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Sermon – 16 Dec 18 – Philip

Sharing our Faith
Readings: Colossians 4: 2 – 6 and Luke 10: 1- 17

We are looking at sharing our faith this morning and so I’d like to turn to some words of Jesus from our Gospel reading and they’re found in verse 2 where he says:
‘The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into the harvest field.’
And Jesus says this as he’s about to send 72 of his followers out on an evangelistic mission. They are to go in pairs to towns and places where Jesus is about to visit.

Now it’s important to bear in mind these were just ordinary lay people like us who had responded to Jesus and made a commitment to follow him. They were quite distinct from the 12 disciples. They were followers from a much wider group. And in a way, as his followers today we are their successors. And like them we are called to be ambassadors for the Lord Jesus and to be ready to share our faith with others.

And, of course, sharing our faith is about pointing others to Jesus. And I suppose I should mention John the Baptist at this point – as it’s the tradition of the Church on the third Sunday of Advent to remember what he came to do. And that was to point people to Jesus. But I’m not going to say any more about John today. But I am going to talk about pointing people to Jesus.
Let me share with you a story I first heard a number of years ago when I was attending a weekend retreat led by the Evangelist Canon J John. And it’s one that’s stayed with me over the years and it goes something like this:
‘Now it came to pass there was a group who called themselves fishermen. And in the waters all around them were many fish. In fact, the whole area was surrounded by streams and lakes filled with fish. And the fish were hungry.

Week after week, month after month, and year after year these who called themselves fishermen met in meetings and talked about their ‘call to fish’, the abundance of fish, and how they might go about fishing. They carefully defined what fishing means, defended fishing as an occupation, and declared that fishing was always to be the primary task of fishermen.

They loved slogans such as ‘Fishing is the task of every fisherman,’ ‘Every fisherman is a fisher.’ They built large, beautiful buildings called ‘Fishing Fellowships’. The plea was that everyone should be a fisherman and every fisherman should fish. One thing they didn’t have time to do, however; was to go out and catch any fish.
They formed a board to promote the idea of fishing in far-away streams and lakes but its members did not fish. Training centres were built to teach fishermen how to fish but the teachers only taught fishing, they did not fish.
A panel was established to invite special speakers on the subject of fishing. And after one stirring meeting on ‘The Necessity for Fishing,’ one young man left the meeting and went fishing and the following day he reported he had caught two fish. Amazing! He was told that he had a special ‘gift of fishing.’ He was honoured for his excellent catch and scheduled to visit all the big meetings possible to tell how he did it. He was also placed on the Board as a person having considerable experience. But in order to have time to tell about his experience to all the other fishermen, he gave up fishing.

‘Well it’s a modern day parable but how true it is. As followers of Jesus we are encouraged to share our faith. Jesus called his disciples to be ‘fishers of men’ but the reality is that as modern day disciples we are bit like the fishermen in the story. There are not many of us out there doing any fishing.

Now I’m quite familiar with the thoughts that immediately spring to mind when we start talking about sharing our faith with others. And they go something like this: ‘Oh I couldn’t possibly do that.’ ‘I’d find it too embarrassing’; or ‘my faith is a private matter’; or ‘I wouldn’t know what to say’ and so on with endless variations along the same lines. And I think there is something a little fearful at the back of them.

But then there are other things we love to talk about and sacrifice for. And so for example, if we are passionate about football (and I say football but it could be anything); it’s something on which we’ll be happy to sacrifice our time and our money and emotional energy upon. And if we are a fan we’ll like to talk about it endlessly to others.

And so do we have a passion for Jesus I wonder? Do we love to talk about him? Have we been set ablaze with a love for him? And does that love we have for him create a desire within us to share it with others?

Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury says this: ‘We share the good news, not because it’s a duty….but because we are consumed with knowing how wonderful Jesus is – we want to talk to others about him.’

As many of you know I was involved in street evangelism with the ‘Healing on the Streets’ team for a number of years. And often, as we were about to go out on to the street, I’d tend to get a little anxious worrying that people would think we were absolutely crazy – standing out there on the street in the town centre or down near the Sands inviting people to receive prayer. But in the back of my mind were always some words from the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Romans where he says: ‘I am not ashamed of the gospel because it’s the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.’ ‘I am not ashamed’ says Paul and we should not be either.
Actually when we got started and out on to the street itself it was quite exhilarating listening to people’s stories and having the privilege of praying for them. It was quite exhausting and draining at times but when we’d finished the session we were, in a way, a bit like the 72 that Jesus sent out in Luke’s gospel. When they reported back to Jesus and he was asking them how they got on they were saying things like: ‘it was great seeing what God was doing. He did this and he did that.’ And it was a bit like that for us too when we did a debrief after a session on the street.

The evangelist Luis Palau says this: ‘Evangelising is not as hard as sometimes we think it is, if we are willing to go out on a limb and obey the Holy Spirit.’
And I’d go along with that although it probably means being prepared step outside our own personal comfort zone.

But then how do we share our faith without appearing a bit weird? It’s a good question. Well I think the Apostle Paul gives us some help on that in our first reading from Colossians. And if we turn to that what we see is Paul giving a very balanced, gracious and thoughtful approach to how we might reach out to others who do not yet know Christ. And he makes three important points.

Firstly he says: ‘Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.’ And you know there are a countless number of Christians who will be quick to tell you that the reason they came to Christ in the first place was because someone spent time praying for them. And that could even have been over a period of many years. But it was that ongoing prayer that eventually brought them to Christ.

Secondly he says: ‘be wise in the way you act towards outsiders; make the most of every opportunity.’ And do we make the most of every opportunity to share the love of Christ with someone? And I don’t mean trying to force a conversation around to something we think we should say. But there are times when opportunities do present themselves where we can share something of our faith. And it’s a shame if we miss these opportunities as they may never come again.

And then thirdly he says: ‘Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.” And what this says to me is that we have to be graceful and respectful in how we respond to others about our faith and avoid being judgemental. But not to be ashamed of letting others know that we are a follower of Jesus.
Sharing our faith is just talking to others about Jesus – being ready to give a reason for the hope that’s within us. There’s no prescribed method or way of doing it. It’s just sharing what’s important to us – ‘This little light of mine I’m going to let it shine’ if you remember the old children’s chorus.

Well I’ve already mentioned Justin Welby once. And so let me finish these few reflections with one more quote from him which I’ve taken from the Church of England website. And he says this: ‘The only way anyone knows of God’s love is because someone tells them. There is no greater privilege in life than to see God at work in changing lives.’ And I’m sure that’s something we’d all love to see happening in the parish here. Amen

Philip Newell (Reader)

Sermon preached at a service of Morning Worship at St Laurence’s, Scalby on Sunday 16th December 2018.

Sermon – 28 October 18 – 10am – David

Bishop David on Giving

St John the Evangelist was on his death bed, surrounded by his devoted disciples. ‘Master,’ the pleaded, ‘Give us a word before you die.’

‘Beloved,’ John croaked, ‘Let us love one another, for God is love.’

‘But you’ve said that already,’ they complained.

‘There is nothing more to be said,’ John gasped with his final breath.

‘You shall love the Lord your God, lock, stock and barrel, and your neighbour as yourself,’ Jesus declared. ‘And after that, no one dared ask him any more questions.’ An enviable reputation which folk like Teresa May would bust a gut for. Love God, love your neighbour, love yourself: after that, what more could be said?

Except I don’t think we are very good at loving ourselves. My experience of walking alongside thousands of people over the years is that folk tend to be very hard on themselves, judge themselves very harshly, and feel they are simply unworthy of being loved. In part the blame lies with Christianity, always lecturing us that we are miserable sinners. In part it’s a cocktail of guilt peddled by the world, that we have been very naughty, have broken it and we jolly well ought to fix it. Whatever it is, be it climate change, or nuclear proliferation, or pollution, or simply the latest food fads. I am made to feel bad about driving a diesel, bad about eating meat, bad about eating eggs, on and off, bad about heating my home, bad about leaving Europe, bad about staying in Europe, bad about being a priest, very bad about being a bishop. You are almost made to feel bad about being good.

Whereas Jesus commands you to love yourself. Who are you to defy Jesus, to ignore his explicit command? Take yourself off to a quiet place and indulge yourself, take a long, hard look at your life. Run the film of your life, all the glorious moments, and no life is devoid of glory, as well as all the knocks and wounds which you have managed not just to survive, but to rise above. As well as all the knocks and wounds you’ve dealt out: be gentle with yourself, think on all the stresses and tensions you were coping with, which made you snap. Hear Jesus throughout, saying ‘Love yourself.’ In all those situations, so personal to you, think of Jesus beside you, loving you so much. Christ loves you so much he can’t take his eyes off you.

I recall visiting a very gracious lady who was paralysed with gloom and remorse about the way she had treated her late father-in-law, who had lived with her and her husband in his declining years. She hadn’t beaten him up or anything, she just regretted the times when her patience had snapped and she had told him off. I got her to describe an average day with dad, and to be honest he sounded like the most miserable, curmudgeonly git ever created. ‘Dorothy,’ I blurted out, ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You deserve a medal. I’d have throttled him after half an hour.’ She burst out laughing, but it was a moment of liberation, a moment when she laughed and loved herself rather than hating herself.

She made a massive career-change and went on to be a matron of an old people’s home, and was the kindest most patient matron you could ever find. She even kept an eye on my dad in his final years when we were far away in Cardiff. When you dare to obey Christ’s command and love yourself, and what’s more feel you are loved and cherished by Christ, then that love overflows.

And letting it flow clears the way for more love to flood in. Dam love up and it goes sour, just like God’s gracious gift of manna went sour in the wilderness when the Israelites hoarded it. Be generous, be profligate in loving your neighbour, so you can be freed up to love yourself. Giving is a tangible mark of that. ‘There will always be someone in need,’ our reading from Deuteronomy stressed. ‘The poor you will always have with you,’ Jesus declared. The poor need us
to open our hands. But more than that, we need them, to break our hearts, break through our walls of self-protection and make us generous.

Are you a Gollum or a Jesus? In the Lord of the Rings, Gollum, originally the most beautiful of creatures, comes across the One Ring and makes it his own, his precious, hiding away, wasting away in the dark and dank, paranoid, killing anyone he suspects is out to steal his treasure. Jesus, although he had everything, clung to nothing, became as lowly as a servant, emptied himself of all but love and was bathed in eternal light. How sour the name of Gollum sounds. How sweet the name of Jesus sounds! Sweet or sour, the choice is yours. Love God, love your neighbour, love yourself, and let love flow.

Laura was a eight year old dancer, fawning upon Pharaoh as he performed a pastiche of Elvis Presley in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, staged by our primary school. Laura got more than carried away with her Sha-waddy-waddy dance and all eyes in the theatre were on her rather than on a by-now distinctly piqued Pharaoh. If history teaches us anything, Pharaohs are best not to be piqued!

The audience laughed, at first gales of laughter of the liberal tolerant sort, ‘What a card this Down’s Syndrome child is!’ Laura’s parents had bravely opted to have her educated mainstream. But then the mood changed to one of total amazement, that any child was capable of giving herself so utterly, in such a lock, stock and barrel way. Here was no less than a latter-day David, who had danced with sheer joy before the Lord when his army had finally taken Jerusalem, even doing cartwheels before his band of adoring maidens, doubly excited because underwear had yet to be invented. His wife Michal had despised him for putting his heart and soul, mind and strength into his gyrations.

No one in our audience despised Laura; quite the contrary, the theatre was as one, everyone deeply moved as they witnessed such energy, such giving in totality, which simultaneously thrilled and shamed us, we who mete out our enthusiasm in ounces when God measures it in tons.

Love God, love your neighbour, love yourself, and let love flow.

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack’d anything.

A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth, Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
(George Herbert)

Sermon – 21 October 18 – Lynn Hellmuth


About 20 years ago my mother became very ill with a rare type of brain tumour. So rare that the Doctors admitted they were quite stumped about how to treat her. It was an agonising time for my sisters and I and my father as we saw my mother’s health deteriorate week by week.

One day, after work in London I popped into the very prestigious and famous book store Foyles, and because, I suppose, my mother’s condition was always on my mind, I found myself browsing in the medical section.

Imagine my surprise when I came across a small paperback book of about 60 pages whose title was the name of the rare type of brain tumour my mother had and whose contents outlined various ground-breaking research and treatment options.

I flicked through the pages and knew I just had to have the book to help us as a family understand more about my mother’s condition and perhaps even assist the doctors. I started to walk towards the cash desk to pay when I thought I’d better check the price for this slim volume. There in pencil on the inside cover was the figure. £175. £175! 20 years ago. For a paperback! For a moment I hesitated. This was silly money. I couldn’t really afford it.

But it was only for a second. I loved my Mum and would give all that I had to try to make her well. £175 to help her was cheap at twice the price. I bought the book. Took it to the next meeting with my mum’s consultant who took it away and studied it and explored various new treatment options as a result. I have never told anyone in my family how much that book cost as money was never the issue.

And I’m not telling you this story now to big me up but to illustrate the fact that I, and I am sure you too, know all about sacrificial giving for our loved ones.

If there is something our nearest and dearest needs, or that would make them very happy, most of us find ourselves being generous to a fault. Caution is thrown to the wind. We go beyond what would be prudent to give, even beyond what we can easily afford to give. We may be prepared to dig into our savings, put life goals on hold for the sake of the one we love.

We are all familiar with the concept of generous giving. And we recognise it as a noble, sacrificial, thing.

Now, let’s think by contrast, about how we go about giving money to other causes – ones we’re not that personally invested in for instance a charity that doesn’t excite our interest that much, or a whip round for a not very popular colleague’s leaving present. We don’t mind giving a bit, but the amount we end up donating is relatively small and comes out of the surplus we have after we’ve taken care of not just our needs, but also our wants, and the naughty but nice treats on top.

What we give to these causes is from the bounty we have. It doesn’t hurt, indeed sometimes we hardly notice the amount that has gone. It is still giving, and good as such, but not in the same order as the sacrificial giving we were thinking about earlier.

In our Gospel reading today Jesus looks into the hearts of His hearers then and now. He contrasts the widow’s modest but sacrificial offering with the larger but less “costly” gifts of the richer worshippers that day. Jesus taught a lot about money and possessions– more than 10% of his sayings were on this topic more than He said about sex, or hell, or salvation.

In his teaching He argued that how we chose to handle our money, ultimately given to us by God, said something about our relationship with God. And He called His followers to look beneath the surface of their giving to what it said about their spiritual health.

So this morning I invite us to consider how we decide how much we give to God – both to the church and other causes we feel called to support. Do we fish around in our purse or wallet when we come to church and give a bit of what happens to be there that day? Or do we plan our giving and commit to give week by week whether or not we’re there, either through envelopes, standing orders or such like?

Thank you if you do give a planned amount regularly as of course the church’s outgoings are the same week by week whether or not we’re there, and it is very useful indeed for the finance team and PCC to know how much money is guaranteed to be coming in regularly.

But even if we give in this planned, regular way our Gospel reading poses a further more challenging question. What does the amount we are giving, proportionate to what we have, say about our relationship with God? When I say giving to God I mean to causes He has put on our hearts. In my experience this almost always includes giving to the church we’re a member of, but it very often extends beyond that to other needs and issues He has drawn us to.

Are we giving generously, even sacrificially to God perhaps cutting back on our luxuries to give to what God has put on our heart? Or are we giving from the metaphorical equivalent of the crumbs that have fallen from our table small amounts that are hardly missed, if we’re honest?

How we decide what we give, and how much that is proportionate to what we have, is of course just between each of us and God. It is no one else’s business and we are not answerable to anyone but God. But we cannot cheat God. He knows how much we have. He knows how much we could spare to give if we chose to do so. How much we would be prepared to give for a loved one.

And the irony is not lost on Him if the amount we choose to give Him is nearer what we’d give to a not very popular work colleagues leaving gift, than what we’d give to someone we care deeply for.

I have to admit I feel uncomfortable sharing these thoughts with you as it is very un-English to talk about money and I don’t want to offend anyone, or put anyone on the spot. But the teaching I am sharing this morning is Christ’s teaching and I feel its important we address these issues together.

St Augustine said; “Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others.”

I pray that God will give me and us all soft, open, hearts, to hear what he is saying about what we need and what we should give. And that having heard from Him we will do His will.


Sermon – 14 October 18 – Philip

Dismantling Dividing Walls

Readings: Ephesians 2: 13 – 22 and 1 Corinthians 12: 12 -27

 Well something I’m sure we all find challenging at some time or another is adapting to change.  And yet we live in a time which seems to be one of constant change.  And it’s the same for the Church too as we seek to reach out to a changing world with the unchanging message of the gospel – the good news of Jesus.

And, of course, a big change for us here was when we become part of the North Scarborough Group ministry not all that long ago.  And I suppose in some ways it’s something we’re still getting used to – and yet having said that I think there’s much to celebrate in what has been achieved so far.  But then, there’s still some way we can go in building stronger ties across our churches and reminding ourselves of our place within it all and also committing ourselves to working and going forwards together.

Well I’ll be developing some of these thoughts a little more later on but first of all I want to place them within a wider context.

And so let’s start with some words of Jesus when he says: “Come, follow me.”  And something we see in the gospels is Jesus calling people to follow him.  And as the gospel story unfolds we see him taking a ragtag group of followers, who at one stage seem to have lost the plot, and then, as they journey with him, we see him moulding and shaping them into a group of people who could be entrusted with taking his mission to the ends of the earth.

And the Christian life itself is often likened to a journey – a journey that begins when we come to Christ and takes a life time to complete.  And I suppose the person who made this most clear is John Bunyan who in prison (for his beliefs) had a dream which became a book called the Pilgrim’s Progress.  And it’s an allegory of the Christian life – a journey in which the central character ‘Christian’ begins the way of salvation and eventually arrives in the celestial city having had many dramatic adventures along the way.

And it’s not surprising really that the Christian life should be likened to a journey as the early followers of Jesus were originally called, followers of ‘The Way’ which meant the road or the journey.   And didn’t Jesus himself say: “I am the way.”

And in much the same way as our individual Christian lives can be likened to a journey – when we come together corporately as the Church we’re also on a journey.  But let us be clear by what we mean by the Church.  As I’m sure you’ve heard many times before, the church is not really the building but the people, the fellowship of believers – living stones as it says in the New Testament.  We are the Church.  We are the body of Christ in this place, in this locality with a calling and the enabling of the Holy Spirit to continue with the mission of Jesus and to be an ambassador for him.

And St. Paul uses this metaphor of a body to show that the church like a human body is made up of many parts which are all dependent on one another to function efficiently and healthily.  As St Paul says:

‘the eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you!”  And the head cannot say to the feet, “I don’t need you!”  On the contrary those parts of the body that seem weaker are indispensable’

And so we too – each one of us, all have a part to play in supporting and encouraging each other in the body of Christ; and to build each other up in the faith.  We are all part of one another – all part of one body.  And if we are together the body of Christ, we need one another, not only for the health of the body as a whole, but also to enable each individual to function at their full potential.

And so as a fellowship of believers we are journeying together.  But as in any journey it’s one in which things can happen along the way and we can slow down or even come to a standstill.  We can even go backwards or if we are not careful stray from the path and lose our way.

And there’s quite a vivid example of this from Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress if we can go back to that for a moment.  And it’s where ‘Christian’ and his companion near the end of their journey and they reach the edge of the Jordan River.  And from where they are standing they can see on the other side the heavenly city.  But at this point Christian’s friend says, “I’m not going through the river and he turns and walks down a side path, hoping there’s another way to the heavenly city.”  And Bunyan writes, “And in my dream I saw there’s a road to hell even at the gates of heaven.”

 Well we need to keep on going and keep our eyes focussed on the Lord Jesus.  And it seems clear to me from Scripture that God’s desire is for us to keep moving in the direction in which he is leading.  ‘Let us keep in step with the Spirit’ is what Paul says to the churches in Galatia.

And for us here at St Laurence’s if  we are seeking to keep in step with the Spirt there will be times when God will call us into places and situations we’ve never been before:  places and situations which will create not only new opportunities but new challenges as well.  It’ll not always be easy but when he calls we need to follow where he is leading.

And there’s a fascinating image that often comes to mind when I think of the different stages in my own personal journey of faith.   And it’s in the Old Testament story of the Exodus as God leads his people across the desert to the Promised Land.  In the text it says:

‘By day the Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light.’

And when the people were camped this cloud would rest above the tent of the tabernacle but when it lifted it was a sign they were to pack up and move to the next stage of their journey and into a new place and a new situation.  And if we think of it in modern day terms that cloud speaks to me of God’s presence amongst his people.

And it was not long ago when we, at St. Laurence’s moved into this new stage of our journey as we became part of the North Scarborough Group Ministry.   I like to think of it as if the cloud of God’s presence lifted and moved us into a new set of relationships with new opportunities and new challenges.  A coming together with others but still all one in Christ.  And we find an echo of this in our reading from Ephesians when Paul speaks of Jesus bringing Jew and Gentile together and making them one in him.

And if we go back to the Old Testament nation of Israel for a moment – these were a people given a special calling by God.  Abraham and his descendants were called to be a ‘light to the Nations.’  But somehow over time they strayed from the path and by the time of Jesus had lost their way.  Instead of being a light to the rest of the world they had built dividing walls to separate themselves from everyone else.   An example of this could be seen in the temple in Jerusalem where there was an inscription on the wall warning those who were not Jews to go no further into the temple courts – as if they did, they would only have themselves to thank for their death, which would inevitably follow.

Dividing walls – and that’s what walls do – they determine who’s in and who’s out; who’s included and who’s excluded.   And there are not only physical walls we can see with our eyes but also the invisible walls of the heart.  And it’s walls that keep people apart and it’s walls that make people suspicious and distrustful of one another: yet there’s something about human nature that wants to build walls.

And we catch something of this in a poem by the popular American poet, Robert Frost called ‘Mending Wall.’ And it’s the poem mentioned in the last issue of ‘parishlife.’  And it’s really a metaphor for the things that divide people.  In fact, it’s one that President Kennedy quoted from when he inspected the Berlin Wall in June 1973.  And what the poem does is to describe two neighbouring farmers who routinely each spring meet up to patch up a rock wall after the ravages of snow and ice over winter have broken it down.  Together the narrator and his neighbour, between whose properties the wall runs, patiently put the wall back together stone by stone.  But as they do this, the narrator begins to question the point of the wall in the first place as neither of them keep any livestock that are going to stray and they both grow different crops.  He sees no reason for the wall to be kept at all.  The neighbour doesn’t really have an answer to the question, yet will not be swayed from keeping the wall.  He simply keeps trotting out something he remembers his father saying: “Good fences make good neighbours.

But that then takes us to the heart of the reading we had from Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus as there can be walls within churches and between churches. And these can be some of the most difficult.  As for Ephesus this was a mixed church made up of Jews and Gentiles – two very different groups of people at one time separated by culture, ethnicity, religious practices and beliefs.  And yet, in this new Christian community they are brought together through their new found faith in Jesus and into a new identity

It’s no longer a case of who’s in and who’s out; who’s near to God and who’s far from God.  Through the cross of Jesus, the dividing wall that used to stand between the two has been torn down

And this speaks very much to our world today.  While it may be the inclination of humankind to put up walls; it’s the inclination of God, through Jesus to pull them down.  And God’s purpose is for inclusion, not exclusion, it’s to bring us closer to him and to one another.

And as I was reflecting on what this morning’s readings might be saying to us in the North Scarborough Group today – some well-known words of a hymn, we often sing, kept coming to mind – the one that says:

‘Let us build a house where love can dwell and all can safely live.  A place where saints and children tell how hearts learn to forgive.  Built of hopes and dreams and visions, rock of faith and vault of grace; here the love of Christ shall end all divisions.’

And we live in an area of rich diversity don’t we, and that is reflected in our churches.  Yes they are all different with different needs – yet we are all one in Christ Jesus.  This is who we are – the body of Christ in this area and ‘if one part suffers’ says Paul ‘every part suffers with it’ and therefore we all need to support and encourage one another and to build each other up.  To draw alongside and to give practical help where one might be struggling

And wouldn’t it be good if each one of us could seek to reach out across the group and also to other churches to build new relationships and friendships.  And so let’s together build a house where love can dwell.

And if we are to keep in step with the Spirit isn’t that what we should be seeking to do – to build the household of faith in this area of North Scarborough.

a house where love can dwell;

a house full of grace, friendship and forgiveness;

a house where all dividing walls have been dismantled;

a house full of people who are passionate about Jesus; and

a house where all are welcome.  Amen.

Philip Newell (Reader)

Sermon preached at St Laurence’s, Scalby at a service of Holy Communion on Sunday 14th October 2018

Letter From The Vicarage

From Reverend Lynn Hellmuth, Vicar of the parishes of Hackness with Harwood Dale, Ravenscar and Staintondale, Scalby, and Scarborough, St Luke

Dear Friends,

As many of you will be aware I am still relatively new in post as Vicar of the parishes of Hackness with Harwood Dale, Ravenscar and Staintondale, Scalby, and Scarborough, St Luke – that’s six churches in 4 parishes. My first anniversary comes up in mid- February. As I review and reflect upon my first year in post one of the things I’m aware of is how challenging it continues to be to juggle the needs of each of the parishes and churches under my care, plus my wider ministerial responsibilities. And then of course I face the parallel challenge of trying to find the right balance between my “work” and personal life as I endeavour to put down roots in this unfamiliar part of the world.

These issues are not particular to clergy, of course. Most of us, I guess, struggle at times with finding the right balance between the various “compartments” of our lives – family time, chores, work, hobbies, friends, and so on. Recently I came across a poem which has helped me immensely as I think on these matters and I thought I would share part of it with you in case it might help you too. Although the title suggests that the poem is for women only, I hope the gentlemen reading this may also find the poem speaks to them.

A Poem for Someone Who is Juggling Her Life
This is a poem for someone
who is juggling her life.
Be still sometimes.
Be still sometimes……..

Be still sometimes.
Let it all fall sometimes.

Rose Cook, from Notes From a Bright Field (Cultured Llama, 2013)

“Be still sometimes, be still” the poet encourages. Perhaps you like me are drawn by the call to stillness in the midst of all our busyness. It is something the Christian tradition can teach us a lot about, and one of my priorities in our churches is to try and make room for quiet and contemplation, alongside the words and the music.

In the Psalms we hear God saying “Be still and know that I am God”, and the prophet Elijah at one of the low points in his life found God revealing Himself afresh, not in noise and activity but in the quiet.

This Spring time, this Lent, it might be time for you, for me, to take more time to be still.
To dare, even, to “let it all fall sometime” as the poet puts it. Maybe you will find, as I have, that it is as you choose to stop and let go, that you regain a fresh sense of equilibrium and the divine.


PS If you’d like to explore more about stillness do contact me. Perhaps a group of us could practice and learn more together?

Sermon – 26 August 18 – 10am – David

A sermon preached by Bishop David on John 6:56-69 and Ephesians 6:10-20

With the great British Bake Off looming on the horizon,  a week last Wednesday I decided to make a chocolate cake. It was the Feast of the Assumption, the girls had gone out for a walk
so I thought I would surprise them with a treat on their return.
Step one: find the Bero Cook Book. This slim volume has been a good friend to me since the 1970s, and after several minutes’ frantic searching I found it squeezed between Nigella Lawson and Delia Smith in Rachel’s substantial library of recipe books.
Step Two: weigh out six ounces of Self-Raising flour into large measuring jug. Easy-peasy. Flour in cupboard to right of cooker, scales also to right of cooker, measuring jug in cupboard to left of sink. The measuring jug is an old friend and we have conspired together for years to make illicit dumplings for my favourite stews.
Step three: add two ounces of cocoa. Getting a bit tricky now. No cocoa in cupboard to left of cooker, but remember Rachel likes to drink cocoa of an evening, like those Aztec gods we studied in the Third Form. Find tub of Divine Cocoa with evening drinks stuff in corner and tip it into jug, but sadly only 3/4 of an ounce. Rummage through 17 kitchen cupboards like a zealous customs official searching for illicit drugs and eventually find tub with stash of Traidcraft tea in cupboard next to recycling bin.
Step four: add eight ounces of caster sugar. Find seven ounces of granulated sugar in flour cupboard, and wearied by my search for cocoa, decide that will do.
Step five: mix thoroughly. Ever the romantic, I bought Rachel a powerful new mixer last Christmas so set it on full and plunge it into mix. Result: mushroom cloud of cocoa dust
pothers up and descends on Curly Kale which Rachel has left soaking in washing up bowl.
Decide cocoa can only improve the wretched stuff’s taste so plough on regardless.
Step six. Add four ounces of olive spread and mix in, covering jug with hand to prevent further chocolate mushroom clouds. Pleased with resulting mix, which looks like a chocolate crumble.
Step seven. Pour five Tbspoons of condensed milk into small jug. Not sure what a Tbspoon is,
nor do I want to rummage in 17 cupboards again in search of condensed milk, so decide normal milk will do. Discover Tbspoon is 15 ml, so do the Maths and measure 75 mls.
Step eight: Instructed to pour five Tbspoons  of normal milk into jug, so repeat exercise
with strange sense of culinary déjà vou.
Step nine: Mix in two eggs. Decide eggs look a bit small, so add extra one.
Step ten: mix in eggs and milk with chocolate crumble. Looks a bit runny, but never mind.
Step eleven: pour mixture into two greased 8 inch cake tins. Mm. Encountered oven tin cupboard earlier. Brim full of oven tins which pour out like an alpine avalanche as soon as you open door. Open door, snatch out two circular tins and slam door shut, resting knee against it to stave off aforementioned avalanche. Contents of cupboard sound as angry as inmates of Birmingham jail after lock down.
Step twelve: find tape measure in tool box in garage and am delighted that two snatched tins
exactly measure eight inches diameter, including rims. Bero Cook book does not mention rims,
which I guess weren’t invented in 1970s.
Step thirteen: tip slab of butter into dish and use its wrapper to grease tins. Preheat oven to 180 degrees and insert tins containing very runny cake mix, which slops from side to side like North Bay spring tide.
Step fourteen: leave cooking for 20 mins whilst I amuse myself making fudge cream filling. Use slab of butter evicted from wrapper, add two Tbspoons of treacle which I find lurking next to Quaker Oats box and melt in pan, adding two tbspoons of dark brown sugar I had previously discovered in my search for cocoa. No pain, no gain!
Step fifteen: add four ounces of icing sugar to pan. Bit worried about pan melting scales so cool it off by dipping it into washing up bowl soaking curly kale. Sizzling sound accompanied by smell of burning kale and cocoa. Mix in icing sugar forming a fudge-like lump.
Step sixteen: melt three bars of CDM into water bath. Discover red plastic bowl which contained last year’s Christmas pud in cupboard next to oven-tin cupboard, still in lock-down, with noisy riot unabated. Put CDM into bowl gently melt in milk pan containing boiling water.
Step seventeen: cake been cooking for nineteen minutes now. Bero Cook book tells me to prod with skewer and if skewer comes clean, it’s cooked. Rummage in twelve drawers. Shout ow! in 12th drawer and realise I’ve found skewer. Stab into cake, then wash skewer in bowl containing Curly Kale and since it comes clean, deem cake cooked. Seems a funny test, but there again.
Step eighteen: tip cakes out onto cooling rack. Oh no, I’ve got to go back into oven tin cupboard,
still under riot conditions. Open door and am immediately viciously assaulted by Yorkshire pudding tin and liberated loose bottom of loose-bottom-cake tin. Snatch rack and slam door to prevent further escapes, kicking Yorkshire pudding tin and liberated loose bottom to other side of kitchen to be dealt with later.
Step nineteen: bang cake tins on kitchen shelf and tip out onto rack. Oh dear – concave hemisphere size of half cricket ball perfectly hollowed out in each half. Stomach turns as I recalled curacy in Middlesbrough days where lady had left her Christmas cakes to cool on living room floor only to find her mangy dog had taken bite out of each. Reassured me when she presented me with cake that she had filled hole with marzipan. Didn’t fancy that solution.
Instead, like skilled plastic surgeon moving skin from one part of body to another, sliced slithers off thicker part of hot cake and pressed them into hollow. Quickly use fudge cream as glue
spread on and slap two repaired halves of cake together.
Step twenty: Quickly cover with melted chocolate as girls return from walk.
‘I’ve made you a cake for the feast of the Assumption of our Lady into heaven,’ I declare, voice slightly shrill.
Thing is, the cake actually turned out great. But even if it hadn’t done,its preparation had involved twenty stressful steps, all for love.
Never mind the finished product, do we take into account those massive steps?
In our Gospel Jesus declares himself the bread which came down from heaven. Just think how many fraught stages cooking that bread had taken. The entire of the Old Testament, all those wanderings, all those prophets recalling God’s people to the true recipe, the ingredients highlighted in our reading from Paul.
Take a pinch of truth, four ounces of righteousness, five tbspoons of peace, greased with faith,
spread with salvation, all covered with the Word of God gently warmed in a font’s water bath.
Truth; righteousness; peace; faith; salvation; God’s word: six essential ingredients for our daily spiritual bake. Which cupboard are they in? Are they easy to access? Or have they suffered decades of neglect, forgotten behind the Five Spice jar?
Then the Annunciation, the birth at Bethlehem, the flight to Egypt, the baptism by John, the ministry,  the cross, the resurrection: crucial stages in the bake.
There used to be a Gospel song, All the way. Its title’s innuendo used to make me and my fellow curate giggle. But it was a good song.
From heaven above to earth below,
he came all the way for me,
from Bethlehem to Calvary,
all the way for me.
From Calvary to Easter morn,
he came all the way for me,
from heaven above into my heart,
he came all that way FOR ME.
All those frantic stages of baking the bread from heaven: all that for you.
The communion wafers I used at Helmsley I bought from the Carmelite nunnery at Thicket Priory on the banks of the Derwent south of Pocklington, where I’d lived as a boy. It was an enclosed order dedicated to silent prayer, all funded by making the wafers which you bought from a silent sister who took your written down order through a grill.
1000 people’s wafers; 20 priest’s wafers, God bless!
Every time I celebrated at Helmsley I used to think of all that the bread of life had done to reach me since 33 AD, two thousand years of the church, of prayer, all the prayer those wonderful sisters put into each wafer. Never mind the finished product. Just think of the journey it’s made to reach you.
Back to my chocolate cake, I cut off a big slice and took it to our neighbour. He’s a Roman Catholic, a doctor from Bombay working in Scarborough Hospital. His wife and daughter were away on holiday, he was home alone on call, so I wanted to cheer him up. ‘I’ve cooked this to celebrate the Assumption,’ I said to him, as the rain poured, realising how each of us had made the longest journey to enable this moment. A bishop from South Wales, a doctor from Bombay, brought together by Christ, the bread of life, as we are brought together this morning and wonderfully feed on him.
Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.
(c) David Wilbourne 2018

Sermon – 26 August 18 8am BCP – David

Trinity 13: Luke 10:23-37

Even though we’re very familiar with that parable, let’s meet the Good Samaritan again as if for the first time.
The priest and the levite were rushing to the Temple, busy, busy, busy for God. Too busy to spot the need under their noses. Does being too busy with your religion make you miss the dire need unfolded before your gaze?
When help comes, it flows in a surprising direction. The man making the journey from Jerusalem to Jericho would be wealthy, wealthy enough to be robbed. The Samaritan would be the despised under-dog, belonging to an inferior race. Yet it is the underdog who comes to the rescue of the privileged, and not the other way around. Whom do we despise or look down on who is our very salvation?
The Samaritan stopped and came to where he was.
The essence of incarnation, God stopping and in Jesus coming to where we are. Our stables, our poverty, our hypocrisy,  our crosses, our resurrections.
The Samaritan gave the innkeeper two pence to look after the wounded Jew, pro tem. Actually it’s not two pence but two denarii. A denarius was a day’s wage, so two day’s wages. If  you are a vicar you earn £71.23 a day. So two day’s wages in vicarage currency is £142.46, plus the oil and wine and donkey carriage, and that’s just for starters.
‘Whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again I will repay thee.’ Reminiscent of Mother Julian’s vision of Christ bleeding on the cross:
‘All this I am doing to win your heart.
And if I need to do more, I will do more.’
Inspired by the Good Samaritan, which soul, wounded by the wayside of the world will you give £142.46 to today? And that’s just for starters.
(c) David Wilbourne 2018


Sermon – 18 February – Lynn

St Laurence`s – 18th February – Lynn Hellmuth

1st Sunday in Lent

The new phase of ministry had been recognised and affirmed in the presence of God and the people.
And the question in everyone’s mind was what happens next?
After all the waiting, there was an expectation, a hope, of swift positive action, even though if truth were told there might not have been much agreement between the onlookers about the form that action should take.
Imagine then the surprise and probable disappointment, felt by many when after his baptism Jesus went into the wilderness for 40 days, seemingly not doing much at all.
Though of course we know from the Gospel accounts that in those 40days he was praying, reflecting on Scripture and facing head on malign challenges regarding the shape and focus of his ministry.
Jesus new phase of ministry, which we mark in the season of Lent that we have just embarked upon, started not with action in the way we normally conceive of it, but with a period of waiting upon God. And undoubtedly the principles and priorities that emerged from that time of reflection profoundly shaped the more overtly active 3 years of ministry that followed.
This period of 40 days of active waiting at the beginning of a new phase in God’s plan is a motif throughout the Bible.
Before Noah and his family along with all those animals experienced freedom and the rainbow sign of God’s everlasting covenant [that we heard about in our 1st reading] they experienced 40 days of rain cooped up together in an ark, probably doing not much beyond shovelling all the animal manure that kept piling up.
Later Moses spent 40 days with God on the top of Mount Sinai before he came down with the 10 commandments and the law.
And later still Elijah journeyed for 40 days to Mount Horeb where he received his revelation of God, not found in the earthquake, or the fire, but in the still small whisper.
In all of these cases, an extended period of waiting preceded a time of significant action, blessing and a change of direction and focus.
I am sure Jesus had these examples in mind as he lived through his 40 days in the wilderness, as indeed the early church did in establishing a period of 40 days of prayer and reflection before Easter, first of all just for those to be baptised at Easter and then extended to all believers.
My first full day as your Vicar was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent and that happenstance reinforced the conviction I already had that this new phase in the ministry of this Benefice, and my ministry, should be marked by an extended period of waiting upon God as individuals, as churches, and as a Benefice.
Over the next few weeks my first priority will be prayer and waiting upon God. Alongside this I expect to be engaged in 2 other p`s “perambulating around the parishes” and “pondering” what God might be saying to me and to us together.
These will be my priorities during this early phase of my ministry and to make space for them please bear with me if there are other things I don’t do that you might hope or even think I SHOULD do.
This is a big benefice and God has called me to work in each of the parishes.It will not be possible for me to do everything everyone hopes I might. That is why it is so important I spend time in prayer before God discerning the way ahead for me and for us.
I will be letting you know next Sunday about opportunities to pray together in each o f the churches in the Benefice during Lent, and as well as hoping many of you join me in prayer in the churches from time to time, I invite each of you please to include individual prayer for this church and this Benefice as part of your Lenten discipline this year.
And in prayer I would encourage you not just to talk to God about what is on your heart for this church and Benefice but also to set time to listen to Him, perhaps setting 5 or minutes aside a day to rest in silence before Him and to discover what He might communicate to you, through words, images and other ways when you are still before Him.
Some of you may be comfortable with silently waiting before God in this way, and have lots to teach me on the subject, but others may feel beginners at this sort of prayer, and keen to learn more. This will be something I hope to share about and model in the coming weeks up to Easter and beyond.
A new phase in my ministry and in the ministry of this church and this Benefice has just begun.
It was recognised and affirmed on Tuesday night in the presence of God and His people.
After the long vacancy of nearly 2 years I recognise the question “what happens next?” is in the hearts of many of you. My answer is that my focus for these 40 days and beyond will be on watching and praying, and I invite you to join me in doing so.
The time for more overt action will come, I am sure. But this time of prayer is far from wasted time.
As the great Christian leader Oswald Chambers said “We think of prayer as a preparation for work, or a calm after having done work, whereas prayer is the essential work.”
It is the foundation, the preparation, for all that may follow.
It is this essential first phase of ministry that we embark on now.
Please join me.
Let us pray…..
In your way and in your time that’s how its going to be in my life.
And in your perfect way I`ll rest my weary mind
And as you lead I’ll follow close behind
And I will wait and I will not regret the time
In your time there is rest
There is rest.

Sermon – 6 August – Philip

When our Resources Run Dry

Readings: Isaiah 55: 1 – 5 and Matthew 14: 13 – 21

Well we are continuing in Matthew’s gospel and today we are looking at the miracle of the feeding of the 5000.  But before we get into what that might be saying to us today I’d like spend a little time beforehand looking at some of the background. And the situation is that Jesus’ cousin, John – John the Baptist has just been murdered by Herod.  And Herod is a nasty piece of work and the immoral ruler of this part of the country in which this story takes place.  And so as we meet Jesus in chapter 14 he is grieving over the loss of his cousin John, a young man of about 30 years old.  And it’s a tragedy that such a young man in the prime of his life, with a huge ministry should have his life cut short by a cruel and evil king.

And I wonder how we would we feel in a situation like that if we had just lost someone close to us in such a terrible way?  And most people I think would want to hide away, to be alone, and to withdraw and not to be troubled by crowds of people.  And for Jesus it’s been a hectic time and on top of that he has now received this shock news that his cousin has been brutally murdered and he probably might be next.  And understandingly Jesus slips away for some time to be alone, but it’s not long before the crowds discover where he is and begin to throng around him.  And contrary to what we might normally expect in a situation like this, his reaction to them is not frustration, it isn’t anger, it’s not annoyance.  Here is what we read in v.14

‘When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.’

And what we see is that the sorrow that Jesus felt over John and the sorrow he may have felt for himself, is now turned into sorrow and compassion for the crowds around him and his heart goes out to them.

And in the parallel version of this story in Mark’s gospel it says he had compassion on them because they were like sheep without a shepherd.  And what we see in this as a very intimate and personal metaphor for the care, protection and guidance that the Lord gives to those who turn to him in faith.    And you can almost hear in this echoes harking back to the Old Testament and Psalm 23.  And I’m sure you know that is the Psalm that begins:  ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’  But it is not that the Lord is just a shepherd.  The Psalm says: ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’  And that speaks of a personal relationship.  And our faith is not just an empty religion, it’s a living and personal relationship we can have with the Lord Jesus Christ, who is very much alive today.

And as Jesus ministers to those in need around him we can begin to hear further echoes from this same Psalm.  The Good shepherd meets our needs.  He restores the sheep.  He has the sheep to lie down in green pastures.  And as it says in Mark’s gospel, Jesus has the people to sit or recline on the green grass.

Now we need to still bear in mind that Jesus’ intention in coming to this place was not to minister but to take a break, to get some peace and to get some rest.  He’s already had a taxing ministry schedule and is still grieving over the death of his cousin, John.   But as Jesus begins to see some of the desperate needs in the crowd he is stirred to the depths of his heart and moved with compassion.  And so he begins to minister to them.

And it’s not just Jesus who is tired but the disciples are tired as well, as they have been assisting Jesus with the ministry.  And ministering to needy people can be very demanding and draining.  It can take a lot out of you.  People can very insistent and demanding.  And none of the disciples have anticipated that there were going to be this number of people who would be chasing them across the lakeside.  And I’m sure all they wanted to do was to take a break and spend a little time themselves with Jesus.

And I can imagine the sort of thing that may have been going through their minds as the day was wearing on.  “Lord I think we’ve done enough for today.”  I can imagine someone like Peter saying: “Lord can’t you just tell people to go home – we are just not prepared for this – can’t we just tell them to get lost.”  And sometimes we can become very weary with well-doing.
And over the years I’ve been here at St Laurence’s I’ve seen so many of you lovingly care for others and give them support and that’s just been an amazing thing for me to witness.  And it’s not unusual, is it for followers of Jesus who have a heart that deeply cares for others and their circumstances to find Jesus again and again bringing others to them to give them help and support.

And I wonder how many times you may have encountered needs that you felt were far bigger and beyond the resources you personally were able to give.  Or you may have been faced with circumstances or a problem that was so overwhelming you’ve thought – this is just beyond what I can cope with?  Or sometimes you may have felt so tired and worn out that you just couldn’t go on.  And in these situations sometimes all we can do is to take it to Jesus and pray.  And one of my favourite spiritual writers is the Quaker, Richard Forster and he says this.  He says:
‘If we truly love people, we will desire for them far more than it is within our power to give them and this will lead us to prayer.’

And it’s often when we are at the end of our own strength and resources and we turn the whole thing over to the Lord that he steps in and does the unexpected.

Well Jesus and the disciples are continuing to minister to this vast number of people but the disciples are becoming increasingly aware that it’s getting rather late and that these people they are ministering to haven’t had anything to eat all day.  And if we look at verse 15 it says: ‘As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late.  Send the crowds away, so that they can go to the villages and buy some food.”
Now try and imagine – you are one of the disciples, you’re already very tired and hungry.  And you suggest to Jesus that it might now be a good time to wind things up but Jesus is having none of it.  And this is how he responds.  He says: “No – No – they don’t need to go away. – You give them something to eat.”

Well how might you react I wonder?  I know I’d be thinking:  “What’s he asking us to do now – this is impossible.”  And I’m sure what Jesus is doing here is seeking to provoke a response.  And there is a response: “Well we have five loaves of bread and two fish but that’s all.”  And, of course, that’s barely enough for two people, never mind such a big crowd.  And these weren’t loaves as we think of them today, like a Kingsmill or Hovis ‘Best of Both.’   They were actually more like small pancakes or pita bread, little flat cakes or bread that would have been cooked on a stone.

And Jesus says: “Look bring them here to me.”  It then says: ‘Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people.’

And so Jesus takes the loaves, lifts his face to heaven and prays and then breaks them and gives them to the disciples.  And a possible interpretation of the text (and I’m only saying possible) but a possible interpretation, and what I think happened, is that the bread and fish are multiplying as the disciples are distributing the bread and the fish to the people in the crowd.
In other word it requires their participation and faith.  The disciples are actually having to do something.  They need to step out in faith.

And so try and imagine the possible scenario.  Jesus gives each disciple a little piece of bread and a little piece of fish and sends them up the hill and says: “Now go feed those 400 people over there, Andrew.  Peter, you feed those 500 up there.”  And I can imagine Peter looking at these little pieces of bread and the fish and saying “this is crazy – why does Jesus get me to do these crazy things?  This is embarrassing.”  But nevertheless Peter goes up the hill in obedience to Jesus.

And he starts to tear off a little piece of bread, as we do here when we are having an informal communion, and it starts multiplying in his hands.  And it’s amazing.  And possibly in being so taken up with the task he’s been given he gets caught up in the flow of it.  And so he tears off another piece and there is more bread.  He starts tearing off more pieces and starts ripping up the fish and they are multiplying – and on it goes.  And, of course, as we know when everyone’s eaten there’s more food left at the end than there was at the beginning.

And so what about the personal application for us today.  Well I wonder about those times when we encounter a need which, we know is much bigger than our own resources to meet.  We long to help but in reality we know there is very little we can actually do.  But then what about, when faced with circumstances like these, giving them over to God and saying something to him along these lines.  “Lord I acknowledge this is way beyond me but I offer to you whatever I can do to help, however inadequate that maybe for you to use for your glory.”  And it’s amazing how, at times, he takes us up on that and often in ways we don’t expect.

And I’ve been reading what Tom Wright says about this and he says:

‘We offer uncomprehendingly, what little we have.  Jesus takes ideas, loaves and fishes, money, a sense of humour, time, energy, talents, love, artistic gifts, skill with words, quickness of eye or fingers, whatever we have to offer.  He holds them before his father with prayer and blessing.  Then, breaking them so they are ready for use, he gives them back to us to give to those who need them.’

And then he goes on to say this: ‘It is part of genuine Christian service, at whatever level, that we look on in amazement to see what God has done with the bits and pieces we dug out of our meagre resources to offer to him.’

And I think that is amazing! Amen

Philip Newell (Reader)
Sermon preached at St Laurence’s, Scalby at a service of Morning Worship on Sunday 6th August 2017