There are days when Hull feels as though it is packing a bag for Wembley. Scarves appear from cupboards. Train times are studied with the seriousness normally reserved for papal conclaves. Someone says they know a quicker way round London. Someone else says they went in 2008 and therefore qualifies as a spiritual guide. Sandwiches are made. Flasks are filled. Hope is wrapped carefully in black and amber, or red and white, depending on which part of the city is speaking.

This year, once again, Hull has reason to look south.

Hull City have Wembley in sight through the Championship play-off final, with all the dangerous dreams that go with it: promotion, Premier League football, famous grounds, bigger crowds, and the faint possibility of spending next season wondering whether being a competitive big fish in the Championship was, after all, a quieter and less traumatic existence.

And then Hull KR head to Wembley for the Challenge Cup Final against Wigan Warriors. East Hull will travel with its own particular mixture of hope, noise, loyalty, nervousness and the conviction that this could be the year again. There’s a buzz down Preston Road.

Meanwhile, Hull FC supporters know all about glory, suffering and the strange theology of the MKM Stadium, where football and rugby share the same ground but not always the same mood. One week black and amber, another week black and white; a place of dreams, groans, muddy boots, missed chances and occasional joy. In other words, a very human place.

And perhaps that is where the Church can clear its throat.

Because sport gives us a language we already understand. Hope. Loyalty. Waiting. Belonging. Disappointment. Singing when the result is still uncertain. Turning up again after heartbreak. Believing, against recent evidence, that this time things might be different.

That is not a bad description of faith - and perhaps politics?

The Church is just travelling through its own season of glory. Easter. Ascension. Pentecost. The Most Holy Trinity. These are the great high points of Christian faith. Christ is risen. Christ ascends to the Father. The Holy Spirit is poured out. God is revealed as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

That is not scraping through on penalties.

That is glory.

And then, after all that, what does the Church do?

It returns to Ordinary Time.

At first hearing, that sounds like relegation. We have had the white and gold vestments, the Alleluias, the Easter joy, the fire of Pentecost, and the great mystery of the Trinity. Then suddenly the vestments go green again and we are back to ordinary Sundays, parish notices, hymn numbers, checking the parish website for Mass times but perhaps not having the time to read the treasures of faith and hope laid out on pages other than the home page.

But Ordinary Time is not relegation.

Ordinary Time is where glory has to be lived.

That is the astonishing Christian point. We cannot stay forever at Wembley. We cannot live permanently in the great feast, the big final, the full stadium, the roaring crowd, the raised scarf, the last hymn, the bright vestments and the feeling that heaven has briefly touched earth.

Those moments matter. They lift us. They remind us who we are.

But the real test comes afterwards.

What sort of people are we when the coach has come home? What sort of supporters are we after defeat? What sort of Christians are we when the feast day has passed and Monday morning arrives? Can we keep faith when life feels less like a final at Wembley and more like a wet midweek fixture with extra time and rubbish catering at an away venue?

Jesus does not send his disciples into a dream world. He sends them into the real one. He says: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations.” And then he gives them the promise that makes the mission possible: “And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

That promise is not only for triumphant days.

It is for victory and defeat. Promotion and relegation. Cup finals and early exits. Hull City, Hull KR, Hull FC, and every person who has ever placed unreasonable hope in a team, a family, a parish, a prayer, or a fresh start.

Here at St Charles, faith is not only for the great feast days. It is for ordinary life: for the pews and pavements, hospital waiting rooms, kitchen tables, funerals, baptisms, anxious nights, hopeful mornings, and the quiet acts of kindness that never make the back page.

So let Hull enjoy its Wembley moments. Let the city dream. Let the scarves be lifted and the songs be sung. Let us laugh at ourselves and admit that sport can gather people together in a way that feels almost sacramental: visible signs of invisible loyalties.

But when the final whistle goes, the deeper question remains.

Not simply: did we win?

But: what kind of people are we becoming?

For Christians, glory is never meant to be hoarded. It is received, celebrated, and then carried back into ordinary life.

That is where discipleship begins.

That is where faith is tested.

And that is where Christ is still with us.

Amen.