Sermon 1st November, 2026
MORNING WORSHIP & BAPTISMS
ST COLUMBA’S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 1st NOVEMBER 2026,
TWENTY THIRD SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
“Then the people crossed over opposite Jericho.” Joshua 3:16
In November 1943 RAF Group Capt Peter Stagg,
a chain-smoking, Scot, was appointed chief meteorologist
to the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force.
The Normandy landings (D-Day) – the largest seaborne invasion in history –
was in its planning stage.
Its success was crucial to any hope of Allied victory in Europe.
Vital to operational success would be sympathetic weather conditions.
Low cloud would mean no air cover
and rough seas could sink unstable landing craft.
At the same time, the longer the operation was delayed,
the lower the element of surprise.
“To go, or not to go?”
That was the question that placed Group Captain Stagg
at the epicentre of a monumental decision.
The landings were originally planned for 5th of June,
Stagg’s weather data – far less sophisticated than we might rely on now – predicted a storm.
But he also believed there would be a sufficient break in the weather
to allow it to go ahead the following day.
The recent release of the film retelling the wartime story –
is fittingly entitled “Pressure.”
Many years later, Stagg’s son reflected:
“If the decision had been wrong, heaven knows what might have happened.”
“To go, or not to go?”
Another stretch of water, to be crossed in the face of enemies,
at the heart of this morning’s reading from the Book of Joshua.
The years of wilderness wandering lie behind; an unknown future lies in front.
Between the two, a river to cross – both real and imagined.
They have escaped captivity from the slavery of Egypt,
rescued by Passover and a miraculous crossing of the Red Sea.
But that is distant memory.
A forty year – holy time – wandering in the desert –
a harsh pilgrimage, marked by blessings –
manna from heaven, water from the rock,
the Law Giving of the ten commandments –
but also the terrors of illness, and the making of their own idols – think Golden Calf.
Through many dangers, toils and snares, they have already come –
now, in large part, a new generation, from the one that escaped Egypt.
Their leader Moses, who saw them through many of their darkest hours, now gone.
A death on the heights of Mount Pisgah – glimpsing the Promised Land,
but for reasons never really explained, not permitted to pass into it.
So the twelve tribes stand on a threshold; a moment of transition.
Unsure if God will be present with Joshua,
to the same degree as mighty Moses.
A generation of desert wanderers fed on manna,
they do not know how to build homes or eat from the produce of the land.
They cannot be sure that this really is their Promised Land;
they are pretty sure they will face a struggle to claim it.
Before any of that – the small matter of ferrying a travelling nation
across this watery blockade?
Old lives left behind, in exchange for new;
new leadership, new location, new vocation –
Two banks, one river. Uncertainty, transition – “Pressure.”
The book of Joshua begins with God’s command to Joshua
to cross over the Jordan River with the Israelites.
Joshua tells the people, they will cross in three days’ time;
then sends two spies to survey the land ahead.
They find shelter in the house of a Jericho prostitute, named Rahab,
who helps them escape over the city wall, in exchange for a promise –
that they will spare her family if/when they take the city.
After hiding for three days, the spies return and report to Joshua.
The next day, the Israelites march to the Jordan.
Joshua gives the priests and the people directions for crossing the river.
The priests are to enter the river carrying the ark,
the rectangular box containing the two tablets of God’s covenant with Israel.
They are to stand mid riverbed with the ark,
the visible symbol of God’s presence –
then the people shall cross over – D-Day.
And so it goes:
When the soles of the feet of the priests carrying the ark rest in the water,
the river breaks off, standing in a single heap,
just as the water of the Red Sea parted for their parents.
Two miraculous crossings, bookending the journey from slavery to freedom,
two generations sharing a visceral liberation.
While the priests and the ark of the covenant stand vigil mid-way,
representatives from the twelve tribes gather a stone each
from the dried-up river bed;
in time, raised as a memorial to remember that divine induced fording.
To become a ritual place for recollecting God’s hand
upon this significant moment of transition.
“Then the people crossed over opposite Jericho.”
Our transitions may appear less dramatic,
but any congregation will be familiar with some of them –
school, work, retirement, marriage, divorce,
health, illness, birth and bereavement.
Two conversations this week illustrate the life span.
Two dads discussing drop-off for a child’s Day 1 at primary school.
A milestone that caught both of them unawares –
admitting to being wobblier than the children in their keeping.
To the widow who wrote in advance of this evening’s Annual Bereavement Service:
“Last year’s service really helped anchor me
and justify the deep, deep sadness I still feel from losing him, albeit five years ago.
The loss never heals, but the sadness eases and life goes on.”
She went on to describe the arrival of new grandchildren.
“I love them to bits, but my days are so very different without him…”
Concluding, “I’m glad I have my faith …”
Transitions. As Jamaican reggae musician Jimmy Cliff sang:
“Many rivers to cross.”
Today, the gentle sprinkle over Rafael’s head,
a deliberate echo of one more biblical waterway;
a symbolic synchronisation with Jesus’ own baptism in the waters of Jordan.
Just as crossing the Jordan joined the Israelites
with their parents who crossed the Red Sea,
and whose memorial stones linked them to future generations,
so, for us, baptism connects us to Christ,
the pioneer and perfecter of our faith,
and to all who share such waters.
For Christians, baptism reminds of so much
that gives life richness and meaning.
That Jesus joined the line of those waiting to be washed clean
by the baptism of his kinsman, John –
his choice – to unequivocally take his place among us –
the servant king’s reverse coronation –
stepping down, not up and away –
a fellow immersion, in life’s realities – joys and sorrows both.
An immersion among fellows.
So, for us – baptism the centuries-old doorway into the community of faith –
Rafael simply the latest to claim his place,
to receive the freely given gift of God’s love
expressed in the pouring of water.
No exam requirement to be passed,
no special criteria for parents or guardians.
Baptism as gift – from the very Giver of Life itself.
And appropriately on this All Hallows/All Saints Day,
a ritual that incorporates us into the great cloud of witnesses
portrayed in the corridor of ancestors –
the baptismal names of others who have received that same gift in this place –
reminder that we are not alone.
A visual promise that wherever, whenever, whatever the transition –
the many rivers to cross – God is near at hand,
on the banks we leave behind,
in the midst of the crossing,
and the undiscovered lands that lie ahead.
As Jesus promised: “Remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
