How happily we sing of these wise men, yet we know nothing at all about them. Their journey and arrival in Bethlehem is described only in Matthew’s Gospel and even there there is no mention at all of how many wise men there were. Just that they are Magi and the Gospel describes three gifts that they brought. Certainly it was many hundreds of years later before the tradition grew up, completely unfounded by any evidence, that their names were Caspa, Melchior and Balthazar. The historicity of the journey of the Magi is as dubious as any event in the Gospel record. Epiphany stories are, of course, very common in ancient writings about holy men. This is not to detract from their importance but to make the point that their presence in Matthew’s Gospel is deliberate and underlining a particular purpose, namely, that the gentiles accepted the offer of salvation which the people of Israel were less willing to take on. In other words that the babe in Bethlehem is an icon of what God is like for every human being in the world and not just for the people of Israel. And as we sing of “Three kings from Persian lands afar” or “We three kings of Orient Ore” we do well to remember that the Magi travelled from the East. And what is East of Palestine but today’s Syria and Jordan, Iran and Iraq. It does strike me as particularly odd that we venerate the wise men, the Magi, from these lands as long as they are safely tucked away in history or wrapped in the mists of myth, but we continue to demonise, or at least, denigrate people of those lands by our power politics today.

This is the trouble when Christmas, and Epiphany, become a “trick”. When we attach all the kitsch beloved of Christmas card sellers, carol writers and Christmas commerce, then we miss the point of Christmas and Epiphany altogether. We are happy to go off on our romantic camels even look like kings in paper hats but does the journey bring us closer to the Epiphany, the showing of who God is and how God helps us make sense of our real world? Christmas and Epiphany are about incarnation, which is no academic theory but is the revelation, the showing of God’s solidarity with us. God is in such solidarity with us through this baby Jesus that he becomes bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. In so doing he calls us to be in solidarity with our fellow human beings, every human being in good times and in bad, in joy and in need. At Christmas we believe as John’s Gospel puts it “the word was made flesh”. Again, God doesn’t act in theory but acts in human relationships. God becomes one of us that we might understand God by seeing him, knowing him, relating to him.

For in the end incarnation, Christmas and Epiphany are not about candlelight and cribs, kings and presents. They are about God in his world in every situation which human beings find themselves in and we have to be immersed in those situations because that’s where we will find God. It is almost as if we like the childlike delight of Christmas because we are scared of the adult implications of Christmas; God’s solidarity with us in the realities of his world and God’s laying upon us the demands that we should be in solidarity with our fellow human beings. So when you take down your decorations on twelfth night remember the epiphany God making himself known in the baby Jesus, because that can’t be put away, packed into the box and hidden until next year. It’s an invitation to grow as the babe of Bethlehem grew, into the fullness of God day by day.

Her journey from cool, isolating certainties towards the mystery of faith begins with the feast of Epiphany. We too are moving on from that festival, to begin a time of challenge and transition in the Church's year.

On 2 February we celebrate Candlemas, which is the climax of the season of Christmas and Epiphany. It is a feast of light. Luke tells the story of Mary and Joseph presenting Christ in the Temple. The family meet Simeon and Anna, who have dedicated their lives to God and serve Him in that holy place. In the infant Christ they perceive God's revelation, their expectations and hopes have been fulfilled. Simeon declares: 'my eyes have seen your salvation. . . a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel'. Anna gives thanks for this revelation to all who sought redemption in Jerusalem. God's purpose in drawing all people to Himself comes to fulfilment. We are to rejoice with them as the love and light of Christ is revealed in the world.

Candlemas is also a turning point in the Christian year. There is a darker side to this episode, which directs our thoughts towards Christ's Passion. Mary was the first to hear the good news; she nurtures the Christ-child; she ponders the sayings of shepherds and wise men in her heart. When Simeon tells her that 'a sword will pierce your own soul too', Mary becomes the first to face the anguish and pain of the Incarnation. His words are a poignant indicator of the suffering that Christ will endure.

Ash Wednesday falls on 25 February, marking the beginning of Lent: a time for spiritual growth, reflection and preparation. The observance of the season of Lent originates in the preparation of candidates for Baptism, at a time when the sacrament of initiation was only administered at Easter. However, the Church realised that such a time of preparation for Holy Week and Easter, including fasting and almsgiving, was beneficial to all Christians. The Ash Wednesday liturgy confronts us with our own vulnerability and mortality: we receive the sign of the cross in ash; we hear the words, you are dust, to dust you shall return. We also reflect on Christ's time in the wilderness. The wilderness belongs to us too. It is part of our human experience of loss, isolation and self-doubt. It acknowledges the temptations that surround us: the ordinary feelings of being inattentive to those things that really matter, or being preoccupied with self, of being uncharitable.

The feast of Candlemas is a place of meeting. The light of Christ radiates out to us. Ash Wednesday is also a place of encounter. The humanity of Christ connects with our frailty. Together, these festivals offer us the consolation that even in the darkness Christ's light reaches us. It transforms us, and gives us hope, as we contemplate those things that unsettle us, entrap us or hurt us. We are given permission to face those things honestly in the context of God's love, which will ultimately banish all darkness. It gives us courage to wrestle with the complexity of life so that we may, like Miss Garnet, become more fully the people God calls us to be.

Long before the birth of Christ our ancestors were lighting great bonfires in mid-winter to encourage the sun back up into the sky and this Yuletide festival received a Christian layer with the imposition of Christmas – light shining at the darkest time of the year. In March our days lengthen very considerably and it is to do with this lengthening that the root of the word Lent finds its meaning. Lent is a spring time season when the days lengthen. Traditionally the time just before the full blossoming of garden flowers. But whatever the cause of early blossoming Lent exists within the Church as a reminder that the full blossoming comes only after considerable struggle through the cold and darkness of winter. Traditionally the church has taught that Lent, which was originally a time of fasting and preparation for baptism at Easter, can be best used by the whole Christian community as a time of solidarity and sharing with those suffering in the world that we might deepen our sense of discipleship by giving up some of the material benefits we enjoy. I would certainly want to argue that Lent can be extremely valuable for those outside the Christian community as for those inside it, in abstaining, fasting from the things we take for granted and give no second thought to. In this age of dietary care and awareness of our physical health it is no bad thing for any of us to consider giving up something sweet, something extra to our needs as an act of self discipline.

However for the Christian, while such acts of self-discipline are important in themselves, nevertheless Lent needs to take us further. Lent needs to increase in us a sense of commitment to those who are without the very things we need and use in our daily lives. Lent needs to be a time when we are made aware of the cost of following Christ, be this in abstinence or in taking on other attributes or activities. There has been a trend in recent years to denigrate the simple gesture but I am not convinced that such a denigration is at all helpful, in fact I think it rather cynical.

Giving up sugar in your tea so that it tastes less attractive is one thing but giving up sugar in your tea which tastes less attractive and enables you to focus your thoughts and prayers upon those who work in the sugar production fields of the Caribbean for a wage which will not give them the basics of life existence is a very different story. Walking instead of taking the bus or the car will not only save you money but will give you time and space to notice your neighbour and their needs, to meditate and pray as you walk along. To take on popping into church every time you walk down Park Road or St James’ Road any morning during Lent and come inside to pray for those with whom you are spending your day or your life is a positive and meaningful action not only for Lent but for every day. So my plea would be not to overlook the small disciplines of Lent but to take on that which would cause you to grow in commitment, in prayer, in discipleship of the one who was prepared to give up everything for love of you and me, including giving up his life on the cross that we might find new life in him.

You will, of course, be welcome any week day morning during Lent at St James’ when the church will be open and at any of the Lenten services, details of which can be found elsewhere in this magazine.

Films depicting Christ's life seem to capture the imagination and provoke controversy in equal measures. Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ presented difficult questions about Jesus' humanity by raising the issure of sexuality. Zeffirelli's portrayal of the Gospel narrative in Jesus of Nazareth may appear palatable because it is more reverential, with the optimism and comfort lacking in Gibson's portrayal. Every generation seeks to interpret and respond to the Gospel afresh, but inherent within this quest is the reality that the results mirror the preoccupations of the director or of society.

Jesus is not yet another film hero battling against the odds in a fight between "the Good" and clearly defined "badies". In our Holy Week and Easter liturgies we find ourselves caught up in the drama of God's love for humanity revealed in Christ's life, death and resurrection. In the incarnation Christ suffers with us, in compassion, challenging and transforming us in the midst of the complexities of life. Rowan Williams reminds us that 'If Jesus is indeed what God communicates to us, God's language for us, his cross is always both ours and not ours, not a magnified sign of our own suffering, but a mark of God's work in and through the deepest vulnerability, not a martyr's triumphant achievement, but something that is there for all human sufferers because it belongs to no human cause' (Rowan Williams, Writing in the Dust, pp77 -8). On Palm Sunday we celebrate Christ's entry into Jerusalem, mindful that the cries of 'Hosanna' revealed worldly expectations of power and kingship, which were at odds with Jesus' own ministry. On Maundy Thursday we commemorate the Last Supper, and the institution of the Eucharist. We are reminded, by Jesus' act of washing his disciples' feet, that our own participation in broken bread and out-poured wine demands that we should also act with loving service. In sharing in the sacrament we are united with him and are formed into his body, the Church, but we are also confronted with our own betrayals and failures.

Good Friday focuses our minds on the painful reality of the cross in all its horror and darkness. Jesus gives himself for us: God's love for us is poured out in the ultimate sacrifice. Christ's body is laid in the tomb, and we face Holy Saturday. A day of silence following desolation, of utter loss. And we wait. Our waiting culminates in the Easter Vigil, during which the symbols of fire, light, water, bread and wine are restored as we celebrate the risen Christ among us. The resurrection is not an event to be captured. The women arrived at the tomb early in the morning, yet Christ was already risen from the dead.

The glory and light of the resurrection are gradually revealed amidst tears, confusion and unanswered questions in the lives of Mary, Peter John and the other disciples. There the risen Christ met them and called them by name, and transformed them. Sometimes we might find ourselves overwhelmed by confusion and disbelief; sometimes we cannot see beyond the silent darkness of Holy Saturday. Christ's sacrifice on the cross reveals God's love in the depth of suffering and desolation. He stands with us in those dark places bringing us into his risen light, sharing with us God's love in order that we might bring that love to others. Alleluia!

The teenager concerned, of course, has grown up in the generation of not sliced bread by ciabatas, not cheddar but Pont d’Evec and not Spam but Milanese salami (no doubt all washed down with some hopelessly expensive sparkling bottled water). Having looked blankly at me she said: “But spam is what comes through your fax and on your email”. And, of course, she was quite right too, although it pictured up a lovely scene of my fax machine like an old fashioned meat slicer churning out thin slices of Spam and very small slices of Spam wending their way down through the wires of my computer.

And it struck me, of course, that when we are talking about the resurrection we also have to face the hard truth of this understanding gap. For the first Christians there was no difficulty in thinking of a Jesus who was both risen physically and yet able to walk through locked doors and to appear cooking breakfast or actually sharing a meal at Emmaus. For us today this produces more questions than answers. We need to take seriously this shift in the use of words and concepts to describe the reality we know to be true. For me it helps if we can see that what the resurrection is trying to say is “both/and” rather than “either/or”. By this I mean that the resurrection is about the coming of the reign of God and its expression in the risen Jesus which is both now and not yet. Through resurrection we can see and know and experience that newness, that fullness of life which is the hallmark of the kingdom of God.

For me, for example, one classic resurrection moment in my own experience was to watch Nelson Mandela walk free from prison after his 28 years of detention. A resurrection moment marking the beginning of a new life for the people of South Africa where the old boundaries of colour were no longer determinants to the way one lived. But while that was a resurrection moment it was also a “not yet” moment for clearly the old ways die hard and there is much still to be done in South Africa and elsewhere. But the resurrection shows the possibility, the potential and the guarantee. Not surprisingly therefore it is sometimes called the first fruits of the harvest – a taster – of what is to be. Resurrection is both now and still to come. Already achieved and not yet achieved.

And perhaps most particularly we know this every time we meet together to “do this in remembrance” of Jesus. Every time we celebrate our communion, our thanksgiving, we are the body of Christ needing to affirm afresh, in new and appropriate ways for our generation and our context the lasting truth that in Jesus Christ we see the fullness of God’s love expressed in our humanity. That fullness includes all of human life, betrayal and death and leads to life in its fullest form. This month we have a great opportunity in prayer and action to put resurrection fullness into effect by participating in Christian Aid Week as we stand with the world’s poor, marginalised and excluded, just as Jesus did. In our solidarity with them we can share resurrection hope, new life, life in all its fullness now and in eternity.

Alleluia, Christ is risen
He is risen indeed, Alleluia.

The reality is that the Church has to get on with the business of being Christ's body in the world, proclaiming the Gospel of love and seeking to build his Kingdom on earth. However, we know that from newspaper headlines that the reality of the Church is often caught in controversy and conflict. We know from the reality of our own lives of faith that there are times when we are unmotivated, when our ideals are thwarted or when the ordinary seems less than inspiring.

That is why when I hear or read passages from the Acts of the Apostles I find myself greatly encouraged. It is a narrative of the early Church which reveals something of the idealism of those first communities and also the very human conflicts and tensions. The believers met regularly to worship, for teaching, to share in the breaking of bread and held their possessions in common. The gift of the Spirit brings courage to preach the Gospel to Gentiles as well as Jews. However, there is a darker side to the narrative as we also read of the beginning of the persecution of the Church. Saul's dramatic conversion stands alongside Stephen's death and Peter's imprisonment. We read of disagreements between the leaders of the Christian community and of a conference to resolve the tensions. People are called to engage in a ministry which is fruitful, challenging and exciting. There are also personality clashes between leaders and disappointments; we read of arguments with philosophers and late night, wine-fuelled conversations about God. Within all this, the message of God's love is proclaimed and lives are transformed.

Reading Acts reminds us that some things never change! We still face differences within the world-wide Church on issues of inclusion, about the way in which we interpret Scripture. We are like the Christian community described in Acts: we have ideals and a vision; we may not always agree; we may not always get on. As human beings we are susceptible to all things. The bell at Westcott House, which summoned us to chapel, was inscribed with the words 'the one who calls is faithful'. This reminds us that regardless of human quirks and failings God continually calls us into relationship with him so that we might share in His mission of love in and for the world. God is in the midst of the ordinary.

At the heart of the Book of the Acts of the Apostles are two figures, Peter and Paul, whose feast day we keep at the end of this month. It is important that we celebrate these very different Apostles on the same day. They have different gifts, different areas of ministry and different personalities. Yet together they lead, nurture and guide the early Church. We too can rejoice in the range of gifts within our community. We are inspired by the same Spirit to show God's love in all that we do and say. I hope that we can be encouraged and inspired by the examples of Peter and Paul. We commemorate them on 29 June. For me, it will be poignant as I preside over the celebration of the Eucharist for the first time, but it is also a chance to give thanks for our common life. It will be an opportunity to celebrate our common calling as the people of God and to rejoice in our life together. We will be able to reflect on God's faithfulness to us and on the task we share in proclaiming the Gospel.

Reading the Genesis stories again recently it struck me that God declares “good” everything he has made at the end of each creating day. The writers remind us after the creation of light and earth and animals and fish and things to eat that “God saw all that he had made and it was very good”. We do need to remember the goodness of God’s creation not only in the beauty of a new landscape while on holiday but also in the well worn parts of our daily habitation. In our society which is constantly acquisitive for the new, we do well to remember that which we already experience of God’s goodness in our daily lives. How easy it is to forget that it is in the ordinary that we find the extraordinary generosity of God. So in July take time, whether at home or away, to notice the good things around you. I try to remind myself how lucky I am to live surrounded by Bushy Park. Walk in there at dusk and ask yourself am I really surrounded by nine million other Londoners here? For the openness and space seems almost infinite. Stroll back home and stop in at your local to enjoy a pint and the hanging baskets. Peer over the neighbours hedge and admire their garden. Or even better invite the neighbours round, take the neighbours with you to Bushy Park or to the pub and enjoy a drink together. Sit outside for breakfast, get the barbecue out for lunch; whatever it takes do something different this August and come afresh to the goodness of God where you live.

For the great thing about observing the goodness of God in creation is to be reminded that we have not earned it. We have done absolutely nothing to warrant the beauty of Bushy Park or the delight of that first sip of a pint of bitter on its refreshing way down the throat. We have not earned the beauty of our gardens or the friendship of our companions; they are all part of God’s bounty. In traditional language this might be called God’s mercy, the unwarranted gift of God which depends not upon us but upon the very nature of our loving creator who is at the heart of all things and all relationships. And when we are reminded of God’s generosity so too we are reminded of the need for us to live caught up in that generous way. Aware of the unwarranted mercy of God in the generosity of God’s love so too we are reminded that it is for all God’s children and not just us. The goodness and bounty of the earth is to be shared and cherished for all God’s children and those yet to come.

So in July take the opportunity for a “lazy day” which may not be a day at all, it may be half an hour or an afternoon. But take the opportunity nevertheless to enjoy God’s creation, to be reminded that the creation is a sign of God’s infinite generosity and be reminded too that as Christians we are bound to live by sharing that generosity.

To spend time away at college is a challenging and formative time. Some might approach it with a level of self-assurance and optimism. For others, it is extremely daunting. For most, there will be a complex mixture of feelings and emotions during those years, and in the face of different pressures. When I was at college, someone made the comment that students don’t have “real” problems. In reality the intensity of being at university presents a microcosm of life: like the rest of us, students wrestle with financial concerns, a complex web of personal relationships, the stresses of work, disappointments, bereavement, uncertainty about the future as well as joy and excitement.

Studying for a degree means wrestling with important, and hopefully interesting, questions. We never stop having to confront difficult questions or awkward situations, both personally and professionally. The opportunity of studying away from home also allows time to grow, to discern what it is we want to do, to discover more about our strengths and weaknesses. That process doesn’t suddenly come to an end on graduation day. We are continually learning who we are and reflecting on what we might do. We make mistakes, and hopefully grow in wisdom. We might commit ourselves to a particular career, or we might find ourselves using our skills in different contexts.

Reflecting on my time in Durham, I realise how some of the most ordinary conversations and experiences were actually profoundly important and formative. On my graduation day I remember feeling a mixture of relief, excitement and sadness. I didn’t know what I might end up doing next. The vague hopes and thoughts I had at that point were resting on decisions to be made by other people. Sometimes life also takes down unexpected avenues. As we face new challenges we are changed; as we live with the ordinary we find the expected; in overcoming difficulties and enjoying life new possibilities may emerge. Whatever path we take we risk encounter with people and places that are extraordinary and transformative. We also live with the challenge of what God is calling us to, as individuals and as a Church.

When Peter, James and John, the disciples closest to Jesus, accompanied him to the top of a high mountain they didn’t know what they were going to be letting themselves in for. He led them on a taxing journey away from the familiar. Suddenly, Jesus’ face is shining and his clothes become dazzling white. They see Moses and Elijah; they hear a voice identifying Jesus as God’s beloved Son; they hear a voice telling them to listen to Jesus. This narrative is celebrated by the Church on the feast of the Transfiguration in early August. The disciples were overawed and confused by what the sudden intrusion of an extraordinary transformation into their lives. Peter was tempted to hold on to the wonder and mystery of the experience. He wanted to make tents to control God’s presence, to make the glimpse of glory permanent. But glory goes hand in hand with the difficult and mundane. They return to the world. We, along with those graduating this summer, must also live in the world. As we do so, we have the chance to reflect on who we are, who we are becoming; we have the chance to reflect on the words of God: listen to my Son.

The second stimulus has been our Old Testament reading at morning prayer each day for the last month. We have been marching, often literally, through the Book of Judges. The Book of Judges is not an easy read at the best of times. It is about a conquest of the land by the Israelites after they crossed from Jordan and began to settle in the "promised land". Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose! It does seem that some things never change because, of course, the Israelites didn't just walk into an empty land; they routed, defeated and put to flight almost all the contemporary inhabitants of the land we now call Israel and Palestine. The stories in the Book of Judges are at best violent and at worst downright gruesome. They certainly don't make light reading at 9.15 in the morning. They do, however, show a determination of the Israelites, or at least most of them, to adhere to what they believe God had called them to. In our contemporary world we may well dispute that that is how God seeks to use the land of his creation and the people who seek to follow him, but for the ancient Israelites they were clear in their sense of duty and action. They had no hesitation in taking land away from people who they felt had an inferior claim to it even though they may have been there first.

The third stimulus has been a fascinating book by Robert Winder called 'Bloody Foreigners - the story of Immigration to Britain'. It is a fascinating read tracing the history of immigration from the very first immigrants into the British Isles 25,00 years ago to our reaction to contemporary refuges and asylum seekers. It traces the continuing waves of immigration through settlement, economic adventure, military conquest, sanctuary and refuge, all of which are not new issues but ancient occurrences constantly re-working themselves.

So taken altogether these three stimuli have made me ask what's the Christian attitude towards land, its ownership, possession and use? It is a very hard question to answer. An Englishman's home might be his castle but as Winder remarks: 'Who is an Englishman anyway?' It was clear that in the biblical story certain newcomers among the Israelites felt that their claim on land was actually better than the claim of the current land holders - something which is not only contained in the Old Testament but is once again being played out before our eyes in Palestine and Israel in our own day. And so I turn to the blackberries once again because it does seem to me that the humble bramble which we can look down upon from our gardening heights as a weed which has to be controlled, cut back and uprooted, nevertheless is a good example of the way we ought to treat the land. First of all it is not ours, as the biblical story also makes plain the created order belongs to God and we are 'but sojourners and stewards' whose duty it is to tend the land, not only for ourselves but for each other and for the coming generations. It is very easy to look down upon other people as late comers, people seeking after that which we already enjoy, rather like a bramble trying to cash in on a fertile piece of soil competing with our most treasured plants but the result of the bramble is a fruit of great sweetness and enjoyment. So too, I believe, is the diversity of human culture, religion, language, hope and expression which we find in an open, engaging society where each is valued for himself or herself irrespective of when they arrived, who they are or what their hopes are. So, as I tuck into more blackberry crumble, I delight in the sweet diversity of God's creation and hope that you will too as we move towards harvest, the harvest of our compassion and love for God's creation and all his children.

Such a festival reflects the intrinsic connection between God, humanity and the fruits of creation. Yet the gulf between the food we purchase and the methods of production is on the increase. The food we eat is not just a cause for thanksgiving, but raises questions of cost, genetic modification, agribusiness and international trade. October begins with our own harvest celebrations. It is a time when we praise God for the good things of creation. To participate in such acts of thanksgiving makes demands on us. It challenges prevailing attitudes to the environment, food production and our dependence upon, and even exploitation of, the labour of others. We are made mindful of the good and loving purposes of God and of our own calling to participation in bringing his kingdom to fruition. We realize the important of even the smallest words and deeds in the context of God’s love. We are drawn into the divine economy of gift: we give because we receive.

During the course of September, some of you will have attended or heard about The Worlds We Live In, a series of public dialogues at St. Paul’s Cathedral. Over the course of four evenings Rowan Williams engaged with a variety of experts on the issues of public health, the environment, global economics and international governance. Such opportunities for discussion may not lead to a neat solution, but they do raise important questions about our individual and corporate responsibilities. As a Church we have to be prepared to confront such topics, drawing these concerns into the spiritual and ethical sphere of the Gospel.

Within the biblical tradition we find rich resources to help us to reflect upon justice, inclusion, sustainability and the use of resources. In the gospels, Jesus presents his hearers with a radical reordering of priorities. He tells them not to become preoccupied with what they are to eat, what they should wear, ‘for life means more than food, and the body more than clothing’ [Luke 12]. Instead he tells them to set their hearts upon God’s kingdom. John presents this challenge in a different way. He includes many references to spiritual nourishment and the implications of this for the Kingdom. Jesus is nourished by doing his father’s will and completing his work [John 4], and he calls us join with him in building a kingdom of justice and righteousness.

The festival of harvest highlights the reality of what we celebrate in the Eucharist week by week: the offering back to God the material gifts of creation and the challenge of receiving them back transformed. To receive the gift of Christ in bread and wine enables us to begin to live life as a gift for others. We are to wrestle with the questions that arise from living in relation to God’s love, exploring the way it changes us and challenges us. To grapple with that reality impacts upon our decision making and forces us to live differently in relation to the world we live in: locally, nationally and globally.

Elsewhere in The Spire you will find details about how to support the Upper Room in Hammersmith. By giving practical gifts we can contribute to vital work with the marginalized and vulnerable. A vision of the Kingdom of God is kept alive by small actions that witness to God’s love and God’s priorities. Such gestures require self-offering and humility on our part, grounded in praise of God. As Francis of Assisi wrote in The Canticle of Brother Sun ‘Praise and Bless my Lord and give him thanks, and serve him with great humility’.

In the gospel stories Jesus undertakes God’s mission which is both his own and the father’s through the power of the Holy Spirit. He does this by healing and restoring, feeding and reconciling, he sets a new way of being human before his disciples, culminating in the last supper, the cross and the resurrection. The whole life of Jesus makes it clear that God is in control. And we are reminded elsewhere (Colossians 120) that through Jesus “God chose to reconcile the whole universe to himself”.

Just as Jesus was sent out of God’s love for the world so he in turn sends out his friends and hearers to do likewise. He sent out his disciples sometimes in twos, sometimes in groups, sometimes in larger gatherings. Jesus sends people out to undertake those same loving acts of healing and restoring, feeding and reconciling. When Augustine was sent to England by Pope Gregory he accepted the challenge, but we know that on several occasions he lost his nerve and wrote letters back to Mission Control in Rome asking to be excused from the task in hand. He was not allowed to leave his band of brothers and the outcome was the mission which grew into the founding of the Abbey, then Cathedral at Canterbury. So Christianity spread widely from the south east of England and from the north west through the Celtic route and the rest, as they say, is history. Or is it?

I would want to argue that it is history, but it is also contemporary reality for in this parish, and across our Diocese of London, we are committed to working to a Mission Action Plan. At the end of this month, on Advent Sunday, 28th November, the first day of the Church’s year, we shall be launching our new mission action plan for 2004-2007.

The plan will be published fully in next month’s edition of the Spire but I will let you into a secret. Here at St James’ we aim to be:
A community committed to living in God’s love
• open for all
• engaging with the world
• growing in faith

Everyone will receive a copy of our latest Mission Action Plan and full details can be seen displayed in church. It is important that this exercise guides our thinking, praying and action in the next three year period because we are, like those first disciples, sent out into our homes, networks, work places, schools and wider communities to undertake God’s mission which is nothing less than “reconciling the whole universe to God”.

I think it is highly unlikely that we will achieve that from St James’ in the next three years, but that shouldn’t put us off, for we know that it is in the small things that we can make a difference. In the way in which we handle tensions within the family or at work, in the way in which we bring forgiveness and reconciliation to those we have offended. It is in the small acts of justice and kindness, be it sending a post card to the Prime Minister to affirm our commitment to trade justice or be it taking in the neighbour’s washing when they feel unwell, that the mission of God in reconciling the universe to his nature of love is to be achieved. The mission of the church is nothing less, and nothing more, than Christ’s mission and both you and I are part of it by our belonging to the body of Christ. So we look forward to welcoming you to participate in our Mission Action Plan, and alongside it we will be delighted to receive new members of the body of Christ confirming for themselves their desire to participate in God’s mission on Advent Sunday evening when the Bishop of Kensington will be here to celebrate confirmation. Everyone is invited to take part in the mission of the church which is the mission of Christ. We look forward to welcoming you.

These four weeks of Advent, the time when our sight is fixed on the coming of Christ is unlike waiting for the bus to arrive and is much more akin to Mary’s sense of waiting for the birth of the Christ child. All of us who have experienced either for ourselves or among our families and friends the excitement of waiting for the birth of a child realise that this is no passive time. So, too, with Advent. In many parts of the church Advent has been marked over the centuries by abstinence or by fasting. Within the church’s worship it is marked by the colour purple as a time of opening ourselves to judgement in the light of God’s love. We no longer sing Gloria but Lord Have Mercy as a sign of examining ourselves against the generosity of God’s love in the risky birth of Jesus of Nazareth. So Advent is not a passive time but a time of waiting expectantly.

Now, of course, none of us lives, or should live in an isolated spiritual bubble. We are all surrounded by the clamours of the Christmas hype – my first Christmas catalogue this year arrived in mid-July. But I do think we can use all the Christmas excitement positively and should not ignore it or be hopelessly caught up in it. The excitement provides the goal, the target. What we need to do during these four weeks of Advent, it seems to me, is to prepare ourselves to arrive at that goal. That is exactly the purpose of Advent. We need to open ourselves up, by whatever means seems most appropriate to us, to the big question, namely, if the birth of Jesus shows the endlessly generous loving nature of God do we mirror that in our own lives, in our families, in our church and in our world? Yes, the gifts given and received on Christmas day, the feasting and the jollity are part of that, but they are only part of it. The harder question is how are we going to live out that generous loving reality in the days after Christmas? So I want to say enjoy Advent. Enjoy the time of preparation in which we acknowledge both the goal and the purpose of our celebrating Christmas and in which we are not afraid to ask ourselves how we will achieve it.

You will, of course, be most welcome at any of the services happening at St James’ during Advent and Christmas, details of which can be found in this magazine. May I take this opportunity to wish everyone in our parish at Hampton Hill a searching and expectant Advent and an extremely happy Christmas with the New Year living out the generous love of God as we find in the babe of Bethlehem.

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