Last Sermon at St. Martin's (for now)

May 17, 2023

On May 14th, 2023, I preached my last sermon in traditional worship at St. Martin's. It was on First Peter 3, as it appears in the Lectionary.


When I was a high school teacher, the deputy head teacher once said to me that when it comes to teaching you have to imagine that you have three buttons on your arm. Teenagers, she told me, have an innate ability to find those buttons and press them. As a teacher, I needed to be aware of their presence and when they were pressed so as not to lose control. Because sometimes when a student pushes back, acts out and rebels, they can really get under your skin!


And her advice proved wise. It’s easy to be loving and gentle and kind in a vacuum. Or when things are going well. But when people are involved—and those people press our buttons—we can find the tank runs dry. We get irritated or impatient. Or full of emotion and drama. We react.


The famous Christian writer, Brennan Manning, said this of our humanity:

“When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer.”


We have buttons. We are paradoxes. And yet as bearers of the gospel, the body of Christ in the world, we called to lives lives that love. Not just love for those we naturally love: our friends and family. But love those who are difficult to love. Those who test our patience. Those who push our buttons and wind us up. Those who set themselves against us. We are called to love others, sacrificially, turning the other cheek, laying down our egos, our self-righteousness and our preferences, as we follow Christ and do as he calls us to do.


Most of the time, First Peter tells us, that’s going to be a good thing for those around us. Most of the time, that will bring about reward. Who will harm us if we are eager to do what is good?


But what if, as we pursue the good, the holy and the courageous—what if we get resistance? Push back? Dishonor? Reproach? What are we to do when pursuing the good gets us into trouble? When it results in gossip and people assuming the worst about us—even from those we love and respect? What are we to do when we risk facing bullying or even abuse?


If our love is rooted in ourselves and our own natural resources, that is the moment that we might find all three buttons pressed on our arms. Where we lash out and attack. Or where we recoil and withdraw and put up walls. Or where we cry out in indignation and lament how we have been wronged.


Underlying our natural responses—whether they are fight or flight, silence or violence—is a common cause. A very human motivation. Fear.


And how crippling fear can be.


So often, we fear others. The harm they may be able to do us, physically or materially. We might fear bodily harm or injury. Or perhaps we fear those who could financially ruin us. But it might also be about the security of relationships. Someone might leave us. They might tell stories about who we are and slander or misrepresent us.


Perhaps it runs even deeper: maybe we fear others because if any of those things actually happen—maybe THIS will be nail in the coffin that proves to us that we are as woeful, weak, shameful and undeserving as we secretly believe that we are.


Yet First Peter says this about doing good that might bring about harm or abuse: "Do not fear what they fear and do not be intimidated, but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord." (v.14-15)


This verse draws from Isaiah chapter 8 in which the people of God are told, when full of fear at the threat of a foreign power. Isaiah says:


Do not fear what they fear,
     and do not dread it.
The Lord Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy,
     he is the one you are to fear,
     he is the one you are to dread.


Do not fear what others fear. Sanctify Christ. Fear Christ.


Our natural human reaction is to resort to one kind of defense or another. Some form of self-protection and validation that will keep us safe from harm. But First Peter tells us that as Christians, we are to switch out our fears. Trade them in.


To the Cross we bring our fears of others, fear of rejection, hatred, physical harm, death, alienation, shame, humiliation—you name it—and lay them at his feet. These fears are not ours anymore.


In their place, we are to fear just one thing: one being: God as revealed in Jesus Christ.


And of course, the fears we are trading in are not quite like the fear we take on in return. For in Christ we have a God who has made a way for us to draw near. A God who has deigned to help reconcile us back to Him when there was nothing we could do to free us from our chains. He knows our secrets and acted anyway. In Christ we have a God who accepts us even knowing the fulness of our mistakes and our shortcomings. Where we are broken and weak-kneed. Where we have failed. Where we lived half-lives and had hardened hearts. Where we have chased after idols.


Fear of others or fear of God in Christ?


Another way to imagine it might be to ask ourselves the question: if my life is a stage, who is my audience? My spouse? My boss? My neighbors? My parents? My colleagues? My friends? Am I playing for their laughs? Their approval? Their support? Their positive reviews?


Or is my audience God himself and God alone? The difference being that with God as my audience, I have his Spirit with me, who shares the stage and shows me where to go and how to live? All I am to do is submit and listen and respond?


Fear of others or fear of God?


"Do not be intimidated, but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord." (v.14-15)


In your heart let there be only one audience. The audience of God in Christ. Follow him and him alone.

Fear of God is about faith.


It takes faith not to engage when others want a fight or are pushing for a reaction.

It takes faith to remain tender-hearted and forgiving when others slander us for pursuing God’s will for our life.

It takes faith to humbly respond, when asked, about what we believe and why—and so share our hope.


And it takes faith to "maintain a good conscience." (v.16) To keep doing the right thing, even when pressed.


Without effort, our conscience remains dulled. When we run from ourselves and hide behind denial and convenience—when we are driven by many fears rather than one—that little voice of conscience goes dormant. Like muscle wastage when you’ve been sick a while, our conscience can all but disappear.


But as with regular exercise through which our physical strength can be regained and our fitness rebuilt, so with regular spiritual exercise our conscience can re-emerge and be sharpened once more. Where we discover integrity of actions: where our outside match our insides, where we are no longer living divided and shame-filled lives. Where we dare to start doing right by God.


Maintain a good conscience: be in the habit of listening for God’s voice, the quiet nudge, the uncomfortable thought—and do that. Obey. Follow. Take a risk. Make space to listen. Don’t confuse (as many do) conscience for adrenaline. Conscience is not about the surge of energy that comes when we feel indignant or reactive. Conscience finds its voice in still and deep waters, not turbulent waves that crash down violently upon jagged rocks. Conscience speaks with quiet conviction about the right action we should be taking, it does not fixate on that of others.


Work to maintain a good conscience. So that when the moment of truth comes, we might find the strength that Martin Luther had so much of during the Reformation. When he was pressed by religious officials to recant from his outspoken criticisms of the Roman Catholic church, he’s famously reported as having responded:


"My conscience is captive to the Word of God. Thus I cannot and will not recant, because acting against one’s conscience is neither safe nor sound. Here I stand; I can do no other. God help me."


"It is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be within God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil." (v.17)


We bear little risk of persecution or physical death in following God. But we can face slander, derision and social rejection. From family, from friends, even those who believe! When we seek to do good, love humbly and forgive generously. When we step out in faith and follow.


It is better, First Peter tells us, to bear this dishonor faithfully and keep on keeping on regardless. To not lose sight of our goal and keep doing the good He has called us to do. Listening and following the voice of conscience. For while we may bear embarrassment or rejection for acting with integrity, much better we experience that shame now, than the being confronted with shame of shunning God’s voice when He comes to judge the world.


Yes, some days, it seems like, for a moment, that injustice is winning and darkness abounds. Evil may win a battle here or there, but it has already, irrevocably, lost the war. Christ is on the throne. All powers are at his feet. There is nothing but Him to fear.


So do good.

Fear God.

Maintain a good conscience.


And await the day of Christ. Amen.



By Suse McBay May 29, 2025
****** “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.” I’m not sure if it’s true, but George Lucas, the creator of Star Wars, is credited as popularizing a big change in film production: not having opening credits. Instead of old Westerns and black and white films that began by naming the director, producer, key stars and so on, Lucas began the Star Wars films with the very famous line: “ A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away .” And then came the opening “crawl” that sets up the viewer for the story to come: "It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire..." And so it sets up the story of Luke, Leia and Han Solo. Well, I want to suggest this morning that here in Acts 1 we have the opening words and “crawl” to the Book as a whole. And what sets the scene? Jesus’ ascension. *** In Acts 1, Luke recaps from where his gospel left off in Luke 24, with similar talk of the spread of gospel to the ends of the earth, that his disciples will be his witnesses, and his instruction to wait for the promise of God to come that is His Spirit, as well as, of course, Jesus’ ascent into heaven. But the Acts version has a specific focus: repeatedly mention the watching and looking of the disciples, the taking and lifting up of Jesus and the repeated mention of his destination: heaven. So why this attention in Acts' “opening crawl”? How does this set the scene for the story of the church that is told in Acts and continues today? Well, in contrast to the first victory in the opening of Star Wars, perhaps preparing for more victories to come, the Ascension grounds us in the defining, cosmic-shaping victory of Jesus that began with his resurrection and conlcudes with his exaltation in the spiritual world. Echoing Daniel 7, Jesus is taken up on a cloud, the chariot of the warrior-God, and is now enthroned to rule in heaven. The work of the church is done in light of this all-encompassing victory that has already been won. Christ is already King. But it’s not only that. Often we talk about Jesus’ ascension from a human perspective: his physical departure from earth. Here the disciples see for themselves Jesus’ exaltation and the opening of heaven: they are gripped by it. Through Christ’s entrance into and rule in heaven, he is made more readily available to us on earth. T he work of the church is done by living in a new space that recognises this opening of heaven: consider God’s promised Holy Spirit who comes in Acts 2, how angels appear here and throughout Acts, as well as people being healed, delivered from evil spirits, miracles taking place and people coming to faith . The spiritual realm is breaking in. So, this Thursday of 5th week, with deadlines, looming exams and soon-to-come ordinations: where will we look? Will we stare upwards and wonder where Jesus went? Or will we look outwards, and live in the light of the one who rules the heavens and has opened heaven to us, and for whom we wait to rule the earth as well? ******
By Suse McBay May 13, 2025
*** True Colours I was in a situation a few years ago where someone I trusted and expected to act in a certain way didn’t do so. In fact, they did they did the opposite. It hurt. It hurt because there were consequences that affected me, but it also hurt because I thought I knew the person, that I knew how’d they’d respond to pressure. When the rubber hits the road and things get real. Instead, their true colours emerged, and I was wrong. Who I thought this person was, and who they told me they were, was in reality quite different from who they actually proved themselves to be . The specifics aren’t for posting online, but I’m sure you can relate. Most of us can recall some kind of experience of someone we love, someone whose character we trust, letting us down. Someone who you might have believed in—maybe even defended to other people—choosing to do something that shows they weren’t worthy of that trust. Showing that your assessment of them was, essentially, quite different from the reality of who they are. They lacked integrity. Esther’s Example This term at Wycliffe, my colleague John is teaching his way through the book of Esther for the Bible expositions in chapel. Now the book of Esther famously doesn’t even mention God: so what is its purpose? Well, in part (as my colleague has been discussing), it’s a book about wisdom. Will we learn from the wise in the story: Esther (and Mordecai)? Will learn from the foolish: King Ahasuerus? The wicked: Haman? At the start of the book, Esther is a young, timid woman, who’d been through a lot. She was orphan and had been raised by her uncle. But she shows willingness and some social savviness and does what Mordecai tells her to do. By the end of the book she’s bold and courageous. Yes, she knows how to play the political game, but she does so in order to stand up for her people who are being persecuted by Persian imperial policy. She exposes Haman’s duplicitousness. Esther has a remarkable integrity and commitment to who she is and what she values. She is willing to risk her life to stand up for what is right, even knowing the cost. She has integrity. Her insides match her outsides as her character develops through the book. When We Fail Stephen and I go to a large Anglican church in the centre of Oxford. A couple of weeks ago, we had a visiting preacher (who is also a poet and philosopher) preaching about baptism. In the course of his sermon, he reminded us that who we really are is who we are when no-one is watching. And that Jesus died for us, knowing exactly what we do when the curtains are closed and no-one can see us. Again, it speaks to integrity—and that Jesus has come to deal with it. If everyone else thinks I’m a model Christian, but at home, by myself, I’m angry, compulsive, critical, selfish or greedy, the latter is a far more honest assessment of who I am and needs some spiritual help. It exposes a lack of integrity: I have an exterior self who looks one way, but an interior self (that I hide away) that looks quite another. What will happen when the pressure is on? That interior self will come out, one way or another. The good news is Jesus went to the Cross, even for that interior self. And with his help I can be forgiven, heal and become whole. That’s in part what baptism symbolises: me dying to all that ugliness and ungodliness. Naming it, owing it and leaving it with Jesus at the Cross, and then rising to a new life that where my insides match my outsides. A person of integrity. Learn from the Wise: Daniel 11-12 But what of the original situation: when others we trusted in and believed in have let us down? I’ve been teaching my way through the book of Daniel and its been fascinating to muse on this topic. Daniel 7-12 describe a series of visionary experiences that give God’s perspective on the political problems and extreme religious oppression that led to the Maccabean revolt in the 160s BC. These were largely due to the decisions of the Antiochus IV who was on the throne of the Hellenistic empire, a Greek of Seleucid descent. You can read about Antiochus IV in 1 and 2 Maccabees, but the snapshot version is that he installed puppet high priests in the Temple at Jerusalem, looted it for money to fuel his military campaigns, outlawed the Torah (including Sabbath observance and circumcision) and, most egregiously, desecrated the Temple with pig sacrifices and an altar to Zeus. These orders resulted in many faithful Jews having to try and keep Torah secretly. When discovered, those who had done so were public shamed and then executed (e.g. 2 Macc 6:10). It was miserable existence (2 Macc 6:9). Antiochus IV’s diabolical political rule was one thing, but the book of Daniel also wrestles with this: what do we do when our religious leaders let us down? When their outsides don’t match their insides? When we discover they are white-washed tombs (Matt 23:27)? The high priest and many other religious establishment figures were swayed by Antiochus IV at the expense of their loyalty to the Lord Most High. Daniel 11 and 12 in particular speak to this situation. Daniel 11:32 says that Antiochus will “seduce with intrigue those who violate the covenant” in contrast to “the people who are loyal to their God.” A few verses later we learn why: “Those who acknowledge him [Antiochus] he shall make more wealthy, and shall appoint them as rulers over many, and shall distribute the land for a price” (v.39). Antiochus used his power and means to get what he wanted, and those who showed more fidelity to him than to the God of Israel, got to share in that wealth themselves. So, what is Daniel’s answer to when the stewards of God’s covenant and teachers of God’s law reveal their true colours? When their words and who they’ve said they are don’t match up with who they have shown themselves to be? When those around us lack integrity, what are we to do? Well, it’s not to keep hanging on and believing in religious leaders who have proven themselves to be corrupted by political power (they are destined for shame and contempt, Dan 12:2). Daniel’s suggestion is to fix our eyes elsewhere instead: “ The wise among the people shall give understanding to many; for some days, however, they shall fall by sword and flame, and suffer captivity and plunder. ” (Daniel 11:33) Look to the wise. Look to those with understanding. Come to understand for yourselves. But this is not an easy answer. For these are the folk that get into trouble. Who perish by the sword. They don’t look like winners. This is perhaps why Daniel’s own response to the visions is one of weakness, fear and trembling. To understand and see reality for what it is can be deeply disturbing. In Daniel, understanding revolves around knowing God is God of all and all kings should have limits to their power. Even when kings like Antiochus IV trample on what is sacred, and transgress into the holy of holies—divine space—God through his angels is contending with powers beyond human ones and will bring all to judgement. But the waiting in the meantime will not be easy or pain-free. That’s why the promise of resurrection is so important in Daniel 12: it’s reassurance for the faithful—for the wise—to keep going. It is they who will be raised and will be like angels: "Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever." (Dan. 12:3) When those we’ve trusted and believed in fail us, God is at work. There may not be easy answers, and sitting with the reality of betrayal is painful, but God is not done yet. Sometimes what is happening is part of a much bigger, cosmic picture and God will intervene. Others’ words and actions may not line up, but ours can. Our insides can match our outsides and our words match our actions. With God’s help we too can become “ people who are loyal to their God ,” those who “ shall stand firm and take action. ” (Dan. 11:32) ****** Cover picture: John Everett Millais, Esther, 1863–65, Oil on canvas, 77.4 x 106 cm, Private Collection

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