Topic: Communion

Twenty-five years on from 9/11, still trapped between an angry sea and old enemies, and still asked to accept a mercy that plays no favourites.

On the first Feast of Creation, this sermon asks whether a wounded world might still be a window into the grieving heart of God.

The resurrection doesn’t restore what we lost — it reveals what we were always becoming: living icons through whom the world might glimpse the life of God.

Though the experience of grief often feels like an absence of God, it is a deep experience of the heart of God, and is symbolised as such in the brokenness of the Eucharist.

The faithful who have gone before us are held securely in the powerful gracious memory of God, where their love and prayers for us live on until we are united with them in resurrection.

All our dinners are an anticipation of the vision of a new world, where God’s very self dwells with mortals, all are welcomed, and all pain is taken away.

The indiscriminate ways Jesus shared and spoke about food broke the rules of his society and the rules of many churches down to this day.

The doctrine of the Trinity is not a mathematical puzzle, but an invitation to an experience of relationships, sharing in the life and mission of God.

Jesus calls us to unite as his body around his table, and if we come to the table without seeking that unity, we dishonour Jesus.

Jesus shows us that being overly cautious about the boundaries of personal space and touch can, especially in worship, risk excluding, stigmatising and humiliating people.

When we want to know what God is like, our primary source of information is Jesus.

Jesus confronts us with our cannibalistic behaviour in order that we might follow him into a saving communion with God and one another.