Easter Sermon: Forgiveness is risen from the grave

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford, 27 March 2016

Easter Day

Gospel: John 20.1-18

This is from the Easter Homily of St John Chrysostom:

'Are there any who are devout lovers of God?
Let them enjoy this beautiful bright festival!

Are there any who are grateful servants?
Let them rejoice and enter into the joy of their Lord!

Are there any weary with fasting?
Let them now receive their wages!

If any have toiled from the first hour,
let them receive their due reward;

If any have come after the third hour,
let him with gratitude join in the Feast!

And he that arrived after the sixth hour,
let him not doubt; for he too shall sustain no loss.

And if any delayed until the ninth hour,
let him not hesitate; but let him come too.

And he who arrived only at the eleventh hour,
let him not be afraid by reason of his delay.

For the Lord is gracious and receives the last even as the first.

He gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour,
as well as to him that toiled from the first...

First and last alike receive your reward;
rich and poor, rejoice together!

Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!

You that have kept the fast, and you that have not,
rejoice today for the Table is richly laden!

Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one.
Let no one go away hungry.

Partake, all, of the cup of faith.
Enjoy all the riches of His goodness!

Let no one grieve at his poverty,
for the universal kingdom has been revealed.

Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again;
for forgiveness has risen from the grave.'

*

Do you get it? If you are used to church and the Bible, you will get it, in that you will get the principal references. The parable of the workers employed at later and later hours in the day and all paid the same, and the story of the prodigal son which ends with the feast with the fatted calf.

But I mean more: do you get it? Do you get the point that all are welcome. You are welcomed. You are welcomed to Gd's celebratory party.

If you have kept Lent well, here is your reward. If you tried, but life and stuff intervened, no matter. You are welcome to the party. If you tried, but failed abysmally, no matter. You are welcome to the party. If you didn't even try, no matter. If you want to be here, you too are welcome to the party.

And this is important. This is our faith. We know – don't we? - that the impression that the church and religion in general can give is one of judgementalism, of being judgemental. It is felt that we have a clear sense of what it is to be good, and if people fail at all, we judge them, dismiss them, damn them, shun them.

Today, against that, we hear the truth of our faith: 'forgiveness has risen from the grave'.

Now, Christians do talk of sin (including at baptisms), because what we do counts with Gd. As I said on Good Friday, Gd does not treat us as infants who could do no better. But it is always-but-always sin in the context of forgiveness. Always, all we have to do is seek Gd's forgiveness – seek it sincerely; we cannot manipulate Gd – to find it is already with us. Forgiveness rises from the graves we make of our own lives.

Now, if our neighbours think that we or religion in general are about judgementalism, it would be perverse if we in turn judged them for it. No, we forgive them. And we wait, patiently and prayerfully, for the time when they see something – something - in our lives that suggests it is not so, when they realise we are all about hope, grace and forgiveness. And then (and perhaps only then), we can invite them to the celebration.

Divine forgiveness in Christ means more than a declaration of pardon. Christians have always known that Gd is Gd, that Gd can issue words of pardon whenever and however Gd wills to. But forgiveness in Christ means the fulness of reconciliation that only comes from the reconciler spending time with the reconciled, each coming to value the other's company. It might even be said that this reconciliation makes for a stronger relationship than was there before the estrangement. (We'll be hearing more about this throughout Eastertide.)

This is the life-giving message we are today sharing with Kaiam. As Gd welcomes us to the party, at each and every point in our life, so Gd's clear welcome today clearly goes out to Kaiam. And we give our sincere thanks to Andy and Chantelle for bringing him here to join us.

Not that Kaiam has anything to be forgiven. But, you know (I whisper it) at some point, he will. And that's when he too can - and by Gd's grace will - know that what he did wrong does count with Gd, as he counts with Gd, but that forgiveness is his. His forgiveness rises from the grave.

Something not wholly different is happening in this morning's gospel. Mary Magdalene experiences Jesus with power and perspicacity in the midst of her achingly deep grief. When? You know when. It's when he calls her name. Mary. This is not accidental or incidental. You see, out of all the chaos we make of our lives from time to time, because of wilful sin, negligence and fear, and for that matter because of ordinary human clumsiness and failure, Gd speaks our own name, and new life is possible.

A baptism isn't actually a naming ceremony. They don't have to, but if the minister does say, 'name this child', that isn't some solemn naming ceremony. It's really just saying, 'let me make asbolutely sure I get this right'. That said, the candidate is named in a baptism. You cannot normally be baptised without your name. So we rightly speak of baptismal names. The love that rises from the grave speaks our name. With Gd it is never not personal. Alleluia!

Indeed: Alleluia [signed]!

Today is called the Solemnity of Solemnities. And that is right. But it does not mean it is 'solemn' as in serious, grave and dull. On the contrary, it is the greatest occasion for joy. If we cannot be joyful, because of circumstances in our lives, we do what we can to be oriented towards joy. For today's Alleluias go all the way down. It is the day for shouts and dances of joy.

And if we are not quite ready to be a church of shouts and dances (I don't know... are we?... let me see whose eyes I can catch...), we can, in any event, bring our bodies into our thanks, praise and rejoicing.

Thus... remember... [signing]

Alleluia. Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Let us now say together the end of that Easter sermon of St John Chrysostom. Each sentence begins with 'Christ is risen!' I invite you to join in.

'Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!
Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down!
Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is Risen, and life is liberated!

Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead;
for Christ having risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever. Amen!'

Sermon. When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion

Sermon. 25 October 2015.

St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford

Last Sunday after Trinity (Proper 25)

Jeremiah 31.7-9

Psalm 126

Mark 10.46-end

Here is a piece of information I hope you can do nothing with: one of today's readings I want at my funeral. And that reading is... the psalm. Yes, the psalm, as well as being music, a song, is of course also a Scriptural reading. It typically picks up a theme from the First Reading.

One reason I'd like this psalm, Psalm 126, at my funeral is that it's very popular in Judaism, to observant Jews. (You might have guessed that bit.) It's one of the psalms that is used to introduce Grace - the mealtime prayer of Grace. So it has to do with feasting. And I believe that one vital thing that Jews and Christians have in common is that, because we know Gd creates us as bodies, we look to meals as one of the best places for delight, joy, fellowship, collective remembering, celebration, hospitality, and reconciliation.

You might be thinking: if a psalm (or two) introduces Grace, that Grace must be an awful lot longer than our brief prayer. And you'd be right. It can take 10' or more to say Grace in Judaism. And/but you say it after the meal. (There is a short blessing before the meal too.)

It all goes back to these words from Deuteronomy [8:10]: When you have eaten and are satisfied, you shall bless the LORD your God for the good land which He gave you.

So grace is an extended blessing of Gd, by those who have eaten and are satisfied. And note that the blessing is not just for the food, but 'for the good land which Gd gave you'. You might think this just means we should remember the farmers and farms. But in fact that does not work in context. For the context of the whole of the Book of Deuteronomy is that the People of Israel are on the point of entering 'The Promised Land', the Land of Israel – the Land-with-a-capital-L, as it were. Deuteronomy begins with a recap of the journeys through the wilderness and ends with Moses overlooking the Promised Land he'll never set foot on. You see: they are on the point of entering the Promised Land. So by 'the Land' there is no doubt which is meant.

And sure enough in Jewish Grace after Meals there are extensive prayers for the Land of Israel, with a longing for the People to be gathered there, and for Jerusalem, with a longing for the Messiah to come and rebuild it, including the Temple. Let me give you a flavour:

Have mercy, LORD our God, upon Israel Your people, upon Jerusalem Your city, upon Zion the abode of Your glory, upon the kingship of the house of David Your anointed, and upon the great and holy House over which Your Name was proclaimed, Our God, our Father, our Shepherd...

Remember this is a prayer – or part of a longer prayer – said after every substantial meal.

So, you see, today's psalm, for all it is associated with mealtimes, really is a good fit for today's First Reading. For in that reading the usually miserable Jeremiah manages a cheerful note, and has Gd say this: 'I am going to bring [the People] back... with consolations I will lead them back... they shall not stumble, for I have become a father to Israel'. The Father's love brings the People back to the Land.

We can actually go further. We can say: the book we call the 'Old Testament' is in large part a series of stories of journeys in and out of the Land. Think of Abraham moving from Ur through the Land into Egypt and back to the Land. Think, of course, of the Exodus itself, from Egypt via the wilderness – a huge 'long cut' - to the Land. And then there's the exile of the Northern Kingdom to Assyria, the exile of the Southern Kingdom to Babylon... And, then, crucially (if often forgotten by Christians) the return to the Land.

It makes sense to say the Land is a character in its own right. Some Christian thinkers have put it this way: both within the Old Testament and for later Judaism, the Land of Israel is like a sacrament, is sacramental.

I am not suggesting we have to agree with that. I am suggesting, though, that it is good for us to know of this perspective, and to recognise that people as wise and prayerful and holy as us (or wiser, more prayerful and holier than us) do have this perspective, do believe the Land, and Jerusalem, and the Temple have religious, even divine significance.

All of this of course has contemporary relevance (to put it mildly). And I do appreciate that I am concentrating on Jewish understandings here, and so arguably on the Israeli case for Israel, because that case relates to our Scriptures. But I am emphatically not taking sides. The religious case for the State of Israel is but one of the strands. There are plenty of secular arguments. And it is not straightforward. For in fact the more the case for Israel takes biblical lines, the tougher it is for Israel actually. For the Bible (Leviticus this time [18.28]) promises that if the People are disobedient to Gd, the land will 'vomit' them out. Exile and landlessness are part of the promise.

I am suggesting that the latest horrors in Israel-Palestine are not 'mindless' acts of 'random' violence, in spite of how the media and politicians love such phrases. They've been the result of a clash of ideas of the holiness of the Land and Jerusalem and (in particular) the Temple. Both sides feel (differently, and with different degrees of justification) that both their access to the holy sites, and also their understanding of them were under threat. As people of faith ourselves, we should have – or we should find – some empathy with those who feel hurt and vulnerable. (But don't get me wrong: that's not at all to justify any violence other than self-defence.)

Find empathy. I think we might. Imagine: if the nation-state of the UK or England and our citizenship were both threatened, and on top of that, it looked like this Church, or St Mary's or Bradwell, or St Paul's Cathedral, or all of them and more were at risk of being closed or taken over or destroyed, we would, I think, feel something. We would feel some pain. Would that be rational? Maybe, maybe not. But it's worth remembering that no life-long life-enhancing bond is entirely rational, be it to your partner, to West Ham, to the All Blacks, to a nation, to whatever.

So when our media or politicians present the problem of violence in Israel-Palestine as being about reactionary and irrational religions which should by now have faded into the background as private affairs, I'd say they do us a disservice. They are not taking the relevant human beings seriously. And when Jews, Christians and Muslims trivialise or deny the heart-felt loyalties of the others, they are taking other people less seriously. But worse: they are also pushing peace further away. Many insist that peace, anywhere, can come only when all parties are willing to understand those they call their 'enemies'.

When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, then were we like dreamers.

It ill behoves any of us to tread on another's dreams, not least but not only when those dreams are embedded in our own Scriptures. But if we – Jews, Christians, Muslims and others - can really imaginatively feel the power of the others' dreams, then it may just become possible that there can be healing, even healing such as the blind beggar Bartimaeus in today's gospel knew.

We have to hope for it. I'd say we are commanded to hope for it. Certainly we are commanded to pray for it. We are commanded to dare to imagine that one united feast, in Israel-Palestine and beyond, with feasting as the best place for delight, joy, fellowship, collective remembering (yes, eventually), celebration, hospitality, and reconciliation. Amen.