‘Stay With Us’: a sermon on John 1:35-42

Franco Zeffirelli’s six-hour miniseries ‘Jesus of Nazareth’ will be forty years old this year. If you haven’t seen it, I’d highly recommend it; it’s probably the best movie about the life of Jesus that’s ever been produced.

Not that everything about it is entirely faithful to the gospel accounts; like many film makers, Zeffirelli couldn’t resist the temptation to put his own mark on the story. One change I found particularly intriguing was that Zeffirelli’s Jesus hardly ever invites people to “follow me”. Instead, he looks at them with a penetrating gaze, repeats their name, and says, “Stay with us”. “Andrew – Philip – stay with us”, he says, and the other disciples grin at them and welcome them into their little group.

That’s not what the gospel writers said, of course, and yet I can’t help thinking it’s not a bad way of expressing what Jesus’ invitation was all about. The problem is, it’s a very counter-cultural way of looking at discipleship today. These days we’re not very good at ‘staying’ anywhere or ‘staying focused’ on anything. We’re not very good at working at our computers without clicking on a hyperlink every five minutes, or stopping regularly to check our email. We’re not good at committing ourselves long term to a small group at church; we’re so busy, we’ve got so many other things going on in our lives, we can give Jesus four weeks max, and then we’ll have to move on to somewhere else.

But Christian discipleship is a long-term commitment; you can’t get the benefits of it in a short time. There’s no such thing as an instant prayer life; there’s no such thing as thirty-day transformation. Eugene Peterson has a phrase he likes to use: ‘A long obedience in the same direction’. That’s Christian discipleship: being willing to follow Jesus, and stay with him, day in and day out, for years and years and years. Staying with him through exciting times and through dry times. Following him when it’s easy and when it’s difficult. Being faithful to him when we feel his presence and also when, for long periods of time, we don’t. “Stay with us”. Don’t be an on-again, off-again Christian. Don’t be one of those who gives up when the going gets tough or when your fellow Christians get too annoying. “Stay with us”.

I can hear echoes of that phrase in the story of Jesus’ invitation to Andrew and his unnamed friend in today’s gospel. The scene is Judea, down by the Jordan river, where John the Baptist was carrying out his ministry of preaching and baptizing. He was announcing the coming of the Kingdom of God, and crowds were flocking to him from all over the place. Some of them, no doubt, only stayed for a day or two; they heard John’s message, wanted to be part of his Kingdom of God movement, and so asked for baptism as a sign of their repentance. They were sincere, I’m sure, but they had a lot going on, and they had to get back to their regular lives.

But some stayed, and became ‘disciples’ of John. Yes: John the Baptist, as well as Jesus, had disciples. Lots of people did in the ancient world. It was the standard way of learning – or, I should say, the standard way of experiencing transformation. You didn’t just go to the professor’s classes and take notes on his lectures. You hung around with him. You listened hard to every word that came out of his mouth. If you were lucky, and if he let you, you moved in with him, so that you could watch how he treated his wife and children, how he treated the tradespeople who worked for him, how he dealt with stressful situations. Your goal wasn’t just to learn the things your teacher knew. Your goal was to become like your teacher. That’s what it meant to be a disciple.

Andrew and his friend were disciples of John the Baptist. Perhaps they had been there at the moment when Jesus had been baptized; perhaps they had seen the Holy Spirit descending on Jesus like a dove, and heard the voice from heaven saying “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well-pleased”. And now, the next day, they were with John when Jesus walked by again, and they heard their master say “Look, here is the Lamb of God” (John 1:36). Watch what happens next:

The two disciples heard (John) say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means ‘Teacher’), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see”. They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.

“Where are you staying?” That seems like a strange thing to ask, doesn’t it? I’ve been rector of this parish for nearly seventeen years, and I’ve rarely been asked the question, “Where do you live?” People who want my help make an appointment to come see me in my office. People who want to learn more about the Christian life sign up for a course at the church. Very few people feel the need to know my address!

But in the time of Jesus discipleship was all about personal contact. If these two men were going to become disciples of Jesus, they had to know where he was going to be, because they had to be there with him. They needed to be able to stay with him, to watch him, to listen to him, to pay close attention to all that he was doing, so that they could imitate him.

Actually, in John’s Gospel, Jesus is a disciple too. A few chapters later he says to his disciples,

“Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise. The Father loves the Son and shows him all that he himself is doing…” (John 5:19-20a).

So Jesus, the human being, also needed to model himself on someone. As God the Son of course, he shared the nature of the Father, but when he accepted the limitations of our humanity and became one of us, he had to grow and learn just like we do. But he had such a close relationship with God the Father – he had learned the secret of listening to him and watching what he was doing – and he modelled his own actions and words on the things he saw and heard from his Father. And now he calls us, in our turn, to come close to him, so we can model our actions and words on the things we see and hear from him.

“Stay with us”. Don’t be in a hurry. Be willing to take time to watch, time to listen, time to absorb what Jesus is doing. In Rowan Williams’ beautiful new book ‘Being Disciples’, he says that this is very much like being a birdwatcher. I’m a bit of a birdwatcher, so this image resonates with me. Listen to what Williams says:

‘I’ve always loved that image of prayer as birdwatching. You sit very still because something is liable to burst into view, and sometimes of course it means a long day sitting in the rain with nothing very much happening. I suspect that, for most of us, a lot of our experience of prayer is precisely that. But the odd occasions when you do see what T.S. Eliot… called “the kingfisher’s wing” flashing “light to light” make it all worthwhile. And I think that living in this sort of expectancy – living in awareness, your eyes sufficiently open and your mind both relaxed and attentive enough to see that when it happens – is basic to discipleship’.[1]

“Rabbi, where are you staying?” “Stay with us”. What does that mean for us today? We can’t ‘stay’ with Jesus in the sense of discovering his address and moving in with him. So how do we ‘stay’ with him? Let me make three suggestions.

First, the most fundamental thing is that we stay with him in prayer. Jesus himself was a person of prayer; that was how he ‘stayed with’ his Father. We’re told in the gospels that it was his regular custom to get up early in the morning, a great while before day, and go out to lonely places so he could pray. On at least one occasion those prayer times lasted all night long; most times, I suspect, they were shorter than that. But he made a habit of it, and we can be sure those times helped make him the person he was – the person who did nothing unless he first saw his Father doing it.

What did he actually do during those times of prayer? We aren’t told very much about it, but if we work from the prayer Jesus gave us as a model, the one we call ‘the Lord’s Prayer’, we can be sure he wasn’t just presenting his daily shopping list to God. The Lord’s Prayer starts by focusing on God’s concerns, not ours: ‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven’.  A person who begins their prayer like that is a person who has spent a lot of time in silence, listening, watching for ‘the flash of the kingfisher’s wing’ – paying attention to the silence, because they know that’s where they’ll sense the presence of God, and perhaps even hear a quiet word from God in their hearts.

So our prayers need to leave time for this quiet watching and listening. We can’t rush them. My own experience is that this seems to get easier with age. When I was young I seemed to have a lot of things I wanted to say to God. Now that I’m older, I’m more content just to be with God, to be quiet in God’s presence. It’s not that I don’t say anything; far from it! But I do enjoy just sitting in the quiet, or walking in the quiet, trying to pay attention to what’s going on, so that I don’t miss the signs that God is with me, that God has things he wants to communicate to me.

All of us have a lot of demands on our time these days. Many of us have family responsibilities, especially those of us who care for small children. It’s not easy to make time for prayer. It wasn’t easy for Jesus either, living as he did in a world where most houses were small and real privacy was rare. I suspect that Jesus did a lot of praying together, with others; I don’t think he was always trying to escape from them. But he felt the need for that alone time with God, too, and he made it happen. As his disciples, we watch what he does, and we imitate him.

We stay with him in prayer, and we also stay with him in the Scriptures. Jesus, of course, never owned a Bible in his life. Most people in his world didn’t; the printing press was far in the future, and handwritten books were only affordable to the very rich. But Jewish people in the time of Jesus gathered often to hear the scriptures read in public, and they committed large passages to memory; people without access to books tend to have better memories for that kind of thing. And we know that Jesus was familiar with the writings of the prophets and the psalms; they were the story of his people, of course, and he heard God speaking to him through them.

Again, this is something you can’t do in a hurry. Becoming familiar with the story the Bible tells isn’t something you can accomplish in a short time. We need to make Bible reading a habit, something we do regularly, either alone or in the company of someone else. A few years ago our bishop challenged us to read through the Bible in a year using a daily scheme of readings she provided for us, and I know that some of you did that. Those kinds of plans can be helpful, but there’s nothing wrong with reading more slowly, too – savouring every word, using your imagination to put yourself in the story you’re reading, listening for what God might want to say to you in what you read.

So as we think about being disciples of Jesus – of ‘staying’ with him – we need to think about making time for prayer and for reading the scriptures. And the third thing I want to remind you of is this: we stay with him by being with the poor and needy. Jesus meets with us Sunday by Sunday as we gather here to worship God and share the Eucharist, but he spends his working week among the poor and needy. That’s what he tells us in Matthew chapter 25; he reminds us that when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, visit the sick or the prisoner, it’s really Jesus we’re serving. He’s present everywhere, but most especially among the poor and marginalized. If we want to meet him – if we want to ‘stay with him’ – then we need to go and look for him there.

I don’t need to give you folks lessons about this; some of you are heavily involved in volunteering with organizations that make a difference in the lives of the poor. But of course, the needs are enormous and there’s always more we could do. Generosity with our money, generosity with our time, a willingness to build real relationships with people, to listen to their stories, to have genuine human contact with people who are often excluded and ignored – that’s all part of ‘staying with’ Jesus by ‘staying with’ the poor – with ‘Christ’s poor’ as they were often known in the Middle Ages.

Let me close by saying this: most of us are here today because we’re hungry for God. We know that Jesus is the one who reveals God to us, and he’s the one who teaches us to know God. So we’ve become his disciples. We’re watching him, listening for his voice, trying to see what he’s doing, so we can imitate him.

“Rabbi, where are you staying?” we ask. Where can we find you, Lord Jesus? In Zeffirelli’s movie, Jesus replies “Stay with us”. As we go into this new year, as we think about growing as disciples, let’s think about these three ways we ‘stay with him’. Let’s ‘stay with him’ by spending time in prayer, listening as well as talking. Let’s ‘stay with him’ by spending time in the scriptures, so that the stories that shaped Jesus can shape us as well. And let’s ‘stay with him’ by spending time with the people who need our help, the poor and needy, the downtrodden and the marginalized.

Jesus is calling us this morning. “Follow me. Stay with me”. How are you going to answer that call this year?

[1]  Rowan Williams, Being Disciples (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2016), p.5.


Star Trek: Enterprise

enterprise-season-3Over the past few months I’ve been slowly working my way through the four seasons of ‘Star Trek: Enterprise’ on Netflix (it was first shown on TV 2001-2005; I think I watched Season 1 when it originally came out, then lost interest in it). I have now finished watching it, and here are my observations:

The characters were very rich. I especially enjoyed Doctor Phlox and T’Pol. It wasn’t as rich in characters as ‘Deep Space Nine’, which remains my favourite Star Trek series, but still very good.

I liked the fact that this ‘Enterprise’ wasn’t aways the strongest ship on the block, and that sometimes the technology wasn’t enough to get the crew out of a sticky situation.

I liked the captain’s dog!

I enjoyed Season 4 the best, and I think if the whole series had been more like Season 4 I’d have liked it even more. Specifically, I enjoyed the explorations of the various species (Vulcans, Andorians, Tellurites etc.) and the tie-ins with later episodes in the original series and DS9. I liked the Vulcan episodes best of all.

I was disappointed with the level of violence in the series as a whole. Almost every episode involved a battle of some kind or other (by the way, I understand ‘shields at 40%’ but what does ‘hull plating at 40%’ mean, and how does a chief engineer repair it so fast when what we’re essentially talking about is the remanufacture of armour plating?). I understand that stories thrive on conflict, but it doesn’t always need to be violent conflict, and some of the best episodes in ‘The Next Generation’ and ‘DS9’ do not involve violence. I was sad that the writers of ‘Enterprise’ couldn’t find a way to follow that path. And I really didn’t care for two major story lines: the ‘Temporal Cold War’ and the ‘Xindi’ conflict.

I’m glad I watched the series all the way through, and I’ll probably do so again at some point. But overall, I thought it was a brilliant idea that fell far short of what it could have been. Three stars out of five.

Where Do You Start? (a sermon on Matthew 3:13-17)

A few months ago I noticed that there was a new wall mural in my local Starbucks in Century Park. I tend to be kind of focused when I go in there; I’m either working, or Marci and I are having coffee and reading a book together. I notice the people around me, but the other surroundings don’t seem to register. But here I was one day, sitting at my table by the wall, sipping coffee and working on a sermon. At some point I was sitting back in my seat, thinking about what I wanted to say next, and I suddenly noticed that there was a drawing of a man in work clothes and what looked like a sombrero, right beside my seat.

“That’s a pretty cool drawing!” I thought. And so I switched my attention to the wall, and I gradually noticed that it was just one part of a huge mural that covered the whole wall. There were fields and trees, ships and trucks, coffee bags and mugs and a whole bunch of other things. For a moment it was just a confusing mass of images; “What is it?” I thought. And then, suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the big picture. It was a depiction of the whole process of coffee making, from the fields where the beans were grown, to the moment the dark liquid was poured into my mug, with all the steps in between.

“But where’s the beginning?” I asked myself – because, you see, the picture wasn’t in a straight line. It was more like one of those giant snakes in the old ‘Snakes and Ladders’ game, bending around and turning back in on itself until the whole wall was covered – but not in an orderly fashion. It took another minute for me to identify the starting point, and then I could stand back, enjoy the whole picture, and follow the process from start to finish.

I think Christianity can sometimes seem a bit like that wall mural. When we first walk into a church, or when we first encounter Christian faith, it can seem like a confusing mass of ideas and images. Bread and wine, commandments and services, God and Jesus, helping the poor, loving your neighbour and trying to love your enemy, giving to support the church and asking for God’s help when you need it; so many ideas! Or maybe we think of all the stories in the Bible: Noah and his ark, Daniel and the lion’s den, Jonah and the whale, the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus on the Cross, Moses crossing the Red Sea with the Israelites and all that. What’s it all about? What’s the plot of the story? What’s the big picture, and what’s the starting point?

There are two things I want to share with you this morning, on this feast day of the Baptism of Jesus. Let me tell you what they are right from the start, and then we can explore them together. First, the big picture is the Kingdom of Heaven, or the Kingdom of God. Second, the starting point is baptism.

First, the big picture is the Kingdom of Heaven. To get this big picture we have to go back a few verses from our gospel for today. Matthew chapter three starts with the story of John the Baptist and what he was up to, proclaiming God’s message and baptizing people in the river Jordan. From there we go on to read about Jesus coming down to join John’s movement and being baptized by him, which was our gospel story for today. But at the beginning of chapter three we read these words:

‘In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near”’ (Matthew 3:2).

Let’s be clear that when Matthew uses the language of ‘the kingdom of heaven’, he’s not talking about ‘dying and going to heaven’. ‘Kingdom of heaven’ is a phrase Matthew uses when Mark and Luke say ‘Kingdom of God’, but all three writers mean exactly the same thing: God’s power coming into this world, to set wrongs right, to fix broken things, to heal wounded things, to end injustice, and to restore all things to the way he originally intended. It wasn’t just about saving souls; it was about fixing a broken world.

Let me give you an example of what Matthew’s Jewish hearers would have thought about when they heard John’s message. Listen to these words from Isaiah:

‘In the days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths”. For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!’ (Isaiah 2:2-5).

That’s the Kingdom of Heaven: God working in the world, inviting all people to come to him and learn the ways of justice and peace. And the result is the healing of the world.

When I ask people what they think the central message of Jesus was, they often say “Love thy neighbour” – and of course it’s true that Jesus taught us to love one another. But the thing that got him up in the morning, the thing that fired him up and motivated him to keep on with his mission of preaching and healing, was the Kingdom of God. Almost all of his parables are about the Kingdom: it’s like a treasure hidden in a field, he said, or like a tiny seed that you plant in the ground that grows up to be the largest of plants, or like some yeast that a woman took and mixed in with flour until all of it was leavened. The prayer he taught his disciples to pray was “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10), and he told us that we should “Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matthew 6:33). Truly, the kingdom of God, or the kingdom of heaven, was right at the heart of Jesus’ message.

And right at the heart of the kingdom message was the experience of forgiveness and reconciliation. God comes among us in Jesus, and what do we do? More to the point, what do our best and our brightest do – our political leaders, our priests and religious teachers? They find God a threat to their power – as we all do. Why does God have to interfere so much? Why can’t he mind his own business? And so, like them, we reject him, we mock him, we whip him, we nail him to a cross and we leave him there to die. Maybe then he’ll leave us alone.

Any self-respecting god from the ancient world would have known how to respond to an act like that. Zeus would have scorched the earth with thunderbolts. Thor and Odin would have wiped out their enemies in a river of blood. But what about this God who came to us in Jesus? What does he do? He does exactly what he had taught his disciples to do: love their enemies and pray for those who hate them. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). This is how reconciliation begins: someone decides not to strike back, but to respond with forgiveness instead. And in Jesus, God decides to be that someone. In Jesus, God reaches out and offers forgiveness to the whole world.

In Matthew 24:14 Jesus calls his message ‘the good news of the kingdom’. It’s good news because it tells us that God has not given up on this world; that God intends to keep on working until the whole world reflects his original vision of justice and compassion and peace. And it’s also good news because everyone is invited, no matter who they are and what they’ve done; everyone can experience this reconciliation with God. You can be forgiven, and you can be welcomed into this movement of nonviolent revolution by which God is at work transforming the whole world. You can know God as your Father and the people of Jesus as your sisters and brothers. No one is left out unless they choose to count themselves out. Everyone is invited to come in.

This is the big picture. Now, how do we come in? What’s the starting point? The starting point is baptism.

But it sometimes seems like such a strange starting point! It seemed strange to John the Baptist that Jesus should ask for it; after all, Jesus was the Messiah, the one John had been talking about:

“I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11).

Imagine how great this person must be! John could take his hearers and plunge them into the Jordan River in the act of baptism, but the one who was coming could do a far greater thing: he could take people and plunge them into the power of God’s Holy Spirit, so that the Holy Spirit would fill them and surround them and empower them to do the will of God. How could someone like that need water baptism from John? ‘“I need to be baptized by you”, he said, “and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfil all righteousness”’ – or, as the New Living Translation helpfully puts it, “It should be done, for we must carry out all that God requires” (vv.14-15).

This is counter-intuitive. Surely if we’re looking for the starting point in God’s kingdom, it should be something we do – giving away all our money to the poor, or reading the Bible and praying, or helping someone beside the road who’s been beaten up (like the Good Samaritan did). All these are good things, and I don’t want to discourage anyone from doing them. But they aren’t the way we start as apprentices, or disciples, of Jesus. Jesus himself said to his followers, “Go therefore and make all nations my disciples, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you” (Matthew 28:19-20a). In other words, the way you become a disciple is by being baptized; after that, you start learning to put the teaching of Jesus into practice. As Jesus said to Peter at the last supper, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me” (John 13:8).

Baptism is something God does for us. It isn’t something we do for ourselves. This is symbolized by the fact that in the New Testament no one baptizes themselves. Everyone is baptized by someone else. Baptism is a sign of being washed from sin and evil. It’s a sign of being filled to overflowing with the Holy Spirit. It’s a sign of adoption into the family of God; as God says after Jesus is baptized, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). Notice that he says this before Jesus does any ministry. Jesus has yet to heal a single sick person, preach a single sermon or cast out a single unclean spirit. In other words, this saying comes to Jesus as a gift of the Father’s love. “You’re my boy, and I’m proud of you”.

What a wonderful thing for a child to hear their father say! You and I need to receive that gift too, because words of love like that are a rarity in our world. And most of them are based on achievement: we do a good job, and we get praised for it. But the love of God for us isn’t based on our achievement; it’s based on nothing but his own mercy and grace.

So the big picture is the Kingdom of Heaven: God healing the world of evil and sin and restoring it to his original intention. That’s what the work of Jesus is all about. And the starting point for those who want to be a part of that is baptism; it’s how we become disciples of Jesus. Of course, those of us who were baptized as babies have to make our own decision about that, as we get older and come to grasp for ourselves what it is that Jesus is up to. We all have come to the point where our parents’ faith becomes our faith – not something second-hand, but something we experience for ourselves. But it’s still not based on our achievement; it’s based on God’s steadfast love for us.

It needs to be said, of course, that baptism is the starting point – not the ending point! Some people argue against infant baptism because they’ve seen too many cases where it is the ending point: parents bring children to church to be baptized, but then make no effort to continue to be part of the community of followers of Jesus. They don’t teach their kids about the gospel or help them grow a faith of their own. They’ve been baptized, and that’s the end of it.

We’ve already seen that that’s not what Jesus had in mind. Jesus told his disciples not only to ‘baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit’, but then to go on to ‘teach them to obey everything that I have commanded you’. We baptized Christians commit ourselves to a life of discipleship: learning to put the teaching and example of Jesus into practice in our daily lives. This is how we ‘strive first for the Kingdom of God and his righteousness’ (Matthew 6:33). And we can’t do this alone. Jesus never called people to follow him alone; he called them to be part of a community of disciples. That’s what the church is meant to be: a community of people learning together how to follow Jesus.

So the big picture is the work of the Kingdom of God in the world, and the starting place for us is baptism. Let me close with a few brief words of further application.

First, many of us Christians need a bigger perspective. We’ve lost our sense of what Christianity is all about. We’ve gotten caught up in little details: whether we should use old hymns or modern worship songs, or whether or not ministers should wear robes, or whether or not women should preside at Holy Communion, or whether churches that don’t have bishops are real churches – none of them subjects on which Jesus seems to have had an opinion. We very much need to remind ourselves of the big picture: The Kingdom of God. And one way of focusing this vision is to ask ourselves: if God were to answer our prayer “Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven?” what would that look like? What would be different in our lives, and in the world around us? When we can imagine an answer to that question, we can then learn to live into it ourselves, and work toward it in the world.

Second, we need to pay attention to the right voices. I suspect that many of you here today have heard negative messages all your life. You’ve been told that you don’t fit in. You’ve been told that you’re the wrong body shape. You’ve been told that your work doesn’t measure up. You’ve been told that you’re a bad person. You’ve been told that it’s your fault, that you’re to blame, that you’re the guilty one. You’ve been told that you’re not important enough for people to care about. And so the list it goes on.

What I want to say is that the most important thing, the thing we should really be paying attention to, is what God says about us. In Jesus’ baptism, God said “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (3:17). And that’s what he says to you in your baptism as well. I really like the way Mark phrases it in his version of this story: it’s addressed to Jesus in the second person. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well-pleased” (Mark 1:11).

Imagine the power of hearing God say that to you! If you really believe it – if you believe that’s what God says to you in your baptism – then you can walk out of this building today with your head held high. You won’t need to worry about what other people say about you. You won’t need to define yourselves by other people’s opinions of you. You’ll know, deep down inside, that this is the most fundamental truth about you: you are a child of God, adopted into God’s family, gifted with the gift of God’s Holy Spirit. None of this is earned. None of it needs to be earned. It doesn’t come to you as a reward; it comes to you as a gift of God’s grace – not because you are lovable, but because God is love.

When you know that, you can go from this place today in the strength of God’s love, to strive first for God’s kingdom and God’s righteousness, knowing that nothing in all of heaven and earth can separate you from God’s love. May it be so for you and me, brothers and sisters, today and every day. In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Books I Read (or Re-Read) in 2016

In the back of my journal, I keep a little list of the books I read. I don’t do this as a kind of score-keeping exercise; more as an aid to reflection. Here’s the list for 2016, in the order in which they were read:

Ursula K. LeGuin: The Farthest Shore
The Rule of St. Benedict
Daren Wride: DNA of a Christ-Follower
Dante: Divine Comedy Vol. 1: Inferno
C.S. Lewis: The Weight of Glory
Dante: Divine Comedy Volume 2: Purgatorio
Elsie H.R. Rempel: Please Pass the Faith
Richard Giles: Here I Am: Reflections on the Ordained Life
Dante: Divine Comedy Volume 3: Paradiso
Sean Platt, Johnny B. Truant and David Wright: Write, Publish, Repeat
John Clare: The Shepherd’s Calendar
Leah Kostamo: Planted: A Story of Creation, Calling, and Community
Dante: La Vita Nuova
Ursula K. LeGuin: Tehanu
Richard Foster: Celebration of Discipline
Ursula K. LeGuin: Tales from Earthsea
Ursula K. LeGuin: The Other Wind
John Goldingay: Joshua, Judges, and Ruth for Everyone
The Collected Poems of Oscar Wilde
Paul Torday: Salmon Fishing in the Yemen
Alan Jacobs: The Narnian
Dave Ferguson and John Ferguson: Finding Your Way Back to God
Mark D. Baker and Joel B. Green: Recovering the Scandal of the Cross:Atonement in New Testament and Contemporary Contexts
Mark Twain: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Denny J. Weaver: Becoming Anabaptist
Tony Hillerman: Skinwalkers
Stuart Murray: The Naked Anabaptist
Tony Hillerman: The Blessing Way
Bill Bryson: Shakespeare: The World as Stage
A.N. Wilson: The Elizabethans
Harold Percy: Your Church Can Thrive
John Grisham: Gray Mountain
Wendell Berry: The Way of Ignorance
Brian Zahnd: Water Into Wine: Some of My Story
Simon Winchester: The Map that Changed the World
Joel B. Green: Conversion in Luke/Acts
Jonathan Merritt: Jesus is Better Than You Imagined
Hilary Mantel: Bring Up the Bodies
Andy Weir: The Martian
John Goldingay: Jeremiah for Everyone
Alain de Botton: The Course of Love
W.O. Mitchell: Who Has Seen the Wind?
Walter Brueggemann: The Prophetic Imagination
C.C. Humphreys: Plague
Joel B. Green: Body, Soul, and Human Life
Robert E. Coleman: The Master Plan of Evangelism
Peter Dale: A Poetry of Place
John H. Walton: The Lost World of Genesis One
N.T. Wright: John for Everyone: Part 1
Karl Vaters: The Grasshopper Myth
Patrick O’Brien: Master and Commander
William Cowper: Selected Poetry and Prose
Ann Cleeves: Raven Black
Tobias Haller: Reasonable and Holy
Anthony Doerr: All the Light We Cannot See
Brother Andrew: God’s Smuggler
N.T. Wright: John for Everyone: Part 2
Ann Cleeves: White Nights
Timothy Keller: Making Sense of God
J.K. Rowling: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
Wendell Berry: A Small Porch
W.O. Mitchell: Jake and the Kid
Thomas Hardy: The Return of the Native
J.D. Vance: Hillbilly Elegy
Kent Haruf: Benediction
David Augsburger: Dissident Discipleship
W.O. Mitchell: The Kite
Thomas Hardy: Tess of the D’Urbervilles
C.S. Lewis: The Magician’s Nephew
Francis Spufford: Unapologetic
Holy Bible: New International Version (2011)

A few reflections in no particular order:

Most enjoyable read of the year? Definitely, hands down, with lots of space between it and the next-most-enjoyable, Dante’s Divine Comedy. In fact, I loved it so much I read it twice. My first time through I was using Mark Musa’s three volume, profusely annotated edition; I read each canto through once by itself, then re-read it, scrupulously reading every single footnote as well. The notes were enormously helpful; Dante is surprisingly earthed in the contemporary political/cultural/religious scene of his day, and he assumes a vast amount of knowledge of names and events, which Musa helpfully tracks down. But when I was done I re-read the whole thing without any footnotes in Musa’s one-volume edition (‘The Portable Dante’), which also includes Dante’s Vita Nuova – which I also enjoyed.

I loved Dante’s imagery (even though his cosmology is of course completely outmoded). Two theological points especially struck me. First, in the Inferno almost all of the punishments are in fact logical and natural consequences of the sins being punished. I think Dante’s point (or part of it) may be that sin is its own punishment. Second, Dante believed that sin is essentially loving the wrong things (I should explain that his concept of love is far closer to Eros than to the New Testament idea of Agape), and that our love-choices need to be educated by the light of reason and revelation.

His final canto in the Paradiso? I defy any Christian to read it without being overwhelmed by the beauty of what he is describing.

Honourable mention also of Andy Weir’s The Martian. I watched the movie on Netflix, really liked it, so bought the book and found it to be even better than the movie. I hope he writes some more good science fiction for us.

Least enjoyable read of the year? Definitely William Cowper’s Selected Poetry and Prose. I only have one word to describe these pieces: tedious.

Important discoveries:

The writings of Joel Green, especially his work in Body, Soul and Human Life which challenged a lot of my concepts of what a soul is (it turns out that it’s all in the brain and is intrinsically physical).

W.O. Mitchell. Oh my – why had I never read any of his stuff before? His descriptions of small town prairie life in the mid-twentieth century rang a lot of bells with my experience of Arborfield in the early 1980s (some of Mitchell’s heroes, had they been non-fictional characters, would have been the same age as our Arborfield old-timers when Marci and I first arrived there). Wonderful characters, superbly authentic dialogue, great storytelling – hugely enjoyable reads. I know I’ll read everything by him I can get my hands on.

J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy was as illuminating and disturbing as I had been led to believe it would be. Superb book; I highly recommend it.

Karl Vaters’ The Grasshopper Myth is an excellent book about small church ministry (Vaters defines ‘small church’ as less than 200 people). I don’t know that there was anything in it I didn’t instinctively know already, but it was very helpfully set out in a memorable way. I will re-read it regularly along with Dave Hansen’s The Art of Pastoring and Eugene Peterson’s books on pastoral ministry.

I read a good bit of poetry this year: Dante, John Clare, Oscar Wilde, Wendell Berry, William Cowper, Peter Dale. Later in the year I got snagged in the massive Collected Poems of Thomas Hardy, which I still haven’t finished (it’s 900 pages long). Hardy is brilliant, but he’s hard work and I find I can only take him in small doses.

Finally, I’m glad to say that I read the Bible all the way through again this year. I read the Bible daily, but I haven’t been very successful over the years in finding a Bible-reading plan and sticking to it. This year I chose the One Year Bible, and I picked the New International Version 2011 as my translation for the year. I really enjoyed the daily mix of Old Testament, New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs, and by the end of the year I had definitely formed a habit. I’ll do it again this year, I know, possibly with the New Living Translation. (Note: there are now four translations of the Bible I’ve read all the way through: the Living Bible, the New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha, the King James Version with Apocrypha, and the NIV 2011).