The Wreckage and the Cross

 

Trinity 3 Year A – Eucharist – 25.vi.23 (Proper 7)

(Genesis 21.8-21; Romans 6.1b-11; Matthew 10.24-39)

The word ‘Gospel’ means ‘Good News’, but how often does it mean that for us? Today’s Gospel reading ends with an apparent warning from Jesus: ‘... whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.’ And there are more words in today’s Gospel which may seem even more off-putting: ‘Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me...’

What is Jesus’ invitation to discipleship about? It’s not something to take lightly: ‘If anyone would be a follower of me, let him take up his cross every day and come, follow me.’ How do we understand the invitation to take up our Cross and follow Jesus, as at the same time we struggle to take in what is going on in so many parts of the world?

The word “Gospel” means “Good News.” But there isn’t much of that about at the moment. As I’m trying to work out what to say this Sunday morning, I keep getting news updates about the armed mutiny within the mercenary forces of the Russian Wagner Group - a vicious warlord is turning against a vicious tyrant and oppressor, it seems. Is this a good thing? Or does it mean there’ll simply be more bloodshed, fear and terror? Meanwhile it’s easy to miss the ongoing daily violence inflicted on the Ukrainian people within their own borders. In our own country it’s the ever-spiraling cost of living which may be uppermost in people’s minds. How will you manage to pay your mortgage? How will you ever be able to buy a house if you’re not already on the housing ladder? How will so many people be able even to put food on the table? Government borrowing is now higher than our nation’s Gross Domestic Product - which may not mean much to people until you realise that it now costs more each year to pay the interest on our national debts than our country spends on education.

And the news was different again at the beginning of the week. Former President Trump charged with various crimes, the first time an American president has faced federal prosecution - and his response is to turn it to his own political advantage. A former Prime Minister here in the UK perhaps finally acknowledging that the game is up as he resigns as an MP rather than face the House of Commons debate on the Parliamentary report as to whether he had lied to his fellow MPs.

And then so much attention given to the loss of the submersible which had descended in the ocean to the depth of 3200 metres where the wreck of the Titanic lies. This is an undeniable tragedy with a massive search, hopes raised as the capsule was detected, but then dashed with the probability that an implosion had caused the deaths of its five passengers before the search ever began. It says something that so much attention was given to the search. It says something more that the previous week only 79 survivors were taken from the wreck of a boat carrying around 700 migrants off the coast of Greece; another 100 known to have died; probably at least another 500 lives were lost, people trapped in the hull of the vessel. But after only a day or so the press attention shifted - and there has been practically no further coverage of any attempts to save them.

I’ve found myself once more reading about an earlier tragedy when 359 migrants drowned with the loss of a boat off the coast of Lampedusa, a small island 200 miles from Sicily and 120 miles from North Africa. In his book, The City is my Monastery, Richard Carter writes:

Many of the 155 survivors were Christians from Ethiopia and Eritrea. How could anyone respond to a tragedy of such terrible consequences? Mr Tuccio, a member of the local church and a carpenter, collected some of the timbers from the wrecked shell of the boat and in his workshop made simple crosses, which he gave to the survivors. Later, when Pope Francis visited, he made the Pope a cross from the same timber. This Lampedusa Cross became a symbol for our times. Made from the wood of the wreckage, it told the story of the movement of migrant people to Europe in search of a home — the story of their displacement, exodus and search for a country that would accept them and of the many who have drowned crossing the Mediterranean in search of that hope. One of these Lampedusa Crosses became part of the British Museum collection.

I’ve seen another of those crosses on the altar of the Anglican Centre in Rome. I was given a picture of the Lampedusa Cross which now hangs in my study. Richard Carter writes about it that, 

It had a presence that you felt in your very soul — it silenced words yet spoke to me of why I am ultimately a Christian. 'Nothing, nothing in all creation can ever separate you from the love of God which is yours in Christ Jesus.' This cross with the blues and reds and yellows of the boat seemed to say 'Come and see.'

It’s when our faith is tested that we realise what Jesus means when he calls us to take up the Cross and follow him. These are words spoken as Jesus is sending his disciples out with the task of sharing his message of God’s kingdom. He warns them that they may experience persecution, but he tells them also that the Holy Spirit will be with them to strengthen them in what they may say. He says they must embrace poverty and hardship, but he assures them also that they will have provision which is adequate for their needs.

Can we believe that? Where is God in all the distress of the world? That’s a question we face in today’s first reading. Hagar, taken by Abraham as a concubine so that he can father a son, is now thrown out following the birth of Isaac to Abraham and Sarah. Hagar and her son are driven into the desert. The water runs out and all she can do is put Ishmael under a bush and sit herself down at a distance: “Do not let me look on the death of the child,” she prays. It could be the prayer of the families who lost loved ones in that submersible on the floor of the Atlantic. It could be the words in the hearts of families in Bangladesh whose loved ones died in their hundreds off the coast of Greece. It could be the lament of dispossessed peoples, those who suffer famine and disease or the affliction of war. It could be our own prayer as we grieve the loss of a loved one.

I find it more and more difficult to think of what I can say when I stand up to preach on Sundays. The Gospel is Good News, but it’s not explanation. God meets us in our need, Jesus has been there before us, we can believe that the Holy Spirit is here to guide us. But that doesn’t necessarily make life any easier. This last week for me began as we marked the worst of life’s tragedies in the funeral of a young woman loved by so many and ended as I shared in the heights of joy with a wonderful wedding. God was with us in each in different ways, I believe. I realise that what I find hardest perhaps is dealing with the mundane, the everyday issues which never seem to go away, and can so easily drag us down. But in them, as well, God is to be found - if only we can make time to turn to him and recognise that he is travelling with us all along.

The assurance God gives us of provision for our needs is true, because the one who gives it speaks from the experience of our human condition. It’s Jesus who will experience suffering and death upon the Cross who says to his followers, ‘Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.’ It’s Jesus, who is confronted by sickness and hunger in those he meets, who can say that ‘even the hairs of our heads are all counted.’ God knows when a sparrow falls to the ground and ‘we are of more value than many sparrows.’

Richard Carter went to Lampedusa to visit Mr. Tuccio in his carpenter’s workshop: 

Timber from the wreckage of the boat is still piled in his workshop alongside the photo of him kissing the hand of Pope Francis. … Taking a small piece of wood from the wreckage he skilfully cuts me a small Lampedusa Cross - which I am wearing today. He hangs it round my neck. And says, 'Portala con te come segno della resurrezione che nasce dal dolore.' 'Take it with you as a sign of the resurrection that is born in pain and struggle.' 

To know God’s care for us is to be made able to carry the Cross. To tell his good news is to show his love in our care for others. And that in itself is to show God’s care for us.

 

Summer Fair Time!

 

Thoughts on Life (and Death) in a Victorian Vicarage…

I love St. Cuthbert’s Vicarage - and a lot of the time I love living in it. The drawback is largely the size and coldness of the building. As energy costs have soared I have been acutely aware of the need to cut back on heating, so it’s been a chilly winter and spring. I’m still using the winter duvet - and still taking a hot water bottle to bed! But it’s a wonderful building in a marvellous setting. The garden may appear a little (?) on the wild side - but it’s great to share it with deer, foxes, squirrels, pheasants and a range of quieter birdlife, though not always the visiting cats.

Currently, though, I’m experiencing visits from another form of wildlife. I’ve got used to the woodlice - these strange, seemingly armoured little creatures which look as though they could survive a nuclear explosion but actually tend to expire as they trundle just halfway across the room. But the new visitor I’ve identified as the mason bee (or masonry bee). They’ve been coming in large numbers, gather inside the windows of just two rooms and then expire. I’ve probably hoovered up a hundred or so in the last week. They’re thankfully not bothered about attacking humans and have a very small sting anyway. I think that they’re probably males which leave the nest first, mate and then go off to die. It’s sad to see, and I’m hoping that this cycle in their life and death is just about over.

With lives so short, I’ve pondered whether their existence is a sort of futility? It is, of course, simply part of nature’s ways - the way the world goes on. Which makes it all the more impressive that human life can be so long - and that it incorporates periods when we need the care of others, when care can make a difference, and that we can value what life brings, even if we might complain about it at times. It’s a privilege for me to spend time with people in sickness - or with their carers - and sometimes at the time of death. These are sad times, but also times when I have been overawed by resilience, courage, love and care - all the most human and necessary qualities. These are qualities which point me to the divine. They’re times when we might question God’s purpose but it’s also in these times that we might be most conscious of God’s presence.  

Martin Jackson