• Isaiah 9:1-4  • 
• Psalm 27:1, 4-9  • 
• 1 Corinthians 1:10-18  • 
• Matthew 4:12-23​

​A little oddly, perhaps, the calling of the disciples Andrew and Peter, which John's Gospel recounted last week, is repeated this week in Matthew's version.  There are some important differences between the two, however. The fourth evangelist tells the story in connection with John the Baptist. Matthew makes only a brief mention of John, and links the story more directly with the prophet Isaiah. Jesus, he declares, is the light that Isaiah prophesied would eventually dawn on those who sit 'in the region and shadow of death'. 

It is with this alternative context in mind that Matthew introduces Andrew and Peter. But there is a further subtle and important difference. In John’s version, Andrew and Peter take the initiative in seeking Jesus out. In Matthew’s version, it is Jesus who encounters them fishing and calls them , as he does James and John. What is more, he calls them to leave not only the work they are engaged in, but everything that they have. Their response is usually held up as exemplary: 'Immediately they left their nets and followed him'. But what are we think about Zebedee who is left sitting in the boat?  Has he no claim on the sons he has raised, and on whose labour he will depend in old age?

Matthew’s version of the call to the disciples is echoed in many other Gospel episodes. Following Jesus is repeatedly represented as being all consuming, even to the point of abandoning family responsibilities. Doesn’t this mean that true Christian discipleship is ruled out for ordinary people? How could we answer such a call, given our love for parents and children, our belief in the value of what we do, and our obligations to the wider community to which we belong?

Elsewhere, however, when ​confronted with questions like these, Jesus acknowledges that for many people wholesale commitment of an exclusive kind is not possible, and promises that God can work with less than this. It is enough to respond to his call with simple penitence, and then seek more and more ways in which we can put Christ first in the course of ordinary life. A key step is relinquishing the hold of rival claimants to our most fundamental allegiance. The Epistle for this Sunday illustrates just how easy it is to fall into alternative loyalties. The loyalties for which St Paul chastises the Corinthian Christians are early examples of sectarian divisions that all claim the name of Christian. But there are other less obvious rivals for Christ’s headship – nation, profession, ethnic group, sports team and so on. If few of us can respond as immediately as the twelve disciples did, we can at least resolve to take more steps in their direction. What matters, is where the heart is. This week's Psalm expresses the ideal towards which all true disciples strive: ‘One thing I asked of the Lord, that I will seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life’.

• Isaiah 49:1-7  • 
• Psalm 40:1-11  • 
• 1 Corinthians 1:1-9  • 
• John 1:29-42

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​In Year A of the Lectionary, which is this year, the readings for the first three Sundays in Epiphany give special attention to the important connection between Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Jesus. In this way, these weeks build a bridge between the Old and New Testaments. 

The passage from Isaiah for Epiphany II sets out a much larger divine plan than any that the previous prophets had proclaimed. They had addressed a corrupt and wayward Israel, urging a return to its God-given mission. But God tells Isaiah, “it is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations”. God’s call, in other words, is no longer to be confined to the Children of Israel. Isaiah has a far more significant task – to ensure that the message of God’s salvation “may reach to the end of the earth."

Ultimately, this task is to be accomplished by a messiah. In the Gospel reading, John the Evangelist conveys the spiritual intensity that enables John the Baptist to perceive the messiahship of Jesus long before others manage to do so. “I did not know him”, he tells us, “but I came baptizing with water . . . that he might be revealed to Israel”. Consequently, when John sees Jesus coming towards him, he declares “Here is the Lamb of God”. 

The expression 'Lamb of God' is now so well-worn, it is easy to miss the religious implications of this extraordinary metaphor. It forges a connection between past, present and future, and does so by means of two powerful resonances that were deeply engrained in the consciousness of the Jews.  The first is the memory of the Passover Lamb, the sprinkling of whose blood on the doorposts played a key part in the Israelites' liberation from slavery. The second is the Suffering Servant of the book of Isaiah, who is led ‘like a Lamb to the slaughter’. Thus, by means of this single image, John connects Jesus with the Israel’s hopes and history.
      This Gospel passage, however, takes the bridge building a step further. Among the first to hear John’s metaphor are Andrew and Simon. It is given to the otherwise undistinguished Andrew to grasp the truth, and tell his subsequently much more distinguished brother “We have seen the Messiah” – the “Anointed” for whom, as devout Jews, they have been taught to yearn since infancy. Together they take the first hesitant steps on a new spiritual quest. It is a quest that will bring them initially to the disillusionment of Passiontide. But thereafter, they witness the transformation of Easter that in the end equips them both for martyrdom.

• Isaiah 42:1-9  • 
• Psalm 29  • 
• Acts 10:34-43  • 
• Matthew 3:13-17

The first Sunday after the Feast of the Epiphany is now widely observed as The Baptism of the Lord. It commemorates an event that is recorded in all four Gospels. Outside of the Passion narrative, relatively few episodes in the life of Jesus appear in all the Gospels, so this degree of Scriptural warrant is special. 

​The Gospel for this year is Matthew. The four Gospels record the baptism slightly differently, but they all lay special emphasis on three aspects. First, they affirm a theological link between John the Baptist and the preparatory, prophetic ‘voice’ that Isaiah describes as ‘crying in the wilderness’. Secondly, they all speak of the highly charismatic John as nonetheless secondary to Jesus. Thirdly, they make the baptismal event a “manifestation”, that is to say, one of those very special occasions – like the Transfiguration – when Jesus’ divine nature and commission shone out unmistakably to all who were present. 

​These three aspects are importantly connected. The prophet is a notable feature of Judaism, and as the reference to Isaiah implies, John stands out in this long and continuing line. Yet, with the appearance of Jesus, there is, so to speak, a change of gear. In the First Coming we move beyond the level of even the most distinguished prophets, and encounter not just another valuable source of spiritual insight and passionate human integrity, but a revelation of the Holy Spirit itself.

​Written in retrospect, the Gospels struggle with this question – Just who was Jesus? Eventually they tentatively arrive at an answer which the Church has sought to refine ever since – Jesus is the Christ, the one human being in whom God is made fully manifest. In line with an ancient practice, baptisms are commonly celebrated on this Sunday. This is not just a matter of happily fitting the Gospel of the day. If Jesus is the perfect unity of humanity and holiness, our own lives become holy to the degree that they are lived in him. Baptism is the sacrament by which we are initiated into that life.

• Isaiah 60:1-6  • 
• Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14  • 
• Ephesians 3:1-12  • 
• Matthew 2:1-12

​The Feast of the Epiphany (January 6th) is one of those relatively rare days in the Christian lectionary when, whatever the year, the Bible readings, including the Gospel, are always the same. ​

The reason is very simple. Although this has long been a major feast of the Church -- and of special importance in the Eastern Orthodox tradition -- only Matthew makes any mention of the strange event on which it is based. Matthew's short account of the arrival of strangers from some far-off place at the stable in Bethlehem has been filled out by tradition. The visitors have become three ‘kings’ or ‘wise men’ from Persian lands, and given the names of Caspar, Belshazzar and Melchior. The Bible does not provide a basis for any of these details, and in some modern translations 'wise men' is rendered 'astrologers', or even 'magicians'. This reduces their status considerably, but increases the mystery. Why has this brief episode attracted so much attention for so long? 

The answer lies in the theological significance that has been found in it. First, the fact that the travellers seek out Herod, and then fail to report back to him, gives an early sign of the 'political' context into which Jesus was born; the actual Messiah ultimately proves quite at odds with what people had traditionally hoped for, or (in the case of Herod) feared. Secondly, the gifts that the wise men leave in the stable all have symbolic meaning; gold and frankincense are traditional gifts for a ruler, while myrrh presages death – an odd gift for a baby. Thirdly, these men are Gentiles, which is to say, foreigners. This is perhaps the most important aspect. As the Old Testament lesson reminds us, the story of the birth, ministry, suffering and death of Jesus is firmly rooted in the Jewish theology of a long-expected Messiah, and must remain so. Yet properly understood, it has significance far beyond the confines of Jewish life and thought. The Gospel is a Gospel for Jew and Gentile alike. 

​This is St Paul's great insight. “Gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise of Christ Jesus”, he writes in the passage from Ephesians that is the Epistle for Epiphany. It is an insight that led him, at intense personal cost, to begin the enormous task of proclaiming a Jewish Gospel to a Gentile world.
  'Epiphanic moments' are those times when, quite suddenly, something of the greatest importance strikes us unexpectedly. At the Feast of the Epiphany we commemorate and celebrate the moment at which the universal importance of the Jewish religion is, for the first time, revealed to the whole world. It is the point, we might say, when the birth of the historical Jesus is suddenly revealed to be the incarnation of the eternal Christ.

There are often multiple services at Christmas, so the Revised Common Lectionary provides three sets of 'propers'. These readings are used in every year of the 3-year cycle.

• Isaiah 9:2-7  • 
• Psalm 96  • 
• Titus 2:11-14  • 
• Luke 2:1-14, (15-20

 

• Isaiah 62:6-12  • 
• Psalm 97  • 
• Titus 3:4-7  • 
• Luke 2:(1-7), 8-20

 

• Isaiah 52:7-10  • 
• Psalm 98  • 
• Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12)  • 
• John 1:1-14​

• Isaiah 7:10-16  • 
• Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19  • 
• Romans 1:1-7  • 
• Matthew 1:18-25​

​The readings for this week form a very obvious bridge between Advent and Christmas. The Gospel begins the story of Christ’s Nativity, a story that will unfold more fully in longer readings on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, through Epiphany (Jan 6th) and concluding on Candlemas (Feb 2nd). At the same time, short though it is, this Gospel passage also looks back to the ancient promise of a Messiah. It quotes directly from the prophet Isaiah in the famous passage that provides the Old Testament lesson for this Sunday.

Since we are not yet in the season of Christmas, we hear only the start of the story. Yet this brief episode does something very special. It enables us, unusually, to focus on the distinctive role of Joseph in God’s salvation history. Jesus owes his humanity, as well as his Jewish identity, to his earthly mother Mary, and accordingly, she has had a widely acknowledged theological role in the mystery of the Incarnation. In a quite different way, however, Joseph too has a key part to play, because he, no less than Mary, could have accepted or rejected it.

Nowadays, single parents and unmarried mothers are a thoroughly familiar part of life, and while some people still disapprove, the majority take illegitimacy in their stride. One consequence of this is that it requires real imaginative effort to appreciate the impact of Mary’s highly unorthodox pregnancy in a culture so different to our own. At the annunciation, Mary memorably says ‘be it unto me according to your word’. There is undoubtedly great courage and deep faith revealed in this. Yet it is matched by Joseph’s response. Confronted with such socially devastating news, it would be natural for the ‘betrothed’ to feel intense personal rejection as well as moral affront. And Joseph had to face this further prospect -- acute embarrassment, and ridicule from his contemporaries.

​All along, close at hand, there was an easy, socially approved solution – ‘to dismiss her quietly’, a response that would have been regarded, the Gospel says, as the action of ‘the righteous man’. The angelic voice in the dream tells Joseph to do otherwise. Still, it relies on his having the spiritual insight and moral courage to accept such advice. When he does, his reward is to be given the task of naming the baby, and thus accorded parental status. As it turns out, many years later, this is no small reward. In this week’s Epistle, Paul declares to the Christians at Rome that their whole calling – like ours – is ‘for the sake of that name’. And at the name of Jesus, he tells us elsewhere, every knee shall bow. Each time we do so, we have good reason to remember Joseph.

• Isaiah 35:1-10  • 
• Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:46b-55  • 
• James 5:7-10  • 
• Matthew 11:2-11

​“What did you go out to look at?” Jesus asks the crowd in this week’s Gospel, “A reed shaken in the wind?”  It is an image that has caught the imagination, and provided books and poems, as well as sermons, with a striking title. But what exactly does it mean? The exchange occurs in a section of Matthew’s Gospel that is mostly about the significance of John the Baptist. Clearly, ordinary people were much struck by this extraordinary man, and here Jesus is prompting them to ask themselves why.

Some commentaries suggest that from time to time freak winds blowing through the reeds around the Sea of Galilee created strikingly unusual formations. On this interpretation, Jesus is saying to the people ‘Surely you didn’t go to see John as some kind of freak of nature?’ On the other hand, they can hardly have been drawn by his important social status. No one could have been less like the political dignitary who dresses in soft robes and lives in a royal palace. No, they went to see a prophet. And that means, consciously or unconsciously, they went to see him out of spiritual longing.

This week’s Old Testament lesson gives graphic expression to that longing. It is amongst Isaiah's most famous passages, and one with which the crowd Jesus was addressing was likely to have been familiar. “Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped, the lame shall leap like a deer and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy”. John is the harbinger of this vision. Jesus is its fulfilment. The fulfilment is not all sweetness and light, however. “Here is your God”, John adds, “come with vengeance, and terrible recompense”.
The readings for this week offer the possibility of replacing the Psalm with the Magnificat. This reminds us once again that the themes of the first and second comings are interwoven. The First Coming with its carols, social festivities, and baby in the manger falls easily within our comfort zone. We know what to expect, and we like what we know. The Second Coming when (as the brief excerpt from James puts it) ‘the Judge is standing at the doors!’ is a much more unsettling affair. Inevitably, it generates a mixture of personal anxiety and spiritual incomprehension.
Advent is an opportunity to switch familiarity and surprise around.  From the perspective of divine love, adverse judgment on the self-centered lives human beings so often lead is only to be expected. Consequently, we ought to find the Incarnation – God dwelling with us -- highly surprising. "What is Man that You should be mindful of him?” Psalm 8 asks, and, we might add, "that You should actually want to live here!"

• Isaiah 11:1-10  • 
• Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19  • 
• Romans 15:4-13  • 
• Matthew 3:1-12

​Purple is the traditional colour for the Season of Advent. Increasingly, however, blue is used as an alternative. This reflects a significant change in thinking, a change embodied in the Revised Common Lectionary. In part Advent is like Lent – a penitential season -- hence the colour purple. In part, though, it is also an anticipation of Christmas. So while our thoughts should indeed be focused on the great, if awesome, themes of sin and redemption, they must also be related, somehow, to the joy of Christmas.
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In the Revised Common Lectionary this twofold aspect of Advent is reflected in the fact that the Gospel for the last Sunday in Advent begins the Christmas story and so switches our attention from death to birth. This is not a mere concession to the contemporary world in which Christmas services are held well before Christmas Day. Rather, it recognizes just how closely the Second Coming and the Incarnation are connected.  The Gospel for today, the second Sunday of Advent, reflects this. John the Baptist challenges his hearers in the fiercest language -- "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” – urging them to repent because “the kingdom of God is at hand”. This is the stuff of the Second Coming. But then, almost immediately, he turns their attention to Jesus’ First Coming, when he tells them that “one who is more powerful than I is coming after me”.
      The fact is, ‘First’ and ‘Second’ are temporal terms, whereas God is eternal, a Being in whom there is neither ‘before’ nor ‘after’. Consequently, although from a human perspective, Incarnation and Judgment are necessarily separated by time, they are two sides of a single divine act. The ‘baby in the manger’ who comes to save the world is also ‘Christ in his glorious majesty’ who comes to judge it. Unfortunately, the popular version of ‘the Christmas story’ is so focussed on the homely cuteness of the baby, it defuses the challenge with which his birth presents us. We have become so comfortable with it all that its strange mystery escapes us.

​     The Old Testament lesson from Isaiah predicts the coming of a Messiah, springing from the ‘Tree of Jesse’. That Messiah is the baby born in Bethlehem. He it is who will inaugurate Isaiah’s vision of the ‘holy mountain’ where nothing is hurt or destroyed. Yet he does so, only because his ‘delight shall be in the fear of the LORD. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear, but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked’. This doesn't resonate very well with Christmas lights and Nativity plays, and fits rather better with 'hellfire' preaching. Yet this is nonetheless the ultimate message of Christmas.

On Advent Sunday a new cycle of readings begins and the Gospel passages move from Luke to Matthew, mostly.  But on Advent Sunday itself, this change is not so very significant. Whatever the year, the readings for the first Sunday in Advent are always powerfully apocalyptic – all about the end of time and the final judgment.
      It is belief in a beginning and an end to time that differentiates the great religions of the book from the religions of the East. Whereas for Buddhism and Hinduism salvation lies in escape from the endless round of existence, for Judaism, Christianity and Islam, history is the context within which God brings about the redemption of the world. Yet, generally speaking, compared to Christians in centuries past, educated people nowadays have great difficulty in believing in an apocalyptic end to time. Moreover, the recent popularity (in certain quarters) of 'left behind' theology and 'the Rapture',  has resulted in 'adventism' being regarded, even by committed mainline Christians, as a belief for religious cranks, fanatics or obsessives. And yet, the doctrine of the Second Coming and the Last Judgment cannot be set aside as exotic inventions. Here they are in our appointed Common Lectionary. So what should we think about them? How are they best understood?

The first point to emphasize is that, despite the frequency (and enthusiasm) with which people have tried to predict ‘the end of time’, Jesus is quite clear -- “about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father”. In other words, all this will happen in God’s time, not ours. Secondly, "if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into". The message seems to be this: don't try to predict the end of time, but always be aware of its possibility. It is not prediction, but readiness that matters.
      Since each of us has our own ‘end of time’ – the hour of our death -- this makes sense. It does not matter when God brings the whole of history to a close, if we have met the end of own lives quite unprepared. If, with the inevitability of death in mind, we take the message of Advent to heart, what then are we to do by way of preparation? The Epistle for this week has the answer "You know what time it is now, how it is the moment for you to wake from sleep. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armour of light; let us live honourably as in the day". The passage from Isaiah puts it even more simply "Come, let us walk in the light of the LORD!" The world regularly confronts us with the choice of letting our thoughts and actions be exposed to the light, or of hiding them in some form of darkness. The 'moment’ to choose light over dark is perpetually 'now'.

The Revised Common Lectionary that has now been widely adopted across the world celebrates the last Sunday of the Church’s year as 'The Feast of Christ the King' (or 'The Reign of Christ'). Forty years ago this feast would have been almost unknown to the Anglican Communion. Even for Roman Catholics, it is not a very longstanding observation, being added to the Calendar as recently as 1925.
      Yet celebrating Christ as King is an especially appropriate way to conclude the Christian year. Faithful observance of the Church Calendar enables those who follow it to live through the cosmic story of humanity’s salvation. We start out languishing under judgement (Advent). It is while we are in that condition God comes to dwell among us, and is made manifest to the world (Christmas and Epiphany). This incarnate God calls us to a time of repentance (Lent), but because of our own inability to save ourselves, must, in great love, die for our salvation (Passiontide and Good Friday). In a mighty and glorious demonstration of saving power, God raises Christ Jesus (Easter), and returning to the heavenly places (Ascension), he continues to strengthen us with his Holy Spirit (Pentecost).

Reflecting on this narrative of salvation, we can see that, despite many appearances to the contrary, the God in whom ‘we live and move and have our being’, has given final authority over human kind to Jesus Christ. Yet, this authority rests on a quite different foundation. As the Gospel for this week so powerfully reminds us, Christ’s Kingdom signals a complete reversal of the values of worldly power that so evidently shape and influence our political life. Where the State relies on coercive power for its security, the path that Jesus pursues (to quote this week’s Epistle), is “making peace through the blood of his cross”.
      In Year B of the lectionary, the Gospel text focusses on Christ as the supreme judge of 'sheep' and 'goats'.  By contrast, this year (Year C), the Gospel is part of Luke's passion narrative. Jesus is truly “Christ the King”, but his 'throne', it turns out, is a place of torture, and his 'crown' is made of thorns. This casts a wholly different light on what it means to pray sincerely for the coming of the Kingdom of God in Christ. To do so, we must first grasp how different the reign of Christ is to all worldly authorities – whether ancient empires, military dictatorships or modern democratic states. At times of political success and failure, it is especially important to remember Mary's ‘Magnificat’  --with the advent of Christ, God "casts down the mighty from their seats and exalts the humble and meek”.