christianity

Reflection: His Mercy Holds Us All (Nov 6th, 2025, Year C)

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Readings

Romans 14.7–12 – We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living. Why do you pass judgement on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgement seat of God. For it is written, ‘As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God.’ So then, each of us will be accountable to God.

Luke 15.1–10 – All the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near Jesus to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ So he told them this parable: ‘Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbours, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance. ‘Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbours, saying, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.” Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.’

Reflection

In our reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans, we read these powerful words:

“None of us lives to himself alone, and none of us dies to himself alone.”

Paul reminds the Christian community that our lives are bound up with one another — and with Christ. We belong not to ourselves, but to the Lord who both lived and died for us, and who rose again. That means that every moment of our life, from beginning to end, is held within the loving sovereignty of God.

And because we belong to Christ, we are not called to sit in judgement over one another. Paul urges the church in Rome — and us — to resist the temptation to measure others by our own standards of faithfulness. For, as he says, “we will all stand before the judgement seat of God.”

It is a humbling reminder that the only opinion that ultimately matters is God’s — and God’s judgement, as the rest of Scripture shows us, is shaped by mercy.

This theme of divine mercy flows beautifully into our Gospel reading from Luke 15. The Pharisees and scribes are grumbling because Jesus welcomes tax collectors and sinners. And in response, Jesus tells two short but profound parables — of the lost sheep and the lost coin.

Each story begins with something missing — something that matters deeply to the one who has lost it. The shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to seek out the one lost sheep. The woman lights a lamp and sweeps her whole house in search of one small coin. Both characters search persistently, almost recklessly, until what is lost is found.

And when they find it, they rejoice. They call their friends and neighbours together to share their joy.

Jesus tells us that this is what God is like. God’s heart is not indifferent or distant. God is the one who seeks, who searches, who does not rest until the lost are brought home.

For us, that means two things:

First, it means that we ourselves are never beyond the reach of God’s mercy. However far we may wander, however lost we may feel, God never stops looking for us. There is no situation, no mistake, no failure that can place us beyond the light of God’s searching love.

Second, it means that we are called to share in that same spirit of mercy. Just as Paul urges us not to judge one another, so Jesus shows us a God who does not write anyone off. Our calling, as the Church, is to reflect that same generous heart — to rejoice when others are restored, rather than resent it.

It is tempting, sometimes, to be like the Pharisees — to draw lines between the respectable and the sinners, the found and the lost. But Jesus turns that distinction upside down. In his kingdom, there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine who think they have no need.

So today, as we gather around this table, we are reminded that we belong — not because we are perfect, but because we are found.

We come together as those who live to the Lord and die to the Lord, trusting that his mercy holds us all.

And we are invited to share God’s joy — the joy that bursts forth whenever what was lost is found, whenever grace triumphs over judgement, and whenever love restores what was broken.

Amen.

Reflection: Love is the Fulfilling of the Law (5th Nov, 2025, Year C)

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Readings

Romans 13.8–10 – Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet’; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbour; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.

Luke 14.25–33 – Large crowds were travelling with Jesus; and he turned and said to them, ‘Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, “This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.” Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.’

Reflection

In our reading from St Paul’s Letter to the Romans, we hear some of the most beautiful and concise words in all of Scripture:

“Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.”

Love, Paul tells us, is the heart of the Christian life. All the commandments—do not steal, do not murder, do not covet—are summed up in this one word: love. Love is the debt that can never be fully repaid, because it is the very essence of who God is and what God asks of us.

But then we turn to the Gospel reading from Luke, and the tone seems altogether different. Jesus says,

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, and even life itself—cannot be my disciple.”

At first hearing, it sounds shocking—almost as if Jesus were contradicting everything Paul has said about love. How can the same Lord who calls us to love our neighbour also call us to “hate” our family?

The word translated here as “hate” is not about hostility or bitterness. Jesus is not commanding us to despise those we love most. Rather, he is using strong, even startling language to make a profound point: that our love for him must come first—before every other attachment, every relationship, every possession, even before our own life.

It’s not that we are to love others less, but that we are to love Jesus more.

In other words, Jesus is talking about love too—love of the deepest, truest kind. He is saying that if we want to follow him, we must love him so completely that every other love finds its rightful place beneath it. The love we have for family, for friends, for all those dearest to us, is not rejected but purified and strengthened when our love for Christ comes first.

This is what the first commandment means: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind.” Jesus, as God’s Son and representative, calls us to that same all-consuming love. Nothing less will do—for God or for God’s Son.

It’s a hard saying, but also a hopeful one. Because Jesus doesn’t ask us to love in this way without first loving us himself. He who calls us to give up everything for him has already given up everything for us. He has borne the cross, surrendered his life, and shown us that in losing all for love, we gain everything that truly matters.

And so, when we put him first—when we choose to love him above all else—we find that we do not lose our family, our friends, or our lives, but receive them back renewed, enriched, and blessed. The love of Christ does not diminish our human loves; it perfects them.

Paul’s words and Jesus’ words, then, are not in conflict but in harmony. The love that fulfils the law and the love that demands everything are one and the same love—the love of God poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit.

And so, we end with hope: for all who respond to Christ’s call to love, however falteringly, will find that his generosity far exceeds our giving. The Lord never leaves us empty-handed. Those who give their hearts to him will find, as he promised earlier in the Gospel of Luke, that they receive “a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over.”

May God grant us grace to love Christ above all, and in that love to find life in all its fullness.

Amen.

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

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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.

Reflection: The Narrow Door (29th Oct, 2025, Year C)

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Readings

Romans 8.26–30 – Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family. And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.

Luke 13.22–30 – Jesus went through one town and village after another, teaching as he made his way to Jerusalem. Someone asked him, ‘Lord, will only a few be saved?’ He said to them, ‘Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able. When once the owner of the house has got up and shut the door, and you begin to stand outside and to knock at the door, saying, “Lord, open to us”, then in reply he will say to you, “I do not know where you come from.” Then you will begin to say, “We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.” But he will say, “I do not know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!” There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth when you see Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrown out. Then people will come from east and west, from north and south, and will eat in the kingdom of God. Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.’

Reflection

In our readings today, both Saint Paul and Jesus remind us that following God’s call is both a gift and a challenge — a journey shaped by grace, but also by perseverance.

In the passage from Luke, Jesus speaks of the narrow door — that striking image of a way that is not wide or easy, but one that demands attention, humility, and effort. He warns that not everyone who claims to know him will enter the kingdom, but those who strive to do so — those who live out his teaching, who seek justice, mercy, and love. The Christian path is not a broad highway of comfort, but a narrow way that sometimes asks of us courage, forgiveness, and sacrifice. It also one where, as Jesus reminds us, “Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.”

And yet, Saint Paul reminds us in Romans that we do not walk that path alone. When the road feels steep and the way unclear, “the Spirit helps us in our weakness.” Even when we do not know how to pray, or what to say, the Spirit intercedes for us — expressing to God the prayers we cannot form ourselves. What a comfort that is: that God’s own Spirit prays within us, guiding, strengthening, and transforming us so that we may be conformed to the likeness of Christ.

The narrow way, then, is not a test to be passed by our own strength, but a journey walked with divine companionship. The Spirit walks beside us, within us, drawing us closer to the heart of God. And as Paul assures us, “all things work together for good for those who love God.” Even our struggles, even our failures, can be woven by God into his purpose of love.

So, as we come to the Lord’s table today, we come not as those who have perfectly walked the narrow way, but as those who long to be shaped more fully by it. Here, in the bread and wine, we meet the One who has already gone before us — who walked the hardest road, and who now gives us his Spirit to help us follow.

May we have grace to walk that way faithfully, trusting that the Spirit intercedes for us, and that Christ himself welcomes us through the narrow door into the joy of his kingdom.

Amen.

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

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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 18.9–14 – Jesus 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.