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The Source of Living Water
 3rd Sunday of Lent
Sunday 27th February 2005
Rosie Junemann,
Reader of St. Cuthbert's
Exodus 17.1-7
Romans 5. 1-11
John 4. 5-42
I was a bit surprised, when glancing at the TV ratings for the end of January, to see ‘A Seaside Parish’ up there in the charts. For those who haven’t seen ‘A Seaside Parish’, I should perhaps explain that this was the second part of a series which portrayed the life of the parish of Boscastle in Cornwall, and the work of its priest Christine Musser. Christine and her family moved to Boscastle in 2003. It’s a parish which presented her with a number of challenges. But progress was steady. Christine introduced a Christmas Crib Service and a regular family service, and fund-raising for church maintenance was successful. And then disaster struck. On the 16th August 2004 Boscastle was hit by the worst flash floods in living memory. The harbour and the village centre were devastated. Christine and others from the church were active in giving emergency help and in co-ordinating the relief effort. And there have been some positive benefits from the flood. Michael Parsons, a Reader at Boscastle, writes: “There has been a great sense of people caring and pulling together …….. Although Boscastle used to be seen as almost two communities – uphill and downhill - we found that over this there has really been one community working together”.
Today’s Old Testament reading and Gospel are both about water, too, though it’s perhaps more of a trickle than a flash flood!
Our Old Testament reading is about thirsty people. When they fled from captivity in Egypt, the Israelites journeyed south through the barren wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula. In Egypt they had had plenty to eat and fresh water to drink. But in the hot, dry wilderness they were forced to subsist on manna and quails, and water was very scarce. The people complained to Moses and questioned whether God was still with them on their journey. How could Moses meet their needs, and restore their faith in God? But God provided for them from the rock at Horeb. Sinai limestone retains moisture. By striking the rock with his staff, as God instructed, Moses was able to release water so that the people could drink.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus was also thirsty. He was travelling with the disciples from Judea to Galilee through Samaria, a journey which takes about three days on foot. In the hot Mediterranean climate they had probably started out early in the morning. Now it was about noon. They have arrived at Jacob’s Well, near the village of Sychar. The disciples had gone off into the village to buy food.
It’s important to remember that, at this time, relations between the Jews and the Samaritans were very strained. In fact, many people travelling from Judea to Galilee would have taken the longer, rougher route which avoided Samaritan territory altogether. Moreover, the Jews would not share eating and drinking vessels with Samaritans, whom they regarded as ‘unclean’. And many devout Jewish men would not have allowed themselves to be alone with a woman. So it’s all the more surprising that Jesus approached the Samaritan woman to ask for a drink and entered into a prolonged conversation with her.
It’s worth looking at the rather convoluted conversation which follows from the point of view of the Samaritan woman herself. She has come to the well in the heat of the noon-day sun, possibly to avoid the company of others, who would have gathered there at a cooler time of the day. She must have been startled by the presence of a stranger and, recognising that he is a Jew, even more surprised to be asked to give him a drink. But there are more surprises to come! The Samaritan woman knew the stories associated with Jacob’s Well. Not only was this well given to the people by their ancestor Jacob, but there was also a legend which associated Jacob with a miracle, in which the water in the well would bubble up to the top and continuously overflow. Now she is confronted by a man who tells her that the water he can give will become for those who drink it ‘a spring of water gushing up to eternal life’. Can he be greater than Jacob? But it’s not until Jesus impresses her with his insight into her personal life that the woman realises that Jesus is someone very special indeed. First, she declares that he is a prophet, and finally she recognises him as the Messiah, ‘the one who is to come, who will proclaim all things to us’.
It’s worth asking ourselves why John included this particular story in his Gospel. Last week we heard how Nicodemus, a wealthy Jewish leader with a thirst for knowledge, sought Jesus out to find out more about his teaching – and failed to understand. This week it is Jesus who seeks out - not the rich and famous, but a very ordinaryperson– a foreigner, a woman, a second-class citizen. It is to her that Jesus reveals himself – the gift of God – the Saviour of the world. And it is to everyone who knows the gift of God, that Jesus offers the living water which leads to eternal life.
Water is, of course, essential to life. In this part of the world we have more than our fair share of it! But more that 1 billion people – about one-sixth of the world’s population – don’t have access to safe water supplies. As we think today about the Israelites, thirsty and complaining in the Sinai wilderness, and about Jesus, thirsty and weary on the dusty road through Samaria, it’s worth sparing a thought for people in today’s world who still lack this most basic human necessity.
But, of course, when Jesus speaks of ‘living water’, he is speaking not of the water which is basic to human physical survival, but of the spiritual water which is essential for our Christian growth and development, the spring of water which brings eternal life. In both a physical and in a spiritual sense, water is important for refreshment and cleansing. We can hear this duality of meaning in the Prayer over the Water, which we use in our Baptism Service: “We thank you, almighty God, for the gift of water to sustain, refresh and cleanse all life”. But above all, both for the Jews and for Christians, water is associated with God “the fountain of the living waters” and with the unrestricted flow of God’s blessings on his people.
Are we to think, then, of ‘the living water’ which Jesus promises as a benign and gentle stream? By no means! This living water is a spring of water gushing up – a spring which can become a stream, a waterfall, a river, a torrent. There is nothing underwhelming about God and the blessings he pours out on us! In our daily lives we may sometimes feel that we are on a dry and dusty road, in a parched wilderness – a landscape in which there seems to be no hope and no relief. Doesn’t it sometimes seem that life is full of pain, or fraught with difficulties, or simply a dull routine from which there is no escape? We may thirst for many things – for power, wealth, fame, knowledge, adventure, reputation. It’s all too easy to lose sight of that well of living water, which is there to sustain, cleanse and refresh us - to recognise and satisfy our spiritual thirst for God’s love, his grace, his compassion, his peace and his joy.
I’ve been cooped up in the house for far too long, recently – due in part to the bad weather and partly to poor health. But as the weather improves, I’m looking forward to getting out into the countryside, to get some fresh air and exercise, and to look for signs of spring. I hope there’ll be no more floods like the one at Boscastle. But I can be sure that, wherever I go, there will be reminders for me of that living water promised in today’s Gospel. Whether I’m by the River Tees at High Force, or beside the Derwent at Gibside, or even walking all the way round Crummock Water, there’ll be a torrent of fresh water which is a visible reminder of the assurance of God’s abundant blessing and the unfailing promise of eternal life.
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Mothering Sunday
 6th March 2005
Rosie Junemann,
Reader of St. Cuthbert's
“For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you. And my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you” (Isaiah 54.10)
Words written by the prophet Isaiah thousands of years ago, which speak of God’s promise of faithfulness to us; an unshakable compassion and steadfast love.
Today is a day of celebration. It’s a day specifically to celebrate motherhood and to give thanks for our mothers. But it’s day, too, to give thanks for what the hymn calls ‘all the joys of human love, brother, sister, parent, child, friends on earth and friends above’.
While we say thank you to God for his love and for the love of our families and friends, it’s important to remember people for whom love seems distant and for whom life seems hopeless. In this year in particular, our thoughts turn to all those who have suffered because of the Asian tsunami. Children like Vineeta, Anita and Poorna Risi in the village of Pettoda in India. When the great wave struck on the morning of the 26th December, the three girls, their father, mother and younger brother were sleeping in their house made of clay and palm leaves. The girls and their father were the only survivors from their family as the wave plunged 800 metres inland. Their mother Giria and brother Vinod were swept away by the sea. Their house was devastated.
In Banda Aceh, in Indonesia, Rina was found alone and suffering from a fever after the tsunami. She is only four or five years old and had been separated from her parents, her two sisters and her whole extended family.
In many other parts of the world, too, families are suffering from the impact of natural disasters, war and famine. In sub-Saharan Africa alone, 12 million children have been orphaned by the Aids epidemic. In camps for displaced people in Darfur, mothers watch helplessly as their children die from starvation and disease. Here in Britain some children lack mothering for a whole variety of reasons. Many children as young as five are having to assume the burden of caring for sick or disabled relatives. It can mean that children who can barely look after themselves have to cook, clean, wash clothes and do the family shopping. The Children’s Society states that there are 150 child carers registered in County Durham alone.
But remember:
“… the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you. And my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you” (Isaiah 54.10)
In our Old Testament story today, when the mother of Moses, was unable to care for him any longer, the daughter of Pharaoh found him in his basket among the reeds and took good care of him. And in our Gospel reading, when Jesus was no longer able to take care of his mother, he asked a friend whom he loved to take care of her in his place.
Vineeta and Anita and Poorna Risi in India are still grieving for their mother and brother, but their father and the workers from the children’s charity UNICEF are there to care for them. Rina in Banda Aceh is loved and cared for by Mutya, a mother with two children of her own, with the support of workers from Save the Children. Mutya says that it is God’s will that Rina was brought to her and she’s glad that she was able to help in some small way. Many orphaned children in Africa are cared for by aunts and uncles, grandparents or older brothers and sisters.
God’s steadfast love is revealed through the actions of people who respond out of compassion to the needs of those affected. ‘Mothering’ or ‘nurturing’ is the response of each and every one of us to vulnerable people – to people who need our love and concern and compassion and care. We have our part to play in caring for God’s family, whether those we care for are close to us, in our own community, or far away in Africa or Asia.
Speaking of the international response to the Asian tsunami, a spokesman for UNICEF echoes the thoughts of many, when he states that extensive, heartfelt support from donors throughout the world have made it possible for aid agencies to deliver immediate help to suffering people in large quantities, and to continue the long-term rebuilding of communities, restoring hope to the lives of many thousands of children.
“… the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you. And my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you” (Isaiah 54.10)
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Lazarus and the Path to the Cross
 Lent 5 `
13 March 2005
Paul Heatherington,
Reader of St. Cuthbert's
John 11.1-45
Today we look at the death and resurrection of Lazarus and reflect on its place in Christ’s passion which follows it. I shall begin by running through the sequence of events in the Gospel of John.
1. As Jesus was teaching in Jerusalem at the Feast of Dedication, the people try to stone him for ‘blasphemy’.
2. Jesus and his disciples then leave Jerusalem, and cross the Jordan and stay near the place where John had baptised. (Do you wonder why Jesus was baptised by John? Might Jesus have seen John as the Messiah, and on being baptised the heavens opened and God in effect said, “Not him, YOU!”?)
3. At Bethany Lazarus is taken ill. Lazarus is the brother of Mary and Martha. The two women send a message to Jesus.
4. Jesus does not leave for Bethany immediately. He waits two days.
5. Jesus and the disciples go to Bethany. The disciples fear there will be a further attempt to stone Jesus. There they find that Lazarus is dead and has been buried four days. As we heard, Jesus raises Lazarus to life.
6. Eyewitnesses report the event to the Sanhedrin. They plot to kill Jesus and Lazarus.
7. Jesus travels to Ephraim with the disciples for some seclusion before his passion.
Now let’s study the window on the right above the altar depicting the raising of Lazarus:
• Jesus has his arm raised commanding Lazarus by name to come out of the tomb. Jesus holds a cloth in his left hand. This alludes to the stench of the tomb of a body in a hot country after Lazarus had been interred four days.
• The woman shown kneeling in an attitude of begging or prayer to Jesus could be Mary or Martha. I think it is Martha.
• Lazarus is shown outside the tomb in a vertical position which may have been the manner of entombment. Other paintings of the scene show Lazarus in the prone position, prefiguring the death and resurrection of Jesus.
• The expression on the man’s face portrays astonishment. Look at how startled he is. His face is wracked with fear. Has he helped to take Lazarus from the tomb? Has he unbound some of the bandages binding Lazarus?
• Jesus is more distant than Martha and Lazarus, but the artist makes Jesus the primary focus of attention. See how Jesus dwarfs all the other figures. It is possible to miss noticing Martha, in the shade of Jesus.
• Look at the background. The tree draws attention to Jesus and to Jerusalem. Bethany is near Jerusalem. Can you see it on the left? That is where Jesus is to head. This picture sets the scene for the death and resurrection of Jesus.
The account of Lazarus is in one Gospel only: the Gospel of John. No other story like the death and resurrection of Lazarus is recorded in the New Testament. The raising of Jairus’s daughter and the widow’s son at Nain follow their deaths immediately. John makes it clear that Lazarus was dead and not in a coma. Four days elapsed after Lazarus had died before Jesus went to Bethany. There is significance in four days. The Jewish belief was that the spirit of a dead person hovered around the body and only left it after four days.
Martha and Mary did not ask Jesus to do anything. They simply made Him aware of their need, knowing that because He loved and cared, He would respond appropriately Martha told Jesus, “I know that, even now, whatever you ask of God, he will grant you.” Jesus told Martha, “I am the resurrection. If anyone believes in me, even though he dies, he will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.” Faith in the resurrection was the condition of Lazarus being restored to life.
Jesus then prayed. The power that Jesus exercised was God’s power through prayer. What Jesus did was not to glorify himself. His intention was to give glory to God.
Lazarus is brought back to life. John does not tell us how Lazarus got out of the tomb still bound with the grave clothes. Some explain this by suggesting that his legs may have been bandaged separately. The power of God brought back to life Lazarus’ decomposing body, so he could have also been moved. Lazarus did not receive new life; he was restored to his old life. In due course he was physically to die again. The miracle caused many to believe in Jesus. Lazarus became something of a curiosity. People wanted to see for themselves the man whom Jesus had brought back to life. And Jesus was to receive a rapturous reception when he entered Jerusalem.
The resurrection of Jesus is quite different to that of Lazarus. On the first Easter the grave clothes stayed neatly folded in the tomb. Unlike Lazarus, Jesus would never have need of grave clothes again. By His death on the cross and resurrection, Jesus offers new life to those who believe. His promise is of another kind of life. The condition is faith. If you believe in Jesus, even though you die, you will live, and if you live and believe in Jesus you will never die. Death is not the end. Death prepares for that new life.
Jesus wants us to have life before death. If you feel bound with problems, if you feel entombed in sin, today Jesus wants you to be freed and calls you by you name and says to you, “Come out!”
Jewish religious leaders feared the kind of publicity Jesus was getting. Jesus had to be got rid of … and Lazarus too; he was the proof of Jesus’ power. This was a movement with popular support, led by a Messiah-figure. Political repercussions were inevitable. The Romans, as the occupying power, were ever vigilant for signs of rebellion. This was not merely a clash over religious things.
Today begins the season of Passiontide. We are now near the close of Jesus’ public ministry; the events of Passion Week mostly took place privately, in the Upper Room Jesus is on His way to Jerusalem, where, in obedience and love for the Father, He will die and rise again.
Jesus asks this, “Will you walk with me during the next two weeks on my way to the cross and resurrection?”
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Good Friday
 25th March 2005
Solemn Liturgy - John 18 & 19
Martin Jackson,
Vicar of St. Cuthbert's
As I fed the cat this morning, I found myself asking if I really should be opening the pouch of Whiskas beef in jelly that I held in my hand. Good Friday is traditionally observed as a day of fasting, a day to abstain from meat – so shouldn’t the cat go vegetarian? I suppose Chloe’s exempt, though maybe we should insist on fish only today – but what about the children? Can I face frying bacon for them? Not for me. The tradition is too far ingrained – it has to be light vegetarian meals, though it will be fish and chips after this service.
But as I said this morning, we can make Good Friday into rather too gloomy a day of fasting and morbidity. This is the day that Christ died. But as we proclaim in the Eucharist – yes… “Christ has died,” but also “Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” What Christ did that first Good Friday is done, done once and done for all time. We don’t need to repeat it. There’s nothing for us to repeat. “He only could unlock the gate of heaven and let us in…” – it’s important that we get the emphasis right in that hymn of Mrs. Aleaxander. “He only..” – it’s not all that he managed to do; it’s what he alone could accomplish. We simply need to recognise this. Hence the writer who said that just an hour in church on Good Friday is sufficient, and then you should go off and play football. It’s recognising what God in Christ has done for us, so that we can get on with everyday living as everyday people who have been redeemed by his love.
On Good Friday we perhaps think we know what we should do: fast, pray, look gloomy?... But what is more important is that we recognise what Good Friday shows us to be really real. That God puts us in touch with life as it should be by showing us what brings Jesus to the Cross. Christ’s death comes about because of what the world is when it’s left to its own devices, when it won’t listen to God, when it fails to recognise our humanity.
It’s easy for us to miss the point of things. We do it every day. Just two instances from yesterday’s Today programme on Radio 4. First a speaker defending the right of prospective parents to choose the sex of children born by In Vitro Fertilisation – the present restrictions on embryology should be loosened, he said, because “Morality is different for different people.” I hope he hadn’t thought about that before he said it. Surely morality is about what’s moral, not just a matter of what I prefer. The customer may always be right, but surely there need to be limits as to what you can buy. Morality is at least about mores, the common beliefs which bind us together as people – what gives us value because we are human. We may disagree, but if there is to be one morality for you and a different one for me, then we’re actually saying there is no morality at all. This is a step beyond multi-culturalism and inclusivism. It’s an assertion that anything goes. And today we might ask, if “anything goes” what did Christ come to redeem the world from? What’s the point?
Perhaps we can say a little too glibly that we go on crucifying Christ. But in very real ways we do. That’s what I realised in my second example from that radio programme. A former government minister was on the programme to defend the decision to go to war over Iraq. After he had rehearsed all his arguments he was posed the question, “so what can you say to the families of soldiers who died in the conflict, who now ask whether their loved ones died for a cause without any legal basis?” To which he answered: “The Attorney General has said the conflict was legal, and that’s good enough for me, and it should be good enough for the whole country.” Good enough, he almost said, for all those bereaved partners, parents and children who should just get on with their lives.
What he said came so close to the words of Caiaphas, recorded by St. John’s Gospel, where the chief priests are shown plotting the death of Jesus: “It’s better that one man should die for the sake of the nation.” What are the assumptions with which we live? Politically perhaps Caiaphas was right. And the people who put Jesus on the Cross went out of their way to create a legal case. There was due process in what the religious court could and could not do, in checking for potential conflicts of jurisdiction between King Herod and the governor, Pontius Pilate. And when the legalities didn’t quite work out, there was room for interpretation. So that Pilate, recorded by St. Luke, can declare, “I find no case in law against him… therefore I will have him flogged…” Appeasement wins out over innocence. And in less dramatic ways, so often we take the easy way out, make our excuses, change track in daily life, abandon principle…
The Cross – and Jesus on it – shows what happens in our world when we follow our own ways. But it shows us also the one who has the means to set us free from our self-centredness, who shows us God in our midst dying to bring us life, and also reveals the real humanity which we so readily miss, which we so necessarily need to acknowledge as a shared humanity. The Cross puts us in touch with God, in touch with each other, in touch with ourselves – if only we can acknowledge it. In a few moments we extend the invitation to reach out and touch the Cross, which we proclaim not only in words but physically in moving towards it. Martin Warner, in his book “Known to the Senses,” writes of the importance of this part of the Good Friday Liturgy:
On Good Friday the liturgy provides an opportunity for us to express the statement of commonality in the veneration of the Cross. For some, this is literally a touch in the form of a kiss. For others, it is the touch of contrition that brings us, also literally, to our knees. It is a moment that conveys to us the gift of the Holy Spirit, for which the sign of touch is the normal expression in the laying-on of hands. Those who gather to be with Jesus as he is taken to the limit of the darkness of death are those to whom his spirit is handed over. ‘And bowing his head he gave up his Spirit’ (John 19.30). The Greek word that St. John uses for this is the word used for tradition. Jesus hands over his Spirit to those who stand with him at the Cross…
(But) the challenge of the handing over of the Spirit on Good Friday presents us with stark choices. If we touch the hem of his robe, if we come to the cross, there is the danger that everything that we are will be revealed. Could you go that far?...
How far can you go? We have come to stand at the foot of the Cross. Can we recognise the one who hangs there as the Son of God? Can we recognise the humanity of the one who is nailed there to suffer and die? Can it lead us further into recognising the humanity of those about us, and acting upon that recognition? Can we take up our cross and follow Jesus?
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Go and tell...
 Easter Day – Eucharist
27 March 2005
Martin Jackson,
Vicar of St. Cuthbert's
Acts 10.34-43;
Matthew 28.1-10
The first Easter morning… The risen Jesus meets the women as they leave the empty tomb, and says to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.’
This is St. Matthew’s account of the Resurrection, and it’s notable for what the disciples do not see. The male disciples anyway. The ‘brothers’ – to use Jesus’ word – will have to wait. What has happened will become clear to them only later. They need to go to Galilee first. What they will see in the last verses of St. Matthew’s Gospel is only a parting glimpse of Jesus before he leaves to go to his Father in heaven… and while the response of most of them is to worship Jesus, still, we’re told, ‘some doubted.’ Faith in the risen Christ is not going to be presented to them neatly wrapped and gift-packaged.
The evidence in St. Matthew’s Gospel is that many people had to struggle with what had happened that first Easter morning. For Matthew the witnesses who can provide the best physical evidence of what happened are the Roman guards who’d been left to make sure no one stole the body of Jesus. Their experience is of an earthquake, and of a descending angel who rolls back the stone from the entrance of the tomb ‘and sat on it.’ Who would believe that? They shake with fear at the sight, and are like dead men. Perhaps they think they soon will be dead men because they’re now left with an empty tomb and no body. There’s a lot of explaining to do. And St. Matthew recognises that too. He tells us that the guards get paid off by the authorities to keep quiet about what had happened. Clearly from the start there would be disputed versions of what had happened… with some saying the disciples had stolen the body, and with the disciples saying that this is a version bought with hush money.
The problem for the first leaders of the church is that they weren’t there. Peter, James and John may be the men who were closest to Jesus in his life and work, but it’s two of the women – two of the Marys, Mary Magdalene and one described as ‘the other Mary’ – who go to the tomb of Jesus as a new day dawns. They find not a body but an angel – perhaps you can picture him still sitting on that stone which he’d rolled back. It’s not clear whether the women had experienced the earthquake and what the angel did. Only that now they’re afraid. Something has happened beyond their comprehension. No guards to get in their way. No huge boulder to block up the tomb. An invitation to look inside and see that Jesus is gone. But we’re not told that they did. They don’t hang around but leave fast. And only then do they find Jesus standing before them. Jesus is not at the tomb. They find him as they set about doing what they must… which is to tell other people what they have found.
The message of the angel is what we – like those first women disciples – need to hear: ‘He has been raised… he’s not here… go and find him somewhere else.’ On Easter Day we are not to hang around the tomb moping. We’re to recognise a new direction. The women have a new task, which is to tell the men what they have found, and those men are going to have to listen, however obtuse they may have been in the past. They all have to move on: the women to find the courage to tell the other disciples what they’ve seen; those others to go to Galilee to find Jesus. Faith requires that all of them recognise a new task, a new calling which will receive meaning as they encounter the risen Christ in fulfilling it.
Lo, Jesus meets us risen from the tomb,
lovingly he greets us, scatters fear and gloom…
These words that we’ll sing at the end of our Eucharist sum it up for us. We can look and look till we despair, but it’s Christ who is ahead of us on the road and waiting. We are not to seek him at the tomb, among the dead, because he is ready for us amongst the living and reaching out to show us a new life. An ancient homily used by the early Church on Holy Saturday tells how Jesus searches even amongst the dead to free them from the underworld:
For you, I your God became your son; for you, I the Master took on your form, that of slave; for you, I who am above the heavens came on earth and under the earth; … for you, who left a garden, I was handed over … from a garden and crucified in a garden…
See the scourging on my back, which I accepted to disperse the load of sins which was laid upon your back. See my hands nailed to the tree for a good purpose for you, who stretched out your hand to the tree for an evil one…
But arise, let us go hence. The enemy brought you out of the land of paradise; I will reinstate you,.. but on the throne of heaven.
‘Let us go hence.’ That’s the invitation of the risen Christ to the dead and the living. ‘Tell the disciples,’ says Jesus to the women who had come to the tomb. ‘Go to Galilee,’ he tells the disciples – and from there they will have to move on still further to the ends of the earth with a message for all peoples. Journey on, and Christ will be there to meet us on our way.
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One Wedding and a Funeral
 | 3rd Sunday of Easter – Eucharist
10th April 2005
Martin Jackson,Vicar of St. Cuthbert's
Acts 2.14a, 36-41;
1 Peter 1.17-23;
Luke 24.13-35
Yesterday afternoon I watched the service from St. George’s Chapel, Windsor in which the Prince of Wales and his new wife – now the Duchess of Cornwall – came for the blessing of their marriage. I felt for them. They’ve been through a lot, and I doubt we know the half of it. After failing first to get married in Windsor Castle itself, having to transfer their wedding into the town’s Guildhall and then to fend off the media and some pretty well malicious objections to their marriage, they get to the final straight only to have to alter all their plans for the funeral of the Pope… I’m sure they did the right thing. Though of course then they had to make sure they got through the Service of Prayer and Dedication with the Archbishop of Canterbury before the running of the Grand National on the same afternoon.
The service itself was more modest than the Prince’s previous marriage in St. Paul’s Cathedral with only 800 guests this time, and robed clergy totalling only two – rather fewer than we’re sometimes accustomed to here at St. Cuthbert’s! But it reminded me of what is sometimes called one of the “glories” of the Church of England – the Anglican Choral tradition. The choir sang – and sang well. You can catch the sort of thing I mean if you come back to church this evening for Choral Evensong here, but you know what I mean… and we’re fortunate to have Durham Cathedral just down the road where you can catch a top-notch choir in full flight most evenings of the week and three times on a Sunday. And yet… I felt the occasion only lifted off after the vows were affirmed, and the congregation got to sing “Praise my soul the King of Heaven.” At last – you could sense – here’s the chance for us all to join in! – and they did, with gusto.
Actually there was rather less joining in, I think, at the Pope’s funeral in St. Peter’s Square – notwithstanding the congregation of 400,000 and millions more throughout the city of Rome and around the world. Not just because much of it was in Latin – you could see the point of that when the other languages included English, Italian, Portuguese, Tagalog, Greek and Swahili. But they didn’t sing hymns and the choir was up against the immensity of the setting. Yet there were other ways to join in, not least with applause again and again, and with the chanting of the Pope’s name. It can’t be denied that this funeral was one of the most moving occasions possible. And it made points which the media didn’t necessarily understand. Like a Prince of Wales – sat next but one to the almost universally loathed President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe – who should be briefed that he will be expected to share the Peace with him… and that this is rather more than a handshake which he could refuse if he hadn’t been taken by surprise. Perhaps in exchanging that handshake, each needed to be able to reflect on what is meant by calling it a “sign of peace.” We need to be able to do that too. It seems that the Presidents of Israel and Iran did manage it – and used their shared Farsi language to wish peace to each other’s people. Would it not be ironic – and rather wonderful – if their respective Jewish and Muslim countries, divided by hatred and threats, could be drawn to dialogue through their participation in an aspect of Christian liturgy? Sharing the Peace is not something to decline – it’s there to make us ask why it’s there and how we are relating to the people standing next to us.
We can’t always be ready for those things that will make a difference to our perception. At the Pope’s funeral what was most striking – I think – was not the glorious liturgy and the marvellous choreography behind it, but the coffin of the man who had drawn everyone there. It could have been made of expensive materials, richly ornamented, but instead was made of plain cypress – the knots in the bare wood there to be seen, the well-fashioned joints in the corners a reminder that the coffin held a follower of one who had himself been a carpenter. Simply made, without decoration, it was placed on the ground. Look and see – it declared – from the dust of earth we are made – and to dust we return. Popes and princes, peasants and paupers, all come to the same end.
But that is not something to lament. Because our end is a glorious calling. The final sight for most of the Pope’s earthly remains was when those who bore his body turned before entering the Basilica of St. Peter to show his coffin to the crowd one last time. And to do that said – not that death had triumphed – but that here was one who had encountered suffering, had known the frailty of our mortal nature and who could face death because he knew the message of the Cross, and through it could have hope and faith in the Resurrection. We can’t plan how we can attain eternal glory for ourselves. We can’t buy salvation, however wealthy we may be. We can’t lay claim to God’s favour because we might occupy an earthly throne whether it be in a palace, a cathedral or a boardroom. “We brought nothing into this world, and we take nothing out.” Even a wooden box for our burial is provided only at the discretion of others.
But it is God who has first given us life, and who calls us to new life. Can we recognise that? – not by calculation but by openness to the God who speaks to us in Jesus, who comes close to us as the breath we breathe by his own divine breath, the Holy Spirit?
That’s what St. Peter – the first Bishop of Rome – asks of the crowds in Jerusalem in our first reading. Can they see that the man crucified by other men and women, denied recognition of his kingship by those who struggled to hang on to their own power-base, that this man shows us the way to God? All they need is an open heart. All we need is to recognise that we might have had it wrong, but admit our need and God is there waiting to receive us.
That’s what is experienced by those two disciples on the road to Emmaus on the first Easter Day. They’d hoped for so much from the Jesus they’d followed, and all their hopes seemed to be dashed when he had been killed on the Cross. And as for those women who’d been to Jesus’ tomb and claimed to have found it empty… they couldn’t make any sense of that! What these disciples feel – Cleopas and one whose name isn’t even recorded – is not something peculiar to them. It could be true for any of us. We feel that we’ve wrestled as much as we can with our faith. We’ve done all we can. We’ve listened to so much of what other people have to say about what we should believe, but it just doesn’t ring true. It’s then that we simply have to admit how we feel. Like those two who open up to a stranger on the road. Only later will they realise that God is listening all along, that Christ is as close to us as the neighbour we don’t understand or the stranger we don’t recognise. There’s a lesson for us in the way they behave: however they may feel they don’t give up on hospitality… they welcome a stranger into their house. And it’s because they invite him to share their food, that they can recognise the risen Jesus when he takes the bread, blesses and breaks it and gives it to them. It’s then they see that this is the Christ who gives himself for us on the Cross, and who is risen to call us into new life.
And so in this Eucharist we take bread and wine at the altar. “This is my Body… This is my Blood…” We don’t need wealth or power or lavish ceremony, because Christ will meet us where we are and as we are. Already he is with us – we just need to recognise him.
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Opening the Gate
 | 4th Sunday of Easter – Eucharist
17th April 2005
Martin Jackson, Vicar of St. Cuthbert's
Acts 2.42-47;
1 Peter 2.19-25;
John 10.1-10
I’d like to read the most recent mailing from the Roman Catholic Diocese of Hexham and Newcastle’s Mission in Peru. It caught my attention because the priest who leads this particular work is Fr. Joe Plumb, not long ago Curate of St. Mary’s, Blackhill – quite a few of you will know him:
Dear Friends,
Just to ask you to keep us in your prayers as of tomorrow morning when we set off for 3 months of visits along the rivers of the parish of San Pedro Pescador (Saint Peter the Fisherman).
I have been anxious to go for about a week now as it is several months since we have seen the animadores (the lay leaders of the 65 communities which make up the parish) and I'm always eager to see how they and there communities are getting on.
The team for the visits is:-
Eduardo & Carlos The two boat-drivers (one to navigate the boat, the other to watch out for floating tree-trunks, chop back over-hanging branches in the creeks& clear the rudder of weeds when we "snag" it.
Edson & Mari 2 catechists who will lead sessions with children & young people-prayer& Scripture study, some sacramental preparation, teaching new hymns, etc...
Hermana (Sr.) Maria & myself: To meet with the community, discuss their concerns, assess their progress as a Christian community & see what help & support the parish can offer them.
At the end of the visit in each place we will celebrate with the people (sometimes it's a celebration of the Eucharist, more often the community is not sufficiently mature in their faith for that yet & so we have a Celebration of the Word of God & of the life of the community).
Hopefully there'll be somewhere reasonably comfortable to sleep, a school or chapel floor or the house of the animadore, where we can drop our sleeping mats & put up our mosquito-nets & they'll give us a meal of some kind-usually rice or yucca with fish or meat (when it's meat, I've stopped asking what kind...best not to know!)
Will be out of contact during this time (April 11th to June 18th) but accompanied by your thoughts & prayers I know we'll be fine.
Pray that all our encounters & meetings be real encounters with the presence of the Risen Christ alive & inspiring the lives of the communities.
I read this letter – not just because it’s from someone local who’s now doing something on the other side of the world – but as an encouragement to us all to ask, “How can I respond to my calling as a Christian?” Joe Plumb grew up in the North-East, trained at Ushaw College (not far away from us), was ordained to serve in our local Roman Catholic parish, and then moved on to Ashington. While he was still living here, he made his first visits to Peru – during his holidays, when he’d visit his uncle, another priest working in that country. Did he know when he started on the course which took him to ordination that he would end up in the jungle of South America? I confess… until I read about Joe’s work in Peru, I didn’t know that that country had jungle areas. But look at what his work entails now. I didn’t want to have to commit three days to go away on our Diocesan Conference last week. Joe has set off in a boat for over three months to be able to visit the people of his parish. And from experience he knows it won’t be plain sailing. He needs other people with him, just so the boat can get through the overgrown jungle. He doesn’t know where he’ll find a roof over his head – just the hope that there’ll be a floor where he can lay a sleeping-mat, and a meal to keep his strength up. In this country we get anxious when we can’t get hold of people when we want to (when we say we need to), so we have phones, mobiles, fax machines and e-mail. Joe has to say simply that he’ll be out of contact from April 11th to June 18th.
And it’s all to enable him to do the work he feels God is calling him to.
Today is observed by the Church (Anglican and Roman Catholic) as Vocation Sunday. It’s a reminder that we all have a calling by virtue of our Baptism. We pray particularly for the calling of men and women to serve as priests, or as religious (monks, nuns and friars), as Readers (like Rosie and Paul) or in many other officially recognized ministries of the Church. But it’s not only the calling of a few which should be our concern.
This Sunday of the year has become a day for thinking about vocations because it’s also known as “Shepherd Sunday” – Christ the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep, who cares for the flock. So it’s been seen as a day for asking who might take on that task of pastoral care and provision. But we shouldn’t limit it so much. Read today’s Gospel and you don’t find Jesus referring to himself as the Shepherd of the flock – that will come later (in the verse which follows the ending of today’s Gospel in fact). But first he has a different task: “I am the gate for the sheep.” That’s what he says twice in verses 7 & 9 of John chapter 10. He’s the way in for those who are needful of God’s care. So if we are to be faithful to our calling as Christians – to seek to imitate Christ – then we need first to be asking not “what can I do to tell people about Jesus?”, as if it all depends on me; but to see that I have a part to play in opening the way for people to find their own way to Christ’s love and care. And that’s something I don’t do on my own. It’s something I need to do with other people.
That’s what struck me about Fr. Joe Plumb’s remarkable journey. He has a calling to fulfil, but he can’t achieve it on his own. He needs those other people to be companions on the journey so that they can travel safely. He needs people to encourage him, people who will provide him with hospitality, and people who will make the Church real when he’s not there – those people who will share their faith in simple words, who will ensure that worship is offered whether or not there’s anyone around who has had years of theological training; people who will simply be Christ-like.
That’s what we need too. We’re going to pray for vocations to the priesthood, and to pastoral care, evangelism and teaching. But we need fundamentally to ask that our own lives should be the living out of our Christian calling, so that we open the way for others to know God and his love. We can do that however capable we may be or however lacking in confidence. Our calling is to holiness, but God doesn’t give up on us just because we fall short – I hope! It’s especially important that we acknowledge what we can each do today as we go on later this morning to hold our Annual Meeting. We’ll be electing members who will serve as Churchwardens, as Deanery Synod representatives, Church Councillors and sidespeople. And these are more than just jobs, tasks which someone has to take on. They’re a sign that each of us is called to make a response of faith – as our reading from Acts reminds us, a calling which starts in Baptism and is worked out in community, through teaching and fellowship, through the breaking of bread and in our prayers. It’s a calling for us to work out faithfully Sunday by Sunday, and each day of our lives.
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Thomas reflects...
 5th Sunday of Easter - 24 April 2005
John 14.1-14
Paul Heatherington, Reader of St. Cuthbert's
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
I am delighted to be sent to come and talk with you about the time I took a less travelled road. I gave up my job as a carpenter and builder to walk with Jesus. I have so much to tell.
First, I must introduce myself. You all have at least two names. When I was a lad, Jews had two names too – Hebrew and Greek names. Peter is a case in point. He was also called Cephas. Peter is Greek and Cephas is Hebrew for “rock”. My name is Thomas Didymus. Thomas is Hebrew and Didymus is Greek for a twin. John mentions me in that passage you have just heard.
I saw Jesus perform many miracles. He touched lepers and healed them. He was passionate about truth and justice. He talked of God’s Kingdom, telling so many stories and sayings. I wrote some down, though they didn’t all make it into what you call the New Testament. We all loved being with Jesus; we used to have great fun sharing meals together. He also taught us how to pray. When he talked to us about his death some of the other disciples didn’t like that. They tried to shut him up – fat chance! Jesus did come close to death more than once. At Bethany, stones were thrown at him and would you believe, not long after that, Jesus decided to go back there? That was after Lazarus died. The other disciples didn’t want to go back to Bethany. But I did. I was often afraid, but it never stopped me doing what in my heart of hearts I knew I ought to do. I was not a quitter. I said to them all, “Let’s all of us go back to die with him too.” You know about Lazarus. I was there. By the way, that man in that window looking startled is not a good likeness of me. But I tell you this. I was absolutely gob smacked when Lazarus walked out of that tomb!
I haven’t got long with you, so I’d better get to what I especially want to tell you. You know that Jesus died and rose from the dead, so I won’t go over that. I said that in a matter-of-fact way. But could there be anything more startling than that? Jesus died and rose from the dead, never to die again. And in the process, they gave me a new name, “Doubting Thomas”. Speaking personally, I think there is more faith in wanting to be sure! You see, I am never prepared to say I understand something when I do not, or to say I believe something when I don’t. I want to ask you a question. Do you usually think things out or simply follow the crowd? “Doubting Thomas” is not fair to me and I’d rather you didn’t think of me like that. Wanting to confirm something is not a bad thing. The opposite of faith is not doubt. The opposite of faith is apathy and disbelief. Faith and doubt are two sides of the same coin. And you know, Jesus really can cope with those who doubt him or let him down or even persecute him. Just think back on Jesus’ appearances after his resurrection. He showed himself to me, but he also appeared to three others who had actually hurt him: his brother James, who had said he did not believe in him, Peter the rock, who had denied him and Saul (you know him as Paul). Before he became a Christian, he was actively involved in persecuting us followers of Jesus. Sorry for going on, but I feel I must set the record straight. I believe in Jesus, as you do, and I want you to know me as Thomas Didymus, NOT Doubting Thomas.
But what I really want to tell you about is an earlier time, before Jesus went up to Jerusalem for the last time. He had gathered us around to tell us what was to happen. You know we never knew what he was going to do next. And often we didn’t understand everything he said. But that day we hadn’t a clue what he was telling us. It was one of those times when quite frankly we wondered what planet he was on. He told us he was going to the Father who had sent Him and with whom He was one. The others all had blurry eyes and sanctimonious expressions on their faces, as if they were taking it all in. Not me – as I say, I could never ever say I understood something if I didn’t. Jesus said, “And you know the way to the place where I am going.” I for one hadn’t the foggiest idea where Jesus was going, so how could I know the way? I know I’m going off the point a bit, but there were few maps then. And anyway I was useless with directions. My old teacher used to say to me, “Thomas, you do well to find your way home!” So I said to Jesus, “We don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”
Now I’m getting to the important bit. Even now, after all these years, this is still something that pleases me. It’s one of the most famous bits in the good news of Jesus Christ. Jesus answered my question “We don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” He said, “I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”
I often think about those times long ago. Jesus changed the world you know. When He died on the cross, the Temple was no longer the meeting-place of Earth and Heaven. Jesus is the only way to heaven. No one can approach the Father except through Jesus.
God continues Jesus’ work through the Holy Spirit, and he works through you. Take my word for it, if Jesus were walking with you today, things would be no easier to believe than they were for me. Despite his teaching and the miracles, there were more people who refused to accept who Jesus said he was than did.
When you are anxious, when you need someone to trust, when you want someone to lean on, when you are at a crossroads, looking down two roads and you can’t see the way ahead, think about one of the clearest statements in the Gospels that Jesus once said to me, Thomas Didymus, “I am the way, and the truth and the life.” Trust God. Trust Jesus. Choose the way less travelled. Talk with Jesus often through prayer. He will travel with you. And remember we Christians are an Easter people and Alleluia is our Chorus.
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