Old High St. Stephen's, Inverness

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Hope: for this life and the next! Sermon for 17 February 2019

Scripture Readings: 1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

This year’s BBC Scotland Hogmanay show had a treat for those of a certain age, for it saw the return of the Reverend IM Jolly. Gregor Fisher played the character of a lugubrious Scottish minister bringing his New Year message to the nation.

For the Reverend IM Jolly was originally brought to life by Scottish comedy great Rikki Fulton. He’s still fondly remembered, despite having died back in 2004. You can still find many of sketches from his show, Scotch and Wry online, and they still make me laugh.

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The Greatest of These: sermon for 3 February 2019 (Epiphany 4)

Scripture Readings:

1 Corinthians 12.31-13.13

John 15.5-17

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

‘Love’, which is a word we use quite a lot in Church. And it’s a word we use quite a lot outside of Church as well. But it can be a confusing word, because it our English word, ‘love’ has a range of different meanings. And the words the Bible use for love have particular meanings. But love is central to Christianity, and essential to the life of the Church. ‘Love your neighbour’ and ‘love one another’ are two of the most important commandments which Christ gives his followers. So we need to know what we mean by ‘love’.

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A Sign for Our Times: a sermon on the Wedding at Cana, 20 January 2019

Scripture Readings: 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

The key to the story of the miracle at the wedding of Cana is, I believe, in the very last sentence of the story. It reads:

Jesus performed this first miracle in Cana in Galilee; there he revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.

But the Good News translation is not quite so helpful here. The word ‘miracle’ is better translated as ‘sign’, as another translation puts it:

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.[1]

For a miracle is always a sign of something- a sign that something deeper is going on. In John’s Gospel, the miracles of Jesus play a slightly different role than in the other Gospels. They are a bit like direction signs- they point to something beyond themselves. The signs in John’s Gospel point to the glory of Jesus, and the power and love of God which he is bringing into the world, they are signs of the rule of God breaking into ordinary life. Not everyone will understand the signs. But for those who will see, these signs help us to see who Jesus really is.

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By water and the Spirit: sermon for the Baptism of Christ, 13 January 2019

Scripture Readings: Isaiah 43.1-7

Luke 3:15-22

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

I well remember the day I graduated from Glasgow Uni. For once, I didn’t go the Uni in jeans and a sweatshirt- I had an academic gown to wear. There was lunch in the University dining room with my parents, and a meaningful chapel service, before we went to the Victorian splendour of the Bute Hall for the graduation ceremony itself. Military and police passing out parades, even the school end-of-term prize-giving is the same sort of thing. Such events leave us with no doubt that something important is happening. Perhaps we look back a bit and remember the times we had. But mostly it’s about looking forward, to more responsibilities, a career ahead. It is an end, and also a beginning.

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An unwelcome child: sermon for Epiphany, 6 January 2019

The Magi Journeying James Tissot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Scripture Readings: Ephesians 3:1-6

Matthew 2:1-18

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

They have haunted our Christmas imagination for centuries. They still haunt our Christmas cards, our carols (of course), our crib scenes. As if first century Bethlehem were not exotic enough for us, they turn up in their rich robes, their fancy camels, with the fragrance of another sort of East about them:

We three kings of Orient are

Bearing gifts we traverse afar

Field and fountain, moor and mountain

Following yonder star.[1]

Not the dusty east of poor Palestinian peasants under Roman occupation, but the spice-laden Persian east, the Aladdin east of our Western imagination- turbans, colourful robes, vast palaces, sultans, minarets and genies, astrology and magic and smoke and mirrors. We do not even know, really, if there were three of them, or even if they were all male, or whether or not they travelled on camels. They are unlikely to be kings, though they were probably advisors to kings. The Bible calls them wise men- magi (we get the English word magic from that word). Much of what we think we know about them comes is, simply, the accumulated imagination of two millennia.

They arrive late in the Bethlehem story: in fact, some say they shouldn’t be part of the Christmas story at all, for they may have arrived weeks after the birth; and so the church of old gave them this special festival to themselves after Christmas, the Epiphany. They arrive now because they have come a long way, and took a detour to consult with a tyrant:

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,

are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;

for from you shall come a ruler

who is to shepherd my people Israel.”’

They wander into our Christmas dreams, but, as Matthew tells it, when they wander into the story, they wander into trouble. As they are men of high social standing, they seek the new king first in a royal palace. There they meet Herod, the local king, a pantomime villain if ever there was one. Herod had not been expecting a new king, not least one announced by a star. He is worried, and calls in his own advisors. Instead of consulting the stars, they consult their old books, and by accident stumble on the old prophecy that a special ruler will one day come from Bethlehem.

They may have been wise men, these Persian mystics, but surprisingly Herod manages to pull the wool over their eyes. It’s funny how stupid intelligent people can be sometimes:

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’

Herod tries to use the magi. He knows it’s in Bethlehem the danger lies- but where exactly, he’s not sure. So he pretends to be a potential worshipper (when in fact he has far more nefarious intentions), and sends them off to do the finding for him. And so the naive wise men toddle off to Bethlehem:

When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Entrance to the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem
Federico Busonero
Copyright: © UNESCO
Permanent URL: whc.unesco.org/en/documents/117541

The supposed site of the birth of Christ, in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, is apparently quite hard to get into- and not just because of the crowds. It’s a tiny cave, now under the high altar of the church, and it has a low entrance so that you have to stoop to get into it. For there’s a good chance that the stable was, in fact, a cave where the animals were kept. There is, of course, something incongruous about these richly dressed (as we like to imagine them) wise men stooping to get into a tiny cave to worship a baby. And so I’m told that even today, that if you want to visit the scene, you must bow down to get in. The son of a carpenter and a peasant-girl, worshipped by magi, worthy still of worship: here is, indeed, the mystery and magic of the story of Jesus’ birth.

The wise men worship, offer their mysterious gifts, and then fade out of our story, but not before they manage to put one over on Herod:

And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

It would have come naturally to the magi to obey King Herod (just as it was natural for them to have originally sought their new king in the royal palace of Jerusalem). For the Wise Men were members of the establishment. They were accustomed to royalty, used to honouring power, comfortable with kings telling them what to do. But this time, they go back by another road, because they had had a dream (people put a lot of store in dreams back then as well).

Sometimes the most conservative and establishment and conformist of us find that we cannot just do as the powerful want us to do. Sometimes even respectable people find it necessary to break the law of the land. Rosa Parks, in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1955, was required to give up her to give up her seat on a bus to a white passenger, because that’s what the law of the city said. She refused to, and so set in action the civil rights movement. God sometimes calls us to take another road. Especially when the powerful have evil intent:

Now after [the Wise Men] had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son.’

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:

‘A voice was heard in Ramah,

wailing and loud lamentation,

Rachel weeping for her children;

she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.’

The Wise Men, inadvertently, caused a massacre of children, though it is Herod who is guilty: a man ordering slaughter because he needs to preserve his own power. And that is why this story is so powerful- for we know who today’s Herod’s are, and who their victims.

In Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Yemen, children are still being killed because powerful people have ordered it. And they give political or strategic reasons why the children have to be killed- but it is revolting that it still happens today. At the Mexican border, children who are part of families trying to enter the United States are held in detention in conditions so bad, some of them have died recently. Children are still dying as their parents try to bring them into Europe across the Mediterranean in flimsy boats (who can forget the image of the three-year-old Syrian boy Alan Kurdi, whose lifeless body was photographed, not in a war zone, but on a Turkish tourist beach?). Just across the English Channel, there are still children waiting in limbo to be reunited with their parents in this United Kingdom. Children suffer when politics becomes more important than compassion.

We who claim to be inspired by the story of Christ cannot forget that he, too, was once a refugee, fleeing a violent, child-killing tyrant:

When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel.

God’s gift to the world is Jesus Christ. Christ is God’s way of reconciling the world to himself. Yet to undertake that plan, a plan in which the entire future of creation was at stake, God stoops into a cave in Bethlehem to be born, and very nearly doesn’t make it out of the manger. Which is what makes all of this more than just a nice story. I find it a sobering story- for it is a story about how God is in our turbulent world. Around the crib- that familiar scene of a holy family, with a child in the manger- there’s power politics, misunderstandings, terrific evil around the crib- Rachel weeping for her children. And all because of a child born to a peasant woman and a carpenter in an obscure corner of the Roman Empire, who was a threat to the power of an evil king.

We often speak of welcoming Christ at Christmas. And so we should. The Letter to the Ephesians reminds us that the birth of Jesus was part of plan, through which God would make his blessings available to all people. The Jewish people are already the special people of God; now, says Ephesians ‘by means of the Gospel the Gentiles have a part with the Jews in God’s blessings; they are members of the same body and share in the promise made through Christ Jesus’. The wise men, the magi, represent the Gentiles, the non-Jews, to whom the blessings of God are now also offered. They represent the wisdom of non-Jewish culture. They are, as we said, exotic. They remind us that the good news of Jesus Christ is for all people, regardless of their nationality- they remind us that the Gospel transcends nations and cultures. Everyone, of whatever race and nationality, is invited to worship the child in the manger.

But Epiphany also reminds us that for some, the good news of the Gospel is unwelcome news. Not everyone welcomes the disruption which Christ will bring into the world. Herod think the child is a threat to him, and he responds with violence; and there are still Herods who cannot see beyond keeping their own power in place, to whom the message of God’s love in Christ is a threat. For the adult Christ will preach against violence, and against the pretension of the powerful, and against the oppression of the weak and the poor for any reason. He survived the cradle, because the Wise Men took another road to avoid Jerusalem. But as an adult, he will himself go to Jerusalem, where the powerful will find him so threatening, they finally put him to death.

And yet: in Christ, God offers all his people blessing. In Christ, the light has come which shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never put it out. Thanks be to our God, who is involved in the darkest places in our world, and in our lives.

Ascription of Praise

To God be honour and eternal dominion! Amen.

1 Timothy 6.16 (GNB)

Biblical references from the Good News Bible, unless otherwise stated

© 2018 Peter W Nimmo

After sermon: Hymn: We three kings of Orient are


[1] Carol by John Henry Hopkins (1820-1891)

A visitor to our Good Earth: sermon for Christmas Eve 2018

Scripture Readings:

Genesis 1.1-9 (Authorized Version)
recording from Apollo 8 TV broadcast, December 24th, 1968[i]

Luke 2.1-7

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Our Old Testament reading is from Genesis chapter 1- part of the creation story. We are going hear it in a recording taken from a television broadcast made 50 years ago tonight. We hear the voices of Bill Anders, Jim Lovell and Frank Borman:

That was the astronauts of Apollo 8 speaking in a live television broadcast in Christmas Eve 1968: exactly fifty years ago. They were the first human beings ever to travel to the moon. They did not land on the moon- that happened just a few months later. Their mission was to prepare the way for the subsequent moon landing. They were a practice run- the first to leave the orbit of the earth, the first people ever to see the far side of the moon with their own eyes, the first to go into orbit around the moon.

They were tasked with photographing the moon for possible landing sites. At one point, however, astronaut Bill Anders spotted something else out of one of the windows: ‘Oh my God, look at that picture over there!’ he exclaimed. ‘There’s the earth comin’ up. Wow, is that pretty!’ He had spotted earth rising over the horizon of the moon: a semicircle of colour, its blues and greens contrasting with the uniform greyness of the moon, and the inky blackness of the sky. He took the photograph you are looking at now.

The Apollo 8 astronauts had gone to explore the moon, but Bill Anders’ ‘Earthrise’ picture was the most famous image they brought back. There was nothing in the flight plan about taking such a photograph- if it had been an unmanned mission, a computer would never have thought of taking the picture. It took a human eye to see the beauty of the earth hanging in the sky. They had gone to explore the moon, but came back with a new way of looking at the earth.

The Apollo photographs of the earth gave the emerging environmental movement boost. They show our planet as we had never really seen it before- a small speck of colour in a vast darkness, an oasis of life in a lifeless void. It is all we have. For all our divisions, we all of us share this ‘blue marble’, our island home in space. If we damage or destroy it, then we literally have no future.

For their earlier TV broadcast, the astronauts had been given very little guidance on what they should do or say. So they chose to read from Genesis: ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth’. The ancient poet of Genesis could never have imagined his words might be read by people orbiting the moon to an audience of millions back on earth. Yet this ancient, majestic words seemed like the right choice for that Christmas Eve, of that turbulent year of 1968. It was the genius of the Hebrews to understand that there could only really be the one God, and that God was the creator of heaven and earth.

In their different ways, the Earthrise picture and the account of creation in Genesis speak to us of the wonder and mystery of creation. For some people, these pictures of the earth in space make us seem quite insignificant in the vast cosmos. Not so the Biblical poets. In Psalm 8, a poet observing the night sky pondered humanity’s place in it all:

When I look at the sky, which you have made,

at the moon and the stars, which you set in their places —

what are human beings, that you think of them;

mere mortals, that you care for them?

Yet you made them inferior only to yourself;

you crowned them with glory and honour.

You appointed them rulers over everything you made;

you placed them over all creation:

sheep and cattle, and the wild animals too;

the birds and the fish

and the creatures in the seas.[2]

Our faith tell us that we do matter. For this planet is God’s gift to us. God calls on us to nurture the earth, to ensure the waters are clean, to ensure that preservation of the multitude of species on which our lives- and that of future generations- will depend. The Bible is not so far from the modern environmental movement as it reminds us of our responsibilities to creation.

Frank Borman, the mission commander, ended the Christmas Eve broadcast from the moon with these words:

[F]rom the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas- and God bless all of you, all of you on the good Earth.

Bormann later described seeing the earth rise above the moon as ‘the most beautiful, heart-catching sight of my life’[3]. His far away home planet must, indeed have seemed good.

As Genesis said: God created the heavens and the earth, and God saw that it was good. And God showed again his love for this good earth when a child was born to Mary at Bethlehem. For in the child in the manger, the maker of the earth and the moon and the stars comes to his good earth, comes to be born as one of us, comes to live and die alongside his creatures on this good earth he has made.

Yet hatred and war divide humanity the inhabitants of this good earth. In our rivalries, we forget that we have this in common- we all have to share this third planet from the sun. We have the capacity to destroy life, either instantly in a nuclear exchange or an accident; or slowly, as we continue to destroy forests and the oceans and allow species which took millions of years to evolve to go out of existence in decades. We have used the technology which sent men to the moon to investigate the land, sea and atmosphere of the earth ever more carefully. Satellites can show us shrinking ice caps, rising sea levels, and climate change which threatens us all, yet we are loathed to do anything about it.

And yet, somehow I am not entirely pessimistic, for unto us a child is born. A child who is born in very humble circumstance, to an ordinary peasant woman and her carpenter husband. A child whose message would inspire many people to a love their neighbours, and to care for the world around them. And yet a child who is also forgotten, or pushed to one side- they had no room for him at the inn.

Science and technology can teach us a lot about our planet and the universe which contains it. But faith tells us that this seemingly insignificant planet of ours once received a visit from beyond, from one whom we can be inspired to put our trust, for his life and death tells us that the Creator God loves us.

As we’ve heard, the Bible begins with the words, ‘In the beginning, God…’ The Gospel of John, attempting to explain who Jesus is, begins with the words which reflect the start of Genesis:

In the beginning the Word already existed; the Word was with God, and the Word was God. From the very beginning the Word was with God. Through him God made all things; not one thing in all creation was made without him.

The Word, through whom the heavens and earth was made, has come to us in the child of Bethlehem. Perhaps the Word has also visited other planets, to bring to life forms we can’t imagine the good news. For it is good news, for this good earth, and for all its people: we are not forgotten, we are not unimportant, for the Son of God the creator has walked among us. And, as John’s Gospel says, he is

‘the light [which] shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out’.

Ascription of Praise

Glory to God in highest heaven,

and on earth peace to all in whom God delights!


Luke 2.14 (alt)

Biblical references from the Good News Bible, unless otherwise stated

© 2018 Peter W Nimmo


[1] https://youtu.be/t3LIvb1Nzak

[2] Psalm 8.3-8

[3] Barbree, Jay. Moon Shot: The Inside Story of America’s Apollo Moon Landings (p. 221). Open Road Media. Kindle Edition.

Signs of the times: sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent 2018

Scripture readings: 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

In our culture, we expect this build-up to Christmas to be a busy time of preparation, a mad rush of shopping, preparing food, putting up decorations, getting ready for family visits, enjoying the office party and the works night out. And we clergy are as bad as everyone else, and everyone else knows it, which is why we are so often greeted with ‘This will be your busy time of year’.

For many folk, the pre-Christmas season is very enjoyable- choosing presents for loved ones, baking special Advent and Christmas food, putting up a Christmas tree, enjoying a works night out. But for some it is not so easy. For some people, this is the time they get into debt. There are parents worried about how they can afford to give children the Christmas they deserve. For those who are lonely, or anxious, or bereaved, this enforced jollity can be a bit much.

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The time is coming… Sermon for The First Sunday of Advent 2018

Scripture Readings:

Jeremiah 33:14-18

Luke 3.1-20

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

We may be governed currently by people who think that experts aren’t important, but I love to listen to an expert who knows his stuff and can explain it to the rest of us- whether it’s David Attenborough on wildlife or Brian Cox on astronomy, or Neil Oliver on history. And I do love Melvyn Bragg’s Radio 4 show, In Our Time, with the best people in their field (there was an excellent one on Dietrich Bonhoeffer recently).

A few weeks ago I heard an expert give a fascinating talk.

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What Kind of a King?: sermon for Christ the King, 25 November 2018

Scripture Readings: Psalm 93

John 18.28-38a

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

On this Sunday which is designated as ‘Christ the King’, perhaps the first thing we should admit is that Jesus nowhere in the Gospels referred to himself as a King. But the word ‘Christ’ in Greek literally means ‘the anointed One’[1]– and as kings are anointed, that implies that Christ is a king of some sort. According to Matthew’s Gospel, when Jesus was born, the wise men from the East came to King Herod looking for a king, and were told to look for him in Bethlehem. Afterwards, King Herod tried to murder the baby king, leading to a slaughter of innocents[2]. And today’s Gospel reading, from near the end of Jesus’ life, puts him once again in front of a secular ruler in Jerusalem, with his life at stake.

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What do we do with our remembrance? Sermon for Remembrance Sunday 2018

Scripture Readings: Micah 4.1-5

Luke 1.67-80

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Our church buildings, like many church buildings, are full of memorials. There are the obvious ones: the lists of names from both world wars inside St Stephen’s, the congregational memorial on the outside wall of the Old High Church; the Camerons memorial area inside the Old High. We have memorials to memorial to ministers, organists, town worthies, and congregation members in both our buildings. There is stained glass in the chancel of St Stephen’s gifted by a Royal Artillery officer; and at the Old High, another stained glass memorial from a mother to her child. There are number of individual memorials at the Old High, ranging to a memorial to a General Wimberley, who led the 51st Division at Alamein, to the mention on his family memorial of Ensign James Grant who died at the Battle of Waterloo, aged only 15.

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