I’m sure there are not as many atheists as people think. I am convinced that very many modern folks, especially in younger generations, think of themselves as atheists but are not, in fact. For them, there is meaning and purpose in life; there is something outside human beings, an intelligence or a principle, that gives order and the framework to make sense of life. They might not name it God – they may call it the universe, providence, science, new age philosophy, traditional wisdom schools, but whatever they call it, it does what God does – provides meaning, but without the personal nature of God.

But if we feed on Christ, the Bread of Life, he will give us the resources we need to make it through, to get up and face what he has called us to do. Often God doesn’t take away our challenging circumstances, but calls us to eat and drink Christ, taking his resources into our lives and finding in them the power to face and overcome those situations.

Am I in danger of preaching a brand of Christianity that turns Jesus from the Son of God into a self-help guru, and his religion into a lifestyle class, designed to make you feel good about yourself? Is the Gospel I preach really the one of the Cross, or is it a comfortable therapeutic Gospel? Does the Christ I present demand costly discipleship, or does he just want us to feel good about who we are, and boost our self-esteem? In my urgency to attract people to the Christian life, am I offering them food that lasts for ever, or food that perishes? The religion of Christ or a religion of convenience?

Those quick fixes that satisfy the tummy rumble for happiness, relieve my boredom, or send pleasure-giving chemicals around my brain. But we know what it’s like, don’t we? Soon the thrill of the new purchase wears off, the excitement of the experience is dampened by the ugliness of real life. The glucose high is over and we’re hungry again. Jesus says, “I am the living bread. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.”

Don’t sweat the problems. Don’t doubt your resources. Simply take what you’re given and put it to good use. As we give, so we will discover that our resources will not run out. We will complete the task God has set before us, and we will have twelve baskets full left over. We will see the miracle; we will experience the lavish generosity of God. Because the Christ who made two fish and five loaves enough to satisfy thousands of people’s hunger is the same Christ who is with you and in you.

You see, today is the year that King Uzziah died. We mourn the death of old certainties, ancient truths, boring predictability when society was stable, and when all we had to do was unlock the doors on Sunday to enjoy a full church. But if God can invade his Temple in 742 BC, then why can’t he crash our churches, our communities, our grieving, broken hearts now, today, and why can he not set apart you and me for a magnificent task? Because when God does break in and break out, he utters the life-transforming question, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”

How can the church be one, when we live in the agony of a nation split by culture wars, where it feels like every little choice we make identifies us as being on one side or the other – whether it is the vehicle we drive, our attitude to the vaccine, even what is in your fridge will identify you as liberal or conservative or progressive or MAGA. We’ve all been drawn into the savagery of a cold civil war. How can we be one in a local parish church?

Today an invitation drops through our letter boxes. The stamp is from a country you don’t recognize, the return address seems exotic to you. You scramble to open the envelope, wondering what it contains, and who is it from. Your intrigue is peaked when you see it is an invitation to a party. It is being thrown by Herod. When Herod throws a party, the pressure is on. You’ll see things that will provoke you. You will hear the small voice of Christ prodding you to speak – to defend the victims, to demand justice, to point to the standards of God. Where you going go? Herod’s party. We must. We can’t miss this opportunity to be salt and light in God’s world. It’s why we were born. So, let’s pray for courage, wisdom, sensitivity and let us party up.

I’ve seen that child somewhere else. In the mirror. Maybe you have seen that child there too. You wish the master would come and take your hand, and tell you to rise. But the messengers speak another word. Don’t bother the master. It’s too late. You’ll never amount to much. You’ll always be a disappointment. You’ll never fulfill your potential. Don’t bother the master. It’s too late. You’ll always be unstable. You’ll never have a fulfilling career. You’ll always fail exams. You are a relational disaster area, and you always will be. Don’t bother the master. It’s too late. You’ll never be the person you want to be, never succeed like the others, talk like the others, be as witty or as smart or as attractive as the others. Don’t bother the master. It’s too late. Why would the master come to your house and raise you? Why would he contaminate himself, make himself unclean by touching you? Don’t bother the master. It’s too late.

“Lord, don’t you care if we drown?” Listen carefully this week and you’ll hear that phrase. O, maybe not those exact words, but the question will still be asked in various local dialects. When the US death toll from Covid reaches 600,000, “Lord, don’t you care if we drown?” When hunger threatens to kill millions in the Horn of Africa, “Lord, don’t you care if we drown?” When drivers doze off at the wheel, when the doctor’s visit brings the worst news imaginable, when the pink slip is handed to you, when you open the letter from an attorney, “Wake up, Lord, don’t you care if we drown?”