Jeremiah 28.5-9, Matthew 10.40-42
The Third Sunday after Trinity, 2 July 2017
Sutton Montis, Queen Camel
Jesus said, “Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones – will be rewarded.”
On the night of the Grenfell Tower fire the Reverend Alan Everett of the church of St Clement’s, Notting Dale, was woken up at 3am by a priest who lives in the tower, and immediately went down to the church, opened the doors and turned the lights on. It all began from there. People started coming in out of the dark – often passersby looking to help. And the first thing they did was to get the water on. Water to salve the people’s scorched throats; water to wash away the taste of smoke from their tongues. Kettles on to bring calming cups of tea and coffee to traumatised souls. [1]
“Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones – will be rewarded.”
In the gospel of Matthew Jesus talks a lot about the ‘little ones’.
“Whoever welcomes one such little child in my name welcomes me.” [2]
“Do not put a stumbling-block before one of these little ones who believe in me.” [3]
“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.” [4]
The little ones of the world are the focus of Jesus’ attention.
The little ones of our society are the ones he draws our attention to.
Our behaviour towards the little ones close to us defines our relationship with him.
One word which is used to gauge the spirit of our times is empathy. Defined as ‘the ability to understand and share the feelings of another’, we can see it behind the teachings of Jesus on our attitudes towards those he speaks of as ‘the little ones’, ‘the least among us’.
In 2006, Barack Obama told American students that the country was suffering from an “empathy deficit” and called upon Americans to learn “to recognise ourselves in each other”. Empathy became a political buzzword; “Free Empathy” was a common sign at the Occupy protests in 2011. Last year’s presidential election was widely seen as a bad moment for empathy – one newspaper columnist asked, “Did Donald Trump kill empathy in politics?”
Or perhaps it was politics that killed empathy. A recent study found that our ability to relate to one another has been declining since 1979. The report found that students are generally less likely than a few decades ago, to agree with statements such as, “I often have tender, concerned feelings for people less fortunate than me”. The authors noted the correlation between the fall in empathy and the rise in narcissism. [5]
In other words, in a culture increasingly defined by the selfie, selflessness has been a loser. In our highly individualistic culture, when you’re encouraged to “be yourself”, to value competition over collaboration, empathy has become a less desirable trait. [6]
And in such a society, the little ones are always the first to lose out.
In his Sunday morning sermon following the Grenfell Towers fire, Fr Robert Thompson, an assistant priest in St Clement’s, Notting Dale and also a local councillor, channelled his anger, saying:
“The people on the lowest incomes of this parish simply do not feel listened to, either this week or in previous years, by those in power. Worse than that, what the whole issue of the cladding and the lack of sprinklers may well highlight is that some people in our society have simply become excess and debris on our neoliberal, unregulated, individualistic, capitalist and consumerist society.” [7]
Now, those who study empathy scientifically, break it down into three different functions: cognitive empathy, affective empathy and consolatory empathy.
Cognitive empathy is recognising what somebody else is feeling. Affective empathy is the emotional state that is triggered by recognising what somebody else is feeling. (Now, a psychopath might have high cognitive empathy but low affective empathy; just because you’re good at reading someone’s feelings doesn’t mean you care about them.)
But the third kind of empathy, consolatory empathy, is about acting on those feelings. “This is a reason why empathy has evolved,” says Cambridge University’s Simon Baron-Cohen. “When we see someone in pain, we don’t just note it and walk away. It usually propels us to do something about it – to rush over and help, or perhaps donate money to a cause.” [8]
Jesus, it seems, is most interested in consolatory empathy, in our acting on those feelings we get when we recognise the little ones in our midst, in propelling us to do something about it.
Jesus, it’s clear, warns us against causing our little ones to be scandalised.
If they are not being cared for by the Christian community these little ones may wonder why Jesus does not appear to be modelled in the lives of those who claim to follow him. They might ask, did Jesus not meet needs, bring healing, show compassion, is that not the story the Christians tell about him? Then why do these followers of Jesus behave differently?
Besides being ignored, their voices silenced, sadly, the little ones are frequently our scapegoats. The little ones; the powerless, the weak, the hurting, the abused and the abandoned make the easiest targets for our wrath. In these ways, Christianity has, through its long and storied history, scandalised the world by not taking care of its own little ones.We may say what we like about the greatness of the Bible or God, but our care for the little ones in our neighbourhoods and in the world speaks a better word about the place of Jesus in our lives. The way we choose to include the marginalised in our societies, with those unjustly accused, these actions show how well we are imitating the way of the Prince of Peace. [9]
The church of St Clement, Notting Dale was built and paid for in 1867 by Alfred Dalgarno, a philanthropist vicar with deep pockets and a compassion for the poor. The local council ward, the Dalgarno ward, is named after him. Parish priest and local councillor Fr Robert Thompson last week said, “This parish was built pre-welfare state and it is going to be needed as we now enter the post-welfare state.” [10]
It seems quite clear that it was no accident that that church rapidly became a focal point for relief work and support during that terrible crisis – for throughout its history it has kept its focus on the little ones of its parish.
St Clement’s runs a charity called the Clement James centre, which helps thousands of local people every year, into work, into university. That’s why the parish is so trusted locally. As the vicar explained, “We are called to share in the brokenness and the forgottenness of the people we serve.” [11]
Now it’s always more difficult to identify who are the little ones closer to home. In my experience even in the poorest parishes, people are reluctant to acknowledge the poverty. And even in the wealthiest parishes, we may find it hard to admit where a poverty of spirit, a loneliness of heart, prevails beneath the respectable surface.
But if we want to be faithful to him then this is what we are charged to do as followers of Jesus: to learn consolatory empathy; to focus our attention away from the big ones, the successful ones around us, to renounce our need to model our lives on them, and instead to seek out and understand the little ones in our midst, and to act on what they tell us, on what we see and feel in our relationship with them. God gives each of us the particular gifts and characters to respond to this challenge in our own distinctive way.
I’ve been engrossed in reading Ted Marsh’s recently-published memoirs – and I recommend his book to you highly. Most of us know him as an organist and churchwarden at St Mary Magdalene, Sparkford, but another aspect of his life has been his long years of service to the Agricultural Workers Union. One stand-out passage relates to the day when he opened an envelope from the Office of the Lord Chancellor, informing him that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth was pleased to award him with the British Empire Medal for services to agriculture. He said that he read it with amazement and had to read it a second time for it to sink in.
“For services to agriculture”, [he repeated]. I had only been doing what I enjoyed doing, namely representing and speaking up for those agricultural workers who were afraid to speak up for themselves as well as advising and helping in whatever capacity I could. [12]
“Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones – will be rewarded.” [13]
“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.” [14]
Notes
[1] Giles Fraser, After the Grenfell fire, the church got it right where the council failed, Guardian, 22 June 2017.
[2] Matthew 18.5.
[3] Matthew 18.6.
[4] Matthew 25.40.
[5] Richard Godwin, ‘It’s a superpower’: meet the empaths paid to read your mind, Guardian, 24 June 2017.
[6] Godwin.
[7] Fraser.
[8] Godwin.
[9] Michael Hardin and Jeff Krantz, PreachingPeace.com (Proper 8A – page now removed) quoted in Paul Nuechterlein, Girardian Lectionary, Reflections, Proper 8A.
[10] Fraser.
[11] Fraser.
[12] Ted Marsh, The Four Ifs: Ted’s Story. Close Publications 2017 ISBN 978-0-9572393-4-0. p.135. A memoir of Ted, still organist and hon. secretary and churchwarden at St Mary Magdalene, Sparkford.
[13] Matthew 10.42
[14] Matthew 25.40.