Sermon on Last Sunday after Trinity - Fr Sam Rossiter

You may be given to me to speak in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Please do be seated.

Do you ever wonder if there's any point in telling people about Jesus Christ? Of course we all know that we probably should share our faith. Jesus calls his followers a city on a hill that cannot be hidden, precisely because he meant for us to be seen for who we are. We are a light in the darkness.

We are people with a hope given to be shared. But most of us also probably wonder whether there's any point in sharing what we believe, except as perhaps an interesting anecdote or fact, a bit like saying we once played the violin but we gave it up in grade five. Our world seems actively ambivalent towards faith.

Most people aren't opposed to Christianity. They just don't care enough to think about it. They may have come to church as children or at Christmas, but for many, Christianity is something for other people.

St John the Baptist is that interesting landmark near McDonald's. Somewhere, as we hear so often, they walk past for years but never go inside. In that kind of world, sharing faith can feel daunting.

Will people care? Will they think that we're trying to convert them and shut us down? Isn't our faith just a private matter anyway? In a post-modern culture that doesn't believe much in objective truth, unless of course it's in a tabloid headline, the claim that we have something objectively true to share sounds bold, even arrogant. We want to share a truth that we believe is objective and is life-altering, the most important truth anyone can hear. We want to tell people that the God who made heaven and earth, became a human being, entered into our world, became one with us, took on our mistakes, died because of them, removed them from us and then rose again from the dead to bring us to new life.

It's an amazing, amazing truth. A deal that seems too good to be true. Give me your sins and I will give you life.

And yet when we share it, it often feels like it falls on deaf ears. And so sharing our faith becomes in and of itself an act of faith. Not just faith in ourselves, not faith for ourselves, but faith for others.

But can we have faith on someone else's behalf? Most theology books, most people in the congregation would probably say no. Christianity is after all about a personal relationship with God the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. You can't have somebody else's relationship for them.

And yet the gospel reading that we've just heard suggests something different. We hear of several people bringing their friend to Jesus, their friend who was sick of the palsy, so that he could be healed. And the man received not first the ability to walk, but rather forgiveness of sins.

The account is astonishing for all kinds of reasons, but notice Matthew's detail. And Jesus, seeing their faith, said to the man with palsy, take heart son, your sins are forgiven. It wasn't the man's faith that Jesus was responding to, but that of his friends.

The man himself in the account said nothing. We don't know if he even consented to be brought to Jesus. We don't know if he asked for healing.

He isn't recorded as saying thank you to Jesus or recognising him as the Messiah. The only people whose faith is remarked upon were his friends. Perhaps the man did have faith, perhaps he did say thank you, and it just isn't recorded.

But the text doesn't make that point, when so often it does, in fact for every other healing in the gospel. Because what mattered was the faith of the friends. That was what Jesus responded to.

Jesus forgave and healed the man whether he had faith or not, whether he asked to come or not, whether he believed or not. The man's need was brought to his attention by his friends, and in response to their faith, Jesus gave the man what he needed. The friends didn't even have any way of knowing that Jesus would do what he did.

In most gospel accounts where someone correlates sin with sickness, Jesus rebukes that assumption. So the friends didn't have any reason to suppose that the man's sickness was in any way linked to sin. They didn't have any reason to suppose that forgiveness would be on offer, and as the scribes rightly said, only God can forgive sins.

This Jesus was certainly a man of God, a miraculous healer, but to forgive sins? No one in their right mind would suppose it. In fact, they didn't even really know that the man would be healed. Of course, they hoped that he would, but nobody knows for certain that an impossible thing is going to happen.

Nobody trusts it completely, even if you've heard it happening before. There's still that part of your mind that says, maybe it won't work this time. So all we know of the friends is that they loved their companion enough to give it a go.

They had enough knowledge of Jesus to know that it was worth the effort of getting the man on his mat, getting him to the house, breaking through the crowds, and bringing him to Jesus. And that was all that Jesus needed. The faith that it was worth having a go and bringing their friend to Jesus.

The opportunity to meet the man, to know his need, to touch his life. What happened afterwards? Perhaps the man did become a disciple. Maybe he went home, grateful for his miracle, and told everybody, his family, and his friends, that Jesus' word spread.

Maybe he said nothing. Maybe he went back home and started living his life, grateful for his little miracle. We're not told.

The reality is that what was important was the faith of the friends. And their faith didn't have an effect on what happened afterwards. Their job was to bring the man to Jesus, for Jesus to do what he was going to do, and then the response was between Jesus and the man.

In a world indifferent to faith, we need to emulate the faith of these friends. So often we hold back from talking of our faith to those around us because we feel responsible for the outcome. How can we talk well enough of Jesus that it will overcome those natural barriers in people's minds? We don't have the right words.

We don't know enough theology. We don't know the Bible well enough. We're not smart enough.

How can we convert someone? Well, the fact is, we can't. But even if we were the best theologian in the world, we still couldn't. Our calling is not to convert people.

It's not to change anybody's life. Our calling is simply to tell the truth. We know Jesus.

Jesus has changed our life, and then we introduce him to somebody else. What happens after that is between Jesus and the person. It's not our responsibility.

In fact, it can't be our responsibility. All we are responsible for is the initial introduction. And of course, that still is hard.

It's hard to face up to the idea that we might be rejected, that we might be laughed at. But we have to try, because we know that meeting Jesus is the most important thing a person can do. We have to try, because every hope of finding relationship with the triune God finds its source in him.

We have to try, because if we love God, we love the people around us, and if we love the people around us, then we cannot be indifferent to their eternity. Know that it's hard, even for those who are paid, to represent their faith. One of the most challenging things as a priest for me is how often I walk into rooms where everyone is indifferent to what I represent.

Schools, hospitals, trustee boards, nursing homes. I'm so often the faint and frankly unwelcome reminder that God still has something to say to public life. But the reminder remains vital.

Again and again, I see that if you are present and available, and if you open the door, people will eventually step through. This is the quiet miracle of faith. Not believing for someone in the sense of replacing their faith, but believing that there's enough hope to introduce them, to open the door, and then to give the rest to Jesus.

So go out with faith, hope, courage. You can believe for other people. You can believe that the introduction will make a difference.

Not because of you, not because of your words, but because Jesus will handle the rest. Amen.