Thursday, March 28, 2024

Maundy Meanings

Maundy Thursday is one of those feast days that carry a lot of meaning.  Layer upon layer of meaning, in fact.  So depending on whether you’ve chosen to sit on one the comfortable new pews, or one of the old rickety chairs, this extra-long sermon is going to be either a great pleasure, or a great pain!

Let’s deal with the word – first.  ‘Maundy’ is said to come from the Latin ‘mandate’ – or command.  It refers to verse 34 of tonight’s Gospel reading, when Jesus commands that we should love one another, just as he has loved us – by serving each other.

Another suggestion that ‘maundy’ derives from the French, ‘mendier’ (pronounced ‘maundy-ay’) – meaning ‘to beg’.  It remembers a time when Monarchs and Lords would distribute charity to beggars, on their way to the celebration of the institution of the Last Supper.  The distribution of Maundy Money at Worcestshire Cathedral by the Queen, on behalf of His Majesty, is an echo of that practice.  I can’t say that I like the idea of monarchs and lords dispensing charity to beggars on their way to church.  It feels a bit to much like ‘trickle-down’ economics to me.  But today’s practice of Maundy Money does at least honour the service that its recipients have given.

Another grand tradition of Maundy Thursday is that Bishops perform the Chrism Mass – during which Holy Oils are blessed and distributed to parish churches for use in baptism, confirmation and healing ceremonies throughout the year.  The oils, blessed by the Bishop, are a sign of that our little parish church is part of a much larger family – the Diocesan family, under the headship of our Diocesan Bishop, Jonathan.   This morning, clergy from the around the diocese gathered with Bishop Jonathan in the cathedral – including clergy from the Isle of Wight who looked a little bit grreen in the gills, considering the windy weather.

But Maundy Money, and the Chrism Mass are really just peripheral issues to the main purpose of Maundy Thursday.  The proper title for the day is ‘The Feast of the Institution of the Lord’s Supper’ – or the Holy Communion – or the Mass – or the Eucharist.  Whatever your preference is!  Together, we are invited to reflect more deeply on the deep significance of the service that stands at the heart of our worship, week by week.  It’s a good opportunity because, whilst we celebrate the Lord’s Supper at least twice a week at St Faith’s, its deep meaning can sometimes be lost among other theological ideas which are being expressed or explored during those services.

Maundy Thursday is our chance to strip away such distractions, and focus on what Jesus was trying to convey to his disciples on that “last night, before he was betrayed”.   The readings we’ve just heard convey to us that there are many layers of meaning, depending upon on whose account of the event we focus. 

According to Paul’s account, the significance of the Last Supper was undoubtedly the symbolic offering of bread and wine, by Jesus, as symbols and signs of his body and blood. Jesus said ‘do this in remembrance of me’ – and perhaps we should focus for a moment on that word ‘remember’.  Our ‘members’ are our limbs, our organs; the parts of our body.  When we talk about being ‘members’ of a club or a church, we’re talking about individual people.  To ‘re-member’ something, then, is to bring together, in our minds eye, separate body parts, or people, into one collective whole.  

In remembering Jesus, we are invited to draw together all that we know about him…all that we love about him.  We remember the totality of his life, teaching and example.  We draw hope and inspiration from his death on the cross, where his life was ‘poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins’, whatever that phrase may mean, theologically.  We bring these and many other remembrances together in our minds, prompted by the beautifully simple words, ‘this is my body’.  ‘This is my blood’. ‘Do this in remembrance of me’.

And there’s more!  We don’t just bring Christ together in our minds, we also come together to do this act of obedience and worship.  The church has long-since taught that if I were to celebrate the Eucharist on my own, in splendid isolation, it would not be a valid Eucharist.  We believe that Jesus intended the Lord’s Supper to be an essentially communal act.  This is something we do together.  We literally ‘re-member’, bring together, the living members of the body of Christ, every time we enact this service.

Today, we are also offered John’s account of this famous last supper.  Intriguingly, John (the most theological writer of the Gospels) makes no mention of the words of Institution at all.   Instead, John re-members how Jesus started the whole evening off, by washing his disciples’ feet.

In doing so, John shifts our focus.  He wants us to perhaps focus a little less on what we might personally receive from the Eucharist. I think John might not have approved of those Christians who even today talk about ‘making MY communion’.  Instead, John invites us think about what we might give as a result of the Eucharist.  John tells us the story of Jesus washing his disciples feet.  He prompts us to ask what service WE can offer to the world that Jesus calls us to transform in his name.

What if John’s Gospel was the only one we had?  How different would the church be if our primary ceremony was not the receiving of bread and wine, but rather the washing of each other’s feet.   What if our most prized possessions, as a church, were not a silver chalice and patten, or even a cross, but a jug of water and a towel?  What message might that communicate to the wider world about our mission to Love God, and love our neighbours?

So, Maundy Thursday comes at us with a blizzard of meanings.  I hope these last few minutes have opened up some of them.  But Maundy Thursday hasn’t quite finished with us yet!  At the end of this service, we will strip the Altar bare, and carry off the consecrated body of Christ into the lonely seclusion of the Lady Chapel.  By doing so, we will remember how Jesus was himself carried away from his disciples.  How bereft must they have felt?  How lost, how frightened they must have been!  Perhaps this loneliness might remind us of those we know who are feeling lonely and lost tonight.  Perhaps we might reach out to them, wash their feet, metaphorically, and offer them a touch of God, and sense of communion too?  Amen. 

Wednesday, March 20, 2024

On the feast of Thomas Cranmer

 Today we remember Thomas Cranmer, author of the prayer book whose words we still use, Thursday by Thursday in this place.   Born in Nottinghamshire in 1489, Cranmer was recruited for diplomatic service in 1527. Two years later he joined the team working to annul Henry VIII’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon. He was made Archbishop of Canterbury in 1533 and duly pronounced the Aragon marriage annulled. After the death of Henry VIII, Cranmer became a chief architect of Edwardian religious change, constructing two editions of the Book of Common Prayer, in 1549 and 1552, and the original version of what would later become the Thirty-Nine Articles.

Following King Edward’s short reign, Queen Mary’s regime convicted Cranmer of treason in 1553 and of heresy in 1554. Demoralized by imprisonment, he signed six recantations, but was still condemned to the stake at Oxford – where the position of his martyrdom is still marked in the street.  Struggling with his conscience, he made a final, bold statement of Protestant faith. Cranmer was an impressively learned scholar, and his genius for formal prose has left a lasting mark on Anglican liturgy. He was burnt at the stake on this day in the year 1556.

Cranmer, like his colleagues Latimer and Ridley were burned at the stake by a Catholic monarchs in the turbulent years following Henry VIII.  But we should also remember the often unnamed Roman priests who hid within, and were sometimes forcibly dragged from, secret closets in the great Catholic houses of the land.  Both sides in this horrible period of English history had men and women of great courage, who lived by the light they had been given at the time.  They believed earnestly in the central tenants of their faith, and earnestly believed, whether they were Anglican Catholics, or Roman Catholics, that their particular expression of the church was the right one.  It was a belief for which they were prepared to die, and yes, sometimes to kill.

We are recognising, therefore, that there was true Godliness and great courage in martyrs on both sides of that divide.  But we also recognise that there was terrible error and great evil committed by those who ordered the martyrdoms on both sides!  The only way that we can confront these two opposing truths is with humility. 

First, we are invited to personal humility, as we stand in awe of the strength of faith, the holiness and courage of those who witnessed to their understanding of God right up to the point of death.  Would I, would you, have the courage to do the same? 

However, we also need to express some corporate humility too:  for all the times that condemnation has turned to violence, of either the physical or verbal kind.  In the Reformation Era, there was a see-sawing of religious life in England at the time, as one monarch replaced another, and the balance of power shifted between Anglicans and Romans, depending who was on the throne.  In those swings of power and opinion, it is frightening to remember how quickly the oppressed became the oppressor.  How quickly zeal turned into hatred and then violence.

The Reformation, in that sense, is a stark warning to theological warriors of today.  Arm-chair theologians, as well as many pressure groups within the church, still argue with each other about what God thinks is ‘right’ on any number of issues.  Christian social media is sometimes a very nasty place. Everyone has their own opinion on a wide range of subjects. These range from which political party is nearer to the Kingdom of God (a good question for Election Day!) to vexed questions around human sexuality.  Or Christians love to debate the question of a woman’s right to choose, the correct mode of dress for priests.  These are all important topics, (and there are many more like them) that inspire real vitriol.  There are, for example, large parts of the Anglican Communion who are presently pulling away from Canterbury, over recent decisions of the Synod around the blessing of same-sex marriages.  Oh to have their sense of utter certainty!

The hardest lesson to learn in these debates is the lesson of humility.  It’s salutary to remember that Jesus himself never wrote down a single word.  Instead, he spoke in stories and parables, designed to creatively expand our thinking and often leading us to ask more questions.  We have taken The Word, the Logos, the creative speaking of God, and turned it into logical, rule-bound, codified letters on a page.  And we use them to batter our theological and intellectual opponents.

So to those who, with their left brain, want to nail their theological opinions to a stake, I urge the lesson of humility.  Sometimes, the most honest answer to the great questions of our age has to be ‘we don’t know’.  God’s Kingdom is not yet fully revealed, and our ability to understand the mind of God is limited at best.  At the very least, we need to grasp that when we offer our opinion on matters such as sexuality, political alliances, abortion, the monarchy or any number of other weighty matters, we must do so in a spirit of humility.  And, unlike the warring theologians of the English Reformation, we must never, never, never, offer violence in word or deed, to those with whom we might disagree.

Amen.

Saturday, March 16, 2024

A Sermon for St Patrick

 A sermon for St Patrick's Day

(St Patrick's Day is 17 March.  He is believed to have died on that day in the year 461 C.E.)

 

Kennar is supposedly an Irish name.  Although as Rex likes to remind me – it is also Welsh.  It might also interest you to know that the name Kenner has possible German/Jewish roots, coming from the root word ‘to know’ – to ‘ken’. Perhaps you remember the old song ‘Do ye ken John Peel’?

Apparently the name ‘Kenner’ was sometimes used as an insult.  A ‘ken-ner’ was a ‘know-er’ – or as we might say, a ‘know-it-all’!  Since that description couldn’t possibly apply to me, I’m going to stick with the idea that Kennar has Irish roots – especially on St Patrick’s day.

As with so many ancient saints, and like my own misty ancestry, it is difficult to get to the actual truth about Patrick.  One thing we can say, with some certainty, is that he was not born an Irishman.  Which is fun to point out to Irishmen.  As much fun as pointing out to Englishmen that St George was Turkish, and to Scotsmen that St Andrew was Jewish.  In fact, the only Patron Saint of the British Isles who was actually born in the land they represent was St David.  As Rex surely knows.

All the ancient writings about St Patrick agree that he was a Roman-Briton born in about the year 390 of Christian parents in the latter years of the Roman Empire in Britain. The exact place of his birth has never been identified. Claims from places in West Britain as far apart as Dumbarton and Cornwall have been made; but present day opinion favours the neighbourhood of Carlisle.

It is said that he was captured by Irish raiders when he was sixteen years old and taken to Ireland as a slave. After six years of caring for animals, he escaped and seems to have gone to continental Europe. He eventually found his way back to his own family, where his nominal Christian faith grew and matured. He returned to Gaul and was there trained as a priest and much influenced by the form of monasticism evolving under Martin of Tours. When he was in his early forties, he returned to Ireland as a bishop, ministering first at Saul near Downpatrick, and later making his base at Armagh, which became the centre of his See. He evangelized the people of the land by walking all over the island, gently bringing men and women to a knowledge of Christ.  Although he faced fierce opposition and possible persecution, he continued his missionary journeys.

Patrick left two pieces of writing which are accepted as genuine, his Confession and a Letter to Coroticus. These are of immense value as they reveal Patrick the man, humble and aware that all he achieved was by the grace of Christ. Irish Christians today, of all traditions, equally identify with this holy man and draw inspiration from his life and writings.

There are many legends of Patrick – but the most famous are probably the two about the snakes and the shamrock.  For the legend of Patrick ridding Ireland of snakes, a degree of scepticism is probably in order.  According to natural historians and fossil hunters, Ireland had been devoid of snakes ever since the last ice-age, 10,000 years ago.  Certainly, no fossils of snakes since the ice retreated have ever been found.  Like many such legends, the power of the story is encompassed in its myth.  The snake has always been seen as a symbol of evil, ever since the serpent in the Garden of Eden.  Patrick certainly succeeded in pushing pagan worship from Ireland in his time, and many would have regarded paganism as evil, in those days.  Perhaps the chasing of snakes from Ireland was always intended as a metaphor for Patrick chasing the dark forces of paganism.

As for the shamrock – that is rather a more believable story.  It is said that Patrick was trying to explain the dogma of the Trinity, during his evangelistic tour of Ireland.  He seized upon the shamrock, with its single leaf with three ‘bumps’ as a useful way of illustrating how one God could exist simultaneously in three persons:  Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  There’s no reason to be sceptical of such a story.  It’s what good evangelists do: they use what is around them to draw their listeners into the life of faith.  Jesus talked about boats, and fishing for men, and Samaritans, and sowing seeds – because those images meant something to the people of his day.  Patrick used the shamrock, because it was a familiar plant to all the Irish.

Traditionally, Patrick brought Christianity to Ireland.  But, recent scholarship has uncovered documents which refute that claim.  At the time of Patrick’s arrival, there were already a small number of Churches in the land.  But Patrick’s extraordinary mission certainly fanned the flames of that early faith – and he is responsible, without doubt, for the spread of Christianity all over Ireland.

By the way, the obligatory drinking of Guinness on St Patrick’s day has no historical, legendary, or even metaphorical link!  That’s just a clever marketing ploy!

So what might St Patrick have to teach us?  He’s undoubtedly one of the great Saints of the British Isles.  Well, I think there a few strands worth pulling out from his story…

First, Patrick appears to be someone who didn’t let nationality get in the way of his ministry.  Born a Roman-Britain, travelling extensively in Europe, and then adopting Ireland as his home, Patrick didn’t let national borders stop him telling the good news.

He was fearless in his proclamation of God’s love, even to the warlike, pagan, Irish tribes.  When you or I feel fearful of letting our friends know that we go to church, let alone that God loves them, perhaps we could all do with a little of Patrick’s courage?

His use of the shamrock was inspired.  It was a great example of using something culturally relevant to engage people with the reality of God.  Whilst I love our ancient traditions here at St Faith’s, we must never forget that our communication of God’s love needs to be culturally relevant too, especially if modern people are to hear the good news.

And finally, there’s this.  According to our best scholars, Patrick arrived in Ireland at a time when Christianity was weak, and small.  Only a tiny proportion of the population were Christians.  It sounds rather like our own times, when you think about it.  Only around 2% of the population can be found in English churches on a Sunday – which is quite startling, especially to those of us for whom our entire lives are centred around the church.  Patrick saw that the need for God was very real, and very present, in the society he went to serve.  We too need to grasp the importance, and the urgency of that task.  Amen.

Friday, March 1, 2024

The laws of an angry God

 Texts:  Exodus 20.1-17 & John 2.13-22

There are two vitally important bits of social theology before us in today’s readings.  The first is the Gospel story of Jesus chasing out the money changers in the temple.  That story has inspired an internet meme in recent years, which goes:  “When people ask ‘what would Jesus do?’, remember that the answer includes making a whip out of ropes, turning over tables and hounding people out of temples!” 

The question at stake is whether anger can ever be justified.  And the answer seems to be that yes, anger at injustice or exploitation by powerful elites over ordinary people very certainly can.  That’s what the money changers represented, you see.  There was a law, in Jesus’ time, that the offerings people made to the temple, or the money they used to buy animals for sacrifices, had to be Jewish money.  Roman coins were a symbol of occupation, and therefore only the Jewish shekel would do.  So the money changers offered people a way to change their roman coins – but they did so by charging a fee – and making a nice profit for themselves.  Many of the people who used the temple were, of course, poor.  This Temple Law therefore penalised every one of them, to the profit of the money changers.

The same practice goes on today, by our banks and our exchange bureaus.  According to the Bank for International Settlements, trading in foreign exchange markets averaged US$7.5 trillion per day in April 2022.  It is challenging to find out how much profit is made from these transactions – but you can be sure that the total runs into billions.  Every time that a migrant worker in the UK (probably working on minimum wages) wants to send money home to their family for essential items like food or rent, the money-changers make a profit for themselves.  Every time a UK charity or church wants to send money for famine relief, or to build water-towers, the money-changers still make a profit.  The wealthy make a living off the backs of the poor.  Again.  Is it any wonder that Jesus was angry?

The second item of social theology before us is the 10 commandments. In older times, we would have recited the commandments together on all the Sundays throughout Lent.  And in Tudor times, the law of the land required that the 10 Commandments should be inscribed upon wooden tablets – and placed at the East End of the church for everyone to be constantly reminded of them. 

But, what can I say about them in just a few minutes, here on a Sunday?  I’m sure that none of you would thank me for a 10 point sermon!

Well, let me be concise: the plain fact is that today’s society couldn’t care less about the 10 Commandments!  If you ask the typical man or woman in the street what the basic rules of society should be, they will often say things like ‘bring back the 10 Commandments’ – and then they will merrily go about their lives in complete ignorance of what the commandments actually teach.

What do I mean?  Well let’s look at them in two groups – for we can split the 10 Commandments into two headings – just as Jesus did. 

First, there’s the group of Commandments which are about God, and our relationship to God.  Worship God only, don’t make graven images and idols, don’t take his name in vain, and set aside a Sabbath day to rest and commune with God.

Secondly, there’s the group of Commandments which are about how we live with each other – or, in Jesus words, how we can ‘love our neighbour as ourselves’.   So let’s look at those two groups – and examine whether my statement, just now, that today’s society couldn’t care less about them actually holds water.

First – the commandments about loving and worshipping God.  The word ‘worship’ is a contraction of ‘worth-ship’ – in other words, giving something its worth, or expressing the worth that we assign to a given thing, or person.  So when some random oil paints, carefully applied to some canvass, sell for millions of pounds, society is assigning a worth to that painting.  (It’s tragic, isn’t it, that we assign much more worth to the scribblings of a dead artist than we do to the life of living, but homeless person?) When a society revels in celebrities, or expensive fashion, or the lastest car, it is giving worth-ship to those things. 

Ultimately, the thing we choose to make our personal god, is the thing that we invest most of our spare time, resources and energy into.  Each of us must judge for ourselves.  But I guarantee that each of us has, at some time in our lives, made something or someone else into a kind of god.  Something that commands all our love, energy, devotion and spare time.

To any of us who have developed such a god (with a small ‘g’), the Lord God Almighty, creator of the Universe, says to us, “Oi!  You there!  Look over here!”  The 10 Commandments invite us to put our primary focus back towards the source of all things, towards the energy, creativity, power and beauty that is actually at the root of everything which we choose to make into a god.  The facial perfection of a film-star?  It comes from God, the ground of all beauty.  The wisdom of a great philosopher?  It comes from God, the ground of all wisdom.  The power of that twin-turbo super-charged car you love to polish?  It comes from God, the ground of all power and the author of physics.  The mischievous laugh of the grandchild or the pet you are obsessing over?  It comes from God, the ground of all family and love. 

The 10 Commandments call us back to the source – and to a right focus on God, who is the ground of all being.  And then they encourage us to act in God-like ways towards our neighbours.

The second group of Commandments are all about the way we live together.  Murder, adultery, lying, stealing, and covetousness are all bundled together, along with the command that we should respect and honour our parents – the older generation who have much to teach the young. But murder, adultery, lying, stealing and covetousness are so normal in our society, that we don’t even blink anymore when we see them in our national life.  No, no-one cares anymore.  We just accept our leaders’ disregard of the 10 commandments without a second thought.  We have lost the passion of the one we call Lord who chased the thieving leaders of his day out of the Temple.

No, my friends, the hard and irresistible conclusion has to be, as I said 10 minutes ago, today’s society couldn’t care less about the 10 Commandments.

So?  What?   What are we to do about this?  We have a choice.  We have always had a choice.  We have the same choice that inspired Moses to bring these commands down from the mountain.  We have the same choice that Jesus gave to his followers.  We can choose to roll over, let the lies, the murder, theft, adultery and covetousness consume us, as it consumes our neighbours.   We can carry on shifting our focus away from the source of all gods.   Or we can repent….turn around…and focus our lives, our attention, our time and our devotion back to the centre.  To God, to author and perfecter of all things, and the ground of all being.   And that, my friends, is what Lent is all about.   Amen.

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

The problem with miracles...

The Rich Man and Lazurus

Text: Luke 16.19-end

If you or I wanted to persuade the world that God is real, what is the most persuasive thing we could do?   Perhaps a great miracle will do it?  Like feeding five thousand families with a couple of small fish and a few loaves of bread?  Perhaps a dramatic healing or two…like giving sight to the blind, or healing a fatal skin disease?  Perhaps we could walk on the water, from Langstone to Hayling.  Or, with a word of command, still the next storm to rage over Havant.

Or how about raising someone from the dead?  Perhaps if we could achieve that, surely the whole world would realise that God is real?

Well, apparently not.  Jesus did all these things, according to the stories we have inherited about him through the lens of the Gospels.  And yet, they were not enough.  In fact, some of the stories in the Gospels go even further than raising only Jesus from the dead.  Matthew’s Gospel, for example, claims that upon the death of Jesus, the ‘tombs of the saints’ were opened, and the dead rose up and entered the City, appearing to many – a story which pre-figures the great Resurrection promised to all believers at the end of time.

But, how is it that despite so many miracles, and the demonstration of so much power, by the time that Jesus was crucified, his followers had shrunk in number down to single digits?  How is it that after great demonstrations of power, whether at Lourdes or during the healing crusades of so many Pentecostals, the world has not yet turned to God?

Scepticism, coupled with scientific rationalism both have a role to play.  Just as when we watch a great magician on stage, we instinctively suppose that even the great miracles of Jesus are a trick of some kind.  We reason to ourselves that perhaps he didn’t walk on water, but on a sand-bank just beneath the waves.  Perhaps the calming of the storm was a lucky co-incidence between Jesus waking up and the storm naturally blowing over.   Perhaps he wasn’t actually dead, after three hours on the cross, but just severely wounded.  And, we reason to ourselves, after three days he had recovered enough to step out of his tomb.  There are of course many ways to refute all these rationalist explanations – and theologians have been ably refuting them for two millennia.  But, still, the world is not convinced.  Miracles alone won’t persuade the people of the reality of God.

This fact is at the heart of the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.  From his place of torment, the Rich Man begs Abraham to send a miraculous sign to earth, to persuade the Rich Man’s brothers to repent and avoid the same fate.  But Abraham responds that the brothers will not be convinced ‘even if someone rises from the dead’.  This is a perceptive and accurate assessment of the value of miracles in the overall cause of the Kingdom.  Jesus knew that miracles would not persuade the people.  That didn’t stop him from performing miracles – they seemed to flow out of him, sometimes almost in spite of his personal preferences.  Miracles were, for Jesus, what happens when an Almighty God gets incarnated into the world of flesh and blood.  He just can’t help himself. Miraculous powers, defying the laws of physics, just flow from the God who set those laws in place, and who exists beyond and above any such limitations.

But we humans can’t accept them.  We are naturally suspicious – not least because miracles of any kind defy those physical laws which govern the rest of our lives.  Even when miracles happen to us, personally, we have a tendency to rationalise and explain them away.  We put them down to a fortuitous accident of co-incidence, or we wonder about the hidden healing powers of the brain, or we simply don’t trust our eyes, or the reports of others.

Jesus understood this fact at a profound level.  During his 40 days in the wilderness, according to Luke and Matthew, he was tempted by the Devil to base his entire ministry on the performing of miracles.  That’s what the Devil suggested when he took Jesus to the top of the temple, and challenged Jesus to throw himself off, certain that angels would appear and carry him safely to the ground.  But Jesus knew that putting God to the test, and requiring miraculous signs from him, would do nothing to advance the cause of the Kingdom. 

And he had good evidence for knowing this.  Miracles didn’t work for Moses, either.  Despite the plagues of Egypt, the parting of the ocean, manna in the desert, and the pouring of water from solid rock, the people still rebelled, and still refused to truly believe in the reality of God.

Miracles, then, are signs of God’s presence.  They are glimpses of the power of the God who created the Universe to act outside the Universal laws.  But they are not attempts to persuade people to worship and trust in God. 

Instead, the path of Jesus was the path of the teacher.  He took the time to explain, in parables and sayings, what following the Way of God is really about.  It’s not about how many miracles can be performed, but about how many lives can be changed…. beginning with my life and yours.  A miracle may, perhaps, inspire us to love the Lord our God, with all our hearts; but the daily task of taking up our cross, denying ourselves and following our Master is what will lead us to love our neighbour as ourselves, and ultimately will lead to the healing and salvation of our souls.

Most of us, this week, will not be called upon to heal the sick, or raise the dead, or to walk upon the waters of Langstone harbour.  More likely, the week will present no more than a chance to give a cup of sugar to a neighbour, or make a telephone call to a lonely person, or send money to feed a starving child or help with the mission costs of this parish.   But in those small acts of love, in those outpourings of humanity, in the little, daily sacrifices – true miracles are found.  Amen.

Sunday, February 25, 2024

Did God promise Israel to the Jews?

 Texts: Genesis 12.1-9 & Hebrews 11.  2nd Sunday of Lent (Second Service Readings)

Tonight, as the bombs continue to fall over the Gaza strip, we’ve heard one of those passages of the book of Genesis which has caused a lot of trouble in the world.  We heard God apparently tell Abraham that he and his descendents would be given the land of Canaan.  This is a promise, often repeated by those Zionist Jews who claim a divine right to the Land called Holy.  They have faith in this apparent promise.  They put their faith in it.  They believe that it gives them license and permission to claim all the land in that region as theirs.

The problem – for anyone who wants to treat such an ancient promise literally – is that the Arab nations also claim that Abraham is their ancestor, through Abraham’s son Ishmael. The Jews claim their heritage through Isaac, and the Arabs through Ishmael – who was Abraham’s first born son via Hagar, Sarah’s maid.  The Jewish claim is given added strength by the fact that Isaac was born of Sarah – so, in our modern understanding of marriage, he was Abraham’s legitimate heir.  But Ishmael was born of Hagar by Sarah’s own suggestion (believing herself to be barren) – and Ishmael was Abraham’s first born son, therefore.  As Sarah’s maid, Hagar was essentially a slave.  Her body belonged to Sarah (according to the ancient ways).  That is why Sarah felt that she could essentially use Hagar as a surrogate.

Do you see the complexity of the issue?  There is a legitimate argument, from both the Jews and the Arabs, that they are descendants of Abraham.  Indeed, we refer to the Jewish and Muslim faiths as ‘the Abrahamic religons’ – because they both count Abraham as their fore-father.  So which one has the most legitimate right to claim the promise of the Land of Canaan, that God made to their ancestor?

If an International Court was ever asked to decide this question, once and for all, they would have their work cut out for them.  First, they would need to rule on the issue of legitimacy at the time of Abraham – when concepts such as ‘wife’ or ‘concubine’ were rather fluid.  Secondly, they might be asked to rule on the textual origin of the story itself – and especially of God’s promise to Abraham.  If they were to call mainstream scholars to the stand, such scholars would tell them the facts.  Facts such as that since the 19th century (that is the 1800s) most scholars believe from close study of language, mythology, textual clues and the like, that Genesis was written about five or six hundred years before Christ – and not by Moses himself, half a millennia earlier, as tradition has claimed.  They would say that it is largely a mythological document – written at a time when many civilizations were creating myths and stories to explain their origins, and give weight to their claims of ownership of land, or to give authority to the priestly class.  The Greeks, for example, were revelling in the legends of Homer at around the same time.  The Egyptians had their own mythological stories and gods.

So, an international court, asked to adjudicate on the claim that God gave the land of Canaan to the Jews, would be forced to conclude that such a claim can only be substantiated through faith – and not from either the text, or the known history of that period.

And so, we come to the question of faith – meaning faith in the sense that the Jews mean it, when they claim the promise of God to Abraham.    And that is one kind of faith.  It is the kind of faith which gives intellectual assent to a set of ideas or theological statements.  It is the kind of faith which decides to accept that one unevidenced statement is true, while another is not.  It is by such faith that we might believe (or not) that Jesus was born of a virgin, or that the world was created in six days, or that Noah built an ark to carry all the animals of the world (but somehow forgot the dinosaurs!). 

This is also the kind of faith that has caused wars and conflict between people of different faith throughout the millennia.  It is by faith that Muslims believe Mohammed to be the last and greatest prophet.  It is by such faith that some Christians assert the divine right of the Bishop of Rome to govern the church.  It is by such faith that crusades were led to recapture Jerusalem. It is by such faith that Christians have burned one another at the stake over what seem to us to be very minor differences of theology.  Today, that kind of faith is tearing portions of the church apart over what each side believes that God does, or does not, approve about the state of marriage.

Such faith – the willingness to accept, or reject, various different religious ideas – is a dangerous thing, therefore.  There can be no objective proof for any statement of faith.  There is no way to know, objectively, whether or not to intellectually assent to any given religious proposition. And therefore, I would argue, no cause whatsoever for killing each other over such ideas.

But is there another kind of faith – one that we could wholeheartedly accept, without any reservations?  I want to argue that there is.  The kind of faith I’m talking about is the faith which trusts in a way of life, and which sets out to live, with integrity, according to that way of life.  Did you know that Jesus’ first followers were not called Christians?  In fact, they were called ‘followers of The Way’. 

So when I say that I have faith in Jesus, I don’t mean that I am willing to die for a belief in his virgin birth, or even his bodily resurrection.  What I mean by calling myself a Christian, is that I put my trust in the teachings, the life and The Way of Jesus, the Christ.  He showed us, by his generous, self-sacrificing, healing and reconciling life that generosity, sacrifice, healing and reconciling are the means by which human beings may yet be able to dig ourselves out of the mire.  If only we could truly grasp the immense power of lives poured out in sacrifice to one another, the awesome potential of the simple command to love our neighbour, the incredible possibility of human happiness if we could only learn to share! Then all the religious propositions which divide us into factions and creeds and denominations and religions could just fade away into the obscurity they deserve.

That’s a faith worth having.  That’s a faith worth living for.  That’s a faith worth even dying for.  Amen.

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Ash Wednesday

 Readings: Joel 2: 1- 2, 12-17 & John 8: 1 – 11.

Do you remember the dustmen's strike of the late 1970s? I do – because of one very memorable event, which happened soon after we had moved into a new house. My Dad decided to deal with the overflowing rubbish bin via a bonfire in the garden. However, he accidentally consigned an aerosol can to the flames. Sure enough, the can exploded – sending a missile over the fence at the bottom of our garden, to land in the open kitchen door of a new neighbour.

Our neighbour, who turned out to be the headmaster of our local school, came screaming out of the house. "What on earth to you think you are doing?!" My Dad was, of course, very apologetic – but thought that this rather bossy man was over-reacting a bit. It was only an accident after all. He was then rather puzzled by the neighbour's next question: "What would have happened if a net had been there?". "Well," replied my puzzled father, "I suppose a net would have caught it!". What Dad didn't realise, was that 'Annette' was the headmaster's daughter!

Ashes were part of all our lives, not so long ago.  I guess most of us have had the experience of raking ashes out of the grate, in the days before central heating.  Ashes are just rubbish, aren't they? The product of burning something away. Just carbon. Waste, after the heat and light are gone.

So why, tonight, are we going to put this rubbish, this ash, on our heads? I want to suggest three reasons why we maintain this tradition - though I am sure there are more.

First of all these ashes are a reminder of who we are. The Bible tells us that we came from the dust and to the dust we shall return. Are bodies are about 50% water, and 22% carbon – which is what ash also is.  The beautiful mythological imagery of Genesis tells us that the first human was formed out of the dust of the earth by God and then God breathed life into that dust. That is a powerful image. God is the source of our life – and the ashes we will use later on remind us of our utter dependence on him. Without the breath or Spirit of God moving in us, we are just ashes – dust: lifeless - worthless.

Secondly ashes are also a sign of repentance. As well as being a time of preparation for Good Friday and Easter, Lent is a time of mourning for our sins. It is a time when we are called to repent, turn away from our sin – which why, throughout Lent, we do not sing the Gloria, but focus instead on the Kyrie. "Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy".  Traditional Christians also say that we have to give up using the word ‘Alleluia’ in Lent too – so that it has all the more power and meaning on Easter Sunday.  For many of Lent will involve giving up something which we enjoy, as a personal discipline, and as a sign of our repentance.

Repentance is of course a key biblical theme. Time and time again the Old Testament prophets called people to turn away from their way of doing things, and to turn towards God's way. Sometimes, as Isaiah said, that even meant repenting about the way that repenting was done! In Isaiah's day, fasting had become sort of fashionable, and as a result, hollow.  Isaiah, speaking for God, says "Is this the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes. Do you call this a fast - a day acceptable to God?"

Isaiah goes on to outline what true fasting, true repentance will look like. True repentance means becoming like the God whose heart is for the poor, and the hungry, and the homeless, and the weak, and the stranger. It means being practical, outward looking, loving our neighbour as we love ourselves. It means expressing God’s love for other people, through our actions, through our prayers, through our giving.  It means, as Jesus said to the woman caught in adultery, going from here and sinning no more.

Thirdly, and finally…people in the Bible put the ashes on top of their heads - so why do we put them in the sign of the cross on our foreheads?  We make the sign of the cross because it is a reminder of how we are marked for Christ.  It is in one sense a reminder of our baptism, when we were signed with the sign of the cross.  

And the cross of ashes also reminds of the mark of the Lamb as it is described in the Book of Revelation.  Revelation tells of an angel marking the faithful before the tribulation. These faithful would then be protected – kept safe from the terrible Day of the Lord that the prophet Joel warned us about – “the day is close at hand.  A day of darkness and gloom.  A day of clouds and blackness.”  A day when the forces of evil that stalk our world will gain the power to ruin lives, full the pockets of the rich, bring war and famine and pestilence.  A day, I think you’ll find, that is not unlike the awful things happening in our world right now! 

These ashes tonight remind us that whatever comes, we are belong to Christ; he has marked us with the ever-lasting sign of Love, the mark of the cross.  We are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.  We need have no fear.

These may be just a few ashes, but they mean a lot. Let me just summarise:

First, they are a symbol of our need for God, for His breath of life. We are nothing but dust and ashes apart from Him.

Secondly, they are also a symbol of our repentance and mourning. We've allowed ourselves to be seduced by the wealth and comfort of the world, while our neighbours are starving. The ashes are a sign of our deliberate repentance, our turning away - from our way of being, to God's.

Finally, in the midst of our repentance, these ashes are a sign that however often we have failed to live God’s way, and whatever evil befalls the world, we are marked as Christ's own, and we belong to him.  We are stamped and certified as children of God through the cross of ash.  Amen.