Getting Wet: a sermon for Sunday 11 January 2015 (The Baptism of the Lord)


Text: Matthew 3.1-17

Getting wet

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Surely one of the worst things that could possibly happen to someone is to be arrested for a crime you haven’t committed. Bad enough that you might spend years in jail. Worse, however, to be branded a criminal, to be told you are guilty when you know you are not guilty. It’d be terrible to be criminalised by mistake. And who would choose to be treated like a criminal?

By NickGibson3900 (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

By NickGibson3900 (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

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Seeking the light: a sermon for Epiphany Sunday, 4 January 2015

Old High St Stephen’s, Inverness
Sunday 4 January 2015: The Second Sunday of Christmas

Text: Matthew 2:1-23

Seeking the light

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Imagine I had time machine, and was able to go back in time and find King Herod. And supposing he agreed to come with me to the twenty-first century, so that he could come to this church and speak to us today. What might he have to say to us…

You people think you know all about me. You have me categorised- you have me filed away in your minds with the tyrants you hate and fear- Herod the baby- killer, lumped in with the likes of Stalin, Hitler and the Arab dictators killing their people in your own age. But that’s too easy. You’ve made me a scapegoat, without ever having heard things from my point of view.

Consider my position. I had mighty responsibilities. First century Judea was a difficult place to rule. A rumour of a new king threatened to upset the balance of power. When these wise men from the east appeared in my palace and said, ‘We have come to worship the baby born to be King of the Jews’, my first thought was, ‘That’s all I need’.

For a start, I was the King of the Jews. Now, you may think that sounds great- king, I can do what I like, get to live in a palace and all that. Well, let me tell you, getting to be King of the Jews, and staying there, was hard work. I might be the King of the Jews now, but, as you say in Scotland, my jacket was on a shoogly nail.

For Palestine was an uncertain place in the first century. A bit like the Central Asia, or much of Africa, at the start of the 21st century. Lots of little kingdoms and tribes battling for supremacy, years of minor wars fuelled by ethnic and religious rivalries. And just over the horizon, a superpower- the Roman Empire. Rome needed someone to sort things out in Palestine. They preferred not do it themselves- perhaps one of the local warlords would oblige. I was their man.

With Rome’s backing, I went to war, and made myself the most powerful man in the region. I brought ruthless war to Palestine, but in the end I brought a kind of peace to the warring factions- even if it meant the execution of most of my opponents. The Roman Senate rewarded me with the title of King of Judea. I built great cities, and built a grand new temple for Jerusalem. I looked after my people, even remitting their taxes when times were hard.

But as time went on I had to be more ruthless. When you are a king, even your family can be a threat. Family squabbles among royals can lead to civil war, if you aren’t careful. I had my wife, my mother-in-law, and three of my sons assassinated. For political reasons, of course. The same kind of political reasons that led me to murder hundreds of other religious and government officials during my reign. Collateral damage. The had to die, for the sake of my position, for reasons of high policy, to keep the peace, to keep Rome happy.

None of you are allowed to kill children. There’s never any reason for it, in the life of a citizen, a civilian. But we rulers- those of us in government- we operate by different rules. Sometimes you have to be tough, ruthless. Sometimes there is collateral damage, innocent people get hurt- even children. So heads of state are allowed to kill.

There were those who said I overdid it. They said it was safer to be Herod’s pig than Herod’s son. They said I got more suspicious, more cruel, as my long reign continued.

But Judea was a dangerous place. I had to make sure Rome was happy, make sure they got their taxes paid, if I was to keep my position. Rome would have no truck with any weakness from me.

This incident about the children of Bethlehem- pretty minor. A small town, so perhaps 20 or 30 children involved. Only infants after all, none of them over two year old. It began, as I said, when the Magi turned up. I knew these sorts of people, have a lot of respect for them. Advisers and teachers of the kings of Persia. Experts in astrology, in law, in religion. The sort of men you could respect, for they were guardians of an ancient tradition, their word was reliable.

When men like that travel a distance and demand to see the King- well, of course, you meet them. I thought that perhaps they were ambassadors from Persia. But no, they were here on their own account. They had been watching the stars- that was their job, after all, to watch the stars and advise their masters accordingly. And they had seen a new star- or some kind of strange phenomenon in the sky. A sign that something special had occurred.

They came to me because the rumour was that a new king would sometime be born in Judea- a king who would be greater than all the kings who came before. They put two and two together, and had decided that the new star meant that the new king would be born in my domains.

I was troubled by this news, and so was all Jerusalem- that is, everyone in government circles. I decided to bring in my theological advisers. Where is the great king to be born, I asked. ‘Bethlehem- the birthplace of King David’ came the reply. I now needed to send the astrologers on their way, and use them to help me find the baby. I got together with them again, made sure of their dates and times, and sent them off on their quest, piously telling them that I would like to know the result of their search, as I too would like to go and worship this special king.

Well, they did find him- but they must have sussed me out. They slipped back to their own country without telling me where they had found this special child. Drastic action was called for. And so I sent the army in. They tracked down all the children in Bethlehem born within the last two years, and killed them. Oh, there was weeping and wailing- killing innocent children is never exactly popular. But what did they expect me to do? I had my interests to protect. Rome was breathing down my neck. I couldn’t possibly countenance the thought of another King of the Jews. And the annoying part of it is that apparently the one I was looking for got away…

Do you find Herod’s explanation believable? It’s the explanation used by trying to justify war, or terrorists justifying violence. When children were massacred at Dunblane, it was terrible, but it was one deranged man who did it. What was so awful about the more recent school massacre in Pakistan is that, somewhere in that region, there is a man who gave the order for it, and that people carried out, and in some warped philosophy they thought they could rationally justify it. That’s what’s terrifying for the rest of us, and that’s what’s terrifying about Herod, that’s what terrifying about anyone who finds a way to rationalise the killing of children.

Most of what I just put into the mouth of Herod is based on what we know of him, not just from the Bible, but from other sources. He was in some respects a ‘successful’ ruler. But his success was bought at a heavy price. It is said that when he knew he was dying, he had many of the most important people of Jerusalem arrested on trumped up charges and gave orders that they should be killed when he died. ‘He said grimly that he was well aware that no one would mourn for his death, but that he was determined that some tears should be shed when he died’. So you see the story of the massacre of the children in Bethlehem, although it is only found in the Bible, is perhaps not so far-fetched after all. It is entirely consistent with what we know about Herod’s character- it may well have been that way.

And so Herod goes down in history as the first person to try to resist what God was doing in Jesus Christ. A new born baby is harmless- surely it can’t be a danger to anyone. But this child was a danger to Herod. He knows that, his advisers know that. Perhaps the wise men realise that two. But these pagan astrologers react quite differently to Herod. Herod, a Jewish ruler, reacts with alarm to the news that the greatest ever King of the Jews has been born. The Magi come and worship.

Already, Matthew the Gospel writer is setting the story he is going to tell. Jesus is born as a result of God’s action- he is a special child, born of a Virgin, his birth heralded by a star. And yet it is not all plain sailing. He will not be immune to the dangers and perils of human life. Some will resist him- no sooner is he born than King Herod tries to kill him. Some will be faithful to him. His father Joseph listens to what God has to say, and does his part. He doesn’t break off his engagement to Mary, and he takes his young family into exile in Egypt to avoid Herod’s wrath. And some will realise just how special he is- the Magi travel from afar to worship him.

And some will suffer because of him. Life is messy. Jesus might escape with his life- this time- but it is at the expense of other the children of Bethlehem- his contemporaries. In Matthew’s Christmas story there is real pain, as he quotes the Scriptures:

‘A sound is heard in Ramah,
the sound of bitter weeping.
Rachel is weeping for her children;
she refuses to be comforted
for they are dead’.

This is a terrible story. Here is a massacre, carried out in cold blood, just so that a suspicious and murderous old king can get rid of a rival. Nothing can excuse Herod’s actions. Yet such things happen in our world. Children get killed for all kinds of reasons. And there is something terrible about the death or abuse of innocent children, something that provokes in us some very deep repulsion. We are talking about children less than two years old here- children who depend on adults for all their needs. For adults to abuse that trust is something terrible. For adults to be able to rationalise it- for political or religious ends- is terrifying.

And yet it is often the way. Children so often fall victim to the adults of the world. They are so often the first victims of war, violence, famine, abuse, poverty, disease. Rachel will not be comforted. The death of children is a dark, terrible event. And it has happened throughout history, and it is still happening today.

How can this happen? How can God allow this to happen? What explanations can the Bible give? Perhaps no explanation- Rachel refuses to be comforted. Instead- this story, this terrible story, about how the birth of God’s son- the Prince of Peace- is accompanied by the death of innocent children. God, it seems, cannot come into our world without provoking a reaction, without there being suffering and death and grief.

This story offers no explanation as to why children suffer. It simply tells us that we knew- that helpless children are subject to the whims of adults, and that they all too often become victims. And yet perhaps the fact that that story is there in the Bible tells us something. The fact that such darkness is to found in the Bible, even among our best-loved Christmas stories, is a reminder that Scripture deals, not with fairy tales, but with real human life.
For in the midst of this massacre, as the women weep as their children are killed- God is there. God has come into this world in which innocent die and suffer, into this world of grief and uncertainty, into this world where the sort of wickedness we find in a Herod is always present. God comes into this world, and acts, and it is painful, and it is not simple. God allows himself to depend on a carpenter for his safety. God becomes a refugee, has to flee into exile, has a narrow scrape with death.

The Magi Journeying James Tissot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Magi Journeying James Tissot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Yet this story also gives us a clue how to react to such evil. The Magi were, I suspect, establishment figures in the country they came from. They were the wise men of the Persian Empire, advisers to the king in their own country. They were astrologers, but in an age when astrology was a respectable science. So it is not surprising that, when they work out a new king is being born in Judea, they head for the capital city, and are admitted to see King Herod and his advisers. They are used to the corridors of power, used to the sort of off-the-record meeting that they have with Herod: ‘So Herod called the visitors from the East to a secret meeting and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem with these instructions: “Go and make a careful search for the child; and when you find him, let me know, so that I too may go and worship him”’. Herod would fully expect his distinguished visitors to comply with that instruction.

After their consultations in Jerusalem the Magi head for Bethlehem, and since they trust the stars, they seem unfazed at finding the child there. They worship the child, present their gifts. And then they do something unusual, we might think, for people so much part of the establishment, used to serving kings, used to obeying higher authority. They commit an act of civil disobedience: ‘Then they returned to their country by another road, since God had warned them in a dream not to go back to Herod’.

In so doing, they save the child born to be king. They put God’s revelation above the demands of the local ruler. And sometimes we will have to do that. For the sake of the children, for the sake of the good, sometimes conscience demands that we return by another road- even if that means defying the demands of the powerful.

Another great religious teacher, the Buddha, once remarked that ‘It is… our perception that existence is awry that forces us to find an alternative which prevents us falling into despair’ 3. There is something wrong with the world when children suffer. Pretending that our world is not like that- pretending that our world is a Christmas card world- will not help. But the Bible says that into this awry world comes God, in Jesus Christ.

He was called Emmanuel, God with us. That’s the real meaning of Matthew’s story. In this world of grief, pain, and innocent suffering, we are not alone. God is with us. This can be uncomfortable. It might lead to a violent reaction- and ever since the massacre of Bethlehem, violent people have made more martyrs in an attempt to suppress the Kingdom of God. But God is with us, and depends on us, just as God once he depended on Joseph and the Wise Men to protect the Christ-child. When innocents suffer, we are to speak up and resist. When brute power threatens humanity, we are sometimes to go home by another way. And we can do so safe in the knowledge that even when we weep, and cannot be comforted- God is with us. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out, says John’s Gospel (John 1.5). We need no more.

Let us pray.

Heavenly Father,
whose children suffered at the hands of Herod
though they had done no wrong;
give us grace neither to act cruelly
nor to stand indifferently by,
but to defend the weak from the tyranny of the strong;
in the name of Jesus Christ who suffered for us,
but is alive and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and forever. Amen.


Biblical references from the Good News Bible

The two quotations about Herod are from W Barclay, The Daily Study Bible: The Gospel of Matthew, Vol. 1 p29

Buddha is quoted in K Armstrong, Islam: A Short History, px

© 2015 Peter W Nimmo

‘So we’re not without hope’- a sermon for Christmas Eve Watchnight 2014

Texts: Gospel Reading: Luke 2.1-20

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Such a familiar story as the Christmas story can start to sound like a fairy tale, a story which washes over us in what we like to think is a season of goodwill. Yet without this story, nothing makes sense. Without the baby in the manger, Christmas is empty of meaning. Celebrating Christmas without Christ is like celebrating a birthday without inviting the birthday boy. Yet I’m more and more convinced that the story of Christ being born at Bethlehem upends so many of our preconceptions about faith, God, and the world. Especially it upsets the sense that many people have that God is not really involved in the world.

I studied in Glasgow, and then the city was my home for a number of years. Continue reading

For such a time as this: a sermon on Esther for Advent 2

Old High St Stephen’s, Inverness
Sunday 7 December 2014: Narrative Lectionary, Advent 2
Texts: Esther 4.1-17
Matthew 5.13-16
For such a time as this

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

I mentioned last week that we were embarking on a bit of an adventure as far as our Sunday Bible readings are concerned. We are using a new system of readings for each Sunday. Such a table of readings is called a lectionary, and for the first time in many years I’ve decided to change the lectionary I use from week to week.

The Narrative Lectionary seeks to take us through the broad sweep of the biblical story, but as we get into Advent you may feel you are missing some of the familiar characters we tend to come across at this time of the year. Don’t worry- Mary and Joseph and the angels and shepherds are coming soon. But as we prepare for Christmas this year, we’re mostly in the world of the Old Testament. Last week, the prophet Habakkuk encouraged us to look around and have faith that God will come and save his people. This Sunday, we are in a different time, and again we hear a story of salvation.

This week, I was reading Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson (not for the first time). It’s set in eighteen century Scotland, following the 1745 Jacobite rebellion. There various settings which are colourfully described- Edinburgh, Queensferry, Mull, Appin and other parts of the Highlands. And at its heart is an actual event, the ‘Appin Murder’, of 1752. Many of the characters are real people, but although it is, essentially, a fictitious adventure story- an historical novel, a story weaved around historical events.

The Book of Esther tells a story which is set in the Persian Empire, at the time when the people of Israel, defeated in war, are mostly living in exile. It begins by mentioning that it all takes place in the reign of King Xerxes (486BC- 465 BC). Yet although it has an historical setting, the tale hangs on a number of improbable coincidences which have led many scholars to think of it as almost like an historical novel (eg DJA Clines, Harper’s Bible Commentary, p387; SAW Crawford, Women’s Bible Commentary p132).

Historical or not, is certainly a good tale. Continue reading

Time for vision- a sermon for the First Sunday of Advent

Texts: Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; 3:17-19
Matthew 26:36-38
Time for vision
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

This first Sunday of Advent is a bit different for me from usual. Many of you will know that I tend to choose the Sunday readings from what is called a lectionary. The word lectionary comes from the Latin lectio, to read; and it is a table of readings for each Sunday of the year. So my scripture readings are not random- they are taken from a weekly list of readings which have been carefully chosen. The advantage of a lectionary is that it takes us through a lot of the Bible, and ensures you don’t just always just hear my favourite passages!

The Christian year traditionally begins on the First Sunday of Advent- today. But this year is different from me because I have decided- in the spirit of trying to keep fresh- to use a new lectionary. It’s called the Narrative Lectionary, and it came to my attention through a publication called Spill the Beans. Spill the Beans is a periodical, published on the internet, with ideas for prayer, preaching and education in churches. It is produced by a group of people largely from the Church of Scotland. We have already been using it with our Sunday School, and they seem to be enjoying it very much. Continue reading

Where were you? A sermon for Christ the King Sunday, 23 November 2014

Old High St Stephen’s, Inverness
Sunday 23 November 2014: Year A, Christ the King

Texts: James 2.14-16 and 26
Matthew 25.31-46

Where were you?

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Sheep and goats are animals biologically related to each other, and both were common in Palestine in the time of Christ. Today we are more used to seeing sheep on our Scottish hills; for us, goats are relatively exotic. But goats are hardy beasts, well suited to the arid Middle Eastern climate and landscape, where they have been herded since prehistoric times for their meat and milk ( see Harper’s Bible Dictionary (1985), p350). During the day, sheep and goats can graze together, but come nightfall they must be separated, for whilst the sheep like the fresh air, the goats have to be kept together to keep them warm (Schweizer The Good News According to Matthew, p476; Fenton, Saint Matthew, p4012).

Perhaps one evening, as the sun set over the hills around the Sea of Galilee, a shepherd separated his sheep and goats, and as he did so, he was being watched by a lad from the nearby town of Galilee. Continue reading

Sermon for 16 November 2014

Old High St Stephen’s, Inverness
Sunday 9 November 2014:

Texts: 1 Thessalonians 5.1-11
Matthew 25.1-13

Lit up and ready for action?

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

One evening all the lights went off in our house. The first thing you do in that situation is, of course, to check to see if something has made the fuses trip. And we were prepared- we keep a torch on top of the fuse box. So I groped my way along to the cupboard where the fuses are, and felt around for the torch until I found it. I pushed the switch on top of the torch- and nothing happened. The torch hadn’t been used for a long time, and the batteries were flat. When I unexpectedly needed the light of the torch, it was not ready.

Which is pretty much also the plot line of the parable we heard from Jesus today. Jesus’s story is a bit complicated, because it refers to ancient Jewish wedding customs which are very different from our own. But the main points are clear- there are ten young women (the word can also mean bridesmaids) waiting for a wedding celebration, but they all fall asleep because the bridegroom is late in arriving. When, in the middle of the night, the shout is heard that he’s finally arrived, five of the bridesmaids are not ready. In an age before street lamps- and battery torches!- it’s their oil lamps that aren’t ready. Their lights don’t work when they needed them.

This is a parable about making sure you are ready. Sometimes we think we are ready. I thought I was prepared for an emergency by putting my torch on top of the fuse box. But I hadn’t checked it recently, so when I needed it, it was no use to me. The foolish bridesmaids hadn’t made sure they had enough oil. So when they needed their lamps, they were of no use to them.

Jesus often spoke about the Kingdom of God being like a banquet or a wedding feast (we heard a parable like that a few weeks ago). And at his last meeting with his disciples before his execution, he share bread and wine with them and says, ‘I will never again drink this wine until the day I drink the new wine with you in my Father’s Kingdom’ (Matthew 26.27).

For Jesus liked a party- some of his most memorable teaching and some memorable incidents we happened at dinner parties- a woman unexpectedly anointed his feet on one occasion; he criticised the seating arrangements at one dinner to teach about humility; he chided Martha for fussing too much over the cooking instead of enjoying the company. When he spotted the Zacchaeus, a corrupt tax collector, up a tree, Jesus invited himself back to Zacchaeus’s house for dinner.

In fact, people criticised Jesus for his sociability. Even although they’d thought John the Baptist a bit weird for not drinking wine, they condemned Jesus, saying ‘He is a glutton and wine drinker, a friend of tax collectors and other outcasts!’ (Matthew 11.18). And so Jesus said they were like children playing in the marketplace: ‘One group shouts to the other, “We played wedding music for you, but you wouldn’t dance! We sang funeral songs, but you wouldn’t cry!”‘ Jesus’ evident enjoyment of good company, food and wine is almost an enacted parable, showing us one aspect of what the Kingdom will be like.

So it seems that today’s parable is also bout the Kingdom, and being ready for it. Scholars are fairly unanimous in saying that for the first few decades after Easter, many in the young church expected Jesus to return very soon. Using ideas from the Old Testament as well, they had the idea that the Last Judgement was very close at hand. The community for which Matthew’s gospel was first written would have had many within it who had such an expectation. So this parable would be a powerful reminder to be ready for what was referred to as ‘the day of the Lord’, when the Kingdom would finally become fully present on earth.

Questions about the day of the Lord form the background to both of St Paul’s letters to the Thessalonians. In the passage we read earlier, Paul teaches that there is no predicting when the day will come. Borrowing an striking image that Jesus himself uses in the Gospels, Paul says that the Day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night- utterly unexpectedly. I find it strange that some way out sects and movements have tried to predict the date of the Day of the Lord, when the New Testament clearly states, here and elsewhere, that it cannot be predicted. Anyone who tries to tell you that they have a timetable for the end of the world- even if they tell you they got it from the Bible- has clearly not read the Bible properly!

It’s a pity that it tends to be those on the lunatic fringe who give so much attention to these ‘last things’- the return of Christ, the last judgement, the day of the Lord, the final and complete coming of God’s kingdom on earth- whatever you want to call it. Those of not so keen on these things are tempted to skip round it. And perhaps it’s that element of surprise that makes us a bit scared.

We all of us are tempted to want life to be not too surprising, if you don’t mind. The idea that Christ might suddenly arrive when we are least expecting him reminds us that surprise is at the heart of the Gospel. Nobody expected the Messiah to be born in a stable to a poor young woman. A rabbi who sought out and ate with and visited tax collectors and other outcasts was not really what you expected. A saviour executed on a cross is not what you expect.

And the Bible is full of stories of God acting in unexpected ways. Moses, a wanted murderer, meets God in the desert, as a burning bush tell him to go and set God’s people free. David, the youngest son, defeats the giant, Goliath. The prophet Jonah gets so terrified at being called to preach in the city of Nineveh has to be swallowed by a whale before he goes there, and then is surprised to find that the evil people of the city actually repent. And you would not expect a Pharisee, who persecuted followers of Jesus, to become not only become a follower of Jesus himself, but one of the greatest leaders of the early Christian Church- but, to everyone’s surprise, God called Paul to be an apostle.

God is not predictable and boring. God is surprising, and disruptive. Often we forget that- even in the life of the church. We are suspicious of new things, when they might be a way for God to develop our faith. We are suspicious of disruption, which might be a way for God to call us to new ways of understanding the Gospel. Many people today think that church is boring- and often they are right. But God is not boring- God is surprising.

And one day, the Day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night, or a bridegroom arriving unexpectedly. And yet God’s kingdom is not just in the future. I said that Jesus’ fondness for a dinner party was perhaps a hint to us of what the kingdom will be like. Jesus brought God’s kingdom to life for people, in the here and now, reminding us that it would be like a celebration, a feast, a wedding.

But Jesus also had a sharp tongue- often his were words of judgement. He was harshly critical of religious leaders whom he regarded as hypocrites. He was unafraid to cause ructions at a dinner party by criticising those who took the best places for themselves. In Jesus, many people found themselves face to face with God’s judgement. For some, it was too much- like the rich man who was told to give all his wealth to the poor, who went sadly away. But for Zacchaeus, the little tax collector up the tree, meeting with Jesus changed his life for the better, as he promised to pay back those he’d stolen from.

Jesus brings us face-to-face with the Kingdom. He shows us that it will be joyous, like a party, and he confronts us with the demands of God’s justice. And he reminds us to be on our guard, as we cannot tell the day and the hour, to be prepared for God doing new, unexpected things- even bringing history to an end.

But how can we be prepared? Jesus’ parable of the wise and foolish bridesmaids gives us some clues. When the midnight shout goes up that the bridegroom has arrived, the ten women wake up and start to trim their lamps. The foolish ones ask if they can borrow some oil, but they’re refused. If that sounds a bit mean, well, perhaps this part of the story reminds us that a borrowed oil won’t do. It’s up to each of us personally to be prepared for the wedding, to be prepared for the arrival of the bridegroom. Faith is a personal commitment, something we ourselves need to take responsibility for. No-one else can do it for us- we cannot borrow someone else’s faith, there is no such thing as a second-hand commitment to Christ. We ourselves need to be prepared.

So the foolish bridesmaids go off to market to buy more oil. But they miss the ceremony of the arrival of the bridegroom, and when they get back the celebrations are in progress and they can’t get in to the party. The foolish bridesmaids had not prepared properly to celebrate.

Most men have watched as a daughter or a wife gets ready for a night out. It seems to take forever- there’s all that careful preparation, getting the right clothes on, mysterious things involving hair and make-up. We men can only watch wryly as time to go gets ever closer and our daughter or wife seems fixed to the dressing table chair. But gentlemen, do not disturb all these preparations. The women are getting ready to party.

As we get ready for the kingdom, we should be filled with anticipation, for we are getting ready to party. The Day of the Lord will come unexpectedly, like a thief in the night, but for us the day of judgement will be a day of joy. We are, as Paul says, children of the light. So the Day of the Lord, the day of God’s judgement, is a day we can anticipate with enthusiasm, for we know that for us it will be celebration, a time of great joy.

So often, Christians seem like grim traditionalists, fearful of change. We think our faith is about things being unchanging, no surprises, and little joy. But Christians should be getting ready to party. We should look to the future, not with foreboding and fear, but with joy. Because we know that the future is God’s hands, let us celebrate today in anticipation!

Ascription of Praise
Glory to the Father, and to the Son,
and to the Holy Spirit:
as it was in the beginning, is now,
and shall be forever, Amen.
BCO 1994, p586
Biblical references from the Good News Bible
© 2014 Peter W Nimmo

Sermon for Remembrance Sunday 2014: Not Forgetting

Old High St Stephen’s, Inverness
Sunday 9 November 2014: Year A, Remembrance Sunday

Texts: Romans 8.31-39
John 15.9-17

Not forgetting

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

The most natural thing in the world when you lose a loved one or a friend is to grieve. Remembrance Day developed out of a national need to grieve following the tragedy of the first World War, and today many will grieve both old friends and loved ones. Yet in his First Letter to the Thessalonians, Saint Paul wrote ‘…you should not grieve like the rest of humankind, who have no hope’ (1 Thessalonians 4.13 REB). And in the First Letter to the Corinthians, Paul says: ‘If it is for this life only that Christ has given us hope, we of all people are most to be pitied’ (1 Corinthians 15.19 REB). Note that both these sayings include the word ‘hope’. And that both of them invite Christians to think differently from everyone else.

For Paul to say that someone should not to grieve seems almost heartless. Continue reading

So much love! A sermon for All Saints Day 2014

Old High St Stephen’s, Inverness
Sunday 2 November 2014: Year A, All Saints Sunday

Texts: 1 John 3:1-3 NRSV
Matthew 5:1-12 NRSV

So much love!
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

I did a primary school assembly on Hallowe’en, and since they’d just had a Hallowe’en disco during the week and I knew it would be on their minds, I thought I may as well talk about it. When I asked them if they would be going out on Hallowe’en, it turned out that the vast majority were planning to- even if nowadays they refer it is as ‘trick or treating’, instead of guising and they lamps of pumpkins rather than turnips. Hallowe’en has changed since I was a lad- too commercialised for me now. But for most children, it’s still a lot of fun, probably because dressing up is such fun.

The custom of dressing up in scary costumes for Hallowe’en- ‘guising’, to use the good old Scots word- goes back to the old pagan beliefs about keeping evil spirits out of our way. Indeed, experts tell us that many of the traditions of Hallowe’en predate Christian influence on our culture. Some boring Christians are killjoys who want to abolish Hallowe’en, but for most children it brings harmless enjoyment. What child doesn’t enjoy dressing up, and being given sweets just for telling a few bad jokes?

When I spoke to the school assembly, I reminded them, as I always do when speaking to children about these things, that there is, of course, no such thing as ghosts. We might enjoy a wee scare sometimes, but there is nothing supernatural for us to be frightened of. I say this with great confidence, for one of my favourite passages of scripture- it was the sermon text at my confirmation- comes from Paul’s Letter to the Romans, where he writes, ‘I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’ (Romans 8.38-39). In other words, there is nothing we need to be afraid of. There are no ghosts and ghouls which can hurt us. When it comes to the supernatural, we have, as someone said in another context, nothing to fear but fear itself. Continue reading