On Shouting More, and Shouting Less

Sermon. Sunday 28 October 2018, The Last Sunday after Trinity (Year B)

St Mary's Great Ilford

Jeremiah 31.7-9

Mark 10.46-end

Someone once said that the one true doctrine of the Church of England is “salvation by good taste alone”. They weren’t being wholly serious, but they were still saying something that is true, is the case. If we are Anglican, it is likely that we value what is beautiful, seemly, done according to good order - and good taste. There is great merit in this (I speak as an Anglican myself). But it doesn’t cover all that we need to cover. It won’t do for all of the Christian life.

Today’s gospel is about a person of faith who showed no good taste. Bartimaeus is blind, and is a beggar - but (to be clear) these are ordinary human misfortunes or differences - what is “in bad taste” is the way that, on hearing that Jesus is passing, he comes straight to his need, his urgency, his desperation.

He shouts. When told to pipe down, he shouts louder. When told Jesus is calling, he throws his coat away as a rag, to run to him. He wants his sight. 

• This is a person with nothing to lose. 
• This is a person with no reputation to worry about. 
• This is one who comes to Jesus without any adornment or "piety" whatsoever. 

He simply screams: HELP ME!

And as Anglicans, we may need to remind ourselves, that Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, gets it right. His urgency to the point of desperation, his unwillingness to disguise his need, is right. And is rewarded. He gets what he says he needs, his sight. And he also “gets” the consequence of that. He becomes a follower of Jesus along the way.

Brothers and sisters, if ever we feel compelled by the difficulties we face in life, simply to turn to Gd in Jesus and scream: HELP ME, frankly, we should do it. It can be the right thing to do.

And this also follows: as a Church community, we need to be a place which offers such reliable hospitality, that we are known to be a place where people can be at home, if they in turn need to scream to the Lord: HELP ME!

Gd forbid, that our churches or our patterns of worship are always so “seemly” that we end up shutting out a godly beggar, like blind Bartimaeus. Of course, this does not mean that we as people can actually meet all the needs of those who turn to us in desperation. We cannot. But! But we can be a place where their pleas, shouts and groans are heard, are taken seriously.

Brothers and sisters, we know each other only after a fashion. But may sense is that you know this, and you do it. I say these words, that we might encourage one another.

*

Of course, none of this means that we should seek to be a community which is known for being “shouty”. We do not need to shout - either in desperation, or, for that matter, in praise - to make a point. Gd forbid!

And I want to add: especially in our days: Gd forbid!

I add this point, because it is troubling (is it not?) just how “shouty” so much of our culture is in our days. I don’t say this in the first place because this church is effectively on the road where I live, and so I know what Saturday nights can be like...

No, rather, I am thinking of our common life as a nation, and indeed of international trends, international “shoutiness”. 

There is a debate happening right now – and don't we know it and doesn't it need to happen? – about whether our politics is too noisy and too full of hostility. That instead of people saying, “I disagree with you and here's why”, they now say, “you are my enemy”, or, even worse “you are the enemy of the people, of the nation”.

We might associate this especially with the current regime in the United States of America. Indeed, it would be beyond astonishing if we did not make that connection. 

I wrote those words before learning of the attack on worshippers in the synagogue in Pittsburgh. It looks like this is a horrible illustration of the point. But, in any event, it pains us, and we pray for that community, and: Peace be upon Israel.

In all of this, we may not think that we are free from some of these dangerous trends, here, in the UK.

Now, please be clear that I am passing no comment at all on the rightness or wrongness of all the policies that get called “Brexit”, or how we should relate to the EU. These are not matters for sermons.

But! But I am saying that there is robust evidence (not just anecdotal) that, alongside all the proper political discussions, there was a peak in hate crimes against people perceived to be foreign, around and after the Brexit referendum.[1] Further, it can be argued that ever since then, racists have felt emboldened. As a nation, we should surely worry that this is a real headline from Friday: “Woman 'punched in face for speaking Spanish' in 'racist attack' on Overground train”.[2]

As a Church, we must shout out against racism and hatred in all its forms. But there is more we must do. 

We must draw upon the reconciling love of Gd. Gd, remember, is able to reconcile us to Gdself, to our neighbour, and even (if we can believe it) to ourselves. And, as churches, we must be communities which model and celebrate reconciliation. Which are on the journey towards reconciliation. Which show some better ways to have the conversations we need to have among ourselves, and show courtesy and careful mutual attention, even in - precisely in - the disagreements we are bound to have.

What I am saying is: let us not neglect our first reading, from the Hebrew Scriptures. The vision of Jeremiah (Jeremiah, who knew a thing or two about being at the receiving end of hostility himself). Jeremiah longs for - he trusts in - a time when Gd will gather all together, “from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labour, together; a great company, they shall return. With weeping they shall come, and with consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not stumble; for I have become [their] Father”.

Notice Jeremiah doesn’t actually say that people who are blind will receive their sight. He just says, in this within this in-gathering, they will play a full and right part within the community. As will - quite simply - everybody. 

• Those with good taste; those with bad taste. 
• Those who shout; those who whisper. 
• Jews; gentiles. 
• You; me. 
• The people we love; and the people we can’t stand. 

Gd will gather us in. For Gd wills it. Amen.

---

[1] http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/brexit/2018/03/19/hate-crime-did-spike-after-the-referendum-even-allowing-for-other-factors/

[2] https://www.standard.co.uk/news/crime/woman-punched-in-face-for-speaking-spanish-in-suspected-racist-attack-on-overground-train-a3972386.html

Sermon. Are we/should we be passionate with Gd?

Sermon. 22 January 2017. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford.

Epiphany 3 (Year A)

Psalm 27.1, 4-9

Matthew 4.12-23

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. [Then immediately:] Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John were the first disciples called.

Did you get what I said?

Did you get what I did?

I preached 'immediately'. And it was not quite comfortable for us (I think). Something of a shock. We may be in the habit of saying 'I'll see to that immediately'. But as and when we actually do, it can be shocking. It's not part of everyday experience.

And it may be that you already see where I am coming from. Let us look at the calling of those first disciples I have just, if rather ineffectively, named.

Jesus says to Peter and Andrew, '”Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people”. And immediately they left their nets and followed him.. he saw... James... and... John... and he called them. Immediately they left their boat and their father, and followed him.'

Can we picture the scene? Can we? What was it about those encounters with Jesus – who is, at least at this point, not especially well known – that made these fishermen – successful business men we might also call them – abandon their comforts and livelihoods, and even their own father, to go with Jesus on some kind of mission - one that had no guarantees about it, and for that matter no clear plans for it? What was it? We don't know. But go they did. And... immediately.

By the way, it is true that in Mark's gospel, very many things happen 'immediately'. It is one of Mark's favourite words. He seems to want to give the impression that everything about Jesus happened in top gear, was relentless, was breathless. But this is not Mark; this is Matthew, and he uses our word, 'immediately' much less. So he must mean it. There was no delay. There was no deliberation. They set off with Jesus immediately.

And think of it this way. If any of our number came into church first thing... hey, let's make it interesting and say it's Fr Brian... Brian races in and says: 'Can't stay. Can't take part in the service. I've met someone new, someone surprising, someone different, and I'm going off with them. No time to explain. Gotta go. Bye...'. And – immediately – he goes.

I think we'd be... perturbed. And not only because that meant you'd be dependent on me for all priestly ministrations in today's service. Throwing everything away at a stranger's command is not what we do. It is not the done thing. It is not the mark of a careful, or indeed a caring person.

It may be that we have at heart just two models for thinking about people stopping what they are doing, and turning to a new life. One is when they do so out of force. You hear that your village is about to be attacked, for example, so you drop everything and flee. (A sadly much too common phenomenon in our troubled world.) The other is, well, romance. 'This is the one!' the lover says. 'Nothing else counts!' So they too drop everything, and they too flee – to Gretna Green or Marbella or wheresoever.

But don't mishear me here. I need to be clear. I am not suggesting that there was anything sexual, romantic or 'anything-like-that', about today's encounter between Jesus and Peter, Andrew, James and John. Not that! I am, though, saying that, if Matthew is right (and we might wonder), there must have been something equally as intense about that encounter. As overwhelming.

And immediately they left everything to follow him.

If we wanted to think not so much about Jesus and his disciples, but more broadly about the relationships of human beings to Gd, and think of those relationships as - not sexual but - as intense as any romance, one place we might turn to is today's psalm. Here are some of its themes (though there are more – do take the sheet away and pray with it through the week):

Gd is my light, my salvation, my helper.

Gd keeps me safe, Gd hides me, so that I am without fear.

I will sing and make music to Gd.

Gd, do not leave me, do not forsake me.

Already there is some of the language of love here, or the tone of something of a love affair. But there is also this:

'One thing have I asked of the Lord;

one thing I seek;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life;

to behold the fair beauty of the Lord

and to seek him in his temple...

You speak in my heart and say: “Seek my face.”

Your face, Lord, will I seek.'

Does that not sound like someone besotted? Someone saying:

'Look, I just want to be with you,

sit on the sofa with you, look into your eyes.

Nothing more'..?

I think it does.

So the questions we seem led to today are:

Are we besotted,

do we know passionate love for Gd?

Do we long to gaze upon the fair beauty of Gd?

Does a life given over purely to seeking Gd

sound frustrating if not pointless...

or does the seeking itself seem exciting, enticing and what we are made for?

I am letting the silence hang.

I am not going to attempt to answer that question.

Because I don't think there is one right answer.

There certainly are Christians who think that Christianity is always, everywhere, about demonstrating a passionate love-affair with Gd, and, yes, with Jesus Christ. Many, though by no means all of them, would think the best way of worshipping is to sing choruses where you announce, literally hundreds of times 'Jesus, we love you' and such like.

That's not us. And I am not suggesting that should be us. Indeed, you could say that if you need to say 'I love you' literally hundreds of times to someone, whether human or divine, you are really just expressing your insecurity. You are trying to convince yourself, at least as much as the other.

So actually I am not going to say that we should always be intense and passionate when we worship. It sets up unrealistic and unattractive expectations.

Sometimes, indeed (we know this), worship is just something we get on with, because we know or feel it is the right thing to do. And that is perfectly valid. A friend of mine goes so far as to say: 'If people complain to me that their worship is dry, I say, “What's the problem? Why do you want to be wet all the time.”' And we may insist that boring or bored worship is still worship.

But I think we should be open to worship which is itself open to intensity and passion, to something at least a little like a love affair with Gd. Of course, it will be a love affair very different from any love affair we may have within our human relationships. Most obviously, a love affair with Gd does not stop us loving our human partners passionately. Gd is not – is never - in competition with the people we are attracted to, ever.

If we go to church at all, or a lot, we will hear that Gd is love. I wonder – it is an open question; I genuinely don't know – how often we think that this means that Gd is always, gently but persistently inviting us to love Gd back,

• love, often calmly,
• love, be it formally or ritually (that can count),
• love, sometimes, passionately and intensely?

I leave you with my own translation of some of today's psalm verses. Listen out, because they are quite different from the translation we have been hearing. And listen in, listen to what your own inner self is saying about your relationship to Gd.

You may like to close your eyes.

Just one thing I ask from Gd, this.

I seek to stay in the House of Gd all my living days,

to gaze upon the attractiveness of Gd

and to go on searching out, in Gd's Temple...

To you my heart speaks,

telling all-of-me to seek your face.

It is your face, your presence, O Gd, I am seeking.

Don't go. Don't leave me, O Gd of my healing.

Just one thing I ask of Gd, this.

Amen.

'Its not the end of the world'

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford

2^nd Sunday before Advent

Mark 13:1-8

Brothers and sisters, my theme today is the end of the world. You may be thinking that I am attending to the end of the world because it seems to be much closer. With all that is happening in Syria, in Iraq, and, yes, now much closer to home in France, and with our awareness that there are plenty of other places of violence and horror which too rarely make it into our news (I mention Nigeria and Sudan in passing), with all of this (and even some stormy weather to add to the atmosphere), we may well feel we are entering the last days. But in fact I am not starting from there. Rather, I am coming to this theme from today's gospel.

Brothers and sisters, we have problem. It is a twofold problem. It's this: Jesus speaks to us about the end of the world, and he tells us some things about it. First, it is worth pointing out that Jesus speaks about the end of the world at all. It need not have been this way. There are plenty of religions and ways of life which do not refer to the end of the world. To overgeneralise, we might say that Eastern faiths either say nothing of the end of world – they see the universe as within an eternal cycle without end – or they insist that the end will come about at a point so impossibly distant that it makes no conceivable difference to us.

But Jesus does speak of the end of the world. Indeed, it may be fair to say Jesus speaks of the end of the world more than any other founder of a world religion. When he says (in another place) that this generation will not pass away before all these things come to pass, he seems to be saying that the end is near. And that has been one recurring view in Christianity ever since. The end is near, but has somehow been mysteriously delayed, for a bit of time, and then another bit of time, and another.

But it's actually worse. Because Jesus actually does tell us something about the nature of the end, but not much. And we all know (don't we?) that a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. He tells us or seems to tell us that around or before the end things will get worse: 'For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.'

What is this saying? Well, I don't know. But let us note what this rules out. It rules out a naïve optimism. Christians are not optimists. We are, let me stress, bearers of hope. We have hope for the world, because of our conviction about the character of Gd. But hope is different from optimism. It is not that we are claiming that if you look really hard, all people are really nice, and the world is getting better, progressing day by day, or century by century. So we reject the idea of 'linear progress' (things inevitably getting better and better). So if it ever were a choice between thinking the end will come when human beings have perfected human living, or the end will come when things come to a final crisis, then (sadly, you may say), Christians would plump for the latter.

But, if we are not optimists, if we recognise that things may and will get worse, what then can we say about the end? Brothers and sisters, I will be frank: I think it is very little.

The trouble with knowing only a little about the end of the world, and that little being that things will get worse is just this: it always applies. There is always going to be a case for saying that things are getting worse. It is something ingrained in human beings, perhaps. We just don't find it natural to say 'people are much kinder/nicer/holier/more peaceful now than when I was young.' We do find it plausible to say that young people today are much more badly behaved than we were, and so on. And there are always wars, rumours or wars, terror and rumours of terrorism, and earthquakes and famines around, which can be treated not only as painful tragedies, but as 'signs'.

Jesus himself also says that he – he, Jesus, the Son - does not know the hour which marks the end. If he does not know, then we need not worry that we do not know. It is true that there are two books in the Bible which do seem to set out times and seasons and signs and codes and so on, encouraging us to decode the imagery. There is Daniel in the Old, the Original Testament (as today), and there is Revelation in the New. But these, we might just say, are something like the exceptions that prove the rule.

So I am saying (1) that we don't know when the end of the world will come, and in almost all ways it is none of our business. I am saying (2) it can be a good thing that Jesus associates the end with things getting worse, as that's a corrective to any idea that human beings are progressing from one degree of niceness to another. I am saying (3) that Jesus speaks of the end of the world, as a way of reminding us that the universe has a purpose. It is not all chaos and randomness, but Gd is, according to Gd's good timing, working Gd's purposes out. And I am saying (4) one more thing. For us, here and now, we are, as it were, in the last days in this respect: this is the only mortal life we here will have. This is the only generation we ourselves have to welcome the Kingdom. We are called to live it to the full. We are called to find our purpose and gifts and uniqueness within this world, this life, here. It is a good thing if we feel an urgency about what we do with our lives.

This might actually free us from worrying about the signs of the end of the whole universe. Apparently, John Wesley was once asked what he would do if he was told without any doubt that the world would end at the close of the day. In reply, he got out his diary and went through his appointments. And there's a different but related point from the Jewish tradition. It says: if you are told that the Messiah has come while you are planting a tree, first plant your tree, and only then go and greet the Messiah. The point is it does not matter when the world ends, when it comes to knowing how to live. We are to live well, whether the world lasts for three days, three years, or three billion centuries.

But how to live well? In these days of war and terror and rumours or wars and terrors, it is unlikely we can be free of all anxiety. But even today, when we are faced with the horrors of Beirut and Paris, some things are not negotiable. We are to love our enemies. We are to bless and not to curse. I think that bears repetition: we are to love our enemies; we are to bless and not to curse. So indeed let me say – and this is not easy to say: Gd bless all terrorists! But – and this is vital or you will mishear me - please remember that to call down Gd's blessing upon a person is not to wish that their lives are full of comfort, ease, and success. Rather, Gd's blessing takes the form of Gd meeting with that person, and giving them what they most need, including challenge, hard truths and consequence. But that in turn is not a subtle way of saying we can be vindictive deep down. We cannot. We are called to love. Which isn't to be soft, but to actively resist hatred.

If that sounds impossible, well, I agree: it is humanly impossible, like much in the Christian life. Which is why Gd's grace is never optional. It is also the only possible hope for peace in our time, whatever the wars and terrors and rumours we face, however long or short a time we have. Amen.

From Fishers of Fish to Fishers of Folk

Sermon. 8 November 2015. All Saints, Forest Gate.

3^rd Sunday Before Advent/Remembrance

Mark 1.14-20

Picture the scene. I wonder if you can. Some forms of Christianity encourage us to imagine ourselves within a biblical scene, in all the detail we can. It's an approach associated especially with Ignatius Loyola and the Jesuits. So... can you picture the scene? Imagine the Sea of Galilee lapping by your feet... fishermen mending their nets... and the arrival of Jesus himself...

Even if you can, often, picture the scene, I suspect you may find it difficult today. Things move just a bit too fast; we don't have much to go on. Jesus appears, announces his mission or purpose, walks by the Galilee, says one sentence to Simon and Andrew, and immediately they drop everything and follow him. He sees James and John, immediately says another few words to them, and they, too, drop everything (including, as it were, their own father) and follow him. 'Immediately... immediately.' Commentators point out that 'immediately' is one of Mark's favourite words. His gospel is the 'action movie' among the gospels. He doesn't have any interest is helping us 'picture the scene'; he is all about the speed of the action, and the urgency of Jesus.

But this brings more force to the question: what is going on in today's gospel? What was it about Jesus that made these four men immediately give up their jobs, their livelihoods, their security, to live (as far as they knew or could predict) the lives of 'religious extremists', or beggars, or both. (Don't think for a moment that, as fishermen, Simon, Andrew, James and John were poor people with nothing to lose. They had nets, boats, and staff! They were small-business people.)

What was it about Jesus? We are not told. When people do try to portray Jesus (from Cecil B DeMille to Jesus Christ Superstar) they tend to portray him as, you know, head in the clouds, focusing on things heavenly and divine, staring into the middle distance. To use an admittedly unfair shorthand: he was either a guru or a hippy. But this is unlikely. Jesus was a Jew, and that's not just some 'ethnic' designation (whatever that might mean), but describes his religious culture. It's likely that, rather than relying on enigmatic silence and a glimmer in his eye, he thought that arguing about things face-to-face was pretty much a religious duty. Elsewhere he does argue. Yet here at least, he makes no argument.

And here's another thing. It cannot be that the fishermen were drawn to Jesus because they knew he was bringing miraculous change to people's lives. Jesus has at this point not performed any miracles. We are still at the beginning of Mark's gospel. All we've had is the appearance of John the Baptist, the baptism of Jesus himself, and his temptations in the wilderness. No wonder-working healings; no breaking-in of peace, justice and more. So when Jesus announces (as we have just heard): 'The time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come near' he is – let me say it – asking people to accept something on trust.

And we even have to say this: to take it on trust that in Jesus the very kingdom of Gd has come near is not easy. For rather than divine justice, Mark actually draws our attention to an all-too-human injustice – John the Baptist has been arrested (or handed over, or betrayed – the Greek can mean any of these). The world, it seems, is in just the same mess it was in before Jesus' arrival.

So what was it about Jesus that so moved the fishermen? I cannot say. Mark does not tell us, and I cannot imagine it, quite. There is a starkness to the message of Mark. His gospel begins not with Christmas and Jesus' birth. Rather we are straight into that most difficult character, the truth-teller and trouble-maker, John the Baptist. And most scholars think that the only original ending to the gospel we have describes the women fleeing from the empty tomb and saying nothing to anyone 'for they were afraid'. Today's extract, then, seems to be of a piece with this starkness. It's as if Mark is saying:

Jesus is here.

He is confronting you, and your complacency.

He is calling you to make a decision.

He is not here to negotiate with you.

He is simply calling you to follow, or walk away.

It is up to you.

Take it or leave it.

Take him or leave him.

Take Jesus or leave Jesus.

That is stark, isn't it? And I am not – really not – saying it's a good means of introducing people to Christian claims and the faith of the Church. No, we make Christianity attractive to people who know nothing substantial about it by loving them, and, when the time is right, inviting them – being open and warm. But for those of us who in one way or another already feel at home in Church - feel it's comforting like our favourite winter woolly recently pulled out from the bottom drawer for these days – we might need the bluntness of the challenge.

Take it or leave it. Take him or leave him.

As - or hopefully before - we get sucked into Christmas, and all of its excesses (shopping, eating, drinking, parties welcome and not really welcome...) before all of that, here and now, we can take a moment, to ask ourselves, calmly and in the perfect privacy of our own hearts: Am I going to take Jesus, or leave Jesus?

And it is good for us, before we properly answer that question, to be clear - crystal clear - that 'taking Jesus' won't give us charmed lives. It won't prevent bad things happening to us. It won't guarantee us success or comfort. Remember the betrayal of John the Baptist – and remember that it ends in his death – his beheading.

Remember, indeed, as we have just rightly been bidden to remember, all those who died in service in the World Wars, and, with them, all who die in whatever ways in wars before them and after them. Worse than that John the Baptist experienced, war is the ultimate betrayal of the human family. All the planning and ingenuity and industry of humankind, focused on destroying what is precious to other humans - and their very lives. Imagine if we can turn that energy - that urgency - into peace, and the ways of peace and harmony, fairness, forgiveness and fun.

Can we picture that scene? I wonder. How to get there?

That is another question I cannot answer. I cannot picture the scene. I cannot lay down the law on quite how we are to face the manifold challenges of resentments, hates, violence, terror, fear, manipulation and deception. But I can acknowledge that, here and now, I feel called to put the question to us:

This Jesus, who is called Prince of Peace – do you take him or do you leave him?

Amen.