The sermon is human speech and divine communication.
The imperfections and limitations of the speakers bring us to understand that any fruit is due to the presence of the risen Christ who is the word.

…whereas our voices fail, crack under the strain and fade, ricochet off the walls of the church and die, the Word of the Lord endures forever. Our long, thin, bony fingers of sermons can point to the Messiah, but we can in no way replace Christ as substance and means of preaching. My voice barely reaches listeners on the second pew; God’s voice goes out into the whole world (Rom. 10:18). Nail Christ to the cross, seal him in the tomb, he will still have the last word when, “Look! God’s dwelling is here with humankind. He will dwell with them, and they will be his peoples. God himself will be their God” (Rev. 21:3).

Preachers Dare, Will Willimon, Abingdon Press, Nashville, 2020, pg 105.

A devotional reflection by Pierce Taylor Hibbs on the function that was given to humans before any other – gardeners.
I’m not really a gardener, but this article points out how the first role given to humans helps us appreciate the image of God that exists in us, and how it was a denial of that image that saw us change from stewards of creation for God’s glory to users of creation for our glory.

We don’t think of this very much, do we? Of all things, why give the first humans the task of gardening? They could have been builders or poets or musicians. They could have been anything. Why gardeners? My theory is that this task, above all others, would reveal the heart of God. And it would reveal their hearts to him. In gardening, Adam and Eve would see what God is like: patient, loving, beautiful, bountiful, overflowing with goodness and giving, generous beyond all sight. And their hearts would be revealed to him; they would follow him in patience, love, beauty, and giving. They would see that a blessed life is a giving life. They would be taught slowly and happily how to follow God the gardener. The soil that met their skin wouldn’t make them “dirty”; it would make them holy.
The fall of gardening came where we wouldn’t expect it. Nothing went wrong with the soil. No pests came crawling at the devil’s behest. Nothing sapped the lifeblood of the flowers and trees. There was no drought. No—it was something more mysterious: the withdrawal of trust. Adam and Eve did not trust their Gardener.


Today we farewelled another special part of our church community.
A man who followed Jesus and whose life was an expression of warm support and encouragement. Our hearts were warmed by a life lived in a way which adorned the Gospel.
The committal occurred in conditions where the ‘feels like’ temperature was one or two degrees (celsius). He wouldn’t have wanted us lingering around anyway.
It was something of a contrast.

In case you’re wondering from the photo, his coffin was lowered into the grave with the foot of his coffin hearest the headstone. Apparently he preferred the aspect better from that direction. He was deliberate and considered in all his decisions.

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