Sermon at Choral Mattins

His Majesty’s Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace, London

Second Sunday after Epiphany, 18 January 2026

Jeremiah 1.4-10 Mark 1.14-20

A few short months ago, on 23 October last, Their Majesties the King and Queen made a state visit to the Holy See. I had the great honour of being with them in the morning as they worshipped with His Holiness the Pope in the Sistine Chapel, and again, later that day, when they visited the Papal Basilica of St Paul outside the Walls.

Being here in St James’s Palace today on the first day of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity has a certain symmetry about it for me. The Sub-Dean and the Children of the Chapel Royal, who are leading our worship today, participated in both of the services in Rome in October. On that occasion, we had an ecumenical service in the Sistine Chapel, site of the Conclave that elected Pope Leo, whereas today, an ecumenical guest is preaching in St James’s Palace, site of the Accession Council that proclaimed King Charles.

We gather today under a gorgeous ceiling and right over my head it is adorned with the monogram of King Henry VIII, for it was he who commissioned the construction of this palace. In October, Their Majesties and His Holiness were seated beneath the stunning depiction of the Last Judgment by Michelangelo. That painting is much later than the rest of the chapel’s decoration; it was a work of Michelangelo’s old age, commissioned by Pope Clement VII shortly before his death in 1534. A year earlier, the same Pope Clement pronounced the sentence of excommunication on Henry following his marriage to Anne Boleyn.

These are just a few examples based on the history and decoration of the papal and royal chapels. We could equally well juxtapose other details from the history of the relationships between this Kingdom and the Holy See over the past 500 years. That history is complex. So is the history of the relationships between the See of Rome and the Church of England, and indeed the larger family of churches that constitutes today’s Anglican Communion. It is that complexity which made the royal visit to the Vatican so powerful.

We sang hymns at both services by John Henry Newman, who is not only a canonised saint in the Catholic Church, but now also numbered among the Doctors of the Church. He was, of course, part of the Church of England for half his life. The process leading to his being declared a Doctor involved examination of all of his published writings – including everything he wrote while he was an Anglican. His Anglican writing thus forms part of the teaching that led to him being accorded this rare title The Basilica of St Paul outside the Walls itself, along with the attached Benedictine Abbey, has a strong historical connection with the Crown. To this day, the abbey coat of arms includes the insignia of the Order of the Garter. English monarchs were the ‘Protectors’ of the basilica for centuries – until the afore-mentioned sad events of the 1530s. The royal visit to the Vatican didn’t try to turn back the clock or pretend that history doesn’t matter, but sought to set that history in a new context.

Perhaps the most moving part of the visit was not in the Sistine Chapel, but at the less publicised service in St Paul’s Basilica. There, the King was seated in a special chair, adorned with his coat of arms and words from St John, Ut unum sint – ‘may they be one’ – and he was welcomed as a confrater of the basilica. A brother. The Abbot read a decree in Latin, giving thanks ‘for the steps which have been taken since the Second Vatican Council in the common ecumenical journey’ of our churches, declaring that this gift of confraternity was offered ‘as a sign and pledge of mutual friendship and of our commitment to the fraternal task of the ecumenical movement, so that our churches, walking together, may move forward, seeking the unity for which Our Lord prayed’.

In the morning, the King sat under a stunning – but quite lurid – depiction of the Last Judgment, commissioned by the Pope who excommunicated his predecessor. But he did so at the invitation of, and in the company of, the Pope. Thus, the current successors of the one who was excommunicated in 1533 and the one who excommunicated him praised the Creator together – giving thanks, ‘for [their] creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life’.

In the afternoon, the successors of the monks who for centuries relied on His Majesty’s predecessors for their safety and upkeep, welcomed the him as a confrater – a brother. They gave him a permanent seat in their choir, as they sang, ‘Behold, how good and joyful a thing it is brethren, to dwell together in unity!’

I’ve been talking so far almost entirely about Kings and Popes, princes and prelates. But our lessons this morning did not speak about potentates, nor about Accession Councils or Conclaves, nor about coronations or enthronements. They did speak about the inauguration of important ministries, however. Jeremiah is not commissioned by an archbishop, a cardinal, a herald or a legate. He is told by God himself of his election before he was even born. ‘Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee’. Simon and Andrew and James and John are similarly commissioned directly by the Lord himself. ‘Come ye after me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.’ In both lessons, the calling is urgent.

Jeremiah is chosen to castigate and warn the faithless of destruction. In the face of his terror, the Lord promises to be with him, and seals this assurance by touching his mouth. It’s a vivid image. So vivid that one could overlook the line that follows. Although in former days, perhaps some might have chosen not to mention it when preaching in the Chapel Royal – for fear of the executioner’s axe. For it is a subversive sentence. ‘I have this day set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build, and to plant.’ Over nations and kingdoms? Such amazing power given to an unwilling prophet, who professed to be a child who could not speak? How can this be? No matter how great and powerful they are, rulers – of all religions and no religion – have no authority over God’s word. It cannot ultimately be thwarted.

In this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, for me that is a hopeful message rather than a daunting one. The unity of his followers is Christ’s will. We know it, because he prayed thus on the eve of his Crucifixion. ‘That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee’. No matter how distant Christian Unity may seem to us now, we can hold fast to the assurance that ultimately, the Lord’s will shall be done. I cling to the hope that the King and the Pope may just have brought that day a little bit closer by praying together last October. May it be so! Amen.