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: Celebrating the Queen's Birthday; Celebrating Pluralism

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford. 12 June 2016

Trinity 3 (Year C)

2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15

Luke 7:36-8:3

How are you? Have you been celebrating, partying? I am looking for bleary eyes... Hmm... about average, I'd say! But, if we – we as the British people - have been celebrating, what have we been celebrating?... Well, we Britons might have been celebrating at least four things things this weekend.

We might just perhaps have been celebrating the sport? After all, Wales wins at football, and even England manages not to lose.

More to the point, our Muslim fellow-citizens are celebrating the early days of the holy month of Ramadan. It is true that Ramadan is a time of strict fasting. But it's not really like our Lent, if (big 'if') by that we think of a focus on our sins. In Ramadan, you fast during daylight hours, but at nightfall, you feast. You invite those who are poor, but also your friends. Communal feasting is encouraged. Ramadan is understood not as a season for penitence, but as a spiritually joyful time when Gd is especially close. As a household in Sixth Avenue proudly displays in its window: 'The Gates of Paradise are open'. So, indeed, a cause of celebration.

Again, differently, our Jewish fellow-citizens are today celebrating the first day of Jewish Pentecost, or Feast of Weeks or Shavuot in Hebrew. In the Old Testament, Weeks/Shavuot is simply a harvest festival. But in later Jewish tradition it came to mark as well 'Matan Torah', the Giving of the Law, of Gd's own Guidance and Pattern for living, as given through Moses at Sinai. With this, two practices developed over time. First, the studying of this Torah, this Guidance given via Moses, throughout the night. And second, and no less importantly, indulging in sweet dairy products (cheesecake is particularly popular; expected). There are various theories as to why Jews do this. But one obvious one is to remind us of milk and honey – good, nourishing delicacies. To insist that following the Guidance of Sinai makes for a sweet and good life. So, indeed, once again, a cause of celebration.

All of that said, of course most of us are likely to have been celebrating the official 90^th Birthday of our Sovereign Queen, Elizabeth II. And why not? Even people who are not ardent - or any kind of - monarchists can see much that is impressive in our current Queen, and her dedication and faithfulness to her vocation. And, even if one disagrees with that (and you can be a loyal Anglican and disagree), it can be and is good to mark a long life, as a reminder of the value of life itself. Many, many causes of celebration here.

What this shows is that in today's United Kingdom, there truly is diversity. Pluralism. This causes unease and turbulence along the way, of course. But it is something we do not intrinsically have to fear. It gives us more chances to celebrate than we ever had before. The breaking of the daily fast of Ramadan is known as the iftar. And more and more Muslim communities are offering 'interfaith iftars', inviting people of other faiths to join them for the feasting. (If you're interested in one – let's talk.)

And, again, in one major synagogue in Central London, I know that Jews, Christians and Muslims marked the Jewish Festival of Shavuot by coming together to learn from their Scriptures, in one of those all-night study sessions I mentioned. So we can celebrate our diversity, our pluralism, because our pluralism gives us new and fascinating things to celebrate. Baruch Ha Shem! Al Hamdu li Lah! Alleluia!

What is striking about this is that one of the people who has most effectively reflected on this new situation - and on how we Christians might relate to it - is the Queen herself. Her Majesty's Christmas message has become one of the few remaining places - let's be honest - where people who never go to church hear some serious reference to the birth of Jesus Christ at Christmas! And, crucially, the Queen does not present that story as an exclusive possession for an closed-in sect. Rather, she relates it to our common life, our national life. Consider this, from the Christmas Day address of 2014:

Queen Elizabeth: 'For me, the life of Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, whose birth we celebrate today, is an inspiration and an anchor in my life. A role model of reconciliation and forgiveness, he stretched out his hands in love, acceptance and healing. Christ's example has taught me to seek to respect and value all people, of whatever faith or none.'

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWUho9WDIgw]

Given this, it is not too surprising that Her Majesty takes solemnly seriously her role as Supreme Governor or our little Church. Here she is addressing our General Synod in November 2015:

'St. Paul reminds us that all Christians, as ambassadors for Christ, are entrusted with the ministry of reconciliation. Spreading God's word[,] and the onerous but rewarding task of peace-making and conflict resolution[,] are important parts of that ministry. So too is the Church of England's particular vocation to work in partnership with those of other faiths and none, to serve the common good in this land.'

[https://www.churchofengland.org/media-centre/news/2015/11/the-queen's-speech-at-the-inauguration-of-the-tenth-general-synod-of-the-church-of-england.aspx]

Did you hear it? 'The Church of England's particular vocation [is] to work in partnership with those of other faiths and none, to serve the common good in this land.' Yes! We can be rightly proud that this resonates with our own vision for this church and the Froud Centre too. Maybe we weren't invited to the thanksgiving service at St Paul's Cathedral. Nevertheless, Her Majesty and we truly are singing from the same hymn-sheet!

It's true that the theme of celebration does not dominate in today's First Reading, nor the Gospel. But I'd say it is still there. For both readings are about sincere repentance. King David, and the unnamed woman who wipes Jesus feet with her hair - with her tears - both come to a place of self-awareness, knowing that they have sinned, and turning to Gd for forgiveness. And, with self-knowledge, and with that willingness to express remorse and seek forgiveness, there comes real relief. The hard work of deluding self and others can stop. And with that relief on earth, there is, we are told, joy in heaven. Here, then, is another way in which we can see that celebration can take the most diverse of forms: it can mean exuberance (with cheesecake upon cheesecake); it can mean quiet calm - and all things in between.

And I leave you with this. It turns out that Her Majesty is not only a good popular theologian of the Anglican way; she is also a good pastor, who cares for those in her care. On Desert Island Discs, the surgeon David Nott told the story of returning to the UK after seeing indescribable horrors, working in hospitals around some war zone. He was honoured by an invitation to formal dinner with the Queen. When he was there, he realised that he was still too traumatised to make small talk. To speak. The Queen said: 'Can I help?' The traumatised surgeon had no idea what she could mean, what she could do. But she called for... the corgis. And she asked a courtier to open the cupboard in the corner – wherein lay... the dog biscuits! So Her Majesty and the surgeon spent the rest of the meal just playing with the dogs, stroking, feeding, and throwing biscuits for the corgis... And, yes, David Nott was clear: that human touch – that canine touch – really did help.

Not to labour the point, in this act of thoughtful kindness, going beyond mere duty, we have a model to emulate, yes, but also yet another cause, among so many causes, for celebration. Alleluia. Amen. 

Sermon: Gaudete Sunday

Sermon. 13 December 201: St Mary's Great Ilford

Advent 3 (Year C)

Philippians 4.4-7

Luke 3.7-18

Brothers and sisters, it is always a pleasure to be with you. And with that it is a particular delight for me to be standing here... in rose vestments, on this, the Third Sunday of Advent. Being a simple Church-of-England priest, from the Provinces, indeed from Protestant stock, I did not think I'd ever have the privilege of wearing rose vestments. Yet here we are! And since I am in this house of liturgical correctness, I am further pleased that I don't have to waste any substantial time explaining how it's not 'pink for Our Lady'. No! It is rose for our joy, for Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday when we are commended, as we heard in our Second Reading, from St Paul's Letter to the Philippians, to rejoice, which becomes in Latin: 'gaudete!'

More is going on here than we have a little visible, colourful token of our partisan Catholic identity. This is Gaudete Sunday because it is around the middle of Advent. Advent is – or, let's be honest, is supposed to be, or once was - a fasting season, sometimes called the Lesser Lent. And, like the Greater Lent (Lent itself) the Church knows that fasting (however we interpret the word) can be hard. So in the middle of Advent and Lent, the Church invites us to relax our self-discipline a little. We have a 'Sunday of Rejoicing' or a 'Sunday or Refreshment', and we take the colour rose, to lighten our purple (we nudge it in the direction of the white of Christmas or Easter, of festival-feasting).

In other words, and bluntly said: the Church knows that we are fragile, weak, frail – we are unreliable - and so the Church makes concessions. And that's how it is, at least from time to time, when things are complicated in Church – it can be all about concessions for us.

We might put this another way. We might say that the way the Church puts together the liturgical year, with checks, balances and concessions, shows that it values moderation. In our fasting and in our feasting, we should be moderate and demonstrate moderation. But... if we do put it that way, there is an irony here. For this very Sunday, Sunday of rejoicing, and of concessions - of moderation, if you like - is also, always, the Sunday of John the Baptist. The gospel always refers to the Baptist's own message. And... I don't think anyone in the history of biblical interpretation has ever described John the Baptist as 'a moderate'. For he was not.

True, a fair bit of what John demands this morning might be called ordinary human decency. The call to repent means to think anew, or to turn around. And when John is addressing tax-collectors who are into fraud, or soldiers who are into extortion, then indeed, he's calling for the law and professional ethical codes to be obeyed - scarcely an 'extreme' message. But the danger is that those of us who (if we are honest) have no stomach for fraud or extortion anyway will focus on these lines, and forget the more challenging [v 11]: 'Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.'

This is hard. It's extreme. It seems that rather than adding to our jumper collection with this year's Christmas special, we should be making sure we don't have a collection. Rather than ordering some other meat to complement the turkey for the evening of 25th, we should be cutting back to nutritional basics. And what is more, no part of us can pretend that the days are now over when other people need clothes and food more than we do. We know of homeless people in our parishes. We know of refugees from war and terror (not least Christians) who have lost all sense of home. And, again, being blunt: we know there are mountains of troubles which barely make it into our newspapers or onto our screens. Who, then, are we to have the luxury of more than one jumper?

Well, I am not going to answer that question. There are arguments for and against our seeking such material security as we might have, all valid. I am, though, going to say that we need - this Advent and always - to pay attention to this call. We must attend to John's call to sit lightly to all our possessions.

If we enjoy them, then, yes, great! Enjoy them.

But let us not 'need' them more than we literally need them.

Let us not let them 'define' us.

Let us not get as 'attached' to them as we are to people, to our loved ones.

Above all, let us not get attached to them as we should be attached to Gd and Gd alone.

It would be good for us to sit lightly to our possessions even in a world of abundance everywhere.

But in our world of poverty, and environmental crisis (another thing we need to speak bluntly about, and please Gd we as an international community are now beginning to speak plainly about), we need to live simply, that others may simply live. That future generations may simply live.

I wonder what you think. Does the idea of having possessions but 'sitting lightly' to them domesticate John's extreme message, and so undermine it? Or does it make sense to moderate the extreme, to make it workable to us weak folk?

There is a complication. It is that we are so used to thinking of 'religious extremism' and 'religious extremists' as being alien, over there somewhere, a problem stemming from other people, problem people. To be blunt yet again: we think the language is code for certain sorts of Muslims (and maybe a few others), who are in favour of violence or ambivalent about violence.

Now, we do need to be very vigilant for all forms of life (religious or not) which promote violence, manipulation or hateful discrimination. We cannot have the luxury of naivete about any faith – our own or another's/another's or our own. But there are dangers if we find it wholly natural to call debased and distorted manifestations of religious life 'religious extremism'. We are in danger of being prejudiced about our Muslim neighbours - who may be extremely religious, who may indeed be socially conservative, but who have no truck whatsoever either with Da'esh in Syria, or for that matter Anjum Choudary, sometime of Ilford.

But more than that, if we simply oppose and always dismiss 'religious extremism', we may be making a rod for our own back. After all, if we are here today (and we are), it is likely that in most people's eyes, we ourselves look 'extremely religious'. And we all know of those clever, clever people who are already writing books saying Sunday School is a form of 'child abuse'. When they realise that baptism is a ritual drowning... well, we'll have another fight on our hands. In short, we cannot simply condemn 'religious extremism'. It is too vague, and relative a term. And sometimes we will want to claim our right (and our neighbours' right) to be extremely religious.

But, you know, it can be a good thing that the combined themes of this day stop us from choosing 'moderation' over 'extremism', or 'extremism' over 'moderation'. There are but crude labels, and inasmuch as they mean anything, we need both.

We need the uncompromising call of John the Baptist to 'repent':

brothers and sisters, turn your whole life wholly around. Nothing less will do.

And we need the measured counsel of the Church:

sisters and brothers, recognise your frailty; allow yourself concessions;

and, already in the middle of Advent, and in this time of stress and uncertainty,

pray that Gd will lead you to the place where you hear the call:

gaudete! Rejoice!