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A Lent sermon from Revd Julia Lall

Sermon Lent 2 YA

Readings: Genesis 12:1-4; Romans 4.1–5, 13–17; John 3.1–17

1st March 2026                                                                                                                      

Lent is a season in which we think about the wilderness in which our faith is tried, and in which we take up our own crosses and follow Jesus to Good Friday.

It is so tempting to gloss over the sombre bits and get straight to the good news of the resurrection, a bit like skipping to the last pages of a book to read the ending, before you read the whole story.

 Perhaps we want to avoid the discomfort of grappling with our own sin and temptation, but last week we read that Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted. In Lent we must allow the spirit to lead us into the wilderness, too, to test our faith and discipleship.

I don’t think we can fully embrace the joy of Jesus’s resurrection until we first take up our cross and follow him into the wilderness of doubt, temptation and self-examination.

Our readings today invite us to explore a God who calls us by name, calls us into a close and personal relationship; calls us to be counted as righteous.  When God says to Abram “Go,” he obeys – No map. No destination. Only a promise.

God’s mission for the world begins with one man stepping into the unknown, trusting the voice of God.

Abram’s obedient and trusting response is echoed in Pauls letter to the Romans. He holds Abraham up as a model of faith and righteousness. Paul reminds us that Abraham wasn’t made righteous because he was perfect or because he kept the religious laws.

It was because “Abraham believed and trusted God.

And then we come to that night-time conversation in John’s gospel, between Jesus and Nicodemus.

Nicodemus is remembered in the Gospels for seeking answers, and for assisting with Jesus’ burial.

He is a respected and devout man. and if you have watched The Chosen, it unpacks beautifully his struggle of wanting to leave behind everything that is familiar to him and follow Jesus, but not wanting to let go of his status and identity.

Like Abram he wants to believe and trust in God, but can’t bring himself to take those first faltering steps of response.

Perhaps this resonates with us and our struggles with our faith journey.

Nicodemus probably had a solid Jewish upbringing and education, and is confident in his spiritual status. He knows God, and is confident that he will be saved. No doubt he was proud of his accomplishments.

But his pride might have hindered his ability to see the need for reconciliation with God, to turn back to him over and over again, and to be repentant.

In his worship Nicodemus is respectful and observes the rituals.

But, has this become for him a familiar act of reciting it off by heart rather than true prayer and worship to God?

Nicodemus was self-centred, proud, and confident in his leadership.

But God humbled him, and Jesus was patient with his questions.

As his story unfolds, Nicodemus remains sceptical and unsure, but recognises that maybe he has deviated from God’s plan.

As he witnesses the people around him being transformed the questions start to form in his mind.

Will he become a disciple?

Can he relinquish the safety of his worldly status to follow the uncertain path to heaven?

Nicodemus kept his thoughts and doubts secret, -perhaps he was uncertain or just curious, so he comes under cover of darkness in case someone sees him.

And Jesus says to him something utterly confusing: “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

You must be born again. Born from above. Born of water and Spirit.

Jesus’ answers to Nicodemus take us right back to the wilderness.

  • In the OT, the people of Israel wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, making their way under the leadership of Moses to the land that God promised them.

They moaned;                                                                                                            they rejected the God-given, life-giving manna;                                                    they forgot that here in the wilderness they are a free people, no longer living as slaves under an oppressive and cruel regime.

In Numbers 21 verses 4-9  we read that the serpents come, bringing fear and panic, illness and death. The people think they’re being punished because they have dared to complain to God.

Moses “prays earnestly for the people and God tells him to make a bronze replica of the snakes, set it on a pole and hold it up high, so that if anyone is bitten by a snake they may look at the bronze replica and live.

So God provided a way for his people to get through this crisis in the wilderness.

  • At the start of Lent we are in the wilderness again, this time with John the Baptist on the banks of the river Jordan. But we’re not just geographically in the wilderness, we’re also in another sort of wilderness: the wilderness of sin from which John calls us back – calls us to repent, to be baptised and to live in the new promised land of God’s salvation.

We’re not so very different from the people of Israel who flock out to the riverbank seeking an answer to the problems of the world and longing for something better.

We may no longer be slaves in Egypt, but we are slaves to sin:

Sin snakes itself around us, crushing within us the knowledge that we’re made in God’s image, and leaving us with feelings of guilt and separation.

  • And now Nicodemus finds himself in a wilderness of his own making, trapped between a life that no longer fulfils him and the promise of what it might become with Jesus.

He asked his questions, but the answers didn’t result in him following Jesus, or having the faith to let Jesus carry him.

But Jesus tells us that it doesn’t have to be like that!

He is Jesus Christ, Son of God and Son of Man.

“Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” (John 3.14-15)

God does not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world (including you and me) might be saved through him.”

In the OT God gave his people a sign of salvation in the shape of a bronze serpent held up for everyone to look at and live;

now he gives his people the sign of his Son, lifted up on a cross for all to see, so that whoever looks at the cross and believes will live, too.

Through the death of Jesus on the cross,  we can be born again into a new way life of forgiveness, love and faithfulness.

We are freed from the fear of judgment, condemnation and punishment because that’s not what God is about, that’s not why he sends his Son into the world.

This is the joy of salvation which lies at the very heart of our faith, so let us share it in a wilderness world that longs for light, truth and love.

God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Amen

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Would it Help? Learning to lay down the weight of worry.

There’s a small moment in the film Bridge of Spies that has stayed with me far longer than any of the dramatic scenes.

A captured spy sits in prison, waiting for trial. The outcome could mean prison — even death. His lawyer keeps asking him, “Are you worried?”

Each time he simply replies:

“Would it help?”

No speeches. No bravado. Just calm.

And he’s right. Worry wouldn’t change the verdict. It wouldn’t shorten the wait. It wouldn’t fix tomorrow.

The weight we carry

Most of us walk around carrying invisible loads:

  • bills and budgets
  • deadlines and emails
  • family concerns
  • health worries
  • church responsibilities
  • the quiet “what ifs” at 3am

We treat worry as if it’s productive — as if anxiety equals responsibility.

But most of the time it just exhausts us.

Jesus says something surprising

In Matthew 6, Jesus says:

“Do not worry about your life…”

Not because life is easy.
Not because we stop planning.
But because worry itself doesn’t help.

It can’t add an hour to our lives. It can’t secure tomorrow. It can’t control what we can’t control.

It simply makes us tired.

Trust isn’t carelessness

This doesn’t mean irresponsibility.

Faith isn’t foolishness.

We still insure the car. We still save money. We still plan wisely. We still love our neighbour.

We act where we can.

But we stop panicking about what we can’t.

The Serenity Prayer puts it beautifully:

accept what you cannot change,
change what you can,
and have the wisdom to know the difference.

Notice — not “worry harder.”

Accept. Act. Trust.

A different way to live

Jesus reminds us that we have a Father who already knows what we need.

Before we ask.
Before we strive.
Before we panic.

We are seen.

So discipleship isn’t careless living — it’s steadier living.

We do what we can.
We entrust what we can’t.
And we leave the weight of the world with God.

A gentle question for this week

Are you worried?
Would it help?

If the answer is no, place it back in God’s hands.

Then breathe.

Maybe even sleep.

Based on a Sermon at Beyton Church 8th February 2026 using the bible passage Matthew Chapter 6 verse 25-

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Do We Rank Our Love? A Christian Reflection

Based on a sermon in May 2025 by Marcus Bateman at Rushbrooke Suffolk.

Do We Rank Our Love? A Christian Reflection

A recent public statement suggested a “Christian concept” of love that goes something like this: “You love your family, then your neighbour, then your community, then your fellow citizens, and then—after that—you can focus on the rest of the world.”

At first glance, this seems practical. It reflects a natural tendency to feel closest to those around us. But this idea was met with an important theological critique:
Jesus doesn’t ask us to rank our love for others. And that raises an essential question for every Christian: Is love something we rank? Can God’s love be tiered, scaled, or localized?

A Partial Truth – and a Larger Falsehood
Let’s be honest: there’s a practical truth in the idea. Most of us feel more emotionally connected to our families than to strangers on the other side of the world. That’s human nature.

But the danger lies in mistaking emotional proximity for divine priority.

God’s love isn’t confined by geography or nationality. Christ did not die for some—He died for all.

Remember the Parable of the Lost Sheep (Luke 15)? Jesus says:
“There will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who do not need to repent.”
That lost sheep could be anyone—anywhere. Heaven doesn’t use political maps. The angels rejoice when any heart turns to God.

Responsibilities vs. Ranking
The Bible does teach responsibility—especially toward those close to us.

1 Timothy 5:8 says:
“If anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith…”
That’s clear. We are called to care deeply and practically for our families.

But Hebrews 13:2 adds this:
“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Here’s the key distinction: Responsibility is not the same as love.

Jesus’ love wasn’t limited to His inner circle. He healed Romans, spoke with Samaritans, welcomed tax collectors, and forgave thieves.
His command to us is the same: Love without limits.

The Dangers of Ranking Love
Why is ranking love spiritually dangerous? Here are five reasons:

  1. God loves everyone. Christ died for all. We are called to reflect that same impartial and generous love.

2. Ranking is inherently selfish. Loving only those who benefit us isn’t generosity—it’s transaction.

3. Ranking reinforces injustice. When we value some more than others, we justify inequality.

4. Ranking isolates us. It tempts us to build little bubbles, instead of living in global solidarity.

5. Ranking leads to judgment. It teaches us to measure worth, when Jesus called us to grace.

Two Final Reflections
a. We will fall short.
The call to love like God is enormous. We won’t do it perfectly. But this love isn’t a condition for salvation—it’s a fruit of it. We ask daily: “Lord, make my heart more like yours.”

b. Love is not blind.
We have limited resources—time, energy, money. We must be wise. That’s called stewardship. But let every decision be made with a heart of love, not a hierarchy of preference.

Conclusion: Love Without Measure
We are not called to rank love.
We are called to reflect it—
To show it to our families, our neighbours, strangers, enemies, and the world.

Because God did not rank us.
Christ did not die only for some.
And heaven rejoices when anyone comes home.

So let us love broadly, deeply, and without measure—
just as we have been loved.

Amen.

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What Can We Learn from VE Day 80?


8th May 2025 by Revd. Julia Lall, Rector

Eighty years ago, the United Kingdom and its allies marked a momentous occasion—the end of the war in Europe. Victory in Europe Day, or VE Day, became a symbol of peace, hope, and the hard-won freedom we often take for granted.

Today, as we commemorate VE Day 80, our thoughts turn to those who sacrificed so much: the millions who gave their lives, were wounded, or carried emotional scars for decades. The toll of war was felt in every village, town, and city. No one was untouched. Yet from that darkness, a deep gratitude emerged—a thankfulness for peace, for democracy, and for the promise of a better future.

As communities across the country prepare to mark this anniversary with tribute and celebration, it’s worth pausing to reflect: What can we learn from that victory? What does it teach us today?

Remembering the Past

First, we remember. The Second World War brought tremendous suffering. Families were torn apart. Communities were changed forever. Today, we hold in our hearts especially those from our own villages who never came home. Their legacy lives on—not just in stone memorials, but in the freedoms we now enjoy.

Learning from History

Secondly, we learn. VE Day wasn’t only a celebration of military victory—it was a celebration of freedom restored, of democracy reclaimed. It was a moment for people to express their gratitude for peace after years of fear and uncertainty.

That same peace and stability are gifts we still cherish today. They were hard-won, and they remind us to remain vigilant—especially now, as the world once again grapples with division, prejudice, and the risk of repeating past mistakes.

A Call to Action

The post-war world saw extraordinary progress in human rights and international cooperation. But as Christians, our calling doesn’t stop with remembrance. We are called to act: to forgive, to serve, and to build a more just and equitable world.

That means standing up for the oppressed, feeding the hungry, educating the young, and offering comfort to those in pain or distress. We are each called to be agents of peace and reconciliation, strengthening the weak and protecting the vulnerable.

A Deeper Hope

Throughout the Bible, we see God calling His people to live justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him. When humanity failed to live in peace, God sent His Son, Jesus, to show us a better way—a way grounded in justice, compassion, righteousness, and love.

Jesus himself said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” As we remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice, may we also be inspired by that example of self-giving love.

Moving Forward

So today, on VE Day 80, let us not only look back but also look forward. Let us pray for peace and reconciliation. Let us recommit ourselves to building a brighter future—for our communities, our nation, and our world.

And above all, let us strive to bring the values of God’s Kingdom to life—here, now, and in the years to come.

Amen.

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Is It Okay to Complain to God? A Lesson from Lamentations

Adapted from a sermon/reflection by Marcus Bateman at Rushbrooke Suffolk on 15th April 2025.

Have you ever really needed to complain?

I’m not talking about the classic British grumble over the weather—”too hot,” “too cold,” “a bit damp”—but the kind of complaint that bubbles up when something truly matters. The type that comes from deep frustration or sorrow, and a longing for justice, healing, or just plain answers.

Let me confess something: I don’t usually complain. I’m British. I once sent food back in a restaurant… once. (It was in Paris, and the steak was practically mooing!) But I’ve had my share of real grievances—Wizz Air, British Airways, utility companies, tech firms. Not petty issues, but real concerns about fairness, responsibility, and broken promises.

It made me think: what place does complaint have in faith?

The Bible is Full of Complaints

Surprisingly, complaining shows up a lot in Scripture.

Take the Israelites in the wilderness:

“If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat… but you have brought us into this desert to starve us to death!” — Exodus 16:2–3

There’s a big difference between petty grumbling and heartfelt complaint. And Scripture doesn’t shy away from either—but it especially gives space for the latter.

Job: Honest Without Sinning

Job lost everything. His children, his wealth, his health. And he didn’t hold back—he poured out his confusion and pain to God. Yet he didn’t sin in doing so. Job shows us that voicing sorrow or frustration to God isn’t rebellion—it can be an act of trust.

Lamentations 3: A Community Cry

Our reading for Easter Tuesday, Lamentations 3:37–54, is part of a powerful poem that holds space for grief and confession. It blends personal pain with community lament. These words don’t sugarcoat:

“You have covered yourself with anger…
You have made us scum and refuse…
You have covered yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can get through.”

Three times: “You have…”
It’s bold. Painfully honest. Even accusatory. But deeply faithful.

Then comes the turn:

“My eyes will flow unceasingly… until the Lord looks down from heaven and sees.”

This isn’t a private prayer whispered alone. It’s a communal cry: “God, we’re struggling—and we need You.”

Why Complaint Matters in Faith

We often emphasize individual faith in modern Christianity. But have we lost something? The shared responsibility of lament. The spiritual discipline of communal confession.

Lamentations became part of liturgy long after its crisis passed. Why? Because we need practices that allow us to bring our pain to God—together.

So… Is It Okay to Complain?

Yes. But not all complaint is the same.

The Good Kind of Complaint:

  • Heals the heart: Naming pain helps process it.
  • Promotes change: Honest complaints can spark action.
  • Brings us closer to God: When we direct our lament to Him, we invite relationship.

The Risky Kind of Complaint:

  • Spreads bitterness: Constant grumbling can poison joy.
  • Damages community: It can wear others down and isolate us.

Even the New Testament weighs in:

“Do everything without complaining or arguing.” — Philippians 2:14

But that’s not a command to hide real pain. It’s a call to guard our attitude, not silence our hearts.

Five Things to Remember About Complaining to God

  1. It’s allowed. God isn’t scared of your honesty.
  2. Have a purpose. Are you seeking justice? Healing? Understanding?
  3. Be the change. Sometimes, you’re the answer to your own prayer.
  4. God listens. Even when silence seems to last too long.
  5. Bring your whole heart. No filters. No masks.

Final Thought: Holy Complaint Isn’t Rebellion—it’s Relationship

Jesus Himself cried out in Gethsemane:

“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me…”

He didn’t bottle up His anguish. He brought it to His Father.

Let’s reclaim the sacred space of lament. Let’s be people who complain—not with bitterness, but with boldness and faith. People who dare to cry out because we believe God listens.

Amen.

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Faith in the Midst of Doubt: Why Thomas Still Matters Today

Adapted from a sermon by Marcus Bateman and preached at 27th April 2025 at Beyton Suffolk.

When we think of the disciple Thomas, many of us immediately think: Doubting Thomas. It’s become shorthand for skepticism—someone who refuses to believe without seeing the proof.

But Thomas deserves a second look. In fact, his story might be more relatable than we think.

Faith Isn’t Always Certain

During Holy Week, many of us reflected on lament—the idea that it’s okay to bring our raw, honest emotions to God. That honesty continues in Thomas’s encounter with the risen Jesus. When the other disciples tell him they’ve seen the Lord, Thomas doesn’t just nod and smile. He says what many of us would probably be thinking: I’ll believe it when I see it.

And who could blame him?

It’s easy to forget that none of the disciples initially believed the resurrection reports. They believed when they saw. Thomas just wanted what they had: a real, personal encounter with Jesus.

Doubt Can Be a Gift

We tend to think of doubt as the opposite of faith—but what if it’s actually part of the journey?

In daily life, doubt can protect us. It’s the reason we don’t fall for phishing scams or accept every headline at face value. Doubt makes us ask questions, seek truth, and think deeply. It’s not weakness—it’s discernment.

Even in our spiritual lives, doubt can be the doorway to deeper understanding. Like when you second-guess a decision and, in the process, clarify your reasons and values. In that way, doubt doesn’t have to paralyze us. It can actually propel us forward.

Jesus Meets Us Where We Are

What’s most striking about Jesus’s response to Thomas is what He doesn’t do. He doesn’t shame him. He doesn’t say, “How dare you doubt me?” Instead, Jesus says gently, “Put your finger here. Look at my hands.” It’s an invitation, not a condemnation.

Faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about staying close enough to keep seeking. Thomas stuck around—and because he did, he saw the risen Christ for himself.

That same grace is extended to us.

Life Isn’t Perfect—And That’s Where God Shows Up

We live in an age where imperfection is under a microscope. Whether in politics, relationships, or personal goals, we’re constantly reminded of where we fall short. But faith reminds us that God doesn’t wait for the perfect version of us to show up. He meets us in the mess, the confusion, even the doubt.

As C.S. Lewis said, “Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.” Doubt doesn’t mean we’re doing it wrong. It means we’re human.

Final Thought: Stay Close

In the end, Thomas doubted—but he didn’t walk away. He stayed near enough to be found. That’s the invitation to all of us: bring your questions, bring your uncertainties—but stay close.

Because often, in the very act of doubting, we come face to face with the truth.

And that changes everything.