Grace

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.

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.