St Margaret's Church Prestwich

I don’t suppose Peter had any idea what the impact would be of his first sermon in Jerusalem. Three thousand people came to be baptised. The disciples must have spent the whole rest of the day doing nothing but baptising one convert after another in the ritual immersion pools around Jerusalem. No time for preparation or record-keeping!
And then, suddenly, there was a brand new church. The apostles spent their days in the temple courts, preaching and performing miracles. The new Christians — and they were all Jewish at this stage, by birth or by conversion — prayed the familiar Jewish prayers in the Temple, and met in each other’s homes to eat together in the way that Jesus had eaten with his disciples. They shared a meal, and broke bread together in a simple Eucharist.
It must have been hectic, and a bit chaotic. Three thousand is a lot of mouths to feed, and these were people from different cultures, speaking different languages. Whole families, with children running around. Nobody was keeping tabs on who’d paid for what — those who could afford the most simply provided the food. The disciples had been used to travelling with Jesus and sharing a common purse, and they extended that principle to the whole church. Everything was held in common. All were equal.
And the characteristic of their common life was praise. Their generosity sprang from an overwhelming sense of the goodness of God — and other people liked what they saw. So the church grew even bigger.
But this lifestyle was a response to the mind -blowing experience of Pentecost — and as a long-term way of living, it couldn’t last. By Acts chapter 6 there are already complaints that people from different backgrounds are being treated unequally. And by the time Paul writes his letters, he’s asking Christians to share their money generously — but there’s no longer any sense of common ownership.
Two thousand years on, there are still Christians who live that way. But they are mostly monks and nuns — people who have made lifelong vows to their community, with no family responsibilities of their own. They are a genuine inspiration in their freedom from attachment to possessions. But they’re not really a blueprint for the rest of us.
I have two experiences of my own worth sharing here. The first was living in community at Lee Abbey in Devon, shortly after I left school. Lee Abbey was a Christian conference and holiday centre. Everyone was paid according to how long they’d been in the community — because things start wearing out! — and according to the size of their family, not their role. Accommodation worked the same way. The single chaplain had a tiny room with a shared bathroom, just like those of us who did the cleaning.
The second is the Third Order community I’ve been part of for nearly forty years — inspired by St Francis, but lived out in ordinary life, with all the usual family responsibilities. And here’s a connection I find rather lovely: the principles of our Order go back to an ashram in India, founded by a missionary called Jack Winslow — who came back to England and, as it happens, founded Lee Abbey. Like Debby and Jeremy Plummer, I’ve had both a spell of communal living at Lee Abbey and a lifelong commitment to the Third Order.
The brothers in the monasteries say that ours, complicated by family life, is actually the harder vocation!
I’ve always been drawn to that commitment the first Christians had to one another. In the Third Order, the journey from first enquiry to life commitment takes about three years. Anyone can join who is committed to our way of life — but we make sure everyone understands what that means. If people wish to leave, they are released from their vows. It’s more like a divorce than simply deciding to move on. We are committed to each other for life — praying for each other by name, meeting together, sharing meals, and keeping in touch when someone becomes too frail to get out.
Parish life, if anything, is harder than the Third Order. There’s no clear membership — and rightly so. People can hover on the edge, come at Christmas and Easter, or join for a season and then move on. We welcome them, we encourage them — but there’s no pressure. Perhaps the rite of passage here at St Margaret’s is the Family List. Once your name is on there, we’ve signalled that we want to stay in touch — if we hear you’re ill or in hospital, we offer support.
There will always be friendship groups within a congregation, and that’s a real strength here. But our commitment to each other as a tiny part of the Body of Christ means keeping an eye out for everyone — so that no one slips through the cracks. The clergy have an overview, but we only know what we’re told. Please do keep us and Andrew Ginn, our pastoral ALM, up to date. As Paul writes: “just as the body is one and has many members… if one member suffers, all suffer together.” We are not a club or a society. We are bound together in Christ.
The very first Christians lived by the principle: from each according to their ability, to each according to their need. It’s a phrase that goes back well before Karl Marx. I’ve always believed in it. And I’ve looked at life from both sides — there have been times when I’ve gratefully accepted whatever support was on offer. Our Third Order area covers Manchester, Liverpool, and the surrounding towns and villages. Wherever we hold our meetings, the journey is hard for someone. About ten years ago I realised that for a few members, the only realistic way to come was by taxi for part of the route. So I put a pot out and asked for contributions to share the cost. People were wonderfully generous. And ten years later — I still have the money. I couldn’t persuade anyone to accept it.
So I have no neat answer to how we share things in a congregation, because receiving is harder than giving. But we can have generous hearts — never begrudging the fact that someone else’s contribution is smaller than our own, always aware that for some people, money is a genuine and pressing difficulty. Wealth is not a matter for pride, nor poverty for shame. All that we have is by the grace of God. And our generosity must reach beyond this congregation, beyond Prestwich, beyond the UK. There are people in this world who literally have nothing.
The Jerusalem experiment in communal living couldn’t last. But it can be a lasting inspiration. The congregation we aspire to be is one full of love, mutual support, and generosity — a community that is welcoming, and a beacon of hope in a troubled world.