The Imitation of Christ - a sermon for the Second Sunday of Lent

The two vacant posts in our Deanery have now been advertised. I hear there’s been some interest, so I’m waiting hopefully to see if that translates into actual applications. Candidates would be coming to look round the parishes around the end of this month, I believe. Hearing that reminded of the day when I came to look at the Minsterley Group (with four other candidates) before my appointment there in 1993. I had four interviews. The toughest of those was with the wardens, but the toughest question I think was one asked at my interview with the bishop and the archdeacon of Ludlow, who at that time were still separate people, Ian Griggs and John Saxbee. I think it was Bishop Ian who asked “How will you go about being a wholesome example to your people, as you promised at your ordination?” 

“Goodness, did I promise that?” was my first thought. But of course I had, as part of the liturgy. As I said the words in the service, was I really applying them to me and my family? But they did apply to me and my family, of course. Now my kids are great, but no more so than anyone else’s. Back then they were just as prone as any other kids to have tantrums at just the wrong time. And, for all my saintly persona, after a sleepless night worrying about my tax return or the loss of five people from the electoral roll, followed by twin daughters acting up as I tried to feed them breakfast, I found it hard to be sweetness and light in church on Sunday, or queuing at the bread shop for my Monday loaf.

Maybe if I’d had my fingers crossed behind my back as I made my ordination vows? Well, no: anyway, the fact is that being baptised and confirmed imposes the duty of setting a good example not only on me but on all of us. We should all be living a Christ like life. One of the main reasons given by those who feel they need an excuse not to come to church is that “People in church are no better than the rest of us,” or even, “Church is just full of hypocrites!” My response to that is usually to murmur that no, it’s not full, we can generally fit a few more in.

So - I know I don’t always set the great example of faith and service that I wish I did. If I re-read even my best intentioned sermons I can’t help but find something in them of “Do as I say, not as I do.” So whenever I read this morning’s first reading, from Paul’s letter to the Philippians, I’m a bit shocked by it. I find myself thinking “How dare Paul say that?” How can he say “Join in imitating me”? Was Paul’s ego getting out of hand? Wasn’t he setting himself up for a fall? Life’s full of people set on pedestals and looked up to, imitated, copied, who then turn out to have feet of clay or worse.

So why would Paul say that? Well, here’s a thought. One of my first jobs was sandblasting electronic components in a large factory. We needed to be quick to keep up with the production line, and every component needed to be thoroughly cleaned, so we had to be accurate. I’d been told how to do the job, but when I actually started to do it I was slow and not very accurate. But one of the older hands stepped in and showed me how he did it, and by copying him I became quite good, certainly able to keep up with the pace of the line.

Because the best sort of learning is learning by example; being not told but shown how to do it. And Paul knew this. It was vital that his friends at Philippi, one of the churches he was closest to and fondest of, should have an example to copy and to imitate. It’s never enough just to be told, far better to follow the habits and practices of someone who’s already doing it, someone further down the road of learning than you are. Paul wasn’t perfect, and he never claimed to be, but he’d got some experience of being a disciple. He was already doing his best to follow Jesus, to imitate Jesus. So when he says imitate me, he’s not saying “See how great and wonderful I am”, he’s saying, “Imitate me in imitating Jesus Christ.” Do as I do: be like Jesus.

None of us lead perfect lives: fact. To do better we need to choose our role models carefully. What, who, are the good examples to aim for? Paul was telling the Philippians that there was no better role model than the one he followed. Jesus Christ. Imitate him - for if the example we follow isn’t worth imitating, we’re losing the game right from the start. 

Understanding that reassures me greatly. Fulfilling my ordination promise isn’t about me being perfect, but it does need me to be serious about what I’m doing. Paul said to the Philippians: “Be like me in following Jesus.” So who can I look to, to help me to follow Jesus, and imitate him? Paul himself is I think a bit remote: there’s lots in his writing I find exciting, lots that challenges me, but his letters are set in a very different world from mine. But you see, that’s why Paul was offering himself as an example then - not because he was doing it so well, though he didn’t do so badly, but because he was there, they could see him, they knew him, and they could understand him. So it was easier for them to relate how Paul did it to their own lives.

So when I need an example of Christian living, I could look to some of the present-day heroes of the faith, people whose courage I’ve admired, albeit from afar. Archbishop Tutu, whom I did once meet. Maybe the German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was killed by the Nazis towards the end of the Second World War. I’ve admired his courage, and been inspired by his writing. Or maybe people who write honestly today about their discipleship struggles, like Adrian Plass.

But I think Paul also wanted the Philippians (and us) to think about how we ourselves can be examples and teachers, beginning with each other here in church, but also within the witness of our daily lives. People know what we do on a Sunday, so they’re likely to judge us on that, and to expect something from us midweek that testifies to our Sunday faith. And what they get they get, be it for better or for worse.

That can’t help but be a crucial element in my life as a minister. Even without my Sunday robes, my collar identifies me. And without my collar a lot of people still know me. So I’m not just Bill, I’m Bill the Vicar, which makes me Bill who knows and shows what being a person of faith is about. And if in an off duty moment I say something intemperate or do something uncaring, that’s a black mark not only against me but against the Church. And a hindrance to the Church in mission.

Now to a degree that’s true for all of us. It’s not that people expect me, or you, or any church member, to be perfect, but they do expect, or should, these two important things: firstly, that we really are doing our best to be like Jesus. And secondly, that when we don’t get it right we’re aware of that - in other words, we’re penitent.

In fact sometimes the best witness we offer to Christ is what we do when we get it wrong. That even applied to St Paul. When he got things wrong, which he did, he did his best to put them right, and to learn from them. I don’t remember how I answered Bishop Ian’s question, but if it was asked again now I’d want to say something about honesty. People don’t expect perfection from Christians, though they’d be right to expect a certain standard of goodness and kindness. But they do expect honesty.

Isn’t it painful to watch politicians when they get things wrong? They twist and turn on the hook, making this or that excuse. It seems a rule in political life never to admit to a mistake. You never say sorry, unless you’re saying sorry for something you yourself had no part in. When we make mistakes, when we fall short of the example we know Jesus has set us, we should fess up, admit to it, and aim to put things right and put ourselves right too. That’s the kind of honesty that leads to trust and sharing, and that opens our doors to others. It’s the honesty that builds a caring community, and that makes others not only want to imitate us, but also - I think, I hope - to join us.