This is a copy of the sermon preached by the Revd Mark Rodel
​on Sunday 10 March 2019 at the High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire’s Legal Service at St Mary’s Church, Nottingham.

Readings Isaiah 58: 6-12 and Luke 15: 11-32

+ Prayer

I wonder what it was like for you when you first properly left your family home. I’m not talking about your first overnight stay away from your family home, but when you left home to make somewhere else your more-or-less permanent residence.
Thinking about that might be especially poignant for you as it is for me. Maybe, like me, you’re at a time in your life when now your children are beginning to leave home and you’re walking that difficult line of being a parent to adult children; trying to judge when to advise and support and when to hold back and let them take the risks that will lead to success or important learning.

Maybe you’re beyond those years and you’re watching your children having children of their own and trying to create the safe, secure and loving homes from which their children will too one day step out. Thinking about adult children leaving home is a good way into our Gospel story today. After the story of the Good Samaritan, the story of the Prodigal Son, as it’s known is perhaps the most well-known of the stories Jesus told.

Because it’s familiar, we perhaps miss some of what is really happening. We might first-of-all be tempted to see it as a morality tale aimed at young people. Today we celebrate and give thanks for all that we’ve inherited from the past, most especially in our justice system.

In the light of this, we might think this story is about the dangers of breaking with convention and trying to go our own way, but I don’t think for one minute that this is what Jesus is getting at. It’s clear from its context, that this story, along with the parables of the lost sheep and lost coin that precede it, is addressed to the Pharisees and Scribes, who in verse two of this chapter are ‘grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’’

It’s the older, grumpier brother that Jesus has in his sights in telling this story; more of him in a minute. This is ultimately a story about forgiveness and how it works. It invites us to reflect on how we respond on those who have lost their way, even if that be through their own poor decisions. In reflecting on that, we might find some guidance and help on how we might relate to each other and how justice might work in our society beyond the criminal justice system. In short, it offers us wisdom in how to treat each other and makes some demands of us.

Let’s look then at this young man who loses his way. What might be lost on us, but would have been shocking to Jesus’s original hearers, is the implication of the younger brother’s words to his father. What he is in effect saying in asking for his inheritance now is: ‘I wish you were dead; I wish you were dead.’

How many of us in those moments of relational difficulty have heard or possibly even said such profoundly hurtful words? The utter rejection of his home and its values at the start of this story is truly scandalous. As becomes clear as the story unfolds, this is someone who has utterly lost their way.

Like many of the people so many of you here today have encountered in the criminal justice system, this is a young person who through a succession of bad choices has met with personal disaster. It has cost him, and it has cost his family deeply.

He was wealthy, well-fed and popular. He ends up homeless, hungry and alone. This is where we reach a crucial moment in the story; the moment when the young man comes to his senses. In the experience of so many, it is only when reaching rock bottom that such a realisation can follow. It’s only at this moment when desperation outweighs shame, that he can think of returning home to the father he wished dead

And now we turn our attention from this wayward son, losing his way and then coming to his senses. Now we take a moment to regard his father. It has been said that this parable might be better called the parable of the running father than the parable of the prodigal son.

Those hearing Jesus tell this story for the first time would have been scandalised not just by the insult spoken by the son, but by the dishonour the father brings upon himself. For any man of status in first-century Palestine, to run was disgraceful. It was degrading. It was a dishonour. But this man runs to greet his son on the road as soon as he sees him.

He runs to offer him forgiveness. What this suggests to us is that in any act of offering forgiveness there is an inevitable loss of face, a self-abasement. In offering forgiveness, the father willingly and freely abandons his status and dignity.

We might notice too that the father does not wait to hear the words of sorrow and repentance. The son’s appearance on the road home is enough. The father’s forgiveness and love overflows and is not dependent on any expression of regret. So often we regard forgiveness as a transaction; as if it were something we might offer in response to remorse. This story invites a different stance, one where forgiveness is freely and unconditionally offered. That’s not to say that remorse, regret and repentance are not important, but that they are the states of mind and heart that enable us to receive the forgiveness freely offered to us, rather than the precondition that invokes grace and mercy.

This all might put us in mind of the story of Shamima Begum – a young girl arguably groomed, trafficked and raped, but also, in the terms of this story, one who turned her back on her country, who perhaps even wished us dead and made some devastatingly bad choices. We might wonder what response this story would suggest to her situation as she attempts to turn back to the road that would lead her back to the home she once rejected.

The response to her, as to many others who have rejected what was good about home, have made bad choices, have come to their senses and have turned back might have more in common with the older brother in our story today.

So now, finally, we turn our attention to him. His response to the joyous abandon and generosity of his father is completely understandable. It is where many of us most naturally stand. How often have we seen others we regard as undeserving receive those things for which we have faithfully and law-abidingly striven? Those Pharisees of Jesus’s time, like this older brother, did not see in the welcome of sinners a dawning of a new era of grace, but the abandonment of principles of justice they held dear.

Perhaps we, like them, and like the older brother, find this all a bit much, a bit too hard to take. It’s a natural and in many ways proper response. But this story invites us to imagine another world where grace, forgiveness and love abound, where the undeserving who turn towards home are welcomed with open arms.

I don’t imagine Jesus meant this to be a prescription for systems of national justice, such as our own criminal justice system. That way could lie chaos and the breakdown of law and order. But alongside the criminal justice system there is the wider issue of what justice looks like in our culture and society. To put it more simply, there is the issue of how we respond as individuals and communities to those who have lost their way and turned back. Will we shun and shame them, or will we, inspired by love, be prepared to lose face and run to offer them a welcome?
This might all feel beyond us. It is. To err is human, to forgive divine, after all. But maybe, at the last, there is hope in a different reading of this story. What if instead of seeing the prodigal son as a sinner, we see him as Jesus himself, taking his leave of heaven and coming to be with us in our pig sty; spending the riches of heaven with abandon and finally returning home, penitent, not on his own behalf, but on behalf of all of us, all of us who in ways perhaps obvious, and perhaps hidden, have lost our way?

It is this Son, profligate with the riches of heaven, who meets us in our humanity and transforms it; who makes it possible for us to do what is impossible to muster from within: to forgive as he forgives. May we receive this forgiveness in our own lives and offer it to one another joyfully. Amen

What is the chief end of man?
Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.

These words are from the Westminster Shorter Catechism of 1647. It was written during the Civil War in an attempt to bring theological unity between the English and Scottish Churches. It was not ultimately adopted by the Church of England, but still has something profound to say to us, even if it is expressed in patriarchal language (presumably they thought the chief end of woman was to make the sandwiches!)

It's attempting to address that most basic, far-reaching and profound of human inquiries; why are we here?

As we continue to reshape our worship at All Hallows' in Lady Bay, this is a live question. It's no less urgent for St Edmund's in Holme Pierrepont. Discerning our purpose, our ‘chief end’, is crucial to thinking about what we do when we gather. What might be a little lost for our generation in reading the awkwardly gendered language of the catechism is that this is a communal question. It affects our individual actions, but this is a question about what is the purpose of humanity, what is our collective vocation? If the church is meant to embody the vision of an ideal human society, we must seek to understand what is God's answer to that question.

Glory is one of those words that puzzles me. It's used again and again in our liturgies, and I think we have an unconscious sense of what it might mean, but to try (as I frequently do) to explain it in terms a child of primary school age could understand is a challenge. The best I've been able to do so far is to say that it has something to do with reputation and something to do with reflected light. If that's true, then ‘glorifying’ God means living in such a way that we reflect the light of God and to speak well of God.

‘Enjoying God forever’ means that our ultimate purpose is, as the theologian Sam Wells puts it, to ‘be with’ God. He contrasts this with doing for, doing with and being for; all good, he says, but the greatest is being with. The character of that being with is of our enraptured bliss; boundless joy – ‘pleasures forevermore’ as the psalmist puts it (Psalm 16:11)

Our gatherings then, are to be a reflection, a foretaste, of our ultimate gathering in God’s presence, to be characterised by joy and the reflected light of God and where together we ‘speak well’ of God. Whether we do this in the simple language of children or the poetic majesty of the Book of Common Prayer is less important perhaps than our collective intent; what is it we believe we are doing when we come together.

How we approach our gatherings is a matter of choice before it is matter of experience. Our fumbling attempts to express our hearts to God, even when using words beautifully crafted in previous centuries, can feel at times a little lower than heaven. But what we are attempting is perhaps even more important than what we achieve.

In worship, just as in this life there needs to be space for failure as well as success, sadness as well as joy, lament as well as celebration but in all these experiences, in our ‘being with’ God, and with each other, we recover our identity as human beings and find the possibility of true fulfilment. That is why it is so important that our gatherings at inclusive, welcoming and open, that we listen to the experience of all in our midst, the stranger as well as the friend, the newcomer as well as the old hand, the misfit as well as the fits-well.

I pray we may deepen our welcome and our hospitality to each other and to all as we meet week by week.
​
peace
Mark

​As we get into another New Year, we enter a new season of change, most especially at All Hallows’ Church. There are 3 things I’d like to briefly bring to your attention. Two of them relate to All Hallows’ Church especially, the other will have some impact on both congregations.

Firstly, we have now had our parish lunch at All Hallows’ which saw the launch of our stewardship campaign. I want to reiterate what I said then and in the weeks leading up to it in my January sermons; I’m hugely grateful for those of you who have been faithful givers, often over many years. And actually, while I’m thanking givers at All Hallows’, I’d like to extend the same grateful thanks to those of you who have so generously given to support the life and ministry of St Edmund’s Church. It’s thanks to all of you in both churches that the buildings are able to be maintained in good order, and, even more importantly, that each congregation can carry on its life and witness to the love of God in each parish. Most of you in All Hallows’ will, by now, have received your stewardship pack that has information on how resources are used and an invitation to prayerfully reflect on what God is asking you to contribute going forward.

Secondly, we are embarking on changes in the style of service at All Hallows’. We are attempting to create a new style of service where members of the two previous congregations – one traditional and one informal – can all feel welcomed, valued and included. This is no small task. So far, as the stewardship campaign has got under way, I’ve held the primary responsibility for trying to craft worship that is genuinely inclusive of all. As we move forward with this, I am determined to ensure that I do not hold that responsibility too tightly. It’s a task that needs to be shared. I’m grateful for the really appreciative and constructive feedback so far. We need to begin to work together much more intentionally on how to re-shape our worship. I would welcome suggestions as to how we can take this conversation forward. Is this exploration something to incorporate in the services themselves or do we need additional opportunities to come together outside of our services. What do you think?

Thirdly, though we have officially welcomed Edward Agyeman at our Advent Sunday service and commissioned him for his work in the parish, it is helpful, I think, to take the opportunity here to celebrate the start of his ministry here. I hope we will have an introduction from Edward himself in next month’s Heron. For now, however, a word on what he’s doing. Edward is a student on the MCYM BA Degree in Contextual Ministry and Practical Theology (more information can be found on the St John’s College website here: https://stjohns-nottm.ac.uk/hmsec/youth-children-s-ministry/courses/undergraduate-courses/). Edward will have some involvement in our worship, in work with Lady Bay Primary School and with Framework. His main focus, however, will be pastoral care. He and I will be working together to develop his already extensive skills in this area. Let our pastoral care co-ordinator, Yvonne Gimson, know if you would welcome a visit yourself.

Lady Bay is reeling from the closure of what looked like a highly successful business at the heart of our community. Though Spoke and Co had only been open for a year, the bike shop/café had become an integral part of the life of Lady Bay. Much like the Poppy and the Lady Bay, as well as Bread and Butterflies, Spoke and Co became a real source of life and community in our locality. It was a vibrant place for people to meet up and just bump into each other. I often arranged to meet people there because I knew there was a good chance I’d bump into someone else. It was a great hub for networking. Judging from the comments on a Lady Bay focused page on social media, it is a loss that the community will grieve, as much as it is devastating for Tim and Rosie, the owners that the community had taken into their hearts. We pray for them and their family.

This situation might give us cause to pause and reflect on the lives of our churches in both parishes here too. Spoke and Co was, of course, located in what had been the Lady Bay Methodist Church: a church that had closed. The Christian presence in both our parishes has been longstanding — nearly 120 years for All Hallows’ and nearer 900 at St Edmund’s — but neither longevity nor apparent success can guarantee that anything will last forever. There is a sense in the conversation around Spoke and Co that people are asking: how can we replace what we’ve lost? Will the same questions be asked if either of our churches cannot remain open and active? The buildings will most likely go on in some way, but what future is there for the fragile Christian communities that make their homes in those buildings?

These are questions for us who are members of these churches but they are also questions for the wider community, as well as for Christians living in Lady Bay who make their spiritual home elsewhere. Is it important to the residents of Holme Pierrepont and Lady Bay that there is an active Christian community here? What purpose does that community serve? How can that presence be sustained and even thrive? Like Spoke and Co every day, those churches will be bustling and full at some of the services over Christmas. That in itself is no guarantee that the church can continue to be there.

Of course, I’ve made no mention yet of God in all this. As we think about the Christmas story we meet God — full of life, yes — but also fragile, vulnerable and weak. Perhaps in the seasons of Advent and Christmas, as we prepare for and then celebrate God with us, we can be inspired to see our vulnerability as a gift, rather than a flaw. Perhaps like the infant Christ we too will need to depend on others for our survival, security and growth. And like Christ in that very vulnerability we can witness to the love of God in our community.

As I write, I am reflecting on the profound challenges facing our two churches of All Hallows’ and St Edmund’s. In some ways these are the same challenges we faced as I began my ministry here among you five years ago, but they are even sharper now than then. The challenges are sharper in one way because of the change in Diocesan leadership. Our new Bishop is calling on all the churches in the Diocese to develop strategies for growth. We are being called to grow: wider, younger and deeper.

I’m always tempted to remark that I’m doing pretty well on the first of those, but of course what we mean by growing wider is nothing to do with waistlines and everything to do with the breadth of our reach in our communities.

Hearing a call to grow younger can sometimes be heard as a sidelining of those who are older, but notice it’s younger not just young. Numerical growth can, of course, come through engaging even better with the population of older people around us, but the long term sustainability of the local church requires that it is engaging with people of all ages and refreshing itself with new, younger members. That’s not just some managerial strategy, it’s a theological necessity. The vision of God’s Kingdom is one where all of humanity is gathered together. The Kingdom is bigger than the church, but the church is called to be a foretaste or sign of the Kingdom, a place where all generations find a home.

Growing deeper reflects the call to deepening Christian discipleship; to spiritual growth; to doing what it takes to become more like Christ.

This call is challenging when we have declining, ageing congregations and rapidly diminishing financial resources. Just keeping our buildings and our services going and meeting our obligations to contribute to the cost of ministry is a profound enough challenge in itself. But without seeking to grow in each of these dimensions, we will not have the capacity to face those seemingly more immediate challenges. I wish I had the magic solution to offer, but I don’t. It will take all of us putting our hearts and minds together to address them, and will also take sacrifice. We may well need to be prepared to let go of long cherished ways of being church together in order that we can embrace those who don’t understand or appreciate what we do now.

That’s bigger than just changing our services. In fact doing that is unlikely to reach a constituency of people who are utterly disconnected from church. I doubt that there are lots of people out there thinking 'if only that church was more trendy, I could go and worship there!' Those that do want that are already getting it in other churches. Instead we need to start much further back. The first task is sharing our faith with people in generous friendship and seeing who among those with whom we share wants to go deeper. Even before that, we may need to evangelise ourselves: to re-engage with the roots of our faith and find again the God who loves us and longs for us to grow; to discover what God is doing around us, and to join in.

I pray we may find the courage, heart and love for the task.