Update from Bishop Andrew

2026 Chrism Mass Sermon – Luke 4.16–21

The Rt Rev’d Andrew Hedge, Bishop of Waiapu

We gather today at one of the richest, and most demanding, moments in the life of the Church. The Chrism Mass always draws us close to the heart of our vocation, and this year it does so in a context that many of us feel deeply in our bones. We are in the midst of Holy Week and the threshold of the Triduum. The pace of ministry has not been light. The years behind us have not been easy. Many of us arrive here faithful, prayerful, committed — and weary.

I want to say at the beginning that weariness is not a failure of vocation. It is often the mark of it. To be tired and still to show up, still to pray the offices, still to stand at the altar, still to walk with people through grief, uncertainty, and change — that is often the quiet proof of our vocation.

And so today is not meant to be about adding one more burden. It is about returning, together, to the source of our vocation, to draw refreshment and renewal.

Our Gospel reading takes us to the synagogue in Nazareth. It is a familiar scene. Jesus comes

among his own people. He stands where he has stood before. He receives the scroll and reads

words that his hearers know well — words of promise, of hope, of God’s long desire for restoration and life.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me.”

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me.”

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me.”

This is not a dramatic moment, at least not at first. There are no miracles. No crowds rushing in. Just scripture read faithfully within the worshipping community. Luke tells us, almost casually, “He began to say to them, ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’”

This is a vocational moment. A moment of calling and naming. And it is worth noticing where and how it happens.

Jesus does not proclaim his mission from the wilderness or the mountaintop. He does so in the

synagogue — among people who know him. Among neighbours. Family. Those who remember him as a boy. He speaks from within the ordinary rhythms of worship, prayer, and scripture. This

matters, because this is also where our calling is worked out.

Our vocation as deacons, priests and bishops is not abstract. It is local, relational, embodied. It

unfolds among people who see us week after week — who know our strengths and our frailties, our hopes and our limits. Ministry is rarely glamorous. It is more often faithful presence, sustained prayer, careful listening, sacramental trust.

And at the heart of that vocation is an anointing.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me.”

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me.”

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me.”

Today we bless the oils of the Church. We hold oil in our hands — ordinary matter set apart for holy purpose. We remember our own ordinations. The feel of hands pressed down on us, the words spoken over us, the moment when the Church said: we recognise God’s call, this vocation, and we entrust it to you.

The anointing does not make us invulnerable. It does not protect us from disappointment, conflict, or fatigue. But it does mean that we do not carry this work alone. The Spirit who anointed Jesus still anoints the Church. Still anoints you. Still gives what is needed for the work to which we are called — even when we do not feel equal to it.

The mission Jesus names in Nazareth is both beautiful and unsettling:

Good news to the poor.

Release to the captives.

Recovery of sight to the blind.

Freedom for the oppressed.

This is not a mission statement aimed at applause. As we know, it will not be long before this same congregation turns on him. Luke tells us that admiration quickly gives way to anger, resistance, and rejection. Fidelity to God’s call — even when it is spoken graciously — has consequences.

Holy Week makes this clear. The mission proclaimed in Nazareth leads not only to healing and

hope, but to the cross. Jesus does not abandon his calling when it becomes costly. He carries it

through misunderstanding, betrayal, violence, and death. And only then — only beyond the cross — comes resurrection.

This is important for us as we stand on the edge of the Triduum. Holy Week is not simply a

sequence of liturgies to be managed or endured. It is the Church’s yearly return to the truth that faithfulness comes before fruitfulness. That the work God gives us is not always affirmed in the moment. That obedience may look, for a time, like apparent failure.

If recent years have shaken assumptions about the Church — about numbers, influence, or capacity — Holy Week tells us that this is not new. The power of God is most often revealed not in strength as the world understands it, but in love that refuses to turn away.

This is where our diocesan vision, Oranga Ake — the flourishing of life for all people — finds its

deepest truth. Oranga Ake is not shallow optimism. It is not a denial of suffering or complexity. It is rooted in the conviction that God desires life — real, abundant, flourishing life — even in difficult soil.

The flourishing of life does not always come quickly. It is often quiet. It is seen in people who

discover hope again. In communities that learn how to grieve honestly and live generously. In trust slowly rebuilt. In prayer offered faithfully, even when answers are not immediate.

Clergy are essential to this work — not as heroes, but as servants. As those who stay with the

people of God, who hold open the space where grace can be received, who keep pointing — again and again — to Christ.

I want to speak to you plainly today. I have confidence in you.

Not because everything is settled. Not because the Church or the world is stable. But because you have continued to love the people entrusted to you. You have presided at the Eucharist, baptised, buried the dead, sat at bedsides, listened to stories of loss and hope. You have done this not because it was easy, but because you were called.

The Church does not need spectacular bishops, priests and deacons so much as it needs faithful ones. Anointed ones. People who know both the cost and the gift of vocation.

Today, as we renew our commitment to ordained ministry, we do not pretend that the road ahead is clear or uncomplicated. Change will continue. Some grief will not quickly pass. There will be moments when the work feels heavy. And yet, God is not finished with the Church. God is not finished with Waiapu, Te Manawa o Te Wheke, Tairawhiti. God is certainly not finished with you.

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

The fulfilment of God’s promise does not belong only to the past or the future. It is lived,

imperfectly but truly, in the present — in the offering of our lives, again and again, for the sake of the Gospel.

As we move through the Triduum, may you know yourselves accompanied by Christ who walks this way before us. As we come to Easter, may the quiet truth of resurrection steady your hearts. And as we go forward into the year ahead, may the Spirit who anointed Jesus continue to renew you in joy, courage, and hope.

For the flourishing of God’s people.

For the life of the world.

And for the glory of God.

Amen.