Sermon. Christmas Carols Service.

Sermon. Christmas Carols Service. St Mary’s, Little Ilford, 22 December 2019

In a few moments  - it’s fine if you may say it cannot come too soon - we will sing Away In a Manger.

Looking forward to it? [Positive response.]

Maybe it's not so straightforward.

·       For some, it may be the essence of Christmas,

·       for others it may be tired and old and due for retirement, or (more realistically) reserved for “Children’s Services”.

Truth to tell, controversies about carol-choices are themselves a Christmas tradition - in almost every church in the country.

I have only recently come to see just how controversial Away In A Manger is. It goes way beyond the question of whether it is one "for the children" or for absolutely everybody (and woe betide you, if you don't sway as you sing, and get a little moist around the eyes as you sway and sing)…

.

One historic controversy has been - hold on to your Christmas-craker crown - whether it was written by Martin Luther, founder of the Reformation. It turns out in not a few books of hymns/carols, it is called Luther's Manger Song or something similar.

This, though, is a controversy without any substance. There is not a shred of evidence that Luther wrote it. It is not his style. The earliest "sightings" of the carol are in late 19th century North America. And those surely are the time and place of its origins. The earliest known German versions are later, and they give all the appearance of being a translation from the English; the German does not flow.

So we'll deny Luther the privilege - or relieve him of the burden - of authorship, depending on how you see things.  

Away In A Manger is also disputed territory in that many if not most of the words have had alternatives in one version or another.

How about:

"the stars in the heavens"

"the poor baby wakes"?

Minor changes, maybe, but then there’s:

"watch o'er my bed while in slumber I lie"?

You can even face a fierce debate about which the correct tune is. Already in the “Good Book” [shows Oxford Carols for Choirs 1] there’s an alternative, one in the minor key, from Normandy [sings – choir spontaneously join in].

Once you've heard it – at least if you can wholly factor out my singing - it might be hard not to prefer it.

I've also heard our bishop, soon to be archbishop, preach against it. At Carols in Chelmsford prison last year, he opposed it. Now, I CAN'T DO BISHOP STEPHEN'S ACCENT, ESSEX OR OTHERWISE, BUT I DO KNOW THAT HIS PREACHING STYLE AND VOLUME, AT LEAST IN THAT PLACE, IS LIKE THIS.

So my erstwhile Catholic colleague and our friend, Sister P, said to me in jest (she loves to jest): “Do you know, I couldn’t hear a word your bishop said!” We call him the whispering bishop.

Regardless of style, his point was one you can also hear from Archbishop Rowan. He spoke on Christmas at St Paul's a few years ago. (It’s on YouTube.) He was asked which was his least favourite carol, and one contender was... Away In A Manger. He did add: "This is the sort of thing that will get me in the Daily Mail."

Both bishops (archbishops) were raising the same objection. It's about two lines. Maybe you can guess which…

"The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,

but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes."

Brothers and sisters, it just doesn't have the ring of truth about it, does it?

Parents, it just doesn’t have the ring of truth about it, does it?

Archbishop Rowan says [paraphrase]:

"You’ve been born only a few hours, you wake up, there are some rather huge animals making their noises round about you. I think you’d cry. If you don’t cry, I think that might count as the first miracle.”

And – Bishop Stephen was stronger on this - one thing we do know about Jesus (if the gospels are right) is that he did cry.

·       He cried over his friend Lazarus [John 11.35].

·       He cried on entering Jerusalem [Luke 19.41].

And, by the way, there is nothing unmanly about men crying in the Bible. Read (say) the book of Genesis again: the menfolk are often crying there - without shame.

So, it's not labouring the point to say that, if we are really utterly serious that Jesus was utterly human (utterly Gd but also utterly human) then the baby Jesus must have cried, at least at times and probably often. Why would we want to deny that? Why would we want to draw any attention away from that?

The little Lord Jesus, like all babies, much crying he made!

Now, fear not! I am not proposing that we regularly (week by week) change the words of our carols and hymns! But, if you wanted to sing: “The little Lord Jesus, much crying he makes”, I say: knock yourselves out!

I am not going to make a final judgement about whether Away In A Manger is Good Thing, or a thing best left unsung. But! But, if only in the interests of balance, I will finish by saying one thing in its favour.

I mean the last verse. Yes, it is right and proper that we understand the incarnation of the Son of Gd as a divine mystery, and proclaim it with all solemnity, especially as the Prologue of John: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with Gd...

But the message of the incarnation is also that Jesus comes to us as one of us, just like us, as a friend, as a playful, crying, laughing human being, to be with us, to be a child among children, children of whatever age – 1, 12, 120, 130, 140…

So let us pray:

Be near us Lord Jesus, we ask thee to stay

close by us for ever, and love us, we pray.

Bless all the dear children in thy tender care

And fit us for heaven to, live with thee there.

Amen.

Sermon Midnight Mass

Sermon. 25.12.15. Christmas Midnight Mass. St Mary's, Great Ilford.

John 1.1-14

I am wondering whether I should begin with a double apology. First, I might apologise for not being Fr Gareth, not being your parish priest. I know he'd love to be with you himself.

Second, I may have to apologise for another thing you don't quite get this evening. You don't get the story of the birth of Jesus. You don't get angels and dreams and annunciation and a census and journeys and full inns and a manger and more angels and shepherds and wise men. None of that. At least not in our readings. Nothing from the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Instead the Gospel is from John. In fact it is the Prologue of John, where there is not so much a story as such, but a reflection on what is going on in and behind all the stories of Jesus. Since I know you have had to drop some of your pre-Christmas events, you may be feeling especially deprived of the angels and the manger and the shepherds. If so, I do apologise.

But I add: it has to be this way. I mean: the one gospel-reading you absolutely have to have at some point on Christmas Day is today's gospel, is the Prologue to John. That's the rule. And in truth it is not too hard to see why. In the words at the centre of the gospel we have what many a carol service will have introduced as 'St John unfolds the mystery of the Incarnation'. These words:

'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with Gd, and the Word was Gd...

and the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.'

'The word became flesh'. We can actually say this summarises all Christian teaching about Christ.

We can take these words from the creed as being the same idea, using different words:

'For us men, and for our salvation he came down from heaven, he became incarnate from the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and became man.'

I'll just say that, actually, a better translation of the underlying Greek and Latin, is:

'For us human beings, and for our salvation, he came down from heaven, he became incarnate from the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and became a human being.'

But exploring all the implications of that is for another time!

The word became flesh. Gd the Son became incarnate and was made man. 'Incarnate' is just the Latin way of saying 'became flesh'. This is the story behind the Christmas story. Which is why tonight we will, if we can, not only bow but kneel at those words in the creed.

But do we let these words trip off our tongue? Are we proud of them, as if they were a badge of our Christian identity? Do we find them moving, as they are Christmassy, like a little donkey, but not something requiring much attention or reflection? Gd forbid!

You see, there is a problem. There is a problem with flesh. You are flesh. So you will know what I mean. The problem with flesh is that it corrupts. It deteriorates. It is mortal, and there comes a point when it decays. What is more, flesh is vulnerable. It can be invaded by bacteria and viruses and countless other things. It is, then, prone to disease, and so pain and misery and dislocation. Flesh is also limited. It comes, sometimes, without limbs, or even without working organs. Again, a fleshly baby needs other human beings to care to him/her, and if the carers get it seriously wrong over a long period of time, that too can do lasting damage. Yet again, flesh is soft, and if someone wants rid of a fleshly human being, and is determined about it, they can be rid. Fleshly beings are not only mortal, they can be killed before their time.

This is what flesh is. It is mortal, vulnerable, needy and weak. So there is no getting round this: when we say that the Word became flesh, or that Gd the Son became incarnate, we are saying that Gd became mortal, vulnerable, needy and weak. And if we ever forget this, we are not taking the very words seriously. We are not taking Christian faith seriously.

Since this is so, we may well be asking: why? Why on earth did Gd the Son become flesh? Well, I'd say that actually the Church is not very good – no, let me say it, the Church is absolutely hopeless – at working out for itself precisely why Gd did anything. In a way, the 'why question' is always a non-question. (Think about it. If Gd had to do something, then that means there was some kind of force compelling Gd to do something, and so Gd is not Gd. If Gd didn't have to do something, but chose to do it anyway, then the only answer is 'because Gd chose to', which doesn't give us any new information.) So: why did the Word become flesh? In truth, we do not know.

But that is alright. For the Church is not really a place where our 'why questions' are answered. The Church is, in the first instance, a home not for the 'why' but for the 'wow'. Wow! The Church is where, by Gd's grace, we begin to find a way to articulate our awe. We are in the presence of something awesome. And here I mean 'awesome' in the full sense of the word, not the modern sense (where, you know, we might say: 'that cup of coffee was “awesome”' - no, not that). Here awe means our godly bewilderment, that we are overwhelmed by the closeness of Gd, by the solidarity of Gd with us. Gd is with us who are mortal, vulnerable, needy and weak.

Gd, at Christmas, and at every single moment, says this:

'I know that you are mortal, vulnerable, needy and weak.

These things are not as terrible as you may think they are,

though they are all in different ways painful, or tied up with pain.

I want to be with you in all of this,

in all the pain and mess of the world.

I want to be with you, not as magician,

putting things right, by a wave of a divine hand.

It's together that we'll put things right, when we can.

But, first, I want to be with you as helper and friend

(a true friend – one who along the way will tell you how it is without decoration)

- as friend.

I wonder if we can hear this glorious and truly awesome message. Here is the very glory of Gd. The Word became flesh – was flesh in the same ways that you and I are flesh - and lived among us – because he wanted our company - and we have seen his glory – the glory of the promise of that company throughout space and time, if we but make it our own.

Merry – awesome - Christmas.

Amen. 

Christmas Poem, 2015

Just About (Maybe)

Every Christmas Poem You Have Ever Read

and Every Christmas Sermon You Have Ever Heard

It's all about love.

But not cutesy; cow-shed real.

Now, try to get on.

Was Jesus a Prophet?

Sermon. St Anne’s Brondesbury. Second Sunday Before Advent, B.

Gospel: Mark 13.1-8

If you walk up and down the lovely Kilburn High Road on enough Saturday afternoons, you will be invited to become a Muslim. You may be filmed doing so. There’s a group of men who gather there, and – in a very friendly and approachable way – invite people to think about the claims of Islam. The group is called Dawa is Easy – dawa being an Arabic word meaning something like inviting people to embrace Islam. They put their successes up on YouTube. I myself have been stopped, addressed and filmed. I failed them. I did not become a Muslim. My interviewer’s final advice was: ‘Well, if you’re not going to become a Muslim, at least be an Anglican Unitarian. Give up the doctrines of Incarnation and Trinity’. I replied that asking me to become an Anglican Unitarian was like asking me to draw a square circle. It cannot be done.

I wonder: Was I right? Was I brave? Foolhardy? Conservative? Stick-in-the-mud? Too theological, abstract and pedantic? Too Church-bound? Truthful? Was I saying anything of any importance whatsoever?

*

Why do I ask this today? Well, in today’s gospel Jesus prophesies the destruction of the Temple. This is an event which did come to pass. So today’s gospel does give us scope to say this: Jesus was a prophet. So now is as good a time as any to ask: Is that right?

That Jesus was a prophet is an idea with ancient pedigree. Remember when Jesus asks, at Caesarea Philippi: ‘Who do people say that I am?’ ‘Some say… a prophet.’ They said it then, and they’ve been saying it, perhaps, ever since. Indeed, it might be said they’ve been saying it more and more, given the rise of Islam in our days. In Islam, Jesus is the prophet second only to Muhammad. It also might be said to be part of the Baha’i faith. And, as my Muslim friend was well aware, the prophethood of Jesus sits comfortably within Unitarian Christianity. And some would say (it’s a bit or a harder claim) it’s pretty much what liberal Protestantism and a lot of revisionist theology is about, truth be told.

And here we are, in a church with an interfaith centre attached (praise God). And I am going to dare to make an assumption. The assumption is that at least once in the history of the interfaith centre, one Christian has apologised for the intricate and abstract Christian doctrines of Incarnation and Trinity, with all that talk of natures and persons, and has agreed with someone else that, yes indeed, it would be easier if Christians dropped all that philosophical stuff, and just understood Jesus as a prophet. As the prophet for Christians. Jesus is nothing more than the prophet for Christians. Just imagine what we’d gain? What would we lose?

Well, I am not sure you would gain as much as you might think. Prophethood is not the easiest category for the Eastern religions. It makes little sense in Hinduism and Buddhism, at least. That Jesus was a prophet is also impossible in rabbinic Judaism. The rabbis were clear that the time of prophecy had come to an end, centuries before Jesus’ birth. Religious leaders could be inspired and wise; they could not be prophets. You’d also have to answer the question what, other than the destruction of the Temple, did Jesus actually prophecy? I mean: even in today’s gospel, it is not a flippant summary of what Jesus says that the end of the world happens when the end of the world happens, and things get a lot worse first. That may be worth saying, of course. But, if we are thinking strictly in terms of prophecy and prophethood, how does Jesus’ record compare with the majestic prose and poetry of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel?

You may reply that Jesus is not a prophet like that. He is a prophet after the manner of Elijah and Elisha, who healed others and brought the dead back to life. Well, maybe. But, again, would we call either Elijah or Elisha prophets, if, alongside their healing, they did not also speak devastating truths to difficult rulers? I suggest we would not. So, as a prophet, Jesus prophesies little, a miniscule amount compared to an Isaiah, and might be thought of, at best, ‘half’ an Elijah or an Elisha. Is that enough?... Well, that is – I humbly suggest – where you end up, if you start from the premise that Jesus is nothing more than a prophet.

Now, here is a harder thing to say, as most of us will feel some ambivalence. If Jesus is a prophet only, we have little reason to celebrate Christmas (I use the C word ahead of its liturgical time). Depending on the state of your emotional and practical preparedness, you may think that no bad thing. Technically, we could still celebrate Christmas. Indeed, at Portsmouth Cathedral there was at least a time when Christians and Muslims came together to celebrate the birthday of Jesus Christ/the Prophet Isa. But we’d lose Christmas as we know it.

You can pretty much pick your carol. 

• ‘Must you come from highest bliss, down to such a world as this?’
• ‘The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.’
• ‘In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.’  And indeed:
• ‘Veiled in flesh the Godhead see. Hail th’incarnate Deity’!

Something more than the birth of a prophet among prophets is being sung here.

*

Now I am going to try something even harder still. I want to suggest that the doctrine of the Incarnation – around us here as Christmas is in the air, and around us anyway, as we gather as Christians – is at heart simple. Not all of the language is simple. How could all the language be simple, when we are struggling to speak of God? But while not all the language is simple, the core claim is simple. I say it goes like this: God meets us. It is God who meets with us. It really is God. It is God as God is God. The One who meets with us is God.

I labour the point (you’ll gather), because I think that anything other than the doctrine of the Incarnation, as a way of understanding the story of Jesus, means we don’t, quite, meet with God. Not with God as God is God. Instead, we meet with… well, the variations are endless…

• We meet with one who is half-God-half-human.
• We meet with an emanation from God.
• We meet with a message from God which tells us how to live, but, in telling us how to live, ultimately tells us only about ourselves.
• We meet with an aspect of God – say, God’s power to heal, or, let’s be blunt, heal sometimes.
• And so on.

You see, the doctrine of the Incarnation – like the doctrine of the Trinity – was forged – painfully and over centuries – in Hellenistic society. This means in dialogue with Hellenistic religion. And Hellenism had great strengths, but it also had great blind-spots. One thing which I think Hellenism could not get its head around was the idea of a simple meeting between God and the human being. In Hellenism, matter, which is corruptible and corrupts, cannot be of ultimate importance. So the Creator (or the Ultimate One beyond all creating) can only meet creation, us frail creatures made of matter, through emanation upon emanation upon emanation. There is a little less of God in each emanation. It is echo upon echo, shadow reflecting shadow. That was, allegedly, how things had to be.

That was what Christians had to deal with. That is what Christians had to resist. That resistance takes the form of the doctrine of the Incarnation. The Church resisted and said: in Jesus, God meets us. In Jesus, it is God who meets with us. In Jesus, it really is God. In Jesus, it is God as God is God. In Jesus, the One who meets with us is God. Why? Because it is God’s will to be with us in this way.

I cannot present a knock-down argument why this is the case. Why in Jesus we meet God, God as God is God. I can say that this claim - or hope, or invitation, if you prefer - is the only thing that makes sense of Christianity. And this: as a hope, or an invitation, it is anything other than abstract, intricate, philosophical or finicky. It is here, now, if you will it. It is not abstract. It is concrete. It is here and it is now. The meeting with God can be here and now. Here now in word, bread, wine, company, stillness, surprise. And it is here, now, when you take the steps you have to take, to follow this Jesus. If you will it, you will get a sense of where the next (perhaps small) step lies.

I am tempted to add (since I won’t be with you again): all good wishes for the Feast of the Incarnation – Merry Christmas!

Amen.