I thought this morning that I would begin by telling you a little bit about what I was doing last weekend when I was not here.
 
As many of you know, I have served as the Secretary of the Europe Area of the World Communion of Reformed Churches. When we have meetings, we try to go and visit one of our member churches, to learn about what they are doing and to offer encouragement and solidarity in difficult situations they are facing.
 
Last weekend, we visited our most northerly member church, the Uniting Church in Sweden. I had long been agitating to go and visit them, because I think they are a very interesting church and also because I like the experience of really, really cold weather and I high hopes for that in January in Sweden.
 
On one count, I was disappointed. It was really no colder than here. But on the other count, I was absolutely right. Their story is both interesting and inspiring.
 
The Uniting Church in Sweden is the most recently established church in Sweden. It was formed just six years ago, in 2011 but, as the name implies, it is not brand new. It has been formed from bringing three churches together. One of those churches, the Mission Covenant Church of Sweden, which itself grew out of a revival movement within the Lutheran Church of Sweden in the 1870s, was a part of the World Communion of Reformed Churches and its predecessor organisation, the World Alliance of Reformed Churches. It is the part of the Uniting Church which would traditionally be most closely related to us in theology and practice. The other partners to the union are the Baptist Union of Sweden and the United Methodist Church of Sweden.
 
To someone interested in church structures and theologies, this is fascinating. How can you bring together and hold together one two churches which practice infant baptism with a church which rejects infant baptism? With difficulty, but it can be done, by agreeing to live with difference. The part of the Uniting Church of Sweden which rejects infant baptism agreed not to seek to re-baptise adults who had been baptised as children even though it does not really recognise the validity of infant baptism. This is an act of great ecumenical generosity, made for the overall good of the church as a whole.
 
In the process of coming together, valuing tradition and cherishing identity were important. Individual congregations of the Uniting Church were free to keep their old names – Baptist, Methodist and Mission Covenant. But more and more, over the last six years, congregations are choosing to change to the new name. More and more, the worship traditions of each of the partners are being shared by the whole church. It is growing into a new identity. It is a church which is uniting, not claiming to be united. This speaks of moving forward, of hope, of growing trust and deepening love.
 
I’m sure you are all as fascinated as I am by church structure, but there’s more to the story of the Uniting Church in Sweden than that. There are 760 congregations spread across the whole country, with a total of 70,000 members, meaning that the average size of a congregation is about a hundred. But here’s something that surprised us. Another 130,000 people are involved in the activities of the church. Not members, but people involved. I expect my friends on the Committee were, like me, thinking about all the members of our churches who are not involved in the life of the church. How do they do it?
 
I suspect that there are lots of answers to that. But let me offer a few.
 
The first is, as I have been saying, is that this is a church which is visibly and deliberately coming together. Slowly, carefully and respectfully, they are dismantling the barriers which have normally kept denominations apart. They are not trying to preserve the past for its own sake but are building something new on the foundations which were laid down by the different churches which have come together. They are respecting and valuing and making space for the traditions and the styles and practices of each congregation, not forcing change, not trying to homogenise things that are incompatible but valuing diversity.
 
The second is that this is a consciously liberal church. Certainly there is a variety of opinion within it. Churches which do not have that are sects, not churches. In the Uniting Church in Sweden, there is freedom to think and believe and practice faith in the way that seems right to each member. Broadly speaking, though, the church as a whole is theologically liberal which means that it is not inwardly focussed, not consumed with theological power struggles as so many other churches, not least the Church of Scotland, are. Sweden is a broadly liberal country, and this is a church which is quite in tune with the way many people think. That’s not to say that the general population is religious, quite the opposite, but they see in the Uniting Church a church which reflects generally held concerns across Swedish society, particularly concerns for justice and equality.
 
But by far the most significant thing, and this came out again and again with everyone we met, is that this is an outward looking church. Many congregations are engaged in active work on diversity issues, promoting the rights of women, youth, minorities, supporting the struggle for justice for all, not only in Sweden but in twenty-seven countries around the world where there are active partnerships. Over a hundred congregations are involved actively in working with refugees and new immigrants. Informal Swedish language classes, run by volunteers, are a staple of many congregations in a country which has welcomed hundreds of thousands of “new Swedes” as they call them in recent years. Literally thousands of church members are starting from the presumption that new Swedes are friends, and then living and working to make that a deep reality.
 
We saw one extraordinary example. In addition to all the work done by congregations, the church runs a refugee integration centre in Uppsala which we were privileged to visit. Over three hundred people at a time are being taught the skills needed to be Swedes in Swedish society, from the language to riding a bicycle to learning how to use a computer to understanding Swedish law and culture to learning the norms of parenting. For instance, if you hit your child in Sweden, you’ve committed a criminal offence, but many are coming from places where physical punishment is accepted. Even more challenging is the fact that many families arriving in Sweden have endured the trauma of war, long periods of separation, and have not had the chance to develop normal relationships with their children because their focus has had to be only on survival. We heard of a man from Aleppo who’d found it difficult to sleep at first in Sweden. It was so quiet without the constant sound of bombs exploding. Another told us of his journey on foot, by smugglers’ boat and lorry, and by prison van from Afghanistan to be reunited with his wife and daughter. “How could you do it?” we asked, facing such danger, hiding in forests from the authorities, cutting border fences, experiencing arrest and deportation. “I wanted to be a father to my daughter,” he replied.
 
The World Communion of Reformed Churches is very thankful for the work and witness of the Uniting Church in Sweden, and for similar work being done in many member churches. January is a time when we often try to think about church unity and to me, what I saw last weekend is really what church unity is about. It is about coming together as churches in a way which values different perspectives and it is about coming together to serve the world, not for the sake of the church, not to be seen to be doing good works, but for the sake of people in need. Only a church which lives the message of unity in its own being can authentically demonstrate Christ’s message of unity to the world, a message which there is an increasingly desperate need for the world to hear. We have much to learn, and much work to do.
 
Amen.

 
What are you looking for? Where have we heard this kind of thing before? Maybe that’s not a fair question because, in a way, we have not heard it yet. But this question of Jesus to two of John’s disciples reminds me of the question the angels ask of the women at the empty tomb. And the answer in both instances is ‘Jesus’.
 
But John’s disciples could not have given that answer. They were not looking for Jesus. They were looking for the Messiah, the anointed one of God, who would save the people. But in looking for the Messiah, they found him in Jesus, the man pointed out to them by their friend and teacher, John the Baptist.
 
This week, we are following on from the story we read last week, but not from the same gospel. Last week we read from Matthew about Jesus’ baptism. This week, we move to John, who always has a different angle. Matthew tells us that he knew that Jesus was the Son of God before he came for baptism. Luke goes back further, saying that John recognised Jesus before either were born. But the Fourth Gospel tells a different story, that it was only as John saw the dove, the Holy Spirit, descend upon Jesus that he fully understood.
 
Do these differences matter? Probably not a lot. But the Fourth Gospel casts John very firmly as the last and possibly greatest of the prophets, those who had looked forward in faith to the coming of the Christ, who had laboured to prepare the people. Finally, John was able to say, “Here he is. Behold the Lamb of God.”
 
In many respects, Christmas is over for another year. We spoke last week of how all the paraphernalia was away, boxed up till next December. But the church, in its worship, is not in quite so much of a hurry. The central feature of Christmas, which is both truth and mystery, is still before us. We are still being directed by our Bible readings to contemplate the Incarnation. We’ve heard it announced by angels to shepherds; we’ve seen wise men offer their gifts and their worship; we’ve listened as it was confirmed by a voice from heaven announcing that Jesus is God’s son, with whom God is well pleased. Now here, the Baptist is telling his disciples, “Here is the one for whom the generations have waited. Here is the one for whom you are looking.”
 
While this passage from the Fourth Gospel looks back to and reflects upon the baptism of Jesus, it also looks forward to other stories of Jesus calling disciples. But, as so often with the Fourth Gospel, this is presented rather differently. There is no sense of Jesus deliberately picking people that we get from the other Gospels. Rather, it is John who gives a gentle nudge. He’s handing over. He’s done what he was to do. He has found the Messiah. And a new, different journey of discipleship begins for Andrew, possibly too for the other unnamed disciple of John’s, and certainly from Simon, Andrew’s brother, of whose relationship with John we know nothing.
 
But the fact is, these people, and later others, enter into a relationship with Jesus. It is a relationship of many things – travelling companions, helpers, friends, disciples. And that last one is such an important one within the life of faith that we need to pause and think a little more about what it means.
 
And to do that, I want to put before you two Bible verses which we’ve not read this morning but which I’m sure you’ll know very well. One is the Greatest Commandment and the other is the Great Commission.
 
Discipleship has many elements including sharing common life, and learning. These are things that traditionally the church has emphasised. Our life of discipleship focuses very heavily on learning about Jesus together in community. Over the coming weeks, we’ll read many stories of the disciples learning from Jesus and one of the occasions we’ll hear about is them asking what the greatest commandment is. Jesus told them that it is, ‘to love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul and all your mind and to love your neighbour as yourself.’
 
Love is the core of the greatest commandment. It is not difficult to see why. God is love. It is love which binds Father, Son and Holy Spirit. As the hymn we sometimes sing says, “Love is what God is for love is of God.” To accept the call to discipleship is to accept the call to love.
 
The Great Commission, though, says this: “Go into all the world, and make disciples of all nations.” It is interesting how both of these verses are called ‘great’, but Jesus himself only called the commandments to love ‘great’. And that maybe ought to make us wary. Because the church has not always been great at making disciples. Very often, it has given this confusing message – God loves you unconditionally but you’ve got to change; to do this, that and the next thing, to believe this, that and the other. You see how that’s confusing? How can love be unconditional if it demands change? It can’t be. Somehow, the extraordinary power of love has been downplayed, pushed aside by caveats which make the loving less demanding.
 
In this wee story, there are two little signs of how love was all important to Jesus’ practice of discipling. First is Jesus’ unconditional invitation to Andrew and the other disciple to come and spend the day with him. “Come and see where I’m staying. Come and be my friend.” And the next comes when Simon is introduced to Jesus by his brother. Straightaway, he gives them the nickname, ‘Rock’, basically saying to Simon, ‘I see you can be strong, you can be reliable; you’re all right.’ It is an affirmation of Simon given in love.
 
Many of you will be familiar with these words, and attributed to St Teresa of Avila, a 16th century Spanish mystic.
 
Christ has no body but yours,
no hands, no feet on earth but yours.
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
in compassion on this world.
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
 
These are words about discipleship, about loving and serving, and they are also words about incarnation, about Christ’s disciples incarnating him on earth. They are words about being like Jesus, doing his work, living in his way, loving as he loves. But we should not try to take this too far, as we can be tempted to do. There are things about Jesus we cannot imitate. We can imitate his humanity, but his divinity is not ours to emulate. Yet there can be the temptation, and this probably afflicts clergy more than most, to feel that if the world needs to be saved, it is us who have to save it. No we don’t. Christ has saved it. That’s not what he calls us to discipleship to do. He calls us to love the world as he does, unconditionally.
 
There is a sense in this story of a passing of the baton, from John to Jesus. But perhaps we should not let ourselves move on from John altogether. Perhaps more consciously we should imitate him by trying to be people who point to Jesus.
 
But because Jesus is no longer walking by, we have no means to point to him except with our love, our love for him, but most especially, our love for one another and for the whole of humanity which is so deeply loved by God.
 
Amen.

 
The church looks a little different today. Gone is the Christmas tree. Gone are the Advent candles. The pulpit falls are green rather than white. Gone are the flowers which adorned our pillars. The prettiness, the decoration is away. The church is back to normal.
 
And is church life back to normal too? Perhaps. We’ve put away the Christmas carols and are back to singing normal hymns. For me, after a couple of weeks without meetings and sometimes being unsure of which day of the week it was, I find this week is well filled already, and the normal pattern is resumed.
 
To some, all this may come as a relief. The disturbance of Christmas is over. In some ways, I like to get back to normal. In some ways, I prefer the predictable patterns, the working week laid out in its usual way, the pattern of Sunday worship comfortingly familiar. But wait a moment. What did I say? The disturbance of Christmas is over? Most assuredly, it should not be.
 
Much as I like my Christmas tree at home, and glad as I am to get it away and the dropped needles hoovered up, that's not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the profound disturbance that Christmas teaches us about, but which is so often so effectively obscured by the way we celebrate it. I’m talking about the profound disturbance of the natural created order, of the breaking of the division between heaven and earth, of the destruction of the distinction between divinity and humanity that occurred in real historical time, in a real historical place, in Bethlehem, a little over 2000 years ago. Our focus on stars and angels, on shepherds and wise men, on the pretty little nativity scene, on the cooing over the baby, can obscure the real impact of the truth that, at that time, God came to earth, not as God but as a human being; and it can distract us from realising the implications of this extraordinary act.
 
Today our Gospel text describes for us the baptism of Jesus. Only it doesn't. Matthew is a fascinating writer. He's always got something going on which can be hard to spot at first, but which is crucial to the story he is trying to tell. And what he’s doing here is talking about incarnation, but doing it in the context of Jesus’ baptism.
 
Let me unpick that a bit. When I say Matthew doesn't tell us about the baptism of Jesus, what I mean is that he doesn't say Jesus went down into the water. He doesn't say if John said any words over him. He doesn't say whether he was immersed or sprinkled with water. What he does tell us about is a conversation beforehand, a conversation between Jesus and John.
 
We need to put that in context. John had a particular understanding of what he was doing. The baptism he was offering was a ritual purification, an outward sign undertaken by people who had heard and accepted his call to repentance, who had decided, under his teaching, to turn their lives around, to renounce sin. John, and all the people who came to him, understood this. Doubtless, Jesus understood this to, but he also understood it in a different way, but we’ll come back to that. John didn’t realise that, hence his reluctance to baptise Jesus.
 
John had a theological understanding of Jesus at that point which was unique to him, but which all followers of Christ now accept. He understood that Jesus was God incarnate, the real God in actual human form. He knew that God was holy and without sin. How then could God incarnate require a baptism for the washing away of sin?
 
Well, clearly, he couldn't. But it was not for that that Jesus came to John at the Jordan. He came as a sign of commissioning, of setting out on his journey of ministry. We’ve noted a couple of times in the last few weeks how heavily Matthew drew on the stories of Moses in telling the story of Jesus. So, as the children of Israel left behind their life in Egypt and passed to the waters of the Red Sea, trusting in the guidance of God to lead them to do what he wanted them to do and to be where he wanted them to be, so Jesus passes through the waters of Jordan from his old life of anonymity to his testing, turbulent life of gospel ministry. And in this, he redefines John’s style of baptism, and gives us the style we practice in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, for our baptism is a commissioning to ministry and service in Christ’s name.
 
So what of the conversation between Jesus and John which is really the focus of Matthew’s account? John's question to Jesus is a question about his own perceived unworthiness to baptise the son of God. Who am I that you should come to me?
 
That really is the question which lies at the heart of the mystery of the incarnation. His name shall be called Emmanuel – God with us – but who are we that God should want to be with us? Even more startling, who are we that God should choose to be one of us, incarnated fully in all that it means to be human, not least to know suffering? The answer is that we are no more worthy on our own account than John was, but that our worth derives wholly and completely from the fact of God’s choice, God’s choice to create us and God’s choice, in Christ, to redeem us.
 
The fact is that God has chosen to be with us. This is the profound disturbance of Christmas. For Christmas is the point that everything changes. The incarnation of God in Christ not only brings the divine into the human, it calls the human into the divine. It changes us as much as it changes God. It brings heaven to earth and earth into heaven. We may ask: who are we that God should do this for us? God’s answer is this – you are mine.
 
We are his. And everything that happens in the gospel from this point on, everything that Jesus says, everything that Jesus does, unfolds to us what belonging to God means.
 
Amen.
 
.