Sermons from 150th Services

Following both our 10am and 3pm services on Sunday, 29th June a number of people requested a copy of the sermons Alan delivered. We have copied them below. A recording of the sermons will be available in the coming week.

Civic Celebration Service | 10am, Sunday 29 June | Pastoral Charge

Beloved in Christ, what a joy it is to stand together today, giving thanks for 150 years of worship, witness, and work in this place called All Saints'. From the earliest gatherings under canvas to this beautiful sanctuary, from baptisms and weddings to funerals and ordinations, our story is rich with grace. Our roots stretch deep into this soil, and our branches have reached out to touch countless lives in nation and beyond.

But as we mark this great milestone, we must also ask a deeper question — not only what we have done, but why. Not only how we have loved, but what we have loved most.

And here, we are helped by the ancient bishop of North Africa, St Augustine of Hippo. In his Confessions, he speaks of the human life as shaped by love — not just whether we love, but how well we love and in what order. “My weight is my love,” he says, meaning that we are pulled toward what we love most. The Christian life, then, is not merely about activity or even morality. It is about rightly ordered loves, with God as the supreme and rightful centre.

So today, as we celebrate 150 years, we do so with thanksgiving. But we also do so with clarity: that all our history, all our beauty, all our faithfulness — is not an end in itself. It is a signpost, a song, a sacrifice offered to the greater love. “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

Part I: A Legacy of Love

If you walk through the church grounds of All Saints’, you will see it — names carved in stone, brass plaques along the walls, stained glass windows glowing with colour and story. But more than this, there are lives shaped by the gospel here: a legacy of worship, service, prayer, and mission. Those who taught the faith in Sunday School rooms. Those who shared meals, comforted the grieving, prayed for the lost. Those who built and repaired, sang and preached.

It would be easy, at such a moment, to rest content in the telling of these stories. To make the celebration the thing itself — to let the memory become the object of our love.

But Augustine would gently caution us. Our hearts are designed for more than even the most beautiful human stories. They are meant to be ordered, so that all lesser loves point to the greatest one. Even our love for this church, and for those who have gone before, must ultimately rest in God. It is not wrong to love our community or our traditions. But it is wrong to love them more than or instead of the God they were made to reflect.

So as we remember our ancestors in the faith, we give thanks not only for what they did, but why they did it. Because they loved the Lord their God. Because they knew that Jesus Christ is the only cornerstone on which to build.

We do not preserve this church merely to keep a heritage alive. We keep it because it holds the memory of divine encounters — where heaven and earth met in word and sacrament, where sinners found grace, and where the beauty of holiness drew hearts upward to God.

Part II: Disordered Loves and the Challenge of the Present

Augustine’s insight is as relevant now as ever. In a world full of competing affections, the great danger is not that we love bad things — but that we love good things in the wrong way. Work becomes an idol. Family becomes a source of identity apart from God. Churches can become museums of nostalgia, or institutions of power, or clubs of belonging — when they were always meant to be temples of the Spirit, hospitals for the broken, and outposts of God’s Kingdom.

This is the danger for any church at 150 years. We can begin to love our past more than our future. We can begin to treasure our building more than our mission. We can long for former glory, instead of yearning for the Spirit’s new fire.

But the Lord calls us on. The commandment is still the same: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind.” Not with part of your heart. Not with one day a week. Not with some of your energy while the rest is consumed by worldly distraction. But with your whole life — because He is our greatest good.

Augustine tells us that when we love God rightly, everything else falls into place. The church becomes not a monument, but a movement. The sacraments become not rituals, but signs of real grace. Our service becomes not duty, but joy.

So let us ask today: What do we truly love? What do we truly desire? What does this anniversary mean if not a call to return again — with renewed conviction — to our first and greatest love?

Part III: Re-Ordering Our Love for the Future

This love is not just for looking back. It calls us forward.

Because if this is the end of one chapter, it is the beginning of another. The next 150 years will not be written by those in our history books, but by those of us here — and those yet to come. And the question will remain: Is God still our greatest love?

We cannot assume the next generation will love what we love, or believe what we believe, just because we kept the church open. We must show them — not just in word, but in life — that there is a love greater than all the world’s loves. A beauty deeper than entertainment. A peace richer than self-sufficiency. A truth more enduring than passing trends.

That love is the love of God in Jesus Christ — crucified and risen, dwelling among us by his Spirit, drawing our hearts into the life of the Trinity.

So as we recommit this church to its future, let us not simply ask how to grow or what to do. Let us ask first what we love. Let us turn again to the altar. Let us open again the Scriptures. Let us seek again the Spirit.

Let us love the Lord our God with all our heart.

And let that love spill outward — to neighbour, stranger, and enemy alike. Let it be felt in our city, our nation and our world. In acts of mercy. In lives of holiness. In prayers offered in hidden corners. In justice pursued in the public square.

Conclusion: All in Honour of the Greater Love

All Saints’ — our name says it all. We are named not for yourselves, but for the great communion of saints who have loved God before us, and who now surround us in glory. They are cheering us on. They are urging us: Don’t stop now. Keep loving. Keep trusting. Keep building. But do it all in honour of the greatest love.

Because, in the end, everything else will fade — buildings, names, rituals, and even history. But love — rightly ordered love — will remain.

As the apostle Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Ko te mea nui, ko te aroha.

Not just any love. But the love of God, who loved us first. The love that sent Christ to the cross. The love that will one day make all things new.

So, dear church, on this 150th anniversary, may you know again that love. May you treasure it above all else. And may our next 150 years be even more radiant — not because we loved this church, but because we loved God, and let everything else follow from that.

To God alone be the glory. Amen.

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BCP Holy Communion - 3pm | Sunday, 29 June | Homily

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Beloved in Christ, We are gathered today in holy joy and solemn awe. One hundred and fifty years ago, on this very ground, a faithful people dared to believe that the worship of God was worthy of wood and stone and sacrifice. They gave of their time, their labour, and their substance to raise up a sanctuary to the Lord of Hosts, a house where His Name might be honoured, His Word proclaimed, and His grace poured out.

And today—on this Feast of St Peter—we stand as the living heirs of that vision. But we must ask: will those who come after us inherit more than wood? Will they inherit faith? Will they inherit a Church still burning with the fire of the gospel, or only the fading embers of tradition?

I. Peter’s Confession and the Rock that Endures

In our Gospel today, Jesus stands with His disciples at Caesarea Philippi, the very seat of Roman imperial idolatry. Surrounded by temples to false gods, He asks the question that echoes down the corridors of time: “Whom do ye say that I am?”

Peter answers—and heaven breaks in. “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Jesus calls this confession the rock. Not Peter’s virtue, not his strength, not his cleverness, but this Spirit-born confession of truth. And upon it, Christ says, “I will build my church.”

Here is the sobering truth: the Church of God does not rest upon heritage or buildings, upon lovely liturgy or noble ancestry. It rests upon the living confession that Jesus is Lord. And if that confession fades from our lips or cools in our hearts, no bell tower or brass plaque will keep this place alive.

Our celebration today must not become a monument to the past, but a movement into the future—a future built not on nostalgia, but on renewed zeal for the gospel.

II. The Keys of the Kingdom and the Power of Witness

Christ gave Peter the keys of the kingdom—binding and loosing, opening and closing. This is not ecclesiastical ceremony alone; it is spiritual authority. The Church is not a private religious club but an embassy of heaven on earth, entrusted with the truth that sets captives free.

And yet, in our generation, what have we done with these keys? Have we flung wide the doors of grace and welcomed the poor, the broken, the lost? Or have we, perhaps unknowingly, locked the gates with apathy, busyness, or fear of discomfort?

The call of the Church is to speak with clarity in a world of confusion, to act with courage in an age of compromise, to offer hope where there is despair. Peter’s keys are not ornamental—they are for unlocking chains.

All Saints, if we are to be faithful to our founders, we must not simply preserve this building; we must wield those keys. Preach the gospel, serve the suffering, teach our children the faith, pray down revival upon this city. Nothing less is worthy of the name Church.

III. A Word to the Comfortable: Remember, Repent, Return

Let me speak plainly. The temptation of an anniversary such as this is comfort: to remember fondly, to celebrate politely, and then to carry on as before. But God is not calling us to sentiment—He is calling us to repentance. Judgment begins at the house of God.

Where we have grown lukewarm in prayer—let us repent.Where we have made peace with sin—let us repent.Where we have loved convenience more than holiness—let us repent.Where we have cared more about our reputation than our witness—let us repent.

God did not place this church in the heart of this community to be a relic. He placed it here to be a light. And light must shine. The world around us is aching for truth, grasping for hope, drowning in distraction and despair. Will we offer them Jesus, or only ourselves?

Do not say, “We are few” or “We are old” or “We are tired.” For Christ built His Church with a handful of Galilean fishermen and turned the world upside down. The same Spirit that fell on Peter at Pentecost burns still today for those who will ask.

IV. A Prophetic Vision: Becoming Again the Church of the Living God

What if the next 150 years were not defined by decline, but revival? What if this church became again a place where the lonely find family, where the addicted find healing, where young and old kneel side by side in awe of the Holy One?

What if All Saints became known not only for its past, but for its prophetic voice, its servant heart, its burning love of Christ?

But this will not happen by chance. It will require tears. It will require prayer. It will require sacrifice. It will require us—each of us—to answer the question our Lord still asks: “Whom do ye say that I am?”

You cannot outsource your discipleship to the past. You cannot assume the next generation will believe if this one will not burn. Now is the time. This is the hour. Let the Church awake!

V. Peter’s Legacy: Not Perfection, but Obedience

And let us take heart from Peter. He was not a flawless man. He failed. He fled. He wept bitterly. And yet Christ restored him, filled him, and sent him. What made Peter a rock was not his strength, but his surrender.

So let it be with us. God is not looking for perfect people—He is looking for faithful ones. If we confess Jesus with our mouths, love Him with our hearts, and follow Him with our lives, He will build His Church still.

Conclusion

One hundred and fifty years. Countless sermons, baptisms, weddings, funerals, Eucharists. Faithful saints now in glory. But now, dear Church, the baton is in our hands.

Will we hold fast to Peter’s confession? Will we stand upon the Rock? Will we wield the keys? Will we shine as a city on a hill?

O All Saints, return to your first love. Cast off complacency. Set your hearts aflame. The same Jesus who called Peter calls us. The gates of hell shall not prevail. So rise, Church of God, and be the Church.

To Christ be glory in the Church throughout all generations, world without end. Amen.