Month: March 2019

1 Corinthians 10.1-13, Luke 13.1-9

The Third Sunday of Lent, 24 March 2019

Austwick, Clapham, Keasden

I asked the children at school this week what questions they had for God. If they could ask God a question now, what would it be? We then shared together in a time of quiet reflection, where we  let those questions gently float to the surface. Because we’re in Lent, trying to follow what Jesus did out there in the wilderness for forty days. He created space and time to let all the questions he had, float to the surface.

We may think children don’t have time for quietness and reflection, for waiting and listening. But they did, in the school assembly hall, whilst listening to Largo from Dvořák’s New World Symphony. Notice that I didn’t ask the children if they had a question for God. Because I was sure that they would have. Because children are guileless enough to know that they don’t know everything, and curious to know all those things they’ve not found out yet. All I did was to prompt their curiosity. 

This is a sermon against complacency – because St Paul said we should be against complacency, when he wrote, ‘If you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.’ It seems to me that being against complacency is what Lent is, it says something important about how we should spend Lent. 

If someone asks you “What questions do you have?” the worst answer you can give is: “Sorry, none really. I know all I want to know now and I’ve made my mind up about everything, and I won’t be needing any more information on anything, thank you.” [1] That is the opposite of guileless. That is the antithesis of Lent.

Paul wrote, ‘If you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.’ And last week,  Australia’s most senior Roman Catholic, Cardinal George Pell, was sentenced to six years in prison for the sexual abuse of two choirboys in the 1990s. Cardinal Pell has denied the charges and appealed his conviction. The judge said that he should not be made a scapegoat for the Church’s failings, but he severely criticised Cardinal Pell’s behaviour, saying that he had acted with “callous indifference” and “staggering arrogance”. Morally culpable, the judge said, his brazenness demonstrated his sense of power. [2]

Lest we think that Pell is a long way away and of a different church than ours, let me read out a brief letter to the Church Times this week by Andrew Graystone of Manchester: 

Sir, — Manchester City FC has set up a fund to provide support to victims of sexual abuse at the club. Meanwhile, the Church fights every victim tooth and nail to avoid taking responsibility and minimise reparations. The contrast is stark. It is a matter of shame that the House of Bishops has ceded moral leadership in this matter to a Premier League football club. [3] 

Our church is not immune to complacency – and sometimes succumbs to hubris, the pride that goes before a fall.

Our church is part of a wider society of course, and these are troubled times in Brexit Britain. Would it be true to say that the mess we are in is partly due to our complacency about the whole process from the very start, and our hubris – our poorly-judged egotism about our nation’s place in the world? In a country afflicted by anxiety just now, what can we do to help heal the hurt?

Turn again to the scriptures, is one thing. Today’s readings will do. Turn again to St Paul who followed up his warning against complacency by saying, “God won’t test you beyond your strength… God will provide you with a way out so that you can endure it.” Turn again to Jesus who urged an errant, arrogant people to repent or face judgement, but then told them a parable about a gardener and a fig tree which made it clear that he’s all about giving second chances.

God does give second chances, even to the most complacent and hubristic people, when they wake up to address their situation. As the writer of Proverbs puts it, ‘Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall…. Those who are attentive to a matter will prosper, and happy are those who trust in the Lord.’ [4]

“Even if you are on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there,” said the actor Will Rogers. But praying regularly will set us against complacency and the pride that goes before a fall. And reflecting on the scriptures will reassure us of those often-repeated words of Jesus, “Do not be afraid”, cast your anxieties onto me and you will find peace. [5]

The one-time Archbishop of York John Habgood died last week. This greatly-respected spiritual leader was also a scientist, who ‘remained wedded to his conviction that nothing was certain and the church’s job is to preach honesty. He said, “I think the honest search for a truth that transcends us, an honest exploration of mystery; these are what I find most attractive; and an approach which somehow brings a wholeness to life. … At its best,” he said, “the Church of England, by its very diversity, should expose people to the idea that we learn by being part of a continuing conversation, with God and with each other.” [6]

In the face of our Brexit conflicts and concerns the Archbishops of Canterbury and York are this week encouraging us to make a Prayer for the Nation, ‘believing that our future can be entrusted to God; therefore there is hope’. They are inviting us all to ‘begin the slow, patient and careful work of listening – and creating the conditions for people to listen to one another’. 

During Lent, the impasse, the anxiety, over Brexit have intensified. But Lent is our resource and our inspiration; during Lent, the prayer and goodwill of un-complacent people can contribute towards ‘building a more just society which is at peace with itself and committed to a better future for the next generations’.  Let us pray the prayer which the Archbishops have composed: 

God of hope, in these times of change,

unite our nation and guide our leaders with your wisdom.

Give us courage to overcome our fears,

and help us to build a future in which all may prosper and share;

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. [7]

Notes

[1] Adrian Chiles, We need a return to curiosity – right now, people just want to tell you how wrong you are. Guardian, 21 March 2019.

[2] Muriel Porter, Pell sentenced to six years, Church Times, 15 March 2019.

[3] Andrew Graystone, ’Fund for abuse victims’, Letters to the Editor, Church Times, 22 March 2019.

[4] Proverbs 16.18, 20

[5] David Hutton, ‘The Second Sunday of Lent’ Liverpool Cathedral 1998. From Peter Kennerley (ed),  ‘The Sermons of David Hutton: Light and Darkness, Weal and Woe’ (out of print). Quoted in an email from Robert Gallagher.

[6] The Right Rev Lord Habgood obituary. The Times, 8 March 2019. Thanks to Anne Read for this quote.

[7] ‘A Prayer for the Nation’ in Church of England, Resources for Prayer Together.

Genesis 15.1-12,17-18, Luke 13:22-35

The Second Sunday of Lent, 21 February 2016

Austwick, Clapham

As he turned his face towards the place and time of his trial and execution, Jesus said, ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem, city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not.’

This is a sermon about scattering and gathering: the careful way a mother hen gathers her own, contrasting with the violent way an attacking fox scatters a field of chicks. And the place on which we focus is that conflicted city, that ultimate arena of gathering and scattering: Jerusalem.

Have you ever visited Jerusalem? Countless pilgrims gather in Jerusalem today, in awe and wonder at the sights of the special spiritual places they see. The pilgrims of three faiths – Jews gather to pray at the wailing wall, Muslims congregate to pray in the Al-Aqsa Mosque, and Christians together walk the Via Dolorosa. The holy city of Jerusalem gathers the tribes. [2]

But within this gathering there is the sad sense of scattering, for these pilgrims travel not together, but as separate groups. It was the same in the Jerusalem Jesus looked out on, whose pilgrims were all descendants of Abraham and the twelve tribes of Israel. But now, as then, the tribes keep apart from each other, each praying in their own place, each staying in their own rooms, huddling together to secure their identity against the others, whilst each mirroring the other’s intensity of belief and devoutness, and each mimicking the others’ desire to claim Jerusalem as their own. 

The disunity of that city reminds us that this is the way in which human beings have always gathered – together in tribes, their backs turned against all other tribes. This is the way that the world gathers: under a religious sign, under an ideology, under a flag. It has the appearance of being unifying; but it is divisive. It is why Jerusalem is split apart by security walls and checkpoints today, and why in Jesus’ time Herod always had his forces on alert at pilgrimage time.

This is the way of the fox, whose way is always to divide, isolate, attack. Whenever we gather under the sign of a crucifix, or a crescent, or a star, in opposition to others, the fox stalks among us. [3] So as the world gathers in tribes identifying ourselves in hostility to other groups, being prepared to kill the prophets who question this way of gathering, and stoning those who go to them trying  for unity, as the world adopts the way of the ruthless fox, Jesus models a different way of gathering.

For Jesus is no fox, but rather the mother hen who gently lifts her wings so that all of Jerusalem can snuggle under them – the high-priestly, politically conservative Sadducees, the pious and morally conservative Pharisees, the contemplative Essenes and the revolutionary Zealots, the Herodians and the occupying Romans – ‘How I desire to gather you all together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings…’ he said. 

Now, if you have ever seen a mother hen gather chicks you’ll feel the power in Jesus’ metaphor. For a mother hen gathers her chicks easily; with an economy of motion and a few well-chosen clucks of comfort and guidance she draws them to herself. They come to her, gladly, for they know that under her wings is love, warmth and protection. This is how Jesus longs to gather us, away from the lure of the fox. Jesus values the uniqueness of each person, of each pilgrim party, of each tribe, and longs to shelter each one just as we are, united in our diversity, under his wings.

There is a longing in Jesus’ voice for the scattered tribes of Jerusalem to gather together: the Sadducees fearing that any unity with others would compromise their social standing; the Pharisees fearing for their religious purity, the Essenes fearing losing their precious separateness; the Zealots fearing being accommodated to the system they aggressively opposed, the Herodians and the occupying Romans fearfully holding on to their power in the region. [4]

Sadly the way of Herod the fox, the way of all empires, prevailed, in the end, all the way to Calvary. And sadly seems to still prevail in Jerusalem – and in all our Jerusalems – today. 

For Jesus spoke of Jerusalem killing the prophets, and Folke Bernadotte, Swedish diplomat, wartime rescuer of thousands of Jews, postwar United Nations Middle-East mediator, was killed in West Jerusalem by militant Zionists for his advocacy of a Palestinian settlement. [5]  

And Jesus spoke of Jerusalem stoning those who are sent to it: and Mounir Kleibo, a senior United Nations official in the Palestinian Territories, sustained serious injuries to his jaw after coming under attack by Palestinian rock throwers in East Jerusalem. ( ‘Allah will forgive them’, he is later reported to have said). [6] 

Today, Jerusalem is at the epicentre of the world’s conflicts where young Palestinian men continue to hurl stones and young Israeli soldiers continue to fire bullets and the mothers of them both weep over their graves [7]

So in our splintering world today the gospel passage invites us to desist in gathering only in our tribes, posturing behind the comfortable dogmas of our peer group, clinging to our social certainties, aggressively waving our flags – following the way of the fox, whilst vulnerable to the attacks of the fox. The invitation is to be drawn to the way of the mother hen. Jesus invites us to celebrate our common ties with all the children of a God who goes by many names, for, whatever shade of skin we are, we are all God’s vulnerable chicks, and equally loved by our creator. 

The Psalmist said it three thousand years ago, and it’s just as true today: if we pray for the peace of Jerusalem we pray for our own peace. Yes, if we pray for the peace of Jerusalem we pray for the peace of Christchurch, New Zealand. If we pray for the peace of Jerusalem we pray for the peace of multi-racial Bradford, Keighley, Skipton… ourselves ….

So let us pray for the peace of Jerusalem. May they prosper – all Jews, Muslims and Christians, who love that place. Peace be within her walls, for the sake of all pilgrims of the earth, so that God will continue to dwell among us. Let us pray for the peace of Jerusalem. Let us seek her good. [8]

Notes

[1] An edited version of Scattering and gathering: brooding over Jerusalem first preached in Somerset in 2016. I am indebted, as ever, to Paul Nuechterlein whose notes and references on this passage have been invaluable in preparing this sermon: Girardian Lectionary, Lent 2C.

[2] Patrick Woodhouse, Life in the Psalms: Contemporary Meaning in Ancient Texts: The Mowbray Lent Book 2016, p.38.

[3] This section inspired by Sydney Carter’s song ‘The devil wore a crucifix’, sung here by Franciscus Henri.

[4] This section was inspired by part of Jesus the Mother Hen, a Sermon on Luke 13:22-35, posted on the Holy Ground Holy Space Facebook page, 25 February 2013. It is unclear, but the author of this particular passage seems likely to be Barbara Brown Taylor.

[5] Wikipedia: Folke Bernadotte.

[6] UN official hurt in stoning: ‘Allah will forgive them’, Times of Israel, October 12, 2015.

[7] Patrick Woodhouse, Life in the Psalms, p.39.

[7] Patrick Woodhouse, Life in the Psalms, p.39, adapting Psalm 122, and further altered by me, March 2019.

Romans 10.8b-13, Luke 4.1-13

The First Sunday of Lent, 10 March 2019

Austwick, Clapham, Keasden

In the Spanish city of Segovia, northwest of Madrid, is one of the most superb architectural legacies of the Roman empire. Segovia’s aqueduct, with its 167 arches fashioned from the granite stone of the Guadarrama Mountains, is a source of great pride to the local people and attracts the admiration of all who visit to see it. The single blocks of the aqueduct are not bound by any kind of mortar, but instead an ingenious equilibrium of forces that seem to defy gravity. [1] It’s like dry-stone walling on an epic scale.

Although the Romans actually built it, there is a well-known legend about how Segovia’s aqueduct was made. It’s the story of a serving girl who used to climb, every day, to the very top of the mountain and return with her pitcher full of water. Fed up of this daily drudgery, she spoke to the Devil, asking him to build something so she needn’t trudge up and down the mountain any more. The Devil granted her wish, and foolishly perhaps, he said he’d build it in one night – the silly Devil. There was one condition. He asked for her soul in return, if he managed to finish the aqueduct before the cockerel crowed.

The girl reluctantly agreed and the Devil started to build the aqueduct, but as the night wore on and the Devil’s work got nearer completion the girl grew more and more concerned. Then, just before the Devil could lay the last stone, the cockerel crowed. The Devil lost his wager and the girl kept her soul. In the gap that remained in the aqueduct, today stands the statue of the Virgin of Fuencisla, patroness of the city. [2]

Now we know from the last line in today’s gospel reading that when the Devil loses his gamble on someone’s soul he doesn’t give up – he bides his time until another opportunity comes. And so it may be no surprise to hear the news that today in Segovia a horned figure has reappeared, a statue of Satan commissioned by the city authorities in the hope that it will become a tourist attraction. 

The selfie-taking Devil of Segovia – with the aqueduct he built in the background

Now this Satan is a paunchy, friendly-looking fellow. He’s posing with a cell phone in his hand, snapping a selfie. And this impish-looking statue has caused a group of local Catholics to decry it as “offensive” to their religion. They say that this devil looks too good natured, is too jovial and not repulsive enough to represent Satan accurately.The devil, they argue, should be portrayed in art as “repulsive and despicable, not friendly and seductive.” [3]

You may have some sympathy for these Devil-deriders. But hang on, we might think. Surely the point about the Devil is that he is friendly and seductive. If he were repulsive and despicable, people would avoid him and his teasing temptations. But friendly and seductive is exactly what the Devil is: which is why we’re here at the start of Lent, examining ourselves for those corners of our hearts where he may have taken a hold.

Better the devil you know, so the saying goes. And the Devil we know from the time Jesus spent with him in the wilderness, the Devil we know from our own experience, is the Devil who turns our desires for health, wealth and happiness into obsessions which end up damaging the delicate ecology of our hearts and souls, our bodies, and our world.

The three temptations of Jesus are our temptations also: for food to satisfy our physical yearnings; for prestige and wealth to satisfy our longing for acceptance and recognition; and for any means possible to defy our mortality and stay forever healthy and alive.

Considering these things during Lent brings us into contact with words we tend to usually avoid: 

Causing us to ask, about food, am I a glutton – how does my comfortably-stocked kitchen and my frequent snacking appear to my Christian brothers and sisters in Africa and Asia where chronic undernourishment is prevalent? What beautiful adjustment would take place if I found ways to cut down and share more? 

Lent causes us to ask, about prestige and wealth, am I being lustful? – is my longing for acceptance just adding to my anxieties? Does my drive for recognition set me apart from people, rather than draw me to them? What wonderful difference would it make if I accepted myself as I am and embraced others as equals?

And Lent causes us to ask, about mortality, am I going against nature in my preoccupation with health and well-being? Does my reluctance to accept my physical limitations drive a wedge between my body and my soul? What joy would explode into every day if I took each living moment as a gift to cherish? What peace would I find if I approached my eventual death truly believing what my Christian faith says about it? 

The wily old Devil may wear a grin which says, be happy – eat more, consume, grasp after wealth, keep fit, defy death, smile for the camera. It’s better the devil you know. For you know how his smile turns ugly when you chase these things too far, when you feed your desires too much.

Lent is the Church’s invitation to all of us to turn again, and fix our desires on God.

For in prayer, and in contemplation of the scriptures, in learning and sharing together, Lent reacquaints us with a God who has lovingly made us to be uniquely the person we each are, and who gives us all we need to find ourselves whole, regardless of whatever physical or financial or social or emotional limitations we’re made to feel we have. Lent reacquaints us with a God who has lovingly made us to be together in the unity of our brothers and sisters, to encourage each other, to struggle, learn and grow as members of the body of Christ.

Better the Devil you know. Better still: the God who knows and loves you. 

Welcome to Lent. Let’s embrace it.

Notes

[1] Wikipedia: Aqueduct of Segovia

[2] The legend of Segovia’s aqueduct. The Diplomat in Spain, 11 June 2014.

[3] Francesca Street, ‘Friendly’ Satan statue causes anger in Segovia, Spain. CNN, 17 January 2019