It’s always a privilege, but a sobering one, to stand in this box and share with the people of St Paul’s what I think God may want to say to them. But this afternoon, I am deeply moved and honored to stand here by invitation. So, thank you, John Francis, for including me in this most glorious of days.

This morning in a spirit of humility, in keeping with the spirit of Advent, I thought I would bring some evidence of my sins to show you.

The Jesus Invasion (Sermon 12-02-18) by Rev. Duncan Johnston

The votes are in, they’ve all been counted, and the results are shocking. I was appalled, and, actually I suspect some voter fraud, because surely this can’t be right. But I read it on the websites of two reputable newspapers, so I guess I must accept it - the electorate has spoken, and their voice is clear. My vote went to a candidate that came in only 6th, so I’m upset, and I’m disgusted by the moral decay of our nation. The question was more straightforward than many on ballot papers around the country this month, it was simply this: “Who is your favorite Superhero?” And the winner was Batman. Give ignorant people the vote and this is what they do with it. I mean, he doesn’t even have any superpowers. He is just a creepy rich guy who had a bad experience in childhood. But he does have a cool car, and I can’t help thinking that impressed shallow voters. Now, my candidate, the superhero who to any balanced, reasonable voter, HAS to be the greatest, who demands the title of superest superhero is the original and the best – Superman. It must be. Who needs a cool car when you can fly faster than a speeding bullet? Who wants to be a billionaire, Bruce la-di-da Wayne, when your resume includes saving the world multiple times? And when it comes to overcoming your psychological demons, OK so young Master Bruce saw his parents being murdered, but Kal-el (for that is Clark Kent’s real name) experienced his entire planet exploding. Holy trauma, Batman.

Hidden out of sight and usually out of mind, on the north-east coast of England, is a city that was once a vibrant port to Northern Europe. Now it is not much of anything. It’s called Hull, and you have probably never heard of it. The reason I say that with confidence is that I've barely heard of it and I lived there for three years. It has a second-tier professional football club and a third-tier university, which was why I lived there for three years. One of God’s geographical jokes was to place Hull in blissful isolation near the end of a very wide estuary called the Humber. It is so remote that even though it is home to 284,000 people with an extremely rare accent, the only reason you would go to Hull is to go to Hull. And you’d only go to Hull if you had nowhere else to go. Unless you are a civil engineer. Because Hull has one astonishing, breathtaking, mesmerizing claim to fame.

Fr. John Francis Maher provides an invitation to transformation on this Veteran's Day.

Last year while preparing to move to New Jersey, I sifted through my bookcases, and I came across one I’d forgotten I had. It’s a family heirloom. It is called ‘The Children’s Book of Hymns’, and it was published in the 1920s. And two things make it interesting. One is the beautiful illustrations by an artist named Cicely Barker.

There were many things I had to give up before I could move on. One of them was Mickey. Mickey was my best friend, my constant companion, the ground of my affections, my source of safety. If I close my eyes I still see Mickey – his eyes were abnormally wide, his smile so broad that, actually, now I think about it, it was slightly creepy. And there was his smell. If noses can have memories, then that aroma is carved into mine. If I were to catch a whiff of it now, perhaps on a crowded bus or even at coffee hour, I’d recognize it immediately, even though I’d be unable to name it.

The other day I read online the most moving and romantic letter you could imagine. And in the interests of sharing the joy, I feel led to read it to you, so if you need to take out a tissue and dab a tear we will understand.

“If We Are Not Just Animals, What Are We?” That was the headline in the New York Times a few months ago, and below it a well-known philosopher gave his answer. It’s a vital question, one no one can ignore, because your answer will determine how you live. This morning’s poet in Psalm 8 asks that question – but in slightly different words. “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars you have set in their courses, what are humans that you should be mindful of them?”