It is a lifetime commitment that we make, here. Those who have gone before us have created new things, new buildings and furnishings, often pushing the boundaries of modern taste and architecture to create buildings, organs and furnishings to delight those who come after them, for us to add to, change and develop just as they added to, changed and developed what was left to them. We paused for a while as the money ran out after the Second World War and arguably never quite recovered the momentum, constrained as we were by the issues of secularisation, finance and changing tastes in all sorts of ways. So it was that we ended up preserving what we had, rather than creating things anew, and the popular imagination began to think that churches were, generally, Victorian and English looking, rather than the enormous majority in history and all over the world, and as Victorian taste began to be universally discarded and moved away from beginning in the 1960’s, a generation later we find ourselves here, in a perfectly beautiful place, somewhat worried about what we will do with it in thirty years or so.It's an eloquent place, a church is itself a silent sermon, proclaiming our belief in God’s presence in our midst and our need to worship him. The building, its furnishings and the liturgy we celebrate appeal not only to our minds, but also to our imaginations and emotions. Sometimes these outward physical signs come alive for us. With the eyes of faith, we become very aware of what they signify, but we should never let our faith be constrained by the physical environment in which we meet.This is something of what Isaiah experienced as he prayed in the temple in Jerusalem. He saw the temple as the throne room of God in his majestic glory, surrounded by his court and praised by the heavenly choir. In contrast with the majesty of God, Isaiah became very aware of his own unworthiness and lack of understanding, and that is, we should remember, how many people view churches today, and that lack of understanding is seamlessly translated into a lack of attendance.The Gospel tells us that Simon, the fisherman, had a similar experience to Isaiah, a glimpse of the awesome majesty of Christ, who had enabled him to take a miraculous catch of fish. Like Isaiah, Simon was very conscious of his unworthiness in the presence of the divine. Falling to his knees, he exclaimed, “Depart from me, Lord. I am a sinner’, or ‘go away, I do not understand why you would come to me’.Such a sense of unworthiness could be paralysing. Or it could be liberating – and that was the case with both Isaiah and Simon. As Isaiah recognised that he was a man of unclean lips, a seraph cleansed them with coals of fire. Far from being intimidated and reduced to silence by God’s majesty, Isaiah was empowered to become his prophet. His glimpse of the Lord’s presence and power became a source of hope and strength. God was in the midst of his people and would protect them, if only they would turn to him and trust him.And it was only when Simon recognised his personal inadequacy that Jesus called him to be a fisher of men. By the incarnation, the Son of God has come among us partly to equip us to undertake the mission that Simon and Isaiah were called to, to bear witness and to speak uncomfortable truths, energised by their encounter with the divine, both in the Temple and on the lakeshore – we must do both, God is not confined here any more than we are and what we learn here we take outside and teach here, but it is not shaped by our building, but by He who it is built to serve.Today’s readings are about the vocation of a great prophet and of the leader of the apostles. But Jesus calls each one of us to follow him and to work for him. The task can seem daunting and impossible – if we think only of our limitations. But when God calls us, he owes it to himself and to us to give us the strength to do his will. We are not acting alone and we inherit our surroundings from those who have done this work before us, who were called to make this new thing for us, as we are called to make new things for those who follow us.We are told that the apostles left everything and followed Jesus, as Isaiah left everything and followed God, as the Saints and Martyrs did, as Abraham and Sarah left their home to follow God. They gave up their security and journeyed into a yet unknown future with. For us, leaving everything means abandoning our self-sufficiency and our trusting in God’s power, not our own. With him we can do great things for the Lord. If we waited until we thought we were good enough to do God’s work, nothing would ever get done, and this building would join so many others and find a new half life as flats or a warehouse. Following Christ is a lifetime commitment, not for us, but for the life of those who come after us, that they might carry on the god work we do here, as we carry on the work of Simon Peter.
Today is Candlemas, a pivotal point in the year. Traditionally it was when winter began to close up, supplies of food were maybe scarce, spring was still a few weeks away but the ground would begin to thaw sufficiently to be worked and thoughts of seeds and planting were in the minds of farmers. Old wisdom tells us that the weather on Candlemas predicts the season to come – Americans call it Groundhog Day. Whatever you call it, today is the day when the end of winter is enough of a possibility that we can begin to anticipate spring.We are also at a pivotal point of the churches year, Christmas in every sense of the word is now over and we turn not simply from cradle to cross but from cradle through cross to the empty tomb, already visible, albeit dimly through the darkness still to come. Following Jesus is not just about Christmas; not just about Good Friday. Following Jesus is also about the hope and freedom of Easter.Holding all of that together in one piece can be very difficult – but perhaps we don’t have to. Our liturgical year offers us seasons in which one or the other piece takes primacy in our worship. And our own lives offer us seasons in which one or the other takes primacy in our faith and in our experience. Sometimes, those match up with the liturgical year and sometimes they don’t – in which case our worship serves as a valuable reminder that what we are living is not the whole of God’s story.I am in Alnwick, where it is cold and windy, but the East coast is often light and brighter than the West, particularly around this time of year, when the long views over the North Sea bring the reflection of the sun for longer than on our side. It reminds me of the coming of God to Abraham and Sarah, the long and unavoidable shadows coming to their camp, bringing God who brings change, challenges and a long journey of faith and the leaving behind of that which is comfortable and familiar.Simeon’s song begins with a declaration of the end of his work, perhaps even his life: “Lord, now let your servant go in peace”. His task has been fulfilled; he has born witness to the arrival of the infant Messiah, seen the salvation of the world. That season is over, a new season has begun. His work is complete.I wonder how Simeon felt when he woke up the day after meeting Jesus and seeing the truth of what his future would hold. I wonder if he woke up thinking, ‘today might be the day!”, before he remembered that yesterday had been the day and that he would have to find something else to do today, a way of using up the life left to him knowing that his purpose has been beautifully fulfilled – the promise of God came to him and now he has to look to meeting God, not in the form of the infant Jesus, but on the day of his judgement. Not many people will have beheld their judge as a baby!What then did he do? I imagine he lit a candle, in the quiet of that winter morning, and prayed that the light of the world would break through the darkness and reveal to him the continuation of God’s promise. Let that be our prayer, also, as we journey through the seasons of the year and of our lives.Have a blessed day, and if I come back, we can keep on moving forward together, and if I do not, well, we will move forward anyway, because that is the only direction that we can travel in, as St Augustine said ‘sing alleluia and keep on walking!’
We tend to blame things that we do on things we have not done. Hence I sat on a bus in London some years ago listening to someone being utterly horrible about someone sitting near them and about the driver and anyone who dared look at her, before announcing loudly ‘my chakras are not aligned properly, so you can all go to hell’ – or something similar. I do not think she knew what a chakra was, and to be fair nor do I, but blaming whatever they are on being in a foul mood seems stretching it a little.We do tend to find excuses, or to create dualisms or divisions. So we perceive opposing forces of good and evil at work around us and blame them for anything from being short changed to being unpleasant. Human beings are seen as being made up of a body and soul working in duality, and to a great extent perceiving dualisms or divisions is probably not a wrong thing to do. However, as is often the case, taking matters to extremes leads to the breakdown of our balance, or if you like, a misalignment of body and soul.We are today finishing the week of prayer for Christian unity. Unity is certainly seen as a virtue and a command of Christ ‘may they all be one Father as you and I are one’ . To be one is good. To be divided is bad, although in the Trinity there are here specific entities. At the same time though, it is untruthful, and therefore unhelpful, to pretend there is one church, when there is in fact, two or many. In Christian ecumenism, there is always a tension between recognising the scandal of division and valuing the Gospel work of individual churches and traditions, or pneumatologically there is value in recognising the gifts of the Spirit, the Kingship of Christ and the creative force of the Father. They are distinct but also one, and maybe a model for Christian Unity rather than pursuing one denomination which would be beige and inoffensive and we would not like it very much, because all the people who sulk when anything changes would leave and quickly form another church which would splinter and then we would be back in the same place again, looking as foolish as we do now.This model of duality can be applied elsewhere, specifically, to popularly perceived dualisms. First we have the human anthropology of body and soul. Much traditional theology gives us the image of the human person made up of body and soul. An image that is very useful because it makes it easier to talk and distinguish between the physical and spiritual. Fair enough. However, it is not correct to think we are talking about two separate entities, that the human person is not a unity. It is important to keep in mind that the body and soul are two aspects of one unity. Then there is the popular dualism of good and evil. There are certainly some aspects of the world that we want to describe as good and others we want to see as evil. However, that is not the same as thinking that are two existing principles, one good the other evil, that are the same in nature but directly opposing in direction. Such an understanding undermines the very unity of God. Good is the force of creation. There is no force of uncreation. Existence is good. There is no thing that is non-existent. To equate evil with goodness undermines the unity and pervasiveness of goodness in creation and existence.A further division human beings like to make is between ‘thinking’ and ‘doing’. There is a lot more to Christianity than intellectual assent. Sitting at home believing in God does not get the believer, or anybody else, anywhere. We have to be doing something as well. The thinking and the doing have to become a unity. Thinking and doing has to be become a one unified activity in such a way that the thinking and the doing become inseparable. This unity is what the theologian, Edward Schillebeeckx, calls the Christian ‘praxis’. The Christian praxis is action that redeems and saves people, bringing them to the ultimate unity with God.We only need to look at today’s Gospel to see what that activity is. At the beginning of his ministry Jesus announces what he going to do — bring good news to the poor, free captives and the oppressed, and cure the ill. These actions are all about fulfilling people’s humanity, making them whole, and making them one. With any dualism, we have to make sure we see the unity behind it. Otherwise: we are scandalised by a divided Church rather than appreciating the Church’s achievements; we become obsessed with the body or the soul at the expense of our wholeness; we exaggerate evil and underestimate the goodness of creation; and our religion becomes reduced to thought and no redeeming action occurs. If we keep division in perspective and fully appreciate the unity around us, then Christ’s saving work will take place.
Imagine a special parish event—a joyful occasion, perhaps even a visit from the bishop. Everything’s going well. We’ve had a lovely Mass, and now we’ve gathered in the parish hall. The table is beautifully set, the conversation is flowing, and the atmosphere is one of celebration. But then, halfway through the evening, as the bishop returns to the buffet for another round of those vol-au-vents he’s quite taken a shine to, you suddenly notice something alarming: there might not be enough to go around.That sinking feeling creeps in. It’s not just about food; it’s about hospitality, about showing care and generosity to your guests, and avoiding the embarrassment of falling short. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Worried about things not going to plan, anxious about letting others down.Perhaps that’s why the wedding at Cana speaks so powerfully to us. It’s not just a story of Jesus’ first miracle—it’s a moment that resonates with our human fears and concerns. And yet, it’s also a Gospel narrative layered with meaning. It speaks to the abundance of God’s grace, the unfolding of Christ’s mission, and the ways in which God transforms not only our moments of anxiety but the very fabric of our lives.At Cana, it’s Mary who notices the need. “They have no wine,” she says, bringing the problem to Jesus with quiet confidence. And when He responds in a way that might seem dismissive—“My hour has not yet come”—she doesn’t argue or plead. Instead, she turns to the servants and says, “Do whatever He tells you.”Yet again, Mary’s words are a profound act of faith, she doesn’t know exactly what Jesus will do, but she trusts that He will act. Her words are a call to action, not just for the servants at Cana but for all of us. “Do whatever He tells you”—these are words to live by, words that invite us to trust in God’s plan even when we don’t fully understand it.In our first reading from Isaiah, we hear of God’s joy in His people, likening Jerusalem to a bride adorned for her husband. This wedding imagery echoes the setting at Cana and points to the deeper reality of God’s covenantal love. Just as a bride and groom enter into a life-changing union, so too does God invite us into a transformative relationship with Him.The miracle at Cana reveals a God who works through the ordinary, transforming water into wine in the midst of a wedding feast. It’s a reminder that Christ meets us where we are—in the mundane and the messy, in the joys and challenges of everyday life. In my chaplaincy work, I’ve seen this time and again. I’ve sat with patients and families in moments of fear and uncertainty, and I’ve witnessed how Christ’s presence can transform those moments, bringing peace and hope where there was previously anxiety. Just as the water at Cana was transformed, so too can Christ take the ordinary and make it extraordinary.The Church Fathers saw this miracle as rich in symbolic meaning. Saint Augustine understood it as a shift from the old covenant to the new—the water of the law giving way to the wine of the Gospel. For Thomas Aquinas, it was a sign of how God’s grace elevates and perfects nature, infusing human life with divine holiness. These reflections remind us that Christ doesn’t just meet our needs—He exceeds them, offering us not just enough, but abundance.This abundance is echoed in the second reading, where Saint Paul speaks of the diversity of gifts given by the Spirit. Just as Christ transformed water into wine, so too does the Spirit transform our lives, taking our unique talents and turning them into something extraordinary for the common good. But notice: this transformation requires a response. It requires us, like the servants at Cana, to listen and act. “Do whatever He tells you.”What might Christ be asking of us today? Perhaps He is asking us to step out in faith, to trust in His provision, to serve others with generosity and compassion. In moments of doubt, Mary’s words are a guide, calling us back to the simplicity of faith and obedience.The miracle at Cana also foreshadows the Eucharist, where Christ transforms bread and wine into His Body and Blood. At the altar, we are invited to partake in the abundance of His grace, to be nourished and transformed so that we might go out and share that grace with the world. Every act of service, every prayer offered, every moment of kindness becomes a participation in Christ’s ongoing work of transformation.Mary’s role in this Gospel is a model for all of us. She doesn’t perform the miracle herself; she simply points others to Christ and trusts in His care. Her faith sets the stage for the miracle, reminding us that our role is not to have all the answers but to trust and to act.As we reflect on this story, let’s remember that Christ continues to transform our lives. He meets us in our need, He invites us to trust, and He calls us to follow. And as we go forth, may we carry Mary’s words in our hearts: “Do whatever He tells you.”Closing PrayerGracious God, You who transformed water into wine,pour out Your grace upon our lives. In times of doubt, grant us the faith of Mary,to trust in Your provision and to act with confidence.In moments of service, may we reflectYour love and compassion.And in all things, may we do whatever You tell us,so that we may share in Your abundant joy. Amen.
