Isaiah 9. 1 – 4

Matthew 4. 12 – 23

Fr Alex

 

As you may know, the week before last I was in Rome, for a little post-Christmas pilgrimage.  I lost count of how many churches I went in after about 18.  Churches that are out of this world – painted floor to ceiling with masterpieces, every spare inch covered in marble and gilded.

(Though I have to say, not one of them had stained glass anywhere near as good as what we have here in St Margaret’s!)

I was struck powerfully by how much Rome feels like our holy city – the headquarters of the Church.  The splendour of the buildings, the sheer number of priests and nuns walking around everywhere. The sound of all the church bells rolling over the city at once to ring the Angelus at 6.00 pm.

I have to tell you a funny story though.  I was suitably awed by my entrance into St Peter’s – as I walked through the various checkpoints wearing my collar, the wonderfully colourful Swiss Guards came to attention and saluted me (which I thought was just lovely).

I got down into the crypt and approached the tomb of the late Pope Benedict, only sealed just a few days before.  It was a very quiet and serious place: lots of signs everywhere saying ‘sacred space, no photos.’

I found myself near three nuns who were praying quietly.  After I paid my respects and turned to leave, I looked and saw those same three nuns, now all with their phones out taking selfies at the tomb!

I had to smile because it just summed up how it can be when the whole of life is just saturated with the faith.  It’s not something strict and formal and reserved for Sundays. 

It’s solemn and prayerful, but at the same time, joyful; it’s a faith you wear on your sleeve; something you can’t help but take a picture of and send to your friend – even if you’re a nun at a tomb.

And it’s just so attractive.  And that, I think, is what’s at the heart of our Gospel reading this morning.

These fishermen, at a single command, leave their nets, their livelihoods, their families – everything they have – and follow Jesus.

They hadn’t seen any miracle, or heard any mention of an eternal reward.  They weren’t the fruit of any course or five-point-plan.  One word from the Lord was enough to make them forget all their possessions, and follow him.

There was something in him that they found irresistibly attractive.

We’re still in the season of Epiphany, but all the miraculous and moving events of the Christmas story are starting to fade a little, as we near the end of January.

But today we see God made manifest once again, in the person of Jesus. 

Just as the shepherds ran over the hills to the manger with excitement; just as the magi were drawn irresistibly by the star, and overwhelmed with joy at finding the infant: so, today, the first disciples find God made manifest in Jesus Christ, and cannot live without him.

There aren’t rich and mysterious gifts; there isn’t a voice from heaven saying ‘behold my Son;’ water isn’t made wine, and there aren’t any angels singing in the sky.

There is just Jesus; God made manifest in their midst.

And this is something that all the Church today can remember.  We live in an age of mission plans and strategic development funding, and so on, and so forth.

But we won’t attract people to the faith until we become attractive with the faith.  Until people look at us Christians and think – I want some of that too.

It’s not about being happy all the time; sticking a smile on regardless of how we’re feeling.

It’s about discovering the deep joy of the faith – joy that celebrates the good times and sustains us through the bad.

It’s about becoming a person in which the love and the light, and the sheer attractiveness of life with Jesus can be made manifest.

Part of that comes through the kind of self-reflection and devotion to prayer that we will engage in in Lent.

But just as big a part of it, is not being afraid to share the joy that comes from life with God; rejoicing in the weirdness and strangeness of our faith – not least our belief that God actually wants to share in our human experience, to bring light to our darkness.

So in these final weeks of Epiphany, may we be inspired to rejoice in this great faith.  May we find some way of sharing it beyond these walls, and drawing others, irresistibly, into the love and light of Christ.  Amen.