When the rains come down and the floods come up … (sermon based on Matthew 7:24-29)

Well, we’ve come to the end of our journey through the Sermon of the Mount and we conclude with perhaps the most famous bit of all.

²⁴ “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. ²⁵ The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. ²⁶ But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. ²⁷ The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

This reading makes me want to sing, “The wise man built his house upon the rock …” – anyone else?  The problem with that is that we because we’ve known these parables since Sunday school, we can become so familiar with them that they lose their impact.  So, let’s pretend we’ve never heard these words before.  

Jesus always used illustrations taken from the day-to-day experience of his hearers.  And there were sandy beaches on the shore of Lake Galilee.  Interestingly, there is such a thing as alluvial sand in Galilee, in Bethsaida, the birthplace of Philip, Andrew and Peter – it’s a type of sand that in the summertime was very hard.  Like rock.  So, let’s imagine we have two builders who want to build a nice new home.  It’s the summer.  They choose to build on this alluvial sand.  One of them – let’s call him Jacob, thinks that this alluvial sand feels like rock, so it’s a good foundation to build on, so he builds his house on this sand without building a foundation.  After all, it’s hard enough.  But another, let’s call him Isaac, has done his research.  He digs a foundation right down to the bedrock.  In the summer, it’s fine – they both enjoy their home, but then the early rains and winter rains come, and the Jordan River overflows its banks.  In the winter, there are windstorms.  These cause the house that had been built straight on the sand, without a foundation, to collapse, and Jacob is homeless, while Isaac’s house stands.  Maybe this had actually happened?  

Anyway, if this is the background to Jesus’s parable, then the issue isn’t where the houses were built – whether they were built on sand or on rock, because they were both built on this hard sand during the summer months.  The important point here is how these houses were built – did they have a foundation dug down to the bedrock?  Isaac was wise.  He ignored the fact that the weather was good, he didn’t allow that to lull him into a false sense of security; he knew the rains would come, that the Jordan River would overflow its banks, which would loosen up the hard sand and make it unstable.  He knew that without a foundation the house would collapse, so he put in the time, effort, and energy to build the foundation.  Jacob wasn’t wise.  He only thought about the present and thought the hard sand would stay that way throughout the winter.  Not bothering with the foundation, he finished his house much sooner than Isaac and enjoyed watching him slogging his guts out through those hot summer days.   But it was Isaac who had the last laugh.

Jesus uses this parable of the wise and foolish builders as the conclusion of his Sermon to issue a clear warning.  You’ve heard my words – all of you have, he’s saying.  You’re all in that boat.  The difference is whether you’ve put my words into practice.  Have you acted on my words?  I don’t want you to just hear me, I want you to obey.  

Tom Wright reflects:

“We often miss what his first hearers would probably have heard behind the dramatic picture­ language. Not far away from where he sat on that hillside, just a hundred miles or so away in Jerusalem, Herod’s men were continuing to rebuild the Temple. They spoke of it as God’s House, and declared that it was built upon the rock, proof against wind and weather. In the last great sermon in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus warns that the Temple itself will come crashing down, because Israel as a whole had failed to respond to his message. Halfway through the gospel, in another dramatic moment, he promises that Peter’s confession of faith will form the rock on which something very different will be built – the community that believes in him, Jesus, as Messiah. 

Once we see this larger picture we can see more clearly what Matthew wants us to pick up here. This is a message for all of us: if we build our lives on Jesus’ teaching, we will be part of the ‘house’ that lasts for ever. But it began as a very specific promise and warning to his own people in his own day. Much of Jesus’ teaching is like that. We often discover more of what it means for us by discovering more of what it meant, very specifically, for them. 

What sort of ‘houses’ are we building today, then, in our own lives and in our churches? Are we ‘doing’ Jesus’ words, or only reading them, hearing them, and thinking how fine they are?” 

Tom Wright – Matthew for Everyone

This isn’t about Jesus telling us off when we mess up. It’s about Jesus knowing what’s best for our lives – knowing what will help us to keep standing through the storms of life.  And the storms will come – for each of us – this is a guarantee.  This is why it’s so important that we heed Jesus’s words.  When the storms come will we be able to stand, or will we find ourselves swept away?  The COVID pandemic was a good test of that for many, as what served as the scaffolding of our faith was taken away from us, when we couldn’t gather together for church.  Worshipping together in front of our tvs, mobiles or ipads wasn’t quite the same – and seeing each other in those small boxes in our zoom coffee times wasn’t the same as being with each other, sharing the same space.  How did you find that spiritually?  For me it was an experience with a whole cocktail of emotions – At first I actually quite enjoyed the challenge of getting church online – and I was hugely grateful for those who wrestled with technology to send in their contributions for the online services, although it was also highly stressful as things seemed to keep going wrong. There was also a sense of helplessness from not being able to be with people who were suffering, whether from bereavement – or illness.  When I was busy, I was ok, but when I was relaxing then it dawned on me just how stressed I was – and when I am stressed, I don’t sleep well, so I was getting more and more tired. At the beginning of it all, I was praying regularly, sensing God speak – and some of you may remember I did those little “Daily Hope” videos – as much for my own benefit as anyone else’s – but as the crisis dragged on, I ran out of steam.  While I found myself upheld and encouraged by emails etc that I received from the church family – and these really kept me going – I was burning out.  I wasn’t dealing well with the constant stress, which was added to by the uncertainty that surrounded us – when would we be able to return to in-person church, and what would that look like? There was also a deep sense of disappointment and loss – I felt that so much had been taken away – the lockdown began on the weekend that we should have held our church anniversary celebrations, which I’d been planning for in some way for a year.  It was hard to come to terms with.  I was also so busy, chasing my tail that I rarely kept up my prayer times, and I was journalling less.  So, by July 2020 I hit the wall – I’d felt stressed, tired, angry, anxious, helpless, low at various times.  So I had the self-awareness to realise what was going on.  I took a day of retreat to walk and reflect, to reconnect with God. This definitely helped, and thank goodness we had a holiday booked for the very beginning of the summer holiday – because I think I may have exploded without that break.

So, the COVID pandemic was one storm but another came for me – and I know I’m not alone with this – was the illness and death of Ali.  The night she died I wrote this in my journal:

“I believe in this God, Jesus, who brought Lazarus back from the grave, who himself rose from the dead. He can heal. He is able.  So, why didn’t he? Why hasn’t she lived to see er children grow up and thrive, to step into a vocation reaching out to the lost and broken. Couldn’t her light have shone longer? She was my friend.  She was a blessing and inspiration to so many, and she’s been robbed of life in the most brutal, horrific way. … Right now, I can’t see any glimmer of a silver lining. It’s just awful.  I’m in a church prayer meeting right now and, quite frankly, I can’t see the point.  Is God even listening? If he is, will he listen and respond to our longings?”

It was amazing being part of Ali’s funeral, the day after, I wrote: 

Ali was a friend who’d asked me to take her funeral. I hoped I’d never have to, that God would heal and bring deliverance. He has, of course, in his own way, for she knew she was going home.
The service was extraordinary, so full of hope and faith in the midst of terrible sadness. Ali pointed to Jesus in death as in life and we were able to reflect that. All in all it was possibly the best thing I’ve been part of in my 13 years of @churchofengland ministry.
I managed to hold it together throughout the service; afterwards when people told me how proud Ali would have been of me, I wobbled, but still maintained composure. On Friday morning the day after the funeral, though, I was swamped by grief for my friend.
After the service I was told more than once that funerals were my thing (more people asked if I’d do theirs). It’s not what I envisaged when I dreamt of ordination but if my ministry is characterised by helping people to die well and cope with grief that’s no bad thing.
Parish ministry should carry a significant health warning – you will love the people you lead and serve. You will bear the weight of grief on behalf of your community as well as carry it yourself. Each bereavement reopens the wounds of all the rest.
It’s painful, costly but an extraordinary privilege. I know this for sure – I wouldn’t be doing anything else, anywhere else. It may not grab the headlines but I know God has called me here “for such a time as this.” His grace has been sufficient and will continue to be so.
At my induction service someone had a word that there’d be tears in my ministry but that this wouldn’t be the end of the story – God’s promise was, “Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy” (Psalm 126:5). This is my story, this is my song. Hosanna in the highest.

To be absolutely honest, I struggled with Ali’s death for months afterwards and remained so angry with God. Why had he let that happen? It wasn’t fair.  For months afterwards I remained angry, I wasn’t interested in pursuing a deeper relationship with God; I wasn’t on speaking terms with him, so I hardly prayed. I normally listened to worship music all the time, but I wasn’t interested.  I guess, at the heart, my question was, is God good? Does he care? I also wondered if somehow it was my fault – after all, we’ve had so many painful bereavements and losses in my time here. Maybe it’s me.  Not a rational thought, but a genuine one.  The gloom lasted months, and although there were patches of light that pierced this gloom, like the church weekend, like Liz, like the friendship and support of people within this church and outside with whom I could share and be honest, sometimes brutally so; a wonderful men’s weekend – the Gathering; I would say the gloom only properly lifted in the summer when we went as a family to the festival, New Wine.  The first half was a struggle as I stood in worship services and didn’t want to join in, as I was still so angry.  But then there was a turning point.  Firstly, one of the speakers, Christy Wimber, addressed the subject of God’s goodness in the midst of suffering and pain.  She called us back to trusting in God even when it hurts and we don’t understand.  Through her, God was speaking into pretty much the exact place of my struggles and questioning.  It was as if God was answering that fundamental question – do you care, God – and saying, yes, I do care.  I know about your struggles, and I care.  This opened the door to a session next day about the Father heart of God.  The speaker made the point that we need to learn to receive God’s love in order to be able to love others. She spoke so beautifully about Jesus, who sees past our sin and shame and loves us without limit.  She made the invitation for us to come to Jesus, just as we are, for his arms are wide open.  His love expressed through you and me has the power to transform everything it touches.  After that, I had the most wonderful experience of the Holy Spirit, and sensation of God’s love, which was so powerful, and something I’d been desperate for.  That experience gave me strength for the next storm, which I feel I’m in the middle of as we adjust to the new shape of our family.  I don’t want to say much, but just that we’d really appreciate your prayers for us, as in adopting, we are doing something that we feel God has been calling us to, but it’s really difficult.  

I’m sharing this, not because I feel that my experience is unique, but because I’m aware as a vicar it can seem that I’ve got everything together.  Well, I haven’t.  I have doubts and questions, I rail at God, and in these succession of storms I have felt my foundations being shaken perhaps more than ever. I’m not alone either.  But there are some things I have done, and I think they’ve kept me going – every day I’ve finished my day by spending a short time writing prayers of thanks, writing out short verses of the Bible, and then prayers of intercession – even when I wasn’t praying or reading the Bible at any time.  I’ve sought help – I made an appointment with the Bishop of Coventry and spent some time with him in March last year; I’ve continued to journey with friends who’ve kept me going, including a vicar friend whom I walk and pray with every month; I’ve had quiet days where I’ve walked and reflected.  I have a mentor who I see every couple of months.  Andy and I are very honest with each other about our struggles and I’m tremendously grateful for that.  These have kept the flame of my faith going even when it was threatened to be snuffed out.

When the storms strike you, will you stand? How can you ensure that your foundations go right down to the bedrock?  Jesus is the rock on which we’re called to stand.  We need to keep praying, even when we don’t feel like it or have the words.  We need to read and obey his words – even if it’s uncomfortable or difficult.  We need to keep being in Christian community.  Some of us have taken the convenience of online church to step away from physical community.  We need each other.  Something happens when we meet together in this space.  There’s no replacement for actually receiving Holy Communion and kneeling with our brothers and sisters under the grace and mercy of God.  We need closer brothers and sisters to journey, talk and pray with.  Without them, I know I’d have been sunk by now.  May we be those who withstand the storm, by ensuring our foundations are built right down to the bedrock of Jesus and his love, obeying his call to lay down our lives and follow him.