Sermon - Baptism of Our Lord 2022

Sermon - Baptism of Our Lord 2022

Each of the gospels gives us a different portrait of John the Baptist. In the Gospel of John (different John), John the Baptist declares Jesus to be the messiah, and cries out ‘Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world’. Interestingly, in John’s gospel, Jesus does not actually get baptised. John is (we think) the last gospel to be written. But what about the first?

In Mark, we meet John clothed in camel’s hair and eating locusts and wild honey. John the Baptist is portrayed as the forerunner of Christ, preparing the way for him.

In Matthew, John the Baptist gets snippy. ‘You brood of vipers!’ is how he famously describes the Pharisees and Sadducees. Today we might say ‘a mob of snakes’.

Sermon for Epiphany 2022

Sermon for Epiphany 2022

Most of the time, being an Anglican is a very ‘mixed bag’. We are, after all, the church of Empire, complicit in the colonial enterprise – derived from a state church with an hereditary monarch as Supreme Governor. We’re not quite Catholic and not quite protestant, and our favourite activity is shooting our wounded.

But we are also the church of Desmond Tutu. Tutu was one of those Anglican leaders who meant we could hold our heads high. His exuberant energy, his terrific sense of humour, his confrontation of systemic evil, and his unswerving commitment to reconciliation and peacemaking. He was the best of us. He wasn’t just a social justice warrior or a preacher – he was also a spiritual being. His life was shaped by prayer and by sharing, usually daily, in the Eucharist. In a sea of bland episcopal functionaries - Tutu was a bishop with passion and vision and a fire in his guts. His vision lives on in myriad ways, but his loss to the Anglican movement cuts me pretty deeply, I have to admit.

Sermon for Christmas 2021

Sermon for Christmas 2021

Earlier in the year we had a parish fire drill. It was quite a jolly affair, with a nice little briefing beforehand, lots of laughter, and when it was over we were all allowed to have morning tea.

Yesterday, at the Park Hotel in Melbourne, there was an actual fire. The people in the hotel didn’t make their way calmly to the muster point and await further instructions. Instead, they were contained on the ground floor while smoke from the fire above billowed around them. The doors weren’t broken. The people in the Park hotel are people seeking asylum, and have been imprisoned one way or another for eight long years. Covid has ravaged their hotel prison, with shared rooms, shared facilities, and nowhere to hide. Clearly, even an actual fire isn’t serious enough to merit the most basic safety measures. It’s inhumane.

Sermon Advent 3 2021

I’ve worked in five independent schools. Each one was different in their own way, but they shared one unshakeable, incontrovertible belief in common: students who wore the uniform correctly would, by extension, behave correctly.

I can’t tell you how many times I told a student to tuck their shirt in, tie their hair back, pull their socks up, take off that jewellery, go to the toilets and wipe the mascara off, or wear their blazer. The idea was that if the rules about personal grooming and presentation were observed strictly, this would have a flow-on effect to all the other rules, and the students would be more respectful and compliant.

Now, I haven’t done a scientific study, but anecdotally I can confirm that strictly-enforced uniform rules absolutely do not make for better behaved students. A student who wears their blazer over a neatly-pressed uniform can be a vindictive, nasty piece of work. A slovenly student may well be kinder, more generous and more honest. I think, by and large, the behaviour of school students depends less on the rigid uniform enforcement, and more on the atmosphere and expectations fostered by the staff. But maybe there’s data that suggests otherwise?

Today we heard from a portion of the book of the prophet Zephaniah. We read the ‘happy ending’. The faithful remnant have been saved, and God is gathering them together. But if we only read the happy ending, we miss the angry beginning. The book of the prophet Zephaniah is three chapter long, and two and half of those chapters are Zephaniah viciously declaring God’s judgement on the Southern Kingdom, particularly Jerusalem. He is prophesying during the time of King Josiah. Eventually, King Josiah will institute reforms and tear down the altars of Baal. But he hasn’t got there yet, and Zephaniah is having a lot of feelings.

According to Zephaniah, God is going to destroy Jerusalem. There will be weeping and wailing. The city will be left in ruins and wild animals will move in. The Day of the Lord is coming. ‘Their blood shall be poured out like dust and their flesh like dung’. Nothing will protect them from the fire of God’s judgement. There will be a small remnant who are rescued, and only they will be know God’s safety and protection.

Why will this happen? Because the people have begun to worship Baal and other cultic deities instead of the one true God. The extreme language of the prophecy is intended to shock people out of their complacency, and back into proper worship. This worship isn’t just the restoration of proper rituals at the Temple. Zephaniah is also concerned about those who believe that gold and silver will save them, and those who lack humility and righteousness. Right worship and right behaviour are, for Zephaniah, inseparable. The two complement and support one another. 

John the Baptist, at his alternative dunking station at the Jordan River, has a similar view. Clearly, the Temple authorities are corrupt. But so are many of the people who come to him seeking purification. They are not sharing their possessions and food. They are practicing extortion. He does not distinguish between the corruption of the powerful elites, the corruption of the temple ceremonies, and the corruption of the ordinary person. 

John declares that one is coming after him. And he uses the same fiery, angry language that Zephaniah used – ‘His winnowing-fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing-floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’

Most of us, I suspect, would prefer a neat and tidy faith. The kind of faith that goes to an independent school and tucks it shirt in. Many of us would also prefer a neat and tidy God – understandably we like to hear more about a God of parental nurture, and less about a God of unhinged anger.

But this angry, aggressive, perhaps excessive language, whether from Zephaniah or John the Baptist or from Jesus himself is intended to give us a shock. To make us uncomfortable, uneasy, even afraid. Because it is not enough to only have a faith that looks nice and offends no one. Just because our socks are pulled up and we wear only a single ribbon in our hair, it doesn’t mean that we are fully worshipping the One True God.

The Day of the Lord is coming, says Zephaniah, and John, and Jesus, and the church, and Advent. We will be called upon to give an account of our behaviour. What we did with our silver and gold. What we do with our possessions and food. What we have done with our power, privilege, influence and authority. The point is not to run away screaming, but to recommit to God’s love and justice, even when everyone around us is worshipping idols.

The Lord Be With You

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