Lent For (Absolute) Beginners: Against Being Glum

 

The nuts and bolts are this. Lent is the Church season that comes before Easter, beginning (in the West) on Ash Wednesday,
and ending with the first Easter service. Easter marks the death and resurrection of Jesus, which Christians believe changes everything. It’s the most important festival in the Church calendar. So it makes sense to have another season, preparing us for it.

 

You may well have heard that Lent lasts “40 days and 40 nights”. There are a couple of theories why, but 40 seems to be a “round number” in the Bible. But in fact, from Ash Wednesday to the Saturday before Easter Day is 47 days. This is because the Sundays don’t count. Every Sunday is a Feast Day of the Resurrection, a mini-Easter. So it’s right to remember that Easter is already with us through it all.

 

To be clear: Christians tend to call times when we are encouraged to rejoice “Feasts”, no matter whether a big meal is involved or not. Lent is not a “Feast” but a “Fast”, again, whether or not we cut out some meals. Here “fasting” really means taking time away from distractions to reflect and be honest about ourselves. Like all the Christian seasons, it wasn’t established by Jesus. Rather, it grew up over centuries, as Christians wanted to mark major events in the life of Jesus and the Church. The word “Lent” is probably not originally a religious word. It is probably another word for Spring, for Lent is a Spring season. The tradition of “Spring cleaning” may be related.

 

In normal years, on Ash Wednesday many worshippers have the chance to be marked, usually on the forehead, with ash, usually in the shape of a cross, and to hear words such as these: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ” or “Repent and believe in the gospel”.

 

Fasting. Dust and Ashes. Mortality, Death. Sin, Repentance. This bundle of ideas may well give the impression that Lent is a glum season, a time to feel bad about ourselves. It’s undoubtedly the case that, over the years, it has sometimes been taken in this way. But that doesn’t make it right. Rather, we are to remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return - to remember that we are mortal - that our lives are limited. And all this is really telling us that we are precious. Our lives our precious. Only you will experience this present moment as you. Only you, in the history of the universe. Neither you nor the moment will come round again. So just under the surface is this thought: Are you making the most of your precious, your unique life?

 

Christians (in the West) these days tend not to “fast” in any dramatic way. The custom has grown up of giving up just one or two things, say, meat and television, or puddings and coffee. In any case, the idea is that you give up what’s good for you – or at least not bad for you. (Things that are bad for you are best given up on the spot; you don’t wait for a particular season.) Yes, it can be good to give up good things, for a spell. It’s a way on reflecting on how we treat the things around us.

 

Do we take them for granted? Do we “need” them more than we should? Do we feel we are “not really ourselves” if we can’t lean on them, consume them, make them ours? Can we turn the discomfort we feel when we go without into a prayer to God to help us through? Mightn’t that be a good thing to do in its own right?

 

Lent is also a good time to take up new good things, or more of the good things we have. Here we may think of Bible-reading, other spiritual reading, prayer, or simply sitting still before God and Christ, and of course helping others in really practical ways. These things are good things – good for us. They are not intended as burdens or duties. Lent is an invitation to connect with these good things, and this way of thinking about them.

 

In other words, Lent is the time in the Church year above all others for us to ask ourselves who we are, what we really hold dear, and if and how we might live differently. We can even say it is the season for experiments. Rather than making us feel bad about ourselves, Lent itself is an encouragement to feel good about ourselves. This is because it is based on the conviction that we really can change; we do have the freedom to change. This is why in churches which offer structured “confession”, Lent is a good time to make the most of that, to be freed from our sins by words of forgiveness.

 

But Lent it is never an end in itself. It’s a way of getting us to reflect honestly, so that when we come to all the drama, sadness, pain, joy, surprise, love and forgiveness of Holy Week and Easter, we are that bit more open – honestly open - to what God is showing us there.

Sermon. How Creation Groans! How We Groan!

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford. 19.07.20.

First Sunday with a real-life congregation since lockdown.

Trinity 6 (Year A)

Romans 8.12-25

We spent some time with Paul last week. Let us see what happens if we stick with him.

He tells us: “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves… groan inwardly.”

We can relate.

I feel we can relate in many ways.

We sense that all is not well with ourselves, 
or within creation itself.

We don’t have to be an “eco-warrior” to sense this.

Bluntly, it’s long been part of the modern urban experience.

The noises and smells and sights of our life 
are often overwhelmingly human-made, 
and not infrequently harm us.

And we are aware that all is not well with our climate, 
the world’s climate. 
We do pay serious attention to, in this parish, 
and we need to do more.

And, then, yes, of course, there is the virus, 
Coronavirus, Covid-19, which has had such an impact on us,

kept us apart,

kept us (with a couple of exceptions) away from the sacraments,

kept us away from our coffee and toast and chat and ordinary human interaction, through which we care for each other,

still keeps us apart in so many ways.

Is the virus a sign that all is not well within creation itself?

Difficult one.

From the virus’s point of view, all is well, of course.

But from our human perspective, and remembering our duty of care to creation and to one another, especially our vulnerable brothers and sisters,we can only see the virus as another sign of the disorder which is embedded in creation.

Some people on the extreme wing of the politics of this have seen the virus as nature fighting back, clearing out excess human lives to restore balance.

This is a nonsense and that needs saying.

Nature as such does not have a controlling mind, 
does not have a plan, is not playing a strategic game.

Gd, we believe, is a 
mind ultimately in charge, with a plan, over time.

But it’s evident – has always been evident - that Gd gives over some real powers to the natural order, to grow and develop, as, well… as comes naturally.

So we should not say that nature intended Covid-19,

and we are not obliged to say that Gd intended Covid-19.

Really, my point here is that when Paul says all creation is groaning, we feel it.

We get it.

Today of all days.  

*

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves… groan inwardly.”

How we have groaned! How we groan!

We have spoken of a time of exile. And we have felt it.

We have spoken of our time in the desert, confined to our own personal cell (the cell that will teach us everything). And we have felt it.

We have spoken of being overwhelmed by our almost total ignorance about what’s really ahead. And we have felt it.

We have spoken of some frustrations with the powers-that-be, in government and Church. I mean: even when we have agreed with their decision-making, we know we have been at the mercy of others’ best guesses. And we have felt it.

We have spoken of our enormous sadness, 

as people we have known have suffered, and even died,

and as we have come to see ourselves - our own little, Little Ilford, as, for a time, the epicentre of the epicentre of the epicentre.

The sorrow - we have felt it.

We have sought to support each other, through emails and phone calls and parcels left. We (I mean: you) have done well in all that (no question about it), and yet we still feel we offer something meagre, weak, and failing.

Inadequacy - we have felt it.  

How we have groaned! How we groan!

“[N]ot only the creation, but we ourselves… groan inwardly while we wait…”

Yes, present tense. Yes, we are still waiting.

Has there ever been such a bittersweet gathering for us than this one?

It can only be - and we can only feel it to be - a partial gathering.

Some will have no access to this service, either physically or virtually.

We want to invite those livestreaming to participate fully, but there remain all manner of barriers (most obviously to the sacrament itself).

For those who are here in person, we cannot touch.

No tactile peace (not a handshake, let alone the kisses than some of you steal at that point in the service – oh yes, you were always seen!).

No touch at communion, or at the blessing at communion.

And no reassuring hand on the shoulder when difficult - or delightful - news is shared.

For most of us, not even a chance simply to lean over to the person in the next seat just to check what verse we are on in the hymn.

No hymns at all, no song.  

How we groan! We groan while we wait, for we are waiting still!

*

We groan, only we may not groan too loudly.

We are not permitted to project our voices as we’d like to. The ban on singing is the hardest part of this, I know, but it is only part of it. We are to use moderate pitch only, to speak softly and quietly. Again, for our own life-saving safety, and the life-saving safety of others.

It happens that there are religious and spiritual precedents for this. Jewish prayer is often said in a soft, hushed voice. For some Jewish prayer, you should hear what you are saying, but your neighbour should not hear you. And of course in normal circumstances, that means the person immediately to the side of you. The idea may be that this is the best way to concentrate on the words themselves, to attend to the prayer, to intend the content of the prayer. Is that right? Well, now we can test it. We can treat this, then, as an opportunity to pray differently.

The model for this way of praying is Hannah in the Old Testament [1 Sam 1.12ff]. You may remember she prayed in the temple at Shiloh in such a way as to make the priest – the judgemental priest – Eli think she was drunk. He could not make out the words she was mouthing, and so assumed the worst. But she – faithful, confident laywoman – told the priest off. 
She made it clear she was pouring out her deepest longings, her pain and her hope, her hope-against-hope, only in a whispered tone, knowing that a whispered prayer is not less a prayer than a shouted or a chanted prayer.

*

We groan. We speak sotto voce.

And what do we say? 
We too speak of our deepest longings, our pain and our hope, be it hope-against-hope.

And we do more. We may do more. 
We are free to do more.

We are free to place all our longings and pain and hope in a broader context, 
as tear-drops given a home in an ocean.

That ocean can be our confidence that

Gd has not abandoned us;

Gd does not abandon us;

Gd will not abandon us;

Gd is sharing with us in precisely this bittersweet experience.

What makes us have this confidence (or be drawn towards this confidence)?

It is not a philosophy, nor a set of rules, nor an idle tale.

The confidence can be said to rest on one claim.

This is the claim that Gd by Gd’s Spirit has raised Jesus from the dead,

and Jesus Christ remains with us for all time,

in Word and Sacrament and mystical encounter,

as sign and reality of the very presence of Gd.

I’m saying our old friend St Seraphim (who, as you know, greeted everyone, whenever he met them, with: “My joy! Christ is risen!") wasn’t really an eccentric in his core point. 
Every second, minute, hour, day – and most certainly every Sunday – is the Feast of Resurrection.  

So what is to be done?

We go on groaning, with all creation.

We go on all-but-whispering our words, like Hannah.

And (“and” not “but”) we may articulate a heart-felt  [signed] Alleluia.

Like many an alleluia sung in praise, this alleluia does not mean our lives our overflowing with success or comfort or triumph or the resolution of our problems. 
Of course not.

But neither was the first Easter a simple story 
of success or comfort or triumph or resolution 
(think about it).

So, sisters and brothers, let us, here and now, “easter”.

[Signed and then said]

Alleluia. Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Amen.

An Easter - Not a Sermon But - a Cry

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and to those in the tombs bestowing life!

Come, for forgiveness is risen from the grave!

Yes.

Yes, there are words of triumph here, which we can and should sing out with all possible Alleluias (sung and signed). But there are dangers - temptations, tests - here too. These dangers are here in all years, among them the danger that generous and life-giving triumph be reduced to narcissistic and life-limiting triumphalism. As if the resurrection accounts are all about Christ saying: "See, here is how you prove those who have the audacity to disagree with you wrong".

I feel that this year, the year of Covid19 and properly locked churches, this danger is posed in painfully sharpened form. If we do not take care, our triumph may simply be a theological or churchy version of Putting A Brave Face On It. It may be little more than our willing ourselves to scorn the virus - as if the virus cares if we scorn it or not.

The triumph of life, without any will to work ourselves up to triumphalism. This is possible. This is, as it goes, always truer (true) to the resurrection narratives themselves, which are - read them - all about a friend coming back to be with his friends, his typically treacherous friends. Without any game-playing, any ritual religious or psychological, he bids: "Come and have breakfast." So the overcoming of our fears, and all that is uglier even than fear, all that drives us to betrayal - these, our graves - are emptied out. Null. Void.

So this Easter Sunday evening ("Bright Sunday" in Orthodox terminology, although today is Orthodox Palm Sunday), I have a memory which has come unbidden (I do not say "out of nowhere"). It is this. Years - decades ago - I watched a documentary television programme on the reality of life on a "rough estate". (No viruses featured.) The programme hid nothing. (It was a late-night documentary.) It was hard to watch. And, then, at the end, to the credits, a child who had featured in the programme sang, solo and unaccompanied, the Taize chant, "O Lord, hear my prayer". I was stunned, There had been nothing formally religious or even spiritual in the programme itself. The editors presumably saw it as a way of sealing the deal on the viewer's empathy. The poor child! I was undone.

Today, I am undone.

I want to say that here is Easter. Easter doesn't turn death into a trivial move from this room to that. It doesn't take away our fear - I mean in the sense of the unpleasant gift of adrenaline to make us to act with urgency. It doesn't give Christians a banner to fly in the face of others, or their own doubts. Indeed, Easter doesn't magic away a single problem in our lives, personal or corporate.

The claim - the song, the alleluia - of Easter is rather that Gd promises that Gd hears our prayers. Gd honours our prayers. Gd attends to our prayers and tell us each of our pains (those imposed upon us by the powers, or personal cruelty and neglect, and those we are complicit in bringing upon ourselves, as the one so the other), will be transfigured, will enter into healing and glory. We will be able to bear our divinely graced beauty. We will be able to bear ourselves. We will get to have breakfast - en famille. And! And, as a foretaste of that, here is Gd praying with, alongside, in and for us, now. Lo, Jesus meets us, lovingly greets us.

Does the one writing this believe it? He knows himself to be typically treacherous. He also knows himself to be at root not able to throw away all hope that it is so. He is not so deluded as to deny when he is undone, and how good it is to be undone.

Risen one, hear my prayer.

Oh, and scorn - you scorn - this virus.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f51n-yb11dY&fbclid=IwAR0yn62dRguO5vX7AMK0drwRuLPR35-yjyX48CPHxkQ4A3Mn3xD6J8YEZkg

Proclamation of the Date of Easter - Sermon - Proclamation

EPIPHANY SOLEMN PROCLAMATION OF THE DATE OF EASTER 2020

[Chanted]

Dear brothers and sisters, the glory of the Lord has shone upon us,
and shall ever be manifest among us, until the day of his return.

Through the rhythms of the times and the seasons

let us celebrate the mysteries of salvation.

Let us call to mind the new year's culmination,

the Easter Triduum of the Lord:

his last supper, his crucifixion, his burial, and his rising

celebrated between the evening of the Ninth day of April
and the evening of the Eleventh day of April,

Easter Sunday being on the Twelfth day of April.

Each Easter - as on each Sunday -
the Holy Church makes present the great and saving deed
by which Christ has for ever conquered sin and death.

From Easter are reckoned other days we keep holy.

Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent,

will occur on the Twenty-sixth day of February.

The Ascension of the Lord will be commemorated

on Thursday, the Twenty-first day of May.

Pentecost, joyful conclusion of Eastertide

will be celebrated on the Thirty-first day of May.

The Feast of the Holy and Undivided Trinity

we will mark with joy and awe on the Seventh day of June,

and the Feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ

follows on the Eleventh day of June.

Likewise, the pilgrim Church proclaims the Passover of Christ
in the feasts of the holy Mother of God,

in the feasts of the Apostles and Saints,
and in the commemoration of the faithful departed.

To Jesus Christ, who was, who is, and who is to come, Lord of time and
history, be endless praise, for ever and ever. Amen.

***

Something unusual did just happen. I know that (I was there). I will return to it. But first… first, not the Magi (sorry), and no sweets to throw at you in honour of the Kings (double sorry). First, Father Ted! Not the Christmas special, A Christmassy Ted, which we’ve all had chance to see 150 times over recent days, on one channel or another. I’m referring to another episode, when a singer-songwriter, not so loosely based on Sinead O’Connor comes to Craggy Island. In amongst all the characters’ high jinks, the singer is very critical of the Church. This in turn provokes from Fr Dougal the response: "Sure, she's taking all this Catholic stuff terribly seriously. Doesn't she know it's just a bit of fun?"

All this Catholic stuff - just a bit of fun. What do you think?

I'd say it's wrong, but... But it has a certain rightness to it, too!

I mean I think it is not wrong to expect - or at least hope - that Church is fun. Not only fun, sure. But fun is about as good a place to start as any. Coming to Church is something most Christians do with their "leisure time" (let's be honest), and the experience should be satisfying and rewarding and rich and sensual and involving - and so fun. We can dress up this point by saying pompously “the Church should be a good patron of the arts" if we want. But maybe that’s just a variation on the same theme.

At this time in the life of this Church - and in this very service - we are developing some additions, and introducing new ones. Fr Lee, as today's president, will lead us later in the service into the Rite of the Blessing of the Chalk (which, you may remember, we reintroduced last year). And - as perhaps again you can remember - I have chanted the Solemn Proclamation of the date of Easter. Another "special" something for Epiphany Sunday, for today.

You can tell us afterwards if either the chant or the chalk are in any way fun. But we in turn may remind you that nothing we do should be done solely because it is fun. Everything we do, whether or not it manages to be fun, should also be, well, yes, I am going to say… solemn. Solemn here does not mean dry or stilted or glum; it means “not trivial”, but showing forth something serious and deep and helpful to our lives as disciples of Christ.

The Solemn Proclamation of the Date of Easter. It is, I think, easy to see how this custom developed. I cannot tell you for sure when it began. But it long predates the time when most people had desk diaries, let alone gadgets beeping your appointments and your dairy at you seven times a minute. It dates from a time when you really needed someone to tell you when Easter was this year. But! But it is - evidently - something we can still do, even though we all know - or can find out - the date of Easter. Why? 

Again, it is not hard to say why. It is because Easter is so important to Christian faith. We can say that every day is Easter. We can say this because we read - we hear - the whole story of Jesus and the whole story of the Bible in the light of the resurrection. Including of course the story of the coming of the Magi, which we always have at the beginning of the year. It is because Gd raised Jesus from the dead by the Spirit that we have hope, and we read all the Bible as hope-filled, because the whole story is bathed in the light of that rising from the dead, that forgiveness, that hope, that Light, that Life. 

In other words, we can revisit our old friend, St Seraphim of Sarov. Remember him? I hope so. He it was who would greet everyone, in season and out of season, 365.25 days a year, by saying: "Christ is risen!" Remember that during the fast of Good Friday, he'd stand on the steps of the church, munching away, and declaiming, "Christ is risen!". Remember that if anyone came to see him, he'd say: "My joy! Christ is risen!" Because, if the Christian account of things is true at all, then every moment, and every encounter, is Easter. 

This does not mean that the Christian story is all light and no shade, all celebration and no tears, all triumph and no failure. It does not mean there is no death. We know that. But it does mean that the whole, the entirely, has a heart, has a core. And that core is the Easter story. So let us hear again the solemn proclamation of the date of Easter, this year of our Lord, 2020.

Just one little note of explanation. It is possible that the words “the Easter Triduum” sound just too churchy by half. They just mean the "Three Days of Easter". That in turn means the services on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil which we keep on the evening of the Saturday. Does that in turn mean that the Saturday service is more important than the Easter Sunday service? Bluntly, yes.

It is, at it were, the “Midnight Mass” of Easter. It is the time we all become St Seraphim together, when we solemnly proclaim: "Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!" And we can sing or hear a hymn of praise to the Easter candle, lit from the Easter fire. And the tune of that hymn is… echoed in today’s Proclamation. If we chant, it is not only for fun, but also for solemnity, for teaching, for reinforcement.

Is there here already a subtle encouragement to take part in the services from Maundy Thursday to the Easter Vigil, as one entity? Why, yes there is! Try them. You may even find them to be fun!

***

[Said]

Dear brothers and sisters, the glory of the Lord has shone upon us,
and shall ever be manifest among us, until the day of his return.

Through the rhythms of the times and the seasons

let us celebrate the mysteries of salvation.

Let us call to mind the new year's culmination,

the Easter Triduum of the Lord:

his last supper, his crucifixion, his burial, and his rising

celebrated between the evening of the Ninth day of April
and the evening of the Eleventh day of April,

Easter Sunday being on the Twelfth day of April.

Each Easter - as on each Sunday -
the Holy Church makes present the great and saving deed
by which Christ has for ever conquered sin and death.

From Easter are reckoned other days we keep holy…

Likewise, the pilgrim Church proclaims the Passover of Christ
in the feasts of the holy Mother of God,

in the feasts of the Apostles and Saints,
and in the commemoration of the faithful departed.

To Jesus Christ, who was, who is, and who is to come, Lord of time and
history, be endless praise, for ever and ever. Amen.

Sermon. Lazarus - "he stinketh!"

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford, 2 April 2017.

Lent 5 (Year A)

John 11.1-45

Today's gospel is very obvious good news. A problem is solved. A tragedy overcome.

• Lazarus has dead.
• Jesus comes along.
• Gd through Jesus raises his from the dead.
• In Jesus, death leads to new life.

There can be no better story. This is the Easter story, anticipated. What's not to like?

That is a fair-enough summary of the gospel today. Sermons throughout the land will be bringing just this story of hope and newness. It's a good outline of the message of the gospel-as-a-whole – not just today's reading, but the Easter gospel - the gospel of Jesus Christ. And, if that is what you need to hear today, good, then hear it please:

In Jesus, death leads to new life.

But... you notice I am not saying 'Amen', and sitting down. My apologies to those who would like nothing more than for me to shut up and sit down (you know who you are and you know that I know who you are). I have not quite finished, because I want to – need to – add that there are other elements of the story of Lazarus for those who have eyes to see. It is not a simple, or a simply happy story.

Let us try to face up to what is uncomfortable in today's story. I'd like to suggest that Jesus behaves in three ways which may challenge us.

First, on being told that Lazarus – Lazarus whom Jesus loves – is ill, how does Jesus respond?... Let's be blunt: Jesus responds by doing nothing. He stays where he is. For two more days.

We, who know the whole story, have an idea why he did this. He did this so that everyone is absolutely sure that Lazurus is really, utterly dead. So when the miracle happens, no one can say it is just a healing of someone at death's door. But note that at the time Jesus responds by doing nothing, no one around him can know why this is.

So (can we see?) there is here, for us, too, among the good news, some hard news. Jesus is free to respond similarly to our own needs (real though they are), by (from time to time at least) doing nothing. For this own hidden purposes.

There's more. On one level, Martha and Jesus have a perfectly understandable discussion about the resurrection of all who have died. Martha, as a good Jew influenced by good Pharisees (that's another sermon right there), says she believes in the resurrection. Jesus says that resurrection is much, much closer than she realises. But at another level, Jesus' message is and remains utterly mysterious. 'I am the resurrection and the life'. Beautiful poetry, no doubt, and much loved in Christian circles. But if I ask you what it means...?

We may come up with the idea that it refers to this or that aspect of later Christian teaching on Jesus. But I for one am unable to tell you what it means. I cannot see what these words add to the discussion about the resurrection, or add to the story.

So (can we see?) there is here, for us too, among the good news, some hard news. Jesus's message to us can similarly be inscrutable, more like a riddle than an explanation.

Third, Jesus loves Lazarus, Lazarus is his friend. Lazarus is about to undergo the hardest and most shocking moment in his life. So, Jesus, Lazarus' friend, will be by his side, talking him through it, encouraging him with friendly words along the way. Right?

Oh, how wrong. Here is the conversation the two of them have: Jesus said: 'Lazarus, come out!'

That's it. No conversation, no gentle encouragement. Just the command. So (can we see?) there is here, for us too, among the good news, some hard news. Jesus is similarly free to relate to us by giving blunt commands. 'Do this!'

So, Jesus is free

• to respond to us by doing nothing,
• to speak things we cannot understand,
• to give simple, unadorned commands.

I do know that this is unlikely to be new information for you. We are used to hearing these things, for we understand that Gd in Christ is in charge and not us, and Christ does not come to us just to reassure us. We know it. But it can be good for us to look it straight in the eye, from time to time, as the harder side of the good news.

But... in truth, these aspects of the story are really the lesser challenges. There are two greater painful elements we must face.

Let us go back to Martha. When Jesus suggests that the stone is rolled away from the tomb, how does Martha – who believes in the resurrection, and who believes in Jesus and his capacity to be the instrument for all manner of miracle – how does she react? With simple faith? With bated breath?

No, with simple disgust: 'Already there is a stench'.

Or (I've come to realise over the years) this is one time people like to Authorized Version: 'by this time he stinketh!' Yes, Lazarus stinketh. He stank. Notice, Jesus does not deny this. A corpse in a sealed tomb, free of fresh oxygen, would by day four, have long begun to decay, to rot. There would have been a stench, we can be sure.

Here is a greater warning for us. Brothers and sisters, the gospel for today, if we can bear it, makes it clear that when Jesus comes to us, to bring new life out of death – by no means only literal death but out of all that is deathly and deadening in us - there is likely to be a stench. All that we have neglected, all that we have locked away (we think safely), will be brought to the Lord. And it will not be pretty. We must be prepared to have others see just how rotten we can be. We stinketh. Gd in Christ can bear that. It does not stop Gd acting to bring that newness of life (Gd does not have a delicate constitution). But can we ourselves bear the stench?

It gets worse. 'The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth.' Let us try to picture this. Lazarus lives (great!), but is blinded (his face is covered), and is disabled (hands and feet bound). How would you bind up a corpse? You might just perhaps bind each hand and each foot separately. But why? To what end? Surely, you would bind the easy way, turning the corpse into one, tightly bound shape. In other words, it's like a coffin, only much snugger, with even less room.

So Lazarus comes out, stinking and wriggling, ungainly, comical even. It's his greatest appearance (he's the icon of a great miracle), and he appears at his worst.

I won't labour the point. Here too is a warning for us. In short, if we want Gd in Christ to make a difference in our lives, where we can find we often choose what is deadening and deathly, we had better not care what people think. We had better not have egos, or precious reputations to protect and improve. Gd sees us as we are, loves us as we are. The pressing question is whether we are up to seeing ourselves, smelling ourselves (as it were), as we really are.

• Lazarus,
• congregation of St Michael and All Angels,
• Little Ilford
• humanity

come out!

There is good news for us here. There is hard, challenging news for us here. There is Easter here. But there is more to Easter, and to Lazarus, than a happy ending. Gd raises us from the dead, but raises us as we really are. So be it. Amen.