Worship - 8 February 2026

Summary of this week's theme

While we were away at Synod, my sister came to stay and look after our ailing cat. She’s a keen bird-lover, with a camera powerful enough to catch the eyes of a red kite high overhead. Menorca is full of birds at this time of year: eagles, ospreys, cormorants, owls more often heard than seen, and small birds with astonishing colour and song.

I imagine Galilee was much the same when Jesus was growing up. I suspect he delighted in what he saw, and in the sheer joy of the created world. For all the hardship and sorrow he experienced, the words he spoke suggest someone who knew joy deeply. Perhaps because he actively looked for it: for beauty, for signs of life, for evidence of God’s love lavishly poured into creation. Jesus knew, better than anyone, how much God loves this world—not only by creating it, but by investing it with God’s own Spirit.

That is the backdrop to the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus speaks of blessing—often where people least expect it—and offers a pattern for radical discipleship: learning to discern what we can do, and refusing to be paralysed by what we cannot. Discipleship is, after all, about learning. But when scripture is lifted out of context and applied carelessly, it becomes dangerous. Are we to conclude that those who go hungry or suffer terribly simply failed to trust God enough? I don’t think so.

The people listening to Jesus on the hillside seem to have had enough stability to sit and listen. Yet his words still challenged them. “What good does worrying do?” he asks. Anxiety, Jesus suggests, is addictive—but unproductive.

I once heard it put this way: if there’s something you can do, do it; if there isn’t, worrying changes nothing. The Serenity Prayer says the same: courage, acceptance, and wisdom to know the difference. That, I think, is close to what Jesus is teaching.

This is not denial of suffering. Isaiah reminds us that God does not forget—our names are written on the palms of God’s hands. When things go wrong, faith is not about blame, but about trusting that God is with us, sharing our sorrow. That is why Jesus matters: the human face of a compassionate God.

The Sermon on the Mount comforts, but it also challenges. It invites us into a joyful, adventurous discipleship—participating with God in creation. The birds and lilies remind us to notice beauty, to trust, and to rejoice. My sister’s photographs remind me to look more closely, and not take any of this for granted.

To be disciples is not only to act, but also to stop, to watch, and to delight. As Jesus says, today’s trouble is enough for today.