Sermon. How Is There No Condemnation?

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels with St Mary, Little Ilford. 12.07.20

Trinity 5 (Year A)

Romans 8.1-11

(following on from Trinity 4: Romans 7.15-25a)

I am going to do something I have not done before. I am going to speak about a biblical text we have not heard today. And I am going to do something I’ve done only very rarely. I am going to preach on the Second Reading, the Letter, the Epistle of Paul to the Romans. And since this is Paul we are talking about, I won’t manage to be all that brief. I’ll pause for a moment while you all whoop for joy! (You’re doing it inwardly, I can tell.)

Paul is indeed someone it is easy and fashionable to dislike. He is often hard to understand. That’s an understatement. The greatest minds in the history of the Church have struggled to find him consistent. On top of that, he can come across as misogynist and homophobic. And behind that some (many) see in Paul a hatred of the body. As if for Paul the body is bad and to be put in its place (as small as possible) and the soul is good, and to be set free.

I ask you to trust me that the last point (at least) is a plausible but wrong reading of Paul. Most of the time, Paul speaks highly of the body. He it is, after all, who tells us that we are the Body of Christ [1 Cor 12.27]. And he clearly intends that as a great -the greatest - honour. The contrast he draws isn’t really between the body and the soul. It this. It’s between

·        ourselves as embodied human beings as Spirit-filled, and so in a lively relationship with Gd, and

·        ourselves as embodied human beings as seeking to have nothing to do with Gd and Gd’s Spirit.

If we are not in harmony with the Spirit, Paul tells us, then we are flesh. We are, we might say, barely living organic matter. It’s extreme language and an extreme contrast, for sure. But it’s not really to do with preferring the soul to the body.

And, you know, whether we understand Paul or not, whether we disagree with him on this or that (which we are free to), let us at least thank him for sharing so much of his inner life with us. Paul feels things deeply. There isn’t another biblical writer whose existential reflections, thoughts, feeling and inner wrestlings we’re let into like we are with Paul. We’d be the poorer without knowing of his struggles, even if, as I say, we don’t always get them.

So, let’s go back to last week’s message from Paul, from Romans. Paul tells us, as bluntly as you like:

“I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate…

Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me…

Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

And that’s where we left things last week. And this week, we continue:

“There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

Now, we cannot say that is unclear. It is as clear as it is uplifting.

We can relate. In human lives, we are often “dysfunctional” (to use the modern word). We don’t do what we intend to do. We do do what we set out to avoid. That might be full-blown addiction (which is not rare). It might be those habits we have, (say) of finding someone irritating, who means nothing by it and really can’t help how they are. Or… variations are endless. Whatever it is, we are trapped in this behaviour and can feel desperate. But! But Paul tells us we can turn to Christ, who will free us of these traps, who will free and forgive us, and leave us without any condemnation. Of course we want to say: “Thanks be to God”.

God in Christ frees us from the hold of sin and guilt. It is a powerful message. It is a welcome message. I think we can say without contradiction that it is an orthodox message. There is only one problem with it. It’s this:

it is not what the text of Romans says.

No, I am afraid our lectionary-devisers have edited something out. Just one half-verse, admittedly. We know they often do miss bits out. We can’t pretend to be shocked by that. But here the missing bit… well, if I say it changes the meaning, I’m underplaying the point.

The text of Romans – you’re very welcome to check this now or later – does indeed say:

“Who will rescue me…?... Thanks be to Gd… There is now no condemnation”

But by putting back in the bit left out we get this flow of argument:

“Who will rescue me [from the hold of sin]? Thanks be to Gd through Jesus Christ…

“So then, with my mind I am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin.

“There is now no condemnation”

I’ll pause to see if you get a sense of how different the message is, with the bit taken out put back in.

With the bit taken out put back in, Romans seems to be saying that even though with our flesh we are and remain a slave to the law of sin, nevertheless there is no condemnation.

With the bit taken out put back in, the idea is not so much that Christ takes away the big conundrum of our failing to do what we set out to do, as moral or caring people.

No. This way round, the message is that Christ knows that this conundrum is and remains our nature, and Christ loves and forgives us any way.

Two very different, indeed opposed meanings. What do we do with this?

Well, in the first place, if you want to treat this sermon as something like a “Public Service Announcement” - a reminder always to read the bits the lectionary itself misses out - then, well and good. Please do. To be candid, you will find other examples when the change in meaning is pretty much as dramatic by putting the bits left out back in. So I am calling for more Bible-reading outside of the liturgy. Yes.

Second, it’s only fair to say that our lectionary-devisers were not being capricious in cutting out the half-verse. Many commentators see them as words added later, by a scribe, not Paul. They were not, then, part of Paul’s original message. That’s certainly plausible. We have already how much easier Paul is to understand with the bit taken out left out: I sin. I don’t know how to stop sinning. Christ frees me. Thank God. I am no longer condemned. So, maybe that’s right; maybe that is Paul.

Except… Except this isn’t really an abstract point, or one for the experts, a detail only? We can look at our own experience as Christians to test out which meaning actually works.

• Is it the case that by being in Christ we are simply freed from those strange, unwelcome, even agonising pulls to do what is wrong and unkind?
• Is it the case that if we are not condemned, that is because we are freed from sin, are sinless (or virtually sinless)?
• Can it be that Paul, in all his complexity, really Paul meant to say it’s as simple as that?

I am going to say that even if the bit left out put back in was added later by a scribe, the scribe was inspired. The Christian - the devout Christian, the fervent Christian, the wise Christian - every bit as much as the non-Christian, lives life as one who does not do the good they want, but the bad they do not want to do is what they do.

This doesn’t mean there is no change. This doesn’t mean we do not grow as Christians. And indeed along the way (please Gd), we are freed from abiding sins and habits and attitudes that hold us back. But the strange thing is that the more we are freed from some weaknesses, the better we see others. So the dynamic (the conundrum, as I’ve called it) continues.

I intend this to be a hopeful message. It is a hopeful message. I am not saying we are simply stuck in our sins. It’s not a cycle we endlessly repeat, till we die. The image is not of a circle, a closed circle, but of a spiral, an open spiral. By Gd’s grace we are rising, rising to be fit for the glory and joy and communion of heaven. But the rising up is not a straight line, but, like a spiral, along the way we revisit old themes, among them sin, weakness, stuckness, loss of control, coldness of heart. But by Gd’s grace we revisit them from a new, a higher vantage point.

And if that makes little sense to you (as it might), let me tell you it can be a powerful message for, say, a prison chaplain. Sometimes prisoners can be people of real faith, worked-for faith, but can look at the wreckage in their lives and feel despair. They can feel hopelessly trapped. So that idea, that we do not simply cast off sin, but can still be on that spiral upwards, revisiting our sinfulness, from a healthier place, can really speak. To some, to many, and I think I will say, just perhaps, to all.   

Thanks be to Gd,

·        for Paul’s confused and confusing honesty, and, just perhaps,

·        for our lectionary-devisers, who force us sometimes to preach even on Romans!

Amen.

Sermon. The Pharisee and the Tax Collector.

Sermon. 23 October 2016. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford.

Last Sunday After Trinity (Year C)

Luke 18.9-14

The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. Or (we may call it) 'the story of the confident person and the person at their wits' end'. Surely, it is that. And surely that is what makes this story one of the most attractive and accessible in the whole of the gospels. It is good to know that people at their wits' end – and we are all at our wits' end at times in our lives – can turn to Gd and be heard.

And, thank Gd, not the story but the underlying message is one that is found in other traditions which have to do with Gd. You'll find it not only in Christianity, but also in Judaism and Islam and elsewhere. The command: never despair of the mercy of Gd. Or, to put it the other way round: do not despair; the mercy of Gd is limitless, and can be for you, whatever the mess you are in. Or: if you have to be at your wits' end before you turn to Gd, still do it; Gd will hear you. I know that many of us hear can bear witness to that. Perhaps we would not be here if we could not bear witness to that. Well and good.

All of that said, today's gospel remains the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector. And one thing you may just have noticed about me is that, when the Pharisees are mentioned in the gospels, I like to make an effort to 'rehabilitate' them, to suggest that the traditional Christian portrayal of the Pharisees as 'the baddies' is too simple, and won't do. This is because the Pharisees were the forerunners of the rabbis and so of Judaism as we know it - but also, so historians tell us, actually the group closest to the Jewish Jesus movement, which became the Church. You might think I have my work cut out this time. But here I go.

The Pharisee offers to Gd a review of his life. He fasts, he tithes, regularly and fully. He also – clearly – prays. Fasting, tithing, praying. This means in terms of the three pillars of Jewish piety as the New Testament portrays things, he is doing it. He is pious, devout, faithful.

Perhaps you think he is showing Gd he has earned Gd's attention? That he believes that Gd is naturally distant, or angry, or both, but if he jumps through the set hoops (of which there are many), he can earn Gd's forgiveness and sympathy? The text nothing about this. And that's worth saying again. The text of the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector does not say that the Pharisee thought he could earn good things from Gd by all his efforts. And we know from other sources – like, well, the Old Testament itself, that that was not what Phariseeism was about.

No, Phariseeism, like other forms of Judaism, was a religion of grace. Gd has graced the Jewish people with freedom, and undeserved love, and with guidance about how to live. Jews are invited to celebrate all of that by making their own the details of the guidance about how to live. By, for example, fasting, tithing and praying.

In other words, when the Pharisee is reviewing his life, he is doing just what people in the Catholic tradition may do today when they prepare for confession. They/we may even get little booklets to guide one through a review of one's life: Have you been regularly to mass? Have you prayed daily? Have you given to charity? And so on. If you have, and you have, and you have, then say it. Tell the truth. Be honest about it. Be glad that you've had the external opportunity and the internal discipline to fulfil some commandments, to be faithful in what you do.

But that is as positive as I can be about today's Pharisee. For to be clear: he does mess up. What does he get wrong? Not in fairly recording what he did right, but in comparing, or rather contrasting himself with another human being, with the tax collector. And also not like thieves, rogues, adulterers and others.

Brothers and sisters, to do that is spiritual death for any of us. The sin of pride, thinking ourselves above others. Underneath which is often fear. It's the fear (probably one we are not conscious of) that, deep down, life is like this. Life is a narrow ladder and we are a crowd, all competing, scrambling up the ladder. We fear that we can only do that by fighting with others, scrapping, climbing over them, pressing our feet down on their heads, to race up the rungs of the ladder. We may think of this as how this economic life, or how bankers working in the City may think about things. But today's message is that the spiritual life can also be like this.

This brings home to us that 'the Pharisee' is not some exotic alien from a couple of millennia. It's that part of us which thinks we have to compare, contrast, and compete. But there is good news here, because there is a way out. We simply have to note when we are led to compare, contrast and compete, and then cease and desist, resist, move away.

A friend of mine puts it this way. You know the phrase: Love the sinner, hate the sin? No! I haven't got time for that. I haven't got time to discern your sins, to hate them. I am too busy discerning my own sins. He's not saying he thinks he's a terrible person, drowning in sinfulness. He's just saying his own life is the own he has to judge, be discerning about. Other lives he is called just to love.

I have one question for you. What do you think happened next? We know what happened immediately, as Jesus tells us. The Pharisee, thinking himself smugly superior to those around him, goes home unchanged by his praying. The tax collector, at his wits' end and so pouring out his heart, knows the change that comes from being heard by Gd. 'Justified', in the rather technical language of the text.

But, then what? Did the same scene play itself out, day after day, week after week, year after year? We hope not. We hope the Pharisee would get the insight he needed to see that his dismissive attitude to others was killing off his otherwise decent-enough prayers. But do we hope that the tax collector might also change? Might slowly, slowly look at all the concrete ways in which he was a sinner, and work out ways, slowly, slowly no doubt, to change his life?

I think that is probably the import of the story as Jesus (as Luke) tells it. But Christian tradition has also done something else with this story. It has suggested that the bald, heart-felt (heart-felt, bald) prayer 'Lord, have mercy', is one we never leave behind. We know this. We know this because it's also our practice.

Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy...

Lord, in your mercy...

Here we are in some ways echoing the sinning tax collector of today's gospel.

And some, many (many, especially in the East, but by no means only there) many place this prayer for mercy very close to the heart of their own spirituality. What do I mean? I am thinking of the 'Jesus Prayer'. It has different versions. Two especially popular ones:

'Lord Jesus Christ, Son of Gd, have mercy on us.'

'Lord Jesus Christ, Son of Gd, have mercy on me, a sinner.'

It is the prayer of the heart, repeated over and over again. There's an Orthodox monastery not far from here where they recite it daily. They were told to limit it to two hours a day. It is typically recited in line with breathing:

Lord Jesus Christ Son of Gd (in-breath)

have mercy on us (out-breath).

And a traditional posture is to be seated and bend forward. Some say this is the origin of the phrase, 'contemplating your naval'. It looks that way. But really the one praying is adopting the position of the tax collector in today's story.

And I offer it to you. I will share this from my chaplaincy work: it can work against anxiety, if you repeat it, slowly. Just to add: when we pray for mercy, we are not praying just for forgiveness. This is mercy as a much richer concept. A prayer for grace, for grace in the form we need it. That Christ meets us at the point of our need, as the loving, gracious one He is.

Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of Gd, have mercy on us [repeated ad lib.]

Evidence suggests that if we pray like this (like this in some way – I am not being prescriptive) we will find it that bit easier to pray from the heart when (Gd forbid) we are at our wits' end. Amen. 

Sermon. Read Amos - the Giant, Minor Prophet

Sermon. 18 September 2016, St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford

Trinity 16 (Year C)

Amos 8:4-7:

Hear this, you that trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land, saying, "When will the new moon be over so that we may sell grain; and the sabbath, so that we may offer wheat for sale? We will make the ephah small and the shekel great, and practice deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat." The LORD has sworn by the pride of Jacob: Surely I will never forget any of their deeds.

I was hoping today's would be short by my standards. Do you think I manage it? Of course, it's too late to take bets on it, but maybe you won't have to wait long to find out. What I can promise you is a very short summary. In fact, two words...

READ AMOS.

Or, more extensively, read the whole of the Book of the Prophet Amos, from which today's First Reading comes. What do you think?

Well, the good news is that to call it a 'Book' is just a convention; It is in fact just nine chapters. Here it is [shows], over six pages. It can be read in twenty minutes. So, will you do it? Or would you prefer a longer sermon...? Let's see...

Who was Amos? Amos was a prophet who was around, early-to-middle eighth century before Christ. Although he was from the South, Judah, he prophesied in the North, Israel. In his days, Judah and Israel are indeed divided, but they are rubbing along and doing pretty well. The Northern Kingdom has expanded northwards, and the two kingdoms together may even cover the same territory as at Israel's glory days – by which I mean, of course... back in Solomon's day. And with that expansion, there is much wealth; the rich are flourishing.

That's the context into which Amos (like most, well, all the prophets) spoke hard, negative things. To the rulers he threatened poverty, calamity, exile, and death. (Yes, it's as bad as that.) So he was 'advised' (by a cautious, bureaucratic priest; who else?) to leave the North and go home. That is presumably why he wrote down his prophecies. And, note: that is actually a new idea; Amos is the first prophet we know of to write down prophecies, the earliest of the written prophets. He's called a 'Minor Prophet', but that's only because his text is short; he's actually a revolutionary.

And Amos is revolutionary in other ways. It's actually evident in today's passage. You see, Amos is very critical, but one thing he does not criticise the people, or the rulers for... he does not condemn them for being religiously faithless. On the contrary, there's no doubt about it: the people of Israel are very, very religious. You have heard it in today's reading: they are good at observing both the Sabbath and the New Moons (and since new moons aren't all that important in the Israelite pattern of worship, presumably they kept all the festivals). Elsewhere, Amos insists they love and relish their religious practices [4.4-5].

What is more, at least in their own minds, subjectively, their religious activity is addressed to the true Gd. For Amos, the problem is not that the people are lost or trapped in idolatry (as for some prophets). There are two, or if you really stretch things maybe three references to so-called 'other gods' or alien religious practices in Amos – and that is it [2.4 ??; 5.26; 8.14]. When the People name Gd in worship, they do indeed use the nameless name given to Moses [e.g.5.18]. They are – in that formal sense – faithful to the One Gd.

What then is the problem - the devastating problem which means the prophet promises their devastation? It is that the powerful and rich among the people combine their worship of One Gd (which is on the face of it quite proper) with neglect of, and scorn for, and even violence against the poor and powerless people among them. We've already heard it: 'you that trample on the needy and bring to ruin the poor'. As you will see, when you read the whole book, that is something of a refrain for Amos. Earlier he says that the people 'trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth, and push the afflicted out of the way' [2.6].

This combination of piety and cruelty leads Amos to have Gd say:

I hate, I despise your festivals,

and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.

Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,

I will not accept them;

and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals

I will not look upon.

Take away from me the noise of your songs;

I will not listen to the melody of your harps. [5.21-23; cf. 4.4-5]

Plenty of meetings for worship going on. All of it hated by Gd. Notice that it is not that Gd is against animal sacrifices as such; Gd is as much against hymn singing, even hymn singing that is addressed to him. Because when you sing hymns and wilfully neglect people, you harm rather than help your relationship with Gd. Bracing, we can even say scary stuff.

When you sing hymns and wilfully neglect people,

you harm rather than help your relationship with Gd.

I'd say this bluntness from Amos, the 'Minor Prophet', is what makes him a giant among biblical writers, calling out to each generation of worshippers throughout time every since.

When you sing hymns and wilfully neglect people,

you harm rather than help your relationship with Gd.

I do though need to add one thing: the problem for Amos is not that the people both worshipped Gd and still sinned. That's a position we are all in, always. We are all always glorious in our worship and sinning in some parts of our lives. That is why repentance and forgiveness are part of our worship – indeed, the beating heart of our worship. Far from having to be morally perfect to worship, our worship is a place of healing of the wounds our own sins have inflicted on us. It has to be so, and it is so.

So to be clear: the problem for Amos isn't that the people can be sinful, it is rather that the people were so trapped by their sins, and so lost in love and enjoyment of them, they could not even see them. Their problem was not imperfection; their problem was smugness. They were rich, safe, contented, stuffed, and cocooned and blinded to the needs of others. It's not that they went about being literally violent to the poor; it's that the way things were set up amounted to a form of violence against the poor, where they lacked what they needed just to get by. It's worship of the One Gd combined with smugness and a willingness to pretend other people don't even exist which pushes Gd out of our worship.

May it never happen to us! There may or may not be contemporary resonances. I'm inviting us to think about that, but leaving that open for our discernment. The main thing is: take heart; it does not have to happen to us. We can say: if we are at all troubled by our coldness of heart to others, then we are not in the position of those condemned by Amos.

I don't suppose for one minute that I am saying something you have not heard before. Still, I am insisting that when it is said as powerfully bluntly as Amos says it, then we should give thanks. Read Amos. Amen. 

Good Friday Sermon

Sermon. St Mary's Little Ilford.

Good Friday 2016

Passion: John chapters 18 &19.

Did you spot it? We did it last year. We (clergy) didn't comment on it, and I don't think anyone did. And we did it this year again. This year I am going to comment on it. But first – did you spot it?

What I am talking about is that we slightly changed the text of John's Passion narrative as we've just heard it. We are treating it not as a radical change but a subtle nuancing of the passage. We changed many (not all) of the references to 'the Jews' in John's Passion to 'the religious authorities' or 'the Judean leaders' or some such. This we can justify, because the underlying Greek, hoi Ioudaioi means both 'the Jews' and 'the Judeans' and, further, 'the Judeans' could stand for 'the leaders'.

A good analogy today might be 'Brussels'. If we say 'we are praying for Brussels' (as we are) we are very likely to mean we are praying for the people, the inhabitants of Brussels. But if we say 'politician X wants us to pull out of Brussels' we are likely to understand that as meaning the institution, the European Union. And we can make that shift in interpretation without even thinking about it. 

And I am saying that a similar range of different meanings of hoi Ioudaioi make best sense of the text of John. It can mean 'the Jews', 'the Judeans', 'the Judean religious leaders' based in and around the Jerusalem Temple. That's what we've tried to reflect.

But so what? Well, in the first place we have to remember that historically Holy Week was a hard time for Jews in Europe. They were often confined to the ghetto – or chose to remain in the ghetto – for protection. Yes, the idea that 'the Jews killed Christ' was never formally taught, but was so strong, and very soon meant 'all Jews everywhere, throughout time'. We as a Church need to face that, and repent.

We need to repent because of Christian ill-will towards other human beings. But that's just the beginning of it. The more we allow the idea to build up – even when it's not explicitly said – that 'the Jews killed Christ', the less we get a sense that it is we who killed Christ, by our sins, by our betrayal of Christ. In fact, that is what the Church has formally taught. All human beings, being sinners, share in the responsibility for the death of Christ, but when we Christians by our actions betray Christ, we have less excuse, because we (in one way or another) know what we are doing.

This can be hard to hear. But this is the day to hear it. The day when we face up to who we are. Most of us are not murderers (unless I've misjudged you). But we all probably know murderous hate, at least at extreme moments. And we are all betrayers. We all betray others, by overconsuming in a world of need, not confronting racism, allowing gossip... the ways are endless. We betray our vocation, by preferring habit, comfort, or acting out of fear (again the ways are endless). This is who we are – treacherous so-and-sos. I say again: this is the day to face it.

But! Even that isn't the message of today. Even that is only the first part. And the greater part is this: Gd knows this. Gd knows who we are. And – it's not that Gd does not mind. Gd does mind, because we count for something with Gd. Gd doesn't think of us as infants who could do no better. We really do have our vocations, and the freedom we need to fulfil them. But, still, to Gd, our betrayals, though real, do not define us. They are not the first or the last thing Gd sees when Gd gazes on us. Gd's love is such that what Gd sees is when Gd gazes at us is... the beloved.

Some of you may know that the Bishop of London greets people from the pulpit with a booming 'Beloved!' Sometimes it can seem as if he's cornered that particular market. But he hasn't. However you want to say it, however you need to hear it, you are Gd's beloved. And that is why today is good. Gd shows his love for us, in that while we were yet sinners (yet traitors), Christ died for us. Willingly. Out of delight in our company.

Strangely, this can be hard to hear. It can take a lifetime to absorb this truth. That is why Gd gives us the Church. And the Church is here. Amen. 

Sermon for Lent 1: (Yet more) on the Joys of Lent

Sermon. 14 February 2016. St Mary Magdalene's, East Ham

Lent 1 (Year C)

A non-apology. Here I repeat themes and anecdotes I have mentioned previously, including at the Ash Wednesday service, immediately below, and in previous years. I do not apologise for this. I am speaking to different gatherings. Also, the idea of Lent as a quietly joy-oriented season, for it promotes a 'high anthropology' (as they say), is one I myself have not heard in sermons other than mine.

Deuteronomy 26.1-11

Romans 10.8b-13

Luke 4.1-13

Let me begin with thanks. First, I thank you for your invitation to me today. It's a pleasure for me to be with you; I like to get to know the church communities in the area, which is still relatively new to me. Second, thank you for not greeting me at the door with a big bunch of red roses and a Valentine's card. This for two reasons: first, in the church calendar this is not Valentine's Day (it is the First Sunday of Lent, and if it were not Sunday, it would actually be the Feast of St Cyril and St Methodius); second, because it happens that I am from Yorkshire, and so red roses do very little for me. I associate them with Lancashire. If anything I'd be looking for white roses of the House of York.

After those thanks, I wonder, though, if I should now offer an apology. An apology for lowering the mood, in that I have just stressed that Lent takes priority over Valentine's Day. I am going to stop short of giving that apology... because am not at all convinced that Lent itself is actually a gloomy, negative, joyless season.

Let me tell you a true story. I was at a religious house (I won't name it) one Ash Wednesday. The congregation was gathered by the altar in a large arc ready for the ashing. The priest came to the first candidate and intoned: 'Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return; turn away from Christ and be faithful to sin'. There was a titter. But! But not only did he say those unfortunate words to the first person, he said the same to everybody there. So by the end, everybody in church – apart from the nonplussed priest – was doubled-up and pretty close to hysterics.

Since I won't name the priest, no one need be embarrassed, still less humiliated in the re-telling. My point is solely this: I am suggesting that it might even be a good thing to enter Lent feeling mirth. Lent is a 'solemn' season in the rather technical sense. But that doesn't mean – at all – it is about feeling bad about ourselves. On the contrary, it is about strength and hope. We are to be self-reflective, yes, but also, even now, oriented towards joy. This for (at least) three reasons.

First, the words 'Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return' do not mean: 'You're so rotten you deserve to die'. No. Rather, they mean: 'Remember that you are mortal, that your life is limited, is bounded'. This means you are here for only a span of time. You are unique and unrepeatable. Unrepeatable and unique. And every moment you experience as your unique self is itself unique and unrepeatable.

So you are precious. No one in the universe is more precious than you. Others are as precious as you, including those people you can't stand. True. But that takes nothing away from the fact that no one is more precious than you. No one else can live your life. So make the most of it. And we make the most of our lives not by desperately chasing after pleasure. (Think about those people who have tried it; it just doesn't work.) Rather we make the most of our lives by finding our calling (inasmuch as we can) and committing to it (as best we can). So – what are you waiting for? - is the Lenten question.

Second, the words (let me take care to get it right...) 'Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ' remind us that Christ is already here, waiting for us. We do not have to become good to earn his attention, good will or rewards. Rather, all we have to do is turn. And turn we all can, however clumsily. So we already have everything we need to become holy, if we but trust in this. You see how this is not about lowering self-esteem. True self-esteem (not pride) can only be enhanced once we realise Gd is offering us holiness. Just turn!

Third, these things are true because Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and offering forgiveness and feasting, as we see from the New Testament resurrection accounts. So every day – including even Ash Wednesday and Good Friday – is also Easter. There is no moment that is not also Easter. The saint who saw this most clearly was the Russian St Seraphim of Sarov, who, against all the church fasting rules, would stand on the steps of the church on Good Friday even, munching his forbidden sausages and greeting everyone with 'Christ is risen!' Or: 'My joy! Christ is risen!' This is what St Paul is reminding us in today's second reading. We believe that Jesus is Lord, not because we have a list of criteria for Lordship which it turns out Jesus meets. Rather we trust that he is Lord because we trust that Gd has raised him from the dead in such a way as reveals his Lordship. It all begins in the resurrection. All of it – including Lent.

So, Lent is a positive season. It is not a season of exuberance; all of that will come at Easter. But it is a season of quiet, reflective joy, where our hopes for ourselves and our capacity to change and grow are at the forefront of our attention. I say again: it is a call to make the most of our lives, by fulfilling our calling. We are given robust hints how to do this in today's readings.

The first reading from Deuteronomy, is itself about feasting. It says we must embed our feasting in thanksgiving, in gratitude. We must say thank you to Gd for the comforts and delights we have. Not because Gd needs our thanks, but because we will go of the rails if we do not give thanks.

But there is more to it. Woven into our thanksgiving is the call to tell our own story or stories. See: 'A wandering Aramean was my ancestor...' and his story is told, as part of our story. This is not accidental or incidental. We will only know our calling if we can give as authentic an account as we can of where we have come from. We don't offer our autobiography to every passing stranger. But we do look, in our lives of faith, for people and contexts where we can tell it as it was, so as to tell it as it is.

And so to today's gospel. Here is the hard part; I don't hide that. If we are to make the most of our lives by being true to our calling, we had better know that we will face temptation; we will feel real, existential, all-the-way-down doubt. Jesus faced it; we will face it in some measure. 'If you are the Son of Gd... if...', the devil says to Jesus repeatedly. Remember, Jesus has just heard, at his baptism, the very Voice from heaven telling him in no uncertain terms that he is the Son. Yet he cannot bask in that reassurance. On the contrary, he is led into the wild places, and has to come to a place where he truly knows it for himself. Through temptation and doubt. If...

There are limitless variations on this diabolical 'if'.

If you had faith, you would be healed.

If we were a true Christian community, we'd be growing in numbers dramatically.

If I were a proper Christian, I wouldn't find prayer so dry and uninspiring.

If we were a proper Church, our leaders would be able to outwit the media and our opponents.

And so on.

These are not doubts of an intellectual or rational kind. Such doubts are a vital part of faith. But these are doubts which question our ability, our worthiness to be called by Gd, connected to Gd. Such doubts we must resist, as Jesus resisited before us, so that we can so resist.

So, brothers and sisters, I wish you a serious but also a joy-oriented Lent.

Joy, because you are precious.

Joy, because you already have all that you need to turn to Christ and so become holy.

Joy, because Christ is risen from the dead, and there is no time and no place that is not Easter.

Joy, because by Gd's grace you can come to know and own your own worth, worthiness to be called by Gd, because it is Gd's will to call you.

Joy, because Gd is, with or without roses, the true lover of all.

Amen.

The pictures are of the Church of St Mary Magdalene, East Ham, and are, in turn, (1) the sanctuary, (2) the 'window' onto the Anchorite's cell (currently unoccupied) and (3) 'a warning against drunkenness' - a person becoming a monkey on the reception of wicked hops. 

Sermon. Ash Wednesday. Rejoice!

Sermon. 10 February 2016. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford

Ash Wednesday

I used up my Ash Wednesday joke on you last year. But as it is a true story, I am going to risk repeating it. Do you remember? How the priest, when it came to the ashing, got somewhat confused and said to the first candidate: 'Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return; turn away from Christ and be faithful to sin'. But! Not only did he say those unfortunate words to the first person, he said the same to everybody there. So by the end, everybody in church – apart from the nonplussed priest – was doubled-up and pretty close to hysterics.

I said last year what I say now: that priest's embarrassment aside, it is a good thing to enter Lent feeling mirth. Lent is a 'solemn' season in the rather technical sense. But that doesn't mean – at all – that we are called to feel glum, or lower our self-esteem. On the contrary, we are called to know strength and hope, to be self-reflective, yes, but also, even now, oriented towards joy. This for (at least) three reasons.

First, the words 'Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return' do not mean: 'You're so rotten you deserve to die'. No. Rather, they mean: 'Remember that you are mortal, that your life is limited, is bounded'. You are unique and unrepeatable, and here only for a span of time. So you are precious. No one in the universe is more precious than you. (Others are as precious as you, including those people you can't stand. But that takes nothing away from the fact that no one is more precious than you.) No one else can live your life. So make the most of it. And we make the most of our lives not by desperately chasing after pleasure. (Think about those people who have tried it; it just doesn't work.) Rather we make the most of our lives by finding our calling (inasmuch as we can) and committing to it (as best we can). So – what are we waiting for?

Second, the words (let's see if I can get it right...) 'Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ' remind us that Christ is already here, waiting for us. We do not have to become good to earn his attention, good will or rewards. Rather, all we have to do is turn. And turn we can, however clumsily. So we already have everything we need to become holy, if we but trust in this. You see how this is not about lowering self-esteem. True self-esteem (not pride) can only be enhanced once we realise Gd is offering us holiness. Just turn.

Third, these things are true because Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death

by death and offering forgiveness and feasting, as we see from the New Testament resurrection accounts. So every day – including even Ash Wednesday and Good Friday – is also Easter. There is no moment that is not also Easter. The saint who saw this most clearly – and I've mentioned him a number of times, so you may well remember – was the Russian St Seraphim of Sarov, who, against the church fasting rules, would stand on the steps of the church on Good Friday, munching his sausages and greeting everyone with 'Christ is risen!'

Let me add another positive note that I haven't mentioned before. People sometimes think that the Roman Catholic Church is a great monolith, with everything determined by the Vatican and no variations. That's not true. For example, the French Catholic church uses different words at the Imposition of the Ashes: 'Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return; rejoice and believe in the Gospel'. I am saying there is something profound here. Lent is not about exuberance and feasting, true, but it is about a different, quieter way of rejoicing.

And just one more variation on this theme. The psalms. Yes, I am unashamedly reminding us of the Lent course this year, on the Psalms, and encouraging us to attend, even intermittently, if we can. The word 'Psalms' comes from the Greek 'psalmoi' which just means 'songs/music'. But the Hebrew is different. It's Tehillim, which means praises.

Now, people who don't read the psalms often think they are, you know, simply nice. You know: 'The flowers are lovely; Gd is all-powerful; all is well. Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit.' But if we do read the psalms, we know it's not like that. Rather, all human life is there. Including anger, rage, violence, depression, bewilderment, grief, despondency and despair. These things are not hidden from Gd. As if we could hide these things from Gd. And if we cannot hide them from Gd, why hide them from each other?

And yet! And yet the Hebrew insists that it is all praise. How? There are two ideas. One is that we work our way through these negative emotions to get to praise at the end. Certainly the Book of Psalms ends with a string of psalms of praises, full of the 'A' word we are not allowed to use in Lent. The other idea is that even in the anger, rage, violence, depression, bewilderment, grief, despondency and despair, we are still praising Gd, precisely because we are directly it all towards Gd, confident that he will hold it all, transfigure it all. We don't have to choose between these different ideas; it can be both.

Let us then make these words our own:

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return;

rejoice

and believe in the gospel.

Amen.

 

Sermon before Lent: Glorious Things of Us Are Spoken!

Sermon. 7 February 2016. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford

The Sunday before Lent (Year C, Transfiguration)

Exodus 34.29-35

2 Corinthians 3.12-4.2

Luke 9.28-36

You know that I am someone who asks questions. Real questions, looking for real answers. So my question now is: do you think I am so cruel – or so naïve – as to ask you now what it was I said when I last preached on the Transfiguration, on today's gospel reading, on seeing Jesus and Moses and Elijah lit up in glory? The answer to that question is: No. I am not so cruel, or so naïve. So let me give you my own summary.

The usual – almost universal – reason given for the appearance of Moses and Elijah alongside Jesus is that Moses represents the Law (Torah), and Elijah represents the Prophets. The problem with this is that there is no tradition at all of thinking of Elijah as 'representing' the Prophets before this story, and it is not obvious to see how he might actually 'stand for' the Prophets. I gave an alternative reason: Moses and Elijah are, in the stories of the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible, preeminently the Shining Ones.

Elijah is lit up in glory as he ascends into heaven by miraculous chariot. And Moses –

well, we see Moses shining, lit up in glory, supremely in today's First Reading. '[T]he skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God' and he puts a veil over the bright radiance. So the First Reading and the Gospel do exactly what they are supposed to do: they reinforce each other. Both insist that meeting with Gd – intimacy with Gd – leads to glory, brilliance, light. In all senses, en-light-enment.

But! But, we have a problem, brothers and sisters. The problem is the Second Reading, where Paul really complicates things. (I know that many people at this point would make a joke to disparage Paul, as always getting it wrong, as the woman-hating, gay-hating, cold-fish they believe him to be. I won't do that. I am an admirer of Paul as the first Christian genius, and loving pastor. All of that said, he does often complicate things. No doubt about that.)

You see, Paul changes the story. From being a story of brilliance and light, it becomes a story of fading, of loss. In the original Exodus account, we are not quite told why Moses wears a veil. But the clear implication is that the light was too bright; he wore it to protect the eyes of his fellow Israelites. That's also why it makes sense for Moses, still shining, to appear alongside Elijah and Jesus on that other mountain, as in the gospel. But Paul changes things, and says that he wore the veil so that the Israelites would not see his light fade away, fail. Because for Paul, here at least, all the light of the Jewish covenant, outside of Jesus, is fading away. A very different account, a very different image altogether.

Does this alarm you? Does this undermine Paul for you? That he gets a story so wrong, that he is so cavilier with another Bible passage? Well, if so, I cannot offer you much reassurance. Changing elements of biblical stories is actually quite common, in the biblical and in later Jewish tradition. And I don't just mean tiny details.

For example King David is incited to take a census of the people of Israel and Judah. But by whom? In 2 Samuel it is quite clear: it is Gd [2 Sam 24.1]. Yet when the Chronicler, in 1 Chronicles, comes to retell the story, it is just as clearly Satan [1 Chron 21.1]! Whether we are talking about Gd or Satan is scarcely a trivial matter. Or again in the New Testament. How did Judas die? In Matthew [27.3-8], he hanged himself. But in Acts [1.16-19] he rushed headlong in a field and somehow fell fatally. In these and other cases, people do try to harmonise the accounts, so that all are true, and fit together. But frankly, it's forced. The more natural explanation is that there are different versions of the same story, and/or that people felt free to change the story in retelling it.

And this happens all the time in later Judaism. There are stories known as midrash. (It means something like 'seeking' – seeking the full meaning, the fullest possible meaning to a story.) These are the stories around the stories in the Bible. But they are also stories which often deviate away from the plain meaning of the text as we have it. It is something of a refrain among the rabbis: Do not read X (as the text stands), but read Y (a similar sounding word, which means something quite different).

And again the differences are not only in the details. For example, there is a midrash [Gen Rabbah 56.8] which says that Abraham did actually sacrifice Isaac, but that Gd raised him from the dead! It's not what the text says, but the later story-tellers felt free to change the story, not to be wilfully disrespectful or rebellious, but to make a profound theological point - here, about the reality of the resurrection. (But in saying that, I should stress: this story has nothing remotely like the authority in Judaism that the accounts of Jesus's resurrection have for Christianity. It's not an article of faith; it's just a story to ponder.)

So Paul changes a story about Moses wearing a veil to shield others from brilliant light into a story where he wears it to hide the fading of the glory. In feeling he could change the story, I am suggesting, he was in good company. And to be fair to Paul, if we read the whole passage, we can see he's not making some crass contrast (as others later did) between Judaism now in the dark and Christianity all lit up by glory. That's not the distinction he is making. Rather he is constrasting blessed-but-earthly glory – all earthly glory – with heavenly glory.

He does that to make the point that we are all on that journey, from one degree of glory to another, towards full intimacy with Gd, which quite simply is heaven.

Let me say that again. We are all on a journey, from one degree of glory to another, towards full intimacy with Gd, which quite simply is heaven. That is why we have these Transfiguration readings today, just days before Lent. It is to remind us, sisters and brothers, that we are glorious and made for glory!

Christians are often accused of going on about sin, all the time, and of going on and on and on and on about sin, during Lent. That's not wholly wrong. But we speak of sin not because we think we are rotten to the core and cannot do good (some Christians may come close to saying that, but not us). We speak of sin precisely because our vocation is to be made fit for the light, the brightness, the brilliance and the glory of heaven. And we're not there yet. And we forget this. Or we deny it. Rather than letting Gd make us fit for the glory of heaven, we prefer to act out of pride or habit - and behind both of those lies fear. And to act out of fear and to deny our own glory – that is what sin is.

We won't actually deal with our sins, our coldness of heart, our compulsions or our fears, unless we first allow ourselves to bathe and be bathed in the light of Gd's glory, of Transfiguration. It is there – it is here – for the asking.

Let us attend to Paul, the great story-reteller. For he gets it exactly right when he says: 'All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image, from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.' We are invited to trust this. Amen.