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Reflection: A Feast for His People (3rd Dec, 2025, Year A)

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Readings

Isaiah 25.6–10a – On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death for ever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken. It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation. For the hand of the Lord will rest on this mountain.
The Moabites shall be trodden down in their place as straw is trodden down in a dung-pit.

Matthew 15.29–37 – After Jesus had left that place, he passed along the Sea of Galilee, and he went up the mountain, where he sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet, and he cured them, so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel. Then Jesus called his disciples to him and said, ‘I have compassion for the crowd, because they have been with me now for three days and have nothing to eat; and I do not want to send them away hungry, for they might faint on the way.’ The disciples said to him, ‘Where are we to get enough bread in the desert to feed so great a crowd?’ Jesus asked them, ‘How many loaves have you?’ They said, ‘Seven, and a few small fish.’ Then ordering the crowd to sit down on the ground, he took the seven loaves and the fish; and after giving thanks he broke them and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all of them ate and were filled; and they took up the broken pieces left over, seven baskets full.

Reflection

Our readings today from Isaiah and Matthew invite us to reflect on one of Scripture’s most hopeful images: God preparing a feast for His people.

Isaiah gives us a picture of God setting a banquet on a mountain—“a feast of rich food and well-aged wines.” It is more than a meal; it is a sign of renewal. Death is swallowed up, tears are wiped away, and the disgrace of God’s people is removed. It is a vision of God putting the world right.

In Matthew’s Gospel we see Jesus enacting that vision. He goes up a mountain, and there the lame, the blind, and the sick are brought to him. He heals them all. The crowd sees in Jesus the compassion and power of God that Isaiah longed for.

Then Jesus feeds the thousands gathered in the crowd. There is no grand feast—only seven loaves and a few small fish—but in his hands scarcity becomes abundance. Everyone eats until they are satisfied, and there are baskets left over. What Isaiah promised for the future, Jesus begins to fulfil in the present.

Both readings remind us that God gives what we cannot give ourselves: healing, hope, sustenance, and joy. The feast of God is always an act of grace and it highlights a few things for us about that feast:

First, it is inclusive. Isaiah speaks of “all peoples.” Matthew describes a crowd in Gentile territory. God’s welcome is wide; the table is open.

Second, the feast is abundant. Isaiah’s language is lavish, and Jesus’ miracle ends with leftovers. God’s generosity is not measured and cautious—it overflows.

Third, the feast is transformative Isaiah speaks of death undone; Jesus restores broken bodies. God’s grace meets us where we are, but it does not leave us there.

Yet Isaiah’s passage ends with a verse that jars: “The Moabites shall be trodden down in their place as straw is trodden down in a dung-pit.” At first hearing, it feels out of place in a vision of hope. It reflects a reality we see throughout the Old Testament: Expressions of longing for justice, often through the language of judgement on neighbouring nations who refused to believe and trust in God’s promises and to wait upon them.

For us, reading this as Christians, the verse is challenging. It reminds us that biblical hope often arises out of real human pain, fear, and conflict. Isaiah’s people had suffered; they longed for liberation. But in the light of Christ, we understand God’s final victory not as the crushing of other peoples, but as the reconciliation of all things in Him. Jesus fulfils the promise of the feast without mirroring the hostility of the age. The uncomfortable verse, therefore, becomes a reminder of how Christ transforms our understanding of God’s kingdom—from exclusion to embrace, from hostility to peace.

So, when we gather at the Lord’s Table, we stand in continuity with both Isaiah’s hope and Jesus’ compassion. Here we receive the foretaste of the feast to come—Christ feeding us with his own life. We are reminded that God’s kingdom is abundant, that his welcome is for all, and that his grace heals and restores.

And this feast shapes us. It calls us to be a people who reflect God’s generosity, who extend His welcome, who bring His healing hope into the ordinary places of our lives. What we receive in worship is meant to flow outward: to those who hunger, to those who grieve, to those who long for good news.

Isaiah looked ahead to a day when death would be no more and all peoples would gather at God’s table. Jesus begins that work among the hungry crowds. And we are invited into it—both as guests and as servants of the feast.

Amen.

Reflection: God’s Hand at Work (26th Nov, 2025, Year C)

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Readings

Daniel 5.1–6, 13–14, 16–17, 23–28 – King Belshazzar made a great festival for a thousand of his lords, and he was drinking wine in the presence of the thousand. Under the influence of the wine, Belshazzar commanded that they bring in the vessels of gold and silver that his father Nebuchadnezzar had taken out of the temple in Jerusalem, so that the king and his lords, his wives, and his concubines might drink from them. So they brought in the vessels of gold and silver that had been taken out of the temple, the house of God in Jerusalem, and the king and his lords, his wives, and his concubines drank from them. They drank the wine and praised the gods of gold and silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone. Immediately the fingers of a human hand appeared and began writing on the plaster of the wall of the royal palace, next to the lampstand. The king was watching the hand as it wrote. Then the king’s face turned pale, and his thoughts terrified him. His limbs gave way, and his knees knocked together. Then Daniel was brought in before the king. The king said to Daniel, ‘So you are Daniel, one of the exiles of Judah, whom my father the king brought from Judah? I have heard of you that a spirit of the gods is in you, and that enlightenment, understanding, and excellent wisdom are found in you. But I have heard that you can give interpretations and solve problems. Now if you are able to read the writing and tell me its interpretation, you shall be clothed in purple, have a chain of gold around your neck, and rank third in the kingdom.’ Then Daniel answered in the presence of the king, ‘Let your gifts be for yourself, or give your rewards to someone else! Nevertheless, I will read the writing to the king and let him know the interpretation. You have exalted yourself against the Lord of heaven! The vessels of his temple have been brought in before you, and you and your lords, your wives and your concubines have been drinking wine from them. You have praised the gods of silver and gold, of bronze, iron, wood, and stone, which do not see or hear or know; but the God in whose power is your very breath, and to whom belong all your ways, you have not honoured. ‘So from his presence the hand was sent and this writing was inscribed. And this is the writing that was inscribed: mene, mene, tekel, and parsin. This is the interpretation of the matter: mene, God has numbered the days of your kingdom and brought it to an end; tekel, you have been weighed on the scales and found wanting; peres, your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians.’

Luke 21.12–19 – ‘But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defence in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.

Reflection

Our readings today place before us two scenes of unsettling clarity. In Daniel, we are taken into the banqueting hall of King Belshazzar—a room full of noise, pride, and excess. The king holds a feast to display his power, even using the sacred vessels taken from the temple in Jerusalem. It seems that co-opting religious symbols for political gain is therefore nothing new.

At the height of Belshazzar’s self-confidence, a mysterious hand appears and writes on the wall. The atmosphere shifts in an instant: his bravado melts; his legs give way. God has spoken, and the truth exposes the delusion of human power.

Daniel, summoned from obscurity, stands in stark contrast to Belshazzar. He refuses the king’s gifts and rewards. His integrity is not for sale. Instead, he names the reality that Belshazzar has refused to see: that all power belongs to God, that pride leads to downfall, and that a kingdom built on arrogance and injustice cannot stand. Daniel’s message is not comfortable, but it is truthful—and it is that truth which ultimately sets God’s purposes in motion.

In the Gospel, Jesus prepares his disciples for their own moment of truth. They, too, will stand before rulers and councils. Not at banquets, but in trials. Not in celebration, but in accusation. Jesus does not promise them escape from hardship. Instead, he promises something more precious: “I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.” Their endurance, he says, will be their salvation.

Both readings ask us to reflect on where we stand when the illusions of the world meet the truth of God. Belshazzar shows us how easy it is to live as though our own comfort, status, or security are the things that matter most. Daniel reminds us that God sees differently—that God honours humility, faithfulness, and courage. And Jesus invites us to trust that when faithfulness becomes costly, when our convictions are tested, he will be with us, giving us the words and the strength we need.

We may not face kings or councils, but each of us will face moments when the gospel calls us to speak truthfully, to act justly, or to stand with those who are vulnerable. In those moments, the question is not whether we feel strong or eloquent. The question is whether we trust the God who writes truth on the walls of human pride; the Christ who stands beside his disciples in every trial; the Spirit who gives wisdom and courage when we need it most.

So today, let us pray for the grace of Daniel: integrity that cannot be bought, courage that does not waver, and clarity to recognise God’s hand at work in our world. And let us pray for the endurance Jesus speaks of—an endurance rooted not in our own strength, but in the faithfulness of God, who holds our lives and our future in his loving hands.

Amen.

Sermon: Christ the King (23rd Nov, 2025, Year C)

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Readings

Colossians 1.11–20 – May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. 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.

Luke 23.33–43 – When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. [[ Then Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.’]] And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, ‘He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!’ The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!’ There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’ One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’

Sermon

The crucifixion in November? What’s that all about? I think you’d be forgiven for asking the question on this day that we call the Feast of Christ the King. And I completely understand the question being asked. It seems strange that on the last Sunday of the church year we are again watching Jesus on the cross. Most of us are probably already focusing on Christmas. Besides we’ve already heard the Good Friday story once this year and that’s usually enough for most of us. Why do we need to hear it again?

Maybe we need to hear it again because the injustice and violence revealed in today’s gospel are an everyday occurrence in our lives and the world. Maybe we need to hear it again because we too often and too easily ignore or accommodate that injustice and violence.

So today, on the Feast of Christ the King, the Church draws our eyes to the true nature of Christ’s kingship. It is a kingship unlike any other the world has known—a kingship revealed not through conquest or splendour, but through reconciliation, mercy, and self-giving love.

Our readings hold these truths before us with vivid clarity.

In Colossians, St Paul paints a breathtaking portrait of Christ:
“He is the image of the invisible God…”
“In him all things hold together…”
“Through him God was pleased to reconcile all things.”

These are words full of cosmic grandeur. Christ is the One through whom all creation came into being. He is before all things; he is the head of the Church; he is the fullness of God dwelling among us as one of us. If ever there were a passage meant to lift our hearts in awe, it is this one. Christ is King not simply over a nation or a people, but over the whole universe.

And yet—having heard this majestic vision—we then turn to Luke’s Gospel, and we find this King enthroned on a cross.

There he hangs between two criminals, exposed to ridicule and agony. The leaders sneer, the soldiers mock, and one of the criminals hurls insults. The sign above his head reads “This is the King of the Jews”—intended as a taunt, but truer than anyone realised.

Here, at the place called The Skull, two visions of kingship collide.
The world expects kings to rule with power; Christ rules with sacrifice.
The world expects kings to be served; Christ serves.
The world expects kings to save themselves; Christ saves others.

And it is in this place of suffering that we witness one of the most beautiful moments in all of Scripture. One of the criminals turns to Jesus and says, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” In those few words he recognises something far greater than the scene of defeat before him. He sees a King whose kingdom is not abolished by death, but established through it.

Jesus replies, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
It is a royal proclamation—an announcement of mercy, restoration, and welcome.

This is what Christ’s kingship looks like:
A King who will not turn away even from a dying criminal.
A King whose authority is expressed through forgiveness.
A King who conquers not by inflicting suffering, but by bearing it.

When St Paul speaks in Colossians of God reconciling all things—making peace through the blood of the cross—it is this moment on Calvary that reveals how that reconciliation is accomplished. Christ the King gathers the lost, breaks the power of sin, and opens the way to life by giving himself fully and freely for the world he loves.

So what does this mean for us, as we celebrate this feast?

First, it reminds us that Christ’s kingdom is not built on the values that often dominate our society—ambition, status, self-protection—but on compassion, justice, and humility. To serve this King is to let go of the need to be first, to win, or to appear strong. It is to follow the way of mercy.

Second, it invites us to trust. Colossians tells us that in Christ all things hold together. Even when the world feels chaotic – and it surely does right now, – even when our own lives feel fragile, Christ remains sovereign. His kingship is not threatened by the darkness around us. He holds us, and he holds creation, in hands marked by sacrifice.

And finally, this feast invites us to hope. The criminal on the cross had nothing to offer—no record of achievement, no good works to present—only a plea: “Remember me.” And Christ answered him with immediate, overflowing grace. If that is how the King receives a dying criminal, how much more will he receive us when we turn to him? This is a kingdom of hope for the broken, the weary, the repentant, and the lost.

Christ is King—not in spite of the cross, but because of it.
A King who reconciles.
A King who forgives.
A King who remembers us.

And so today, as we proclaim Jesus Christ as King of kings and Lord of lords, we do so with gratitude, with reverence, and with renewed commitment to walk in his way—the way of the crucified and risen King, who reigns in love now and forever.

Amen.

Reflection: The Unity of the Spirit (19th Nov, 2025, Year C)

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Readings

Ephesians 4.1–6 – I, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.

Luke 14.7–14 – When Jesus noticed how the guests chose the places of honour, he told them a parable. ‘When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honour, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, “Give this person your place”, and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, “Friend, move up higher”; then you will be honoured in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.’ He said also to the one who had invited him, ‘When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbours, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’

Reflection

In our reading from Ephesians this morning, Paul urges the Church to “lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called.” And then he describes what such a life looks like: humility, gentleness, patience, and a willingness to bear with one another in love. These are not dramatic virtues. They don’t usually make headlines. They are the quiet, steady qualities that hold the Body of Christ together.

Paul reminds us that our unity is not something we create by our own strength. It is a gift. “There is one body and one Spirit… one Lord, one faith, one baptism.” Unity is given to us in Christ; our task is simply to live in a way that does not fracture or obscure it. Holy Communion makes this especially real. When we gather at the Lord’s table, we do so as one family—different in background, temperament, and story, yet made one in Christ who draws us to himself.

The Gospel reading puts flesh on what this unity looks like. Jesus watches guests scrambling for places of honour at a banquet, and he turns the moment into a parable. Do not seek the highest place, he says. Choose instead the lowest. In God’s kingdom, honour is not seized—it is given. And greatness is measured not by status but by service.

But Jesus goes further. It’s not only about where we sit, but whom we invite. “When you give a banquet,” he says, “do not invite those who can repay you. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” In other words, build community not on exchange or favour, but on grace. Welcome those who cannot return the invitation. Make space for the overlooked. Mirror the generosity of God who invites us—all of us—to his table not because we can offer anything in return, but because he delights to give.

As we come shortly to Holy Communion, we come to the feast that Christ himself provides. Here, the lowest place becomes the place of blessing. Here, the guest list is widened beyond all expectation. Here, we are reminded that we belong to one another because we belong to him.

So may we leave this place committing ourselves again to the life Paul describes: a life of humility, gentleness, patience, and love. A life that honours others above ourselves. A life that reflects the unity and hospitality of the God who has welcomed us to his table.

Amen.

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

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Readings

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

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

Sermon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.