Skip to main content

Anchored in Justice, Called to Hope

This Sunday’s readings for mass/holy communion from the Revised Common Lectionary are anything but comfortable.

I have already written about them but I find myself going back and re-engaging with them I have also written a hymn that can be sung to the tune Tallis’ Canon (443 in togeather in song).

Amos thunders against those who lie at ease while the poor go unnoticed at their gates. The psalmist reminds us that God raises up the lowly and calls His people to justice. Paul urges Timothy to fight the good fight of faith with perseverance. And then comes the parable: a rich man feasting, blind to the misery of Lazarus lying right outside his door.

It is a hard mirror to look into. These passages don’t allow us to hide behind a purely private faith. They make it plain: to follow Christ is to notice the neighbour at the gate, to let compassion disturb our ease, and to act.

And yet, despite their sharpness, there’s something hopeful in them too. The scriptures never expose our failings to leave us ashamed, but to draw us closer to God’s own heart — a heart that has always bent toward the poor, the overlooked, and the hurting.

The headlines this week painted a familiar picture: conflict spreading in places already weary of war, families in despair after natural disasters, leaders grasping for power while trust erodes. It is easy to feel that the message of hope has been pushed aside. And yet, here and there, small glimpses broke through: neighbours sharing food with the displaced, communities rallying to rebuild, acts of kindness that never make it to the evening news.

These are the moments that echo the gospel, the quiet signs that God’s kingdom is nearer than we think.

So there it is — the tension: a world pressing toward fear, but a Faith calling us toward hope.

What if the message of hope wasn’t missing by mistake from our news, but missing because we’ve forgotten to speak it?

Imagine news bulletins that included stories of reconciliation, forgiveness, quiet heroism — or simply the reminder that human life is held by a God who never abandons.

This week, let us carry that message into our own corners: for me, that is to patients, choir members, neighbours, even in conversation over working dinners. Because the world needs illumination, not more shadow.

May we be voices that point not to despair, but to resurrection — not to chaos, but to order; not to endings, but to new beginnings.

Here’s the new hymn:

A Candle in the Newsroom

The world declares its tales of dread,

of broken streets, of tears once shed;

yet still the gospel dares to say,

that love is stronger, come what may.

The neighbour waits beyond our gate,

too often met with blind neglect;

but Christ still whispers, clear and true,

“The poor are mine — they look to you.”

So lift a light where shadows fall,

let mercy be the news we tell;

in every act of care we show,

God’s kingdom breaks, Emmanuel.

And though the world may press toward fear,

we carry hope that won’t grow dim;

a risen Lord, a promised dawn,

new order born, new life in Him.

© Kevin Harper Esquire 2025

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

There are moments when even angels weep. This is an article I wrote for another publication and have permission to reproduce here. I write as: * The CofE House of Bishops change direction on services of blessings on Same Sex couples and their acceptance of SS clergy who have entered into a civil marriage contract. * The  Anglican Diocese  of Ballarat in Synod at the  Anglican Cathedral Church of Christ the King - Ballarat  receive and debate a motion in relation to the place of GBLT in the local church. Moments when wings feel too heavy, when the light they carry dims beneath the weight of sorrow or silence. In those moments, another angel comes — not to preach, not to fix, but simply to be. To sit beside, to listen, to hold the space sacred and still. Too long have many of our brothers, sisters, and siblings been told that heaven has no room for them — that their love, their truth, their song is somehow “less.” But I say this: the divine is found wherever love abide...
Post a Comment
Read more

Beyond the Fluff and the Fur

🕊️  The Feast of Saint Francis: Beyond the Fluff and the Fur Every year on October 4th, the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi comes around with wagging tails and flapping wings. Churches fill with Labradors and lorikeets, poodles and parrots, all queued up for their annual blessing. It’s a delightful sight — a moment when even the most hardened church-shy neighbour will wander in, dog leash in hand, for a photo-worthy moment with the local vicar. And yes, The Vicar of Dibley captured it perfectly: chaos and holiness mingled in equal measure — goats bleating, cats hissing, and Geraldine Granger standing there with that divine mix of amusement and exasperation. It’s a scene that could happen in any parish hall, really. But beneath the comedy lies a deeper question: have we turned the blessing of animals into a feel-good marketing event — or are we genuinely hearing the call of Saint Francis to honour creation itself? Saint Francis: The Radical, Not the Romantic Saint Francis wasn’t ...
Post a Comment
Read more