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Easter Faith to make a difference
 Easter Day – 31.iii.02
Eucharist
The Revd. Martin Jackson
(Acts 10.34-43; Matthew 28.1-10)
BBC ran a poll the other day through its internet site. It asked the question: “What’s your religion this Bank Holiday Weekend?” And participants could click on one of two choices: Church… or Chocolate. Now in fact all my Lenten resolutions have collapsed during the last fortnight, and for the last week I’ve more or less kept going on chocolate (Karen’s though… I haven’t actually bought any myself). But nevertheless I clicked on the choice of “Church” in order to find the results of the poll. Amazingly, on Good Friday afternoon, of everyone who had taken part in the poll to declared their allegiance, a resounding 79% had opted for “Church”, 2,895 participants, as opposed to a meagre 790 – just 21% - for “Chocolate.” Are these results statistically significant? Was the poll rigged? Did the Archbishop of Canterbury get his Chaplain to log on to the site and keep clicking “Church” to improve the results?
Well… – who’s worried? I would have thought even 21% saying that they think Church has a place at Easter would have been a pretty good result. Certainly enough to make Cadbury’s worried! But could they have asked a question which might have put people rather more on the spot? I’m told that a radio programme the other day interviewed a number of people to ask them what events took place on the first Easter Day and on Good Friday. Hardly anyone could answer. The only interviewee who could say that Jesus died on the Cross on Good Friday was Jewish. So perhaps people can still associate Easter with Church, at least to say that some people feel they ought to come here – but not many can tell you why.
What’s your religion this Bank Holiday weekend? I heard the point made the other day that religion can fall into two categories: it can be “tribal” or it can be “transformational”. Tribal religion is what you have where people tick “C. of E.” on official forms, because they don’t follow any other form of religion. Tribal religion is typified by the question a man from Northern Ireland asked a stranger: “Are you Protestant or Catholic?” “I’m Jewish,” said the other man. “Yes, but are you a Catholic Jew or a Protestant Jew?” Tribal religion wants to fit people into pigeon holes, but doesn’t really ask the question, what is faith for? That’s where it’s different from a religion that transforms – the right sort of religion expects change, and looks for it to make a difference for the better.
It was while I was writing this sermon that I heard the sad news of the Queen Mother’s death. Sonia Thompson, our bell-tower captain, also heard it, and phoned me: “Should we muffle the bells as a sign of mourning.” But we decided that the answer was no. On this morning above all others the bells must ring out. After the stillness and silences of Good Friday, our bells peal out to declare that Christ is risen. And that is a message which must not be muffled. As we feel sadness at the death of a woman who has served her country so well, we recognise how she persevered, how she and her husband, the King, refused to run away from the Blitz, but stood with their people in hardship and danger – and how faith was so important in her life. She lived long, over 101 years, and most recently faced the tragedy of a daughter’s death – and was determined to be there, despite illness, at her funeral, so that she could play her part in commending that daughter to God’s keeping. What resources did she draw upon? Whatever they are, from wherever they came, we may be thankful for the strength they gave her.
And it takes me back to that question: “What’s your religion?” Not just for this Easter weekend, but for each day of your life? Can we liberate religion from its associations with the tribe as something handed down and simply a matter of ritual?… Religious faith does indeed need to be passed on – and properly done, ritual has its place too. That’s why we light the Paschal candle and carry it into the unlit church for us all to receive the flame which tells of the risen Christ at work in us. That’s why we read the Gospel from the midst of the congregation – to say that the Word of God is proclaimed, received and acted upon by the ordinary people we are. Ordinary people, but capable of being transformed by the grace of God. And that is what we need to recognise when we come later in this service to affirm our Baptismal Faith, to acknowledge our need of God, and to believe that he can make a difference to all our lives.
What is a belief for? That’s a crucial question I recently heard addressed. I can’t remember how many impossible things Alice in Wonderland was called on to believe before breakfast. The problem is that so often people do see Christian faith as simply believing the impossible – even though it really makes no difference…. What difference does this Easter Day make? Is the story of the Resurrection just that – a story? St. Matthew tells us how an angel descended from heaven, rolled back the stone set against Jesus’ tomb, and then sat on it. It’s a fearful image: both the soldiers guarding the tomb and the women who came to anoint Jesus’ body are terrified by what they see – but it could be just a story, and getting a fright isn’t going to make a difference for the better. But it’s more than that story. Resurrection faith is what they find when they encounter the risen Jesus. It’s not the special effects of an angelic appearance and the third party report that his body is gone that makes the difference. It’s the meeting with Christ as they run away in their fear. It’s the knowledge that truly he is risen. It’s the sense that comes upon them that here is the cause for worship… Their lives are changed.
What is a belief for? It’s to bear witness to the change we find in ourselves – something that makes a difference to the people we are, and the way we live. Bishop Richard Holloway, one of the most thoughtful and critical of Christian thinkers, puts it this way: “If we say that we believe in the Resurrection, then it follows that we must be a Resurrection people.” Today, as we proclaim the risen Christ we see that he makes a difference – we need to see and believe in the possibility of transformation in people’s lives, in society, in my own nature. And it’s a transformation which must join us in common action with others – not something to be kept to myself. That’s what I see in the Easter ceremonies at the beginning of this Eucharist. We do not simply light a large candle and carry it into church…. We bring it in, and then we share the light. We don’t have to receive that light direct from the Paschal candle – it’s sufficient to receive it from our neighbours, and then to pass it on. Faith is to be received, not just to hold in our hearts to keep us warm,… but to pass on. It’s not just a matter of doctrines which we can opt to believe or not. Faith comes instead from the power of God which cannot be constrained, but which bursts out like Jesus from the tomb. No angel can sit on it… until the stone which entraps the divine spirit and darkens human life is well and truly rolled away.
We have the message of the witnesses to the Resurrection. Those women who went early on the first Easter morning and ran from an empty tomb to find the resurrected Christ meet them in their flight. Peter and the other disciples who tell us how they were able not only to see but also to eat and drink with the risen Jesus. But perhaps Peter only takes in what is truly happening when he sees the difference that an Easter faith can make. It’s there in our first reading from Acts chapter 10 where Peter must confront his prejudices. He hadn’t believed that God could really have anything to say except to a chosen people – people following a tribal religion… his religion as a Jew. Until he finds God already at work in Cornelius and his Gentile household. It’s only then that Peter can say, “I truly understand…” The message of the Resurrection is a message for all peoples, a message declared in lives which are transformed. It’s a message we re-affirm today. And it’s our engagement with it that proves the living reality of the Resurrection.
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The Good Shepherd & today's sheep
 4th Sunday of Easter – 21.iv.02
The Revd. Martin Jackson
Eucharist
(Acts 2.42-47; 1 Peter 2.19-25; John 10.1-10)
I read somewhere that we should always be careful with metaphors we find in the Bible. They tend in the first place to be mixed metaphors, and secondly they’re never perfect. So when Jesus says “I am the Good Shepherd”, he’s not giving an exact description of himself – but he’s giving us something to be going on with in our thinking. He paints an image which captures the imagination, draws us on, but we try to pin it down at our peril.
The image of Christ the Good Shepherd is one of the most compelling in the Bible. What do you say today’s Gospel is about? – and you’re likely to say it’s about Christ the Good Shepherd. Though in fact Jesus doesn’t actually say “I am the Good Shepherd” until the verse which follows the point at which we break off today. Instead Jesus himself is mixing the metaphors. He compares himself to other people who might claim to be shepherds but who in fact want only to steal the sheep or lead them astray. And then he gives us that strange metaphor: “I am the gate for the sheep.”
But again and again we come back to the imagery of Christ the Shepherd…. I remember visiting the catacombs in Rome, where you can see some of the most ancient examples of Christian art, and in one of the vaults there is perhaps the oldest ever depiction of Jesus – and he’s shown as a shepherd. A young man, unbearded, but with the sheep looking on. They know they’re safe with him. They hear his voice. This is the shepherd they will follow, the Jesus who was so compelling to those Christians of the second century, as he is to us in the 21st. I couldn’t find a copy of that picture, but discovered a similar one from the Baptistery in Ravenna which dates back to the fifth century – again an un-bearded Jesus, more formal and more sheep(!), but it’s an image which recurs throughout the centuries. In Ravenna that was the picture those to be baptised would see as they were led into the waters of Baptism. This is one you can trust; he is the one you can follow. I found another – this time modern African – picture which shows just that: the shepherd going on ahead of the flock – he carries one sheep, and the rest follow. And notice that Jesus does talk about the shepherd being the one who “calls the sheep by name and leads them out… the sheep follow him because they know his voice.”
It’s a potent image: the shepherd leading the flock. Traditionally in this country we’d think of a shepherd with his dog, driving the flock ahead. In our more modern times up the Derwent Valley and in Weardale, you’ll see the shepherd on a quad bike – and the dogs may well ride on the back, jumping down as required to head off the flock, nip at the sheep’s legs and keep them on course from the flank and behind. So it’s remarkable in a way that the Biblical image (the practice of the East) persists for us – the gentler picture of the shepherd going ahead, and the flock follow because they know his voice, they trust him. Do we hear the voice of Christ the Good Shepherd? Do we follow?
There’s lots of imagery in the Bible about sheep and shepherds. We sing Psalm 23 today: The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want… he leads me beside still waters, refreshes my soul, and is there, even in the valley of the shadow of death to comfort and protect. It’s there in the picture of Jesus’ ancestor, David, first a shepherd before he is a king – proving his bravery as he wrestles wild animals to protect the flock. And the flock above all is important. St. Mark’s Gospel tells us Jesus had compassion on the crowds because they were like sheep without a shepherd. In St. Luke’s Gospel, Jesus tells the parable of the lost sheep, which the shepherd goes out of his way to rescue and restore to the flock. And in St. Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus’ concern for his followers’ safety is compared to the shepherd’s fear of wolves coming upon the flock, while later he talks of judgment as the separation of sheep and goats. And all of this taps into the much more ancient tradition from the Old Testament, where the flock represents a people so readily taken advantage of by leaders who fatten themselves at the cost of the sheep. When Ezekiel uses this image, it is a cry for Justice. It’s good pasture which is intended by God for his people. It’s a Good Shepherd whom they need above all.
Do we see how much we need that Good Shepherd ourselves? When I started thinking about what I could say this morning, two pictures came to mind. One was that ancient image of Christ from the Roman Catacombs of Priscilla. The other was from that wonderful children’s book by Dick King-Smith, ‘Babe, the Sheep-Pig.’ The film of the book was on TV not so long ago, though I’m afraid I fell asleep during it. But reading the book aloud has stayed with me – even though I’m not sure I ever finished it. Babe is the young pig who escapes being fattened with the rest of the herd to grow up in a farm out-house with the sheep dogs. He watches them at their work, and has his own adventures in caring for the sheep. While the dogs know the skills of their job, Babe’s approach is different: He gets to know the sheep. He can talk to the sheep, use their language, he endears himself to the stupid creatures rather than outflanking them. In fact he loves the sheep, he gets up to the front with them, and puts himself in the way of the rustlers who come to steal the sheep. Isn’t this just like the eastern or African shepherd leading from the front, even carrying the sheep which can’t make it on its own? Whether or not you agree, I found these words from a review of the film version of Babe:
Babe is the good shepherd figure. The sheep come to know his voice because he genuinely cares for them… Christ seems to communicate thus to us, in languages and ways that are unique to us and in a genuine love for us. (Edie Bird/Mark Thomas)
It’s knowing and being known which is so important. With some of our Confirmation candidates, I found myself the other day looking at a picture of modern-day Palestinian shepherds. They had taken their flock to a well – just a hole in the ground into which they threw a bucket. These were people and sheep on the move. Like 2,000 and more years ago, they don’t have settled, fixed grazing – certainly none of the lush pasture in which we can see the lambs gambolling in our valley. They had to keep moving to keep the flock feeding, so often the sheep would be brought for the night to a common sheep-fold where they would be gathered with other flocks. But the next day they would move on to new pasture. And this is the time that the shepherd would come to the gate.
…. and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice.
They follow because they can trust. Another design of sheepfold seems to have had no built-in gate. Just an opening through which the sheep could enter, and then the shepherd would block up the opening by using his own body as he lay down to sleep for the night. Perhaps this is what Jesus is referring to when he says of himself, “I am the gate for the sheep.” With him there is safety. He brings in the flock, he keeps out the predator, and he can call to his own with a voice they recognise.
Do we hear that voice ourselves? Do we feel the presence of Christ at the gate and see where he calls us? He calls us into a fold like that of those first Christians in our reading from Acts: After their baptism, we’re told, they….
were added to the community. They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.
All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.
God calls them into community. They come because of the voice they hear, and they act upon what they hear.
God calls us to be built up in this community, to know we are safe with him. And to know that hearing his voice, he can lead us back out for service in his world.
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Many Rooms - God's and ours
5th Sunday of Easter – 28.iv.02
Eucharist - The Revd. Martin Jackson
(Acts 7.55-60; 1 Peter 2.2-10; John 14.1-14)
“Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
In today’s Gospel reading it’s Thomas the Apostle who has the courage to voice what the other disciples dare not put into words. Thomas perhaps suffers a bad press through the reputation which has led to his being known as “Doubting Thomas.” He gets that title because of his refusal to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead – it’s not enough for Thomas to take someone else’s word for it: he has to see it for himself. And of course he will see – and he will believe. But that is a luxury he has not so far been granted in today’s Gospel reading. It’s set during the Last Supper. Jesus has washed the feet of the disciples, and now begins a bewildering discourse, during which it dawns upon the disciples that he is taking his leave of them. By that time the next day, Jesus will be dead. For the moment, the disciples don’t know just what Jesus is talking about. But the uncertainty is bad enough. All the meaning they have found in their lives has come through following Jesus. They need him to go ahead of them. They need a sense of direction. But now they cannot see where Jesus is going. They cannot understand how they may follow. And it's Thomas who has the courage to say so.
“Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
If this is doubt, then first we must say that it’s honesty. We can be fired up with enthusiasm by people who give us a comfortable assurance of faith. But when we find ourselves less than comfortable – that’s when it pays to listen to the experience of those who know what it is to live with uncertainty, to wrestle with doubt, to people who are not afraid to confront their own experience of living on the edge of the void.
One of the foremost of 20th century poets must be the Welsh priest, R.S.Thomas. He died only about 18 months ago at the age of 87. His final reputation was that of reclusiveness mixed with a tendency to venture onto the public scene with some outrageous political views. His Welsh nationalism was mixed with a keen regret that he could only write poetry in English. His long ministry as an Anglican priest did not insulate him from uncertainty in matters of faith. But he would not hide from the contradictions he perceived in himself. Not least as a man of words, he relentlessly explored the silence he perceived: silence in which he prayed, but also silence which could denote the terrifying absence of God, silence in the non-appearance of answers, a silence which he might long to find broken, but in which he had the courage to dwell. It would be rash to state any final conclusions as to the sort of faith with which he ended his life. But we do have some clues from his own words….
R.S.Thomas concludes what he calls his Autobiographical Essay with a picture of himself kneeling in a room furnished with chairs and books, seeing Orion and Sirius above the bay, and knowing it ‘difficult to hold the two in proportion.’ It is an image he reproduces in a poem from his last collection, ‘At the End’:
Few possessions: a chair,
a table, a bed
to say my prayers by,
and, gathered from the shore,
the bone-like, crossed sticks
proving that nature
acknowledges the Crucifixion.
All night I am at
a window not too small
to be frame to the stars
that are no further off than the city lights
I have rejected…
Thomas never comes to easy conclusions about God. He resists the temptation to domesticate a God he finds strangely revealed in the created order, a God who so often eludes him in prayer. But at the same time he finds the reality of God meeting him just where he is – living amongst the few possessions which are necessary, in a small room, with a window not too small to frame stars which seem so near. It’s a poem of maturity after a life of searching – and it points to God in utter simplicity, and says, “We meet him here. We know God because he reveals himself in those things which have become familiar to us.”
“I am the way”, says Jesus. And it isn’t really an answer to St. Thomas’s question about the way they should take – because Jesus is going to leave the disciples. But they have seen what / who he is. In Jesus, they have found God brought into the human picture. Can we not see it? “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places,” says Jesus. “… there are many rooms,” as other translations put it. Jesus does not speak of God’s plan as something beyond our understanding. He doesn’t give us directions which will require an understanding beyond our attainment. He simply is “the Way.” Heaven is not beyond the realm of earthly knowledge – it’s simply his “Father’s house” with its many rooms. We see where we are called when we see where we are now. We understand eternal life, when we are ready and honest enough to grapple with life when and where it really is lived.
The goodness and providence of God is recognised by the Psalmist when he declares “Thou hast set my feet in a large room” (Ps.31.8). God gives us all that we need, and the space to find and enjoy it. Contrast that with those words with which St. Luke’s Gospel makes its first mention of the world’s failure in relation to God: “There was no room for them in the inn.” This is a world which so often has no space for God, which can leave the vulnerable and weak to fend for themselves, which is too busy to hear the voices which may give direction – or which is too noisy to confront the silence in which God may speak to the heart.
But into this world Christ comes, and declares himself “The Way”. He calls us to that house of his Father with its many rooms. “Thou hast set my feet in a large room,” says the Psalmist – but a small one may suffice. I’m struck by the peace and serenity of R.S.Thomas’s room in that poem he calls “At the End.” It’s resonant of what we find in the room prepared by the woman of Shunem for the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 4.10), who agrees with her husband:
“… this man who regularly passes our way is a holy man of God. Let us make a small roof chamber with walls, and put there for him a bed, a table, a chair and a lamp, so that he can stay whenever he comes to us.”
This is about encountering the holy – and all that is required is the simplest of things, a small room and the hospitality which provides it.
It’s God’s hospitality which is the hope for Thomas (both the saint of that name and the poet R.S.!),… for the disciples and for all who have heard God’s call through the centuries. “There are many rooms in my Father’s house.” Room enough – and to spare. But even more, Jesus tells us, "I go to prepare a place for you.” He will do it – and he does it for us.
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