Candlemas 2012

Some of you may have heard the atheist philosopher Alain de Botton talking on Radio 4's Saturday Live yesterday morning. Unlike some of his non-believing confreres de Botton has a lot of time for religion. He's not quite sure why, but he's quite sure that ecclesiastical architecture, ritual and sacred music all add value to human life.

He'd be very welcome to join us, and I hope he'd feel at home here. Like him, we believe that what we do, what we say and what we sing - and the place where we do it, say it and sing it - adds value to our lives, to our children's lives and to the life of that rather nebulous entity we call 'the community'. Like him, we are well disposed towards the benign effects that church has.

This generous disposition is a credible and unobjectionable stance, indeed, for many it's the first stage on the journey of faith. It's mirrored in the first stage of the Liturgy of Baptism, the stage called The Decision. There we, or our parents and godparents, are asked to turn to Christ and reject evil, in other words, to orient ourselves towards light and away from dark. An atheist with a poetic streak in his heart such as de Botton would probably have no difficulty signing up. But he's admirably clear that this is not the same as having faith. Churchgoers like him - and, the cynics have long claimed, Church of England-goers like us - don' t actually need faith.

Faith asks more of us than a general orientation and a general disposition - it asks two things more of us. First, it asks that we move beyond generalities. Most of the world would agree that Christ is good: only the faithful agree that Christ is God. The journey of faith mirrored in the liturgy of Baptism asks that we publicly profess the truths enshrined in the words of the Apostles' Creed.

Second, it asks that we allow ourselves to be baptized, and the moment of our baptism not only launches the journey of faith; it also encapsulates it in its entirety. Remember how powerless we are at that moment, as the water cascades down upon our heads, or as we are plunged beneath it. That moment sums up what it is to have faith. It is a moment of absolute trust, a moment when we allow God to act, a moment when we place no reliance in our own strengths, whatever they may be. It is a moment we return to time and time again in our lives of faith - every time we offer prayer into the seeming void; every time we raise our voices in a song of praise; every time we shriek with pain at our imagined abandonment; every time we lift our hands to receive bread and wine that we believe are more than bread and wine.

Think of Mary. The Gospels recount little of her inner life. They are not modern biographies. But she has been told she is to give birth to God's Son. The angels fill the sky with song and shepherds rush to the manger. And then sharply, starkly, as she presents her firstborn in the Temple of the God whose Son she believes him to be, she hears Simeon's words: " this child is destined to be a sign that will be opposed...and a sword will pierce your own soul too". Being the mother of God's son is not just about kingly gold and priestly frankincense - it is about the bitter myrrh of cross and tomb as well. How can Mary live but by faith in God's promise and through trust that the life of her darling son will not end in agony and tears? How can Mary live but by allowing God to act and placing no reliance in her own strength?

The last time we worshipped together, in October, we committed ourselves to following the Way of Christ mirrored in the Liturgy of Baptism as we approach our twentieth anniversary in May, and we spent Advent considering the Decision. Now, at Candlemas, when Mary discovers that even greater reserves of faith are going to be needed from her, I invite you to move beyond generalities, to commit yourselves to journey "farther up and farther in" as Reepicheep the Mouse memorably insists. I invite you to re-visit the words of the Creed, to feel afresh the waters of your Baptism, and to celebrate your redemption though them. Our Lent sermons will consider Redemption - what it means to allow ourselves to be immersed in Christ's love. Our Lent conversations, Inhabiting God's Story, will give us the opportunity to examine faith's demands - God, Jesus, Bible, sacraments. Our Lent challenge is this: dare we stop being churchgoers and become instead disciples?

This is a challenge that your Church Council has spent seven months considering, and in the next week or so you will receive a summary of the Mission Action Plan that we believe should be our response to it. It is not a plan for churchgoers. It is a plan for disciples and for making disciples. We want to extend our work with children and the young both within the church/school community and within Victoria exponentially, and employ a member of staff to help us do it. We want to find ways of drawing us into new relationships with one another and with God, relationships that will form us in faith and open us to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. We want to make an impact on our neighbourhood and beyond, seeking out the lonely, working for prisoners of conscience, reducing our environmental footprint, and allying ourselves with the like-minded in groups such as London Citizens. We want to reimagine this building, enhancing the worship space, refreshing the public rooms and creating a new one for Youth on the second floor and a cafe-style facility in the Welcome Room and on the portico. Achieving these ambitions will require every ounce of the talent and energy with which we are so richly blessed, and will make demands upon us all.

But this is the vocation of disciples. We can stay and stagnate in a world where church is nice, where church is an extension of the school playground, where church is probably good for us when kept in its proper place, where we philosophize over dinner, and do only that. Or like blessed Mary we can allow ourselves to be immersed in the one whose Son will take us to the cross and beyond, so that the world can be won. Amen.