Come down Zacchaeus, give the Lord his tea!

 

Sermon. 30/10/2022. The Fourth Sunday Before Advent

 

·        2 Thessalonians 1

·        Luke 19.1-10

 It is not my first time in this church, but it is my first Sunday here. I’d be foolish to think the question is not in the air: “What kind of a preacher will this one be?” Well, when I sense such a question, I am at least from time to time reminded of a quotation from Kierkegaard. He said:

 “People have an idea that the preacher is an actor on a stage and they are the critics, blaming or praising him. What they don't know is that they are the actors on the stage; he (the preacher) is merely the prompter standing in the wings, reminding them of their lost lines.”

Something to ponder there. I just intuited that you are a congregation who looks for a bit of a challenge.

And after challenge, there should come comfort.

And there is much comfort in today’s gospel (less so in the epistle perhaps, but I intend to focus shamelessly on the gospel).

The story of Zacchaeus is about attraction, and is attractive. And will be told today in countless Sunday schools and Messy Churches, with its own pleasant ditty.

And the attraction is real. What is, as they say, not to like? A person with a stigma, and with dubious ethics, is drawn to Jesus, simply to seeing Jesus. And he sees him, from the vantage point of a tree, and, further, has a meeting with him. They share a meal. That person turns his life around. And Jesus says: “This is what I am about, turning lives around.”  

After the comfort, another challenge?

I can reassure you that it is not my intention to “deconstruct” the story. I think the story stands. I do think that this is what Jesus is about (turning lives around). We are utterly right to take comfort in that. What I am led to do, however, is point out some ways in which the story is not as clear as some standard sermons on the story are clear. Do we know what we think we know?

Do we know what we think we know? That the person was named Zacchaeus, for example. Well, he certainly would not have said that his name was Zacchaeus, for that is an English pronunciation of a Latin version of a Greek name, Zakchaios, which was itself almost certainly a version of a Hebrew or Aramaic name. It is likely that his name was Zakki. Zakki is not related to Isaac, or Zechariah. They are from different roots. Zakki is a name with a meaning, and the meaning is “bright, shining, clean, pure”.

Is this part of the story? Did Luke know that this person-called-pure lived a life which was impure, and seen as impure by his peers? It is possible. But it happens that the scholars tell us it is unlikely, seeing Luke as gentile, and not a Hebrew speaker. All the same, part of the story is that the central character is called “Mr Pure”.

Do we know what we think we know? That this is a classic story – perhaps the classic story - of a sinner who repents? Let us look at what he actually says: “[H]alf of my possessions… I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” If the order is important, he is confident he can give half his riches away and still be able to give fourfold sums back to any he might have defrauded. If there be anyone. Which he does not claim to know.

While of course what we have are only the bare bones of the story, it is pertinent that those bare bones do not include any admission of guilt, any expression of sorrow, regret, remorse. No “sinner’s prayer”; no “act of contrition”. What we seem to have is rather an exhalation of enthusiasm and exuberance. “In your presence, Lord, I willingly give away my wealth, on whatsoever grounds!”

Do we know what we think we know? I have saved what I think is the best till last. One thing we surely know about Zacchaeus (Zakki) is that he was short. Or do we? I happen to have found myself on social media in this last week (something I do not recommend), where (alongside all the hate) there happens to have been a discussion about this verse: “He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature.” It has been pointed out that, as in the English, so in the Greek, it is semantically ambiguous who is short in stature. It might, in other words, have been Jesus who was short. So Zakki thought: If I climb this tree, I will at least be able to see the top of his head, and that may be enough.

I have been shocked at some of the responses to this plausible hypothesis. People have refused to believe that Jesus might have been short. It is as if (as if? or literally that) people really think all those images of the tall, slim, handsome, bearded hippy-like Jesus are as good as photographs. But I tell you, brothers and sisters: Jesus might have been short.

But! But it happens there is another ambiguity in the Greek. Zakki was te helikia mikros. Mikros means small. And te helikia means “in terms of growth”. In terms of growth. Perhaps you are already seeing the range of meaning? To be small (mikros) in terms of growth may mean to be short. It may also mean to be… young. This sets out quite a different story. Our friend Zakki climbed a tree… because he was young. Because (by extension) he was a bright young thing. He was a go-getter. He was in more ways than one a social climber. He had become a tax collector as he saw that as a good way of ingratiating himself with the occupying power, as well as earning wealth. And he climbed that tree because, as the bright young thing he was, he had assessed the situation carefully and eagerly, plotted the likely route, and sought a seat of honour and excellent visibility.

It is a plausible reading. I offer it as nothing more. As it happens, I still think the most likely reading is that Zakki was short. But the other reading emphasises – brings to the fore - something that really is there in the story. Zakki had worked out what was best for him to do, which was to climb that tree.

This brings us to this question: where is the real turning point in this story? Is it when Jesus sees Zacchaeus? Possibly. Is it when Zacchaeus  says he is turning his life around? Possibly. It happens that Eastern Orthodox Christians especially tend to see a different hinge. They see the turning point as when Zacchaeus… comes down from the tree.

He has climbed up high. At Jesus’ invitation (at Jesus’ command) he comes down low. He humbles himself. He returns to the earth, the land, the soil, the humus, as the humbled creature he is. This is why in Orthodoxy, in the weeks before Lent, there is a Sunday of Zacchaeus, where this is the Gospel. The idea is that repentance begins with – or takes the form of – humility. Coming down from every high tree, every high horse, every high point of security and inaccessibility where we tend to seek refuge. “Come down, Zacchaeus, give the Lord his tea!” Indeed. “Come down!”

Let us all, whether as preachers or performers, be comforted and challenged, be challenged and comforted, by the story of Zakki-Zacchaeus. Amen.

There are riches, and there are the Bible's riches

Sermon. 31 July 2022. Trinity 7 (Year C)

·        Ecclesiastes 1.2, 12-14; 2.18-23

·        Luke 12.13-21

 

It can be hard to follow Jesus.

Some of the time, a lot of the time,

maybe most of the time, maybe almost all the time,

it can be hard to follow Jesus.

And let me be clear: here by “follow”, I mean “understand”.

It can be hard to understand Jesus,

long before we ask how easy it is to put his words into practice.

Jesus is and remains strange to us,

in ways the Church is not always comfortable owning.

 

This means, of course, that we can give hearty thanks,

when we have reason to think we have understood Jesus.

Today may be one such day.

We can name it, with ease:

don’t rely on your possessions;

don’t make storing up stuff the meaning of your life.

The cliché stands: “You can’t take it with you”,

and you never know when that will apply.

There is no condemnation of wealth in Jesus’ words here today,

just a clear-eyed warning not to get attached to your riches,

whatever form your riches take.

 

Of course, this being the Holy Gospel, it is not that simple.

 

I believe all that I have said applies,

but there are other forms of detachment we are called to.

Surely there is something shocking for us

in how Jesus introduces his story.

He says: “Man, who appointed me

a judge or an arbiter between you?”

[anthrope, tis me katestesen kriten e meristen eph’hymas?]

Think it through.

Jesus here refuses to be

the one who makes the decisions, who sorts things out.

That must make us at least a little uncomfortable.

How can it be that we can turn to Jesus.

to make a decision or sort things out,

and he says no…

he says that is not his role?

 

Modern scholarship is pretty clear about this:

Jesus is in many ways squarely within the Judaism of his day

-         little of his teaching is actually revolutionary -

and Jesus is perhaps

-         I’ll say this bluntly –

perhaps especially close to the Pharisees

(we can talk about this afterwards).

But! But here he does differ from the leaders of the other Jewish groupings.

He does not want to be one who gives rulings,

in accordance with the guidance revealed at Sinai.

 

You may be wondering, by the way, why I am phrasing this point thus.

Why do I speak of “the leaders of the other Jewish groupings”?

Why don’t I just say: In this, Jesus was not like the Rabbis?

Well, I refrain deliberately,

because that same scholarship also says

that in Jesus’ day, “the office of rabbi” had not really been formed.

You didn’t train to “become a rabbi”.

That came later.

Yes, of course, the New Testament knows the word “rabbi” (‘rabbi).

But it means something less technical.

It’s a form of address, and means little more than “Sir”.

 

But if we dwell on how Jesus was different from other Jewish leaders,

we avoid a painful task I am bringing us back to,

of having to reflect on

how Jesus says his role is not to settle matters of dispute between us.

This is Jesus’ sovereign decision.

We are not likely to think the matter was too hard for him.

We are not told that it was a particularly convoluted case.

There may well have been a right answer he could easily have given.

But Jesus’ sovereign decision

is not to settle the matter of dispute.

 

Accepting this is the greater detachment,

harder (I say) than detachment from riches.

It may be our task – our shared task – our human task – our Christian task -

to find ways forward through our disagreements and estrangements.

 

Let me say one thing about the parable Jesus brings.

We are rarely if ever told of the tone in which any of the characters speak.

So we the readers have to supply the tone.

And in this case it’s very tempting to imagine, well, some dramatic anger.  

So we imagine Gd shouting:

“You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you.”

But that is our interpretation only.

No less likely is that Gd speaks with pity, with compassion, with sadness.

‘You fool, [you poor misguided one]!

This very night your life will be demanded from you.”

 

Something similar can be said about our first reading.

Ecclesiastes sits within the Wisdom literature

of the Old Testament, the Hebrew Bible.

Wisdom literature tells us how to live.

But, again, we are not told of the tone it uses in its instruction.

Consider, for example, all the ways in which one might hear just one verse from the Book of Proverbs [1.22]:

“How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple?
How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing
    and fools hate knowledge?”

Try it out, some time!

 

But it might also be said that a change of tone will only get you so far.

The whole Book of Ecclesiastes is difficult, however you pitch it.

It presents a scepticism

which we might say does not fall short of cynicism.

“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
    says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
    Everything is meaningless.”

Some of us will know the older translation

(which sticks closely to the Hebrew):

“Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”

And let us be clear

that even the section from Ecclesiastes which people find most uplifting, chapter 3, beginning:

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven”

and goes on about

a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace…

well, however poetic it all is,

what it may be saying is that

all we ever do is react naturally to natural occurrences.

What we think of as

our most considered and deliberate responses

to extreme, even unique situations

is actually us just taking the line of least resistance

when faced with the perfectly normal and repeatable.

There is never any reason for drama or dilemma;

there is never any excuse to think of yourself as a hero.

Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.

 

So, we may think in today’s readings

we are being given a manageable morsel of wisdom –

“don’t get too attached to perishable possessions” –

something which pretty much every venerable worldview insists upon.

But we don’t have to dig too hard to find a much sharper message:

·        we cannot reliably turn to Jesus to settle our disputes;

·        we cannot reliably turn to the Bible
to find reassurance that ultimately everything makes sense.

 

That is not the note on which I want to end.

Rather I want to speak quite personally.

Speaking personally, the sheer fact that Ecclesiastes is in the Bible

is one of the things that gives me hope

(when everyday forms of hope are harder to come by).

Whatever the Bible is,

it is not a collection of pious texts

put together by religious people

for the edification of others.

It contains much that is shocking,

shocking for those who see their role as the edification of others.

I invite you to have a think, over the course of the coming week,

about other Books in the Bible

which defy the expectations of those who think

biblical teaching is just memorable words encouraging safe behaviour.

The Bible offers so many rich foods, over and above that bland diet.

Surely these are our riches.

Surely, pondering them is at least part of what makes us rich toward Gd.

I commend these riches to us all.

Amen.

"He set his face..."

 

Sermon. Trinity 2. 26 June 2022

Gospel: Luke 9.51-62

 

Fundamentalists are people who take the Bible literally. Every word of it. Equally. Simply. Others, those who are not fundamentalists, do not take the Bible literally. They (we) put the words of the Bible into context. They (we) do not only translate; we interpret.

 

So we are told. So perhaps we tell ourselves. So let me say very simply that I do not believe this. Nobody - nobody - takes all of the Bible literally. It cannot be done. All readers, including “fundamentalists” interpret Bible verses. And today’s reading contains a good example which makes my point. 

 

Jesus says: “Let the dead bury their own dead”.  This is not presented as a riddle to muse upon. A real man has told Jesus he has a real dead father in need of burial. And there is nothing in the Greek to soften the command. An overliteral translation would be: “Leave/let/permit the dead [persons] to bury the of-themselves dead [persons], and you, having gone away….”. Abandon this responsibility! Yet there is not and never has been a Christian group of any flavour which has taken this dominical command - this explicit command of our Lord and Saviour - literally. All Christians interpret this verse, putting it in context.

 

This of course does not tell us anything (or anything much) about how to interpret the Bible. But it can be good, any way, to drop the pretence that one option Christians have is to read the Bible literally.

 

How, then, might we read and interpret today’s Gospel?

 

It has all the qualities of a turning-point. Jesus has recently been transfigured. For Luke, this means, among other things, that Moses and Elijah talked with him about the Exodus he was to “about to fulfil” in Jerusalem [9.31]. And now comes the time when Jesus is determined to go to Jerusalem, to be “taken up” [analempsis]. Exodus; ascension. Strong hints here, of the crucifixion, and also surely also strong hints that the crucifixion will be so much more than it seems.

 

The Exodus-Ascension of Jesus must take place in Jerusalem. Why? Because Jerusalem is the centre of certain kinds of power and religious hypocrisy? Well, that may be the case, but it is not as simple as that, at least, not for Luke. Luke actually holds Jerusalem and, yes, the Temple within Jerusalem in very high regard. His gospel begins and ends with people in the Temple, and they are godly people behaving in godly fashion in what is clearly at heart a godly place. It is a place of authentic prayer and praise.

 

And Jesus “sets his face” to go there. He is determined. My suggestion is that here we have an allusion to Isaiah (to set alongside Moses and Elijah), and especially the Suffering Servant of later Isaiah. Hear these verses from Isaiah 50 [5-8]:

“The Lord God has opened my ear,
    and I was not rebellious;
    I did not turn backward.
I gave my back to those who struck me
    and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard;
I did not hide my face
    from insult and spitting.

The Lord God helps me;
    therefore I have not been disgraced;
therefore I have set my face like flint,[1]
    and I know that I shall not be put to shame;
he who vindicates me is near.”

 

Notice the – I think we can call them - paradoxes here. There are insults, but no real shame. There is pain, but also vindication. We had better be clear that these paradoxes are offered to us too. Not long before the Transfiguration, Luke has Jesus says this [9.23]: “If anyone wants to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily…”. (Only Luke has that “daily”).

 

Thus, let us face it boldly: in the Christian life, there are insults, but no real shame; there is pain, but also vindication.  The Church is spending a huge amount of time and energy trying to work out how to make our faith and our life attractive to those who have no connection with the Church. But/and surely we owe such people candour, the kind of candour which says that the Christian life is not one of comfort, or even of comfort-seeking, only. Insults and pain are somehow also part of the mix.

 

But! That also does not say all that needs to be said. As Christians, we do not seek out insults or pain (that would be a madness). Rather, the mix – the paradox – we are thinking of comes about because… well, strange to say, it is because that is how Gd’s love works itself out in the world.

Gd loves you,

but Gd’s love is such that it is both inviting and disturbing.

It is radical love. It is love that has its roots in love.

Rowan Williams has put it well:

the Light that is shining on you is so much brighter and sharper

than you have feared at your most fearful.

It brings to light even the things you have succeeded in hiding from yourself. 

And, with that, it is benign.

It is a light which warms and welcomes and embraces you

more delightfully than you have hoped at your most hopeful.

 

Love, both inviting and disturbing, tends to disturb the powerful most. How could it not? They have most to lose, if the illusions and delusions, the lies, the manipulations and the coercions of power are exposed. And so, this goes some way to explain why, as we live as Christians, there are insults, but no real shame; there is pain, but also vindication. As we invite others to consider the case for the Christian life, let us also remind ourselves of this paradox, and, that it stands for an adventure like no other.

 

We are free,

truly we are free,

truly we are free here and now,

to connect with the excitement – the excitement the people we have heard about in today’s gospel felt, when they heard Jesus say:

“Follow me…

follow me now…

follow me urgently…

follow me immediately…

follow me adventurously…

for I have set my face… towards you.”

Amen.

---

[1] The linguistic references with the LXX are pertinent if indirect.

Isaiah 50.7: “alla etheka to prosopon mou hos sterean petran…” – I placed my face as a solid rock

Luke 9.51: “…autos to prosopon esterisen…” – he made solid the face.

Sermon: Luke the Beloved - and Faithful - Physician

 

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford. 18.10.20

Feast of St Luke, Apostle and Evangelist

 

Luke 10.1-9

 

If, as in the parable, so in life, some people are given one talent, some two, and some five talents, then surely St Luke, whom we celebrate today, is a five talent man. He was talented. Even hard-bitten secular historians might agree with this, with one proviso – providing, that is, that it is allowed that the writer of the Gospel of Luke and the Book of the Acts of the Apostles was Luke, or providing we allow ourselves to call him “Luke” (whatever his name).

 

Whoever wrote the two-volume work Luke-Acts was a talented person. The Greek of this work is fluent, fluid and eloquent. You might say: Well, of course it is; this is the Bible we are talking about; only the best is good enough. But if you thought that, you’d be wrong. The Greek of the New Testament varies greatly. Mark’s Greek, for example, is rough to the point of crude. Not so Luke, elegant, eloquent Luke.

 

What’s more, those hard-bitten secular historians will also agree that Luke – or “Luke” is - by New Testament writers’ standards, prolific. Who are, in terms of quantity, the great authors of the New Testament? There is no contest: it is Paul and it is Luke; each wrote over a quarter of the New Testament. Of no one else can that be said.

 

And what’s more still, those same historians will agree that Luke is one who sets out to write a detailed account, to attend to detail. How he ranks as a historian by modern standards is much disputed. But by ancient standards, he is surely a worthy contender. This is clearly his intention. I give you his first sentence (brace yourselves) [Luke 1.1-4]:

 

Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed. Full stop!

 

Some associate this will to attend to detail and get it right the disposition of the doctor, the medic. And indeed, he is detailed about the healings he records, and some of his terminology seems to come from medical expertise.[1] This has long been one of the reasons to link him to “Luke, the beloved physician” who sends greetings in the Letter to the Colossians [4.14 Loukas ho iatros ho agapetos].

 

Here, though, we are beginning to stray from secular history into the territory of tradition. Nothing wrong with that, I think we are likely to think. Well, by ancient tradition, Luke was not only a skilled physician, but he was also a gifted… artist. By tradition, Luke was the first iconographer, the first painter, or rather (to use the preferred term) the first writer of icons. The originals of some ancient icons of Mary and the child Jesus are – believe it or not – attributed to Luke. Why the connection?

 

Well, attention to detail again, sure. Every brush stroke with exquisite care. But it is also surely plausible to say that Luke knew, or at least at some point met, Mary. Think about it. It is through Luke, and Luke alone, that we have

·        the story of the birth of Jesus from Mary’s perspective;

·        the Annunciation,

·        the Visitation;

·        the Magnificat;

·        the Circumcision;

·        the Presentation;

·        the child Jesus’s visit to the Temple;

·        and not least the refrain: “but Mary pondered all these things in her heart”

All of this we owe to no one other than Luke.

 

By tradition, Luke was one of the seventy apostles sent out by Jesus, which is why we have today’s gospel. One of the Seventy, note, not one of the Twelve. But this is difficult (I don’t say impossible), if Luke is also held to be a gentile. There’s another tradition which (I’ll be honest) rather appeals to me, both rationally and emotionally. It is that Luke was the one accompanying Cleopas on the road to Emmaus (too humble to name himself). This is why he is able to tell that particular Easter story (which I know many of us love) so vividly.

 

·        Luke, writer (writer at length and in depth);

·        Luke, historian (pioneer Church historian);

·        Luke, physician;

·        Luke, artist.

If you’re anything like me, if you are not careful, you will have to work at not disliking Luke at this point. Too talented for his own good, we might find ourselves thinking. The perfect perfectionist! Certainly, of no earthly use to me. Not someone I can relate to.

 

Well, take heart, brothers and sisters! It is not that simple. It can be said that, even if Luke intended to be a meticulous and perfectly accurate historian, he may not always manage it. Some examples.

 

·        Most historians say that Luke got Christmas wrong! He tells us that the Emperor Augustus ordered a census, which was the first while Quirinius was governor of Syria, which meant that all went to their ancestral towns for reasons unspecified [2.1-3]. It’s very hard to bring all this together historically, and Quirinius was not governor, anyway (he was legate).

·        Luke tells us that Mary and Joseph went to present Jesus to the Lord in the Temple, as if that were required by the law of Moses. But there’s no reference to the presentation of new-borns in the Temple (or Tabernacle) in the Torah of Moses.

·        Again, in Luke’s account of the lowering of the paralysed man through the roof for healing [5.18-26], Luke has his friends pulling away tiles from a full-blown roof - as we would understand a roof. But that’s unlikely. It would be a major operation, and it’s also not what roofs were in 1^st century Palestine. Roofs were loose affairs, fabric, or slats held together by mud.

 

So, Luke, ever diligent, never perfect. Perhaps we can relate after all.

 

If we had a chance to ask Luke what was good about him, what do you think he would say? We don’t know. I know we don’t know. I am not suggesting we know. But answer this as an imaginative exercise. If Luke were asked what was good about him, what would he say?

 

I have a suggestion, which works, if (even if just for now) we take the biblical record as it is, in the round. You’ve heard it, today. In the account of Paul’s sustained sufferings in 2 Timothy, the writer says: “Only Luke is with me” [Loukas estin monos met’emou 4.11]. Only Luke has been faithful, faithful in the time of trial. Luke got stuck in, and stayed stuck in, and stuck it out.

 

To be blunt, I cannot tell you if that was the historical situation. I can tell you, that if we think of the biblical hero, Luke, as the Bible presents him, this was what was most obviously good and what was best about Luke.

 

It’s also the case that this is something we can take on, we can do. Whether we consider ourselves to be a five-talented, a two-talented, or a one-talented person (and by the way we often underestimate ourselves on precisely that point), wherever we stand in whatever order of success or acclaim, we can be faithful.

·        I cannot tell you if our plans for our own church community will work out. We can be faithful.

·        I cannot tell you what hardships are ahead in this country. We can be faithful.

·        I cannot tell you if civilisation can survive all the crises it is unquestionably facing. We can be faithful.  

 

Think of your name. Think of your name now. Think of your name when I say “Name” now.

·        Only [Name] is with me.

·        [Name] is with me.

·        [Name] is faithful.

·        With [Name] with me, I can bear all that I have to bear.

Welcome to your vocation of faithfulness.

Amen.     

---

[1] https://www.ministrymagazine.org/archive/1977/05/medical-terminology-in-luke                                

Sermon. The Blessed Virgin Mary

Sermon. St Mary’s, Little Ilford. 15 August 2019

The Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Luke 1.46-55

“What is the most boring way to begin a sermon on the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary?”

“We don’t know Patrick, but we’re sure you’re about to remind us!”

Well, we’ll all have different answers, as we all have a different “back catalogue” of sermons. One, for me, is to begin thus:

“What a tragedy! Christians should unite in admiration for and gratitude to Mary, the Mother of Jesus, for all she accomplished. So how tragic that Christians are in fact divided over her; she is a cause for hostility.” That sort of thing. Usually the preacher goes on to expound their own views of Mary – which turn out to be those around which all Christians should unite.

If we think of Mary as a source of division between Christians, we probably think of rows between Catholics and Protestants. Different answers to such questions as: Was there anything special about Mary’s own birth? Did Mary, after Jesus’ birth, go on to have a normal married life? Was there something special about Mary’s death? What titles can we give Mary? Is she (for example) “Queen of Heaven”, or just a Christian among Christians? Such matters - all of which I propose now to leave to one side.

You may not know that there were controversies about Mary long, long before the Reformation. Already in the early Church, there was a heated debate about titles for Mary. Everybody agreed that Mary was the Mother of the Lord Jesus. So she could be called the “Mother of the Lord”. But could she also be called “the Mother of Gd”? The Mother of Gd.

Brothers and sisters, tonight I can reveal for the first time that this controversy played itself out anew – in this very parish, when I arrived, and Fr Brian and I looked together at the liturgy. We were looking at our services, and in particular the eucharistic prayer, the whole of the prayer over the bread and the wine. You’ll know it ends with mentions of saints. Brian wanted “we, in the company of Mary the Mother of our Lord, St Michael and all the saints, may praise and glorify you”; I wanted “we, in the company of Mary, the Mother of Gd…” and so on.

Brian won. Unsurprisingly. And I did and do take his point. To call Mary the Mother of Gd feels strange. Because, well, obviously, in human life parents are always older than their children; parents come first. So to call Mary the Mother of Gd makes you feel that Mary is older than Gd, which makes no sense at all. In truth, even people (like me) who do like to call Mary the “Mother of Gd” don’t think it’s the best expression. The original Greek is actually Theotokos (I like the sound of the word – you can say it too – Theotokos). It actually means “the Bearer of Gd”, “She who bore Gd”, “She who gave birth to Gd”. You see: Gd is eternal, outside of time; within time, Mary is indeed the one who bore Gd, who gave birth to Gd. I think this is right, and it’s the argument that won in the early Church (and, by the way, Brian would agree).

If it is a cliché to say that Mary should be a source of unity between Christians and it’s devastating that she has been a source of division, then (like so often) it’s a cliché because it is true. In truth, we all have so much to learn from Mary. Mary is present at important moments, without saying a word. She ponders things in her heart. That’s vital in itself. But let us on this occasion look at the four times she does speak.  

First of all, she speaks to the Angel Gabriel, saying, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” and, then, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Here – well, I am going to say it – here we see Mary as a prophet, or like a prophet. When the Word or the Spirit of Gd comes to a prophet in the Old Testament, the prophet almost always objects or raises questions. Mary is the same. But Mary swiftly accepts her vocation. “Let it be with me according to your word…”. Don’t think of Mary here as some shy and timid person. Rather you can imagine her shouting a huge “YES!” back at Gabriel, a Yes that changes everything.

Second, she sings her great hymn of triumph with Elizabeth (which we have just heard): “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” No shyness of timidity there. The song of a revolutionary, more like (another true cliché). So, again, I say: Mary the prophet.

Third, the curious incident of Jesus the child left in the Temple. Mary says, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” It’s hard not to feel a sense of exasperation here. So here we have a unique story of the family of Jesus, which powerfully shows us just how human they all were. They misunderstood each other; they bewildered each other by seeing things in different ways – just like every other family.

These are the times Mary speaks in the Gospel of Luke. She also speaks once in the Gospel of John. I think you’ll remember where. At the wedding at Cana. She tells Jesus “they have no wine”. She says to the servants: “Do whatever he tells you.” Do whatever he tells you.

Actually, you know, I’d want to say that is a good summary of the Christian Gospel. Come to know Jesus. Be with others who know Jesus (so you check out that you have got it right). Stick with others who know Jesus even when you don’t see eye-to-eye, as getting to know him is not in all ways easy (how could it be? It’s a real relationship!). But it should feel like a party (a wedding feast), this being with Jesus. Go on getting to know Jesus and his party and, then… do whatever he tells you.

This means of course there are as many ways of being a Christian as there are Christians. Each of us is called to be – and called to be only – the disciple Gd wants us, personally, to be. Do whatever he tells you.

I dare to hope that that that is an exciting idea for you (as it is for me). That you have  your own unique vocation; it is yours alone. Your vocation is not limited by human expectations. Not those of the institution, nor of those around you, nor even your own. Go on getting to know and staying with Jesus at his party, and then do whatever he tells you.

Among Mary’s many gifts to us is that she was the first to give this exciting commandment. We can thank her for it. May we all find Mary exciting. Maybe one day we’ll even hear an exciting sermon about her.

Amen.