Family service
Malachi 3.1-5
Psalm 24.1-10
Hebrews 2.14-18
Luke 2.22-40
Good morning; some short words from me, not least because the children were brilliant and the vicar has stolen all my jokes. I will be brief, though – unlike the vicar – I will be covering Charles King and Martyr properly.
Now, as it’s Candlemas, I’d like to ask how many of you took down your Christmas decorations? 150 years ago, you would definitely have kept them up till now, because the whole time running from Christmas was seen a single season, up to when Jesus was presented in the temple, which we read in the gospel.
And it’s today because 40 days after the birth of a child, according to the Jewish law, mothers come to the temple to be purified. And while Mary is there, we read that she also dedicates her firstborn to God. When we talked about waiting earlier, this is one of the most significant – waiting for a child to be born. It certainly was for me, and I imagine for Mary and Joseph. They, overjoyed, give thanks to God and make sacrifices. But their waiting is nothing compared to that of Symeon and Anna. All we know of them is that they are old, exceptionally old for the time. And they have been waiting and hoping for many years. For them, that waiting has been fulfilled in their lifetimes. They have seen the light come into the world.
I want to remember today the years before. Not about the hope fulfilled in their lifetime, but the uncertainty and the years without it. Because for many, the Hollywood ending does not come in our lifetime. That’s the theme of our reading from Malachi. This is the last book of the Old Testament, written in exile, promising that God will come to bring justice, to purify and to refine. These are hopes you write down when you have nothing, not when you have power.
And so to Charles I, King and Martyr. King of England, pious Christian, crowned on Candlemas 395 years ago, the most powerful man in England. Twenty four years later, stripped of all his power, after a sham trial, he was murdered, at the behest of a dictator, backed by the army (other historical interpretations are available). Why is he a saint? Not because he died, plenty of people get killed, especially by military dictators. But because the church holds that he had been offered peace and to be spared if he abandoned his principles, his church and, in his view – and mine – legitimate government. He didn’t take it. My children tell me that he was the worst king ever and really boring, but it’s certainly the case that his actions shaped the Church of England, and it’s certainly the case that he died, alone; his family fled; his supporters in hiding. All he had left is hope.
What did he hope for? Was it fulfilled? He did not receive anything in his lifetime. They cut his head off. Was it for justice or revenge? He had that I suppose. Eleven years later, his son returned, his killers were punished, and their leader’s dead body dug up and his head displayed on a spike as a warning. I hope my sons are listening.
But I don’t think that is what he hoped for. As Christians, we do not hope for impossible, radical transformation in this world. That is millenarianism. Symeon will probably have read Malachi, but he does not live to see judgement, but a baby. He knows the psalms, but he doesn’t see victory in battle, but the light to the gentiles. Our hope is wider and greater, and more certain, than those stories. It’s right there in our reading from Hebrews: Christ will destroy the one who has power over death. Charles knew that. Among his last words we read: ‘I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown’. He was aware of his own weakness, the fallibility of the world and the perfection of heaven.
This is not an excuse for not hoping or acting in the world. I preached on that earlier this year and I wouldn’t want you to think I am inconsistent. But it is the knowledge that in the end we rest our hopes, in the words of the BCP, on ‘the sure and certain hope of the resurrection.’ Whatever the wait, whatever the test, whether or not it is shown to you.
I end with those words in Hebrews: because Christ himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.
Amen.
Good morning; some short words from me, not least because the children were brilliant and the vicar has stolen all my jokes. I will be brief, though – unlike the vicar – I will be covering Charles King and Martyr properly.
Now, as it’s Candlemas, I’d like to ask how many of you took down your Christmas decorations? 150 years ago, you would definitely have kept them up till now, because the whole time running from Christmas was seen a single season, up to when Jesus was presented in the temple, which we read in the gospel.
And it’s today because 40 days after the birth of a child, according to the Jewish law, mothers come to the temple to be purified. And while Mary is there, we read that she also dedicates her firstborn to God. When we talked about waiting earlier, this is one of the most significant – waiting for a child to be born. It certainly was for me, and I imagine for Mary and Joseph. They, overjoyed, give thanks to God and make sacrifices. But their waiting is nothing compared to that of Symeon and Anna. All we know of them is that they are old, exceptionally old for the time. And they have been waiting and hoping for many years. For them, that waiting has been fulfilled in their lifetimes. They have seen the light come into the world.
I want to remember today the years before. Not about the hope fulfilled in their lifetime, but the uncertainty and the years without it. Because for many, the Hollywood ending does not come in our lifetime. That’s the theme of our reading from Malachi. This is the last book of the Old Testament, written in exile, promising that God will come to bring justice, to purify and to refine. These are hopes you write down when you have nothing, not when you have power.
And so to Charles I, King and Martyr. King of England, pious Christian, crowned on Candlemas 395 years ago, the most powerful man in England. Twenty four years later, stripped of all his power, after a sham trial, he was murdered, at the behest of a dictator, backed by the army (other historical interpretations are available). Why is he a saint? Not because he died, plenty of people get killed, especially by military dictators. But because the church holds that he had been offered peace and to be spared if he abandoned his principles, his church and, in his view – and mine – legitimate government. He didn’t take it. My children tell me that he was the worst king ever and really boring, but it’s certainly the case that his actions shaped the Church of England, and it’s certainly the case that he died, alone; his family fled; his supporters in hiding. All he had left is hope.
What did he hope for? Was it fulfilled? He did not receive anything in his lifetime. They cut his head off. Was it for justice or revenge? He had that I suppose. Eleven years later, his son returned, his killers were punished, and their leader’s dead body dug up and his head displayed on a spike as a warning. I hope my sons are listening.
But I don’t think that is what he hoped for. As Christians, we do not hope for impossible, radical transformation in this world. That is millenarianism. Symeon will probably have read Malachi, but he does not live to see judgement, but a baby. He knows the psalms, but he doesn’t see victory in battle, but the light to the gentiles. Our hope is wider and greater, and more certain, than those stories. It’s right there in our reading from Hebrews: Christ will destroy the one who has power over death. Charles knew that. Among his last words we read: ‘I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown’. He was aware of his own weakness, the fallibility of the world and the perfection of heaven.
This is not an excuse for not hoping or acting in the world. I preached on that earlier this year and I wouldn’t want you to think I am inconsistent. But it is the knowledge that in the end we rest our hopes, in the words of the BCP, on ‘the sure and certain hope of the resurrection.’ Whatever the wait, whatever the test, whether or not it is shown to you.
I end with those words in Hebrews: because Christ himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.
Amen.
