What an extraordinary set of readings we have today. They range from the first to the last book of the Bible. The tone of each is completely distinct.

In Genesis we have a mythological retelling of the origins of human beings. An earthling is formed from the dust and God breathes it into life. This creature is given the stewardship of creation. Later Adam, the earthling, is divided into male and female and the first human relationship is formed. Can’t you imagine this story being told round a campfire in the Middle Eastern desert, as people marvel over the origins of the earth and of life itself?

We jump to the other end of the Bible for the high-flown narrative of the Book of Revelation, the result of a Christian prophet’s vision on the island of Patmos many hundreds of years later. Here is rich liturgical language, reflecting the experience of centuries of Temple worship, and the visual splendour of jasper, carnelian, and emeralds. We have thunder and lightning, flaming torches, mythical beasts, and a sea of glass. A song of praise is sung that we still sing every week: “Holy, holy, holy Lord God almighty.” Instead of the beginning of everything, we are now imagining the end, when all creation is brought to its perfect culmination. Instead of a human creature formed from the dust and breathed into life, we have human elders crowned and enthroned, worshipping forever in the court of heaven.

How do we get from A to B? What is the connection between earthlings and the glorified elders? The link is to be found in the gospel reading, of course. And it hinges on the great question that constantly challenges every reader of the New Testament, who is this Jesus?

Luke’s passage is prosaic in tone compared to Genesis and Revelation, the one mythological, the other liturgical. The gospel reads like an ordinary account of everyday life. A group of men decide to cross a big lake, they get in a boat, their exhausted teacher sleeps peacefully while they battle an increasingly violent storm. All of this can be taken at face value as a perfectly ordinary narrative. The moment that turns the story into one of awe and wonder is when the rabbi calmly tells the storm to quieten down and it does so instantly. His students are then struck with fear at what he has revealed about himself.

All of these passages are rooted in a Jewish understanding of the universe, as those who took part in the Advent groups will be well aware. Their common thread is the greatness, beyond all human language or understanding, of God the Creator. He caused the earth to bring us forth. We come from dust and return to dust. Our life as sentient creatures is the gift of the Spirit, the Breath of God.
The people of Israel came to know and to worship this transcendent God over many centuries of slavery, wandering and backsliding into idolatry. At last they built the great Temple in Jerusalem where the liturgy of praise was splendid beyond anything that had ever been done before. Here the people experienced the sounds of instruments and singing, the smells of incense and burnt offerings, the sight of candles and glorious vestments. All this was destroyed by the Babylonians but was rebuilt again several generations later. Jesus himself was taken to the Second Temple as a baby, as we remembered last week at Candlemas. He engaged in debate with the learned elders when he was Bar Mitzvah. And he celebrated the great Jewish feasts there with his disciples. In the last week of his life he went again to Jerusalem for the Passover, a celebration whose meaning was transformed by his death.

That second Temple was destroyed a generation after the crucifixion by the Romans. By the time of the strange experience on Patmos, it was gone. The glorious Temple worship, with its echoes of visions recorded in Isaiah and Daniel, was gone forever. Instead, the small Christian community was suffering intense persecution from the mighty Roman Empire. The book of Revelation, which was eventually admitted into the canon of Scripture after much debate, gave them a glimpse of what the Temple worship pointed to. On tiptoe at the door of the court of heaven on the day of the last judgement, they saw the destiny of the Genesis earthlings: to be crowned in God’s presence and to worship him forever.

The difference between Genesis and Revelation, apart from the tone and style, is not about who God is, but who we are. At the start we are born from the earth, but at the end we find our home with God, beyond earthly conceptions of time and space. It is Jesus who makes the connection.

The Advent groups looked at Jesus the wandering rabbi, challenging his students, eating with them, encouraging them to answer his questions, modelling for them the way he wanted them to live. Like the disciples of any other rabbi, they followed him everywhere, hung on his words, enjoyed his company and tried to emulate his actions. But in the passage today, he does something no ordinary rabbi would dream of doing: he puts himself in the role of the Creator of the universe, commanding the elements.

It is only when we remember the very Jewish context of this band of disciples that we can begin to appreciate their shock, fear and perhaps revulsion. Can they really trust a man who behaves as if he is God himself? Is he full of satanic pride or simply out of his mind? How do they process this behaviour in the mental map of their religious world?

The question Who is this? cannot be evaded. The answer to it determines how we live as believers. We can perhaps go along with the Jewish understanding of God as Creator of all. But can we take the further step of Christian discipleship? Can we look at Jesus and see in him the glory of God made manifest?

The answer really matters, because it is about us. A wise teacher is someone we can take or leave. A man who shows us that he is the very window into heaven, the way along which we travel from glory to glory, challenges us in a way that we cannot ignore.

To be a disciple means to be prepared to learn all that he has to show us. We can’t pick and choose, taking a few precepts from the Sermon on the Mount and a moral or two from the parables, and leaving all the difficult parts. To be a disciple means a daily conversion of our lives, a constant following along the road that may lead to the loss of everything. To be a disciple means surrendering control over our lives.

The Genesis story tells us that the first earthling was commanded to be obedient. Human history is a story of many disasters flowing from our failure to obey God, but it is also a story of many lives lived as disciples in faithful obedience. Our lives usually reflect a mixture of both. The God who took the risk of bringing us to conscious life also intends us to become perfect when we have completed our road of discipleship. Last week we sang words that every American child learns, In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.

They may be sentimental words but they capture a great truth about Christian discipleship. We are transfigured by the glory of Christ. We are transformed weekly by our participation in the eucharist.
Being a Christian is not about assenting with our heads or even just believing in our hearts. It is about our whole selves being transformed. Born from dust, destined for glory, along the way we stumble in the footsteps of Jesus and learn to live as his disciples.
The Advent groups in their debrief identified three clear themes that could help us live as disciples here at St Mary’s. One was the theme of being learners, chaverim. We are following this up by doing theological study monthly at the vicarage, discussing Christian basics every third Tuesday, and making available at the back of church books that can help your Bible study and reflection in Lent. We are also setting up the Lent groups that will give an opportunity for the sort of debate and sharing of ideas that Jesus encouraged his disciples to engage in.

The Lent groups link us to the second theme, that of fellowship meals. These were a vital part of Jesus’ ministry. The Lent groups will take place in the context of meals in people’s homes. There will also be some suppers at the vicarage in Lent for those who cannot join the weekly groups. And on the first Sunday in Lent we will have a parish bring and share lunch. For newcomers to church, especially, eating together is one of the most important ways of becoming part of a community of disciples.

The third theme is one that is very characteristic of Jewish spirituality, mitzvot or good deeds. We don’t just talk about faith, we do something about it. Although we can’t earn God’s favour, we can say thank you for God’s endless goodness to us by doing good deeds for others. As a parish we raise money for charities, we support a youth project and we are hoping to participate in the Cold Weather Shelter next winter. As disciples each of us is called to be generous givers of time, talents and money, and there will be much more on this subject during Lent.

Last week we admitted 26 children to Holy Communion, and we took this step in faith, praying that by our example they will be led into the commitment of confirmation when they are older. It is up to us as a community of faith to support the ongoing transformation of each member, old or young, by the glory of Christ. This will involve friendship, challenge, discernment and generosity. It is the way of discipleship.

Amen