Sermon for the Second Sunday before Advent
17th Nov 2019
The Second Sunday before Advent
Jesus is God of the Living and the Dead.
Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to Him all of them are alive”. Luke 20.38
In today’s Gospel we have Jesus’ debate with the Sadducees, who denied resurrection, and it is revealing. It is written by Luke, who also wrote the Acts of the Apostles. He writes for the life of the very early church. Luke is certain that the Resurrection of Jesus from the Dead is crucial for the life of the church and not to be discounted. His thoughts echo those of St Paul who had declared “…and if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching is in vain, and your faith is also vain.” Corinthians (15.17) The Resurrection of Jesus Christ is the Church’s ‘calling card; its birth right.
The Christian Teaching we receive is not one subject to ‘knock-down’ or irrefutable arguments. It is the revelation to the faithful of the divine scheme of things. In this respect, the resurrection of Jesus Christ becomes the transforming event. Of course, the life of the world to come is unimaginably different from what we know in the here and now. But Jesus is firm in his knowledge that the life to come is as sure as ‘the angels in heaven’. The defining story of the Old Testament is the one in which God reveals his sacred name. At the burning bush, Moses speaks about the God as ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob. Now he is God not of the dead but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.’ Luke 20.38. In God, life and death are not separate; they are seen and understood in the one light. But ultimately it is Jesus who will once and for all time bridge the unfathomable divide separating the living and the dead through his own rising. And so in Romans, Paul can come to say that “If we are one with Christ in a death like his, we shall certainly be one with him in a resurrection like his”. Romans 6.3.
Jesus is saying that to view the dead as, well, dead, is a mistake. We need to see them as God does, in the light of his resurrection. ‘For to him all of them are alive’. The Book of Wisdom reminds us that ‘In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their going from us to be their destruction. But they are (now) at peace, and their hope is full of immortality’. Wisdom 3.1-9. So if those we loved and honoured are forever alive and present to God, then they can and should be to us too. We were reminded of this strong fact in the Commemoration of All Souls, and on Remembrance Sunday which we observed last week.
In the Christian Church, we not only remember the dead, we pray for individual souls, too. This our way of continuing to care and recognize the bonds of love that death can never break. We could say that death shows us God’s way of gathering up this life’s fragments of human life so that nothing is lost. All is becomes one in Him.
This is a hope which may sustain when darkness days comes, and there is uncertainty as to what life may hold in store for us in this fragile world of ours. In hope, we pray that the Spirit of the Living Lord may rise upon and overcome those times when we are anxious. We come to this Eucharist to celebrate the risen Christ here among us. And because of the word he speaks to us today, we do not come here alone, but in the company of all who are in heaven, who rejoice with us, if on another shore and in a greater light. In bread and wine, we are one with that innumerable company we do not see, but who are our companions in faith, who travel with us towards the perfect vision of God.
The great crucifix in All Saints Church – The Church of the Ognissanti in Florence, Italy has recently been cleaned and restored. It lay for many years in a storage room in the church, collecting dust and dirt until it was almost unrecogniseable. But now all is revealed. Revealed in fact to have been an original work by the painter Giotto. What was remarkable about Giotto’s genius painting was the layering of colour and also the painting of mood and emotion to an extreme degree, even though in matt and where the colours invariably appeared very flat. The cleaning took four years and now it appears to us as it did over seven hundred years ago, as a minor miracle, a vision of the glory of God shining in the face of the crucified Christ. Giotto would have argued about the resurrection and the last things as did the Saducees. But One look at his painting, a crucifix, offers you both the terribleness of the Cross with the promise of the life to come burnished in its gold and deep blue lapis lazuli. Meditate upon this Cross, he seems to say, and in and through all its meaning, even unto death, the resurrection hope is already being revealed to you. Life, death and resurrection become in Christ entirely comprehensible as one single unity and for us who believe, one reality.
Sermon for Remembrance Sunday 2019
10th Nov 2019
Remembrance Sunday 2019
Their hope was rich in immortality. Wisdom 3.4
Remembrance Sunday remains with me as a very vivid memory from my childhood, some fifty years ago. In my home town of Plymouth the Act of Remembrance took place on the vast esplanade which provides a dramatic high platform overlooking a wide expanse of sea. And it was on this platform and from a Plymouth that had been completely rebuilt after the ravages of the blitz, that the old soldiers marched. The guns from the nearby barracks on the Hoe boomed out to sea and their echoes returned. The two minutes’ silence was held in an intense atmosphere which was full of human dignity in the deeply felt remembrances and the sorrow.
Standing back from this memory, I had once felt sure as the years passed, this Day of Remembrance for the War Dead would spend itself with the passage of time and with the deaths of the combatants of the World Wars. But this has not been the case. For this Sunday strikes a chord in the human heart. Remembrance Sunday is much more than the sum total of the observances that take place. It occupies a sea of human experience which spans life and death and particularly suffering and loss with the hope 'rich in immortality'. It brings us in touch, yes with the brutality and the futility of war and the sorrow of loss but also the eternal worth of human of human life and human sacrifice. If we are to speak of God’s presence in the face of war, we might own that, even amidst the horrors of suffering, there emerge so many acts of amazing self-giving. The word ‘sacrifice’ is brought strongly to bear, not only as the giving of life unto death, but also the daily offering of dedicated and willing service in many acts of willing self-sacrifice which constitute another laying down of life.
These are of course Christian figures of speech – the reaching out beyond the life here to the life beyond, and the transformation of the human condition in a life which gives of itself to the other. The book of Wisdom declares this an expression of a hope ‘rich in immortality’. The many war memorials across the world call to us today with their seemingly endless rows of names, with each name a whole life, a life of hopes and dreams and cares and joys and pains. And as the poppy petals fall down into the Albert Hall each year at the Festival of Remembrance each petal represents one life given. Each one counts; each one was significant; each one gathered up and made present to us in the falling of the red petals.
God’s very being, ‘bright with immortality’, is with us now. And in a world in which war and the waging of war still remains a reality we ask ourselves as Christians how we are to understand this Remembrance Sunday in relation to life in the early twenty first century? We commemorate this Sunday only days after the Christian World commemorates All Souls, the Day of the Dead. In London the dead leaves fall to the ground and crunch underfoot as nature accompanies the hallowing of the dead and the poppies are seen everywhere. The present day vocation for the Christian is to proclaim a life that has not succumbed to the deadliness of a world turned in on itself, with a closed mind and a stone heart, but to the bright hope that resides in our co-dependency, and in the call to serve one another in our full and challenging humanity.
This is our way forward. It lies in the proper honouring of the human condition as it is found, and a patient preparedness to sacrifice our own selves for the good of the greater whole. The Christian Gospel and the teaching of Christ is before else a summons to our own wholehearted response. Deadness is there in the life which has withdrawn into itself and which takes no risks and avoids having any demands made upon it. Abundant life is there when it is given away, sacrificed in disinterested love for the other. The life of Jesus has shown that victory over the powers of death is won in the offering of our lives for the greater good which is God. We may do this in perhaps in little ways. But they are all of them significant.
Sometimes large amounts of sacrifice have had be given for the sake of the good, and for the peace of the world. This day reminds us that the self-sacrifice of the many in the past may lead us on to an understanding of the power of human self-sacrifice in this and every age. In this way we contribute in the present as they have in the past to the eternal worth of human sacrifice and for a hope 'rich in immortality'.
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
‘And Death Shall Have No Dominion’ - Dylan Thomas
Written between the wars in 1933,
Thomas's poem takes on a broad theme of remembrance and the eternity of the human spirit.
Sermon for All Saints Sunday 2019
3rd Nov 2019
A Sermon for All Saints 2019
The Feast of All Saints is one of the most important of the Church’s year. It is what is called a ‘moveable’ feast, and can be ‘moved’ to the nearest Sunday, where it can be given its due honour. And as we honour the Christian saints so we honour the Christian calling, which is to a life consecrated and dedicated in the service of Jesus Christ.
The other day I was staying in the Cathedral Close in Salisbury, from where you can see the tallest spire in England. The Cathedral is a stunning sight, and walking around the west front, you see before you hundreds of saints, each contained within their own apse, and all looking vaguely alike. And perhaps this is the image we have of the saints, mostly bearded men, gazing down at us from their isolated places and lost in time. In the south east corner of our church we have a statue of St Jude, who was rarely prayed to on account of his unfortunate name. But because of this he became known as ‘the patron saint of lost causes’. And he gives us the clue we need to fathom something of the meaning of the lives of the saints in everyday life in all its many facets.
The saints remind us that the Christian Faith belongs neither to a ‘goodness religion’ nor to a religion for super humans. Sanctity issues out of lives which have been marked by doubt, disillusion, suffering and struggle. The saints remind us that the Christian journey is real and loaded with both possibility and perplexity. These were never ‘plaster’ saints but real human beings. They remind us of lives lived in a very real and challenging circumstances. In the film “Nixon”, Anthony Hopkins plays the former president as a tortured and ruthless power maniac. In one scene, Nixon gazes up at a painting of John F Kennedy. He speaks to the painting “When people look at you they see themselves as they want to be, when they look at me they see themselves as they are”. Perhaps our working definition of a saint must combine both these observations?
The idea of the saint came from a tradition of venerating the mortal remains of Christians who had left their mark on the memory of the Christian community. The first of these were the early Christian martyrs who died in Rome, including St Peter and St Paul. Once churches were built they were called after saint’s names, and in Cornwall there are strange names like St Ennodock and St Neot who are known to us only in legend. The most famous English saint, St Thomas à Becket was made a saint only four years after his death. RS Thomas the poet reminds us as he looks upon his old church in remote West Wales that ‘the parish has a saint’s name that time cannot unfrock’.
The saints remind us that the Christian Faith may not be an easy faith to live out but it is an essentially human way and not a conveyor belt for the turning out of plaster saints. It is a way which can be tough because it expresses itself counter-culturally. Do not believe the certain kind of Christianity that makes faith seem guaranteed and easy; it is not. I do not find being Christian easy at all. The Church teaches, however, that we are here not for short-term spiritual gain but for the long haul, in faith terms ‘till death us do part’. Christian witness is about the sanctification, the blessing and dedication of lives that seek and find God over years and years as a single act of witness in Jesus Christ. The expression of this consecrated life have been many and various: displaying the kind of faith that came to St Augustine as the guilt over the enforced separation after 16 years from the partner he never married and the later death of their sixteen year old son. Then there was St Benedict, who wrote a rule for the community we call the Benedictines and it has long been valued as a Christian model for its understanding of human limitations and its love of unity in the Christian fellowship. Nonetheless his basic rulings on human behavior are forthright:
Your way of acting should be different from the world’s way: the love of Christ must come before all else. You are not to act in anger or nurse a grudge. Rid your heart of deceit. Never give a hollow greeting of peace or turn away when someone needs your love.
The saints are human, just like us. The call to Christian sanctity is the call to live lives which are generous and loving and which reveal the Christian Faith to be transformative of the human condition because they are God immersed and God-led. But they rely, importantly, not on their strength alone, but in the mercy, forgiveness and healing they receive at God’s hands. Of course talking of sainthood and sanctity is always difficult. Holiness is a quality of experience we sense strongly and intuitively. Perhaps, as well as the saints of Christian history, there have been people you have known who have revealed in their lives something of that holiness and that strong purposefulness and selflessness which are the signs of the sanctified life. Or perhaps you have found sanctification in the love of another, or in an experience of God’s love in a place or within a community of prayer, like this church.
I never enter this building without feeling a sense of awe. I always feel my heart miss a beat. This is a place, a sanctified space, where I have, maybe like you, found and re-found a sense of belonging in the love of God, and a true sense of spiritual refreshment. The holiness of this place reveals itself apart from the matter of its architecture or of furniture, light or proportion. It is something felt to exist beyond the sum total of its parts. It lies in the prayers that have been made in this place for well over a hundred years, the prayers of many thousands of lives for which this place has been a house of God, a sanctuary, and a place of encounter with the God who has speaks and who calls. The outpouring of so many hopes and fears in this place, the human activity and the worship go to make up the strong sense of this place as a holy place, a place of truth. The presence of God in this place which seems saturated in the bricks. The saints and the idea of the sanctified life is a reminder that here we participate in that which is holy, and we hope that this holiness becomes folded into our everyday lives as the influence for our own healing and transformation. St Paul called his church members ‘saints’ as a way of encouraging them more fully to live the life to which they were being called and to establish, once and for the fact of the holiness of the Church.
The following great prayer, simply called ‘The Sanctus’ or ‘Prayer of Holiness’, embedded in the Eucharist, is one which tells us that our worship of God is a participation in that which is holy. For God is holy, and the worship we offer Him is for the sanctification, the transformation, the making holy of the ordinary stuff of our lives. And so we say:
Holy, Holy, Holy is our Lord God,
Who was, and is and is to come!
Sermon for the Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity
27th Oct 2019
The Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity Year C.
God’s gift was not a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power and love and self-control.
2 Timothy 1.6-8. 13-14.
God’s call is the one which would have us, first, first of all, abide, stay, rest, remain in his presence. This is essential if we are to grow in His love. Last Friday evening I was waiting in a queue at King’s Cross Station for a rail ticket. The queue was long, and as each person intended to make enquiries before buying a ticket, and as the whole process was lengthy, so was the waiting. One man had entered the wrong queue and had probably been waiting for twenty minutes only to be told that he had been in the wrong queue and must join the other. And no, there was no way he could go to the head of the other queue as that would be unfair on those who had waited there already. His reaction was as might be expected one of controlled fury. You could sense in this long queuing a vacant space, and in it a stress, the stress of being at the mercy of a time consuming monotony, and the pent up coping with the frustration of it. There seem now to be more ways in which these stressful gaps in our existence can be alleviated. The mobile phone and the iPod are used by many where there are these vacant spaces in our existence; these places of inevitable waiting.
On the tube and in a carriage of twelve people, I noticed ten reaching for mobile phones to play music, games or attempt a text or Email. Only I, it seems was sat there gazing into space. ‘Mind the gap’ we are warned as we climb on and off the tube, but how do we mind the gaps, the vacant spaces in our existence? Is it desirable to be so often and so much distracted? Is it possible to inhabit the empty spaces and to accept them; or do they find us anxious and irritable? In his book ‘The Stature of Waiting’ William Vanstone observes that “…Our experience of waiting… comes home to us as we speak of our frustration and, in doing so discloses our assumption that the waiting role, the condition of dependence, the status of patient, is somehow improper to us, a diminution of our true function and status in the world, and an affront to our human dignity”.
There is something of this frustration in the Gospel when the apostles ask Jesus to increase their faith. This is a request to jump the queue. It is refreshing that the apostles are all too human in this respect.It is natural for us to want to short cut inconvenience, and to alleviate the strains and burdens under which we live. But equally there is something in the Christian Faith, which would have us deal with the hard facts of our existence, in the sense of both its meaning and its sense of non-meaning. If we are to be called ‘faithful’, then we must indeed wait while God’s purposes are unfolded in our lives in and through God’s own time, his koinonia, and not ours. He is ready to speak to us before we speak to him. We must wait on God while the deepest and most urgent questions of our lives hang in the balance. The Christian who offers the easy answer to God’s apparent lack of communication and replaces it with his own voice has not known or experienced the waiting. Our human existence is not a fast moving action packed play or film or novel, but one punctuated with proper silences, gaps and discontinuities. The play ‘Waiting for Godot’ burst onto the West End stage in 1955 and its action and inaction operates at this very level, and speaks to us from deep within ourselves as we find in our existence this very measure of meaning and non-meaning, and the unanswered question about why we are waiting, who are we waiting for and, importantly when will the waiting come to an end?
The example of Jesus Christ offers us a complimentary view – that Vanstone’s ‘stature of waiting’ is made present to us in the waiting or the Passion of Jesus Christ, even unto his own death. ‘Passion’ here does not mean exclusively or primarily ‘pain’: it means dependence, exposure, waiting, being no longer in control of the situation; being the object of what is done. This is in effect a brave, faithful stillness; a being present to the present, present to ourselves and to one another, and yes, to God. For the Christian this passion has issued forth out of silence as a prayer of contemplation, a willingness to abide in His presence. It is as simple as that!
In this church, when the open the doors are open and the bell is rung, numbers of people come in. And this is significant. We cannot know what prayers and hopes and wishes and anxieties are contained within the silence of this place and its invitation to stay and to pray. But we do know that it is in and through the silence, the gap, the empty space, that God speaks. This offers what one writer on prayer, Alan Ecclestone, has called ‘A Staircase for Silence’. Human lives which may find in this holy place a sense of belonging and of contact both with the divine presence and the wider praying community. The well-known prayer which priests and servers say before this service ends goes like this ‘May the divine assistance remain with us always and may the souls of the faithful through the mercy of God rest (remain) in peace. For when all is said and all is done, may we find at the end of our lives that we may find our true place of rest and therefore remain for ever in His peace. Amen.
Sermon for the Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity
20th Oct 2019
Sermon for the Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity Year C
Luke 18.1-8 : “Never lose heart”
Jesus instruction to us this morning is the one which would have us never lose heart. He knows that to hold to faith in God even unto our death and through life’s challenges is no small matter; but our salvation does depend upon it. His parable introduces us to two people who are trying to communicate with one another. But they seem to be speaking from two different premises. We learn that the lawyer in today’s Gospel reading has no faith in God or Man. He has fallen into a kind of spiritual boredom or ennui. But for his plaintiff, the nagging woman, this is not an option. For her, there is everything to play for. Her persistence gets the better of the lawyer as he finally accepts to her demand on his time and attention. She has broken through that part of his nature that has now become receptive, awakened and alert, but it has to be admitted that she has also worn him down.
This parable does not contain the poetic and emotive charge we find in the parable of the prodigal son or the Good Samaritan. Its meaning is not very clear and it doesn’t seem very profound. Far more profound is the Old Testament Reading and Jacob’s wrestling with the nameless stranger at the Jabbok River. He, like the woman, also breaks through because he has prevailed. But in both readings we find the idea of a passionless existence set against one which has found a reason to struggle after a passionately held goal. Jacob actually sees God in his struggle, even though he cannot name Him. The plaintiff woman merely wishes to get justice, but both are seen in the same vein. For Christians, passion in the life of faith is vital. It rests on the idea of losing yourself to find yourself, or indeed God. To enjoy our relationship with God is to enjoy it passionately, like the women saints Teresa of Avila and Mother Julian of Norwich:
God, of thy goodness, give me Thyself;
for Thou art enough for me,
and I can ask for nothing less
that can be full honor to Thee.
And if I ask anything that is less,
ever Shall I be in want,
for only in Thee have I all.”
― Julian of Norwich
Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.”
― Teresa of Ávila
Following what we may call this Passionate Way, we make a stand against the life of spiritual boredom and of the descent into the life of relativism, of self-absorption, and of distractedness and of ‘atomization’. There are many aspects of modern living which draw us into an atomized state because they are automatic, reflexive and non-essential to our existence. They are radically self-absorbing and non-productive. Their rewards are basic and fleeting. The opposite of atomization is the call to Christ which is the glad and willing engagement in the life of the other in real and personal relationships. The Christian Way constitutes a truly awakened mind, body and soul. For out of Christ’s own body, out of his Passion, there has flowed streams of living water, bursting up into everlasting life. This divine energy is meted out to us in and through our own willing response, both in the communication of prayer and in and through this act of worship in which God’s own self is given and received in the Body and Blood of his Son, Jesus Christ.
In the ‘Passionate Way’ we need human examples to help us. I have known some great Christians, and the ones I’ve admired most have been those who have what seems like a joyfully determined approach to their lives, and have become the pillars that hold the church up and examples of Christian witness to others. They manifest the love of God in a way which can be recognized. They have become, in God, truly what they were made to be; truly themselves. One of these is a ninety-three year old Benedictine monk who is a popular father confessor figure. Accepting the awkwardness of the contract which binds the one who confesses their sins to the one who offers counsel, here is a man in whose presence you already feel forgiven even before a word or expression of repentance is being made. I don’t know how he ‘does’ this. But of course it’s not that he ‘does’ it; rather that he IS it.
The second of my passionate Christians is a group of Christians… But before I tell you, you might begin to see what kind of passion I am commending to you. Not the base meaning of passion as all emotion and no substance but a passion which is deeply human and compassionate and joyfully and practically Christian. This person offers what someone has called ‘a diagram of God’s grace and of the glory which he wishes to reveal through that same grace’. This second group of Christians are ten martyr who come from all over the world. They are twentieth Century martyrs and their presence is immortalized in stone above the west door of Westminster Abbey:
St. Maximilian Kolbe, Manche Masemola, Abp. Janani Luwum, St Grand Duchess Elizabeth of Russia, Martin Luther King, Jr., Abp. Óscar Romero, Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Esther John, Lucian Tapiedi and Wang Zhiming.
Each life is one dedicated to the ‘Passionate Way’ of Jesus Christ, whose own Passion was their vision and their goal. In these stone images we are being reminded of the gift of faith and of its realization in our own lives, and if and when we fail to see or hear God or bear witness to God in our own lives, we must still nevertheless, out of that passion which remains in us, ‘never lose heart’. We must persevere. We must dedicate and rededicate ourselves in Christ’s Passionate Way. For it is from the human heart that all Christian Faith proceeds and it is in the life’s action of the heart that our salvation is being won in Jesus Christ. We must not lose sight of this nor ever forget it for His sake, who is our life and our hope. Amen.