Christmas Fair approaching!

 

Remembrance Sunday

 Preached at the Eucharist in St. Cuthbert's & St. John's Churches

(Jonah 3.1-5,10; Mark 1.14-20)

The Revd. Martin Jackson

The Gospel reading today gives us the call of Jesus to his first disciples: “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” The modern translation doesn’t have quite the resonance of the older version, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” But they’re saying the same thing. The urgency of the cause - recognising that the Kingdom of God has come near - and the need for people who will proclaim it, even if it means leaving their livelihood, home and family. 

Fish and fishing play a large part in the Gospels. Jesus calls those first disciples from their nets – from their day-to-day work of catching fish. The final time we see Jesus meet with those disciples in St. John’s Gospel, it’s by the Sea of Galilee, where he feeds them with a breakfast of fish.

In a few hours that I was able to take off the other day, I went for fish and chips on Hartlepool Headland – very near the fish quay where the daily catch is landed and processed. Afterwards I walked through the Sandwell Gate in the Town Wall, across the Fish Sands as they’re known, then back onto the Promenade to the lighthouse and the Heugh Battery. A cannon stands there pointing out to sea – taken from the Russians at Sebastopol during the Crimean War. But more poignantly, this is a place of memorials to those who died in what is described as the only United Kingdom Battleground of the First World War – memorials also to those who perished in the battle against the German fleet that day and in the days following. German ships fired on Hartlepool and West Hartlepool on Wednesday 16th December 1914. A clock can be seen in the local museum, the time of the bombardment recorded as shrapnel stopped it. Fire was returned from the Heugh Battery and the adjacent Lighthouse Battery. A town built on fishing and shipbuilding became a battleground.

You can still visit the Heugh Battery with its lookout tower, gun emplacement, a tank parked on the car park and other reminders of past wars. The entrance at this time of year is decorated with poppies, wreathes will be laid at the nearby memorial today. The names on them will be looked on and recited.

Today in our community here, we do what goes on in cities, towns and villages throughout the country – Acts of Remembrance from the Whitehall Cenotaph to the memorial in Castleside Churchyard and Memorial Cottages in Shotley Bridge, as well as in our churches. The names on those memorials are often familiar names: local people, members of families who still live here. To remember them is not merely to look back to long-ago past events. It’s to remember that we are one with them. Loved-ones who we know were our grandparents, great-grandparents or still more distantly removed but whose blood we share – those who, like my great-uncle, would never have a family of their own, but whose name is now recorded amongst hundreds of thousands of others on a more distant memorial in a Belgian battlefield. For people, like me, from Hartlepool - the reminder of how a peaceable community suddenly found itself made into a battleground.

I know so many people these days are reluctant to turn on the News. The uncertainties and fears of the last week with the brashness and braggadocio of a new re-elected President of the world’s most powerful nation – with all the weaponry which is put at his disposal – after a campaign fuelled by hatred, dismissiveness and the wildest of claims. The ongoing strife in the Middle East and inflicted upon Ukraine – as well as all those conflicts which go unreported. We look back on the wars of the Twentieth Century and see houses destroyed in the Blitz. We look at pictures from Gaza and see almost an entire country reduced to rubble – over 44,000 dead, so many of them women and children. We add that to more than 1,200 Israelis killed in the October 7th massacre, the hundreds of hostages and those who have since died in the ensuing conflict – and still more thousands of Palestinians on the West Bank and Lebanese in their own country.

When I was living in Jerusalem in 1978, Israeli forces entered Lebanon for the first time. We didn’t hear much of what was going on. The conflict seemed contained. I was actually on the Lebanese border in the town of Metulla on the day when many of the forces were withdrawn. I remember it as a quiet, warm, early summer’s day – though a press photographer warned me as to where I was pointing my camera. Everything seemed quite peaceful. In fact, several hundred thousand Lebanese had been displaced. In the present conflict over a million Lebanese have had to leave their homes and about half a million have fled to Syria. We see aerial bombardment destroying huge swathes of residential areas in their capital, Beirut. Imagine if that were London or any other major city! And the Israeli town of Metulla like most of the border area has been evacuated of its residents.

War kills – and it kills people like us, people who love like us. If we think of them as different, if we categorise them as the enemy, then we have no ground on which agreement and reconciliation may be built. And the result is cities, towns and villages destroyed, lives and livelihoods wrecked, children deprived of parents, communities without schools and hospitals – how can the children who have been so afflicted ever expect to grow with a fully-formed vision of humanity?

To go back to today’s Gospel: “The Kingdom of God has come near… believe the good news,” says Jesus. But how can we make it a reality? That’s Jonah’s question - who resists the call of God to preach to the people of Nineveh. He doesn’t believe that he can be heard. He doesn’t believe that he can bring any positive change for good. Yet when he finally goes to them it makes a difference - we’re told they repent and turn from their evil ways. We cannot give up on our resolve that this world should be a better place, that there should be moral purpose, justice and peace for all.

Jesus sees Simon and Andrew casting their nets, and calls to them - and they follow. Further on he calls to James and John, the sons of Zebedee. The Gospel tells us that they were in their boat, “mending the nets.” I’m struck by this observation. The call to us as Christians - as disciples of Jesus - as people who work for a better world - is not merely to cast the net, to be at the sharp edge of things; it’s also to have patience, to be net-menders. And that way we may honour those who have gone before us in their task.

Celebrating All Saints - Come & Sing!

 

AI, Poetry and the Eye of the Needle

 20th Sunday after Trinity Year B Proper 23

 Eucharist – 13.x.2024

 (Amos 5.6-7, 10-15; Hebrews 4.12-16; Mark 10.17-31)

I was in Hartlepool yesterday to take the opportunity of a dry morning to cut the grass in the garden of my family home. I’d almost finished when my neighbour turned up from walking her dog. She’s in the early stages of writing the dissertation for a Master’s degree, and we discussed her progress, techniques and the approach she’s expected to take. I was a bit surprised to hear that not only is the use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) permitted, it’s actually encouraged – and then I remembered hearing something on the news about hopes that AI will allow doctors and researchers in the Health Service to accomplish far more than they can by present means. “I’ve never used it,” I said – and when I wrote my Master’s dissertation technology hadn’t advanced any further than Netscape Navigator. “I’m doubtful whether it could pull off a sermon.” “Well,” she replied, “it can write poems. I’ll get it to write you one about cutting the grass. She pulled out her phone, spoke into it and ten seconds later said, “There you are.”

This is the poem that AI wrote about me:

Martin’s out with his new mower,

its hum a morning song,

cutting lines so neat and even,

he’s been at it all day long.

(actually not true – it took less than an hour but that’s poetic licence)

He starts with pride, his shoulders back,

as the engine roars to life,

blades slicing through the stubborn grass,

sharp as any knife.

The lawn beneath him bends in waves,

green clippings whirl in air,

his mower hums like it’s alive,

both working with such care.

I watch from where I sit and sip,

as Martin makes his way,

with each pass, a bit more perfect,

each inch a brighter day.

He smiles as if this patch of green

is all he needs to own,

and when he’s done, his mower purrs,

like it’s claimed the lawn as home.

So what do you expect?... After that I went into the house, fired up the laptop, found an AI app called “Copilot,” and instructed it, “write a sermon with reference to Amos 5.6–7, 10–15; Hebrews 4.12–16; Mark 10.17–31.” In less than five seconds it did! And it got the point to a certain extent; and it was short, so maybe I should have just let you have what it delivered.

But I’m afraid it was also rather prosaic. Anything that starts:

Today’s sermon explores justice, compassion, and the power of divine truth, referencing Amos 5.6–7, 10–15; Hebrews 4.12–16; and Mark 10.17–31.

And then it goes through each passage in turn using phrases like, “the prophet Amos speaks of the importance of seeking the Lord to live and thrive…” “The message here is clear…” “This is a timeless reminder….” It gets worse when it gets on to the reading from Hebrews: 

It emphasizes the active and discerning nature of God’s word, 
encouraging us to be introspective and sincere in our faith journey.

It ends with a summing up that begins, “In synthesis…” and concludes:

Let’s strive to live a life that reflects these divine principles, becoming a beacon of God’s love and justice in our world. Amen.

So… I want to say that if you’re stuck for something to preach, don’t rely on AI to write your sermon!

But meanwhile… my neighbour had written me another poem. I don’t know why, but I’d told her that we’re having to advertise the proposed Pastoral Scheme which will bring us together with our neighbouring parishes into a Team Ministry. I didn’t need to tell her, but I have to tell you – and some people have actually read the whole thing and noticed that the Pastoral Scheme says I will be retiring in 2026. That’s not necessarily true. That’s simply the year when, because of my age, it’s expected that I will have to retire. Anyway, this found its way into the new AI poem:

Oh Martin, vicar, wise and kind,

perhaps it’s time to free your mind.

You’ve preached your share of peace and grace,

but there’s a new path you could embrace.

For when you mow, the world is still,

no sermons, prayers, or souls to fill.

Just blades of grass beneath your feet,

each row you cut, a calm retreat.

The hum of mowers beats the bells,

no weekly rush, no vestry smells.

The parish can find peace anew,

but, Martin, the lawns—they call for you!

Each blade you trim, each line you make,

is peace that sermons rarely stake.

The stripes you leave, so straight and true,

might be the gospel meant for you.

So hang the collar, shed the vest,

and trade your robes for mower’s zest.

The lawns are waiting, fresh and wide,

retire, Martin, mow with pride!

This is not the announcement of my retirement – but it’s enticing!

And what does it say? It says that poetry can express better what needs to be said than turgid exposition of scripture and moralising conclusions.

So – you guessed it – I asked AI to write a poem about today’s readings. It was better than the sermon – but not great:

In the shadow of the ancient prophets' call, 
Where justice flows and bitter judgments fall, 
Seek good, not evil, let the light unfurl, 
For in the hearts of men, a chance to whirl.

Note the non-inclusive language, and the archaic forms – the second verse didn’t say anything in particular so I’ll miss it out.. It goes on to the Gospel:

A ruler rich, a seeker of the way, 

Asked of the path, and Jesus dared to say, 

Sell all you have, give to the ones in need, 

For treasures in the heavens, plant the seed.

And it ends:

Oh, Kingdom sought, with undivided heart, 

Where mercy, love, and justice never part,

In faith, we stride, in grace, we stand tall, 

Embodying the greatest love of all.

Not a success, I think. If you want to find what’s fresh, stick to Scripture itself, and the response we’re called to make.

What’s going on when we find ourselves listening to those words which speak to us from the Bible? I found myself thinking about that on my day off when I went up the coast to Newbiggin-by-the-Sea. Just after Sandy Bay – and before you go into the town – there’s a signpost to the “Needle’s Eye” Car Park. I’d never noticed it before. It turns out that the Needle’s Eye must be a feature on the map. There’s a “Needle’s Eye” Café too. But I don’t know where the name comes from. Except we’ve got Jesus’ words about the challenge of faith: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” People have argued about whether there was a gate in Jerusalem called the “Eye of the Needle,” which might have been too low for a camel laden with goods to pass through. The merchant on his way to market would have to unload all his wares before the camel could get through. But actually there’s no evidence for such a gate. There’s just the question: what is Jesus talking about when he comes out with these words: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” We don’t know. But it makes us think, just as I found myself thinking about the Needle’s Eye near Newbiggin – just as we all need to think about the riches we take for granted, wealth that might be weighing us down and stopping us from going where we should.

Those AI poems made me think about what I’m doing when I’m mowing the lawn. My neighbour wanted me to think about that in relation to my day job – what I’d call my vocation.

But I come back finally to those words of scripture which challenge us today. That eye of a needle which the camel can’t pass through. “The word of God (which) is living and active…” as Hebrews tells us. The call of the prophet Amos: 

Seek good and not evil, that you may live;… 

Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate.

Coming up soon!

 

Harvest festival

 

Angels

 Feast of St. Michael & All Angels     Eucharist – 29.ix.2024

 (Genesis 28.10-17; Revelation 12.7-12; John 1.47-51)

7 War broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, 8 but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. 9 The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world – he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.

These words from today’s second reading – from the Book of Revelation – first captured my imagination as a child. It wasn’t about reading the words themselves – I hadn’t read the Book of the Revelation of St. John then, and I suspect that most people never get round to reading it for themselves. But the scene is depicted in Jacob Epstein’s great sculpture outside Coventry Cathedral. I saw it while on holiday visiting part of the family who lived in the Midlands. It's a huge sculpture made of bronze, standing 7.6 metres (25 feet) high and it’s intended to depict the victory of good over evil. St. Michael the Archangel stands with a huge spear in his hand, arms and legs spread out – and he stands above the bound figure of the horned devil lying supine. Satan lies defeated, bound in chains. The triumphant angel is all the more impressive for his huge wings with a span of 7 metres, almost as wide as the statue is high.

You can understand why the sculpture was commissioned. The Cathedral itself is dedicated to St. Michael, so the angel was an obvious subject. More than that it was a new sculpture put in place to mark the building of a new Cathedral, consecrated in 1962 alongside the ruins of the church which had been destroyed by Nazi bombs during the Second World War. So it was about the hope that good will finally defeat evil – a reference to the promise that God will beat down Satan under our feet, just as that bronze devil lies beneath the feet of St. Michael the Archangel.

The sculpture certainly made an impression on me – probably at the age of nine or ten. But nearly 60 years later I look at it again, and I read the words of scripture that we hear today – and I wonder. Satan is bound in chains, but Epstein’s devil is not dead – he’s still struggling to get up. Revelation tells us that Satan, “the deceiver of the whole world,” is thrown down – but thrown down to earth, and it doesn’t say that he’s totally vanquished here. And when I look up my own reference to the promise that God will beat down Satan under our feet, I find different translations of that Bible verse from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans: that God will crush or defeat Satan, or as the King James Version puts it – that he will “bruise” him. The devil is cast down, but is still a force for evil in our world – defeated by God and his angels, but still a reality for us to grapple with in our day to day lives.

The triumphant angel in Epstein’s sculpture declares hope for the triumph of good in a world which so much needs it. But while the devil is put in chains just as Nazi Germany had been defeated, there’s always the threat that it may struggle free. Bruised - but not destroyed.

I’ve been thinking about this as the news from the Middle East becomes more and more horrific. Each side is fighting for what it considers right – and for the rights of its people. But the means used inflict ever more atrocities from the initial attacks by Hamas across the border with Israel, through the taking, torturing and killing of hostages – and then the reprisals in repeated bombings, invasion and occupation, the loss of homes in Gaza, Israel and Lebanon; and the deaths of more than 40,000 people in Gaza, and approaching 1,000 in each of the West Bank and Lebanon, and still more amongst the Israeli population. Each side demonises the other. The avowed intention of the Israeli government is to destroy Hamas and now Hezbollah – but even after laying waste almost an entire country the perceived evil still remains to be defeated. Even after targeting the users of enemy pagers and walkie talkies, the firing of thousands of missiles into Lebanon leaving so many more killed, wounded and homeless - and now the death of Hassan Nasrallah – the stated war aims of Israel seem just as far away from being achieved.

I can’t offer a way forward to solve the problems of the Middle East. I’ve lived in Jerusalem and heard bombs go off. I’ve known people living in Northern Israel who have had to shelter night after night from rockets fired from southern Lebanon. I’ve also known people who have endured discrimination and loss of their homes because they are the wrong race, seen people humiliated in checks by border police because they hold the wrong passport, and met with people – both Israeli and Palestinian – who have lost children to the violence inflicted indiscriminately by bullet and bomb.

So we need caution when we read words such as those in Revelation and try to apply them to our own situations. What do we mean by good and evil? How do we achieve the defeat of one by the other? 

St. Michael the Archangel stands as an emblem for what is right – but fighting in the sense of violent conflict is not the way to achieve it. And we should be careful in what we say about angels. Important that we recognise the place they hold in telling us of our relationship with God, but avoiding sentimentality.

Say the word “Angels” – and I’ll bet that a lot of people will think of the Robbie Williams song:

When I'm feeling weak
And my pain walks down a one-way street
I look above
And I know I'll always be blessed with love 

And as the feeling grows
She brings flesh to my bones
And when love is dead
I'm loving angels instead 

And through it all she offers me protection
A lot of love and affection, whether I'm right or wrong
And down the waterfall, wherever it may take me
I know that life won't break me
When I come to call, she won't forsake me
I'm loving angels instead

Maybe that’s what people think Guardian Angels are about – and there’s a real hope that life shouldn’t get us down, that there’s something might help us break out of all that holds us back, gives us strength when we need it. But that something is love – and the people who can show us that love.

The other song that came to mind for me is by the Eurhythmics: 

No one on earth could feel like this
I'm thrown and overflown with bliss
There must be an angel
Playing with my heart, yeah 

I walk into an empty room
And suddenly my heart goes boom
It's an orchestra of angels
And they're playing with my heart, yeah

Annie Lennox sings it wonderfully, but we don’t need an orchestra of angels to play with our hearts. We need hearts that recognise how love can open us to something beyond our day-to-day preoccupations. Hearts are not to be played with. But when we recognise that love is at work, then that may open us to something bigger than we are – it may open us to God and his purpose.

And that’s what we find in our First Reading and today’s Gospel. They use almost exactly the same words: a ladder set up to heaven in the vision given to Jacob, “and the angels of God were ascending and descending upon it;” and Jesus’ promise to Nathanael – “I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

Angels when we see them at work in the Bible are those creatures that remind us of our connection with God and with a world beyond human sight. The word angel translates as “messenger.” What’s the message or question we need to hear? That’s going to depend on who we are but should always be something that opens us to the deeper mystery of God. When angels appear something new is revealed about our relationship to God. It’s not that our questions are given definitive answers. It is about God’s initiative as he reaches out to us. 

The danger of what we take from today’s reading about St. Michael in the Book of Revelation is that we think we can sort things out in some sort of fight between good and evil. It’s more complex than that. Abraham finds his outlook changed by three strangers who come to him to share a meal and then go off leaving him with God’s purpose still fully to be revealed – they are his angels. Another angel will come to hold back his hand from using a knife in violence – and to declare that there is another way. The angel Raphael comes to bring healing to Tobit in the midst of a bizarre journey where human persistence and love are the outcome. 

And most importantly the Archangel Gabriel will come to Mary to say that she will be the Mother of God’s Son. “How can this be?” - Mary will reply. The message she receives will take nine months of pregnancy and then a lifetime to work out. But the point is in that first dialogue. The angel comes. Heaven speaks to humanity but then the human responds. How will God speak to us? What will we reply? The vision we are given is the truth of that ladder set up between heaven and earth where the angels ascend and descend – and by which we are connected to God and his purpose.

Should I stay or should I go?

 13^th Sunday after Trinity     Proper 16       Year B

 Eucharist – 25.viii.2024

 (Joshua 24.1-2a, 14-18; Ephesians 6.10-20; John 6.56-59)

“Choose whom you will serve…” That’s the invitation in both the Old Testament reading and the Gospel today. In the Old Testament reading, Joshua has led the people of Israel through the waters of the Jordan into the Promised Land. They’ve defeated the inhabitants of a land they are now taking by force. Now they can settle down and enjoy the fruits of conquest. But, he asks them, will God still be part of the picture? Will they continue to serve the God who has been their companion and guide since the days of their slavery in Egypt? Or will they now forget him? Along with all the busy-ness of tilling the fields which have come into their possession, will they find themselves switching to the worship of the gods served already by the people of that land which they have taken? And of course they join in chorus together, “Far be it from us that we should forsake the Lord to serve other gods…”

Jesus puts his disciples on the spot too… in our Gospel reading. We’ve been reading in recent weeks how the crowds have come out in their thousands – literally – and Jesus has not only taught them, he’s fed them in that miracle of the loaves and fishes. But after the works of wonder, there’s the teaching, things to learn, things to reflect upon and take in as to who this man really is. The disciples themselves say: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” After the first flush of enthusiasm, the simple fact is that many of them can’t. John’s Gospel tells us, “Because of this, many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.” That’s when Jesus asks the original Twelve, “Do you also wish to go?” As elsewhere in the Gospels, it’s Peter who makes the reply: “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life…”

Joshua’s words: “Choose whom you will serve….” Jesus’ words: “Do you also wish to go away?” We have to answer questions like these. Where would we rather be? Listen to your heart – where does it direct you?”

There’s a prayer which might strike a chord with us:

Dear Lord, So far today, I’ve done all right. I haven’t gossiped, haven’t lost my temper, haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or over indulgent. I’m very thankful for that.

 

But, in a few minutes, God,… I’m going to get out of bed. And from then on, I’m probably going to need a lot more help.

It can be easy to serve God in the right situation… lying in bed first thing in the morning; when we’re hearing the message we want to hear; when we’re with people we agree with, people we want to be with. It can be more difficult when the circumstances are different – which is nearly all the time. So in the Church’s Office of Morning Prayer, we pray every day:

The night has passed, and the day lies open before us;
let us pray with one heart and mind.

And we keep silence before we go on to pray...

As we rejoice in the gift of this new day,
so may the light of your presence, O God,
set our hearts on fire with love for you;
now and for ever.

We can make the decision to be Christ’s people each and every day.

Where else can we go? asks Peter. Not just, there’s nothing better on offer, so we’ll stick around. Peter finds himself saying those words which the Gospel writer wants us to hear: “You have the words of eternal life.”

We need to remind ourselves of that. What drew us first to Christ? What remains true and life-changing for us? What are those “words of eternal life”?

Famously the writer G K Chesterton, author of the Father Brown books, said “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.” What can draw us on to try again? We need something to warm the heart, to rekindle our faith.

Fr. Flor McCarthy suggests these are some of the words recorded in Scripture that can bring us back to Christ. Just take time to ponder them. To let them draw us on though prayer into life. Words like these:

·        Go in peace. Your sins are forgiven.

·        I am the bread of life. Anyone who eats this bread will live for ever.

·        I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in darkness, but will always have the light of life.

·        I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep…

·        I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will never die…

All words of Jesus, which may seem to be chosen rather arbitrarily. But they raise the question, what draws us to Christ? What will keep us traveling with him? There’ll be other words of Scripture which you might find for yourself…

People who know me know that I don’t think you can prove anything just by quoting passages of scripture. But we need “words of eternal life” which will  tell us a truth that has meaning for our lives. We need words which we can reflect upon and live by. We need God as our companion, Christ as our guide, and we need to make the decision that it should be so.

The Gospel passage we use today comes from the end of chapter 6 in St John’s Gospel. We’ve been reading that one chapter for the last five weeks, since the middle of July! So much of it is about bread: Jesus taking bread and fishes to feed the five thousand; Jesus speaking about himself as the bread of life or the true bread from heaven; Jesus inviting his hearers to eat this bread.

But now as Jesus goes on speaking there’s a change of place. This sixth chapter of St. John’s Gospel begins in the open air with the crowds thronging to hear Jesus speak. Now it ends in the synagogue in Capernaum – John tells us that Jesus “said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.” I think this shift in location is significant. We’ve moved from the place where people are drawn eagerly and with enthusiasm to discover something new… to another place where religious debate is the focus and where people bring out the teachings which have been rehearsed over hundreds of years. It’s in this second place where Jesus seems so often to come into confrontation over issues of religious authority that the going is much tougher: hard for Jesus who finds so many of the synagogue adherents unsympathetic to his message; hard for people who have so far gone along with Jesus, but now find his teachings too difficult.

But each location has its necessary place. We all need the conditions where a message can come to us fresh as it did to the crowds, a place where emotion and enthusiasm can kindle new faith. But we need also the readiness to work hard at faith, to ask what it means in the light of what has gone before, to recognize what it means as we seek to work it out day by day.

Jesus’ question to his followers, “Do you also wish to go away?” is not just a plea that they stick around with a weary attitude for want of anything better to do. It’s to ask us all to see where we are on our journey of faith - where Christ is in our midst. We may need our inherited assumptions to be challenged – the things we took for granted, not least a faith which needs to mature. We may need to ask again what we expect out of our faith – the Israelites tell Joshua that they will stick with their God because he had driven out the people from their land and wiped out the Amorites; surely after months of devastation and death wrought in Gaza, southern Lebanon and the borders of Israel there must be a better reasoning than this! And day by day we need to be able to make our affirmation of Christ a part of our worship and prayer, and a transforming presence in our lives.

In all this I find the words of one of John Keble’s hymns coming back to me in its challenge to recognise God’s place in our lives even as we start each day:

New every morning is the love
our wakening and uprising prove;
through sleep and darkness safely brought,
restored to life and power and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,
hover around us while we pray;
new perils past, new sins forgiven,
new thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

But then, as the hymn reminds us, this is more than a spiritual pick-me-up or a pious hope. This is a faith worked out in the midst of daily life:

The trivial round, the common task,
will furnish all we ought to ask:
room to deny ourselves; a road
to bring us daily nearer God.

 

 

Being Hungry

 Homily for Trinity 9 (Proper 12) 28th July 2024 Year B

2 Kings 4.42-44; Ephesians 3.14-21; John 6.1-21

The feeding of hungry people is an imperative. I was reminded just the other day that we need to start planning for our Harvest Festival. This year we hope not only to collect gifts of food, clothing and toiletries for the work of the People’s Kitchen with homeless people in Newcastle, but also to raise money for the work of Christian Aid. Their work of development and relief is essential – reaching out to people threatened by starvation, who live without clean water supplies that we should take for granted, who lack medical provision or even the most basic form of shelter. I realise that actually we can’t these days always take clean water for granted in this country: there are too many instances of sewage discharges into our rivers and along the coast; and our National Health Service is not what it should be. Millions of people have that experience of not being able to get on the so-called property ladder – so many experience sub-standard housing. These are matters which Government needs to tackle. But there’s a responsibility given to us as well. “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink…” Do we measure up to that test of our Christian faith? We need to be able to respond to people’s need wherever we find it.  All the more necessary, then, that we should support those Christian agencies which exist to do that on an international level.

It's in a time of famine that the prophet Elisha finds himself with a hundred people to feed and only 20 loaves of barley in his sack. “How can I set this before a hundred people?” Elisha’s servant enquires. But he receives Elisha’s reply: “Give it to the people and let them eat, for thus says the Lord, ‘They shall eat and have some left.’” He does what he is asked: “He set it before them, they ate and had some left.”

This is a story about relieving people in their need. We hear it today because it’s a sort of Old Testament parallel to our Gospel reading and the feeding of the 5,000. But there’s a difference of scale: 20 loaves for a hundred people – that’s quite different from finding you have just five barley loaves and two little fish for several thousand! 20 loaves between a hundred people… Perhaps you could do something with them if only people were ready to share. But with so little between so many in our Gospel reading, that tells us that this is not a story about what you can do if only you’re prepared to share. That would be quite impossible. Today’s Gospel is a story instead about being hungry and discovering where you are going to be fed.

The feeding of the Five Thousand is not a miracle staged by Jesus for the sake of impressing the crowds. It’s not a lesson in what you can do if only you look out for each other and are prepared to share. Jesus didn’t even count on having that huge number of people with him. In his version of the story St. Mark tells us that Jesus is actually trying to get away from the people to what he calls “a desert place,” a place where he can rest. St. John’s Gospel tells us that he has gone up “the mountain” with his disciples – something we know he does when he wants to pray. But the crowd keeps following. Matthew, Mark and Luke tell us how Jesus then sets about teaching and healing the people – until the disciples say to Jesus that he should send them away before it’s too late for them to find something to eat. In St. John’s account, which we read today, it’s different. John doesn’t tell us anything of what Jesus does with the crowd. He simply sees them, he recognises their huge numbers and he recognises their need. Most especially he recognises their hunger. 

Jesus puts the question, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” But it’s a test: the Gospel writer says that Jesus knows already what he will do. They don’t have enough money. There don’t seem to be any shops if they had. Sharing isn’t going to be enough – even when they find a boy with five loaves and two little fish. It’s Christ himself that makes the difference – and he will make the difference when we recognise our need, our need of him.

Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury, has said that what we need above all if we wish to be nourished by Christ, is to recognise that we are hungry. We are not called to be self-sufficient. Even sharing can’t satisfy everybody. But in this gathering of the huge crowd we have people drawn to Christ because they recognise their need of him. That’s where we start: by admitting that we are hungry, that we need to be fed. What Jesus offers is far beyond our understanding. The disciples find the boy with his five loaves and two fish – but at the same time they can’t see what use they will be: “But what are they among so many people?” they ask.

“Make the people sit down,” says Jesus. He can take the smallest offering. It’s Jesus himself who will make the difference: giving thanks, sharing it, giving people as much as they want. There are no limits here. “What do you need?” Jesus is asking – and he gives it. “What are you hungry for?” – and he feeds them.

The difference is Christ. It may seem odd after this miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 to add on the story of Jesus walking on the waters of the lake. But the point is in Jesus’ words: “It is I; do not be afraid.” It’s enough that Jesus is recognised, seen to be who he is. When Moses hears the voice of God speaking from the Burning Bush, it’s with the words, “I am who I am.” Now Jesus is saying, “It is I.” That’s all we need to hear.

St. John’s account of the Feeding of the 5,000 tells us that it happens near to the Jewish Festival of the Passover. It’s the Festival which speaks of how God delivered his people from slavery in Egypt; it’s a Festival celebrated with a meal; and for Christians the occasion of the Last Supper at Passover time was to be Jesus’ gift to us of his Body and his Blood, shared in bread and wine. He takes the bread and gives it saying, “This is my Body, given for you.” He asks if we can share his cup – and with the wine he shares tells us “This is my Blood, shed for you.”

It's nothing we do ourselves that will nourish us with spiritual things. Jesus wants us to be fed. We need only to be hungry – and to bring that hunger so it can be satisfied in him.

Choral Evensong

 

In praise of St. Thomas…

I was actually going to use the title “In praise of doubt…” I’m writing on 3^rd July which is the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle. Most famously he’s known as “Doubting Thomas.” Read the Gospel for the day and you can see how he got the name. Jesus appears to the disciples on the evening of the first Easter Day, but Thomas isn’t there. He must have felt that he’d missed out. And he only has their word for it. The Resurrection is not something he can take in – it’s beyond his experience. So when the other disciples tell him, “We have seen the Lord,” he replies:

‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands,

and put my finger in the mark of the nails

and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’

I really feel for Thomas. Elsewhere in the Gospels you can find glimpses of how he struggles to comprehend Jesus. And now after three years of faithfulness to him he misses out on something that has evidently been life-changing for his friends. And so he says, “I will not believe.”

But we’re wrong to write him off as “Doubting Thomas.” This is Thomas who is quite open about how he feels, ready to admit what it is his heart, sharing his disappointment and inability to enter into the joy of the other disciples. He is not “Doubting Thomas” but “Honest Thomas.”

I’m writing on the last day of political campaigning before the General Election. I can’t know what the outcome will be even if the pundits are pretty sure. What I can say is that we need more honesty. So many lies have been told, so many false promises made. So often political advantage is seen as being earned by projecting energy even if it’s misdirected, or giving the answer politicians think we want to hear, even if it’s not true. There’s nothing worse, it seems, than taking the time to give an answer, or admitting that you need more time to work it out – except perhaps to be considered boring. Perhaps we can at last have some political leaders who might just dare to say, “I don’t know, but I’ll work on it.” Above all to be honest. “Peace be with you.” Jesus will say to Thomas. May we all know that peace! 

Taken from the July / August issue of our Parish Magazine - read the whole issue by clicking here, or explore the Blog Tabs

Summer Fair!

 

Of corn and clay pots

 Trinity 1 (Proper 4) Year B – Eucharist – 2.vi.2024

(Deuteronomy 5.12-15; 

2 Corinthians 4.5-12; 

Mark 2.23-36)

One sabbath Jesus was going through the cornfields; and as they made their way his disciples began to pluck heads of grain.  The Pharisees said to Jesus, ‘Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath?’

The Pharisees accuse Jesus’ disciples of breaking one of the commandments of the Law. They are walking through the fields and start plucking at the growing stalks to take the grain. It’s not that they are trespassing. It’s not that they are guilty of theft in stealing the farmer’s corn. Their crime is of breaking the commandment that they should keep the sabbath – that they should refrain from work on the holy day of the week.

People these days may not give much thought to that piece of Jewish Law. It first appears in the Book of Exodus chapter 20, when Moses receives the Commandments from God on Mount Sinai. Today’s First Reading from the Book of Deuteronomy repeats that Commandment in a slightly different form. But what you can say of both is that if you take the list of the Ten Commandments it’s this one – to observe the Sabbath as a day of rest, a day to refrain from working – which is the longest. The injunction to refrain from idolatry comes pretty close in terms of length. But what we might consider to be the most serious of the Commandments almost trip off the tongue in terms of their brevity: “You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal.” Even “Honour your father and your mother…” gets no more than a single sentence.

“Remember the Sabbath day… Observe the sabbath day and keep it holy…” It’s this Commandment which is given most space in the Jewish Law. So when the Pharisees complain to Jesus about what his disciples are doing, they feel they have a serious point to make. Even walking more than a certain distance on the Sabbath day was restricted – and still is in modern Jewish observance. Plucking ears of wheat was prohibited because any gathering of grain from the fields counted as work.

But Jesus disagrees; “The sabbath was made for humankind and not humankind for the sabbath…” His words have become a proverb that people sometimes still quote in its non-inclusive form: “The sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath.” You’ll probably agree. But it shouldn’t be quoted just to justify doing whatever you want. That’s what I want you to remember: that this Commandment is the longest of those you’ll find amongst those given to Moses as the Jewish Law.

Look up the Ten Commandments and you’ll find you’re given not just a rule – you’re also given a reason. It’s because there are six days when you can get on with your everyday jobs or labour. Most people now would say that five days of work is quite enough. You need time off, time for something different. In the version of the Ten Commandments which you find in Exodus there’s a reason given – that God created the heavens and the earth in six days and rested on the seventh. Both Exodus and Deuteronomy say that you need to be able to rest from work – and not only you, but the people you share your home with, and even slaves, livestock and foreigners who have come from outside the community. Think of how politicians talk about curbing immigration, but at the same time our care system would collapse without those people who have come from abroad. There needs to be protection for all. When many politicians may speak of the need for “flexible working practices,” we have to ask – are they simply seeking to justify the exploitation of people who are forced into working when they really could do with some time off. “Workers’ rights” go right back into the Old Testament. And the reading from Deuteronomy has Moses remind his people: “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt…” Remember how you were mistreated there. Think of what it means to have been set free. So don’t condemn yourselves to continual labour once again. And think of how you should treat other people too…

Perhaps the Pharisees push things too far. They want to catch Jesus out. When he heals a man in the synagogue on the sabbath they don’t say anything, but they get together to think of whether they can use it as a pretext to take action against him.

What Jesus says – and what is fundamentally the reason for this longest of the commandments – is that humanity is what counts. Take seriously our own human needs, our need to be relieved from the grind of work and the burden of labour. Our need for refreshment. Our need of space for renewal, so that we can regain our perspective. And in remembering this commandment, see that it applies not only to us but to other people whose work we might take for granted – see that it’s about people we might take for granted.

St. Paul in our reading from 2 Corinthians speaks of his task as “proclaiming Christ as Lord,” and says we should understand ourselves as “slaves for Jesus’ sake.” But that’s not a slavery of exploitation. It’s about finding God’s glory in Jesus – and that’s to say that God himself is revealed to have a human face.

Paul goes on with words that are so important: “We have this treasure in clay jars…” We are called to contain all that God gives us. We may feel that we are taken for granted; we may take ourselves for granted. But we are precious because God calls us to be vessels of his Holy Spirit. In those tasks we undertake, God gives us a purpose. There are times when life gets us down: “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed…,” but then he adds, “not driven to despair.” Times when we feel “persecuted” – but not forsaken; “struck down” – but not destroyed.

How can we live our lives as Christians? It’s all a journey. That’s something we learn from the first disciples to follow Jesus. They leave their daily labour to discover something new. So much of what they learn seems to come not from words with which they are taught but simply from being with Jesus – there they are in today’s Gospel, walking with Jesus in the fields. It’s as they go that they discover new ways of looking at what they had taken for granted.

We need to find time to detach ourselves from the concerns which so much preoccupy us. We learn about God’s will for us not only through study, but by making space for God – in silence and stillness, in finding joy as we recognise the gifts of creation and renewal which he holds before us. We might count ourselves to be “clay jars,” like common fragile pots -  not to be taken for granted or ready to be broken, but so that we may find our calling to hold the treasures we receive from God. If God’s love is to be made visible, it is to be made visible through us.

On friendship

 6th Sunday of Easter– Eucharist – 5.v.2024

(Acts 10.44-48; 1 John 5.1-6; John 15.9-17)

Some words from today’s Gospel:

“You are my friends.... I do not call you servants any longer, … I have called you friends…”

Forget for a moment the words I’ve missed out – it’s the emphasis on friendship that concerns me here… Here’s a poem by a priest, R S Thomas, who had something of a reputation for grouchiness:

A pen appeared, and god said

"Write what it is to be

Man." And my hand hovered

long over the page

until there, like footprints

of the lost traveller, letters

took shape on the page’s

blankness and I spelled out

the word "lonely" And my hand moved

to erase it, but the voices

of all those waiting at life’s

window cried out loud “It is true.”

This is R.S.Thomas’s poem, “The Word.” Pretty well the antithesis of those words of Jesus I first quoted. Thomas was writing not just as a poet but as a priest who wrestled with the human condition and the barriers we find in communication with God and other people. What he says is what people often want to avoid saying. Where we try to be chirpy and answer the question, “How are you?” with that expected non-threatening response, “Fine,” Thomas instead is embarrassingly honest… “Write what it is to be a man”… “and I spelled out the word ‘lonely.’

I wonder how R S Thomas would fare if he were going through the selection process for ordination today. One of the questions candidates for ordained ministry are asked when they get to the stage of facing a diocesan selection panel concerns how they relate to other people. How are relationships in their family? And what about “friendships”? It’s the interpretation they give to that question which has interested me. Giving their answer, people will say they have anything from two or three close friends to many hundreds. It used to be the Christmas card list that could get out of control. Now people can’t afford the stamps for that, but instead people might reckon up the hundreds or even thousands of “Facebook friends” they have. But do they count? What constitutes a “friend”? Sometimes you might just think, I’ve got the wrong people on this list! When people start a speech off by addressing everyone as “Friends,” you might wonder whether they really have you in mind – and if so, what do they mean by “friend”? It’s a warning to politicians who might well come out the worse for wear if their audience is truly honest, and to clergy who address their entire Parish Magazine readership as “My Dear Friends…” – and then put the same letter before the whole world on the Internet. A businessman once said to me, “I don’t have friends, just acquaintances…” That’s a depressing observation, not least for its honesty. In our churches I hope we can do better, but there is a trap where in seeking to be friends with everyone, you end up being friends with no one in particular. 

Friendships can mark us and form us as the people we are. R S Thomas thought that the human condition was “lonely”, but that’s a heart-breaking observation that perceives what is missing in the lives of people who have come to think that way. We need other people. We need friendships which remain real despite the distance of space and time. We need people who are there for us when we need them – and at the same time need a readiness to be a friend to them through all the life-changes we experience. And we need an openness to celebrate new friendships. It’s something I find really moving when some one says, “May I count you as a friend?” It’s a question that needs to be asked more often…

That’s where our relationships within our churches can be so important. I’m so much moved when I see people who are there for each other – ready to talk, knowing when to be quiet, offering support gently when it’s needed. It’s something I find often at funerals when you see who is there and realise just how much that particular person had meant to so many people; perhaps how much support those present had given, how much the person they are there to mourn had been someone who had brought many different people together. I found that last week in taking the funeral of Angela, “the lady with the dog,” as so many people knew her. Angela had her own particular needs – but also the gift of putting people on the spot. She’d talk to people in the street; sometimes she would knock on their door; some of us she would phone; she’d turn up before opening time at Christmas and Summer Fairs at St. Cuthbert’s - and go home loaded down with tombola prizes. How you responded, I realised, said something about you / about me. She was ready to be your friend – and sometimes friendships can be testing. Are we ready to be friends to others?

Sometimes people say, “Don’t presume upon friendships.” I’ve found myself pondering whether this is a good rule. And this is where we need to get theological. The Book of Common Prayer, in its current edition dating back to 1662, includes the wonderfully-named Prayer of Humble Access for use at Holy Communion: “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O Lord…” it begins. Don’t make presumptions, it seems to say. But then there is a twist in the prayer. What you should not presume is your own state of worthiness: “We do not presume to come to this thy Table,… trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies.” You can presume when it comes to your relationship with God in Christ, for Christ has made us his friends and called us to his table. “I have called you friends.” These are his words in today’s Gospel – his call to us is to sit with him and eat. The modern version of that prayer you’ll find in our “Common Worship” booklets on page 10: “Most merciful Lord, your love compels us to come in.” This version misses out the reference to presumption – and perhaps a problem in modern society is that people presume just too much! – but it gets it right that it’s God who takes the initiative in calling us into fellowship with him. “You are my friends…” says Jesus, and he calls us to be friends to him and to each other.

St Gregory of Nyssa – in the 4th century – wrote:

This is true perfection:

not to avoid a wicked life

because we fear punishment,

like slaves; not to

do good because we

expect repayment, as

if cashing in on the

virtuous life by enforcing

some business deal.

On the contrary,

disregarding all those

good things which we

do hope for and which

God has promised us, we

regard falling from God’s

friendship as the only

thing dreadful, and we

consider becoming

God’s friend the only

thing truly worthwhile.

For Gregory, friendship with God was the one essential. Everything else followed from it. God loves us, and we see it because he doesn’t count the cost when he sends his Son into our world. Here is someone who will go to the Cross for us. But he reminds us: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Love and friendship are there to be given and received freely, without charge. We are called to be friends of God and friends to each other.

But can we do it? Don’t we find ourselves counting the cost? Can I afford to be his or her friend, we might find ourselves asking? That’s when friendship can be seen to cause obligation. It’s to fall into the trap of thinking that if we are to be a particular person’s friend then we have to emulate his lifestyle, reciprocate with presents of similar worth and match the magnificence of their dinner party invitations… The fact is that friendship does need to be worked at, but never so that you lose sight of who you really are, never so that friendship with one person or group causes you to shun another.

“You are my friends if you do what I command you,” says Jesus – “that you love one another.” The new commandment of Jesus is not an order that he lays upon us. 

“You are my friends… love one another…” People with the wrong idea might expect that if God gets mixed up with this world and wants to put things right he would “lay down the law.” But he doesn’t. Christ comes not to lay down the law, but to lay down his life. God takes the initiative of friendship with his people. He loves us, and draws us into his love. He counts us his friends, in a friendship that we can presume upon, in a friendship we are to share with others.

Vocation Sunday – a living or a life?

 4th Sunday of Easter– Eucharist – 21.iv.2024

(Acts 4.5-12; 1 John 3.16-24; John 10.11-18)

‘We know love by this, that the Son of God laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.’ (1 John 3.16)

There are days when you can wake up and think, “I just don’t know how much longer I can go on doing this.” Perhaps that’s not something that everyone feels, I’m not sure that even most people have felt it, certainly I hope not most of the time. But at least some people will say those words – and say them some of the time.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this…” It might come out in words like these, and it might be said about marriage or some other relationship which is being endured – which saps the spirit rather than builds it up. It might be the experience of illness, borne personally or in caring for a loved one who gets no better and whose needs are ever greater and more demanding. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this…” someone might say when they are the victim of misunderstanding or find themselves in the midst of a mess of their own personal making. Or it might be work and pressures which overwhelm rather than fulfill the individual.

What allows you to be the person you really are, rather than the individual you are forced into being? And what keeps you going regardless of all those pressures bearing upon you? I ask these questions because today is observed by the Church as “Vocations Sunday” – and vocation is about the recognition of calling, about seeing what I am called to be… more than a job, beyond planning a career, and where you need to hold in balance circumstance and reality.

From time to time I get asked – frequently by children and teenagers, “How old were you when you decided to become a Vicar?” I remember being asked that by one of my children! I didn’t normally expect questions like that from him that might require some profound attention to what I’ve been doing with my life. But the question arose from the vulnerability that young people might feel when the pressure is on them to make choices… How you decide when you’re that young what subjects you want to pursue at A-level or university? How do you know what job you might want to do? What if you might make the wrong choice? These days it’s the case that most people will be expected to make several career changes during the course of their working lives, but that’s not much comfort when you’re starting out and that first big choice confronts you. I suspect that it was much easier when I was growing up. There were no fees to find for a university education, you could do what you want, many people finished their degrees not much clearer about what they were going to do with their lives – there just seemed to be much more time available before those critical choices had to be made.

But of course the question that gets put to me, “How old were you when you decided to become a Vicar?”  - it’s the wrong question. I’m not sure I ever decided to become a Vicar. Being a “Vicar” is a job – in fact it’s a job-title, though a convenient one and rather easier to get your tongue round than “priest-in-charge” which is what my job title is in the parish of Castleside, as opposed to being Vicar of Benfieldside. I’m only a “Vicar” because first of all I’m a priest – and being a priest is both more and less than a job. A job is something you do. A priest is only something you can be. You’re ordained to it – something about you is said to be changed by ordination, but only after it’s first recognised that it has to do with the person you are. There’s careful assessment in the selection of clergy, but fundamentally the issue which prevails above any question of abilities and skills is, “who is this person? – what is at the root of their being? – how are they being called to respond to God’s calling?” And if that sounds terribly profound, it’s not because there is a set of answers which can be ticked, and mean you can go forward successfully to be ordained. It’s because they are questions which need to be answered about each and every person if we are truly to respond to God. Everyone has a calling if we are truly God’s people. It’s a calling that needs to be addressed from the time of our baptism – individuals known by name, baptized in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. From that time on God lives in us, we live our lives in God. But do we recognize it? What difference will it make to our lives? What is God calling me to be? 

And the answer can be worked out in many career choices, as people do many jobs. The call to priesthood doesn’t necessarily require working it out by doing one particular job. Many people continue a secular job day-by-day in a variety of careers. Our own Phil Carter has been ordained after retirement from a life of teaching. Since ordination I’ve always been one of the stipendiary clergy – paid by the Church – but it doesn’t always have to be that way, and I would still go on being a priest, whether paid or not. I might be nearing the time when I have to retire, but I’ll still go on being a priest. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this…” That’s a statement that perhaps in the future won’t be so much an indication of desperation as a statement of financial reality if the Church simply finds itself unable to pay its clergy – but they wouldn’t stop being priests.

Vocation – and the question of what constitutes a call from God – is something that sometimes has to be addressed in the most difficult of circumstances. When I have found the going tough, I have had to recognize just how many other people have to carry on with their own lives and in their own calling. If I found it tough to be a single parent and a priest, just how tough is it for anyone else? Can you be a single parent and a Christian? Yes, of course! So whatever people might have gone through in difficult times, everyone has to ask the question, “What is God saying to me?” “What particular task or calling does God have for me?” A church which recognizes the realities of daily living will be a church in which clergy and lay people with a particular call to ministry will find those realities bearing personally upon them.

“How much longer can I go on like this?” For me as a priest there needs to be a reality to my calling. For anyone I’d say that being tested in your calling – in the circumstances of daily life – is not the same as the denial of that calling. Asking myself - where should I be now? - I’ve learned to appreciate so much more where other people are in their lives, how they fulfil their callings. You can change a job, but it doesn’t mean that you give up a calling. I could stop being a Vicar, but I’d go on being a priest. I’ve learned that you can cease to be a husband, but I can’t envisage not being a father.

That’s about being what I am… who I am. Priesthood is not just about me – that wouldn’t be priesthood, because the priest should exercise priesthood to enable people in their own vocation and calling. You can’t be a priest on your own. You need support – support which I’ve learned to value so much. And you need to recognize what other people must be enabled to do by the fact of your priesthood.

Prayer is fundamental. “How can I go on?” There are those disciplines which you simply do. Like prayer. And if the priest needs to get on with prayer as part of the stuff of daily living, then it’s something for every other Christian too. Love is the other fundamental. Love in which we so frequently fail, but which is nevertheless our motivation and the basis of our calling. The recognition of love is the recognition of our being in God. Which brings me back to those words from our 2nd reading with which I began: ‘We know love by this, that the Son of God laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.’

Calling us by name

Easter Day – Eucharist – 31.iii.2024

(Acts 10.34-43; John 20.1-18)

“They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God…”

Today we have a choice of Gospel readings – either Mark’s or John’s account of the Resurrection. I’ve been very much torn as to which to choose. But the reading we’re told always to have is not from the Gospel at all. It’s from the Acts of the Apostles where we find these words spoken by Peter the Apostle. However confused the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection might have become – and we find marked differences in the accounts of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – there are two things that are clear: that Jesus died on the Cross; and on the third day he rose again… and he rose because God raised him. This is the heart of the Easter Gospel: Passion and Resurrection; the coldness, reality and inescapable fact of death – and the new life of the Risen Christ. 

But how we experience that will vary from person to person. There is some confusion between the Gospels as to who is the first witness to the Resurrection. In today’s choice of Gospels, Mark and John agree that it’s Mary Magdalene who first finds the stone which had blocked the entrance to Jesus’ tomb now rolled back. But while in Mark’s account Mary and the other women enter the tomb to find a young man dressed in white telling them that Jesus has risen, St. John’s Gospel has Mary leave as soon as she finds the stone moved, so that it’s Peter and an unnamed disciple who first make their way into the tomb to find it empty. We might wonder what is going on? And perhaps this is part of the truth of Easter - that the writers of the Gospel don’t feel obliged to get their story agreed between them. This is not a fiction artfully constructed. It’s the simple record – with all the confusion of the day - of the undeniable fact of the Resurrection. So our readings today start with Peter’s testimony in the Acts of the Apostles. Jesus died – and he rose again. The risen Jesus has appeared and there are people who saw it, but it’s not for everyone to need to see it. The Resurrection is more than an event you need to witness personally for yourself.

And Resurrection is more than finding a resuscitated body. It’s first of all an empty tomb. But an empty tomb is not proof of Resurrection. In St. John’s account, Peter does not know what to make of this vacated space with its empty grave clothes. The disciple who accompanies him says that he went in and believed – but he still hasn’t put it all together… as John tells us, “as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” It will take time before the truth of what they are witnessing sinks in. The Easter story is something that tells us that we can believe – and faith can be a very real thing – but we still won’t necessarily be able to make sense of every problem or setback that life has in store for us us. That’s what Resurrection is about: God active and alive, something we can believe in, even when we don’t feel or understand it.

How is it for Mary Magdalene, the first person to discover the tomb disturbed? St. John tells us that she found the stone moved,.. and she ran for it! Someone must have taken the body of Jesus away. There’s more agreement between Mark and John as to what happened next: when she finally looks into the tomb she finds either one or two men dressed in white. In Mark’s Gospel she and the other women are told that Jesus has been raised – and the disciples will see him… at which they flee in terror. St Mark’s account ends saying that they couldn’t tell anyone about this, because “they were afraid.” And there’s little comfort in St. John’s account. The angels ask why she is weeping. She can only state the obvious that she weeps for her Lord, killed on a cross, and it seems his body cannot even be left in peace. Mary, before she can experience the fullness of Christ’s Resurrection has to acknowledge her loss. For us Easter faith is not a miracle cure for all our woes. It can come only when we recognise the extent of our fears and anxieties, all those issues we would rather not own up to which sap our spirit...

There’s an Easter hymn that strikes a chord for me:

When our hearts are wintry, grieving or in pain,

thy touch can call us back to life again,

fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:

love is come again like wheat that springeth green.

Easter is not a matter merely of addressing the historical facts of the Resurrection, the emptiness of the Tomb, and the nature of Christ’s Risen Body. Easter is the time when we need to let God address us, to bring before him in Christ those ‘fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been.’ At Easter we do not shy away from the darkness within our souls, the wintry hearts, the grief and pain we may bear. But we find this one man who has been through it all before us: loving those about him, bringing life into broken bodies and relationships, a man who knows the full extent of human joy and sorrow, yet also experiences the pain of betrayal, the anguish of being deserted by friends in his time of greatest need; even on the Cross he has spoken words of care and forgiveness; until finally he has entered even into death itself and the darkness of the tomb. 

Only when Mary can say why she weeps does she turn to find the risen Jesus standing by her all along. She thinks he’s just the gardener, though something moves her to share her grief with him. It’s his response which brings home the truth of Easter to her. He simply speaks her name: “Mary.” It was Jesus who by his touch had brought her healing when they first met. Now he touches her by saying her name – this is how God comes to her in Christ; this is how we know that God knows us and is alive to touch our hearts.

Jesus loves us literally to death – his own death. So that his risen life is life for us all, if only we are ready to accept it. He speaks to us as he spoke to Mary. ‘I have called you by your name, you are mine,’ go the words of a chorus. And how true that is! That is why the use of our name at Baptism is so important. Christ calls to us from the start, whether we hear him or not. 

In a few moments we will renew our Baptismal Vows. As you declare your faith, remember that at your Baptism you were called by your name as the water was poured over you. As we are baptised in Christ he calls us by our name. Will we recognise him as he calls? Will we see him in the stranger, even as Mary finds him in a man she thought was a gardener? Will we find him in our neighbour, in our friends, in those from whom we are divided by misunderstanding and the inadequacy of communication or the frailty of our love?...

... love lives again, that with the dead has been:

love is come again like wheat that springeth green....

 

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain,

he that for three days [....] in the grave had lain,

quick from the dead my risen Lord is seen:

love is come again like wheat that springeth green.

Alleluia. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed. Alleluia!