Tag: love

On earth as it is in heaven?

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Pentecost 2026

On the day of Pentecost, something extraordinary happened. The Holy Spirit fell on a room full of frightened, uncertain people, and suddenly they found themselves speaking in languages they had never learned. And the crowds outside were astonished, not because everyone was saying the same thing in the same way, but because each person heard the good news in their own language, the voice and cadence of home.

The Holy Spirit honoured every language, every people, every place of origin. Parthians and Medes, people from Mesopotamia and Cappadocia, visitors from Rome and from North Africa, all hearing the same message, each voiced in a way which was familiar to them. Difference and diversity was not the problem. Diversity was inherent in how the Spirit chose to speak.

So this is where the Church begins: not with uniformity, but with a Spirit-filled community that holds together people of every nation and background.  And then, watch what happens next: as the weeks and months unfold in the early chapters of Acts, we see what that Pentecost community becomes in practice.  St Luke gives us two pictures of this, in chapters two and four of Acts.  All the believers were together and held everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. They broke bread in each other’s homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts. There were no needy people among them, because those who owned land or houses sold them and brought the proceeds to the apostles, to be distributed to anyone who had need.

This is a community defined by how it loves and shares, not by who it excludes.  It crossed every social boundary of the ancient world. Wealthy landowners and day labourers; Jewish believers and Greek converts; men and women; the respectable and the marginalised, all held together by a common life rooted in the love of Christ.  And everyone notices!  Luke tells us they enjoyed the favour of all the people.  There was something visible, something distinctive about this community: you could see, from the outside, that something different was going on here. People were being cared for and nobody was being left behind.  The vulnerable, the widow, the orphan, the stranger, they all had a place at the table.  This is what the Holy Spirit produces.  Not just a warm feeling when they gather in worship or prayer, but a whole new way of living together.

Now, I want to make a connection that might surprise you, and I want to make it carefully lest I be misunderstood.  It involves a loaded and often divisive word: nationalism.  The Christian community we see emerging from Pentecost in the Book of Acts is a picture of what human society, at its best, is meant to look like.  And when we talk about nations, about what a nation is for and what holds it together and defines it, the Acts vision has something urgent and important to say in answer to the growing tide of nationalism around the world, including in our own country.

We have watched versions of nationalism grow, versions that are built on fear, on grievance, on the idea that our nation can only thrive if we define ourselves against someone else, the immigrant, the outsider, the other.  We have seen nationalism weaponised by politicians and influencers who wrap themselves in religious imagery while pursuing agendas of exclusion and division.  That version of nationalism is rightly challenged by followers of Christ as it is entirely at odds with the ministry of Jesus and the Holy Spirit-inspired Pentecost community of inclusion, empowerment and love which we celebrate today.

But this is not the only vision of nationhood and nationalism available.  If by nationalism we mean a way of defining what makes us cohesive as a nation, what our shared values and vision are, what both the breadth and the limits of our sense of nationhood are, Christians have, in the post-Pentecost community of believers, a wonderful model to draw upon.  And we, the Church, as people inspired by that same Spirit, absolutely must stand up for that vision in times like these.

Earlier this year, the former Bishop of Leeds, Nick Baines, published a substantial and thoughtful report called Reimagining Europe.  It is a serious piece of work, and I commend it to you.  In it, Bishop Nick makes a careful argument that nationalism, properly understood, is not inherently destructive. He points out that civic nationalism, a shared sense of belonging rooted in common values, mutual obligation, and the rule of law, has provided the foundation for democracy, for the welfare state, for public education, for all the institutions that exist to serve the common good rather than the powerful few. This is a nationalism which gives a sense of belonging, interdependence and shared values; a national identity which makes for a stable, safe society in which all may flourish within a clear legal and constitutional framework.  The problem, he argues, is not nationalism itself, but the ethnic, exclusionary version of nationalism which hijacks the language of national identity for its own narrow purposes.

Bishop Nick goes further.  He says that Christians are particularly well placed to offer a different vision because the Church, at its best, is already a community that holds together people of every background in a common life shaped by shared values.  Church communities practise, however imperfectly, what a genuinely inclusive community looks like.  And we have something transformative to say about how nations could similarly thrive if we draw upon the vision of the early Church in Acts as a model of communal living and interdependence.

That argument feels urgent right now. We are living in a time when the settlement that has kept Europe largely at peace for eighty years is under serious strain. The war in Ukraine is not just a distant tragedy. It is a stark reminder of what happens when one nation decides that another has no right to exist, no right to its own identity, its own language, its own place in the world. Thousands of people are dying because a neighbouring power refuses to honour the particular dignity of a particular nation. And across Europe more broadly, we are watching the slow erosion of the values that have underpinned our common life since 1945. The rule of law, the rights of minorities, the independence of courts and press, the right to trial by jury, the willingness to pool some sovereignty for the common good of all, the concept that telling the truth in public life matters.  These things are being quietly dismantled in some places, and loudly trashed in others, with no commitment to finding positive new structures, safeguards and shared moral vision to take the place of that hard-won scaffolding which sought peace, stability, mutual respect and flourishing.

This is the moment for Christians to speak, not with anger or with partisan political noise, but with the clear and grounded voice of people who know, from their own Scriptures and their own communal life, what genuine mutual flourishing looks like.

A nationalism worth the name is not about who we keep out. It is about what we hold in common. It is about the kind of society we are building together: whether the vulnerable are cared for, whether the stranger is welcomed, whether the rule of law applies equally to everyone, whether truth matters, whether the next generation inherits something worth having, whether our shared planet, its natural environment, climate and resources remain sustainable and liveable.

That is the Acts vision, scaled up. God’s people are called to be a holy nation, a model of what an earthly nation might also strive to become: a community of people, rooted in a particular place, shaped by particular values, committed to the common good of all who live among them. Not because they are all the same, but because they are all held within the same generous, costly, inclusive love. We know this as the love of Jesus. And we should seek to spread that love, not by conquest, but by being the pervasive and irresistible aroma of Christ in the world. We should love as lavishly as those first-generation Christians did so that everyone notices how we love one another, and how we model holy nationhood in our church communities. The fragrance of Jesus must fill the world around us as we live his risen life together in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost did not erase the nationhood of all those diverse people. The Holy Spirit redeemed their nationhood by revealing a new way of living communally. They received the Gospel in their own tongue and the Holy Spirit revealed to them what belonging to a people could look like when it is animated by something larger than fear or pride or grievance.

That is the vision we are called to embody in the common life of our church community, and in the way we speak into the public conversation of our times. May the Holy Spirit fall upon us, and equip us with the courage, and the clarity, to do so. Amen.

The Holy Spirit raised people’s eyes above their earthly nationhood to give them a fresh vision of society. (Sculpture on Holy Island, Northumbria – photo by Nick Morgan 2024)

When I survey the wondrous cross

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One of my favourite hymns is “When I survey the wondrous cross”, a poignant reflection on the love of Jesus which led him to the cross and which urges us to follow his example of wholehearted love for others.  The cross was originally a symbol of oppression and injustice, an instrument of torture and state-sponsored execution by the Roman Empire. The events of Good Friday and Easter meant that this symbol was subverted. Because of Jesus, the cross now is a symbol of hope and love, and stands as the ultimate reminder of the generous heart of God who loved us so much that his Son, Jesus, spread his arms wide on the cross to embrace us all, inviting us to open our hearts to embrace and accept his love in return.  The flag of St George, England’s national flag, reminds us of this: red for the blood of Christ, shed for the sake of God’s love for all humanity as he died on the cross, and white for the glory of heaven and eternal life which that shedding of blood revealed.

The processional crucifix at Ripon Cathedral (photo credit: Nick Morgan)

Which brings me to a more recent subversion of the cross as a symbol. Whatever the genuinely patriotic intentions of some of the individuals who participated in the recent flag flying campaign, the result (arguably the intention of those who devised the campaign) was to intimidate minority groups.  Online comments, and those of commentators from the far-right of politics show only too well how this display of flags, far from being a patriotic celebration of our nation and national community, is being used as a tool of racism, the cross of Christ weaponised to incite division, and as a cover for outright nationalistic hatred of anyone outside a very narrow definition of Englishness.

Stained glass window depicting St George and his flag, All Saints’ Church, Bramham, the motto ‘Greater love hath no man this’ designed to inspire worshippers to acts of self-sacrificial love.

Our national flags should be a source of pride – indeed, they are flown from our churches on occasions of national significance and paraded on Remembrance Sunday as symbols of national unity.  I do not believe that the recent campaign serves this purpose.  While some who promote the campaign say they only wish to promote patriotism through their actions, the reality is that the way in which our national flags, especially the flag of St George, are being used to vandalise monuments such as the White Horse of Kilburn, or roundabouts, or being flown (often half mast!) from lampposts, bridges and elsewhere does the very opposite of promoting national cohesion. The intention is to tell some people that they do not belong, that they are not welcome.  The fact that the Cross of Christ is the key symbol of our national flags means that, as a Christian, their use matters to me.  Any use of the Cross of Christ as a tool of oppression, exclusion, or of making people feel unwelcome is a blasphemy.  It takes the meaning of the cross back to its Roman origins: to use it as a tool of fear and division, the very opposite of the Cross of Christ which stands, red on white on the flag of England. Yes, I am uncomfortably aware that the flag of St George was used by the Crusaders in medieval times, and that their actions did much to damage the mission of the Church through the atrocities which were committed in the name of Christ under the banner of this very same cross. And yes, that was endorsed by the Church at the time. So we must learn from past mistakes, repent, and not let the cross become synonymous with hate, division, violence, exclusion and injustice again. Turning from past mistakes is the very definition of repentance and is part of the Christian path of redemption which the Cross points us towards.

I am proud that, in our diverse nation, our flag bears the cross of Christ, a symbol of Christ’s love in the face of evil, and his defeat of sin and death.  We will continue to proudly welcome our nation’s flags into our churches on Remembrance Sunday and fly them on national occasions as symbols of our Christian heritage as a nation, a heritage which should inspire us to acts of love, justice, peace, hope, welcome, forgiveness and inclusion. As you look at our flags, wherever they are flown or displayed, I hope these values are what you choose to see and be inspired by, because they are the values we should aspire to as a nation, values revealed through Christ and his cross.

Micah, the BBC and me

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The 1920s crest of the BBC including words from the prophet Micah and a microphone feature in a window at All Saints’ Church, Thorp Arch.

Broadcasting House

Back in the day, I worked at BBC Broadcasting House on a few occasions (recording radio shows for RTE Ireland). I once smiled at John Peel in the lobby there, and witnessed John Humphrys dashing out of the building, but this was as near to celeb stalking that I could manage. There was a buzz about the place and a sense of weight to what went on there. This was before the building had its revamp, so it still held that mid-20th century feel of being at the heart of national conversation, its 1920s architecture a reminder of aspirations after The Great War: “Nation shall speak peace unto nation”, was inscribed above the entrance (and indeed celebrated in stained glass in All Saints’ church in Thorp Arch!). This was a vision rooted in, and quoting Scripture, 2750+ year old words from the prophet Micah.

Micah’s challenge

When he wrote this, the prophet Micah was addressing Israel and Judah (his own people) in a time of turmoil. This was the middle of the 8th century B.C.E. The Assyrian Empire is devastating the region, defeating Samaria and then Israel itself, leaving the southern kingdom of Judah alone to carry the flag of the people of God. Their calling was supposed to be acting as a godly light to all nations. But this must have looked like an impossible task. Devastation lay all around them. Refugees fleeing Assyrian persecution must surely have sought comfort and refuge among the people of God in those times. Perhaps there were people among them who spoke of these refugees as an invasion, framing them as a threat to the life of the nation using rhetoric redolent to our 21st Century ears of 1930s Germany? This would have been a time of isolation for these nations, lying apart from the major empires, political groupings and trading blocs. And Micah addresses a familiar human problem: in challenging times, at a time of national uncertainty and turmoil, how do we hold our nerve as people of faith and not nod along with those who call us to behave selfishly, unjustly and badly? How do we challenge those who seek security by scapegoating the vulnerable and minorities? How do we stand against those who stoke fear, who turn us against one another? And how do we offer sufficient space and grace to those whom we challenge so they can change direction (aka repent), change their tone, and bravely join the cause of righteousness?

On earth as it is in heaven?

Micah’s prophecy had two key themes. First, he challenges Israel and Judah to be more godly in their behaviour: they need to address their own evil behaviour rather than simply focusing on their enemies. Second, they need a vision of God’s eternal kingdom, beyond their current, challenging circumstances. Much of Micah’s indictment against Israel and Judah involves these nations’ injustice toward the powerless. Micah singles out corruption, robbery, mistreatment of the most vulnerable, and a government that lived in luxury off the hard work of its nation’s people. So what can we learn and apply from Micah today, here in the UK?

The BBC and me

Growing up in the UK in the 1970s & 80s, it was BBC radio that I tuned into in my bedroom. I had a portable radio with a mono earpiece and would often stay up late expanding my musical horizons on late night Radio 3, or listening to the world service and learning about life in these far-off places whose daily life and differing perspectives were so very different to my own. BBC Radio expanded my horizons and somehow informed my growing faith at the same time.

The music of Philip Glass blew me away in 1976 when I first heard “Spaceship” from his brand new opera Einstein on the Beach late one night. Glenn Gould’s Marmite approach to Bach, quirky and very personal, inspired me to start composing myself. Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” was an unexpected thing of beauty. The keyboard sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti made me laugh out loud at their reckless exuberance – the rock guitar shreds of their day. The late night programming on Radio 3 was where the Beeb brought out the fun stuff back then.

When I moved the dial to find the BBC World Service, this meant that I became aware of the wider world. I remember being fascinated by the challenges facing South American and African countries and Eastern European communist states, and how vulnerable minorities were so often the victims of injustice under regimes of very different political hues. I saw how fascism, communism, apartheid, occupation, dictatorships and political chaos all crushed the powerless: how extreme politics of both right and left each allowed evil to triumph. I also learned how important the arts are worldwide in enabling a wide variety of people to tell their stories and help us all gain understanding and empathy for how everyday life is affected by the huge, impersonal tides of history and politics. As my faith grew alongside all this, I also grew to understand how the prophets, the apostles and Jesus himself have always spoken into everyday life, into culture, into politics.

Part of the challenge of the Christian Faith is to learn how to apply what we know of God’s heavenly kingdom from Scripture here on earth, so having an open mind to learn about the world, as well as properly informed sources of information are part of our equipment as we work out how to pray, speak, engage and act in order to make the world (and ourselves) a better, more holy place.

George Orwell: “If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

A less famous inscription can be found outside Broadcasting House. The author George Orwell worked at BH for a time, and beside his statue are words of this committed humanist which sit very well alongside Micah’s:

If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

George Orwell – an essay on the freedom of the press, written as a preface to ‘Animal Farm’ but not included in the original publication

These words certainly apply to Micah whose criticism of his nation cannot have made him universally popular, especially among the rich and powerful. Orwell himself commented in the same preface to Animal Farm that he knew well the excuses intelligent people of influence make for not speaking out, but that these usually boiled down to timidity and dishonesty. The people of God are always called to speak out, to overcome their timidity and to be honest when their faith and morality compels them to call out injustice, oppression and evil. In every generation, in every country, we are called to be Micahs in the here and now. Being more Micah means being dismissed as woke, being called a snowflake, being told that Christians should stay out of politics. It means that our speaking up will be equated with “cancelling” the rhetoric and action we oppose. It means “whataboutery” will be used to deflect from the criticisms we raise. It means that we will be attacked as a distraction from the issue we raise – that we and our speaking out (rather than the evil we seek to highlight and argue against) becomes the story. It means all that and more. The same applies to any prophet in any age, and most certainly applied to Jesus. If it doesn’t apply to us Christians, we need to up our game.

Two mottos: one challenge

Let us speak peace unto our own nation, and to all nations. The peace Christians are called to share is the Gospel – God’s Good News for all people. Sharing God’s Good News inevitably involves calling people to look at themselves critically, and then to turn from whatever they find within themselves which is wrong, unworthy, and evil (a process called repenting). In other words, we’re called to tell people what they often do not want to hear, but also to offer space for repentance: to have the grace to let people repent and accept them when they do. We’re also called to reflect and repent ourselves – this isn’t about setting ourselves up as a moral authority, but pointing ourselves and others towards God, the only true source of authority. But as Broadcasting House’s mottos remind us, if we are not truly pursuing peace in the human heart and in the world, if we are not standing up to populist ‘othering’ of groups of people, whether refugees, people of sexual and gender minorities, disabled people or citizens of other nations, and if we are not speaking words of challenge, rebuke and a call to repentance, then it is not liberty we are pursuing. It is something far different, far darker, and far from godly.

Do not be afraid? That’s easy for you to say, Mr. Archangel

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Bearing the light

Whoever wields political power, the job of the Church remains much the same. We just have to work out where to put our energies in order to be faithful to our calling in whatever political landscape we find ourselves. Like Mary, we are called to be God-bearers in the world: to bear the light of Christ and give birth to hope. Like the angel alarmingly yelling at shepherds on a hill out of the blue, we have to somehow make “Do not be afraid!” into more than empty bellowings into the dark night and overcome perfectly legitimate fear with the heavenly host’s message of love: glory to God and peace on earth. Then, like they did, we need to point our listeners in the direction of Jesus, the reason for that reassurance.

And that’s a tough gig. It has to be more than empty words. We have to live the hope that is revealed in Jesus, and be active messengers of hope to those who today are despairing. This means feeding the hungry, healing the sick, comforting those who mourn (Isaiah), regarding the lowly, scattering the proud, thwarting the self-serving agendas of the mighty, exalting the humble and meek (Mary), pursuing truth and justice, loving mercy, walking with God in a humble way which means our own agenda has to take a back seat (Micah), being good news to the poor, proclaiming liberty to the captives (Jesus) and so on (see the Bible for more of this kind of thing).

And yes, it means continuing to pray for all in authority, not to bestow upon them our approval, and certainly not to give them any sense that their every action has a divine seal of approval, or is somehow ‘God’s will’. Rather we pray knowing that the way in which human power is used has spiritual and moral significance. We pray because God’s agenda matters and those who govern are answerable to the One who is the source of all power. We pray to hold to account, and as a reminder that, at the end of the day, there is no fridge in which those who govern can hide from God.

Emmanuel: God is with us.

God is with us: God’s love is loose in the world in Christ.
Therefore, do not be afraid.
But if you are, you’re not alone: God is with you, and, if we’re doing our job, then the Church is with you too.
May it be so. Amen.