Sermon
Year A, Trinity 10, Romans 10.5-15; Matthew 14.22-33
Rachel Rose,
“Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” The words from Jesus have particularly
resonated with me this week. So taking heart, and trying not to be afraid - here goes!
A few weeks ago, General Synod debated a motion that would have affirmed the
lives and ministries of LGBTQ+ people in the Church of England. Many had hoped
the Church would take another step forward, towards recognising and celebrating
faithful, loving same-sex relationships. Instead, the motion failed to secure the
necessary votes of support. For many LGBTQ+ Christians, this was more than a
procedural defeat. It felt deeply personal as once again, lives, relationships and
places within the church were debated across the Synod Floor. The vote, another
painful reminder, that the church we all love still struggles to say; you belong.
Obviously, there will be those who will celebrate the decision, but even they must
acknowledge the divisions within the church. Whatever our own views, we cannot
pretend there isn't a storm, which is why today’s Gospel is especially relevant.
We read that Jesus sent the disciples off into a boat ahead of him and the boat was
being battered by waves and the wind was against them. Have you ever felt like that
… and I don’t just mean walking up Ramsay Brow or High Street with the wind in
your face! Those moments where life doesn’t go to plan. The moments when we’re
afraid and wonder whether we have the strength to keep going. Like the disciples on
the lake, we too can feel that we are rowing hard but getting nowhere.
And perhaps that's where today's Gospel speaks most powerfully as we take time to
notice where Jesus is. He isn’t on the shore shouting instructions, or waiting for the
storm to pass. Instead, Jesus comes into the storm. He walks on the very waters that
threaten to overwhelm the disciples, he enters into their place of fear. His first words
to them are not to continue rowing, or for them to prove their faith, instead “take
heart, it is I. Do not be afraid”.
During the storm, Peter steps out of the boat, notices the wind around him and
begins to sink. Crying out, Jesus is there, immediately reaching out his hand and
catching Peter. Not waiting for him to fall. Jesus protects and saves him, I suppose
you could say he acts as Peter’s lifejacket, keeping him afloat when all seems lost.
These words and actions, are as relevant to us today as they were for the disciples.
A firm reminder that the God we love, is with us, knows and loves us completely,
who takes us by the hand and says ‘come.’ Maybe Peter’s greatest moment was not
when he walked on water, but when he discovered that even when he fell, Jesus was
there immediately. Today’s Gospel showing us that faith is not the absence of
storms. Rather, faith is discovering that Jesus is present in the storm, acting as our
life jacket. Our hope and our strength when all seems lost. And that matters deeply
in our lives and in the life of the Church.
Some feel the General Synod let those in same sex relationships down, others
happy with the result. For me, my hope is not ultimately in Synod. My hope is not in
motions or votes. My hope is in Jesus who still walks across stormy seas. The Jesus
who still comes towards people in the middle of their fear. The Jesus who still
reaches immediately for those who are sinking. The Jesus who still whispers, “take
heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.”
Jesus reached for Peter immediately, May we, here in Workington, be the kind of
Church that reflects his heart, let us become, for each other and for our community,
the kind of people who reach out our hands and keep one another afloat, so every
person, whatever they are going through, knows they are loved. Let us be a church
where grace is louder than fear, a place where we say to each other, you belong
here and where we hear the faithful words of Jesus, now and always "Come … Take
heart. It is I. Do not be afraid."
Year A, Trinity 10, Romans 10.5-15; Matthew 14.22-33
Rachel Rose,
“Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” The words from Jesus have particularly
resonated with me this week. So taking heart, and trying not to be afraid - here goes!
A few weeks ago, General Synod debated a motion that would have affirmed the
lives and ministries of LGBTQ+ people in the Church of England. Many had hoped
the Church would take another step forward, towards recognising and celebrating
faithful, loving same-sex relationships. Instead, the motion failed to secure the
necessary votes of support. For many LGBTQ+ Christians, this was more than a
procedural defeat. It felt deeply personal as once again, lives, relationships and
places within the church were debated across the Synod Floor. The vote, another
painful reminder, that the church we all love still struggles to say; you belong.
Obviously, there will be those who will celebrate the decision, but even they must
acknowledge the divisions within the church. Whatever our own views, we cannot
pretend there isn't a storm, which is why today’s Gospel is especially relevant.
We read that Jesus sent the disciples off into a boat ahead of him and the boat was
being battered by waves and the wind was against them. Have you ever felt like that
… and I don’t just mean walking up Ramsay Brow or High Street with the wind in
your face! Those moments where life doesn’t go to plan. The moments when we’re
afraid and wonder whether we have the strength to keep going. Like the disciples on
the lake, we too can feel that we are rowing hard but getting nowhere.
And perhaps that's where today's Gospel speaks most powerfully as we take time to
notice where Jesus is. He isn’t on the shore shouting instructions, or waiting for the
storm to pass. Instead, Jesus comes into the storm. He walks on the very waters that
threaten to overwhelm the disciples, he enters into their place of fear. His first words
to them are not to continue rowing, or for them to prove their faith, instead “take
heart, it is I. Do not be afraid”.
During the storm, Peter steps out of the boat, notices the wind around him and
begins to sink. Crying out, Jesus is there, immediately reaching out his hand and
catching Peter. Not waiting for him to fall. Jesus protects and saves him, I suppose
you could say he acts as Peter’s lifejacket, keeping him afloat when all seems lost.
These words and actions, are as relevant to us today as they were for the disciples.
A firm reminder that the God we love, is with us, knows and loves us completely,
who takes us by the hand and says ‘come.’ Maybe Peter’s greatest moment was not
when he walked on water, but when he discovered that even when he fell, Jesus was
there immediately. Today’s Gospel showing us that faith is not the absence of
storms. Rather, faith is discovering that Jesus is present in the storm, acting as our
life jacket. Our hope and our strength when all seems lost. And that matters deeply
in our lives and in the life of the Church.
Some feel the General Synod let those in same sex relationships down, others
happy with the result. For me, my hope is not ultimately in Synod. My hope is not in
motions or votes. My hope is in Jesus who still walks across stormy seas. The Jesus
who still comes towards people in the middle of their fear. The Jesus who still
reaches immediately for those who are sinking. The Jesus who still whispers, “take
heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.”
Jesus reached for Peter immediately, May we, here in Workington, be the kind of
Church that reflects his heart, let us become, for each other and for our community,
the kind of people who reach out our hands and keep one another afloat, so every
person, whatever they are going through, knows they are loved. Let us be a church
where grace is louder than fear, a place where we say to each other, you belong
here and where we hear the faithful words of Jesus, now and always "Come … Take
heart. It is I. Do not be afraid."
Sermon
Year A, Trinity 5, Zechariah 9.9-12; Matthew 11.16-19, 25-end
Charlotte Lait
When my nephew was very small, like many children he would learn by copying those around him. He used to have very frequent babbled conversations using the closest things to hand, pretending it was a phone. There he would be, chatting casually to a piece of fruit or a bath sponge which he held up to his ear so he could ‘listen’. He would then suddenly declare ‘OK, bye!’ and put it down again. Later he was given a play kitchen and so would come to us with endless ‘cups of tea’, saying ‘hot’ and blowing to show us how to cool it down, just like adults had done for him when giving him hot food. We, of course, would play along.
In this mornings Gospel reading, Jesus compares the people to children. The children in the market place are learning by playing pretend too. Or at least they’re trying to. They’re imitating playing flutes as though they were at a celebration and wailing laments as though they were at a funeral. But they can’t agree between themselves which they are playing at, and nobody is playing along, so they’re falling out and complaining to each other instead. They each don’t get to play what they want or how they had expected, so instead they all miss out on playing altogether. So why is Jesus making this comparison? And what does he mean?
Well to start with, he’s telling them they’re still not getting it right. By saying, ‘To what shall I compare this generation?’ he’s alluding to the generation of people who went into the wilderness with Moses, and they weren’t getting it right either.
We can read in the previous verses that he’s just finished telling everyone about John the Baptist and how he was a prophet, a new Elijah, but that many people had thought he was too stern and ascetic in his lifestyle, so they had rejected that he was speaking God’s word to them. Then Jesus had come along; and quite the opposite to John the Baptist, who had lived an austere life in the wilderness, Jesus had come eating and drinking and getting alongside all the ‘wrong sorts’ of people. So of course they had rejected him too. Jesus is saying that because they’ve refused to recognise God in either of these people, because they aren’t presented in the way they’d expected, they missed out completely. It reminded me of the ‘That’s not my…’ series of baby books, ‘That’s not my puppy, his nose is too shiny.’ ‘That’s not my puppy, his ears are too soft.’ - literary classics I assure you. That’s not my prophet, his shirt is too scratchy. That’s not my messiah, his friends are too risky. But at the end of these books, the child finally recognises their own pet, or teddy, or tractor or whatever it is the book is about. Saying ‘That’s my teddy!’. Are the people going to get that here?
Jesus is telling them that because they’re so concerned about how their envisioned messianic king appears and behaves, they’re missing out altogether on God at work right there in front of their faces. So busy criticising behaviour that they think is improper, that they don’t realise John the Baptist and Jesus are the ones they’ve waited for all this time. Not able to see them for who they are because they’re too fixed in their ways to budge.
The reading we heard from Zechariah this morning comes from a collection of poems and images about the future messianic kingdom. In it we can see the image we find so familiar of a humble king riding into Jerusalem on a donkeyand the people rejoicing. However, the other language used in that passage will have been much more familiar to the audience at the time, and to the Jewish people of Jesus’ time: the image of a triumphant and victorious king. Imagery of battles fought and won on the battlefield and from that a lasting peace for the people of God. Some of it, of course, using imagery and metaphor, but we only know that by reading the Old Testament with Gospel lenses, knowing what is to come. So the people Jesus was speaking to would have been expecting someone else entirely. A mighty warrior who was going to take the nation back by force.
We have a lot to learn from the approach children take to learning and play.
Allowing ourselves time to wonder and question. To imagine. To play. To rest. To learn by making mistakes. To show our emotions in the open as children are able to so beautifully. To find and embrace life’s joys and to allow ourselves to be comforted in the sorrows as a distressed child is comforted by being wrapped up in the arms of someone they love.
The passage ends with arguably one of the most familiar pieces of scripture. ‘Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
Animals yoked together walk alongside each other, are in step with each other, they share the load they are pulling together. Jesus is telling the people at the time, and us now, that our faith is not a burden of rule following, as many of the Jewish people would have thought true at the time, or a stick to beat ourselves with, telling ourselves that if we’re finding our burdens too difficult we just need to buck up and have more faith. It’s a simple message of getting alongside Jesus and being in step with him. In prayer, in worship, in fellowship, by following his example. Through good times and hard. And through that simple offering of ourselves to find that Jesus takes the strain of our burdens alongside us.
Being a whole community who live their lives like this, we can be noticeably different for people around us. Prompting them to notice something in us that they recognise they want. Prompting them to ask the simple question – what do they have that I don’t? Slowly building up God’s kingdom by our faith and example.
When my nephew was very small, like many children he would learn by copying those around him. He used to have very frequent babbled conversations using the closest things to hand, pretending it was a phone. There he would be, chatting casually to a piece of fruit or a bath sponge which he held up to his ear so he could ‘listen’. He would then suddenly declare ‘OK, bye!’ and put it down again. Later he was given a play kitchen and so would come to us with endless ‘cups of tea’, saying ‘hot’ and blowing to show us how to cool it down, just like adults had done for him when giving him hot food. We, of course, would play along.
In this mornings Gospel reading, Jesus compares the people to children. The children in the market place are learning by playing pretend too. Or at least they’re trying to. They’re imitating playing flutes as though they were at a celebration and wailing laments as though they were at a funeral. But they can’t agree between themselves which they are playing at, and nobody is playing along, so they’re falling out and complaining to each other instead. They each don’t get to play what they want or how they had expected, so instead they all miss out on playing altogether. So why is Jesus making this comparison? And what does he mean?
Well to start with, he’s telling them they’re still not getting it right. By saying, ‘To what shall I compare this generation?’ he’s alluding to the generation of people who went into the wilderness with Moses, and they weren’t getting it right either.
We can read in the previous verses that he’s just finished telling everyone about John the Baptist and how he was a prophet, a new Elijah, but that many people had thought he was too stern and ascetic in his lifestyle, so they had rejected that he was speaking God’s word to them. Then Jesus had come along; and quite the opposite to John the Baptist, who had lived an austere life in the wilderness, Jesus had come eating and drinking and getting alongside all the ‘wrong sorts’ of people. So of course they had rejected him too. Jesus is saying that because they’ve refused to recognise God in either of these people, because they aren’t presented in the way they’d expected, they missed out completely. It reminded me of the ‘That’s not my…’ series of baby books, ‘That’s not my puppy, his nose is too shiny.’ ‘That’s not my puppy, his ears are too soft.’ - literary classics I assure you. That’s not my prophet, his shirt is too scratchy. That’s not my messiah, his friends are too risky. But at the end of these books, the child finally recognises their own pet, or teddy, or tractor or whatever it is the book is about. Saying ‘That’s my teddy!’. Are the people going to get that here?
Jesus is telling them that because they’re so concerned about how their envisioned messianic king appears and behaves, they’re missing out altogether on God at work right there in front of their faces. So busy criticising behaviour that they think is improper, that they don’t realise John the Baptist and Jesus are the ones they’ve waited for all this time. Not able to see them for who they are because they’re too fixed in their ways to budge.
The reading we heard from Zechariah this morning comes from a collection of poems and images about the future messianic kingdom. In it we can see the image we find so familiar of a humble king riding into Jerusalem on a donkeyand the people rejoicing. However, the other language used in that passage will have been much more familiar to the audience at the time, and to the Jewish people of Jesus’ time: the image of a triumphant and victorious king. Imagery of battles fought and won on the battlefield and from that a lasting peace for the people of God. Some of it, of course, using imagery and metaphor, but we only know that by reading the Old Testament with Gospel lenses, knowing what is to come. So the people Jesus was speaking to would have been expecting someone else entirely. A mighty warrior who was going to take the nation back by force.
We have a lot to learn from the approach children take to learning and play.
Allowing ourselves time to wonder and question. To imagine. To play. To rest. To learn by making mistakes. To show our emotions in the open as children are able to so beautifully. To find and embrace life’s joys and to allow ourselves to be comforted in the sorrows as a distressed child is comforted by being wrapped up in the arms of someone they love.
The passage ends with arguably one of the most familiar pieces of scripture. ‘Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
Animals yoked together walk alongside each other, are in step with each other, they share the load they are pulling together. Jesus is telling the people at the time, and us now, that our faith is not a burden of rule following, as many of the Jewish people would have thought true at the time, or a stick to beat ourselves with, telling ourselves that if we’re finding our burdens too difficult we just need to buck up and have more faith. It’s a simple message of getting alongside Jesus and being in step with him. In prayer, in worship, in fellowship, by following his example. Through good times and hard. And through that simple offering of ourselves to find that Jesus takes the strain of our burdens alongside us.
Being a whole community who live their lives like this, we can be noticeably different for people around us. Prompting them to notice something in us that they recognise they want. Prompting them to ask the simple question – what do they have that I don’t? Slowly building up God’s kingdom by our faith and example.
Year A, Trinity 5, Zechariah 9.9-12; Matthew 11.16-19, 25-end
Charlotte Lait
When my nephew was very small, like many children he would learn by copying those around him. He used to have very frequent babbled conversations using the closest things to hand, pretending it was a phone. There he would be, chatting casually to a piece of fruit or a bath sponge which he held up to his ear so he could ‘listen’. He would then suddenly declare ‘OK, bye!’ and put it down again. Later he was given a play kitchen and so would come to us with endless ‘cups of tea’, saying ‘hot’ and blowing to show us how to cool it down, just like adults had done for him when giving him hot food. We, of course, would play along.
In this mornings Gospel reading, Jesus compares the people to children. The children in the market place are learning by playing pretend too. Or at least they’re trying to. They’re imitating playing flutes as though they were at a celebration and wailing laments as though they were at a funeral. But they can’t agree between themselves which they are playing at, and nobody is playing along, so they’re falling out and complaining to each other instead. They each don’t get to play what they want or how they had expected, so instead they all miss out on playing altogether. So why is Jesus making this comparison? And what does he mean?
Well to start with, he’s telling them they’re still not getting it right. By saying, ‘To what shall I compare this generation?’ he’s alluding to the generation of people who went into the wilderness with Moses, and they weren’t getting it right either.
We can read in the previous verses that he’s just finished telling everyone about John the Baptist and how he was a prophet, a new Elijah, but that many people had thought he was too stern and ascetic in his lifestyle, so they had rejected that he was speaking God’s word to them. Then Jesus had come along; and quite the opposite to John the Baptist, who had lived an austere life in the wilderness, Jesus had come eating and drinking and getting alongside all the ‘wrong sorts’ of people. So of course they had rejected him too. Jesus is saying that because they’ve refused to recognise God in either of these people, because they aren’t presented in the way they’d expected, they missed out completely. It reminded me of the ‘That’s not my…’ series of baby books, ‘That’s not my puppy, his nose is too shiny.’ ‘That’s not my puppy, his ears are too soft.’ - literary classics I assure you. That’s not my prophet, his shirt is too scratchy. That’s not my messiah, his friends are too risky. But at the end of these books, the child finally recognises their own pet, or teddy, or tractor or whatever it is the book is about. Saying ‘That’s my teddy!’. Are the people going to get that here?
Jesus is telling them that because they’re so concerned about how their envisioned messianic king appears and behaves, they’re missing out altogether on God at work right there in front of their faces. So busy criticising behaviour that they think is improper, that they don’t realise John the Baptist and Jesus are the ones they’ve waited for all this time. Not able to see them for who they are because they’re too fixed in their ways to budge.
The reading we heard from Zechariah this morning comes from a collection of poems and images about the future messianic kingdom. In it we can see the image we find so familiar of a humble king riding into Jerusalem on a donkeyand the people rejoicing. However, the other language used in that passage will have been much more familiar to the audience at the time, and to the Jewish people of Jesus’ time: the image of a triumphant and victorious king. Imagery of battles fought and won on the battlefield and from that a lasting peace for the people of God. Some of it, of course, using imagery and metaphor, but we only know that by reading the Old Testament with Gospel lenses, knowing what is to come. So the people Jesus was speaking to would have been expecting someone else entirely. A mighty warrior who was going to take the nation back by force.
We have a lot to learn from the approach children take to learning and play.
Allowing ourselves time to wonder and question. To imagine. To play. To rest. To learn by making mistakes. To show our emotions in the open as children are able to so beautifully. To find and embrace life’s joys and to allow ourselves to be comforted in the sorrows as a distressed child is comforted by being wrapped up in the arms of someone they love.
The passage ends with arguably one of the most familiar pieces of scripture. ‘Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
Animals yoked together walk alongside each other, are in step with each other, they share the load they are pulling together. Jesus is telling the people at the time, and us now, that our faith is not a burden of rule following, as many of the Jewish people would have thought true at the time, or a stick to beat ourselves with, telling ourselves that if we’re finding our burdens too difficult we just need to buck up and have more faith. It’s a simple message of getting alongside Jesus and being in step with him. In prayer, in worship, in fellowship, by following his example. Through good times and hard. And through that simple offering of ourselves to find that Jesus takes the strain of our burdens alongside us.
Being a whole community who live their lives like this, we can be noticeably different for people around us. Prompting them to notice something in us that they recognise they want. Prompting them to ask the simple question – what do they have that I don’t? Slowly building up God’s kingdom by our faith and example.
When my nephew was very small, like many children he would learn by copying those around him. He used to have very frequent babbled conversations using the closest things to hand, pretending it was a phone. There he would be, chatting casually to a piece of fruit or a bath sponge which he held up to his ear so he could ‘listen’. He would then suddenly declare ‘OK, bye!’ and put it down again. Later he was given a play kitchen and so would come to us with endless ‘cups of tea’, saying ‘hot’ and blowing to show us how to cool it down, just like adults had done for him when giving him hot food. We, of course, would play along.
In this mornings Gospel reading, Jesus compares the people to children. The children in the market place are learning by playing pretend too. Or at least they’re trying to. They’re imitating playing flutes as though they were at a celebration and wailing laments as though they were at a funeral. But they can’t agree between themselves which they are playing at, and nobody is playing along, so they’re falling out and complaining to each other instead. They each don’t get to play what they want or how they had expected, so instead they all miss out on playing altogether. So why is Jesus making this comparison? And what does he mean?
Well to start with, he’s telling them they’re still not getting it right. By saying, ‘To what shall I compare this generation?’ he’s alluding to the generation of people who went into the wilderness with Moses, and they weren’t getting it right either.
We can read in the previous verses that he’s just finished telling everyone about John the Baptist and how he was a prophet, a new Elijah, but that many people had thought he was too stern and ascetic in his lifestyle, so they had rejected that he was speaking God’s word to them. Then Jesus had come along; and quite the opposite to John the Baptist, who had lived an austere life in the wilderness, Jesus had come eating and drinking and getting alongside all the ‘wrong sorts’ of people. So of course they had rejected him too. Jesus is saying that because they’ve refused to recognise God in either of these people, because they aren’t presented in the way they’d expected, they missed out completely. It reminded me of the ‘That’s not my…’ series of baby books, ‘That’s not my puppy, his nose is too shiny.’ ‘That’s not my puppy, his ears are too soft.’ - literary classics I assure you. That’s not my prophet, his shirt is too scratchy. That’s not my messiah, his friends are too risky. But at the end of these books, the child finally recognises their own pet, or teddy, or tractor or whatever it is the book is about. Saying ‘That’s my teddy!’. Are the people going to get that here?
Jesus is telling them that because they’re so concerned about how their envisioned messianic king appears and behaves, they’re missing out altogether on God at work right there in front of their faces. So busy criticising behaviour that they think is improper, that they don’t realise John the Baptist and Jesus are the ones they’ve waited for all this time. Not able to see them for who they are because they’re too fixed in their ways to budge.
The reading we heard from Zechariah this morning comes from a collection of poems and images about the future messianic kingdom. In it we can see the image we find so familiar of a humble king riding into Jerusalem on a donkeyand the people rejoicing. However, the other language used in that passage will have been much more familiar to the audience at the time, and to the Jewish people of Jesus’ time: the image of a triumphant and victorious king. Imagery of battles fought and won on the battlefield and from that a lasting peace for the people of God. Some of it, of course, using imagery and metaphor, but we only know that by reading the Old Testament with Gospel lenses, knowing what is to come. So the people Jesus was speaking to would have been expecting someone else entirely. A mighty warrior who was going to take the nation back by force.
We have a lot to learn from the approach children take to learning and play.
Allowing ourselves time to wonder and question. To imagine. To play. To rest. To learn by making mistakes. To show our emotions in the open as children are able to so beautifully. To find and embrace life’s joys and to allow ourselves to be comforted in the sorrows as a distressed child is comforted by being wrapped up in the arms of someone they love.
The passage ends with arguably one of the most familiar pieces of scripture. ‘Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
Animals yoked together walk alongside each other, are in step with each other, they share the load they are pulling together. Jesus is telling the people at the time, and us now, that our faith is not a burden of rule following, as many of the Jewish people would have thought true at the time, or a stick to beat ourselves with, telling ourselves that if we’re finding our burdens too difficult we just need to buck up and have more faith. It’s a simple message of getting alongside Jesus and being in step with him. In prayer, in worship, in fellowship, by following his example. Through good times and hard. And through that simple offering of ourselves to find that Jesus takes the strain of our burdens alongside us.
Being a whole community who live their lives like this, we can be noticeably different for people around us. Prompting them to notice something in us that they recognise they want. Prompting them to ask the simple question – what do they have that I don’t? Slowly building up God’s kingdom by our faith and example.
7th June 2026
1st Sunday after Trinity, Year A
Charlotte Lait, LLM.
Hosea 5:15 – 6:6, Psalm 50:7-15, Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26.
Well where to start with this morning’s Gospel reading? There’s such a lot packed in to these two episodes which have been presented together – the calling of Matthew and the challenge of the Pharisees in the first episode, and then the healing of the woman suffering from heavy bleeding and the raising of the dead girl in the second. Where to begin?
I think a step back to begin with might be helpful. Matthew’s Gospel was written for a Jewish audience, and there’s some contextual understanding that might be useful for us, but which the original audience wouldn’t have needed to have unpacked for them. Also, its useful to place the reading into the context of the whole Gospel narrative and the structure of the book.
The main body of Matthew’s gospel can be broken down into sections, the first of which announces God’s kingdom, explaining it to be an upside-down kingdom in which the values and norms held by society, especially in terms of status, will not be held in the same regard.
The section this morning’s passage comes from follows that, and demonstrates this unexpected nature of the kingdom of God in the actions of Jesus, as he brings God’s kingdom into the lives of people who are living on the fringes of society and are suffering, to those whom society would deem ‘other’ from themselves.
That’s exactly who we meet in today’s Gospel – Matthew – a tax collector – a man who works gathering money to fund the occupying forces, and whose profession is synonymous with villainy, as manylined their own pockets at the expense of their neighbours. We aren’t told whether he had any desire for change at the time of his calling. All we are told is that he receives the gift of being called into discipleship. The fact that Jesus was prepared to be seen befriending and sharing a meal with people who were working with the Roman authorities would have been shocking. Later, we meet a man who in desperation has broken the Jewish norm of staying at home following the death of a family member, and instead has sought Jesus in an attempt to save his daughter’s life – contrary to what would have been expected of a synagogue leader. And instead of telling him to go home and observe the traditional time of mourning, as we hear otherpeople have already started to do, Jesus goes with him and goes so far as to take the girl’s hand – to touch a dead body. Another shocking act in a time at which death and disease weren’t fully understood. Finally, we meet a woman whose illness has caused heavy bleeding – she would have been considered to be ritually unclean. Women already occupied a lower rung on the social ladder, but she would have been at the bottom. Instead of keeping away from people, as society would have deemed fit, she dares to advocate for herself. To go and find Jesus and in faith to reach out and touch the hem of his clothing, and instead of rebuking her, telling her to get away, he says “Take heart… your faith has healed you.”
There are some challenges in this passage for us today as we live in a country with passionately held opposing views, and are members of a church which holds such different views on subjects such as women in leadership and of how we welcome and include people with different backgrounds, circumstances and identities fully in our church communities. When we say as Christians that we are one in Christ Jesus, and that we are equal in the eyes of God, we do not mean, to paraphrase George Orwell, that some of us are more equal than others, though the lived experiences of many might suggest otherwise. Jesus in our Gospel reading chooses the people whom society would shun. The villain who cheats people from their money and colludes with the enemy, the sick woman, the dead child and her grieving family. Jesus chooses to be on the fringes of society, reaching into places others dare not in a culture of beliefs that a person’s circumstances indicated their standing with God.
There’s a difficult lesson that our worth, our inherent value as a person, does not come from any action we might take, any talent we might have, doesn’t stem from our affluence or poverty, from our age, our gender, our health or our identity. The words from the psalmist and the prophet Hosea this morning remind us that God doesn’t require any thing we might have to offer, and the only thing required of us is love. This can be difficult to believe when society so often sells us the falsehood that value comes from what we can bring to the table, so to use corporate jargon - our success and affluence, our talents and our achievements. God’s word in scripture tells us that all we need bring to this table is ourselves, with open hands and open hearts, prepared to love and be loved.
It is the overflowing of God’s abounding love that drives us to action and service in response. Love that calls us to be Christ like. Christ imitators. Following that example of showing the undeserved and unreserved love of God for the world to those whom society deems unworthy or ‘other’. This can be a challenge too, as it can still be seen as countercultural to reach out to the edges of society and proclaim God’s love there. Demonstrating to people that God loves them, right there, where they are in that moment, and loves us right here and now in this moment, regardless of any convention or barrier of society. Our challenge as Christ’s body, the church, is to be Jesus’ hands reaching out in the same compassion and generosity we read today. Because in the words attributed to St Theresa of Avila,
Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks with
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks with
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
Amen.
1st Sunday after Trinity, Year A
Charlotte Lait, LLM.
Hosea 5:15 – 6:6, Psalm 50:7-15, Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26.
Well where to start with this morning’s Gospel reading? There’s such a lot packed in to these two episodes which have been presented together – the calling of Matthew and the challenge of the Pharisees in the first episode, and then the healing of the woman suffering from heavy bleeding and the raising of the dead girl in the second. Where to begin?
I think a step back to begin with might be helpful. Matthew’s Gospel was written for a Jewish audience, and there’s some contextual understanding that might be useful for us, but which the original audience wouldn’t have needed to have unpacked for them. Also, its useful to place the reading into the context of the whole Gospel narrative and the structure of the book.
The main body of Matthew’s gospel can be broken down into sections, the first of which announces God’s kingdom, explaining it to be an upside-down kingdom in which the values and norms held by society, especially in terms of status, will not be held in the same regard.
The section this morning’s passage comes from follows that, and demonstrates this unexpected nature of the kingdom of God in the actions of Jesus, as he brings God’s kingdom into the lives of people who are living on the fringes of society and are suffering, to those whom society would deem ‘other’ from themselves.
That’s exactly who we meet in today’s Gospel – Matthew – a tax collector – a man who works gathering money to fund the occupying forces, and whose profession is synonymous with villainy, as manylined their own pockets at the expense of their neighbours. We aren’t told whether he had any desire for change at the time of his calling. All we are told is that he receives the gift of being called into discipleship. The fact that Jesus was prepared to be seen befriending and sharing a meal with people who were working with the Roman authorities would have been shocking. Later, we meet a man who in desperation has broken the Jewish norm of staying at home following the death of a family member, and instead has sought Jesus in an attempt to save his daughter’s life – contrary to what would have been expected of a synagogue leader. And instead of telling him to go home and observe the traditional time of mourning, as we hear otherpeople have already started to do, Jesus goes with him and goes so far as to take the girl’s hand – to touch a dead body. Another shocking act in a time at which death and disease weren’t fully understood. Finally, we meet a woman whose illness has caused heavy bleeding – she would have been considered to be ritually unclean. Women already occupied a lower rung on the social ladder, but she would have been at the bottom. Instead of keeping away from people, as society would have deemed fit, she dares to advocate for herself. To go and find Jesus and in faith to reach out and touch the hem of his clothing, and instead of rebuking her, telling her to get away, he says “Take heart… your faith has healed you.”
There are some challenges in this passage for us today as we live in a country with passionately held opposing views, and are members of a church which holds such different views on subjects such as women in leadership and of how we welcome and include people with different backgrounds, circumstances and identities fully in our church communities. When we say as Christians that we are one in Christ Jesus, and that we are equal in the eyes of God, we do not mean, to paraphrase George Orwell, that some of us are more equal than others, though the lived experiences of many might suggest otherwise. Jesus in our Gospel reading chooses the people whom society would shun. The villain who cheats people from their money and colludes with the enemy, the sick woman, the dead child and her grieving family. Jesus chooses to be on the fringes of society, reaching into places others dare not in a culture of beliefs that a person’s circumstances indicated their standing with God.
There’s a difficult lesson that our worth, our inherent value as a person, does not come from any action we might take, any talent we might have, doesn’t stem from our affluence or poverty, from our age, our gender, our health or our identity. The words from the psalmist and the prophet Hosea this morning remind us that God doesn’t require any thing we might have to offer, and the only thing required of us is love. This can be difficult to believe when society so often sells us the falsehood that value comes from what we can bring to the table, so to use corporate jargon - our success and affluence, our talents and our achievements. God’s word in scripture tells us that all we need bring to this table is ourselves, with open hands and open hearts, prepared to love and be loved.
It is the overflowing of God’s abounding love that drives us to action and service in response. Love that calls us to be Christ like. Christ imitators. Following that example of showing the undeserved and unreserved love of God for the world to those whom society deems unworthy or ‘other’. This can be a challenge too, as it can still be seen as countercultural to reach out to the edges of society and proclaim God’s love there. Demonstrating to people that God loves them, right there, where they are in that moment, and loves us right here and now in this moment, regardless of any convention or barrier of society. Our challenge as Christ’s body, the church, is to be Jesus’ hands reaching out in the same compassion and generosity we read today. Because in the words attributed to St Theresa of Avila,
Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks with
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks with
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
Amen.
Sermon 17 May 2026 – 7th of Easter, Year A
Charlotte Lait, LLM
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
“You are now subject to the regulations of the examination. Only materials listed on the question paper are allowed in the room. You must not have on or near you any other material.
Check your pockets now. Check for things such as notes and bits of paper, books, mobile phones, air pods, earphones and ear buds, iPods, smart devices and watches. If you have any of these items in your possession you must hand it to an invigilator now. Failure to do so may lead to disqualification.”
As some of you will know, away from church one of my jobs is to administer the GCSE and A Level examinations. The words I have just read out form part of the notice which is given before every single written exam up and down the country. Despite this notice, and the large posters outside the room with reminders on them, and having been repeatedly told by their teachers, students still bring things to their exams which they ought not to have. Usually, itsbecause they’ve forgotten something is in their pocket or pencil case and they hand it in immediately. And often if they’re found to have something during the exam, its because they’ve forgotten it was there and then failed to check their pockets when they were told to do so.
You’re perhaps left wondering how many times they need to hear the message for it to sink in. How they could possibly forget to check? I think it could be because they’ve heard it so many times that its become white noise – its just too familiar. Or because they’re under such enormous pressure during the exam seasons that their minds are elsewhere. Or it’s a combination of the two, which I think is most likely.
This problem, of course, is not the sole reserve of stressed-out students. We’ve all heard or said the words, “How many times do I have to tell you?” in moments of exasperation. A rhetorical question, because when it is asked its because somebody has failed to take heed of what has been said so many times before.
The passage we heard from John’s gospel takes us right back to Jesus and his disciples before they enter the garden of Gethsemane, before Jesus’ arrest, trial and brutal death; before the confusion and ultimate joy of the resurrection, before Jesus’ appearances to the disciples on the road to Emmaus and in the upper room and on the shore of Galilee. Before the Ascension, which was celebrated by Christians across the world on Thursday of this week, and which we heard recounted again in this morning’s reading from Acts. In our gospel reading, Jesus is preparing the disciples not only for the coming days but also for life without the person of Jesus in their midst. In this he reminds them, that Jesus’ teaching and example have prepared them to continue in the way. And in Acts we hear that the Holy Spirit will come to empower and equip those same disciples, now called the Apostles, as they are sent out to continue spreading the word of God throughout the world.
Scripture, together with the cycle of our church year, reminds us of certain truths and phrases again and again. Phrases like “Do not be afraid.”, instructions to love one another. To trust in God. The repeated theme I hear at this time of year is that God is with us. Again and again throughout the year we hear it in scripture. From reminders of God’s presence with people throughout the Old Testament, to the words given to and spoken by the Prophets, to the words of the angel to Joseph, to the spirit of God empowering the Apostles at the first Pentecost. God is with us. How many times do we need reminding? I wonder how familiar a message needs to be for us to forget that its for all of us here and now. The gospel writer knew, all those thousands of years ago, that we’d need reminding, as we are told exactly what Jesus was praying. We hear plenty of times that Jesus goes off to pray but very rarely are we privy to the words or sentiments of those prayers. Today we are told that Jesus prayed for the people he had been given, for their protection, and reminding them that they had been equipped for the road ahead.
When we open up God’s word in scripture, when we move to the centre of Church for the gospel to hear the words of Jesus spoken in our midst, we are reminded that these words speak afresh to us. These words to the disciples are also for us now. The same goes for Pentecost next Sunday when we recall the coming of the spirit to equip and empower. That gift of the spirit wasn’t just for them then, but is also for us now. The Holy Spirit present with us places us in the ongoing story of God’s work in the world, and equips and empowers us to do God’s work today.
Much like my students at school though, I think we forget this message, either because its too familiar, or because in the challenges and stresses of life we forget to look for God. In our reading from Acts we hear that we don’t need to look upwards to find Jesus’ presence, to encounter God, when God is indeed with us.
So as we stand in this time between Ascension and Pentecost, be reminded again that God is with us in all seasons and circumstances of life. God with us in the beauty of the created world. God with us in the faces of the people we meet every day. God with us in prayer and in our reading of scripture. God with us in bread and wine. God active and present in the world. Being present and attentive to God’s working in our midst is the work of discernment. Seeing where God is, where we are moved to participate in the life of the world around us, and remembering that we are equipped to go and join in. But how many times will we need to be told?
Amen.
Charlotte Lait, LLM
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
“You are now subject to the regulations of the examination. Only materials listed on the question paper are allowed in the room. You must not have on or near you any other material.
Check your pockets now. Check for things such as notes and bits of paper, books, mobile phones, air pods, earphones and ear buds, iPods, smart devices and watches. If you have any of these items in your possession you must hand it to an invigilator now. Failure to do so may lead to disqualification.”
As some of you will know, away from church one of my jobs is to administer the GCSE and A Level examinations. The words I have just read out form part of the notice which is given before every single written exam up and down the country. Despite this notice, and the large posters outside the room with reminders on them, and having been repeatedly told by their teachers, students still bring things to their exams which they ought not to have. Usually, itsbecause they’ve forgotten something is in their pocket or pencil case and they hand it in immediately. And often if they’re found to have something during the exam, its because they’ve forgotten it was there and then failed to check their pockets when they were told to do so.
You’re perhaps left wondering how many times they need to hear the message for it to sink in. How they could possibly forget to check? I think it could be because they’ve heard it so many times that its become white noise – its just too familiar. Or because they’re under such enormous pressure during the exam seasons that their minds are elsewhere. Or it’s a combination of the two, which I think is most likely.
This problem, of course, is not the sole reserve of stressed-out students. We’ve all heard or said the words, “How many times do I have to tell you?” in moments of exasperation. A rhetorical question, because when it is asked its because somebody has failed to take heed of what has been said so many times before.
The passage we heard from John’s gospel takes us right back to Jesus and his disciples before they enter the garden of Gethsemane, before Jesus’ arrest, trial and brutal death; before the confusion and ultimate joy of the resurrection, before Jesus’ appearances to the disciples on the road to Emmaus and in the upper room and on the shore of Galilee. Before the Ascension, which was celebrated by Christians across the world on Thursday of this week, and which we heard recounted again in this morning’s reading from Acts. In our gospel reading, Jesus is preparing the disciples not only for the coming days but also for life without the person of Jesus in their midst. In this he reminds them, that Jesus’ teaching and example have prepared them to continue in the way. And in Acts we hear that the Holy Spirit will come to empower and equip those same disciples, now called the Apostles, as they are sent out to continue spreading the word of God throughout the world.
Scripture, together with the cycle of our church year, reminds us of certain truths and phrases again and again. Phrases like “Do not be afraid.”, instructions to love one another. To trust in God. The repeated theme I hear at this time of year is that God is with us. Again and again throughout the year we hear it in scripture. From reminders of God’s presence with people throughout the Old Testament, to the words given to and spoken by the Prophets, to the words of the angel to Joseph, to the spirit of God empowering the Apostles at the first Pentecost. God is with us. How many times do we need reminding? I wonder how familiar a message needs to be for us to forget that its for all of us here and now. The gospel writer knew, all those thousands of years ago, that we’d need reminding, as we are told exactly what Jesus was praying. We hear plenty of times that Jesus goes off to pray but very rarely are we privy to the words or sentiments of those prayers. Today we are told that Jesus prayed for the people he had been given, for their protection, and reminding them that they had been equipped for the road ahead.
When we open up God’s word in scripture, when we move to the centre of Church for the gospel to hear the words of Jesus spoken in our midst, we are reminded that these words speak afresh to us. These words to the disciples are also for us now. The same goes for Pentecost next Sunday when we recall the coming of the spirit to equip and empower. That gift of the spirit wasn’t just for them then, but is also for us now. The Holy Spirit present with us places us in the ongoing story of God’s work in the world, and equips and empowers us to do God’s work today.
Much like my students at school though, I think we forget this message, either because its too familiar, or because in the challenges and stresses of life we forget to look for God. In our reading from Acts we hear that we don’t need to look upwards to find Jesus’ presence, to encounter God, when God is indeed with us.
So as we stand in this time between Ascension and Pentecost, be reminded again that God is with us in all seasons and circumstances of life. God with us in the beauty of the created world. God with us in the faces of the people we meet every day. God with us in prayer and in our reading of scripture. God with us in bread and wine. God active and present in the world. Being present and attentive to God’s working in our midst is the work of discernment. Seeing where God is, where we are moved to participate in the life of the world around us, and remembering that we are equipped to go and join in. But how many times will we need to be told?
Amen.
Sermon 26 April 2026 4th of Easter A – Vocations Sunday
John 10:1-10, Acts 2:42-end. Charlotte Lait.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
St Francis of Assisi, who lived around 800 years ago, wrote a poem called The Canticle of the Creatures. It was used as inspiration for the great hymn All Creatures of Our God and King, which will be familiar to many of us. In it, Francis describes the whole created order of the universe, every aspect of life and experience, praising God in joyous unity. Each described as siblings in the same enormous family, and each with their role to play as they work together for the glory of God. Brother Fire, sister Moon, brother wind, sister water. There is no aspect of life or experience which is left out, as Francis even includes our sister, bodily death, as giving glory to God in her own way.
It came to my mind this week as I prepared to speak on this Vocations Sunday, which is being marked right now in churches up and down the country. Vocation, in my humble opinion, is a much-misunderstood term, as in church contexts some use it narrowly to describe those called to a leadership role. Only to those called to preach God’s word and to celebrate the sacraments, and to those precious few called to the vowed religious life of a monk or nun. These of course are vocations, and are valuable ones to which God certainly calls people in every generation and strand of life. However, to apply this notion of vocation only to this very particular group of callings does a great disservice to the many ways in which people have devoted their work and talents to the glory of God over hundreds of years. As stonemasons, for example, whose work inspires awe and wonder in those who’ve seen their work over hundreds of years, whether of strong faith or none. As typesetters who first committed scripture to a widely accessible format. As those who taught children to read in Sunday schools before education was widely accessible to all children. As faithful doctors, nurses, mill workers, miners, lawyers, bin collectors, seamstresses and any other profession you can think of. All of this great company of the faithful who have gone before us, who have given every aspect of their lives to the service of God and each other. Each serving and praising God in their own wayas together in their church communities they discerned how they were called to serve God in service of each other. In creating music, providing hospitality, taking care of the building, ironing the altar linens, reading in church, in administration and balancing the books, polishing the brass, mowing the grass, visiting the sick and housebound. All vocations lived out to the glory of God.
In our reading this morning, we heard from the Acts of the Apostles. The story of the first followers of Jesus as they established the early church. In it we hear their core focus, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” That’s it. Sounds remarkably simple doesn’t it. They learnt about God. They shared time together. They broke bread together. They prayed. And by the power of the spirit, their numbers grew. The book goes on to tell us how in each church, people worked out how they would best function together as a community growing in the power of the spirit. In dedicating themselves to their faith and being attentive to the prompting of the spirit, they discerned their different roles. We read later in the New Testament that St Paul writes to the church in Corinth, reminding them that they each have a role to play in the body of Christ, and that each part is not more or less important, but forms part of the whole. Each enabling the other and building up the whole community.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus is speaking to a group of Pharisees using imagery of sheep with a shepherd. A familiar picture. The good shepherd cares for the sheep and keeps them safe. When the shepherd calls, the sheep hear the shepherds voice and they follow. The calling to follow isn’t just for a select few sheep who stand at the front, but the whole flock and for other flocks which come and join them. The God who calls us into community with each other, to share together in devoting ourselves to learning and fellowship, to breaking bread and prayer, calls all of us to share our time and talents for Their glory, not just a select few. To build one another up in discipleship and in service of each other. We are shown in Acts how that dedication to being disciples first and foremost can build our faith into one which saturates our whole lives and is inviting to those around us, and through which we can listen for the prompting of the spirit, the voice of the shepherd, guiding us to the roles which are best for each of us.
So today as we are asked to consider vocations, pray first thanks that we are called to be a community of faith together and that God calls each one of us They have created to work together in joyous unity, as siblings in an enormous family that spans the ages, in a place in which hands have shared peace for centuries. Then pray that God will move us each to dedicate ourselves again to the apostles teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers, and for the discernment of the spirit which comes from that, so that we may each play our part, in giving of our time and talents, in the building up of God’s kingdom here in Workington. A vocation which is for all of us, not for the select few, from a God who promises us life in all its great abundance.
John 10:1-10, Acts 2:42-end. Charlotte Lait.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
St Francis of Assisi, who lived around 800 years ago, wrote a poem called The Canticle of the Creatures. It was used as inspiration for the great hymn All Creatures of Our God and King, which will be familiar to many of us. In it, Francis describes the whole created order of the universe, every aspect of life and experience, praising God in joyous unity. Each described as siblings in the same enormous family, and each with their role to play as they work together for the glory of God. Brother Fire, sister Moon, brother wind, sister water. There is no aspect of life or experience which is left out, as Francis even includes our sister, bodily death, as giving glory to God in her own way.
It came to my mind this week as I prepared to speak on this Vocations Sunday, which is being marked right now in churches up and down the country. Vocation, in my humble opinion, is a much-misunderstood term, as in church contexts some use it narrowly to describe those called to a leadership role. Only to those called to preach God’s word and to celebrate the sacraments, and to those precious few called to the vowed religious life of a monk or nun. These of course are vocations, and are valuable ones to which God certainly calls people in every generation and strand of life. However, to apply this notion of vocation only to this very particular group of callings does a great disservice to the many ways in which people have devoted their work and talents to the glory of God over hundreds of years. As stonemasons, for example, whose work inspires awe and wonder in those who’ve seen their work over hundreds of years, whether of strong faith or none. As typesetters who first committed scripture to a widely accessible format. As those who taught children to read in Sunday schools before education was widely accessible to all children. As faithful doctors, nurses, mill workers, miners, lawyers, bin collectors, seamstresses and any other profession you can think of. All of this great company of the faithful who have gone before us, who have given every aspect of their lives to the service of God and each other. Each serving and praising God in their own wayas together in their church communities they discerned how they were called to serve God in service of each other. In creating music, providing hospitality, taking care of the building, ironing the altar linens, reading in church, in administration and balancing the books, polishing the brass, mowing the grass, visiting the sick and housebound. All vocations lived out to the glory of God.
In our reading this morning, we heard from the Acts of the Apostles. The story of the first followers of Jesus as they established the early church. In it we hear their core focus, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” That’s it. Sounds remarkably simple doesn’t it. They learnt about God. They shared time together. They broke bread together. They prayed. And by the power of the spirit, their numbers grew. The book goes on to tell us how in each church, people worked out how they would best function together as a community growing in the power of the spirit. In dedicating themselves to their faith and being attentive to the prompting of the spirit, they discerned their different roles. We read later in the New Testament that St Paul writes to the church in Corinth, reminding them that they each have a role to play in the body of Christ, and that each part is not more or less important, but forms part of the whole. Each enabling the other and building up the whole community.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus is speaking to a group of Pharisees using imagery of sheep with a shepherd. A familiar picture. The good shepherd cares for the sheep and keeps them safe. When the shepherd calls, the sheep hear the shepherds voice and they follow. The calling to follow isn’t just for a select few sheep who stand at the front, but the whole flock and for other flocks which come and join them. The God who calls us into community with each other, to share together in devoting ourselves to learning and fellowship, to breaking bread and prayer, calls all of us to share our time and talents for Their glory, not just a select few. To build one another up in discipleship and in service of each other. We are shown in Acts how that dedication to being disciples first and foremost can build our faith into one which saturates our whole lives and is inviting to those around us, and through which we can listen for the prompting of the spirit, the voice of the shepherd, guiding us to the roles which are best for each of us.
So today as we are asked to consider vocations, pray first thanks that we are called to be a community of faith together and that God calls each one of us They have created to work together in joyous unity, as siblings in an enormous family that spans the ages, in a place in which hands have shared peace for centuries. Then pray that God will move us each to dedicate ourselves again to the apostles teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers, and for the discernment of the spirit which comes from that, so that we may each play our part, in giving of our time and talents, in the building up of God’s kingdom here in Workington. A vocation which is for all of us, not for the select few, from a God who promises us life in all its great abundance.
1 March 2026 Second Sunday of Lent A
John 3:1-17, Romans 4:1-5 13-17.
Charlotte Lait
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
But this is the way we’ve always done it.
Even if it’s not said aloud, we’ve all thought it at least once before in our lives. But this is the way I’ve always done it. It’s a sentiment often voiced or thought in the face of the new and the different. The other. The thing we don’t understand or perhaps don’t see the need for.
I imagine though that many will have said the same when the church authorised services to be said in English, not in Latin. Or when my grandfather, born 1919, was designing the electric lighting for churches like The Priory Church at Bolton Abbey. This is the way we’ve always done it. I suspect that people were afraid of it changing, or even spoiling, their much-loved churches. Why change from the time-honoured combination of daylight and candlelight if they work? I also reckon that after a few weeks, people were starting to get used to it. And may even have experienced that lightbulb moment, if you’ll excuse the pun, of realising that it wasn’t spoiled after all. They could just see better. In fact, I’m sure that many now would argue that having electric lighting in even the most ancient of church spaces makes them more accessible.
In our Gospel this morning, we hear a conversation between Jesus and a man named Nicodemus. Nicodemus was a Pharisee, and a well-respected leader in his community. He was well born, enjoyed good standing in society and had a good understanding of his faith. The negative views of the Pharisees tell us that they were very legalistic – concerned with following the rules and doing the right things in order to gain favour with God – but some of the positives were that they were also concerned with taking the practices of their faith outside the temple into their everyday lives and making them more accessible to everyone, not just to the select few from the faith community. They were also political influencers, who wanted to preserve Judaism and protect the identity of God’s people. God’s people at the time being understood as the descendants of Abraham, which is why we heard about him in this morning’s reading.
Nicodemus meeting with Jesus would have been a dangerous thing to do. This conversation in John’s Gospel is presented shortly after Jesus had driven the money changers out of the temple. He’s already been causing huge controversy with the Jewish leaders. If Nicodemus was caught speaking to this radical teacher, his social standing could have been ruined, and he could have found himself shunned from him community. There was a lot at stake. I always thought as a child that Nicodemus’ question to Jesus about re-entering the womb was just plain silly, but of course I’ve learnt since then that there’s no such thing as a silly question, only an unhelpful answer that doesn’t foster understanding. He had the courage to ask a question of Jesus, the courage to challenge what he’d been raised to believe. He had the courage to listen to what Jesus had to say, to engage fully in the conversation and subsequent soul searching, and of course later we know that he’d have the courage to be associated with Jesus in a public forum by helping Joseph of Arimathea in preparing Jesus body to be buried. Why bother to upset the apple cart by doing these things if he was already of good standing, already well born, already one of God’s people? Surely the way he’d always done it was good? Maybe he realised that what he had now, whilst good, wasn’t the best God had for him.
So here’s a question. Do we have the courage of Nicodemus now? Do we dare to ask the right questions of our faith? Ask the right questions of the teaching we hear and the decisions our church makes, right up to the highest level? Its one thing though to ask the questions, but another to dare to listen for the answers, to engage in that soul searching and to make changes when they’re needed. To change our minds in the face of new wisdom. To ask, is what there is now the best God has for us?
The season of Lent enables us to look at our lives and see which of our actions and decisions, as individuals, as communities and a national church, are challenged by the gaze of a loving God. And when we’ve heard the challenge, to pray for the courage shown by Nicodemus, to find out what God’s best for us might be. Amen.
John 3:1-17, Romans 4:1-5 13-17.
Charlotte Lait
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
But this is the way we’ve always done it.
Even if it’s not said aloud, we’ve all thought it at least once before in our lives. But this is the way I’ve always done it. It’s a sentiment often voiced or thought in the face of the new and the different. The other. The thing we don’t understand or perhaps don’t see the need for.
I imagine though that many will have said the same when the church authorised services to be said in English, not in Latin. Or when my grandfather, born 1919, was designing the electric lighting for churches like The Priory Church at Bolton Abbey. This is the way we’ve always done it. I suspect that people were afraid of it changing, or even spoiling, their much-loved churches. Why change from the time-honoured combination of daylight and candlelight if they work? I also reckon that after a few weeks, people were starting to get used to it. And may even have experienced that lightbulb moment, if you’ll excuse the pun, of realising that it wasn’t spoiled after all. They could just see better. In fact, I’m sure that many now would argue that having electric lighting in even the most ancient of church spaces makes them more accessible.
In our Gospel this morning, we hear a conversation between Jesus and a man named Nicodemus. Nicodemus was a Pharisee, and a well-respected leader in his community. He was well born, enjoyed good standing in society and had a good understanding of his faith. The negative views of the Pharisees tell us that they were very legalistic – concerned with following the rules and doing the right things in order to gain favour with God – but some of the positives were that they were also concerned with taking the practices of their faith outside the temple into their everyday lives and making them more accessible to everyone, not just to the select few from the faith community. They were also political influencers, who wanted to preserve Judaism and protect the identity of God’s people. God’s people at the time being understood as the descendants of Abraham, which is why we heard about him in this morning’s reading.
Nicodemus meeting with Jesus would have been a dangerous thing to do. This conversation in John’s Gospel is presented shortly after Jesus had driven the money changers out of the temple. He’s already been causing huge controversy with the Jewish leaders. If Nicodemus was caught speaking to this radical teacher, his social standing could have been ruined, and he could have found himself shunned from him community. There was a lot at stake. I always thought as a child that Nicodemus’ question to Jesus about re-entering the womb was just plain silly, but of course I’ve learnt since then that there’s no such thing as a silly question, only an unhelpful answer that doesn’t foster understanding. He had the courage to ask a question of Jesus, the courage to challenge what he’d been raised to believe. He had the courage to listen to what Jesus had to say, to engage fully in the conversation and subsequent soul searching, and of course later we know that he’d have the courage to be associated with Jesus in a public forum by helping Joseph of Arimathea in preparing Jesus body to be buried. Why bother to upset the apple cart by doing these things if he was already of good standing, already well born, already one of God’s people? Surely the way he’d always done it was good? Maybe he realised that what he had now, whilst good, wasn’t the best God had for him.
So here’s a question. Do we have the courage of Nicodemus now? Do we dare to ask the right questions of our faith? Ask the right questions of the teaching we hear and the decisions our church makes, right up to the highest level? Its one thing though to ask the questions, but another to dare to listen for the answers, to engage in that soul searching and to make changes when they’re needed. To change our minds in the face of new wisdom. To ask, is what there is now the best God has for us?
The season of Lent enables us to look at our lives and see which of our actions and decisions, as individuals, as communities and a national church, are challenged by the gaze of a loving God. And when we’ve heard the challenge, to pray for the courage shown by Nicodemus, to find out what God’s best for us might be. Amen.
15 February 2026 – Next before Lent A
Matthew 17.1-9
Charlotte Lait
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
As we approach the season of Lent, many of us will again be reflecting on what we’re each going to give up, take on or generally do to change ourselves for the better. My Mum was a great advocate for giving up what she called the three Cs: chocolate, chips and crisps. And of course, when Easter arrived, they were all back on the menu. Abstaining from certain things as a Lenten fast might be just the spiritual discipline you need each year, but for me, my observance of Lent is more about discerning whether I feel moved to change a habit that doesn’t align with my faith, such as reducing the amount of plastic I use or making a more conscious choice to walk instead of taking the car. During Lent we are invited to spend more time with God in prayer and study, to reflect on our lives of faith and to gently reorientate ourselves to the path God calls us to follow.
As we set our sights on the upcoming season, we are offered the Transfiguration as our Gospel reading today – Matthew’s account of the disciples, Peter, James and John, witnessing the glorious transformation of Jesus in radiant light, seeing Moses and Elijah talking with him, and of hearing the voice of God.
My initial reflections on this reading were three things; that first, they had to walk up the mountain, then that they had to walk down the mountain again, and thirdly that God did not stay on the mountain top.
First, they had to walk up the mountain. They had to toil and sweat, lose the path, stop for breath. They turned around to look at the view from part way up. They will have talked and spent time in amicable silence. They did not walk up the mountain alone.
Afterwards, they had to walk down the mountain and away from the place in which they’d experienced something truly life changing – going back to their daily lives, with all of its everyday demands and decisions – as much as it may have been tempting to try and preserve the moment and stay there.
God did not stay at the top of the mountain. God in the person of Jesus walked alongside them, back into their everyday lives.
The final thought though is the one I think is the most important. When the disciples returned to their lives, they too had been transfigured. Changed forever by their mountain top experience. They will have taken that experience back with them and it will have transformed how they viewed and interacted with the world around them.
Last week, the General Synod of the Church of England met in London to faithfully discuss, debate and make decisions which shape the management of our national church, which in turn shapes our lives of faith in the various diocese of the church and in our parishes. Now that through the wonder of modern technology we are able to watch recordings of the debates of synod, I have been known on occasion to listen in on some of the debates. I must add though that I tend to listen to these discussions sped up, so as to get through some of the business a bit quicker but still consider myself informed. Even if the items being discussed are close to my heart or I consider them to be particularly interesting or controversial, the debates themselves can be a little dry. The work of General Synod is not done on the mountain top, but that does not mean that God isn’t at work in it.
Much of the work we are called to do as churches does not take place at the top of the mountain, but in the valleys, where things grow. And as we all know, growing things takes time and effort.
God is in the workings. Is in the soil being planted. Is in the rays of the sun felt so keenly on the mountain top, but still present in the valley. Is in the more usual liquid sunshine we seem to experience so often here in Cumbria.
God is in the ordinary. The everyday. In our lived experiences. The faces of friends and strangers. In laughter and grief shared. In the beauty of the world around us. God is in our worship, in word, sacrament and fellowship. When we live lives in which we notice the light which lit up Christ’s face, and those of Moses and Elijah, in other people and the world around us, we shine with that same light. Living as the transfigured people of God, doesn’t mean that we all have to give up who we are, our essential natures, but its more about reorientating ourselves to be more perceptive of God’s presence with us and to walk the paths we are called to follow. Yes, on the mountain top, in the glorious and rare experiences of life in which we can see Christ’s light shining brightly, but also in the valley. It’s the same light which can be seen in the ordinary and everyday.
When reflecting on the transfiguration and the presence of God in the everyday, I was reminded of a poem by the late Irish poet Paul Durcan. Which whilst it is slightly longer, I’d like to share with you now.
The 12 O’Clock Mass, Roundstone, County Galway, 28 July 2002
On Sunday 28th of July 2002 –
The summer it rained almost every day –
In rain we strolled down the road
To the church on the hill overlooking the sea.
I had been told to expect “a fast Mass”.
Twenty minutes. A piece of information
Which disconcerted me.
Out onto the altar hurried
A short, plump priest in late middle age
With a horn of silver hair,
In green chasuble billowing
Like a poncho or a caftan over
White surplice and a pair
Of Reeboks – mammoth trainers.
He whizzed along,
Saying the readings himself as well as the Gospel;
Yet he spoke with conviction and with clarity;
His every action an action
Of what looked like effortless concentration;
Like Tiger Woods on top of his form.
His brief homily concluded with a solemn request.
To the congregation he gravely announced:
“I want each of you to pray for a special intention,
A very special intention.
I want each of you – in the sanctity of your souls –
To pray that, in the All-Ireland
Championship hurling quarter-final this afternoon in Croke Park,
Clare will beat Galway.”
The congregation splashed into laughter
And the church became a place of effortless prayer.
He whizzed through the Consecration
As if the Consecration was something
That occurs at every moment of the day and night;
As if betrayal and the overcoming of betrayal
Were an every-minute occurrence.
As if the Consecration were the “now”
In the “now” of the Hail Mary prayer:
“Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.”
At the Sign of the Peace he again went sombre
As he instructed the congregation:
“I want each of you to turn around and say to each other:
‘You are beautiful.’”
The congregation was flabbergasted, but everyone fluttered
And swung around and uttered that extraordinary phrase:
“You are beautiful.”
I shook hands with at least five strangers,
Two men and three women, to each of them saying:
“You are beautiful.” And they to me:
“You are beautiful.”
At the end of Mass, exactly twenty-one minutes,
The priest advised: “Go now and enjoy yourselves
For that is what God made you to do –
To go out there and enjoy yourselves
And to pray that, in the All-Ireland
Championship hurling quarter-final between Clare and Galway
In Croke Park, Clare will win.”
After Mass, the rain had drained away
Into a tide of sunlight on which we sailed out
To St Macdara’s Island and dipped our sails –
Both of us smiling, radiant sinners.
In a game of pure delight, Clare beat Galway by one point:
Clare 1 goal and 17 points, Galway 19 points.
“Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.”
Amen.
Matthew 17.1-9
Charlotte Lait
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
As we approach the season of Lent, many of us will again be reflecting on what we’re each going to give up, take on or generally do to change ourselves for the better. My Mum was a great advocate for giving up what she called the three Cs: chocolate, chips and crisps. And of course, when Easter arrived, they were all back on the menu. Abstaining from certain things as a Lenten fast might be just the spiritual discipline you need each year, but for me, my observance of Lent is more about discerning whether I feel moved to change a habit that doesn’t align with my faith, such as reducing the amount of plastic I use or making a more conscious choice to walk instead of taking the car. During Lent we are invited to spend more time with God in prayer and study, to reflect on our lives of faith and to gently reorientate ourselves to the path God calls us to follow.
As we set our sights on the upcoming season, we are offered the Transfiguration as our Gospel reading today – Matthew’s account of the disciples, Peter, James and John, witnessing the glorious transformation of Jesus in radiant light, seeing Moses and Elijah talking with him, and of hearing the voice of God.
My initial reflections on this reading were three things; that first, they had to walk up the mountain, then that they had to walk down the mountain again, and thirdly that God did not stay on the mountain top.
First, they had to walk up the mountain. They had to toil and sweat, lose the path, stop for breath. They turned around to look at the view from part way up. They will have talked and spent time in amicable silence. They did not walk up the mountain alone.
Afterwards, they had to walk down the mountain and away from the place in which they’d experienced something truly life changing – going back to their daily lives, with all of its everyday demands and decisions – as much as it may have been tempting to try and preserve the moment and stay there.
God did not stay at the top of the mountain. God in the person of Jesus walked alongside them, back into their everyday lives.
The final thought though is the one I think is the most important. When the disciples returned to their lives, they too had been transfigured. Changed forever by their mountain top experience. They will have taken that experience back with them and it will have transformed how they viewed and interacted with the world around them.
Last week, the General Synod of the Church of England met in London to faithfully discuss, debate and make decisions which shape the management of our national church, which in turn shapes our lives of faith in the various diocese of the church and in our parishes. Now that through the wonder of modern technology we are able to watch recordings of the debates of synod, I have been known on occasion to listen in on some of the debates. I must add though that I tend to listen to these discussions sped up, so as to get through some of the business a bit quicker but still consider myself informed. Even if the items being discussed are close to my heart or I consider them to be particularly interesting or controversial, the debates themselves can be a little dry. The work of General Synod is not done on the mountain top, but that does not mean that God isn’t at work in it.
Much of the work we are called to do as churches does not take place at the top of the mountain, but in the valleys, where things grow. And as we all know, growing things takes time and effort.
God is in the workings. Is in the soil being planted. Is in the rays of the sun felt so keenly on the mountain top, but still present in the valley. Is in the more usual liquid sunshine we seem to experience so often here in Cumbria.
God is in the ordinary. The everyday. In our lived experiences. The faces of friends and strangers. In laughter and grief shared. In the beauty of the world around us. God is in our worship, in word, sacrament and fellowship. When we live lives in which we notice the light which lit up Christ’s face, and those of Moses and Elijah, in other people and the world around us, we shine with that same light. Living as the transfigured people of God, doesn’t mean that we all have to give up who we are, our essential natures, but its more about reorientating ourselves to be more perceptive of God’s presence with us and to walk the paths we are called to follow. Yes, on the mountain top, in the glorious and rare experiences of life in which we can see Christ’s light shining brightly, but also in the valley. It’s the same light which can be seen in the ordinary and everyday.
When reflecting on the transfiguration and the presence of God in the everyday, I was reminded of a poem by the late Irish poet Paul Durcan. Which whilst it is slightly longer, I’d like to share with you now.
The 12 O’Clock Mass, Roundstone, County Galway, 28 July 2002
On Sunday 28th of July 2002 –
The summer it rained almost every day –
In rain we strolled down the road
To the church on the hill overlooking the sea.
I had been told to expect “a fast Mass”.
Twenty minutes. A piece of information
Which disconcerted me.
Out onto the altar hurried
A short, plump priest in late middle age
With a horn of silver hair,
In green chasuble billowing
Like a poncho or a caftan over
White surplice and a pair
Of Reeboks – mammoth trainers.
He whizzed along,
Saying the readings himself as well as the Gospel;
Yet he spoke with conviction and with clarity;
His every action an action
Of what looked like effortless concentration;
Like Tiger Woods on top of his form.
His brief homily concluded with a solemn request.
To the congregation he gravely announced:
“I want each of you to pray for a special intention,
A very special intention.
I want each of you – in the sanctity of your souls –
To pray that, in the All-Ireland
Championship hurling quarter-final this afternoon in Croke Park,
Clare will beat Galway.”
The congregation splashed into laughter
And the church became a place of effortless prayer.
He whizzed through the Consecration
As if the Consecration was something
That occurs at every moment of the day and night;
As if betrayal and the overcoming of betrayal
Were an every-minute occurrence.
As if the Consecration were the “now”
In the “now” of the Hail Mary prayer:
“Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.”
At the Sign of the Peace he again went sombre
As he instructed the congregation:
“I want each of you to turn around and say to each other:
‘You are beautiful.’”
The congregation was flabbergasted, but everyone fluttered
And swung around and uttered that extraordinary phrase:
“You are beautiful.”
I shook hands with at least five strangers,
Two men and three women, to each of them saying:
“You are beautiful.” And they to me:
“You are beautiful.”
At the end of Mass, exactly twenty-one minutes,
The priest advised: “Go now and enjoy yourselves
For that is what God made you to do –
To go out there and enjoy yourselves
And to pray that, in the All-Ireland
Championship hurling quarter-final between Clare and Galway
In Croke Park, Clare will win.”
After Mass, the rain had drained away
Into a tide of sunlight on which we sailed out
To St Macdara’s Island and dipped our sails –
Both of us smiling, radiant sinners.
In a game of pure delight, Clare beat Galway by one point:
Clare 1 goal and 17 points, Galway 19 points.
“Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.”
Amen.
Benefice of WorkingtonDerwent-
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