St Columba’s Church was decorated with a thought-provoking display for the Christmas market weekend of 7-8 December 2019. Emphasising the topical need to care for creation, exhibits from church and community groups included recycled materials and highlighted environmental issues.
A sermon preached by the Reverend Trevor Jamison at
Saint Columba’s United Reformed Church, November 24th 2019
The Feast of Christ the King
Jeremiah 23:1-6; Colossians 1:15-20; Luke 23:33-43
‘’One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him [Jesus] and saying, “are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? … Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”’ (23:39, 40, 42)
‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Or, on this Sunday where we celebrate the Reign of Christ as King, to put it the other way around:
Your kingdom come;
Remember me;
Jesus.
Your kingdom come: if Jesus has a kingdom then it follows that Jesus is a king, but what sort of king is Jesus? Well, he’s the most spectacular failure of a king that there has ever been.
In Luke’s Gospel there are people who are eager to label Jesus as king, but they don’t mean it as a compliment; they say it scoffingly, with scorn and derision. Luke tells us, ‘there was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”’ (23:38) And who put that placard, that sign, with this inscription at the top of the cross? Pontius Pilate, the representative of the Roman empire. It was he who had it nailed up there, along with Jesus. And he had it – and Jesus – put there as a statement of what a failure he considered Jesus to be. He also put it and Jesus on the cross as a reminder to everyone of what happened to people who claimed kingship without getting Roman imperial consent first: the horrible, horrible death of crucifixion.
And it was the same with his soldiers. Roman soldiers, for only they were authorised to carry out crucifixions, who ‘also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “if you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”’ (23:37) And in making this mockery of Jesus as a failed king, Pilate and his troops were also mocking the Jewish people: “look everyone, this is the nearest thing to a king that the Jews can manage: no political authority, no military power, with an instrument of execution for his royal throne.” What a failure as king Jesus appears to be, hung on his cross, numbered among the criminals, at ‘the place which is called The Skull.’ (23:33) As the Brian Wren hymn puts it:
Here hangs a man discarded,
A scarecrow hoisted high,
A nonsense pointing nowhere
To all who hurry by.
Brian Wren (1936 – ) (R&S 225)
And by the political standards of his day (and our day) as far as being a King or any sort of ruler is concerned, Jesus is indeed, ‘a nonsense pointing nowhere’. He is not rich, he is not powerful, he has no palace, no retinue, no army. What sort of kingship is that?
Remember me: those with power and their representatives might mock Jesus but a criminal on a cross seems to think that Jesus is some sort of king: Jesus, when you come into your kingdom, remember me. This man is at the agonised end of a life that might not have been much to write home about in the first place: ‘we are getting what we deserve for our deeds,’ he tells his companion on the other side of Jesus. (23:41) Yet, at a moment when things are as bad as bad can be for any human being, he is hopeful that Jesus is the sort of king who might remember him. He is hopeful that Jesus is a good-shepherd king, one like those envisaged by the prophet Jeremiah. He hopes Jesus is a good-shepherd king who will seek out and rescue those like him, one who like sheep, have wondered far astray from life as it should be lived. ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
How amazing would it be if God remembered you and me? In one of the funeral services in the United Reformed Church’s Worship Book we pray ‘while we live, they will not be forgotten among us,’ and also, ‘may the good things of their life leave a trace on earth.’ Humanist funerals, which are increasingly popular these days, work on the basis that any continued existence that we have after death comes by “living on” in the memories of others. Of course, once the others who remember us have died, then … Seen in this light, maybe that’s why so many people nowadays hunger after being a celebrity. Being known and remembered by so many others is the best way we humans can achieve a sort of eternal life … at least, until our show is cancelled.
With God, however, we hope that things are different. To quote again from the URC Worship Book: ‘in your eternal love [O God], they will never be lost.’ Anyone who believes in God probably doesn’t have too much of a problem with seeing God as King of the universe, as the eternal ruler of the ceaseless round of circling planets singing on their way,’ as another hymn writer puts it. (Eternal Ruler of the Ceaseless Round by J. W. Chadwick (1840-1904) R&S 623) What really blows my mind, however, is the idea that the maker and sustainer not only of the singing planets, but the solar systems and the galaxies, which are beyond number, has the time and the inclination, to remember me.
Yet here’s the king of the universe, nailed to the cross in the guise of a failed king, remembering the sort of people to whom most other people wouldn’t give a thought. The image of the invisible God,’ as it says in Colossians, ‘the first born of all creation,’ in or by whom, ‘all things in heaven and earth were created,’ (1:15, 16) expresses forgiveness – ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing’ (23:34) – and offers salvation: ‘truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’ (23:43) It rewrites human ideas of what constitutes kingship. From the perspective how human beings have understood and practised kingship, it’s a nonsense and failure, but Jesus’s brand of kingship has long outlived Pontius Pilate, Herod Antipas and a whole host of other kings, rulers, emperors and presidents, so Jesus a very successful failure as King.
Kingdom, remembering … Jesus: ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Today’s the last Sunday of the Church’s liturgical year. Next Sunday, Advent begins another year of re-telling the story of God’s dealings with God’s creation, including with you and me. It’s a story that ends with a reminder that God is king, but in a way that sets the standard for what constitutes good human kingship, not the other way around. God is mighty, in ways beyond our greatest imaginings, for God is the creator of all that is, all that has been, and all that is to come. Yet, at the same time – and this is the good news – no matter how tiny and insignificant we are, no matter how good or bad we are, God remembers and loves each one of us, now and for ever.
And the way we know that and are able to respond to God’s love is through Jesus Christ. In today’s Gospel reading we’re confronted with that pivotal moment where God’s remembers us even to the point of dying for us. Earlier in the sermon, I said that Jesus was a king without a retinue, but that’s not quite right. We, and the millions of his followers form his retinue. It’s different though, because a king’s retinue follows where the king goes, and King Jesus goes places that earthly kings do not. That’s why it’s appropriate that next week the story starts all over again, and we get to follow in our King’s footsteps from birth onwards.
During the next year it will be Matthew’s Gospel that we hear from the most of the four biblical Gospels. With a spoiler alert here for anyone who has never heard the story of Jesus’s birth, I can tell you that it is Matthew’s Gospel that has visitors come from the east, asking, ‘where is the child who has been born King of the Jews?’ (2:2) And so, we’ll be members of the retinue of that king who teaches us how to live, a king who heals, a king who remembers everyone, the weak and powerful, the good-living and those who have gone astray. He’s a king who forgives and saves; a most spectacular failure as far as normal ideas of kingship go, but just the sort of king that’s needed in this world.
Yes, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’
Christ the King, Colossians 1: 15-20, Jeremiah 23: 1-6, Luke 23: 33-43
On Sunday 17 November, we brought shoeboxes to church, filled with toys, pens and paper, hats and scarves, and equally importantly, love, care, kindness and hope. It is all part of Operation Christmas Child, ensuring that poor children in other countries receive a present for Christmas. In Junior Church, we learned about Belarus, where boxes from North Shields will go, and in church we lit a candle for the children of that country. Meanwhile, the adults, saw a video telling the story of one young woman who had been moved by a shoebox present she received as a child in post-Communist Romania. We were urged to continue to listen and respond to those in need around the world.
Sermon on Remembrance Sunday 2019
Preached by the Reverend Trevor Jamison at
Saint Columba’s United Reformed Church
Micah 4: 1-4; Matthew 5: 38-48
Remembrance has been making a comeback in recent decades. Thirty years ago if November 11th fell on a weekday, it might have gone largely unmarked, people just carrying on with their busy lives. Nowadays 11.00 a.m. on the 11th day of the 11th month, whatever day it falls on, gets a much greater public response. Even supermarkets, a major power in the land, choose to observe two minutes silence in remembrance of those killed in war.
Perhaps the realisation in the mid-1990s, that we would soon lose the last of the generation that fought in the First World War, was an impetus to re-emphasise the practice of remembering. In 2009 this came to pass, with the death of Harry Patch, the last living UK resident to have fought in the trenches. Today, in 2019, the ranks of those who fought in the Second World War are also thinning; something that hits close to home for the shared identity of this nation. Now, as people across the nation gather for remembrance, some do so with personal memories of a later war or wars; some are remembering friends or family members who died; some of us simply remember in general those who lost their lives in terrible circumstances.
So, what does Christian faith have to say concerning this remembering? What is the appropriate Christian stance towards remembering those who have died in war? To answer questions like that we need to listen carefully to the voice of Jesus; recognising where we are today and asking ourselves where we should be travelling to tomorrow.
The problem with listening for the voice of Jesus is that Jesus is liable to tell you something inconvenient or unwelcome. The excerpt from the Sermon Mount we have just listened to is an outstanding example:
And, of course, let’s not forget …
v.44 “Love your enemies and pray for your persecutors”
On first listening the message to Jesus’ followers seems to be clear: a proper remembering for Christians involves a rejection of any involvement in warfare. Jesus’s message goes further than many a pacifist would, with his demand not for non-violent resistance, but for total non-resistance: “If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn and offer him the other also.” (v.39) It’s not even as if Jesus’ followers can claim such behaviour would reduce the volume of violence that occurs. The treatment the non-resistant Jesus received at his ‘trials’ and execution gives the lie to that suggestion.
Listening hard to Jesus, however, also involves questioning what we first hear. Do these words of Jesus really form the basis for how whole peoples and nations in our modern setting should live their lives in time of war? Jesus’s teaching took place in the context of a post-war occupation, not war itself. Also, both Jesus and the church that first published Matthew’s Gospel lived with a lively expectation that the end of all things was near. Twenty-first century westerners have a different perspective. Two thousand years have passed and still the end has not yet come. On the other hand, we find nothing in Jesus’s words consistent with the practice of Christian warfare. The Church during the first three centuries of its life understood that when on the night of his arrest Jesus told Peter to put away his sword, he disarmed all Christians for all time.
So how did we get to where we are today? What do we think when we see pictures of British service personnel facing deadly dangers abroad? What’s your opinion about the huge amount of money ploughed into equipment such as the Royal Navy’s two new aircraft carriers, to say nothing of the multi-million-pound jets that will fly from them? How do you feel about the fact that all of this comes accompanied by Christian military chaplains?
Incidentally, these include two URC ministers alongside whom I trained for ministry. One has accompanied soldiers on active service in Afghanistan, the other was the first chaplain onboard the new aircraft carrier, HMS Elizabeth. Today’s reality is that many Christian men and women of good conscience do serve in our armed forces. You may know some of them.
In the Frank MacGuiness’s play, Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme Northern Irish Protestant soldiers, about to go over the top to their annihilation in July 1916, pause to sing the hymn, “I’m But a Stranger Here, Heaven is my Home”. I sort of understand what the hymn is getting at (based as it is around biblical calls to be “in the world but not of it”), but after two thousand years of Christian history it is difficult to always sustain that sentiment.
After all, from the reign of the Roman Emperor Constantine onwards the Christian Church has been at the centre of Western society. Christian identity was envisaged less as being a stranger on earth and more as a good citizen of the state. And we want to be, and claim to be, good citizens. Sometimes, Christians will even be heard publicly demanding that this country recognise and acknowledge the significance of its Christian heritage in forming our national identity today.
Yet, there are difficulties and dangers here. Certainly, there is no reason why Christians should expect second-class treatment because of our faith, but there is no gospel mandate for seeking preferential treatment for Christians, or demanding conformity to Christian views and norms as a basis for acceptance as a citizen.
With this in mind, what should Christian remembrance look like in the days ahead? Well, we will be realistic, recognise that involvement in warfare is a price that many Christians are prepared to pay, not as some great glorious adventure, but as an integral part of the duties of good citizenship.
Many Christians would be happy to have a Prime Minister who is also a Christian, though I’m not aware that in this general Election campaign this option is currently on offer. Weighing up party manifestos, offers and promises, we want a Christian perspective to inform policies on education, on health, and on eradicating poverty. But a Christian Prime Minister who presides over the departments of Education, Health, and Work and Pensions also, inescapably, must preside over the Ministry of Defence. To have a Christian PM making the decisions about allocation of resources for the NHS means that same Christian has to make decisions about the allocation of military resources also. And decisions made in one area may well have significant implications in the other.
So, we Christians may have to “realistic”, but we are never allowed to cease listening to an alternative voice. One such was George Zabelka (1915-1992). Father George Zabelka, a Catholic priest was chaplain for the American airmen who dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. He gave them his blessing. Over the next twenty years, he gradually came to believe that he had been terribly wrong. Here are some words from a speech he gave on the 40th anniversary of the bombings.
“Those who have seen real war will bear me out. I assure you, it is not of Christ. It is not Christ’s way. There is no way to conduct real war in conformity with the teachings of Jesus … The ethics of mass butchery cannot be found in the teachings of Jesus. In Just War ethics, Jesus Christ, who is supposed to be all in the Christian life, is irrelevant. He might as well never have existed. In Just War ethics, no appeal is made to him or his teaching, because no appeal can be made to him or his teaching, for neither he nor his teaching gives standards for Christians to follow in order to determine what level of slaughter is acceptable.
So the world is watching today. Ethical hairsplitting over the morality of various types of instruments and structures of mass slaughter is not what the world needs from the Church, although it is what the world has come to expect from the followers of Christ. What the world needs is a grouping of Christians that will stand up and pay up with Jesus Christ. What the world needs is Christians who, in language that the simplest soul could understand, will proclaim: the follower of Christ cannot participate in mass slaughter. He or she must love as Christ loved, live as Christ lived, and, if necessary, die as Christ died, loving one’s enemies.”
Powerful words. They are representative of groups and actions that have surfaced and re-surfaced within the Christian Church across the centuries – from medieval Waldensians to Reformation Anabaptists; from the quiet witness of seventeenth century Quakers to the loud call to peaceful protest, found in the preaching of Martin Luther King Jr.
As we move into an era where public indifference pushes the church more and more to the margins of our civil society it might be that one positive outcome of this process is that we feel more able to listen to these alternative voices, and not feel over-beholden to conform to the requirements of the state, in matters-military as well as non-military. A small church, with no institutional ties to the state, such as the United Reformed Church, might be in a good position to do so.
Whether that turns out to be the case or not, true Christian remembrance, such as we attempt today, will never be entirely easy. In fact, it should not be easy. Christians wish to make a positive contribution to society (which always leads to involvement in politics to some extent, and possibly includes even military service). Yet we same Christians are not absolved from the responsibility of listening to the inconvenient voice of Jesus, even though it comes from a different historical era and setting. Ultimately, his is the voice that encourages us not only to remember those who have died in war but also calls us to work and to support all efforts to ensure that others need never do so again.
Matthew 5: 38-48, Micah 4: 1-4, pacifism, remembrance, warBy The Reverend Trevor Jamison, given at
Saint Columba’s United Reformed Church, 10th November 2019
‘For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is the Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him.’ (10:12)
For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek, or to put it in another way, according to Saint Paul, there is no distinction between Jew and Gentile.
Today is Remembrance Sunday. This annual observance began in the wake of the First World War; a war of suffering on such a scale that it was hoped that it signalled the end of all wars. Today, we know that such hopes would not be realised. Only in a very small number of occasions since 1918 has there been a year when no member of the British armed forces has been killed on active service. Sadly, this annual act of remembrance, and the war memorials that form a prominent feature of almost every city, town and village of the UK, have not prevented national participation in other conflicts.
In fact, the generation of men that fought in the trenches of the First World War also provided the leaders of governments and armed forces that took part in the Second World War. Additionally, if the first World War (mostly conducted by largely church-going nations) was in part a denial of Paul’s statement that ‘the same Lord of the Lord of all’, then the Second World War, in most horrific terms included an emphatic denial of Paul’s ringing assertion that ‘there is no distinction between Jew and gentile.’
Consider then this memorial plaque. It is located in Westminster College in Cambridge. Westminster was the theological college of the Presbyterian Church of England, training students to be church minsters. Today, it is one of the United Reformed Church’s centres for learning, including training women and men for ordained ministry in our denomination. This plaque remembers the seven former students of the college who died in the Second World War.
Westminster College Chapel WW2 © Helen Weller (WMR-73026)
War memorials are very political things. History shows fierce local debates in Britain after the First World War over what form such memorials should take, and over which names should be included on or excluded from them. After the Second World War there was similar conversation amongst the leaders of Westminster College over this war memorial.
“In memory of the members of Westminster College who gave their lives in the war, 1939-1945: Arthur Bawtree, William Elsmlie, Herman Hartman, Theodor Hesse, Douglas James, Harold Rogan, and G. W. Vellacott.” The discussion was about whether to include the names of the former students, Herman Hartman and Theodor Hesse, because, as you can probably guess, Hartman and Hesse were German.
It is said that the argument was finally settled when one of the those present commented, “well if they learned together, surely their names can appear together.” Had Saint Paul been present perhaps he would have added, ‘the same Lord is the Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’
Not everyone deserves a place on a war memorial, their deeds being so terrible. And appropriately enough, nations see it as their first duty to remember their own war dead, not those of their wartime opponents. Still, there are variations and exceptions. I remember standing in a Lutheran church in Alsace, a region which has switched back and forward between being within France or Germany, according to the result of wars between the two nations.
In that church there are three memorials for the members of the congregation who have died in combat: for the Franco-Prussian War (1870-71), for the First World War, and for the Second World War. In the 1870-71 conflict the church members fought and died in the French army, in 1914-1918 in the German army, and in 1939-45 they were back with the French army. I am not aware of how that congregation deals with the practice of remembrance.
Does it make it more difficult or easier to be a college or a congregation whose members have fought on different sides in conflicts between two nations? Certainly, if remembrance is marked in a political or national setting, as are our acts of remembrance, then things would be less straightforward. On the other hand, there would a constant reminder that, from the divine perspective, all national and ethnic distinctions become as nothing in the light of the fact that all peoples are called to acknowledge the same God as their maker and their Lord. So, one would hope, remembrance would be prevented from ever descending into mere national triumphalism.
Today, here at St Columba’s, we are remembering those who have died in war, particularly those who were associated with this church; those who were connected with our families and friendship networks; those who have died in any number of wars. We would hope that such wars were fought by this nation at least in part, hopefully in the main, so that no one need suffer because they were Jew, Gentile, or from any other identifiable group.
And we are reminded that there is a question for Christians to ask concerning any potential future conflicts where this nation might be asked to take part, so endangering its servicemen and service women. And that question is, “to what extent might this conflict remove or ameliorate self-interested human distinctions and divisions.” For remember, ‘there is no distinction between Jew and Gentile; the same Lord is the Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’
remembrance, Romans 10: 8-15