Sermon: We Have All The Oil of Anointing We Might Need!

 

Sermon. St Mary’s and St Michael’s Little Ilford (Live-Streamed Worship only)

8 November 2020

3^rd Before Advent / Remembrance Sunday

 

Gospel: Matthew 25:1-13

 

What is going on in today’s gospel? In the first place, Jesus tells the story of a wedding. In Palestine in the first century, you didn’t get married by going to synagogue, or even to a lovely country house. A man may get married simply by going to fetch his bride, and bring her to his home. But, of course, since a wedding is the by far the very best excuse for a party, a meal was made out of each stage. So it’s very credible that a groom might say: “Right, I’m going to fetch her”, and then depart, and those left at home would have no idea when he’d be back. Because the couple are making a big procession, and calling in on people all the time. So, then, indeed, it might well be dark by the time the couple arrive, and then some form of light will be called for. Why not let the unmarried girls and women in the family have this task, again, to make a meal out of it? It’s probable, by the way, that the light in this story [sing. lampas] means torches, in the sense of tight bundles of sticks soaked in oil, rather than lamps or lanterns. It’s the same word that is used in John for the torches the Roman police bring to the garden of Gethsemane [John 18.3].

 

What is going on in today’s gospel? Jesus teaches as he so often does, by telling a story. A simple story to those who know the culture, but not necessarily with one simple meaning.

 

What is going on in today’s gospel? Jesus tells what this story is there for, he gives us the “therefore”. “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour”. But what does this mean? It is unlikely that it is against sleep, literal sleep, loss of consciousness at night. There are, it is true, some spiritual traditions that are suspicious of sleep, and certainly suspicious of lie-ins, but that’s scarcely the focus here. Notice that in the story the bridesmaids are not criticised for getting drowsy and taking a nap: the foolish do it; the wise do it too.

 

Is it, then, about being expectant? Are we being called upon to expect the return of Jesus-our-Bridegroom at any minute? Any minute now. Any minute now. Are we meant to encourage each other with these words: “Jesus is coming – any minute now?” I doubt it. Of course, we have the advantage of being able to look back on 2000 years of Church life. There it’s pretty clear that communities which make a meal of the idea that we are in the last days, and “Jesus is coming – any minute now”, do not flourish, over time. It’s hard to stay intensely expectant in that sense, over a long period of time. It’s hard to live that way.

 

We know this ourselves. We might indeed have tried to encourage ourselves a lot between Wednesday and Saturday, by keeping the television on a news channel, and saying: “Any minute now, we’ll know who is the next President of the USA. Any minute now.” But if we had done this, we would have grown weary, and even jaded. Even more pertinently, we might indeed seek to encourage each other with “Any minute now, lockdown will be over – any minute now.” Or “Any minute now, they’ll find a vaccine – any minute now”, but if we do so, we find that what starts as encouragement becomes discouragement, and we become weary, and even jaded. It can be harmful.

 

And again, I say: the wise bridesmaids in the story are for their part not criticised for getting drowsy and taking a nap. So the message is not: “sleep is bad”, but nor is the message: “adrenaline is good, keep in a heightened state of awareness, always”.  

*

If we stick with the wedding story itself, another message emerges. 

It’s not about literally keeping awake. It’s not about keeping expectant, straining your neck to see a couple who simply must be around the corner. It is about being prepared. Yes (let me say it) we are all to be (as it were) boy scouts, and “be prepared”.

 

The foolish bridesmaids were not those who had a nap (to say it one last time), but were those who were not prepared, on waking. Who, on waking, were not prepared. This message also makes more sense. If we look back on those 2000 years, we surely do see that churches which sustain a lively sense that they must be prepared, prepared for the next thing Gd is going to do, because Gd really is active among us – these churches do tend to thrive (in one way or another). And we might hope to be such a church.  

 

How were the bridesmaids to “be prepared”? It’s not a difficult question. They are to have plenty… of oil. To keep a torch lit for a protracted length of time, you need a lot of oil. You need oil to spare. And of course, this isn’t Castrol GTX oil, this is olive oil, or similar.

 

[Shows oil]

 

And once we let the oil in the story move into view, we see something more. With biblical sensitivity, we see that this oil is the oil that enables light, yes, but is also the oil that enables anointing. Prophets and priests (sometimes) and kings (especially) were anointed with oil. And remember that the word “Christ” is not a name: it’s a description, a title; it means “anointed”, The Anointed One.

 

So we too are to be prepared, prepared by having plenty of the oil-of-anointing, by having our oil-of-anointing, and oil-of-anointing to spare.

 

Can we get a feel for this? That Jesus is saying by means of this story that there is plenty of the oil-of-anointing, there is oil-of-anointing for us and for all. Get as much as you need and want; it is there to be got. We are, after all, to be expectant, but not expectant in the sense that we keep going on about how Jesus is bound to return next week, or at any time soon, but expectant in the sense that we are to look within our lives for where Gd already is anointing, with the touch of his Spirit. The oil of the Spirit is with us. We have our supplies, and more than our supplies, if we only trust it.

 

So much is uncertain. Now, it is true, and importantly true, that we do not live with that bundle of agonising uncertainties that come under the heading of “war”, still less “World War”. We are conscious of this especially today, and we will remember the victims of wars, near and far, in just a little while, giving thanks for our peace. But much is uncertain here and now, for us, too. It is natural that for us, too, the adrenaline will flow, and we may fall into anxiety at least in that sense.

 

But here is one thing we need not be anxious about. We can let this anxiety fall away.  The oil of the Spirit is with us. We have our supplies, and more, if we only trust it.

 

We in our church here and now have, I think, a lively sense of this; we know we are on the cusp of change, and we pray that it will be anointed change, the change of the Spirit, and in so praying we do trust that our prayer will be answered, affirmatively. May we also know it throughout our lives, our own lives as workers (whether paid or not), as family members (as spouses as parents as children as siblings…), as people who play, and may we know this in the secret place of our own heart, in our own praying.

 

Keep awake, keep alive to the truth that we already have all the anointing of the Spirit we might need. Find it. Cherish it. Hold it. Let your light shine. Amen.

Sermon. "I Believe in God!" How?

 

Sermon, St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford, 30 August 2020

Trinity 12 (Year A)

 

Matthew 16.21-28: Get behind me, Satan!

 

Last week Simon Son of Jonah named Jesus “the Messiah, the Christ”,and Jesus named Simon “Peter”. And we reflected on the meaning of names.I knew then that this week we would hear how Jesus gives Peter yet another label or name. It’s not a name that stuck. It is not hard to see why.

The name is “Satan”.

We know the story well, I suspect: Jesus says that he will suffer and be killed; Peter objects; Jesus says “Get behind me, Satan; this is all Gd’s will.” How it is Gd’s will is a big question, but all the gospels are clear that somehow Jesus’ suffering and being-killed is Gd’s will.

“Get behind me, Satan.”

Jesus’ language strikes us as so extreme that it may well be worth reflecting on what might be going on. It’s not straightforward. I’ll make three points, in growing order of importance.

 

We Christians think of Satan as being another title or name for the devil. There is, after all, a verse in Revelation [20.2] which speaks of the dragon, who is the serpent, who is the devil, who is Satan. All one.

But in fact they may have been thought of as different characters at one point.

Think of the Book of Job. Job begins with a character called ha-shatan, the satan, in dialogue. What may surprise you is that he is dialogue with Gd, and the dialogue is respectful. The satan does not speak from the bowels of hell; he seems to be part of the heavenly court. He is something like a prosecuting lawyer, taking a sceptical view on the virtues of Job. The satan in Job is a title, not a name, and just means “accuser”. We can say he is negative, cynical and hyper-critical. We can say he is bad news. But it’s much harder to say he is, in Job, the embodiment of all evil. It is just possible that Jesus’ use of the term “Satan” here means something like that.   

 

You may not be convinced by that. To be honest, neither am I. I just wanted to give you the full picture. You may say that for anyone to call anyone “Satan” must be about the harshest thing that can be said. But! But, another point: we have to understand how people argued in the ancient world. It was in fact quite rhetorically acceptable to say that your opponent was possessed by the devil and such like, when you wanted to disagree with them. It did not sting in the way it would for us. It was, frankly, quite normal. We do have a flavour of this in the New Testament. Remember in John (7.2) when Jesus says people will attack him, they respond: “You have a demon! No one is trying to kill you”. There - and I think we do sense this - “you have a demon” just means “you’re being very foolish”.   

 

Again, you may not be wholly convinced. But! Another point: we can take comfort in this. Calling  Peter “Satan” did not stick and was never intended to stick. Even as Jesus calls Peter “Satan”, he gives him a way out:

 

“Get behind me”.

 

We may think this means ”disappear”, but surely it is more likely to mean “get behind me” in the sense of “change your way of thinking and get in line; follow me again; be a true follower of mine, and stick close. Yes, your understanding of the ways of Gd has been faulty, and I have called you out in colourful language, but I still want you close by me”. So Jesus is as far from giving up on Peter – sending him away, as if he were Satan – as can be.

 

“Get behind me, Satan!”

 

We are, it is true to say, not a church that speaks a lot about Satan. I will tell you bluntly that I think that is a good thing. We are right not to.

 

True story. Back in the day, I studied Theology in Germany for a semester. I had some famous lecturers. And not only were they scholars, they were also typically ministers. One – Jurgen Moltmann, if you know your German theologians – said that any parish interviewing a minister is certain to ask them, among all their questions: “Do you believe in the devil?”. He said he always gave the same reply: “No, I believe in Gd”. It is not too hard to understand his point: it is important to keep your attention focused in the right place, on Gd. Whatever we may think about the reality and dangers of the devil/Satan, the answer lies in Gd. So keep your focus on Gd.

 

“I believe in Gd”.

 

 

We say it so often. We say it repetitively, within this very service. We may – will – find that we say it rote, without thinking about it, at least from time to time. We need not beat ourselves up for this. It is bound to happen whenever with have rituals and set forms. But it is actually a powerful thing to say. “I believe in Gd”.

 

We’ll misunderstand it, if we think it means the same as “I have worked out - come to the conclusion – discovered the fact - that Gd exists”. It isn’t about an objective fact out there. I will go so far as to say it doesn’t describe a state of affairs at all. Because it is so much closer to: “I place my trust in Gd”.

 

“I believe, trust in Gd.”

 

Some say that the English word “belief” is related to the word “beloved”. So it might almost be like saying: “I declare my love for Gd”. And they say much the same about the Latin word for belief. You will actually know the Latin for “I believe”, because it’s “credo”, which gives us our word “creed”. And there is the school of thought that says “credo” ultimately comes from “cor” and “do”. Cor – heart; do – I give. “I give my heart to.” Something similar can be said about the Greek and the Hebrew: to believe in Gd is to trust in Gd, and to act accordingly.

 

So here is an invitation to take the creed seriously, perhaps more seriously than we have done, but/and/but not as a set of propositions, a set of facts we think we have stumbled upon. We can think of the threefold pattern of the creed as saying:

“We place our trust in the Father, whose story is this…”;

“We place our trust in the Son, whose story is this…”;

“We place our trust in the Holy Spirit, whose story is this…”.

 

I am not suggesting this is easy. What it means to trust in Gd – what we actually do – is a big question. And, let’s be honest, whether we are right to trust Gd is going to be a live question for all of us at times. Believers no less than unbelievers can see the world as godforsaken, can really struggle to believe Gd is in charge of it all.

 

But what I am really saying is, all of that notwithstanding, we can come to the creed, week by week, and indeed in just a moment, seeing it each time as an invitation to consciously place our trust in Gd, in whatever ways are right for us, and, if we can hear it, even a chance to celebrate our trust in Gd. I say to myself as well as to you: consider yourself invited.

 

We believe in Gd.   

Sermon: On Names

 

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels. 23 August 2020

Trinity 11 (Year A)

 

Matthew 16.13-20: Who do you say that I am?

 

In today’s gospel reading, people name people. Well, at least one person names one other person. (We can discuss who names whom.) In the light of this, I’d like today’s reflection to be part of that occasion series: Sermons Which Try Something Different. And here, “Trying Something Different” means: thinking about names. Let us pursue the personal names in today’s gospel.

 

In the Bible, names mean things. You may say: of course. But I would counter that. In some cultures and languages, names are simply sounds thought to be attractive. By no means must a name have a meaning. I have a couple of (native-born British) friends who have named their children (in both cases, though, just one of their children) after sounds they were drawn to, and nothing more. But that is still the minority. Time was: parents bought all manner of “baby naming” books. Nowadays, I think that’s one of many tasks the internet takes care of. But, if, in English, names tend to mean things, how much more so in the Bible, where, as we know, it’s not that unusual for a person’s name to change, as their vocation expands.

 

And so, first to Jesus (of course)!

 

First, there is something we need to say about the J of Jesus. We pronounce the letter J as “dyu”. But neither Latin, nor Greek, nor Aramaic, nor Hebrew have the “dyu” sound. So the J in so many names comes from the Latin J which is a Y! (Sorry about this!)

 

And there’s a bigger complication: to unfold the meaning of the name of Jesus, we need to go back a stage.

 

Remember that according to the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible, Gd has Gd’s own name. People sometimes say that Gd is beyond all names, but that is not the biblical way of thinking about things. Gd reveals Gd’s personal name to Moses, speaking out of the burning bush. What it is, and how you say it, is complicated to the point of impossibility. But it is associated with the letters we know as:  Y/J-H-W/V-H. (Sorry about this too!)

 

For now, the point is: whenever you read of a biblical name ending in Jah or Yah, or even Jahu or Yahu or occasionally beginning with Yeho or Yeh or Jeho or Jeh, then it is likely that part of the name is the personal name for Gd, Gdself, according to the Bible. Sometimes the marker for this is as little as an initial Y or J, or a concluding “iah”.

 

So, here goes. Jesus in English stands for Iesous in Greek, which stands for Yeshua in Aramaic, which stands for Yehoshua in Hebrew. And Yehoshua is held to mean, with only a little massaging: Gd-using-Gd’s-personal-name… Gd saves, or Gd is salvation. Gd is rescue. Gd heals. The range of meaning is broader even than that. And this seems a good place to start, not only linguistically. Gd heals.

 

We next learn that some say that Jesus is… John the Baptist, reincarnated. The English John relates to the Greek Ioanes, and the Hebrew Yochanan. Note the initial Y/J. This means: Gd-using-Gd’s-personal-name… Gd has been merciful, or is gracious. We think of John the Baptist as being a fiery figure, always warning, threatening, and even condemning. So it is worth remembering that his very name – which was given to him by Gd – tells a different story, tells of Gd’s mercy, grace, compassion.

 

Others say that Jesus is Elijah, returned to this world (remember that Elijah did not have a regular death; he ascended). Elijah relates to the Greek Elias, and the Hebrew Eliyahu. Note that Yahu. This is a name it is unusually easy to translate. It means: Gd-using-Gd’s-personal-name is my Gd. Gd-at-Gd’s-most-intimate-with-us, Gd-as-such, is my Gd. I claim him for myself. Again, strikingly personal and intimate-intricate language for the fiercest Old Testament Prophet of all.

 

Yet others say that Jesus is Jeremiah, reincarnated. In the case of Jeremiah, the initial Je misleads. Note instead the ending. It is in that “iah” that the personal name of Gd is hiding. The Greek is Jeremias; the Hebrew is Yirmayahu. This seems to mean: Gd-using-Gd’s-personal-name, Gd lifts up. And this againis striking. Jeremiah is often thought of – and not wrongly – as the most negative, the most moody, and in that the lowest of the Prophets (in that so little of his message is “up”). So it’s almost as if names can stand as a corrective, a balance, to add to the message and lives of biblical heroes. To get the whole story of a hero in the Bible, pay at least some attention to their name.

 

If we are thinking about heroes, we may well attend to the probable hero of this whole account, the most impetuous or most courageous of the apostles, the one who today gives Jesus the good answer, the one named here as Simon Peter.

 

The Greek for Simon is Simon, which ultimately comes from the Hebrew Shim’on. Linguists are not sure what it means, but according to the Bible’s own account, it has to do with hearing. (“Hear of Israel” is “Shema’ Yisrael”.) Shim’on was one of Jacob’s 12 sons (one of Israel’s 12 sons, one of the patriarchs). So the name was popular. We might even say common.

 

Peter is Petros in Greek. Today’s passage itself gives an account of its meaning. Peter is Petros - is Rocky, from petra, the Greek for rock. While the name behind Simon is popular, or indeed as common as anything, the name Petros is not known as a name before this Petros, this Peter. Even if you go back to the Aramaic, Kepha, it makes no difference; it is not a name. This Peter is the first Peter. Simon Peter, Hearing-One-Rocky-One – Peter is the first one so named in history. Again, it is far from ridiculous to suggest that if you want to  get to the rock, the bedrock of all that Jesus was about, well then, learn to listen. In Gd’s ordering of things, “Rocky” is not a boxer; Rocky is one who sits down and listens.

 

Matthew’s gospel – and Matthew’s gospel alone – gives us one more name for Peter. He is Son of Jonah. In Greek, Barionas; in Aramaic Bar-Yonah. We know Jonah and we associate him strongly with one animal. That is a whale, though in fact the Hebrew just says “a big fish”. And the name Jonah/Yonah is held to mean “dove”.

 

 Which is the most interesting name, of all those whose names we have looked at? I cannot tell you. What I can tell you is that only here in the New Testament is Simon Peter called “Son of Jonah”. And only here in the New Testament is there anything like the idea that Jesus might be Jeremiah.

 

What would make people – or Matthew – want to link Jesus with Jeremiah? Matthew does not tell us (however closely you look). Jeremiah means – as you all know by now – Gd raises up. And you already knew that Jeremiah is the lowest prophet in terms of mood and message.

Jeremiah was dismissive of the Temple, or how it was run.

Jeremiah He was largely dismissive of the idea that the people might be helped by the neighbouring nations.

Jeremiah was among the biblical characters who wished he were dead, who cursed the day of his birth.

So…

 

Again, I cannot tell you why Matthew had learned or had thought that Jesus had to do with Jeremiah. But I will say I take some hope in it.

 

All the time you have been reflecting with me on these biblical names, another name has been involved. I mean your name. You too are part of this story; you are invited to find yourself in this, as in all gospel stories.

 

What does your name mean? It is likely you will know. But then there is this: do you perhaps remember that according to the Yochanan, the John who wrote the book of Revelation, you have a secret name that Gd will give you [Revelation 2.17]. It’s not the name your parents thought was nice, it’s the name that reflects how Christ is personally calling you to your unique and precious vocation.

 

I suggest that if you spend some time in prayer and prayerful reflection, asking what the name would be – what the name is - that identifies your vocation in all its uniqueness, its irreplaceability, that is far from a fruitless exercise. It may even be the making of you.

 

Amen.

Sermon: You are salt and you are light. You are.

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford, 9 February 2020.

3^rd Sunday Before Lent (Year A)

·       Matthew 5.13-20

A few hundred years ago, when everything was sepia (colour had not yet come in), I went to university. I read Theology, and, liking languages as I do, signed up for Biblical Hebrew as well as New Testament Greek. More than once I was told: if you ever wanted to do serious research in the Bible, go for the Hebrew Bible, or Old Testament.

·       Hebrew is thought to be harder than Greek (it isn’t);

·       the Old Testament is thought to be less important than the New (it isn’t);

·       and the Old Testament is thought to be much, much longer than the new (it is).

The point is: it is not an exaggeration to say that every single word of the New Testament has been studied, analysed, and researched. So it is that much harder to say anything original.

There is a lot of truth in that. Every single word. Certainly, I know at least one person who wrote a whole dissertation (a small book) on the word… salt. To Halas in Greek. A waste of time and energy?

Actually, it’s not ridiculous, when you think about it. “We all know” what it is to be “the salt of the earth”. Someone who is “the salt of the earth” is

·       a kind and well-intentioned person;

·       a good egg;

·       a top banana;

·       perhaps even the bees-knees.

And so on. A good person. But of course we only “know” this meaning because of this Bible text. These meanings are what we have done with – what we have made out of – the Bible text. The meaning is later than the text. So the meaning Matthew intended – or the meaning Jesus intended – has still to be worked out. We do have to dig deeper into the mines of meaning.

Fortunately, this is (for once) not an impossibly difficult task. For all the evidence suggests that the purposes of salt have changed little over the centuries. Salt is used:

·       to give flavour to food;

·       salt is used to preserve food (especially in days before fridges, but to some extent still, by choice);

·       and (more unusual this), salt is used as a fertiliser;

·       [a member of the congregation added: also for medical purposes].

Can we work out which use of salt is to the fore in today’s gospel? That is not easy. Some say because the phrase is “salt of the earth” (to halas tes ges), then the use as fertiliser is the primary meaning. Salt for the earth, in effect. Maybe. And if so, this can work to keep us humble: we are, perhaps, not a million miles away from being like manure to be worked into the mud! But the meaning is as likely to be “salt out of the earth”. So we cannot say.

You are the salt of the earth.

You are the light of the world.

Light is an easier symbol to understand, I’d say (thank goodness). But we just have to be clear that, since this text was written many centuries before electricity, here it means the light of the flame, the light of fire.

So we are salt, and we are flame.

We can say a few things about this.

First, as salt and as flame, too much of us in one place is a bad thing. Oversalted food, oversalted fields, oversalted medication, too much fire in a room – these are not just unpleasant things, they are dangerous things. So I say again, too much of us in one place is a bad thing. Except of course it’s not quite that. What is meant is rather if we are spending too much time in one place, that is a bad thing.

To be clear:

·       we gather (here we are);

·       and we are right to gather;

·       we need to gather;

·       and Gd calls us to gather.

·       It is good that we are here.

But! But we are here in order to be sent out. When at the end of the service we say or hear “Go in the peace of Christ” or “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord”, this does not mean: “The service is over; we have run out of things to say, sing, and do”. No. We mean: “We, if we can inhabit and take to ourselves all that we have experienced, now have the forgiveness, compassion and strength we need to go out into the world and truly be salt and light in the wider mess that is the world.”

Second, salt and flame are very different things.

·       Salt works when it is hidden, when it is fully worked into something bigger than itself.

·       Flame works when it is on display, when it openly radiates its light throughout.

This is important. Important for us. It reminds us that we are called to both tasks.

·       Sometimes what we do is rightly and properly utterly hidden. No one notices, and that is okay. We do the right thing. An act of forgiveness here. An act of kindness there.

·       Sometimes what we do is rightly and properly public or “out there”. Taking a stance against racism here. Shutting down some gossip there. Neither the hidden nor the public ministry is more important than the other. The wisdom is knowing when to be hidden and when to be out. Salt here; flame there. We learn this wisdom by prayer, and from each other.

Third, and I don’t want to shock you here, but: salt is salt and flame is flame! I mean: the vocation of salt is to be salt, the saltiest salt it can be. Flame is called to be flame, the brightest and flamiest flame it can be. And we are to take comfort in this.

Our ministry in the world is not to do things that are utterly alien to us, that oppose or harm our true nature. Our ministry is to be our authentic selves, whatever that means. It doesn’t always mean doing what seems to come naturally, as our instincts and drives are not always right (to put it mildly). But it does mean that our vocation will be a coming to know ourselves as we really always were, as we always are. Further, we are right to be curious about our selves, and interested and find enjoyment in discovering our selves.

You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. The Greek sentences do include the verb to be (este). You may (just perhaps) remember that I’ve said that both in Hebrew and Greek you typically do not need the verb to be. It can be implicit. You the salt of the earth. You the light of the word. These would be perfectly good Greek sentences. So it may well be that the addition of the verb to be here is emphatic. You are. Who you are is the salt of the earth. Who you really are is the enlightening flame of the world.

·       So, most of your Christian life is to be lived dispersed in the world, the world in all its pain, mess and doubt.

·       Sometimes what you do will be hidden and unthanked; no matter.

·       Sometimes what you do will be public and so risky; no matter.

·       Don’t worry. In each and every moment, you are being called to do one thing only: to be what you are. To be who you are.

I’ll add: in all the renewal we are engaged in as a parish and as a worshipping community, all the change – the small and the big - is really all about helping us – as persons and as a gathering – to become who we are. Just as we want salt to be salty and the light of the flame to be light.

As this has been a reflection on a New Testament text, and knowing you as I do, I am aware that it is very unlikely I have said anything original. I give no apology. It is said with care and love. I address this to each of you as a disciple of Christ, and, yes, to me as one such too: By the grace of Gd, be who you are.

Amen.

Sermon for the Light of Candlemas

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford. 3 February 2019

Candlemas/The Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple

Luke 2.22-40

I’ve been in prison* since last we met. And I have to go back, or there’ll come looking for me. (How else could I begin?)

I’d struggle to sum up prison life. I don’t think that’s just because I am new to it. I think it will always be hard to sum up prisons. They are places of suffering, isolation, violence, drug abuse, helplessness - and also of making the best of it, of learning, courtesy, humour and hope. Places rich in sin. And rich in holiness. Being immersed in that life as I now am – for the hours are not short and the tasks are not few – I find I see lots of things in a new light.

Now, let’s be clear: I have wanted to be with you for this Feast, for months. It’s been long planned. The timing is not accidental. I wanted to make sure you got to keep Candlemas, or the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. And Feast it surely is. Let us feast (whether on cake or toast)!

But being in prison I find I see lots of things in a new light. People have long seen that today’s Feast is a bittersweet one. (In truth, most Christian festivals are, but go with me on this.) For me, this is to the fore in a new way. Yes, today is about rejoicing, about praise, about the promise of glory, about the assurance that here, with this child, Gd’s word has been fulfilled. And today is about the awareness that what is to be said about this same child is painful and difficult. It is about conflict; it is about grief. The way that the Church puts it is this: Candlemas marks the moment when the joys of the birth of Jesus - the joys of Christmas - come to their own fulfilment, and we begin to think (already) of the sombre truths of the Passion (for Lent is at hand).

Bittersweet. Let us hear again the words that are less easy from today’s encounter. Simeon to Mary: “This child is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed, so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

More literally, he says: “So that they may be revealed - out of many hearts [the] reasonings.” [hopos an apokaluphthosin ek pollon kardion dialogismoi] I know that’s nonsense in English; in Greek it does work. It’s what makes me think we might translate: “So that how people reason in the privacy of their own hearts will be seen, will be ‘out there’.” And let’s not kid ourselves: here we are not talking about our good thoughts (those we just speak out); nor are we talking about our neutral thoughts (they need no privacy); we are talking about thoughts which are dark, and have greed or hatreds or fears.  

Being in prison, I find I see lots of things in a new way. Most of us surely receive these words as a threat or a warning. “So that how you reason in the privacy of your own heart, will be seen, will be ‘out there’.” It’s like that nightmare when you find yourself naked in the middle of town, isn’t it? But what if? What if… it weren’t a threat, but a promise.

“So that how you reason in the privacy of your own heart will finally be seen. So that you won’t have to hide anymore.”

*

Whether prisons work is a big, big question, and is for another place. But if prisons did work, they could surely be a place where these words are heard as a good thing. Wouldn’t it be great if prisons were safe spaces for fairly convicted prisoners in this way: safe spaces for them to fully examine their motivation; the excuses that they have made; the fears, the compulsions, or the coldness of heart that led them to act as they did.

“So that how you reason in the privacy of your own heart will be seen - seen by Gd.” 

In truth, how you reason in the privacy of your own heart has always been seen by Gd. You cannot hide things from Gd. You cannot hide from Gd.

And Simeon today is telling us (whether we are in prison or outside), that the very presence of Christ enables each of us, over time, to let the ways we reason in the privacy of our own hearts to be seen, understood, forgiven, transfigured, and healed.

You cannot hide from Gd, and you really don’t need to. You cannot bamboozle Gd, give excuses to Gd, manipulate Gd, play the tricks with Gd that you play with those around you. And this is a good thing. You can drop all that effort, and just rest in the fact that you are already seen by Gd who loves you as you are.

Here are two short ways of making the point. First (you’ll have heard this before, but it bears repetition):

there is nothing you can do, to make Gd love you more;

there is nothing you can do, to make Gd love you less.

And then, my rather lose rendering of how Rowan Williams once summed up what he found in the writings of Dostoevsky (trust me, just saying that intimidates me as much as it may intimidate you, but, again, go with me):

Gd is Light, pure Light, 
and the Light is shining on you, 
on you, in particular. 
You are in the focus, under the spotlight, in the Light. 
And the Light that is shining upon you is
brighter and more piercing, more exposing, 

     than you’d imagine in your deepest fears, and 
that Light is more warming, more welcoming and more loving 

     than you’d dare to hope in your wildest dreams.

The Light of Candlemas be with you. Amen.  

*as chaplain, as the congregation knew.