27th September, 2020.
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My dear friends,

I am hurriedly typing these words between power-cuts. We have had about twelve power-cuts in Great Bardfield in the past two days and the electricity has just come on again after being off for four hours. I am now drinking the most welcome cup of tea. It just goes to show how much we take electricity for granted.

Our power-cuts are due to the storms which have lashed eastern England in the past two days, affecting the overhead power cables. The temperature this afternoon in Great Bardfield was 11℃. It is hard to believe that just over a fortnight ago it was 34℃. Autumn is on its way.

As we read of further cases of coronavirus, it would be easy for us to become downcast. We must certainly take all possible precautions and try to help others in need, but perhaps the arrival of Autumn has a message for us: Don’t be so concerned about that which is bad that we overlook all that is good. Yes, coronavirus is a great trial in so many ways, but there is still much for each of us to be grateful about and to enjoy. The wonderful work of SJA and so many other kind people is a case in point.

I would like us all to enjoy the seasons this year and especially the arrival of Autumn. To make my point, perhaps I might mention the opposite. I once knew an Englishwoman who lived in Monte Carlo. You’d think that would be wonderful, but she said she really missed the seasons she had known back home in England: the temperature in Monte Carlo went up a bit in summer, but otherwise it felt the same all the year round. There is the famous story of the night in the 1930s when snow fell in Monte Carlo – an unheard-of occurrence. The Monegasque dustmen efficiently swept it all up before the tourists emerged from their hotels for the day.

In Essex, the sun is low in the sky at this time of the year. There are blackberries and other berries on the bushes. We had a slight fog at 6.30 a.m. the other morning. Soon, we shall enjoy the glory of the English Autumn: the beautiful array of yellow and brown leaves on the trees.

So, let us enjoy the spectacle of the Autumn and lift our hearts in gratitude to God, who gives us His precious gift of life and all that sustains it.

Time for a second cup of tea, before the electricity goes off again.

With continued prayers and kindest regards,

The Rev. Dr ROBERT BEAKEN, County Chaplain
TRINITY 16 – 27th SEPTEMBER 2020.
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Gospel: St Matthew, chapter 21, verses 23-32
In most of the stories in St Matthew’s Gospel about Jesus teaching and preaching, we see him addressing simple country folk – farm workers, shepherds, fishermen and their families. Using words and images that simple country folk could easily understand, Jesus spoke about the love of God, nourished and encouraged their faith, and urged them to repent of their sins. At the same time, Jesus worked miracles and healed the sick as signs of his divinity. As Jesus’ reputation spread, people began carrying their sick friends and relatives to him for healing.
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            In today’s Gospel, by way of a contrast, Jesus found himself addressing not simple country folk, but talking to some of the religious and political élite of Israel. Jesus had gone up to Jerusalem and made his way to the great Temple in the city. His reputation had preceded him.  As Jesus entered the courtyard, the high priests and elders hurried out. We may infer that they were rather put out by his appearance and feared he was out to cause trouble. They asked him by what authority he was doing all these things – meaning his teaching and healing. A potential trap opened up for Jesus. If he’d said outright that he was the Son of God, they wouldn’t have believed him and they might have had him arrested for blasphemy.

            Jesus replied by asking them a question in return, and said he would tell them whose authority he had if they answered it: By whose authority did John the Baptist baptize people? The authorities realized that if they said that John the Baptist had had God’s authority, the people would say ‘Well, why didn’t you believe in him, then’; and if they said John was only an ordinary man, the mob could turn nasty because they thought he was a prophet; so they answered very lamely that they didn’t know. Jesus said that in that case, he wouldn’t tell them by whose authority he acted. The implication is that they must work this out for themselves.

Jesus followed this up with a parable. A farmer has two sons. He asks them to go and work in his vineyard. The first son said ‘I will not go,’ but afterwards changed his mind and went and did the work. The second son said, ‘I will go,’ but didn’t. ‘Which of the two,’ asked Jesus, ‘did the will of the father?’ ‘The first,’ they answered. Jesus then rebuked them:
 
Truly, I tell you, the tax-collectors and prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.
 
I daresay the chief priests and elders didn’t much like being told that the tax-collectors and prostitutes – who they regarded as the lowest of the low – were going to enter the kingdom of God ahead of them. They had attained their élite status and they thought they were important.

            It’s only a simple little parable, but Jesus’ words still contain a message for us today. The chief priests and elders probably started out alright. But as they progressed in their religious careers they became part of the nation’s élite. They enjoyed being looked-up to and having power and influence. In consequence, they’d become a bit flabby. Their concern was to protect the status quo, which included their own position. They’d stopped working in the vineyard.

            There’s a message here for men and women of faith. We can start out alright, but it is easy to go off the boil, to lose our enthusiasm, to get into a rut. We can take our faith for granted. We, too, may enjoy status and position – which, in our contemporary society, may mean that we conform to the values of the world a bit too much.

Similarly, I can think of all sorts of people who have regularly gone to church and then suddenly stopped – there was been a row about the flowers, or a new vicar they didn’t like was appointed – and they just stopped. They didn’t go to another church instead, they just stay at home. They’ve stopped working in the vineyard.

Similarly, I am a bit concerned about people in our country who have stopped going to church during the coronavirus lockdown. Some people still have to isolate for health reasons or to protect a member of their household – and, of course, we don’t know which way the pandemic is going. But there are others who could start going to church again, but they have rather got out of the habit since March. The vineyard misses them!

            Then again, this parable is directed at prostitutes and tax-collectors, or whoever are their equivalents today. We may have done all sorts of daft things in our lives, but Jesus still loves us and wants us. We sinners can all return to the vineyard and recommence our work – it’s never too late.

            And in this parable, by extension, Jesus calls upon the people who are already in the vineyard not to look down their noses at these late arrivals. That is the meaning behind his teaching elsewhere in the Gospels that the last shall be first and the first shall be last.

            One of the things we notice when we read the Gospels carefully is that Jesus never condemns or rejects an individual. He may condemn the behaviour of certain groups or their incorrect teachings, but he never rejects individual men and women from those groups. He loves each of them, and died on the Cross for their sins too.

But, Jesus challenges us and exhort us to do better. By the time he’d left the Temple that day, he’d challenged the religious élite, and also the prostitutes and tax-collectors. All are loved and needed, but all have to choose to follow Jesus. And that is not something we do just once in a lifetime, but something we have to choose to do afresh every day of our lives. Every morning, when we open our eyes, we have to choose to follow God. And if we slip by the wayside, it’s not the end; we can still choose to follow Jesus once more, and repent, and return, and have another go.  Whether we belong to (1) the religious and political élite, (2) we are prostitutes or tax collectors, or (3) somewhere between the two, Jesus loves us with a love beyond our fathoming and wants us. ‘Come,’ he says, ‘follow me.’