Sermons

 

The First Sunday of Advent - 30th November 2025

 

When I was a Girl Guide, our motto was “Be Prepared”. 

I have checked to see if this is still their motto and it is, alongside the Scouting movement as well. It is a maxim that has stood me in good stead over the years and I imagine for millions of other young people around the world as well.

It is a motto that we can bear in mind, when looking at today’s readings.

Today is Advent Sunday – the first day of the Christian year – and it is officially the start of the season where we prepare for Christ’s coming. Sadly, the commercial world and media have lost sight of this day or the concept of Advent, which should be a time of penitence similar to the season of Lent. Advent is often an overlooked season with the busyness of simply getting ready for Christmas Day. Christmas itself is no longer recognised as a season in its own right, and I think we are the poorer because of that.

So how do we prepare spiritually for Christ’s coming? The awe and wonder of God sending his only Son into the world as a vulnerable baby, is often missed and perhaps devalued to a story that is something for children only. 
God’s eternal plan to redeem His world is trivialised and the whole point of Christmas itself is missed.

But Advent is also about thinking and preparing for Christ’s return to earth as King, when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord. 
His second coming, or also called the end of the world, is something that we don’t talk about very much. When I was a child, Christ’s return was often a topic in Sunday School, although I am not sure whether it was simply a means to make sure we behaved ourselves. There was always the threat that we mustn’t do anything naughty in case he came back at that very moment and caught us misbehaving. 
My sister and I were well into our fifties before we dared to go to the cinema on a Sunday– just in case he returned that afternoon.

However, the thoughts and beliefs behind that teaching are echoed in today’s gospel, where we are told to be ready for the Son of Man to return. 

But, I don’t think we are meant to be afraid of that return - it should be an event we look forward to and are to pray for. The Latin word “Maranatha” is simply a prayer, “Come, Lord, come”.

During Advent many people have an Advent calendar or perhaps a candle to mark off the days until Christmas. Here in church we of course have the Advent wreath where we recognise each Sunday until Christmas morning and I understand that some of these calendars are now using the title “Countdown Calendar” and leaving out the word Advent all together.

However, for Christ’s second coming we can’t have such a calendar or candles or any form of countdown. Jesus makes it clear that the day and hour are unknown, except to God the Father alone. Any other predictions or prophecies can be dismissed. 
Not even Jesus himself or the angels know the exact time when Jesus will return.

Instead, we need to be prepared for that unexpected hour, and our reading from Romans gives us some clues as to how to do that. 
We must owe no-one anything except love. We must keep the commandments and live honourably. And most importantly we must put on the Lord Jesus Christ, living only for Him and not for our own desires.

At the time of the early church, they believed Christ would be returning soon and perhaps they were more conscious of this happening. But now, more than 2000 years have passed since Christ was here on earth and perhaps as a world we have become complacent and have dismissed those ideas. The end of the world is now linked to ecological and environmental concerns rather than recognising that Christ is King.

So this Advent, let us be prepared for Christmas Day and remembering the Christ-child in the stable. Knowing that He came to earth for the whole world is truly awesome.

But let us also be prepared for when Christ returns as King of all. 

In the words of the prophet Isaiah, “Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord”.

Amen

Ruth Cook, Reader

Christ the King - 23rd November 2025

“The Queen is dead. Long live the King.”

As we were reminded only a few years ago, it is a tradition for crowds to gather outside the railings at Buckingham Palace waiting for official news of the death of the ailing monarch. A palace official pads quietly to the gates, posts a simple notice that the old monarch has died and proclaiming the new one in those time-honoured words. Without a word he turns and pads back indoors. The old has gone, but the new is already here, seamlessly taking charge – as far as the world is concerned – there is no break, and all is well with the world.

It all speaks of the quiet ritual of a civilised constitutional monarchy. And if I asked you to think what a king looked like, you might well think of our own king. He might be dressed in military uniform, but just as likely dressed in a suit.

Go back to the Old Testament and there would have been a very different image of a king in the minds of the people. Of course, God hadn’t wanted the Israelites to have a king. He was enough for them. But they had come to Samuel asking for one, so that they could be like all the other nations.

Oh, how the drive to be so-called normal drives us all!

Their first king, Saul, had started well but went bad. The great King David was a hero, but by no means perfect. And so it went on. Read on in Kings & Chronicles in the Old Testament to hear the sorry tale.

Now, of course, the kings of old were no more perfect than you and me – that is, not very perfect at all. But unlike you and me, they tended to have absolute power. They made deals with interest groups far and wide and inside, either to further their aims, or to stay in power if threatened. The equality of all people, never mind the sick, the poor and the old, rarely came into the picture.

This was a pity because in spite of all that, kings were indeed responsible for justice and the common good. It’s just that the reality never quite met the ideal.

We often forget is that Jesus was put to death for being a king. The establishment of the day found him a threat and so persuaded their Roman oppressors that he was a rival to Caesar. By the time Jesus stood before Pilate I don’t suppose he looked much of a threat. But the Governor couldn’t take the risk and had him crucified anyway. A king on a cross? I don’t think so.

But they hadn’t bargained for the Empty Tomb on the third day.

And, of course, it is because of the Resurrection that we have confidence to call Jesus our king, though not in any sense a direct rival to our own king, who also bends the knee before God as we do. As all worldly power ultimately will do.

So, what does it mean for us to call Jesus our king?

Three things: we need to recognise the radical call of Jesus’ kingship; his kingly justice on earth and his kingly justice expressed through the cross.

Jesus is king because he has a claim over the whole of our lives. Historically, that’s what kings do. But Jesus’ call to us is to live in line with his Gospel and to turn away from injustice and inequality in all its forms. We need to live as though all who live around us matter, especially the poor, the widow and the stranger – all who are vulnerable. We have a responsibility to each other, and for Creation itself. For the Gospel is about society, communities and the organisations and institutions that underpin them. 

Mostly, kings are people that keep company with the good and the great, the rich and powerful, the privileged few. But our King Jesus made a point of associating with the so-called wrong people: the thief, the leper, the blind and the lame. Make no mistake, it was these people who were despised and outcast, beyond God’s care, their condition a consequence of their sin. And unlike the traditional rabbis, he spoke to women, in his time utterly without power or importance. 

Moreover, because of their hardness of heart, it was the good and the great that he warned of God’s impending judgement.

Whatever the political machinations of the scribes and the pharisees, this was the real reason why they had him crucified.

Yet it was on that cross that Jesus redefined justice. For there he takes upon himself all the twisted, distorted notions of justice and salvation that humanity tends to have. To bring about his kingly justice, Jesus stands in solidarity and understanding with sinners, oppressors, robbers and criminals, not to condone their actions but to redeem them in one ultimate act of self-sacrificing love. In that way the cross becomes at the same time a monument to human foolishness and a witness to God’s grace that challenges us to think and live differently. It is in these things that lie the Kingdom of God and of his Christ that we celebrate today.

In baptism we take a step of faith into that alternative kingdom ruled by justice, love and grace. We take up that challenge to live differently and call others to follow the message of Christ the King that, together, we may pursue justice and peace in the world, embracing all whom the world rejects but who are loved and cherished by God.

And, by the way, it would be good if President Trump and the Christians that support him took note!

Amen.

Revd Preb. Robin Lodge

The Second Sunday before Advent - 16th November 2025

Look about you at our lovely church building. The patterned brickwork, the beams supporting the roof. Look towards the chancel and the High Altar sanctuary, the stained glass windows. Look to the South Aisle, added in 1890 to relieve a capacity problem, would you believe. Think of the building you see from outside as you approach. That massive hulk of a building standing so squarely on the street corner. 

In our family, whenever we drive by the church, I often say, “There it is! The old pile of stones. Still there!”

Well, I’m glad it is – seeing as I’m partly responsible for it. Thank goodness I’ve got a good churchwarden – and a great team to back us up! 

But the very act of still being there suggests a permanence. St Andrew’s has been here a long time. 144 years even. In the Inner Vestry there is a drawing of a brand-new St Andrew’s sat in the middle of fields, some people standing on a low mound that must be roughly the centre of the green. The houses that sprung up in response to the developing railway are yet to appear. St Andrew’s has seen trams come and go. It’s seen industry, shops and businesses come and go, and the gradual change from a community almost self-contained, to a mainly residential inner suburb of a large town.

It all suggests permanence, solidity and dependability. Perhaps it will be here forever.

But being there forever is exactly what the Jews thought about the huge and deeply impressive Jerusalem Temple. Built by Herod the Great, it was famous throughout the ancient world. The its footprint and that of its precincts totalled 35 acres. It was big. Mind bogglingly big, and a stunning piece of architecture to boot. Moreover, it was a symbol, an expression, of Jewish nationalism, representing for its countrymen a sense of identity and security.  Its vastness seemed to underpin a kind of indestructability. An indestructibility that suggested the very opposite of Jesus’ prediction that, “Not one stone would be left upon another.”

Surely, that could never be.

But in AD70, the unthinkable happened. Fed up with the constant challenges, uprisings and insurrections, the occupying Romans decided to dent Jewish nation pride once and for all, and they tore down the lot. All that remains today is what is now called the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. Appropriately named indeed, it became, if you like, a theological Ground Zero.

That too is appropriate. Think how much the Twin Towers in New York represented the permanence and triumph, almost, of Western economic political and economic power. International finance on a grand scale.

Since then, we have seen the near collapse of the banking system in 2008, two Gulf wars, Afghanistan, Al Qaeda and Islamic State. Add to that climate change, not to mention a political climate that in which there are siren voices beginning to suggest that, just maybe, democracy was a bad idea and that older despotic ways weren’t so bad after all. So much for permanence and triumph.

With all this in mind, we too, like 1st Century Jerusalem, can be forgiven for wondering where security and identity come from. If not these things, then what?

And Jesus quietly says, “Here I am.”

His message to his disciples is that against a backdrop of national and international conflict, environmental catastrophe, betrayal between friends and family members, violence, persecution, even death, is that they should stand firm. And that they should raise their sights above the secular and religious temples – idols even – of their day and receive the promise of his presence and the inspiration of his Spirit to find wisdom and the right words and actions to meet the challenges of the day.

So that’s alright then. Nice and easy!

Well, actually, no!

When we read the Scriptures, it is so tempting to gloss over those little contradictions that raise more questions than they answer, perhaps out of a sense of loyalty, or for fear of an explanation that we do not like. Yet we are bidden to go deeper. The disciples were not afraid to ask questions, and neither should we be.

Have you noticed that, right at the end of today’s Gospel, Jesus warns his disciples that they will be betrayed, and some put to death? He goes on to say that they will be hated because of their faith, but that, “not a hair of your head will perish.”

And you might be tempted to raise a hand and say…

“Excuse me… sorry to be a pain… but is not martyrdom and the perishing of hair quite closely connected?”

Of course, for most of us martyrdom is usually something that happens to other people – though, I guess we should not be complacent about that. That said, there are plenty of other ways that uncertainty and insecurity feature in our lives… so many voices, so many fears…

“I can’t pay my bills.”

“Our city is being bombed.”

“We fled our home country and lost relatives when the boat sank.”

“Our child is on drugs.”

“My partner hits me.”

“I can’t feed my kids.”

“I’m ill and afraid and can’t get a doctor’s appointment.”

“My mental health is broken.”

“The river rose. Our home is flooded.”

These and so many more. Many, many more.

In the midst of all this, Jesus remains, a constant and reassuring voice. It’s as if he is saying…

“Hold on to me in the chaos and uncertainty, pain and fear. I am with you and will give you the security and identity you need. Preach my gospel of love in action and in word, and stay close to me in prayer, in worship, and in the mess and muddle of life. Trust not in the changing chances of life. Put your trust in me.”

Because it is in Christ and not our political alliances – personal, national and international – not fickle humanity, nor even our physical lives themselves, that we shall find our security. Christ, who is the same yesterday, today and forever, the source of true permanence and steadfastness, where constant and reliable love is to be found; love that transcends time and space.

The changing chances of this fleeting life, as the old compline prayer puts it, are not going to go away any time soon. But we believe in a Kingdom greater than all this, and in Jesus himself who has said…

“Behold, I am with you, to the end of the age.”

Amen.  

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