*IS* This "Passion Sunday"?

 

Sermon. 26 March 2023.

Lent 5 (Passiontide Begins)

Gospel: John 11:1-45

 

Today is the Sunday when Passiontide begins.

You might think that means it is Passion Sunday.

It is not. It is confusing.

 

Even to hear that today is the Sunday when Passiontide begins is confusing.

 

If you have no connection with the Church calendar at all, and have come here out of curiosity (or something else), you might think that Passiontide is about passion as we currently speak of passion.

We currently speak of passion in, I think, two ways:

1.                 It’s part of the game we feel we have to play in job applications: “I am absolutely passionate about the next generation of KitKat” and so on.

2.                 It’s all about romance and courtship and coupling and that kind of love.

So you might think that Passiontide is an extended Valentine’s Day.

It is not. It is confusing.

 

If in Passiontide you stumble into a certain kind of church, you will be struck by how images and statues are removed, or, more often, covered with cloths and drapes. If you think about the posture of the typical statue in church, and how it would look covered, your first thought may be of the archetypical ghost (I am picturing Scooby-Doo here). You may then think that Passiontide is the Church’s own Halloween. 

It is not. It is confusing.

 

If you know a bit about Church, you may well know that “Passion” in the Church does not mean intense longing, but rather is an English version of the Latin passio (passio, passionis, feminine – for the linguists among us). And that means “suffering”. At another level it means being in the passive role. It means being the one who has things done to you. It means being at the mercy of others. And so in the Church’s story “Passion” means the suffering of Jesus, when he was at the mercy of others.

 

All this being the case, you may well think that the Sunday when Passiontide begins is when we begin to hear of the suffering of Jesus leading up to the cross.

It does not. As we have just heard (at great length), it does not. It is confusing.

 

But! But we are now in the place where we can begin to make sense of Passiontide. Today is not Passion Sunday because today we do not hear of the suffering of Jesus. But today is the beginning of Passiontide because, were we to attend services in the week, we would now be hearing of the suffering of Jesus leading up to the cross. And – spoiler alert – next Sunday we will hear of Jesus’s death on the cross. So the Sunday when Passiontide begins is the hinge within Lent.  Lent begins with the account of the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness. Then we reflect for three weeks on how Jesus can lift us from our own wildernesses, our confusions and worse. Now we begin to attend to the story of the suffering of Jesus.

 

So why, here, at the beginning of Passiontide (you ask – I can tell), why do we hear – of all things – of the raising of Lazarus? Is not this Jesus at his most active, at his least passive? Is this not Easter, and not the Passion?

 

My answer is Yes. Yes, today is an anticipation of Easter. And that is not because those who drew up our cycle of readings were stupid, or lazy. It is because they knew that, for Christians, Easter bleeds into everything. For Christians, there is a sense in which every day is Easter Day. If I haven’t mentioned him before, I mention him now, my hero, St Seraphim (Seraphim of Sarov, Russian, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries). He was (and is) famous for greeting every person he met with: “My joy! Christ is risen!”. (Radost moya! Christos voskrese! – for the linguists among us.) “Christ is risen!” he said, every day of the year, yes, including Good Friday.

It makes sense.

For Christians, there is no day when Christ is not risen.

My joys! Christ is risen!

 

So, in the Church in West and East actually, before Easter, we hear of the raising of Lazarus.[1] Of Lazarus raised from the dead. And, not incidentally, not accidentally, of the rolling away of the stone for poor dead Lazarus.

 

The rolling away of the stone for poor dead Lazarus.

 

We are likely to think of this as a thing of simple joy. Something beautiful and comforting and reassuring – just that. But let us pay attention to the details of the story. I suggest we are told very clearly that we are not simply comforted.

 

Think of Lazarus. For all there is a simple moment:

“Lazarus, come out!” and Lazarus comes out…

for all that, note that Lazarus comes out, still bound. He needs help. He needs others. Others have to do the work, the delicate work of unbinding him, removing what binds him. It is an effort. And… I put it this way, sisters and brothers… we are not told that this was painless.

 

Think also of Martha. Of Martha’s objection to the whole thing. Why does she object? Some pious reason? No. She says: “by this time there is a bad odour, for he has been there four days”. That is a rather delicate and moderating translation. Let me give you the Authorised Version: “he stinketh”! Already he stinks! (Ede ozei – for the linguists.) Already he stinks.

 

See how he loved him!

Even when bound, and in need of help to do anything.

Even when dead.

Even when stinking with the stench of rotting,

Jesus comes to him.

Jesus addresses him.

Jesus calls him by name.

Jesus gives him life.

 

See how he loved him.

See how he loves you.

Truly, this is “Passion Sunday”.

Amen.  

 

---

[1] In the West, this strictly applies only in Year A. In the East, the Saturday before Palm Sunday is always Lazarus Saturday.

You. Are. Saints.

 

Sermon, 31 October 2021

All Saints Sunday

Brothers and sisters, it is good to be back with you. We know each other. For the most part, we know each other. At least, I remember you. Not only that, I remember your priest-in-charge-soon-to-be-rector. Not only that, I remember his predecessor. Not only that, I have met his predecessor’s predecessor. And I have heard tell of other predecessors.

 

What this means is I have a fair sense of some of the themes you may have heard, over the years, on All Saints Sunday. I think one such theme may just be: you are saints. You. Are. Saints.

 

This is at least is how St Paul would see it. St Paul (previous preachers will have reminded you) typically addressed the churches he was writing to as “those called saints in” or “to the saints who are in” the place in question. Concretely, he or his disciple wrote to

·        “those called saints in Rome” [Rom 1.7];

·        “those called saints in Corinth” [1 Cor 1.2];

·        “the saints throughout Achaia” [2 Cor 1.1],

·        “the saints” in Ephesus [Eph 1.1];

·        “the saints in Christ Jesus in Philippi” [Phil 1.1];

·        “the saints” in Colossae [Col 1.1].

So, following St Paul, you, surely, are “the saints in Little Ilford”, or among the saints in Little Ilford.

We who are used to marking out our greatest heroes as Saints-with-a-capital-S sometimes struggle with the idea that we too are called to be saints / called saints / saints. Now, we don’t quite know what St Paul meant. He certainly wasn’t just flattering people. Paul doesn’t flatter; he tells it as it is. The idea may be this: if you are drawn to holiness, then the core of you already is holy. Your vocation in life is to get your behaviour to catch up with this truth.

 

If you are at all drawn to holiness, the core of you already is holy. Your vocation in life is to get your behaviour to catch up.

 

And, by the way, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.

 

Hagioi is the Greek for “saints”. Ayii in the modern pronunciation. It is also the Greek for “holy ones”. It’s an accident of history that in English we have two ways of expressing the one thing: sanctity or holiness, holiness or sanctity. The Hebrew is Kedoshim. That too means “holy ones”, but also “holy things”. In later Hebrew, you’d probably talk about a holy person as a “tzaddik”, more literally a “righteous person”. St Paul writes tois hagiois, to the saints, or “kletois hagiois”. The translation you and I use takes this to mean: “to those called to be saints”, implying that they might not quite be there yet. That’s a possible translation, but so is the simpler “to those called saints/called out as saints” – saints, already.

 

You might have guessed I would bring in a bit of the biblical languages into this reflection. It’s what I do. I did not want to disappoint you. Let me, then, play further to my stereotype. Let me bring some other things I was once known for. I am thinking of:

·        something from the Eastern Orthodox tradition;

·        something from the Jewish tradition;

·        and a failed attempt at a joke.

(You do remember me, isn’t it?)

From the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Within the principal liturgy is a phrase which is easily overlooked: “Christ amazing among the saints”. Christ is amazing among the saints, or amazing in the saints. Surely, we are meant to find the great array of saints amazing. Surely, that array of saints itself shows us Christ. (It doesn’t show us something about Christ; it shows us Christ.) The diversity - the sheer difference of saints - is part of what is amazing. Think about it. If we were to look for one personality type or even one core characteristic or trait that is true of every saint… we’d fail. We’d always fail.

From the activist campaigner to the contemplative hermit,

from the bishop or the statesperson to the holy fool in rags,

saints come in all shapes and sizes.

Staying in the Orthodox tradition,

·        there is Saint Silouan, who had a vision from Christ, who spoke and said to him: “Keep your mind in hell, and despair not”.

·        And we have our old friend (I hope he is still a mutual friend), St Seraphim, who greeted everyone, on every day of the year, with: “My joy, Christ is risen!”

There’s a universe of space between the most austere refusal to despair, and the exuberance of constant Easter joy and fellowship. There’s a space for you. (There is a space for me.)

 

This in turn leads to another truth: sainthood is not repeatable. 

No saint became a saint by rigidly imitating another saint. Not one.

You cannot be a Silouan; I cannot be a Seraphim.

You can only be the saint you are called to be.

Which is to say:

only you can be the saint you are called to be.

The diversity is meant to be, and meant to last.

Christ is amazing in all the saints.

 

And, by the way, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.    

 

From the Jewish tradition. 

From the Jewish tradition I bring you a saying from the Talmud:

“On the day of judgement, a person will be called to account

for every good thing which they might have enjoyed, but did not.”

I think that, too, may be hard for us to take fully on board. We might be called to account for every good thing we might have enjoyed and did not. 

When we think of the saints we record, know, and celebrate, then ascetics take up quite a lot of the list. Ascetics are those who go without, go without excesses and even normal amounts of food,  and even water and sleep,

·        the better to pray,

·        the better to be open to Gd

·        the better to be open to those Gd sends to them,

·        the better to see what happens when you know yourself totally dependent on Gd, cut off from comforts and status.

Well and good. A noble tradition. (I have no word to say against it.)

A tradition that we in the West may be in danger of losing, and that we may need to rediscover, in a way that works.

But!

But it’s not true that to be a saint, you have to be an ascetic.

I say again: saints come in all shapes and sizes; sainthood cannot be repeated. Another way of being a saint is to enjoy good things, truly to relish good things, to make your own good things while praising Gd, as a way of praising Gd. Here is then another invitation: why not become a saint by relishing good things?

 

By the way, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.

 

And so to the joke which fails. I am told the saying I am going to share began life as a joke. But the punchline has been lost. So, in truth, it is a joke no longer. It is now something serious, solemn, and I offer it as such. It’s a question and answer:

“What is the difference between a good person, and a holy person (a saint)?”

“In the presence of a good person, the rest of us feel worse about ourselves. In the presence of a holy person (a saint), the rest of us feel better about ourselves.”

Do you see what this is saying?

It is saying that whatever the (manifold) virtues of the saint, the holy person, the difference the holiness makes is that these don’t come across as competition, as threat, as rebuke, but are swallowed up, are swallowed up in the warmth of the saint, the love – the loving - of the saint, lost in the saints will to comfort, to console, to help, to encourage you.

Saints are always encouragers, never finger-waggers.

“In the presence of a good person, the rest of us feel worse about ourselves. In the presence of a holy person (a saint), the rest of us feel better about ourselves.”

 

Sisters and brothers, here, here too, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.

 

Keep on doing what you are doing.

In all the changes you are making,

in all the changes you are facing,

keep on doing what you are doing.

You, you who are called saints in Little Ilford,

you, you who are amazing in Christ,

you, you who are called to enjoy good things,

you, you who, by being who you are,

make the rest of us feel better about ourselves,

you, you who have been and still are my joys,

keep on!

My joys, Christ is risen!

Amen.

Have Salt In Yourselves and Be At Peace

 

Sunday 26 September, Trinity 17, Year of Mark

 

Saying Sorry (Prayers of Penitence)

Father, you make each of us unique,

but we go astray with the crowd.

Lord, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.

 

Christ, you call us all to a unique way,

but we choose set habits and comfort.

Christ, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

 

Holy Spirit, your breath brings forgiveness and change,

but we stay stuck with resentments and fears.

Lord, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.

 

Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29

 

James 5:13-20

 

Mark 9:38-50

 

Reflection (Sermon)

 

If you struggled to get one message from today’s Gospel, do not worry. You need not blame yourself at all. It happens quite often that a gospel passage is a combination of things. A mix. A muddle, even.

 

So let us begin with the end. With salt.

 

You know about salt in the Bible, I am guessing.

There is a phrase which is pretty well-known, even these days.

Christ says: “You are the salt of the earth.”

(He says it once,

by which I mean that it’s only recorded in Matthew’s Gospel, Matt 5.15.)

And we think we know what this means.

It means that we as Christians don’t have to try to rule the world.

Rather, simply by getting on with being Christians,

by living Christian lives,

we’ll be making a subtle but powerful difference to the world,

just like a bit of salt can make a meal.

 

This is important, and true.

But it’s fair to say it can feel like it’s a burden.

How Christian we are – how we are Christian – is what saves the world!

That has to be a tall order, doesn’t it?

Sometimes – sometimes – we will - in this or that regard – fail,

and that must be pretty serious.

We may even remember that in Matthew

the promise that we are the salt of the world comes with its own threat:

“but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltness be restored?

It is no longer good for anything

except to be thrown out and trodden under foot…”.

If we hear these words, it would be amazing if we weren’t a little unsettled.

 

But!

 

But today the message is a little different.

Rather, the difference is small in some ways, and total in others.

In Mark, Jesus says something I am not sure

Christian hearers and readers have ever understood:

“For every one will be salted with fire.”

If you know what it means, tell me afterwards.

Then comes the warning about salt losing its saltness.

Then comes a command, a command from Jesus Christ:

 

“Have salt in yourselves,

and be at peace with one another.”

 

Mark 9.49 Πᾶς γὰρ πυρὶ ἁλισθήσεται.

50 καλὸν τὸ ἅλας·

ἐὰν δὲ τὸ ἅλας ἄναλον γένηται, ἐν τίνι αὐτὸ ἀρτύσετε;

ἔχετε ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἅλα

καὶ εἰρηνεύετε ἐν ἀλλήλοις.

 

That’s not a phrase of Jesus that is so well known. So let us pay attention to it now.

 

Jesus says: “Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

 

What might Jesus mean?

 

Jesus is saying, it seems to me, that there is a quality within us, as Christians.

A quality of character.

A quality within us, and also a quality

in our behaviour, in our living, our acting.

This quality is not all of us.

This quality may not be what we are best known for.

But it flavours our life, our being.

Like salt flavours a meal.

 

This way of thinking about salt isn’t so much a stern commandment

to be Christians without reserve - or else.

This is more a promise that, by sticking to Christ,

Christ will make a difference to who we are.

We don’t have to work ourselves up into making a difference.

 

We simply have to let Christ be Christ in our lives.

(There will still be plenty to do. Don’t worry!

It’s just that those tasks will flow naturally

from the taste of Christ’s love within and between us.)

 

Something else may be said.

In the Gospel Jesus himself gives us a hint as to

what this quality, this salt, this salty quality is.

The salt we have within and between ourselves is linked intimately with…

with peace:

“Have salt in yourselves… be at peace with one another”.

 

Here I am reminded of some other words, words of a saint,

St Seraphim of Sarov (in Russia) [1754-1833].

He said: “Get a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved.”

 

I’ve repeated quite a lot in this reflection,

but I will make no apologies for repeating this:

“Get a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved.”

 

Brothers, if ever there is a message for this place,

and for all places like this one,

surely it is this.

Surely this is the message, the promise, the truth

that can truly encourage all Christians in this place.

“Get a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved.”

 

Is it easy to get a peaceful spirit, and hold onto it,

day in, day out, year in, year out?

No.

But the insistence here is that it is possible.

 

Another thing, just as important:

that difference, that saving, that salvation, may not be obvious.

You, the peaceful one, may not know – you may not have the first idea –

about the impact you are having.

That matters not.

That – bluntly – makes no difference.

 

So I say: here is the command which is also a promise.

I offer it to you, now.

For now. For all times.

 

 

Have salt in yourselves.

 

Be at peace with one another

 

Get a peaceful spirit,

 

and thousands around you will be saved.

 

 

Amen.

Prayers for the World and for All Needs (Intercessions)

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

God of peace, give us a peaceful Spirit.

Bless Graham and Jane, our bishops,

and all who bear leadership in our diverse churches.

Give them a clear vision and a warm heart.

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

God of peace, give us a peaceful Spirit.

Bless all who bear leadership in the world.

We renew our prayers for the peace of Jerusalem…

and for peace with freedom with justice with forgiveness

throughout your world.

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

God of peace, give us a peaceful Spirit.

Bless this place,

and all who live or work or visit here.

Give courage and calm and change

to all who are struggling here,

with drugs, or gangs, or ways of living which do not work.

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

God of peace, give us a peaceful Spirit.

Give the peace of wisdom to those who care

for those who are ill. or know dislocation of any kind.

Make yourself known as the Healer you are

to those we now name in our hearts….

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

God of peace, give us a peaceful Spirit.

Give a peaceful death to all who will die today,

especially those who will die

unprepared, in agony, alone, in war, or at their own hand.

Draw further into your light those who have shaped us and have died,

whom we may name now…

 

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

God of peace, give us a peaceful Spirit.

Guide us all, each your unique disciple.

 

May peace come. May it start with me.

 

 

Sermon. How Creation Groans! How We Groan!

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford. 19.07.20.

First Sunday with a real-life congregation since lockdown.

Trinity 6 (Year A)

Romans 8.12-25

We spent some time with Paul last week. Let us see what happens if we stick with him.

He tells us: “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves… groan inwardly.”

We can relate.

I feel we can relate in many ways.

We sense that all is not well with ourselves, 
or within creation itself.

We don’t have to be an “eco-warrior” to sense this.

Bluntly, it’s long been part of the modern urban experience.

The noises and smells and sights of our life 
are often overwhelmingly human-made, 
and not infrequently harm us.

And we are aware that all is not well with our climate, 
the world’s climate. 
We do pay serious attention to, in this parish, 
and we need to do more.

And, then, yes, of course, there is the virus, 
Coronavirus, Covid-19, which has had such an impact on us,

kept us apart,

kept us (with a couple of exceptions) away from the sacraments,

kept us away from our coffee and toast and chat and ordinary human interaction, through which we care for each other,

still keeps us apart in so many ways.

Is the virus a sign that all is not well within creation itself?

Difficult one.

From the virus’s point of view, all is well, of course.

But from our human perspective, and remembering our duty of care to creation and to one another, especially our vulnerable brothers and sisters,we can only see the virus as another sign of the disorder which is embedded in creation.

Some people on the extreme wing of the politics of this have seen the virus as nature fighting back, clearing out excess human lives to restore balance.

This is a nonsense and that needs saying.

Nature as such does not have a controlling mind, 
does not have a plan, is not playing a strategic game.

Gd, we believe, is a 
mind ultimately in charge, with a plan, over time.

But it’s evident – has always been evident - that Gd gives over some real powers to the natural order, to grow and develop, as, well… as comes naturally.

So we should not say that nature intended Covid-19,

and we are not obliged to say that Gd intended Covid-19.

Really, my point here is that when Paul says all creation is groaning, we feel it.

We get it.

Today of all days.  

*

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves… groan inwardly.”

How we have groaned! How we groan!

We have spoken of a time of exile. And we have felt it.

We have spoken of our time in the desert, confined to our own personal cell (the cell that will teach us everything). And we have felt it.

We have spoken of being overwhelmed by our almost total ignorance about what’s really ahead. And we have felt it.

We have spoken of some frustrations with the powers-that-be, in government and Church. I mean: even when we have agreed with their decision-making, we know we have been at the mercy of others’ best guesses. And we have felt it.

We have spoken of our enormous sadness, 

as people we have known have suffered, and even died,

and as we have come to see ourselves - our own little, Little Ilford, as, for a time, the epicentre of the epicentre of the epicentre.

The sorrow - we have felt it.

We have sought to support each other, through emails and phone calls and parcels left. We (I mean: you) have done well in all that (no question about it), and yet we still feel we offer something meagre, weak, and failing.

Inadequacy - we have felt it.  

How we have groaned! How we groan!

“[N]ot only the creation, but we ourselves… groan inwardly while we wait…”

Yes, present tense. Yes, we are still waiting.

Has there ever been such a bittersweet gathering for us than this one?

It can only be - and we can only feel it to be - a partial gathering.

Some will have no access to this service, either physically or virtually.

We want to invite those livestreaming to participate fully, but there remain all manner of barriers (most obviously to the sacrament itself).

For those who are here in person, we cannot touch.

No tactile peace (not a handshake, let alone the kisses than some of you steal at that point in the service – oh yes, you were always seen!).

No touch at communion, or at the blessing at communion.

And no reassuring hand on the shoulder when difficult - or delightful - news is shared.

For most of us, not even a chance simply to lean over to the person in the next seat just to check what verse we are on in the hymn.

No hymns at all, no song.  

How we groan! We groan while we wait, for we are waiting still!

*

We groan, only we may not groan too loudly.

We are not permitted to project our voices as we’d like to. The ban on singing is the hardest part of this, I know, but it is only part of it. We are to use moderate pitch only, to speak softly and quietly. Again, for our own life-saving safety, and the life-saving safety of others.

It happens that there are religious and spiritual precedents for this. Jewish prayer is often said in a soft, hushed voice. For some Jewish prayer, you should hear what you are saying, but your neighbour should not hear you. And of course in normal circumstances, that means the person immediately to the side of you. The idea may be that this is the best way to concentrate on the words themselves, to attend to the prayer, to intend the content of the prayer. Is that right? Well, now we can test it. We can treat this, then, as an opportunity to pray differently.

The model for this way of praying is Hannah in the Old Testament [1 Sam 1.12ff]. You may remember she prayed in the temple at Shiloh in such a way as to make the priest – the judgemental priest – Eli think she was drunk. He could not make out the words she was mouthing, and so assumed the worst. But she – faithful, confident laywoman – told the priest off. 
She made it clear she was pouring out her deepest longings, her pain and her hope, her hope-against-hope, only in a whispered tone, knowing that a whispered prayer is not less a prayer than a shouted or a chanted prayer.

*

We groan. We speak sotto voce.

And what do we say? 
We too speak of our deepest longings, our pain and our hope, be it hope-against-hope.

And we do more. We may do more. 
We are free to do more.

We are free to place all our longings and pain and hope in a broader context, 
as tear-drops given a home in an ocean.

That ocean can be our confidence that

Gd has not abandoned us;

Gd does not abandon us;

Gd will not abandon us;

Gd is sharing with us in precisely this bittersweet experience.

What makes us have this confidence (or be drawn towards this confidence)?

It is not a philosophy, nor a set of rules, nor an idle tale.

The confidence can be said to rest on one claim.

This is the claim that Gd by Gd’s Spirit has raised Jesus from the dead,

and Jesus Christ remains with us for all time,

in Word and Sacrament and mystical encounter,

as sign and reality of the very presence of Gd.

I’m saying our old friend St Seraphim (who, as you know, greeted everyone, whenever he met them, with: “My joy! Christ is risen!") wasn’t really an eccentric in his core point. 
Every second, minute, hour, day – and most certainly every Sunday – is the Feast of Resurrection.  

So what is to be done?

We go on groaning, with all creation.

We go on all-but-whispering our words, like Hannah.

And (“and” not “but”) we may articulate a heart-felt  [signed] Alleluia.

Like many an alleluia sung in praise, this alleluia does not mean our lives our overflowing with success or comfort or triumph or the resolution of our problems. 
Of course not.

But neither was the first Easter a simple story 
of success or comfort or triumph or resolution 
(think about it).

So, sisters and brothers, let us, here and now, “easter”.

[Signed and then said]

Alleluia. Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Amen.