchen cupboard becomes somebody else’s meal. Something we could have kept becomes something we choose to share. And in that very ordinary movement, something of the Kingdom of God becomes visible.

But perhaps Harvest can invite us to think beyond the things we have physically brought today. So, once more, look at your open hands. Think quietly for a moment about something you have received for which you are thankful. It might be something very ordinary. Food on the table. A home. A friendship. Someone who has helped you. Something you are good at. A place you love. Something in creation which brings you joy. You don’t need to say it aloud. Just hold it before God for a moment.

And now, with your hands still open, think of something you could give. Perhaps money or food. But perhaps time. Encouragement. Friendship. Hospitality. Patience. Forgiveness. A skill you could use for somebody else.

That is the movement of Harvest. Receiving with gratitude. Living with trust. Giving with generosity. And those open hands can also remind us of something else. We cannot control everything. We cannot guarantee that nothing difficult will happen. We cannot build barns large enough to protect ourselves from every uncertainty. Eventually, every one of us has to live with open hands. And Jesus says that those open hands need not be empty hands.

“Do not be afraid, little flock,” he says just after the part of Luke’s Gospel we have heard today, “for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

At the heart of Harvest is not simply the generosity of human beings. It is the generosity of God. The God who gives life. The God whose creation feeds us. The God who gives us one another. The God who, as Paul says, has given us an “indescribable gift” in Jesus Christ.

So perhaps the question to carry away from Harvest this year is not simply: What do I have?

Perhaps it is: What have I received — and what might I do with it?

The rich man built bigger barns. The Gospel offers us another way. To receive without imagining that everything belongs to us. To enjoy without needing to possess everything. To face uncertainty without believing that our security depends entirely upon ourselves. And to discover the joy of allowing God’s generosity to pass through our lives into the lives of others.

So, before we finish, perhaps we can make our open hands into a very simple prayer. Keep them open, if you are comfortable doing so.

For everything we have received: Thank you, God.

For everything we worry about: Help us to trust you, God.

For everything we can share: Make us generous, God.

And for this earth, its harvest, its people, and all the gifts of your creation: Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Readings

Philippians 1.21–end – For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labour for me; and I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you. Since I am convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with all of you for your progress and joy in faith, so that I may share abundantly in your boasting in Christ Jesus when I come to you again. Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that, whether I come and see you or am absent and hear about you, I will know that you are standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, and are in no way intimidated by your opponents. For them this is evidence of their destruction, but of your salvation. And this is God’s doing. For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well— since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have.

Matthew 20.1–16 – Jesus said to his disciples, ‘For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire labourers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the labourers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the market-place; and he said to them, “You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.” So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, “Why are you standing here idle all day?” They said to him, “Because no one has hired us.” He said to them, “You also go into the vineyard.” ‘When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, “Call the labourers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.” When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage.Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage.And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, “These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.” But he replied to one of them, “Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage?Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?”So the last will be first, and the first will be last.’

Sermon

In our Gospel reading this morning we hear another of Jesus’ parables that is told in such a way as to deliberately make us uncomfortable and to provoke us into thinking about God’s abundant and almost ludicrously generous grace.

A landowner goes out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agrees with them the usual daily wage, and they begin work. At nine o’clock he goes out again and hires some more. At noon and at three o’clock, he does the same. And then, at five o’clock, with perhaps only an hour of the working day remaining, he finds still more people waiting around and sends them into his vineyard as well. So far, perhaps, so good. But then comes payday.

Those who arrived at five o’clock receive the usual daily wage. And when the people who have worked all day see this, naturally they begin to wonder what they will receive. Surely, if one hour’s work earns a full day’s pay, twelve hours must earn considerably more. But no. They receive exactly what was agreed that morning: the usual daily wage. And they are furious.

I suspect many of us can understand why. Because if we read this as a story about employment, it seems grossly unfair. Imagine trying to run a business like this. Imagine discovering that someone who had turned up an hour before closing time was being paid exactly the same as you after you had worked through the heat of the entire day.

But Jesus isn’t offering advice about employment law or wage structures. He is telling us something about God. And the clue comes in the landowner’s response: “Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage?”

And then comes the question at the heart of the parable: “Are you envious because I am generous?” I hope that question exposes something in us; something that I hope we find uncomfortable; something that I hope prompts us to pause and think again. Because most of us like generosity — until somebody else receives more generosity than we think they deserve.

We are often quite happy with grace when it is directed towards us. We are rather less certain about it when it is directed towards somebody whom we have quietly decided hasn’t earned it. And that is precisely the point. Grace cannot be earned.

The workers who arrived first had done nothing wrong. They had worked hard. They had kept their agreement. And the landowner had kept his agreement too. Their anger only begins when they look across at somebody else and start comparing what they have received. Suddenly their relationship with the landowner is no longer defined by gratitude for what they have been given. It is defined by resentment at what somebody else has been given.

Perhaps there is something recognisable there. Comparison has a remarkable ability to rob us of joy, does it not? We can be perfectly content with our life, our gifts, our opportunities, even our faith — until we begin looking sideways.

Why have they been given that opportunity? Why does their life seem easier? Why have they received recognition? Why have they been forgiven so quickly? Why should God welcome them?

That last question has echoed through the life of the Church from its earliest days. Who belongs? Who is properly deserving? Who has been here longest? Who has served hardest? Who understands the rules? Who has earned the right to stand closest to God? And Jesus tells a story in which God simply refuses to play that game. “The last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Not because faithful service is worthless. Not because commitment does not matter. And certainly not because God treats people carelessly. But because the Kingdom of God is not a reward scheme. It is gift. And once we understand that, the workers who arrive at five o’clock begin to look rather different.

The landowner asks them, “Why are you standing here idle all day?” And they reply, “Because no one has hired us.” They have not necessarily spent the day lazily avoiding work. They have been waiting. Perhaps they were overlooked. Perhaps they were not strong enough. Perhaps nobody wanted them. Whatever the reason, hour after hour passed and nobody chose them. Until the landowner came and gives them what they need to live.

Seen that way, his generosity is not simply extravagance. It is compassion. And Jesus says: this is what God is like. God keeps coming out looking for people. Early in the morning. At noon. In the afternoon. Even when the day seems almost finished. God does not say, “You should have come earlier.” God does not say, “There isn’t enough left for you.” God does not say, “You can come in, but you will always be worth less than the people who were here before you.” God says, “You also go into the vineyard.”

And what hope and beauty there is in that love and compassion. It means there is no point in life at which somebody is beyond the reach of God’s grace. There is no history which automatically excludes someone. There is no moment when God stops calling. And there is no hierarchy of Christians in which those who have been faithful longest are somehow more loved by God than those who have only just discovered that love.

Paul understands something of this in our reading from Philippians. He writes from imprisonment, uncertain whether he will live or die, and yet he says, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” That is not the language of somebody keeping score. Paul’s life has become centred upon Christ. Whether he lives or dies, whether he is free or imprisoned, his desire is that Christ should be honoured. And so he tells the Philippians: “Live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.”

That means allowing the Gospel not simply to be something we believe, but something which reshapes the way we see ourselves and one another. If God is generous, then the Church should be a community marked by generosity. If God welcomes the latecomer, then there must always be room among us for the person who has only just arrived. If God refuses to measure human worth according to achievement, status or length of service, then we should be very careful about doing so ourselves.

And perhaps Jesus’ parable finally invites us to stop worrying quite so much about where we stand in the queue. Because whether we came at dawn or at five o’clock, whether faith has accompanied us throughout our lives or whether we are still discovering what it means, we stand before God in exactly the same way: not as people presenting an invoice for services rendered, but as people receiving a gift.

The landowner’s question remains: “Are you envious because I am generous?” May our answer always be no. May we learn instead to delight in the generosity of God — generosity shown to us, generosity shown to our neighbour, and generosity shown even to those whom we might never have expected to find beside us in the vineyard. Because the Kingdom of Heaven is not built upon what we deserve. It is built upon the abundant grace of God.

Amen.

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.

Readings

Romans 12.9–end – Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord.Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ No, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Matthew 16.21–end – From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.’ But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling-block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’ Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life? ‘For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.’

Sermon

There are moments in the Gospels when Peter gets it wonderfully right. And there are moments when he gets it spectacularly wrong. Last week we heard one of the good ones.

Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” and Peter answers, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus praises him. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah.” Peter has seen something others haven’t. He has understood who Jesus is.

And then, almost immediately, it all goes wrong. Jesus begins to explain what being the Messiah actually means. He must go to Jerusalem. He will suffer. He will be rejected and killed. And on the third day he will be raised. Peter can’t bear it. He takes Jesus aside and rebukes him: “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” And Jesus replies with some of the strongest words he ever speaks to anybody: “Get behind me, Satan!”

Quite a turnaround. From “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah” to “Get behind me, Satan” in the space of a few verses. But I think Peter’s reaction is entirely understandable. He loves Jesus. He has left everything to follow him. He has just declared that Jesus is God’s Messiah. And surely, if Jesus is the Messiah, things ought to be getting better from here. Victory. Success. The kingdom of God arriving. Israel restored. Enemies defeated.

Instead, Jesus starts talking about suffering and death. Peter has the right answer about who Jesus is, but he hasn’t yet understood what kind of Messiah Jesus is. And that matters because the next thing Jesus says makes it clear that this isn’t only about him. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” That’s where the passage becomes uncomfortable for us.

Because Christianity can very easily become something we fit around the life we’ve already decided to live. We worship. We pray. We try to be decent people. We give what we can. We help where we can. And all of those things are good. But Jesus doesn’t say, “Fit me in where you can.” He says, “Follow me.” And following someone means allowing them to determine the direction of travel.

That is what Peter is struggling with. Peter wants to follow Jesus, but he also wants to tell Jesus which way they ought to be going. I suspect there’s a little bit of Peter in most of us. We are quite happy to follow Christ when Christ appears to be going roughly where we wanted to go anyway. It becomes rather harder when the road turns somewhere unexpected.

When forgiveness costs us our pride. When generosity costs us something we would rather keep. When standing alongside somebody unpopular costs us the approval of others. When speaking up for what is right makes life awkward. When loving our neighbour means loving  the particular neighbour we find difficult. When faithfulness asks us not simply to believe something, but to change something. That is where discipleship becomes real.

I think we need to be careful with Jesus’ words about “taking up our cross”, because the phrase can be misused. We sometimes hear ordinary inconveniences described as “my cross to bear”. Worse, people enduring abuse, injustice or cruelty have sometimes been told that their Christian duty is simply to put up with it. That isn’t what Jesus is saying.

The cross is not a command to seek suffering, nor to accept suffering that could rightly be challenged or prevented. The cross is what happens when love refuses to give up.

Jesus goes to Jerusalem not because suffering is good, but because love is good. He refuses to abandon the people he has come to save. He refuses to answer violence with violence. He refuses to save himself at the expense of his mission. The cross is the cost of a love that will not turn back. And Jesus says: follow me.

Our reading from Romans gives us a picture of what that might actually look like in ordinary Christian life. “Let love be genuine.” “Love one another with mutual affection.” “Extend hospitality to strangers.” “Bless those who persecute you.” “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

None of that sounds particularly dramatic. There are no heroic gestures there. No grand religious performances. Just the stubborn, daily work of love.

And yet try doing it. Try genuinely blessing somebody who has hurt you. Try refusing to repay anger with anger. Try making room in your life for somebody who cannot repay you. Try listening properly to somebody whose experience of life is very different from yours. Try choosing kindness when you have a devastating reply ready to go. Try overcoming evil with good when every instinct in you wants to hit back.

Suddenly Paul’s words don’t seem quite so gentle. This is cross-shaped living. And it is important that Jesus doesn’t finish with the cross. Peter seems not to hear this, but Jesus has already said that on the third day he will be raised. The road leads through Jerusalem, but Jerusalem is not the end. That changes everything.

Christian self-denial is not about making ourselves smaller because God enjoys seeing us miserable. It is about becoming free enough to love. Free from the endless need to protect our status, defend our ego, get our own way and keep score. “For those who want to save their life will lose it,” Jesus says, “and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

There is the great paradox at the heart of Christian discipleship. The life we cling to most tightly can become very small. But the life we give to God can become larger than we imagined.

We find life when we give ourselves away in love. We see it whenever someone gives their time to a lonely neighbour. Whenever somebody quietly forgives. Whenever a church chooses welcome over comfort. Whenever people stand beside those whom others would rather ignore. Whenever somebody decides that compassion matters more than winning. Whenever, in a hundred ordinary ways, Christians choose the way of Christ rather than simply the way of least resistance.

And none of us gets this right all the time. Peter certainly didn’t. That’s one of the reasons I’m grateful that this story is here. Jesus doesn’t abandon Peter after this disastrous conversation. Peter gets things wrong again. He misunderstands. He boasts. Eventually he denies even knowing Jesus. And still Christ calls him. Still Christ works through him. Still grace has the final word.

So perhaps the question this Gospel leaves us with isn’t whether we are good enough to carry the cross. It is simpler than that. It is really, which way are we going? Are we willing to get behind Jesus? Because “Get behind me” is not only a rebuke. It is also exactly where a disciple belongs. Behind Jesus. Following him.