The Rev’d Ivica Gregrec
Ordinary 30, Year C (2025)
Readings: Sirach 35:12-17, 2 Timothy 4:6-8,16-18, Luke 18:9-14
May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts, be
acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our redeemer.
Amen.
Our readings today invite us to think about what it means to stand before
God in truth – not with pride or pretending, but with humble honesty.
The Book of Sirach, also known as Ecclesiasticus, is a work of wisdom
literature found in the Apocrypha/Deuterocanonical books of the Bible –
that is, books included in the Catholic and Orthodox canons, but not in the
Hebrew Bible or most Protestant Bibles. As good Anglicans, we sit again in
between. We include them in our readings and Scripture, but do not base
any of the doctrines on them. It was written around 200 -175 BC by Jesus
ben Sira, a Jewish sage living in Jerusalem. The book offers practical and
spiritual guidance on how to live wisely, justly, and faithfully in everyday
life. It draws deeply from the Jewish wisdom tradition, echoing Proverbs
and Job, yet it also reflects a world influenced by Greek thought. The
original language of Sirach was Hebrew, though for many centuries the text
survived mainly in Greek translation. Large portions of the original Hebrew
were later rediscovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls (1947), confirming its
Jewish origin and rich historical depth.
In reading from Sirach, we hear that “the prayer of the humble pierces the
clouds.” In 2 letter to Timothy, Paul looks back on his life and says he has
“fought the good fight” and “kept the faith.” And in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus tells
us the story of two people who come to pray – one proud, one humble. The
Pharisee thanks God for his goodness, but the tax collector simply prays,
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
All three readings point to one truth – that real faith begins with humility.
Not shame, but truthfulness – the kind of honesty that lets God’s grace find
us.
The Pharisee’s mistake is not that he is good – it is that he cannot see
beyond himself. His prayer is full of “I.” The tax collector’s prayer is short
and simple, but full of openness. Because he is honest, there is room for
mercy.
In the Anglican tradition, humility does not mean thinking badly of
ourselves. It means remembering that God is God, and we are not.
Everything we are and everything we have is gift.
When we are humble together, we become gentle with one another. We can
meet the pain of the world, not with judgment, but with compassion.
That same humility and faithfulness are what we remember this week – as
we give thanks for 175 years since the Rev’d Vicesimus Lush, the first vicar
of Howick, came to Owairoa, on 29 October 1850 – exact anniversary is on
Wednesday!
We are part of a long story – one that began even before that day, from the
day when community started to worship in our old church, full of hope, and
started to build a community of welcome, and service.
Rev’d Lush could not have imagined our world today – full of technology,
diversity, change, and challenge. He spent many hours riding his horse an
walking. But I believe he would recognise the same heartbeat of faith – the
same longing for God, the same love for neighbour, the same belief that
humility and mercy are stronger than pride or power.
Like Paul, the church has had seasons of joy and seasons of struggle. But
through it all, God has been faithful. As Paul writes, “The Lord stood by me
and gave me strength.” That could be said by every vicar, our first one, or
your newest one, every parishioner, every person who has kept this place
alive with prayer and love for 175 years.
Sirach reminds us: “The Lord listens to the oppressed.”
God’s ear is turned toward the poor, the grieving, the displaced – those who
are so often forgotten. That was true in the time of the Bible, and it is still
true now.
We live in a world with deep inequality. We hear the cries of people in Gaza
and Ukraine, of those losing homes to climate disaster in the Pacific, of
those struggling with poverty and displacement. Last week we were again
raising our voice with teachers in their struggle for just wages.
Sirach tells us that God listens first to those prayers – not to the polished
words of comfort and privilege, but to the honest cries of those in pain.
As a parish, we are called to listen where God listens – to stand with the
humble, not the proud; the weak, not the strong. That is how we honour
our history – by living our compassion in the present.
Contemporary English theologian Sarah Coakley, who visited Auckland few
years ago, once wrote: “In prayer, we are drawn into the divine
vulnerability itself – a space where power is redefined as love’s endurance.”
That is what Paul means when he says, “I have fought the good fight.”
Faith is not about winning; it is about endurance – the slow, patient
strength of love that keeps trusting, even when times are hard.
That same love has sustained this parish for 175 years. Many things have
changed – names, faces, buildings – but God’s faithfulness and the faith of
this community have not.
Do you remember I have promised to mention more often church fathers
and mothers? I promise to find the ones with intriguing names, just as
Rev’d Vicesimus’ one. The Desert Mother Amma Syncletica once said:
“Those who build themselves a tower of virtue without humility are like
those who build a house without a foundation – the higher it rises, the
greater its collapse.”
Her words remind us that the true strength of a church is not in its size or
its success, but in its humility. When we are humble, we are open to grace,
open to each other, open to the Holy Spirit who renews us.
Today, pride is often seen as strength, and humility as weakness. But Jesus
teaches us a different way. The church does not show its truth by shouting
or claiming to be better than others – but by living with mercy.
When we kneel with the tax collector, rather than stand with the Pharisee,
the world sees something real and healing.
When we admit our own mistakes – in how we treat the earth, our colonial
past, and our exclusion of others – then our prayer truly begins to “pierce
the clouds.”
And that, from Sirach, is the most beautiful image: “The prayer of the
humble pierces the clouds.”
The prayers said in this place for 175 years have not disappeared. They
have pierced the clouds. They are part of the great song of faith through
time.
So today, we give thanks: for those who came before us and prayed
faithfully; for Rev’d Vicesimus Lush who began this community; for all who
have sung, built, cared, taught, and loved here; for God whose mercy
endures through every generation.
May we continue this story – with humility, endurance, and joy.
May our prayers also pierce the clouds.
And may All Saints’ remain a place where heaven and earth meet, where
grace is known, mercy is shared and all are welcome!
Amen.