• Easter Sermon 2023

    In a few week’s time, something will happen that hasn’t happened before.

    At 3 pm on the 23 April, all our mobile phones will be all a-tremble. They will begin to wail. The government is going to be testing a new emergency alert system. They have chosen the time carefully. The emergency alert is to be slipped in between people attending church and before the start of the English FA Cup Semi-Final.

    Because, of course, emergencies are like that. Coming along with a few weeks’ notice and fitting themselves in between worship and a football match.

    In some of the stories in the bible, the resurrection happens by stealth. There’s no great announcement. Just the dawning realisation that something momentous has happened. Mary Magdalene trips through the garden in the first light of the day and suddenly realises that it isn’t the gardener she is talking to. Or the couple on the road to Emmaus, who walk beside him for miles and then only later realise it is he, when bread is broken.

    But today we read Matthew’s account of events. And it all happens with a bang and a crash. An earthquake and an angel who looked like lightning.
    The news that something momentous is happening in Matthew’s gospel is unmistakable.

    I have no doubt that in a congregation like our own there have been people who have been in emergency situations including in earthquakes. And I’m sure it is terrifying, for you are immediately at risk.

    In Matthew’s telling of the tale, the world is utterly changed in a moment. An unexpected event has occurred. The one they had crucified is alive. And nothing will ever be the same again.

    This isn’t a prearranged, expected event slipped in between church and the cup semi-final. This is something altogether unexpected. New. Shocking. And utterly without precedent.

    Wonderful. Dramatic. Powerful. But not, I think without risk.

    When all the phones start to tremble and begin to wail, they will be testing a system which warns of immediate risk of death.

    The earthquake that we read of this morning warns of an immediate risk of life – new life in all its fullness.

    The Christian faith promises new life for all who look to Jesus for salvation. But it promises more than that too. For we believe that by this Easter resurrection event, it isn’t just we who are changed. We believe the whole of creation is set a-trembling with new life. All the world is changed.
    Resurrection joy is the new normal for a world that needs to be shaken with good news.

    For goodness is real. (And people do know the difference between goodness and wickedness).

    Truth is indivisible. (And people do know that “alternative facts” are better known as lies).

    And New Life is our ultimate destiny. (And those who know oppression, despair and abuse can tell you exactly what New Life will look like).

    There is work to be done before the New Life of Easter is known by everyone of course. But a world where every soul sings for joy is our hope and our expectation. It is the goal that those who work to establish God’s reign of justice and peace on earth strive for. It is our vision. It is our joy. It is our destiny.

    And it is for all times and all places. Not slipped at a convenient time between morning and afternoon.

    And there’s much to be done in all times and in all places for us to be able to see the new life of Christ.

    We do not need to look too far for examples of the old way, the way of death.

    In recent weeks, in between stirring up negativity towards transgender people and promoting economic policies that make foodbanks multiply, the government have chosen to slip in a culture war around the asylum system, using those arriving in small boats as ammunition in that culture war.

    The policy of refusing to consider asylum for those arriving in such boats is reckless, heartless and lawless. It is wrong

    For this country has legal obligations to deal with such people fairly. Reinstating a form of Transportation, to the other side of the world is neither fair, proportionate nor just.

    The faith we believe in on this resurrection morning sees the hungry fed, the frightened stranger welcomed home and knows with a certainty that shines like lightning that God prefers the company of the most vulnerable to the most powerful.

    The Easter news says to all who will listen, “The way of death is not inevitable.”

    Death is not the ultimate end of the human story. Nor is it the inevitable end of any of our stories.

    Not only is no human illegal, Christ’s resurrection means that no human is unloved.

    And that changes everything.

    Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.

    And with him hope rises anew.

    Hope for a world put right.

    Hope for a world that is set a tremble with good news.

    Hope for a world in which every soul can sing for joy.

    This is good news for those who are devout and who give their time to prayer and good works and waiting on the Lord.

    But it is even better news for those who are lost, sad, and sinful.

    Each of us come to this day with our own griefs and losses, each carrying our own fear and apprehension.

    But Christ is risen from the dead for the fearful just as much as for anyone else.

    Christ is risen from the dead for the sorrowful just as much as for anyone else.

    Christ is risen from the dead for you. Feast richly on the good news that death is destroyed and new life has come.

    For Christ is risen from the dead for the whole world.

    And that world is all a-tremble.

    Good news is here.

    For if Christ were not risen from the dead, we would not be gathered here. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

9 responses to “Turning Up and Being Counted”

  1. Lesley-Ann craddock Avatar
    Lesley-Ann craddock

    Thank you Kelvin
    What a read, I really enjoyed it, all of it. You have touched on the 3 things that I too have been wrestling with.
    Liturgy , turning up to be counted, and being open and real with our peers and counterparts.
    Hmmm I wonder if those aspects of being church in this post pandemic implosion of society will somehow be a catalyst to become braver clergy and have proper discussions about what matters to Gods church in its own context. Can we be diverse and not divided, can we lock into our heritage and yet be able to change too. Can Branson pickle save us. X

  2. Christine McIntosh Avatar
    Christine McIntosh

    Great stuff, Kelvin!

  3. Robert MacDonald Avatar
    Robert MacDonald

    Good points well made. We find some church members, who organise a community lunch on a Wednesday, then regularly say ‘we won’t make it on Sunday’. Seems the wrong way round – attendance on a Sunday should come first.

  4. Peggy Brewer Avatar
    Peggy Brewer

    Reading this made my day and contributes to my celebration of the season! Thank you!

  5. Calum Wyllie Avatar
    Calum Wyllie

    Reading this, I feel like it could have been written about me. I couldn’t have been more deeply involved with my church (felt deeply rooted in the weekly liturgy, sat on the PCC, led on diversity and inclusion, set up online streaming for the first time during lockdown), yet I haven’t been back in two years. There is definitely an element of that link of continuity having been broken, and it’s up to me to make the effort to reforge it again. But the anger is also real, and hard to pin down. When somewhere no longer feels like home, when you feel excluded (even when that person was responsible for leading on inclusion!), how do you find the courage to return? When the link with spirituality feels more present in other places (even when I used to absolutely value liturgy, the Eucharist, the community), how do you find a way forward? Too much thinking, and not enough getting on and doing, perhaps…

  6. Meg Rosenfeld Avatar
    Meg Rosenfeld

    Wow–this article is not only thought-provoking, and, to someone who’s a church-goer, extremely easy to identify with, but also entertaining and therefore all the more memorable. As one whose parish church (in San Francisco’s notorious Haight Ashbury neighborhood) nowadays gets about 15 people in the congregation on a “good” day, I do often wonder whether we’re ever going to bounce back from this expletive-deleted pandemic. Personally, I have no choice: I am, on the aforementioned good day, 50% of the alto section, and on other days, 100% thereof. All you folks out there don’t know what you’re missing–except, of course, those of you who are watching on your home computers.

  7. Father Ron Smith Avatar

    Well said, Kelvin Perhaps we clergy don’t stress enough the fact that the Host at our worship is not the clergy, but the Incarnate Son of God; who empowers us to the extent that we are willing to be empowered for daily life and work. I still think of that lovely phrase “Turn towards HIM and be radiant”. What a thrill!

  8. Kennedy fraser Avatar
    Kennedy fraser

    Yes,I still wonder if we have counted all those spiritual communions

  9. John Davies Avatar
    John Davies

    My church (suburban, evangelical Anglican in Birmingham, UK) took a long time to really recover from the lockdown and subsequent fears, but seems to be close to its pre-shutdown numbers again. What my wife and I noticed was that for quite some time the congregation was largely made up of its elderly members – ie those who are not perhaps so nifty with the electronic gadgetry of our age and, also, those who most wanted company. Younger families took a lot longer to return, but are now coming out of the woodwork again.
    One interesting point is that my old church reported a big increase in deaf people watching their zoom or youtube services, because one of the congregation provided signage at the front. Their new found audience felt greatly enabled to join in when they may otherwise never have done so. Is this something worth thinking more about?

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