Psalm 23; John 10:22-30; Acts 9:36-43; Revelation 7:9-17
It takes a bit of imagination, but thinking back to our Broomhall Music concert last night, I reckon it had a few things in common with that fantastic picture we've just heard in our reading from Revelation this morning. Think about it: people from different countries, with different languages, singing together with one voice. What we sang last night as a finale to the concert was a number from the musical Oliver: Consider yourself at home! And that was a very good choice of song, as we welcomed into St Andrew's people who may never have been inside a church before, as we shared our talents with one another, as for a little while, thanks to the power of music, we all became one body.
But in Revelation we've upped the stakes. For this is no jolly get-together. This is the grandest possible finale: the end of time. The people of Israel are already gathered. But now to join them come others from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, dressed for a solemn festival in white: and all their rejoicing is focussed on just one point: Jesus, both God's lamb and God's shepherd, the one who has rescued them from destruction. They have been through a lot: hunger and thirst, scorching heat and bitter sorrow; but now God will wipe every tear from their eyes.
If that's the triumphant ending, how did they get there? That's what the narrator of Revelation wants to know, and after he admits his ignorance, one of the elders can answer his question, as is usually the case when you ask an Elder something. These are the martyrs, those who have stood firm against opposition and refused to give up on their faith. While they lived, they weren't perfect - otherwise their clothes would not need cleansing - but, to translate the rather confusing picture-language of Revelation that talks about making their robes white in the blood of the Lamb: because of Jesus' death, all their mistakes have been forgiven. They have finally turned into the people God always wanted them to be. And Jesus, their shepherd, will lead them to the water of life, springing up for ever.
This heavenly scene may seem a long way away from us in St Andrew's this morning, all ready with our annual reports at hand to look back over the life of our church in this past year. We remember the times this year we've made mistakes, or we just haven't had the time or energy or commitment to follow Jesus. Our clothes are still in need of heavenly detergent. Yet that shouldn't worry us unduly; for as long as we're in this life, God still has work to do on us, as well as work for us to do.
At the beginning of our reading from John's Gospel this morning, there's a reference to the time the incident happened: the festival of the Dedication. As often happens when I'm preparing a sermon, that bit stuck out for me, and it struck me that a) I had no idea what this festival was about, but b) John's Gospel doesn't put in details unless it wants us to know something, so I'd better find out the answer. Having no Elders handy, I consulted a commentary, which directed me to the period between the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament when the Maccabees, Jewish freedom fighters, were trying successfully to gain independence for their country from the Syrian Seleucid empire. When they regained control over Israel, the Maccabees rededicated the Temple, which had been tainted by worship of the Greek god Zeus. This festival was still maintained in Jesus' time, even though a different set of foreign overlords, the Romans, had taken over. Evidently the Jews recognised the need on a regular basis to celebrate the Temple's recovery and to rededicate themselves to God's service. In fact, it still happens today, as the Jewish winter festival we know as Hanukkah. But why does John's Gospel think it important to tell us that it was the Festival of the Dedication? By putting the restoration of the Temple, where animal sacrifices brought God's forgiveness, alongside Jesus, God's chosen Messiah, we are given a forewarning both that Jesus' body will be destroyed and that in due time God will restore him.
Yet the promise of resurrection is not given only for Jesus. John's Gospel gives us too a strong reassurance: My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. We have thought a bit in our theme introduction about how this may work out for us on an individual level. But can this make sense for us as a congregation?
Evidently churches can be born, as when our forebears saw the need for Presbyterian worship and built a church here. Churches can also die, if they have too few people to continue meeting together. And, though it may be harder to notice, churches also die if they turn into social clubs, more interested in meeting their friends than in the worship of God. Yet how could a whole congregation rise to new life?
Maybe in the same sort of way the Temple rose again at its rededication, when the Jews could return to the worship of God there after its misuse during the Seleucid empire. As Reformed Christians this dynamic should be something we recognise, for we believe we are always in need of reformation; when we are tempted to believe we've got everything right, we know we've got it all wrong. So in a way, our annual church meeting and service helps us as the festival of the Dedication helped the Jews: reminding us of how God has helped us in the past year. But as you know, our ACM is a pause on our way: a chance to thank so many people, an opportunity to fulfil our legal requirements as a charity, and an excuse to sit down to a good Network lunch and hear about the work of Janet Brown, our worker with older people. The real work will be done at our next church meeting on Saturday 15th May, when we take a good hard look at where our church is, and start to work out what in our life needs to die so that we may experience God's resurrection. I hope you'll be there. I reckon Lillian would have been, and many others we miss from among our numbers. So before we continue our worship, let's be silent for a minute to give thanks for those among us who have died in the course of this year, as well as for the other saints of St Andrew's who have gone before us. From 2009 we remember particularly Jean Burden, Gwen Dornan, Betty Megson and Patrick Knox.