Sermon on the Third Sunday of Lent - Fr Sam Rossiter-Peters

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 be seated.

As a Christian, as well as as a priest, it has been my experience that one of the biggest barriers to people coming to faith, or even exploring relationship with the church, is the fear that they aren't and can't be good enough. People who don't have much familiarity with Christianity often assume that Christians live by some impossibly high moral standard, one that they expect not just of themselves but of everyone else. I've lost count, for example, of the number of times I've gone into the local pub in my dog collar only to be asked if I'm even allowed to be in there and whether I'm allowed to drink alcohol.

The question itself shows the misunderstanding that Christianity is about rigid rules, about some impossibly high standard that nobody could possibly reach. And this kind of thinking can make the church feel incredibly intimidating. People worry that they'll be judged if they come into church for not measuring up to that impossibly high standard, or that coming into church, even if they don't intend to become a Christian, means having to change everything about themselves overnight just so they'll be accepted.

Of course, the truth is that most Christians don't hold themselves or anyone else to this impossible standard. Most of us know that we're not perfect. In fact, most of us know that that's why we're here.

We need God. We need salvation from the kinds of sin that trouble all people. And yet the fear remains.

It's easy to see how our epistle reading today from Ephesians might add to these kinds of fears rather than ease them. St Paul gave a list of sins to avoid and warned that those who persisted in them wouldn't inherit the kingdom of God. On its own, this passage does make it sound like Christianity is an exclusive club for the morally perfect.

But as always when reading scripture, context is key. And so we look to the context. St Paul introduced this passage with, be therefore followers of God as beloved children and walk in love as Christ also hath loved us.

Paul was no stranger to sin. Before he came to Christ, he was a violent man persecuting the foundling church. It was he that stood by holding the coats as the crowd lynched St Stephen.

He knew that he was sinful. St Paul knew that he was saved by grace. He knew that he owed everything to Jesus because Jesus forgave him.

And so he knew that the Christian community was and still is full of people who make mistakes and need forgiveness. He, as he called himself, the chief amongst sinners, led a community of sinners forgiven. St Paul also knew that following Jesus meant being transformed.

He knew that Jesus wasn't harshly judgmental but nor did he ignore sin. He called people to repentance. Repentance, that Greek word metanoia, which means not saying sorry but turning around and going in the opposite direction, embracing a new kind of life.

When Jesus forgave, he did so with grace but he also did so with the words, go and sin no more. And so St Paul framed his list of sins not as an impossible standard but as a call to live in response to God's love, to be followers of God, loving others as those Christians in Ephesus had themselves been loved. St Paul's call to transformation wasn't just about personal morality.

It was about building a community which was shaped by love rather than division. And this was exactly what Jesus warned about in our gospel reading. So he said, a house divided against itself cannot stand.

Sin doesn't just separate us from God, it divides us from one another. It turns love into rivalry and grace into judgment. Jesus didn't come to found a community based on competition but on love.

He called fishermen and tax collectors not because they deserved it but because he loved them and he wanted them to share that love with others. The same was true of why he called St Paul the killer who became a builder of Christian communities. But as always, transformation took help.

Without Jesus, those fishermen, those tax collectors, that killer Pharisee, none of them would become the people that they were meant to be in God. Jesus' love didn't mean pretending that everything about how those people had lived was good. It meant calling them as they were and allowing them to be better.

His grace met them where they were and it called them to where they were meant to be. That is the grace that is extended to all of us. Each person in this room, each person in the church, we all make mistakes.

The love of God means that our mistakes are understood, even embraced, and our brokenness healed. We are helped to grow as the people that God calls us to be. In our gospel reading, the Pharisees attacked Jesus' words, not just out of jealousy but because they failed to recognise the power at work in him.

When Jesus cast out that demon, it wasn't by Satan's power but by the hand of God, and the Pharisees in their blindness couldn't see that God himself was in their midst. We too can be blind. It's so easy to resent those who seem to be doing better than us.

We can stop being helpful, like Ananias, the Christian who aided St. Paul's transformation, going to pray for him that the scales would fall from his eyes once Jesus had stopped him in his tracks. Instead, we can become like the Pharisees. We can try to bring others down.

We can be so aware of our own failings that we want everyone else to feel like we do. But spiritual blindness doesn't just come from envy, it comes from fear. Fear that we're not good enough.

Fear of admitting that we need grace. Fear of letting go of our pride. Jesus taught that a house divided against itself cannot stand.

If we are divided against ourselves, we cannot stand. If we focus on judgment, on competition, on bringing others down, we cannot stand. And so this church is called to lift one another up.

Encouragement, not rivalry, is the mark of Christian community. The church is not a place where judgment should dwell. It is a place where people who are learning together build one another up in faith, hope, and love.

This is what Jesus did with his disciples. It's what St. Paul did with the followers of his churches. It's what we are called to do.

Christianity is not about adhering to some impossible moral standard and holding everyone else to that same impossible moral standard. It's about accepting that none of us are worthy, but we are loved, and that love changes us into worthiness. And so, as we travel through this season of Lent, ask yourself, am I one of those people that is guilty of making the church an impossible place to be? Where in my life am I lifting others up? Where am I tearing them down? Am I helping others to grow in faith, or am I standing in the way of their transformation, perhaps even without realising it? Where am I holding myself to an impossible moral standard? Where am I expecting it of others? Where am I shaped by God's love? Where am I sharing that love? St. Paul's transformation reminds us that no one is beyond God's reach.

His is a model for us all, his life, not just of a sinner forgiven, but a life completely transformed by the love of Christ. A murdering Pharisee, stopped on his tracks on the way to murder, who became a great preacher and evangelist. His life reminds us that faith isn't about checking off a moral scorecard, it's about walking in the love that God has made us for.

A love that changes and transforms from the inside out, a love that calls us to grow and seek holiness, and by that love to encourage others to do the same. It is a love which lifts us up when we fall, restores us when we are broken, and calls us to do the same for others. Imagine what our church would look like if we loved like that each day.

Imagine who we might change, who we might lift up. We are called to be more than just a judgmental community. We are called to be a community that lives differently, that is shaped differently, that encourages each person who comes through those doors.

Yes, you might be broken, so am I. Let's walk forward together. Amen.