People purified by Christ to become temples for God’s glory

A sermon preached by the Dean of Melbourne at Choral Evensong on the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple 2024:

Tonight’s readings for the celebration of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple (1 Samuel 1.21-28 and John 2.13-25) take us away from the infant Jesus in the arms of aged Simeon (shown above in our stained glass windows), when he sang his prophetic song about how he would enlighten the nations, and become the glory of God’s chosen people, Israel. In our second lesson, from John’s gospel, Jesus is not brought up to Jerusalem for purification to the Temple. Instead, he purifies the Temple. In John’s story, we meet Jesus as an adult—baptised by John in the Jordan, he had been proclaimed by John the Baptist to be ‘God’s Son’ and the ‘Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world’. He had gathered disciples around him, who had also proclaimed him to be God’s Son, and the King of Israel. In turn, he promised them that they would see ‘heaven open and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man’. And he had just attended a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and used six giant water jars for purifying household objects according to the Jewish law to make 800 litres of the finest wine.

A few days after this, his first miracle, or sign, changing objects for ritual purification into vessels for divine generosity, Jesus goes to the heart of ritual worship in Jerusalem, and symbolically purifies the Temple. Jesus and his disciples had gone up from Galilee in order to join with countless other pilgrims in celebrating the Passover; the liberation of his people from slavery in Egypt. As Jesus entered the temple, he found it not to be a place of prayer. Instead, it was busy with people selling cattle and doves, and exchanging Roman money for Temple money. Jesus, we read, ‘making a whip of cords, and drove all out of the Temple’, thus purifying the place of ritual sacrifice (Jn. 2.15). His action caused wide-spread confusion: bawling animals running about aimlessly; money changers scrambling for their coins on the floor of the temple courts; officials trying to take hold of Jesus, shouting at him, and arguing with him about the rights of his case.

John places the cleansing of the Temple right at the beginning of his story of Jesus’ public ministry. The other three evangelists tell this story at the end of their gospels, just before Jesus’ arrest, trial an crucifixion. But for John, this story is a continuation of Jesus’ first sign, which signalled the purification of the whole world at the time of fulfilment: the use of the jars of water for purification under the Jewish law for the new wine of the Kingdom of God mirrors the shedding of his blood on the cross to make pure the world from sin and evil. And now he is taking that new wine, to the heart of Jewish ritual life by purifying the Temple, and points again to the cross where he will break down the final barriers in human living—by conquering death and making peace with God. And where in the story of the wedding at Cana, no one other than Mary, his mother, the disciples, and the wedding guests witnessed his re-purposing of things set aside for the observance of the ritual law for the new things God was doing; here, in the Temple, everyone witnessed his actions, and found them to be outrageous.

Because Jesus not only drove out the salespeople, but also held the officials to account for their actions: ‘Take these things out of here!’, he told them, ‘stop making my Father’s house a marketplace’ (Jn 2.16). Jesus’ friends have already proclaimed him to be God’s Son, and they interpret his actions from that vantage point: ‘Zeal for your house will consume me’, they recall the scriptures—they know Jesus to be God’s Son, and of course, God’s Son would show zealous anger about his Father’s house. But the people gathered in the Temple have only just met Jesus. They have no idea of who he is, and why he is doing what he is doing. And that the place where they are meeting is not their Temple, but ‘my Father’s house’. In fact, it is not even a Temple, but a marketplace. In this brief interchange, Jesus shares with them incredible, and potentially offensive news: that he is God’s Son, and that God is displeased with their worship. And the people are startled and angry, and demand to see the authority for his actions. ‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’, they ask him. ‘What miracle will you perform to show that you truly are acting with the power of God?’

But we, who have read John’s story carefully and understood it from the vantage point of the cross, know that Jesus has already performed his sign. Miles away, in Cana at Galilee, when he turned the jars of ritual purification into a giant wine cellar and so signalled an end to religious rites that are without meaning. Instead of performing another sign, he makes the people a promise instead: ‘Destroy this temple’, he tells them, ‘and I will raise it in three days’ (Jn 2.19). John tells us that his listeners thought that Jesus was speaking of the building that surrounded them: Herod’s Temple, a grandiose shell that had been in construction for forty-six years already, and would still remain incomplete for another thirty years. But the evangelist tells us that Jesus was speaking of another Sanctuary. Not the physical structure of Herod’s incomplete house of prayer, but the ‘Temple of his body’.

The raising of Jesus on the cross—the destruction of his own body—and the raising, three days later, from the tomb would be the sign of God’s authority. ‘The real temple of God’, Jesus tells his listeners, ‘is not Herod’s building site in which we stand, but he stands among you right now. ‘The complete offering for the forgiveness of sins’, he adds, ‘can never be made by killing a newly purchased bull on the splendid bronze altar of this temple, but only by the sacrifice of God’s own Son on a cross’. A scapegoat sent to die in the desert once a year can never provide a sacrifice powerful enough to break the power of sin and evil and the barrier between God and man, once and for all. Only the ignominious death of Jesus on the cross can tear apart the curtain that separated the Holy of Holies from the world; can throw wide open the sanctuary of God in the Temple (Mk. 15.38par).

As the letter to the Hebrews explains: ‘It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins.  Indeed, when Christ came into the world, he said, ‘Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me; in burnt offerings and sin offerings you have taken no pleasure. Then I said, “‘”See, God, I have come to do your will, O God”. … Christ abolishes the first in order to establish the second. And it is by God’s will that we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all’. (Hebrews 10.5-10)

When they look at the world from the vantage point of Christ’s resurrection, the disciples know how to make sense of Jesus’ words, and the Scripture that promised the hope of new life brought by the death of the Messiah. That the sacrifice of Christ on the cross remains valid for all times and in all places; that that sacrifice has been accomplished once for all generations when Christ gave his own body as a Sanctuary and sacrifice for God as he breathed his last on the cross, purified the world from sin and death, and ‘abolished the first in order to establish the second’.

And as he prophesied at the beginning of John’s story, three days later, the Temple of his body was raised again. When Jesus died, the Temple of his body was destroyed, abolished. When he rose from the dead, that bodily Temple was renewed. This new Temple is there for all generations: not just there to be seen by the first disciples of Jesus at the empty tomb, or to be touched by the doubting Thomas. No, this new temple stands today wherever people want to become the ‘living stones’ that make up God’s sanctuary on earth. For in the light of the cross and resurrection, the God who once could only ever be encountered in the Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple has come to dwell right among us.  Not only in the risen body of Jesus, but in our own bodies; calling all of us to become living Temples of his Holy Spirit.

Just as he had prophesied in our second reading, on the first Easter day the Temple of Christ’s body had been raised up triumphantly. It remains with us today as a sign of God’s victory over sin and death. But it isn’t just a testimony to God’s work of resurrection, accomplished some two millennia ago. Rather, it is a constant invitation. A call to each of us to let ourselves be built into living Temples—to become ourselves homes of God’s Holy Spirit—to be the places where God may dwell on earth (1 Pet 2.5). A call to be purified as Christ is pure, and to become people who through their faith, and through their actions reflect the greatest of all of Jesus’ signs, the sign of lives restored and transformed forever to his glory.

Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.  Amen.

Image: Mary and Joseph present the infant Christ to Simeon, Stained Glass Window at St Paul’s Cathedral Melbourne.

The Miracle of Grace

A sermon preached by Dean Andreas Loewe at St Paul’s Cathedral Melbourne on Advent Sunday 2023:

‘Grace to you and peace from God the Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ’, our patron addresses the people of Corinth in his first letter to them. Grace is God’s invitation to share in his life; it is his call to us t to be loving, generous, forgiving and merciful. Every day, God’s grace is miraculously poured into our broken world. Every day, grace invites us to become more like God.

I give thanks for the power of God’s grace to change lives. Our second lesson from 1 Corinthians 1-9 is framed entirely in terms of thanksgiving for the grace we have received from God. It is God’s miraculous gift of grace, Paul reminds the people of Corinth that brought about their changed lives. We receive that grace from God the Father, Paul tells. That grace is shown forth at its fullest in the most graceful person ever to have walked this earth: God’s own Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord. We can share in God’s grace today, through the power of the Holy Spirit among us.

Grace often comes when we least expect it. Grace is always extraordinary. Grace is often miraculous. And that is why we need to keep our eyes open to see grace at work. We at St Paul’s have some amazing people among us. This week, I have asked four of our lay canons about where they have seen God’s grace at work, to help us in our own reflections on what grace is, and how grace can change us and our world.

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Lay Canon Mia Lucas-Bray is currently on secondment in London, at the Church Urban Fund, a UK charity that enables churches to serve the poorest of the poor; particularly people facing homelessness. Mia told me: ‘I’m lucky to witness grace at work every day. My job involves supporting churches to make a difference in their local communities. One project we run is called Places of Welcome, where churches open a safe space for everyone in the community to come and get to know one another, and provide support (whether that’s material needs, friendship, or connection to other services). These spaces are run almost entirely based on the generosity of volunteers—many of whom started coming because they were in need themselves’. 

On a visit to one of her Church Urban Fund Places of Welcome Mia met a volunteer whose grandmother had just died. Quite lonely in her later life, the grandma had started coming to the Places of Welcome, where everyone got to know her and offered her support. The volunteer told Mia how her grandma talked about the Places of Welcome all the time. How going there made her feel happy, how she had friends there, and how grateful she was to be part of a community where she was known and welcomed. And then the granddaughter told Mia that she had become a volunteer herself because she wanted to share the love her grandma had received with others. When we give away the grace that we have received from God to others, that grace is amplified.

Grace can multiply in that way, because God is generous, and his grace is boundless. The service of the granddaughter who now volunteers at the centre where her late grandma had found community is a great example of how when we share God’s grace even more grace flows into our world. When we give it to others, more grace flows. Canon Mia’s story reflects an important aspect of what Paul writes about in our second reading: when we share God’s grace, we ourselves will not go empty—‘you are not lacking in any spiritual gift’ (1 Cor. 1.7). People who have experienced God’s grace are not lacking, but will want to share that grace; like the grandmother who told her granddaughter all the time about the love and care she received. Mia said to me: ‘For me that story is a lovely example of God’s grace, calling us to him and helping us to be more like him’.

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God’s grace makes us less selfish. Grace can lift our vision to see the people who are around us with God’s eyes. Grace makes us kinder, more compassionate. Lay Canon Avril Brereton is a clinical psychologist who works with autistic children. I asked her whether she had seen God’s grace at work this week. This is what Avril said: ‘In my work with children and their parents, I am met daily with examples of grace, particularly the kindness and compassion of parents. For example: today, the mother and father who were desperate to find out why their son can talk, but can’t have a conversation with them, or look people in the eye, and won’t play with other children. And they say to me: “I just want him to be the best he can be”. Unqualified love, and attachment, that helps them to keep seeking answers and find ways to help their son. This, to me, is grace’, Avril said.

When we share the grace we have received from God with others, grace can help us find answers to complex problems. Avril’s story reflects another important insight that Paul sets out: ‘in every way you have been enriched [by grace] in Christ Jesus, in speech and knowledge of every kind’. But grace not only enriches us. It can also make us more patient with others who have yet to learn what we have already found out for ourselves. Avril told me: ‘My job is to help the parents who see me on their journey, provide some answers as to what the problem is, give it a name they can understand and explain to others who cross their son’s path. My job is to build their confidence and resilience, and to be there to support them. I am privileged and thankful, and by grace my faith sustains me in this work’.

Grace gives us insight of God’s plan for this world to be made whole. Grace gives us the words to express God’s vision. It can enable us to find the right words to make sense of complex situations, as Avril told us about her interaction with the parents of the autistic boy who came to her clinic this week. Avril told us another important thing that Paul also tells the Corinthians. That we are made stronger because we know that God is at work among us. Paul put it this way: ‘The testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you and God will strengthen you to the end’ (1 Cor 1.6). When we draw on the grace we have received from God in our work and ministry, we begin to see the world through the eyes of Jesus. When we talk about that changed vision—Paul uses an even stronger world, when we ‘testify’ to the transformational work of Christ in our lives—we are strengthened.

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Grace sustains us. Grace strengthens to face difficult and dangerous situations. Another Lay Canon of St Paul’s, Naomi Nayagam, has recently worked for the United Nations in a war zone. She told me that it was God’s grace that helped her face danger and conflict: ‘I was based in Cabo Delgado, a war-torn area in the North of Mozambique. I was leading a massive team to deliver numerous projects to help vulnerable and marginalised people. The UN’s work is to make a difference, and my usual team briefings ended with a reminder to ourselves that we are here to serve. That was not easy. We faced massive challenges, including political interferences and security threats. It was risky, but we continued day after day’.

Naomi told me that she was herself put in danger because she was calling out corruption in the community and in government: ‘I personally had a very rough time, as I had to make decisions for the common good, which meant going against other people’s views. When I was out in the community—in a village, or at high-level discussions, or just to go shopping—I had to have personal security. I risked my life, and it didn’t bother me. What bothered me the most was that I was responsible for the safety of my staff, over 100 of them’.

I asked Naomi how she coped with being in a war-zone, being responsible for a large team of people, facing personal danger. She told me: ‘I have been unbelievably calm, to the extent I was surprised with myself. How did I manage? How did I cope? The answer is very simple: it was God’s grace. Even when I found it difficult to pray, I knew there were so many praying for me, including my family of faith at St Paul’s Cathedral. All those prayers ascended to heaven, and I was blessed with an outpouring of God’s grace’.

In her amazing story, Naomi reflects another important insight Paul talks about in our second reading: ‘God is faithful: by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord’ (1 Cor 1.9). God gifts us his grace so that we may endure to the end. And the gift of God’s grace is best found in fellowship—in the friendship of those who follow God’s Son, Jesus Christ. And that fellowship extends across the globe, with those of us here praying for Naomi’s safety enabling her to feel the grace she needed to do the work she was called to do.

God’s grace at work in her life was not just something that happened inside Naomi, but it was something that others could see in her, she told me: ‘When I left, my head of finance said in his farewell speech – your faith was visible, you were a servant leader. This was my greatest joy, that God’s grace shone through me to my team and all those I came across. I was given a cross to bear, and God’s grace helped me carry it’, Naomi said. When we let God’s grace flow through us, we enable God’s love and mercy, his compassion and healing pour through into our world. And when we work in the strength of God’s grace, we ourselves may become signs of his faithfulness that encourage others to seek out God’s grace for themselves.

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God’s grace always surprises. It sometimes is unexplainable, and sometimes a bit out of the ordinary. Canon Prof Kate Drummond AM is a neurosurgeon at the Royal Melbourne Hospital and the Victorian Cancer Centre. She told me how she often has experienced grace in the face of terrible prognoses, and found strength to continue, to love, to be grateful—in spite of terrible outcomes. But she also reminded me that sometimes, through God’s grace, we may experience unexpectedly great outcomes—miracles. This is what she wrote from Capetown, where she is on a conference: 

‘A young man had lung cancer—the not smoking type. It had gone to his brain—multiple large tumours. He had been turned down for surgery by many neurosurgeons. He was paralysed on the right and could barely talk. His oncologist called me to say he had a new drug that might help—but that the young man would die before it could work if I didn’t operate to reduce the pressure on his brain. His father and fiancée pleaded with me. The oncologist said it was worth a try’. 

Canon Kate told me that she was terrified of the risks, that he might die during the surgery. But she said yes. Kate told me: ‘The night before the surgery he was married in the hospital garden. He had his honeymoon in a hospital bed on the neurosurgery ward. His only words left were yes, no and a lopsided smile—he was so happy to be married and given a chance. The surgery went well. He was no better, but was alive and the drug worked amazingly well. Seven years later—for a man who was given days!—he has completely recovered, with no sign of cancer, normal function and a young son’. A miracle of grace, courage, persistence and faith. Canon Kate finished her email to me: ‘He and I catch up by phone occasionally when I need to be cheered up! God is great!’

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The season of Advent is one of miracles. The miracle of God’s for us, that made him give us the greatest gift of all. His Son come among us as a human baby born in Bethlehem. The miracle of God’s forgiveness, that made his Son give his life for us that we might live forever. The miracle of God’s faithfulness, that made him send his Holy Spirit across the world to empower us—his followers—to tell this story of grace to others.

If you have yet to experience the transformational grace of God in your lives, I encourage you to pray that God would pour his grace into your hearts, so that you may come to know his Son Jesus, and find friendship and fellowship in this place. Do speak to myself or my colleagues after this service about our summer enquirer program, Alpha, and our baptism and confirmation classes. And if you are already a committed disciple of Jesus, then I encourage you to pray that God would strengthen you to show forth his transformational grace in the world. 

For all of us it is my prayer, with Paul our patron, that God would open our eyes to his presence in the world. That he would establish and strengthen by his Spirit so that we might know his faithfulness. That he would empower us by his grace that the testimony of Christ might be strengthened among us as we wait for the revealing among us of our Lord Jesus Christ. Come, Lord Jesus. Maranatha.

© Text: Andreas Loewe (2023), Image: Ming Zhou (2023)

‘Open wide your hearts also’ (2 Corinthians 6.11)

A pastoral letter to Voters in the upcoming Referendum on First Nations Constitutional Recognition and a Voice to Parliament from Andreas Loewe, Dean of Melbourne (German Version)

In a few weeks’ time, Australians will be headed to the polls. The referendum on Constitutional Recognition of First Peoples and the establishment of a Voice to Parliament is one of the most important decisions we will take in our lifetime. It truly is an historic event. On 14 October, I will be answering ‘yes’ to the question: ‘A Proposed Law: to alter the Constitution to recognise the First Peoples of Australia by establishing an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice. Do you approve this proposed alteration?’ I hope you will join me.

For me as a Christian, reconciliation is at the heart of my faith. By his death on a cross, Jesus broke down the things that fundamentally divide us. On the cross he reconciled us to his heavenly Father, and opened a new and living way to be reconciled with one another (Heb. 10.19-20). As his followers, Christians are called to enter with him into the ministry of reconciliation. St Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians: ‘God was reconciling the world to himself through Christ, and gave us the ministry of reconciliation’ (2 Corinthians 5.19). Christians are called to be Christ’s ambassadors ‘as though God were making his appeal through us’ (5.20).

Not only individuals need reconciling. Enter nations need reconciling. From the time of nation was colonised by European settlers, First Peoples were dispossessed and moved from their ancestral lands. Hundreds of thousands died as a result of this settlement—whether in armed conflict, or through infectious diseases brought by the colonisers. The ripple effects of settlement have a continued effect on our First Peoples: proportionally, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are more disadvantaged than other Australians. Attempts to ‘close the gap’ have failed to deliver the desired outcomes. 

In 2017, Aboriginal People from across Australia met at the heart of the nation, Uluru. There they issued an absurdly generous invitation to later arrivals in Australia to journey together with First Peoples, the Statement from the Heart. The Statement is gracious and visionary. It is practical as well as achievable. It is an offer from heart to the heart to be walking together on the ways of justice and reconciliation. And as such, for me it profoundly echoes the Christian message calling on each to work for reconciliation. When I first read the Statement, I opened my heart to its message, and in my heart said ‘yes’ to its invitation.

Aboriginal People have opened their hearts wide to us later arrivals. In the Statement from the Heart they offer our nation a new way to journey together to build a new Australia. As Uncle Glenn Loughrey said: Without anger, without seeking revenge they offer an act of deep forgiveness – from heart to heart. Yet despite this gracious invitation, the current debate on the Referendum has been divisive and vindictive. We are offered an incredible gift. I believe that, if we close our hearts to the Statement from the Heart, and the process of justice for First Nations through Voice, Treaty, Truth and Makarrata (coming together after a dispute) we also close our hearts to our nation’s better future.

History is calling. Our nation stands at a crossroads. Whether we receive or reject the Statement from the Heart will shape our future. 

Early in the Christian era, the church in Corinth had found itself at a similar crossroads and Paul wrote them a letter. He felt that the church in Corinth had closed their hearts to the message of the good news of God’s reconciling love. Paul told the Corinthians to reconsider and open their hearts to reconciliation:

‘We have spoken frankly to you Corinthians; our heart is wide open to you. There is no restriction in our affections, but only in yours. In return—I speak as to children—open wide your hearts also’ (2 Corinthians 6.11-13).

Let’s open our hearts to the Statement from the Heart. The Voice is calling from the heart. Please join me in saying yes.

Grace, mercy and peace from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you.

Yours, Dean Andreas.

Image: Elspeth Kerneborne/TMA

„Macht als Antwort auch euer Herz weit“ (2. Korinther 6,11)

Sendschreiben zur australischen Volksabstimmung über die verfassungsmäßige Anerkennung der Indigenen Völker und ein Indigenes Mitspracherecht im Parlament von Dompropst Dr. Andreas Loewe, St Paul’s Cathedral, Melbourne (English version)

In einigen Wochen gehen die Australier zur Wahl. Die Volksabstimmung über die verfassungsmäßige Anerkennung der Indigenen Völker und die Einrichtung eines Indigenen Mitspracherechts bzw. „Stimme“ im Parlament ist eine der wichtigsten Entscheidungen, die wir in unserem Leben treffen werden. Es ist ein historisches Ereignis. 

Am 14. Oktober werde ich die folgende Frage bejahen: „Ein Gesetzesvorschlag: die Verfassung zu ändern, um die Ureinwohner Australiens anzuerkennen, indem eine „Stimme“ [ein Mitspracherecht] der Aborigines und der Torres-Strait-Insulaner geschaffen wird. Sind Sie mit dieser vorgeschlagenen Änderung einverstanden?“ 

Ich hoffe, dass Sie sich mir anschließen, und selbst auch diese Verfassungsänderung bejahen.

Für mich als Christ ist die Versöhnung das Herzstück meines Glaubens. Durch seinen Tod am Kreuz hat Jesus Christus all das zerstört, was Menschen voneinander und von Gott trennt. Am Kreuz hat er uns mit Gott, dem Himmlischen Vater, versöhnt und einen neuen und lebendigen Weg zur Versöhnung eröffnet (Hebräer 10,19-20). 

Als Anhänger Jesu Christi sind alle Christen dazu aufgerufen, mit ihm in den Dienst der Versöhnung einzutreten. Der heilige Paulus schreibt in seinem zweiten Brief an die Korinther: „Gott hat uns durch Christus mit sich versöhnt und uns den Dienst der Versöhnung aufgetragen“ (2. Korinther 5,19). Christen sind „Gesandte an Christi statt, und Gott ist es, der durch uns mahnt. Wir bitten an Christi statt: Lasst euch mit Gott versöhnen!“ (5,20).

Nicht nur Sie und ich brauchen Versöhnung. Ganze Völker und Staaten müssen sich miteinander versöhnen. Seit der Kolonisation Australiens durch europäische Siedler wurden Indigenen Völker enteignet und von ihren Stammesländern vertrieben. Hunderttausende Menschen starben infolge dieser Besiedlung. Sowohl im bewaffneten Konflikt als auch durch Infektionskrankheiten, die die Siedler mit sich gebracht haben. 

Die Kolonisation hat anhaltende Auswirkungen auf die Indigenen Völker Australiens: Im Vergleich mit anderen Australiern sind Aborigines und Bewohner der Torres-Strait-Inseln stärker benachteiligt. Versuche, die soziale „Lücke zu schließen“—„to close the gap“— haben leider nicht zu den gewünschten Ergebnissen geführt.

Im Jahr 2017 kamen Aborigines aus ganz Australien im Herzen der Nation, am Berg Uluru, zu einem historischen Verfassungskonvent zusammen. Dort haben sie eine unbeschreiblich großzügige Einladung an alle Australier ausgesprochen: „Wir laden Sie ein, uns in einer australischen Volksbewegung für eine bessere Zukunft zu begleiten.”

Lasst uns gemeinsam einen neuen Weg begehen.

Das Statement aus dem Herzen ist offenherzig und weitblickend, praktisch und durchführbar. Es ist eine Einladung von Herz zu Herz: Lasst uns gemeinsam den Weg der Gerechtigkeit und Versöhnung begehen. Für mich spiegelt das Statement zutiefst die christliche Botschaft wider, die uns Christen dazu aufruft, sich dem Dienst der Versöhnung zu stellen. 

Im Statement aus dem Herzen haben unsere First Nations People uns die Herzen weit geöffnet. Sie bieten uns die Möglichkeit, gemeinsam ein neues Australien aufzubauen. Ohne Wut und ohne Rache bieten sie uns Vergebung an – ganz von Herz zu Herz. Als ich das Statement zum ersten Mal gelesen habe, hat sich mir mein Herz geöffnet. Und deshalb sage ich am 14. Oktober auch von ganzem Herzen, „Ja“.

Trotz dieser großzügigen Einladung ist der Ton der Debatte über das Referendum eher feindselig und misstrauisch. Und das ist bedauerlich. Denn im Statement aus dem Herzen wird uns ein außerordentliches Geschenk gemacht. Wenn wir unsere Herzen dem Statement gegenüber verschließen, verneinen wir nicht nur den Versöhnungsprozess. Wir verschließen auch unsere Herzen zu einer besseren Zukunft für alle Australier.

Die Geschichte ruft. Australien steht am Scheideweg. Ob wir das Statement aus dem Herzen annehmen oder ablehnen, wird unsere gemeinsame Zukunft maßgebend prägen.

Im ersten Jahrhundert nach Christus befand sich die christliche Gemeinde in Korinth an einem ähnlichen Scheideweg. Deshalb schrieb Apostel Paulus den Korinthern zwei lange Briefe, die wir in unserer Bibel nachlesen können.

Im Zweiten Korintherbrief hat Paulus beanstandet, dass die Korinther ihre Herzen der Frohen Botschaft von Gottes versöhnender Liebe verschlossen haben. Und forderte sie dazu auf, ihre Entscheidung doch noch einmal zu überdenken. „Öffnet eure Herzen der Versöhnung“, sprach er ihnen zu:

„Unser Mund hat sich für euch aufgetan, Korinther, unser Herz ist weit geworden. In uns ist es nicht zu eng für euch; eng ist es nur in eurem Herzen. Macht doch als Antwort darauf—ich rede wie zu meinen Kindern—auch euer Herz weit!“. (2. Korinther 6,11-13).

Die Stimme der Versöhnung ruft aus dem Herzen. Macht als Antwort auf das Statement of the Heart auch euer Herz weit. Bitte sagen Sie gemeinsam mit mir „Ja“.

Gnade sei mit euch und Frieden von Gott unserem Vater und dem Herrn Jesus Christus!

Ihr Propst Andreas Loewe.

Foto: Elspeth Kernebone/TMA

On Resurrection: a ‘Deeper Magic from before the Dawn of Time’

An address given by the Dean of Melbourne, at the Funeral of Neville Finney (13 January 1934—20 May 2023), Lay Clerk Emeritus of St Paul’s Cathedral, on 26 May 2023

Neville loved magic. For many years, after the first Christmas Carol Service at St Paul’s Cathedral, the choir would gather at Bishopscourt for their end of year celebration. After the barbeque the boys (in those days the girls’ voices had not yet been established) would be allowed to kick their footy across the hallowed lawns of the Archbishop’s house, while the lay clerks, clergy and parents enjoyed a glass of wine in the summer sun. 

Then it was time to head into the Drawing Room for the choristers’ treats—choir boys receiving commendations and gifts—after which Neville would step into the ring and magic coins out of thin air and make them disappear in front of everyone’s eyes. A silk handkerchief would be produced—see: only one handkerchief—and turn into a vibrantly, colourful length of silk scarves. Cut ropes were magically restored to their full length. Coins would be pushed through the tabletop. In Neville’s hands, the impossible became possible and seemed effortless. A magical performance to conclude the choir year, that matched the magic of music which had gladdened the hearts of those attending that year’s Christmas Carol Service at St Paul’s only an hour or so earlier.

Neville was an integral part of music-making at St Paul’s Cathedral for 40 years, just as he had previously been at All Saints’ East St Kilda as a treble, then as head treble, and then an alto. He brought the same magic of making the effortful seem effortless, that was a hallmark of his performances as a magician, to his commitment to music. A cornerstone of the choir back row, at St Paul’s Neville sang at multiple Evensongs a week.

Neville not only sang music but set it, so that others might sing with him. In an age when computers meant hard-coding, and people knew ‘Sibelius’ to be a Finnish composer and not a universally accessible music notation program, he put his hand to music notation, for instance by setting the psalter composed by his wife Dr June Nixon, which is still in daily use at St Paul’s. Twice a year, Neville would put together and publish the Music Foundation Newsletter, sharing the choir’s accomplishments, and those of Australia’s first (and only—thus far) woman Director of Music, with a  faithful and generous cohort of supporters.

Neville was devoted to June, and her music-making: it was at his suggestion that she took on leading the choir here at All Saints’ in 1965. At St Paul’s, it was he who set her compositions for performance and arranged for them to be published. Neville organised their regular international recital tours and overseas visits; taking care of each detail. Recordings of the Cathedral Choir were produced by Neville, first as vinyl—a 7-inch EP, The Choir of St Paul’s Cathedral: AE Floyd remembered; June’s tribute, a year after taking on her role as Director of Music, to an illustrious predecessor organist and composer—later Neville would help produce the choir’s CDs. 

Without Neville’s magic of making the effortful seem effortless, Cathedral music at St Paul’s would have been all the poorer. As it was, Neville magicked sheet music and recordings out of thin air—or so it seemed to those who did not recognise the hard work that went into making things look effortless. Unless you knew the trick, it all seemed magic because so much happened out of sight, unseen.

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There’s another magic that happens unseen: the power of new life where death had reigned. The author CS Lewis called the resurrection a ‘deeper magic from before the dawn of time’ (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, London: Geoffrey Bless, 1950). Lewis called the new life wrought by the resurrection ‘magic’ because it, too, happened out of sight. Unseen by any witnesses, in the dark before the dawn of Easter Day, Jesus Christ rose from the dead so that we might not have to fear death anymore.

God’s life-giving action at Easter is hidden; only the incredible result is visible. We only ever see the empty tomb, the stone rolled away, the folded grave-clothes and the messenger witnessing to the event. We never see the actual resurrection itself. However intently we examine the facts, we will only ever see the result of the resurrection: new life where there had been death; an empty tomb where the crucified Jesus had lain; a risen, living Saviour, greeting his friends in the garden of the resurrection.

Now, I don’t want to spoil Neville’s magic tricks—so if you want to maintain the illusion, now is the time to cover your ears. Neville worked with props and practised hard to make things appear and disappear out of thin air. I am not sure whether he’d show you the magic box he used, or the clever device—‘Slydini’s own “Coins Thru Table”’—that enabled him to press a coin into a table, only to vanish. Neville’s magic was based on props and a lifetime of experience as a showman—like his music making, his magical career started precociously early: he began practising with a children’s magic set aged four. But Neville’s magic was practised, was a clever illusion.

The reason why CS Lewis speaks of the power of the resurrection as a ‘deeper magic’ is because it is not an illusion. Jesus truly did rise; his disciples saw, touched and held him, and spoke with him. And because of this profoundly life-changing, incredible action we need not fear death when it comes to us. Death does come to all of us. Indeed, for Neville, and his family who cared for him, in these past months the shadow of death was never far away. Neville’s health deteriorated, and his physical strength gave way. His care was intensified until last Saturday, when he died, on the birthday of his beloved June.

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The patron of St Paul’s Cathedral, the apostle Paul, wrote these words to the church in Corinth: ‘Behold, I show you a mystery: we will not all sleep, but will all be changed—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet’ (1 Cor 15.51). Because of God’s ‘deeper magic’—the incredible power of the resurrection—life will come to all who died. We will change, will be restored, when Christ brings his new life to all who believe: ‘For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ will all be made alive’ (15.20-22). Our grave-clothes will be rolled up, and we, the perishable, will be clothed with imperishability, and the mortal with immortality, because ‘death has been swallowed up in victory’ once and for all, when Christ rose from the dead at Easter (15.54). 

When life comes to all; when the resurrection of all those who have died takes place, what happened unseen on the first Easter Day will be signalled by unmissable music. The trumpet will sound, and all the dead will be raised, and the world will join in Christ’s death-defying anthem: ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’ (1 Cor 15.55-58). The great trumpet will sound, to signal that death is defeated and all are alive.

I never was able to talk with Neville about his own confidence in what Lewis called the ‘deeper magic’ of resurrection. But I know that he and June understood well the symbolism of the clarion call of resurrection: when the great organ at St Paul’s was restored in 1990, they both donated a new organ stop—the Tuba Magna, the ‘great Trumpet’. Our own musical herald of the resurrection, forever embedded among the bombarde stops of the mighty Lewis organ in St Paul’s.

Until that other Tuba Magna, heaven’s great trumpet, sounds for all of us, we live in hope and faith. We have to make do with the symbols of resurrection in our midst—the Tuba Magna adding lustre to our organ playing in St Paul’s, the life-giving power of music-making, the joy-giving power of magic—symbols by which we may remember Neville and comfort one another in our grief. As we entrust him to the ‘deeper magic from before the dawn of time’ today, I do so in the firm and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life that Christ has wrought for Neville and all of us. May he rest in peace and share in God’s ‘one equal music’ (John Donne, Bring us O Lord God), until the great trumpet sounds to summon all who rest in Christ to life imperishable.

© Andreas Loewe 2023

Entering into the ministry of the Good Shepherd

A sermon preached by the Dean of Melbourne at St Paul’s Cathedral Melbourne,
on Good Shepherd Sunday, 30 April 2023

This morning’s readings are an invitation to us to accept the care of Jesus and, in his name, to share that care with others. They tell us that before we seek to offer care for others, we first need to receive the care of Jesus ourselves, by becoming members of his flock. They charge us to open the doors of our churches—our sheep fold—to others who are not yet of our fold but also belong; and to guard the doors of our fold against those that would cause harm to the community of Christ. Above all, they set before us a vision of a flock that is unified, and grows, when people share in fellowship and prayer, feed on the word of God and the bread from God’s table, and generously share these gifts with others.

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Our gospel reading takes us to the Jerusalem temple. It is winter, the last months of Jesus’ earthly ministry have begun. Jesus has just opened the eyes of a man born blind. People had come to faith in him and began to follow him. Others were deeply offended by the claim that he called on God as Father; that he claimed a unique relationship that enabled him to know God’s will, and to do God’s works, in a way that was so radically different from that practised by the traditional Temple priests. People flocked to Jesus and heard him teach in the temple precinct. And Jesus tells the people a parable, a teaching story. 

Coming to God, the Father, to be saved is like a sheep fold, a walled enclosure with a gate. Those inside are gathered together. The walls provide safety and warmth for the flock. There is a gatekeeper and a shepherd, and both keep watch over the flock. The gatekeeper ensures that only those who are meant to be inside the fold are admitted. The shepherd shields and feeds the flock: at daytime, he leads the sheep to pasture and watches over them. At night, they are kept safe in the fold, with the gatekeeper on watch for any who would break in and steal, or cause harm. 

In Jesus’ teaching story, the shepherd and the gatekeeper are charged by God to keep God’s people safe and feed them, and to bring in others to share the security of his fold. In fact, Jesus tells the people that he is both the Shepherd, and the Gate. He is the One who feeds and pastures God’s people, and he is the one who admits people to God’s fold. He alone is the way to God, Jesus teaches in the temple. ‘I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them’ anyway, he attacks the very people who had hitherto laid claim on God’s authority.

In the temple, the traditional gateway to God, Jesus teaches that the sacrifices of thanksgiving and sin offerings meant to give access to God were, in fact, useless. Jesus himself is the Gate to the sheepfold; there is no other way to reach the Father. Offering sacrifices to seek God’s favour is like trying to sneak into the sheepfold by climbing over the wall, Jesus tells: ‘anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate, but climbs in another way is a thief and a bandit’, he begins his temple teaching. Their leaders had killed the sheep and destroyed the fold. God was rightly absent from them, and God’s people rightly did not hear their voice.

We enter into communion with God through Jesus, our gospel reading tell us. He is the Door to God as well as the Shepherd of the sheep from whom we receive everything that is needed for our spiritual lives. Jesus shelters his own, he leads us and cares for us. By entering his fold, we may find safety from danger and food for living in thisworld, and salvation and eternal pasture in the world to come. ‘I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish’, Jesus will tell them later, ‘no one can snatch them from my hand’.

Entering the fold means listening to Jesus’ voice. Jesus will later tell the temple priests: ‘you do not believe in me, because you are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice, and I know them and they follow me’. Those who listen to Jesus’ voice may enter into his fold and find there safety and belonging. They will be known by name, and called his own. People who are known by name are never mere acquaintances: Jesus here speaks of a living bond between him and his followers: God has given them to him to keep safe forever. Those who are held in Jesus’ hands are held in the hands of God himself: ‘my Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can snatch them out of the Father’s hand’, he teaches.

Because Jesus and his Father are one, his sheep will be led and nurtured by a selfless leader, who will never abandon his flock, even in times of danger. Jesus will not hand over his own in order to save himself. He is the leader who remains with his own until the end. ‘I lay down my life for the sheep’, he promises. ‘The reason that my Father loves me, is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again’, he tells the people later. ‘No one takes my life from me, but I lay it down on my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and to take it up again’. This is Easter leadership: the self-giving leadership of the One who gives his own life so that all might have life forever.

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One who heard that teaching, the apostle Peter, will later reflect on this model of Christian leadership. In his first epistle he tells us, ‘Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps’. Follow the model of Christ, the fearless leader who gives his life for his own, in leading the people of God. Follow the model of Christ by sharing with him in seeking out the lost and bringing them to safety. And always remember that we too were once lost sheep; are folks in need of salvation. Peter writes, ‘he himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sin, we might live for righteousness’. The remembrance of our own salvation is the motivation for saving others: Because we once had gone ‘astray like sheep’, we are called to bring others to Christ, and find in him the shepherd and guardian of our souls.

Christ is the Good Shepherd. He knows his own, he calls and saves them; he feeds them and leads them. He is the guardian of our souls, Peter knows. Christian leaders are to be like shepherds, guarding Christ’s flock from harm. People who go out to bring in the lost, people who guard the souls of those that are saved through Christ forever.

I wish our church had exercised a leadership like that set before us in our readings today: both going out to search and save the lost, to meet their needs and feed them, and keeping those who have been found and returned to the fold, safe from harm. But all too often the church has only exercised parts of that charge and failed to keep the charge of fully being caring shepherds of God’s people.

Let me explain: there have been times when we opened the door to the sheepfold to those who would destroy. We failed to watch the gate and keep our flock safe from harm. Wolves in sheep’s clothing entered the fold and ravaged the flock. We kept in power and esteem those who were causing harm or enabled harm, and turned our eyes away from their abuse because we were too concerned with the upkeep of our own reputation and structures.

The abuse of vulnerable people by members of the church, the sexual abuse of children by church leaders, and the domestic abuse within church families, is an indelible stain on our church. We will never be able, I fear, to make full reparation for the harm we have caused. But we can choose to speak out to condemn abuse, and speak out against harm, and better educate ourselves to safeguard Christ’s own flock.

Here at St Paul’s, we take safeguarding extremely seriously. Our staff and leaders receive clearances for ministry and, alongside or volunteers, are trained in safeguarding, and we set a culture where we encourage conversations about what it means to keep people safe—both when they are here at church and when they are in their own families. We want you to know what you can do to prevent harm. Leaders of God’s flock are held to the highest standards, today’s readings tell us. Where people are hurting because of the actions of the church, where people’s lives have been scarred and closed off from the fullness and abundance offered by the Good Shepherd, we need to challenge our leaders, and change. ‘I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly’, the Good Shepherd tells us.

Failing to guard the gate is one failure of leadership. But so is keeping the door of the sheepfold shut altogether. All too often we shut the doors to those who long for shelter and nurture. We fail to search for the lost, prevent them from entering into friendship of Christ. We fail to look beyond ourselves to see a world longing for meaning and meaning-full life, because we are too preoccupied with our internal affairs and struggles.

Over the past three decades, the tear in the fabric of the Anglican Communion has become a rift. Here in Melbourne, we live right on the fault-lines of that rift. We won’t, I fear, be able to heal that rift. But we can choose to shift our perspective from looking inwards to looking outwards, and open our doors to those who seek to enter into Christ’s friendship, and find his grace.

Here at St Paul’s, we have decided to stop staring at the growing rift in the Anglican Communion, to stop wondering when it might tear, and instead concentrate our energies in re-opening the doors to our sheepfold. We know that people in our community here hold different opinions on the matters that divide our global communion. But we want to hold a generous space, where we model respectful disagreement. Where we choose to set aside our differences in order to concentrate on the shepherd-ministry that is Christ’s, and which is his gift to us. When we look beyond ourselves and our differences we can share in the work of seeking out, welcoming and bringing in people who long to hear Christ’s voice.

We do this through our studying of the Scriptures, our fellowship groups, our advocacy and our hospitality. ‘The gatekeeper opens the gate, and the sheep hear the voice of the Good Shepherd’, Jesus teaches.

Friends, we all are invited to enter into the ministry of Christ, the Good Shepherd. We are each invited to hear, and recognise ourselves, the voice of Christ in our lives, and to share his words, his call, with others. ‘I am the good shepherd, my sheep listen to my voice’, Jesus tells. Hear Christ’s call, listen to his word, and know yourself loved by him. And we are each invited to enter in through Christ, the gate, to find community, safety, and nurture. Just as we are called to share his ministry of keeping safe the fold, his own, by the way we look out for and nurture one another, by the way we strive to ensure that all members of Christ’s flock may flourish. ‘I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved and will come in and go out and find pasture’, Jesus assures us. Keep safe Christ’s own, help others grow in faith and love, and share with him in shepherding his people.

Now may the God of peace who, through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

(Hebrews 13.20)

© Andreas Loewe, 2023

Easter: Hope for living today

A sermon preached at St Paul’s Cathedral by the Dean of Melbourne, 
the Very Revd Dr Andreas Loewe, at the Easter Vigil 2023:

Alleluia, Christ is risen!

In his first letter to the Corinthians, our patron, St Paul, challenges the early Christian community: ‘If there is no resurrection from the dead, then Christ has not been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation is in vain, and your faith has been in vain’ (1 Cor 1.13-14). If Christ has not been raised from the dead, then there is no reason for us to believe, Paul confronts us. Yes, our society would be a lot fairer if we followed Jesus’ teachings to work for justice for others. Our lives would be much happier if we lived according to Jesus’ instruction to treat others in the same way in which we ourselves want to be treated. But without the resurrection, Paul tells us, there is no real purpose to our faith. ‘If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile, and you are still in your sins’ (1 Cor 15.17).

Because without resurrection the world would have stopped on Good Friday: Jesus would have remained a condemned, crucified man. Without Easter, Christ remains dead. He cannot raise humanity, let alone forgive sins. How could Christ justify us, if he had not first been justified by God? If Christ had not been raised, there is no chance for reconciliation and forgiveness. Sin and death would have the final word. Without the resurrection, ‘those who have died in Christ have perished’, Paul knows (1 Cor 15.18). We remain guilty before God, and our faith would have no real purpose. ‘We of all people would most be to be pitied’ (1 Cor 15.19), because our lives as Christians are founded on the reality of Easter, Paul tells us. Our faith is meaningless without the resurrection.

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What does resurrection look like? Jesus spent much time teaching his disciples what new life in God looks like. New life in God looks like a grain of wheat that falls into the earth and dies. When it has been buried, it germinates; rising through the soil to bear much fruit. New life in God is like a light that is placed on a lampstand and gives light to a dark house. In his parables, Jesus draws on the natural cycles of death and life in the world around us to explain that death is only ever a stage of life. Yes, every seed we plant dies, but only by dying, it can bear fruit. Yes, the darkness comes every night, but remains only until we light a candle, or the sun rises again. In the end, life and light will win out, Jesus assures his disciples. The very death of nature contains the seeds of life.

But the parables from nature that Jesus tells his disciples reflect only one aspect of the resurrection: the regenerative aspect of resurrection. The rhythm of life and death that is rooted in nature. In nature we see how new life is contained in each seed we plant; how immortality is already embedded in the natural order of creation. 

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True resurrection, however, goes far beyond a natural cycle of death leading to renewal of life. Easter speaks of resurrection—not regeneration, nor immortality—precisely because Easter takes so seriously the effects of death. When Jesus is crucified, we are confronted with a death that is real, brutal, and unequivocal. There is no doubt that Jesus died; tortured and broken on the cross. That this terrifying death has been overcome by God’s extraordinary intervention at Easter is what makes the Christian faith so powerful.

Imagine if the Easter story had ended on Good Friday. On Good Friday, we saw the powers of the world—betrayal, denial, injustice, inaction, spite, hatred, fear, mockery and anger—fully unleashed on Jesus. As he hangs on the cross, unrecognised as a Sovereign by the Romans, denied as God by the people of his own faith, Jesus holds the suffering and pain of all humanity between his outstretched arms; experiences the full impact of the despair of abandonment and God-forsakenness.

Imagine the story of Easter had ended that Good Friday, with Jesus’ lifeless body taken from the cross. Death would have had the final word in the story of humankind. Had Jesus remained in the grave, Jesus would have died twice condemned: both by his peers and by his God. ‘Let him save himself just as he saved others’, the cries of the crowd rang on Good Friday, as Jesus hung dying on the cross (Mt 27.42). A dead Saviour can’t save others, can’t justify others. Paul puts it starkly: ‘if Christ has not been raised, then you are still in your sins’ (1 Cor 15.17). Without God’s powerful action at Easter we would have been convicted alongside the One we follow. Then we of all people would be most to be pitied.

But Easter means that God is the God of the living, and the death of death. God is alive, and so is Christ; the tomb is empty and the stone that was meant to contain the Lord of life has been rolled away. Love lives again, in spite of the cross. Easter means that God has broken the power of sin and death. That God has not given up on his world. By conquering death, God has broken the power of destruction and death once and for all. By raising his Son from the dead, ‘as the first fruits of all who died’, he has raised all humanity to life (1 Cor 15.20). All may be forgiven and restored. When we die, none will have to die in fear. Because Life has been restored by the inexpressible power of God.

Paul knows that this hope was true not only for Jesus at the first Easter. God did not just raise one man from the dead. He has raised all people from death. The transformational power of the resurrection is true for all people, for all time. ‘If for this live only we have hoped in Christ, then we of all people are most to be pitied’ (1 Cor 15.19). But Easter is true eternally, it is true forever for all who put their trust in the risen One. God is the Lord of Jesus’ death, and God is also the Lord of our deaths. Just as he raised Jesus from the dead, he will lead all people from death to life. ‘As all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ’ (1 Cor 15.22). Because of the power of Easter we, of all, are most to be blessed.

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At the end of all time, the risen Lord himself will tell the story of how he had been raised from the dead. Until then, we are given signs and symbols to assure us in our faith: the empty tomb; the witness of the first apostles who saw and touched, walked, ate and talked with, the risen Lord; the giving of God’s Spirit and the impact of that Spirit on each one of us as we grow in faith and trust. Until the time when we behold him in his glory, we behold the power of the resurrection aslant, Paul suggests earlier in his epistle: ‘now we see through a glass, darkly, but then we shall we will see face to face. Now we know only in part; then we will know fully, even as we have been fully known’ (1 Cor 13.12). We will only ever be able to comprehend the full power of Easter at the end of all time, when Christ will return and we behold the true glory and power of God with all the redeemed. 

Until that time, we see as if through a mirror; are granted glimpses of the resurrection to confirm our hope and strengthen our trust. We may see new life in the power of Christ to change lives—when we let our own lives be transformed by God’s love. We may see reflections of resurrection light in our world—when we carry his light to the places we live and work, the places we pray and come together to celebrate. We may see this power at work in entire nations: it is through the resurrection that we are enabled to work for reconciliation, and seek that new beginning, new heart that, for instance, a Voice for First Peoples in Australia offers, and the more just settlement for Indigenous People and Torres Strait Islanders offered by the gracious gift of the Statement from the Heart. And we see God’s life-transforming resurrection power at work this morning, in the lives of the 19 candidates for baptism, confirmation and reception met here today.

‘I am the first and the last, and the Living One. I was dead, and behold, I am alive for ever and ever’, the risen Lord speaks to us in the final book of our Scriptures (Rev 1.17). And he assures that because he has overcome death forever that first Easter, we may have hope for living today: ‘I hold the keys of Death and of hell; do not be afraid’. 

Thanks be to God for giving us the victory, through our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Open our eyes, Lord, that we might see heaven open

A sermon preached by the Dean of Melbourne, the Very Revd Dr Andreas Loewe, at Christ Church St Lawrence Sydney on Laetare Sunday, 19 March 2023:

John’s Gospel, through which we are journeying during the middle of Lent, is the gospel of the coming of the light into the darkness of our world. The central theme of the coming of God’s light, and its rejection by the world is set out right at the start of the gospel, in the great prologue of the Incarnation. In Jesus—God’s eternal Word-made-flesh—was life. That life was ‘the light of all people’. Jesus’ life brings light. God’s coming into the world as one of us can open our eyes, and help us see ‘even greater things’—even heaven opened, as Jesus promised Nathanael in the first Chapter of John’s Gospel. 

Throughout the Gospel of John then, the drama of the light coming into the world is played out. In the first ten verses of the Gospel, John tells us how his story will end: ‘the true light, which gives light to all people, has come, yet the world did not recognise him’. In spite of this incredible gift—light to walk by in darkness, and life to live by eternally—people rejected him. From the very beginning, John lays out the division that the coming into the world of the Son of God brings: those who prefer darkness are unable to recognise Jesus’ light. They seek to extinguish the Light of the World, by killing Jesus.

At the highpoint of the Gospel, which has been sung so evocatively for us yesterday evening, the light of life blazes in judgment on the world. There is no darkness in John’s Gospel at the point of Jesus’ death. The sun is at its peak, as Jesus is crucified. Jesus accomplishes the work of salvation on the cross as the sun shines at its brightest. A reminder to us that even though the darkness can put Jesus to death, the world’s darkness will never overcome his light.

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Jesus is the world’s light, and Jesus gives the world life. And, as Jesus wants to open our eyes so that we may see ‘even greater things’: the reality of heaven opened.

This morning, the parable of the battle between light and darkness that underlies all of John’s Gospel is played out in the miraculous healing of a man born blind. All who follow Jesus—even those born blind—may have God’s light of life. While the disciples are trying to score some theological point—‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’—Jesus tells them that this sinless man had been denied sight so that God’s works might be manifested, and proceeds to open his eyes.

Without much ceremony, Jesus made mud. Mixing dust with his own spit, he anointed the blind man’s eyes. Jesus—God’s Word-of-creation-made-flesh—takes the stuff from which all creation comes and to which all creation will return, and uses it to anoint the blind man’s eyes. Our translation lets us down here: the Greek reads ekchrisen—which really means ‘anoint’, not ‘spread’: from the root we get our words for chrism and Christ. Jesus, God’s Anointed, anoints blind humanity and sends the man away to wash in the pool of Siloah.

And just in case we might have missed the point of the story, and John’s Gospel—that Jesus has been sent by God to give people the light of light—John helpfully tells us that the Hebrew name of the pool means ‘sent’. In the same way in which the Father sent his Son so that the world may have God’s light, so the nameless man is sent by Jesus to have his eyes opened and have light. And the man went, washed, was able to see, and came back to his neighbours. And Jesus disappears from sight, leaving the man to explain what happened.

Obviously, the man had never set eyes on Jesus. He was blind when they met. All the man knows about Jesus is his name. When he returned home, now able to see, his neighbours were suspicious: either he had not really been born blind, or he was not the same man. ‘Never since the world has began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a man born blind’, the man himself reflects later. And because they can’t understand what has happened, his neighbours take him to the religious authorities, the Pharisees.

Where his neighbours were incredulous, the Pharisees were dismissive. There was nothing to see here. Jesus was not from God because he did not keep the commandments. He had healed on a Sabbath. Therefore, the miracle was a sham: the man couldn’t really have been blind. The final encounter between the nameless man and the Pharisees is a masterpiece of John’s storytelling, as the people who believed that they were specially enlightened—because they guarded the faith—try to get the man to deny that Jesus had given him light and sight.

Increasingly isolated (disbelieved by his neighbours, not really supported by his parents—‘he is of age, ask him’—bullied by the Pharisees), the man has realised that Jesus was much more than a miracle healer. During his three interrogations, he has come to understand the truth: that God sent Jesus to bring light. Where first he called him, ‘the man called Jesus’, he now knows Jesus to be ‘from God’. That conviction—combined with his bluntness and boldness: ‘why do you want to hear my story again, do you also want to become his disciples?’—led to his excommunication.

The Pharisees ‘drove him out’, John tells. Leaving Jesus, who was nowhere to be seen during the man’s interrogations, to search for him. Jesus finds and asks him: ‘Do you believe in the Son of Man?’ And the man who, through three interrogations, had in his heart already chosen to follow Jesus, affirms his choice: ‘Lord, I believe’, he told Jesus. As he had his own glimpse of heaven opened—his own Epiphany—he worshipped Jesus.

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Becoming a believer in Jesus, and worshipping him, is the reason this Gospel was written, St John tells us at the end of his book: ‘These signs are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that you may have life in his name’. People who accept Jesus’ light will live. They will see the world through Jesus’ eyes—in need of God’s life, in need of God’s salvation. They will be able to snatch glimpses of heaven open in their daily lives.

Jesus calls each of us to open our own eyes to that life-giving light. He tells us that have our need for life and salvation is met in him. He charges us to look at the world around us and shine his light into its darkness. He dares us to look at our community through his eyes, and there see glimpses of heaven opened. And most importantly, he tells us to invite others in sharing his life-giving vision and light.

We are invited to shine Christ’s light into the dark places of the world by our advocacy and action. At St Paul’s Cathedral Melbourne, we meet together regularly to pray, think and talk about how we as a community of disciples can help shine Christ’s light. Our members help shape our vision for our Cathedral advocacy. Together we decided to shine a light on First Nations Justice. Since 2016 we have been actively working with our First Peoples to seek a more just settlement for Indigenous Australians. During the past three years have appointed three First Nations Canons. Last year, we studied the Statement from the Heart together. This year we want to shine the light of Christ’s justice into our nation, by our advocacy for a Voice to Parliament. When we shine Christ’s light into the dark spots of our life—personal, corporate or national—we can see more clearly what needs to be done to change, and can work together to bring about change.

We are invited to carry the light of Christ into our communities by our welcome and service. At St Paul’s we carry Christ’s light into our city by working for Refugee Justice; being a place of welcome for people from all nations and backgrounds. For more than a decade we have advocated for, and welcomed, migrants and refugees. Our welcome to people who have fled their homelands and our helping them rebuild their lives here in Australia has changed our life as a Cathedral community. We are truly international now, with people from more than 25 nations; some with their own national fellowship groups. When we carry the light of Christ to into our communities, we can not only bring hope and healing, but will be changed by that light ourselves.

We are invited to open our own eyes afresh to see heaven opened in our daily lives by our learning and living. At St Paul’s we believe that, before we go about inviting others to open their eyes to the reality of heaven open, we need to open our own eyes first. Which is why we take Christian formation seriously. We meet Sunday by Sunday to study God’s Word together. We invite people to explore our faith by regular enquirer courses, leading to baptism and confirmation. This consistent invitation bears much good fruit: this Lent, we are preparing 25 candidates for baptism, confirmation and reception on Easter Morning. Our congregations have grown, not only in numbers but also in self-awareness and confidence. In a recent study group, we asked ourselves how we can be better equipped to talk of God’s love with our neighbours or work colleagues. When we let our eyes be opened to Christ’s light, and actively invite others to share Christ’s life-changing vision, we may ourselves see greater things and be given a new and broader vision.

Friends, we all are invited to let our eyes be opened to the reality of Christ’s life-giving light. We Christians are given that light to shine into the darknesses of our world. We each are given that light as a guide on our own journey of life. We each are called to look out for glimpses of heaven opened in the places where we live, work and worship. And by letting ourselves be changed, be suffused by that light, we are called to work to make heaven open a daily reality, not just a distant possibility. ‘I am the light of the world’, the Lord assures us as we journey together with him: ‘whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life’.

Thanks be to God.

© Andreas Loewe, 2023

Turning away from sin and embracing life—a reflection for Lent

A sermon preached by the Dean of Melbourne at St Paul’s Cathedral on the First Sunday of Lent 2023

At the beginning of Lent, the church’s season of renewal and growth, stands the reminder that we humans are mortal, and sinful. On Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, we offer the opportunity to be signed on the forehead with a cross—in ash. The symbolism of this ‘ashing’ has its roots in the solemn act repentance of the Jewish people: putting on sackcloth, simple, unadorned garments, and ashes on the head, as signs of returning to God, of conforming to God’s will. ‘Remember, o mortal, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return’, the priest says as he ashes each worshipper. ‘Turn away from sin, and be faithful to Christ’.

During the six weeks of Lent, our Sunday readings explore the journey of turning away from sin and being faithful to Christ. We are going to hear from Scripture what it means to be far removed from God through human sinfulness and are encouraged to think about what it takes to know and do God’s will. For much of Lent we will be hearing from our patron, St Paul, through the first chapters of his epistle to the Romans. For Paul sin is not a light matter: he takes sin very seriously indeed. In the New Testament, the Greek word for ‘sin’, harmatia, is mentioned 173 times. Of those 64 times by Paul. If Paul is the New Testament author who is most concerned with sin, then his Letter to the Romans is the epistle that most considers what sin is and means: of the 64 instances that Paul writes about sin, sin is mentioned 48 times in Romans. 

Sin, for Paul, is not simply wrongdoing, or the daily struggle to live a values-based life. Sin for Paul is a deep-rooted principle of evil, and wilfulness: is the power that does harm to humanity and the root of all its conflicts. Sin is always present in human community, Paul knows: even­—especially, he would say—when we wish for good, evil is readily at hand.

If Paul is the New Testament author most concerned with sin, he is also the writer most concerned with the way in which we can rid ourselves of its destructive effects. The epistle to the Romans is Paul’s first and longest letter. It is, in fact, the first Christian text to be written following the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Paul is writing to the Jewish-Christian community in Rome to encourage them to forgo their differences and quarrels, which for him are signs of sinfulness. Instead, he tells them to recognise the unity they can enjoy by knowing Jesus Christ; and to discover for themselves the harmony and mutual love that are the fruits of Christ’s forgiveness. Sin has an effect on the way we think, Paul tells them. It has an effect on the way we eat and drink, and it has an effect on the way we die, he reminds them. Forgiveness and grace, on the other hand, is what enables us to live together as the people God loves, and is the basis for our confidence that Christ has overcome death.

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Today’s readings tell us the story of how sin came into the world, and how it affects everyone. They take us to the very beginning of the story of God and his people, and the first acts of human disobedience that opened the way for sin and evil to enter our world. They tell us that evil has become our basic problem, and ultimately the cause of our death. They show us how sin seeks to tempt us with things we long for­—food and comfort, reliance and security, power and influence—and how sin may use good things—including God’s word—to tempt us. At the same time, they assure us that, although sin is a universal problem, redemption—the forgiveness of sin—is available to all people and that God judges and punishes sin itself by overcoming it through Jesus Christ.

Our first reading, from the book Genesis, takes us to the abundant and peaceful garden of creation. God made it, and knew it to be very good. He placed humankind in the garden to tend and protect it, and permitted humans to name and therefore have influence over all creatures. He placed all things necessary for a rich life in the garden, walked the garden himself and lived closely among his people. God knew his creation personally, and loved it, and sought for it to flourish. God also placed the key to knowledge at the heart of the garden: the knowledge to see the world as God sees it—frail and complex, full of choices, requiring a nuanced course of constant decisions to navigate life. Humankind, our reading tells us, desired and acquired this knowledge. That which appeared to them as a delicious delight, revealed itself to be a deadly duty.

Where previously people had lived in harmony because they knew only harmony, now they knew both good and evil. The two humans instantly knew their vulnerability, our reading tells us—knew that they were figuratively and genuinely naked before God, and rushed to cover up their nakedness, in the hope that God would not notice their choice. The writer of Genesis speaks of the act that has become known as the ‘fall from grace’ in allegorical language. The garden might have seemed harmonious, and very good, but cunning and deception was already present in this idealised community. The persuasive serpent represents the double-tongued talk of evil persuasion, and the venom that brings death: the point of the story is that evil will talk smoothly, that evil will tell that our choices are simple when they are not, and that evil will, ultimately, leave us vulnerable and unprotected. We will not be protected by the loincloths we may conjure up for ourselves from the first thing that is at hand. Sin will have its prize, and that prize is human life: evil, our reading tells us, is the reason for sin, and sin is the reason why people die.

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Our Gospel reading takes us to an encounter between the author of evil and Jesus Christ. Jesus had just been baptised. There was no need for Jesus to be washed from sin in baptism. His cousin John the Baptist knew that Jesus alone among humans was without any sin, and called him out: ‘why should I be baptised by you’, John asked his cousin, ‘when I in fact have need to be baptised by you’. Jesus of all people needed no washing from sin, and yet took on the ritual in order that ‘all righteousness might be fulfilled’. Jesus submitted himself to the Law of Moses, and its requirements of righteousness. And as he came up from the waters, once all righteousness had been fulfilled, God opened heaven and anointed Jesus with the Holy Spirit, and called him his beloved Son. The same Spirit that had anointed him now led him into the wilderness ‘to be tempted by the Devil’, our reading tells us.

We would expect the Spirit-filled Jesus to be full of power and strength, driving away Satan, in the same way in which he drove out demons. But Jesus does not evade temptation by driving evil away. He fasts, and prays, and at the moment of his greatest vulnerability—famished after forty days—he encounters the tempter. And Satan tempts Jesus to use his powers to serve himself: ‘command these stones to become bread’. And Jesus, who will share a few loaves and fishes with thousands and who will turn water into gallons of fine wine for others, resists. God’s gifts are used to serve God and neighbour, and not to serve self.

Satan tempts Jesus three times: tempts him to test his reliance on God by an act of wilfulness by causing a spectacle. And Jesus who would later rather endure the loneliness of the cross than call up a legion of angels, resists. The last temptation is power—not the power that serves others, or the power that sets humans free from the effects of sin and evil by bringing healing and wholeness, but the power that enthrals, subdues and tyrannises. ‘If you worship me, I will give you all these kingdoms’, will give you all human power. And Jesus, whose kingdom is not of this world, finally casts Satan away, and commits himself to worship and serve only God. 

All righteousness is fulfilled in this act of dedication, in which Jesus commits himself to be the One who will take away all sinfulness by his death on the cross. As Jesus walks away from the wilderness, John observes in his gospel, his cousin who had baptised him, instantly knows him to be the sacrificial lamb that would be killed so that all have life. ‘Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world’, John declares (John 1.29). Sin must be terrifying indeed if it takes the Son of God to take it away. God made Jesus, the sinless one, to be sin, so that all sin might be taken away, our patron saint tells the Corinthian church (2 Corinthians 5.21). The principle of sin is eradicated—taken out at the root—when the Lamb of God is killed, and Christ lifted up on a cross.

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Sin is terrifying. It applies to all people, our epistle reading argues convincingly. For those living under the Law of Moses, the rules of life given to the people of God on Sinai, the Law holds them accountable for their deeds. They will be judged on the basis of their observance, or lack thereof, of the Law. Would it be better not to know the Law, Paul asks rhetorically? Well, those who live apart from the Law, those who have never known God, will also be held accountable for their living. All are subject to God’s judgement; both those who live under the Law, and those who do not. Just as all are subject to sin: ‘there is no one righteous, not one; there is no one who understands’, Paul tells the Romans (Romans 3.29): ‘All have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God’.

‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return’, we solemnly recalled last Wednesday. Remember that the effects of sin are death. As the ash crosses were marked on our foreheads, we were also reminded of the remedy for sin: ‘turn away from sin, and be faithful to Christ’. Turn away from sin. In the next few chapters of Paul’s letter to the Romans we will see that Paul has faint hopes for us: alone, Paul believes, we will never have the capacity to turn away from sin. Sin, simply put, is all pervasive, and hard to escape under our own strength. But together with God it is possible to turn away from sin. When we turn to Christ, when we remind ourselves daily—in our prayer and actions—of the goodness and love of God, and the sacrifice and selfless acts of Christ, then, Paul rightly knows, we have a chance to turn from the sin to which all of us are subjected. ‘Turn away from sin, and be faithful to Christ’.

Next Sunday, our readings will tell us more about at what this faithful turning to God, this act of committing ourselves to God, looks like. We will hear words of promise and reassurance, hear that God seeks to bless and not to condemn. Today, though, let us take seriously the gravity and effects of sin. That no one lives without the daily struggle against sin. That without the daily need to turn from turning from the enticements of sin to serve self—to provide for our own comforts first, or only ever strive for our own recognition and renown—that without the daily turning from sin, and focusing on Christ, we remain subjects to the tyranny of evil. ‘Turn away from sin, and be faithful to Christ’.

Where sin is deadly and clouds our life, turning to Christ is joyful and life-giving. If you have not yet committed to turning to Christ, and seeking baptism or confirmation, I encourage you to talk to one of our clergy about what committing to Jesus Christ means. If you have already made the commitment, in your baptism, to reject evil and turn to Christ, you will have experienced the joy that discipleship, that following Jesus can bring. When your fundamental commitment, made in baptism, is lived out day by day in discipleship, by every action and work of yours, choosing at every step to turn to Christ, and choose life and joy, and thereby rejecting sin and death. 

This Lent, I invite you to pray with me, each day that we might choose Christ, choose life. You may wish to pray the simple prayer of the penitent, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, a sinner’. Or you may wish to pray the lines from the prayer that Jesus taught us, asking that your will be conformed to his: ‘Lord Jesus, thy kingdom come, thy will be done’. Especially when you feel that you are tempted to sin, or when you feel that God is far from you, I encourage you to pray for God to meet you in your need. And if you are already committed to prayerful living, I invite you to pray for those who still need to make that fundamental commitment to living with Christ. Pray for a friend, or a group of friends, whom you would like to see turn to Christ. Again, do so consistently, and joyfully, knowing that it is in turning away from sin, and our faithfulness in Christ, that we may share in the life that is forever.

‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. But God is righteous and justifies all who have faith in Jesus’. Thanks be to God.

© Andreas Loewe, 2023

Sleepers wake: the Advent call to rise from the darkness and be lights in our world

A reflection given by the Dean of Melbourne, the Very Revd Dr Andreas Loewe, on Advent Sunday, 29 November 2015, as part of a service of lessons and carols for Advent:

[Click for Audio on Soundcloud]

One of the first classical concerts I ever took part in, as a boy treble attending a German Lutheran High School named for the composer Johann Sebastian Bach, was a liturgical performance of Bach’s famous Advent Cantata, ‘Sleepers wake’ – ‘Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme’. We were all dressed in our black and white concert gear, assembled on the choir galleries of the large impressive city centre church, the orchestra at our feet, with the conductor poised to break the silence of the audience with Bach’s wonderful music.

As the violins soared, the trebles called out the solemn cry of the watchman on the city wall of Jerusalem, ‘Sleepers, wake, the bridegroom comes; wake up, all you who sleep in the city of Jerusalem’, we sang. It was an electrifying moment when the director gave us trebles our entry: ‘Wachet auf’, we called in Bach’s unforgettable setting of the timeless words. And the basses, tenors and altos took up our theme, calling the audience to be alert, awake; to listen to the Good News that the long awaited bridegroom had finally arrived.

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The text on which Bach’s famous cantata is based is one of the last parables (or teaching stories) Jesus tells his friends, the disciples (Matthew 25.1-13): Jesus tells of those who kept alert, awake, through the night, who had kept the light going in the middle of darkness, and were able to see when the bridegroom arrived. As they joyfully entered the brightly-lit wedding hall for a midnight feast, those who had let their lights go out remained outside, were left behind in the darkness, Jesus told his friends. And encouraged them, ‘be alert, therefore, for you do not know the time or the hour’ (Matthew 25.12).

We do not know the time or the hour when Jesus Christ will return, joyfully like a bridegroom, to take us out of the many darknesses of our nights into his brightly-lit chambers for a feast of light. For each of us those darknesses may be different, may pose different challenges, represent different fears. For some, those nights of waiting are spent in fear or nightmares – the fear of persecution for their faith or displacement, the nightmare of terror or war; the fear of ill-health or age, the nightmare of depression and anxiety; the fear of redundancy or injury; the nightmare of unemployment, or of no longer being able of to make ends meet. Each of our nights, each of our Advents; looks and feels different.

But in each of these seasons of waiting through the hours of our nights and darknesses, we are encouraged to keep a light burning. Jesus’ story tells us to keep a light burning. A light that will both cast a glimmer of hope in the darkness, and that will keep our eyes alert, wakeful, ready to see the light-filled procession when the bridegroom comes. Jesus’ story tells us to keep our lamps trimmed; drawing on the resources of our faith – our prayers, our intent to love the Lord our God, and our neighbours as ourselves – in order to keep those lights burning through the night.

And Jesus’ story invites us to come together in our waiting; to leave behind the isolation of the darkness and to seek out glimmers of other lights, others who will share with us in our season of waiting. Because where many small lights come together, there the darkness is already disappearing. Jesus’ story invites us to fill the dark hours of our world with our lights, and to do so together, as a community of faith: encouraging one another as we wait for the greatest light of all to come, and extinguish all darkness forever. And as we wait, as a token of that hope, we are each given a lamp, a light, to share and to shine into the darkness, as we await the promised feast when Jesus comes again.

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I loved performing Bach’s music as a child, and am delighted that I still get to sing today, once or twice a year, with the MSO Chorus. I well recall the excitement of that first performance, poised for my entry to sing the joyful song that the darkness now is over, and the bridegroom is here: ‘Wachet auf’, we sang, ‘Sleepers wake’, we sang out; telling all who would hear that those who kept their lights burning through the night were already on their way into the wedding hall, and inviting others to join the joyful feast of the Light that has overcome the darkness, of the Light that illumines even the middle of the darkest night.

The season of Advent is a bit like preparing for a musical performance, like Bach’s ‘Wachet auf’. Rehearsed and ready, in our concert clothes, standing in our places, with music in our hands and the song ready in our heads, watching out for the conductor to signal us to sing. Alert and awake, ready to sing out at the right signal, ready to call others to join the joyful song, ready to call any who will listen to hear that now is the moment to awake, to leave behind the darkness and to enter into the light.

This Advent, I give thanks for the joyful song that promises to call us from darkness to light. I give thanks for the time of preparation, the time when we rehearse that song through our prayers, our reading of the stories that remind us of God’s promise that the darkness will not have the upper hand, when we share our works of hope in a world where there is still so much hopelessness. I give thanks for those who rehearse, who wait, with us, who share their light, their companionship, with us as we wait. And I give thanks for those who lead us in our song, who keep their eyes alert with us, who encourage us to keep our joyful song ready in our hearts – ready to call out: ‘Sleepers, wake: the Lord is here’.

Ⓒ Text and Audio: Andreas Loewe, 2015