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Only 28 shopping days to Christmas – and that’s if you include Sundays! It’s an exciting and busy time - a time of anticipation and preparation. For many people Advent is simply the countdown to Christmas. We mark off the days, as they pass, on our Advent calendars. But for Christians Advent is also a special time of anticipation and preparation. A time of waiting and watching for the coming of Christ. Some of our Gospel readings for Advent re-visit the longing and the hope of those who, more than 2000 years ago, waited for the coming of the Son of God, born as a human baby. Can we experience something of that longing and hope as we prepare to celebrate his birth-day once again? Our readings also remind us that we're waiting, too, for that second coming of Christ, when we will see ”the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory” to gather in his chosen people. Can we experience a sense of longing and hope as we wait for Jesus to return? Advent is a time of waiting but it’s also a time of preparation. When the time comes will we be ready? While we’re marking off the days in the countdown to Christmas, we’re also busy buying gifts, sending cards, preparing food. But will we be ready to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus? Will our hearts and minds be prepared to welcome him, to be filled again with the light and love that he brings? Will we be ready for the coming of Christ and the fulfilment of his kingdom? In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus himself commands us to ‘Beware’, to ‘Keep alert’ and to ‘Keep awake’. No-one can know when the day will come. It’s like a man going on a journey, Jesus says, who leaves his slaves in charge and commands his doorkeeper to be on the watch for his return. “Picture the scene”, writes Leslie Francis. “Every day, at evening time, the doorkeeper peers down the long, long road searching for his master’s return. Every day, at midnight, the doorkeeper peers down the long, long road seeking for the master’s return. Every day, at cock-crow, the door keeper peers down the long, long road seeking for the master’s return. Every day, at dawn, the doorkeeper peers down the long, long road seeking for the master’s return. Picture the scene there in first century Palestine. Day in and day out, life in the vineyard goes on. Day in and day out, the men live and work in constant expectation of the master’s imminent return. See how looking for the master’s return shapes their daily lives.” Christian lives are lives to be lived in a state of constant readiness – ready to shape ourselves to the will of God. Ready to be what God wants us to be. Ready to give our ordinary lives in God's service. As the prophet Isaiah reminds us: “O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” During the coming week, the Church celebrates the lives of three special people who were ready to let God shape their lives in His service. Wednesday is St Andrew’s Day. Andrew and his brother, Simon Peter, were fishing in the Sea of Galilee, when Jesus called them to become ‘fishers of men’. They immediately left their nets and followed him. On Thursday, in our 10 o’clock Communion by Extension service, we’ll be remembering the life and work of Charles de Foucault. He was born in Strasbourg in 1858 and became an explorer until his religious calling led him to become a monk and a hermit and to establish the community of Little Brothers of Jesus. “As soon as I believed that there was a God”, Charles wrote, “I understood that I could not do anything other than live for him.” And on Saturday the Church commemorates St Francis Xavier, a 16th century Jesuit missionary, who carried the Christian gospel to Goa, the islands of southern Asia, and Japan. But this morning I want to tell you about my old friend, Peter. As teenagers we were members of the same Christian youth group. Way back in the 1960s, in the days of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, of O-levels and A-levels, our friendship group played tennis, went on rambles, and socialised in the way that teenagers do. Peter (I’m sure he won’t mind me saying this!) was always a little different. You might say he cultivated the art of eccentricity! When we all went off to university Peter grew his blonde hair so long that he earned the nickname of Dulux. (If you’ve forgotten the advert, just think Old English Sheepdog!) While the rest of us took vacation jobs in shops and factories, Peter worked as a road sweeper for the local council. And when the rest of us chose to pursue tame careers in teaching and social work, Peter left uni with a B.Sc and a Ph.D and became an expert in waste disposal! All of that was more than 30 years ago but we still keep in touch. About two weeks ago I received an email from Peter, who is currently in Pakistan. He’s not involved in the relief work in Kashmir – though that wouldn’t have surprised me. He’s working in Karachi with his own waste disposal company – which he calls Christian Environmental Consultants – providing advice on how to improve the waste collection, sewage and water supply for six small towns in southern Pakistan. This is how Peter describes the conditions there: “It is estimated that half of Karachi’s 10 million people drink contaminated water. A 24 hour piped water supply is unheard of. If you are rich, tanker delivery to your door is the norm. Water is bottled or boiled for the small number who can afford it. The towns we are working in are much like English towns were in the middle ages, I suspect – dirt roads, street vendors, open sewers. Then there are the slums where people have moved onto waste land and get no services at all.” While he is in Pakistan, Peter is also working on a voluntary basis for a Christian organisation called Aqueduct, which works in partnership with existing church organisations in Pakistan to support their work and mission. Peter has been preaching in Karachi and visiting Aqueduct’s educational projects in Lahore. Christians have a hard time in Pakistan. Peter says “It is not without some fear that I preach at these churches.......Every time I come to Pakistan I am more impressed with those who are prepared to pay the cost of following Jesus.....Unsung heroes of the faith, all of them, and so deserving of our practical and spiritual support." “We are the clay and you are our potter.” Peter made himself ready to use his knowledge and skills in God’s service in a special way. If we are going to be ready for whatever God’s will brings, advent will not be a time of passive waiting but, rather, a time of active preparation. First of all we will need to listen, to hear and know God’s will for us. Mother Mary Clare writes: “Listening is no passive affair...Listening is a conscious, willed action, requiring alertness and vigilance, by which our whole attention is focused and controlled..... Listening is the aspect of silence in which we receive the commission of God.” Alertness and vigilance will also be needed if we are to make ourselves more fully aware of the needs of the people around us and respond to them. It’s easy to develop tunnel vision when we’re busy with our own affairs. While we are preparing for an ample family Christmas are there other people around us who are alone, unwell, unhappy, homeless, hungry? If we’re to make ourselves available to God and malleable to his will, we’ll also have to subdue self-will and self- interest. Part of our preparation, part of being ready, is about giving up control over our future and letting God define our life. Charles de Foucauld is known for his spiritual writing and especially for his Prayer of Abandonment. Perhaps his prayer could become our prayer for Advent? “Father, I put myself into your hands; Father, I abandon myself to you, I entrust myself to you. Father, do with me as it pleases you. Whatever you do with me, I will thank you for it. I am ready for all, I accept all. Let only your will be done in me, as in all your creatures.” Amen Who is this man and what difference does he make? 2nd Sunday of Advent - 4th December 2005 The Revd. Martin Jackson Vicar of St. Cuthbert's, Benfieldside 2 Peter 3.18-15a; Mark 1.1-8 In our Gospel today we read, John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. (In the words of the prophet Isaiah he is,) the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” And in our reading from the 2nd letter of Peter, the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed. John the Baptist comes with a call to anyone who will hear that they should make a new start in their lives. It’s time to repent, time to put the past behind you. Recognise that you were on the wrong track before. Strike out in a new direction. This is the classic call to conversion. And if you’d hear those words you can make a response which will have a real effect on the way you live, because everything must change. The writer of the 2nd letter of Peter writes not so much of a new start as with a warning that the end of all things is upon us. We don’t know just when God is going to act: “the day of the Lord will come like a thief…” But there’ll be know mistaking it when it happens: “the heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire.” Perhaps these are words which strike a chord amid all the concerns over the damage we are doing to the global environment. The changes the scientists detect may seem quite slight at present, but what if the Gulf Stream suddenly were to switch off? - what if the polar ice cap melts? - what if we can no longer grow the crops we need to feed an ever-increasing world population? We’re right to heed the call of people like both John and Peter. But there’s a problem. In daily life, we can only take so much talk of “what if” scenarios. People need to be persuaded that something really is going to happen, and there needs to be the will to ensure that positive action is taken. Meanwhile, what can relatively powerless people like ourselves do as we wait for the otherwise seemingly inevitable to happen? And as for calls to make a fresh start, how many times can you do that? For all the enthusiasm the call to conversion may generate, what is really necessary is that having found a new direction in our lives we should persist in daily living. If our readings today are concerned with that start of a new way of life, and the forebodings about the end of all things, we have to recognise that living as a Christian is about the bit in between… How do we sustain ourselves on the journey of life? In what sense does God give meaning in the midst of daily living? Do we feel the difference? Harry Lee was right that I wouldn’t be able to avoid referring today to the enthronement of John Sentamu as Archbishop of York last Wednesday. It was a wonderful occasion - in which the exuberancy of the man himself was barely contained, and the vitality of the occasion spilled out in dance, song and joy. It’s not what you’d expect to find filling over two hours of day-time television, but I hope that anyone who switched on with nothing better to do found themselves moved by what they discovered. Not least they would find themselves listening to a sermon, and one worth listening to. But they might ask too, what does this have to say to the way I live day by day? For Christians, it begged the question, what does this say about my expectations of the Church? It was a sort of John the Baptist moment. A Marks and Spencers picnic replaced the locusts and honey on the menu, and the main character was resplendent in brilliantly colourful cope and mitre rather than clothed in camel hair. But it was a fresh start moment, a call to wake up and to ask what are we really about? How do we put faith into practice? But for all we hear that call, we can soon start to feel daunted. For the occasion itself, the dancers who made such an impression had to be imported from East Stratford in London - you wouldn’t find them on hand in York, nor those Mothers’ Union members in white with blue sashes, singing and dancing round the altar. How will Archbishop Sentamu continue to put over his message when they’ve all gone home? How long will his wake up call strike a new chord? - how long before people say, we’ve heard this before? These are the questions I need to challenge myself with. I heard the other day that research shows that Incumbents of Anglican Churches are at their peak when they are between 5 and 12 years into their period of incumbency. Oh dear, I thought - 11 years in, so am I about to find things dropping off? I was sat next to another Area Dean who has been rather longer in his parish, and ominously I saw him talking to an Archdeacon after the meeting - was it time for a move for him? So I hear that call of John the Baptist, I’m moved by Archbishop Sentamu, but I can’t escape the challenge that above all Christian living is about persistence, about getting up each day and being able to build on what has gone before. Don’t just be enthusiastic because you hear something new, but ask: What difference will this make to what I’m already doing? That’s what Archbishop Sentamu himself was encouraging in these words: He (Jesus) made us realise that we came from God, we belonged to God; we were made for God, who gave us a mind to know him, a heart to love him and a will to serve him. And when the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost, we were on fire with the conviction that through this man Jesus we had become literally sons and daughters of God. We were pioneers of a new humanity, founders of a new Kingdom. A Kingdom of forgiven sinners: forgiven for our past sins, given new life in the present and hope for the future. We were committed to each other regardless of our ethnic background, gender and material possessions. Every day we were filled with passion and gratitude, unable to get over the sheer prodigality of the grace of God.” WHO IS JESUS AND WHAT DOES HE MEAN FOR THOSE WHO PUT THEIR TRUST IN HIM? That, for me, is the critical question of our time. Who is this man and what difference does he make each and every day? The Archbishop has made a start in answering his own question: It’s a scandal of the Church in England that in the past decades it has tried everything except to stick to Jesus’ plan for the world: Corporate -discipleship: fraternal-belonging. We’ve had our reports, our commissions, conferences, seminars, missions, synodical reviews, liturgical reforms - the lot. But little attention has been given to the question, “Who is Jesus and what does he mean for those who put their trust in him?” Let us begin to answer that question by paying particular attention to the meaning of corporate-discipleship. I don’t care for that term “corporate discipleship.” But what I think it’s saying is that we’re all in this together. Don’t let go of what we believe, but remember - it’s not just my faith! Faith may be personal, but it’s not a personal possession… but something we share and put into practice for this world which is God’s. I think I was most moved when the Archbishop said these words: For me, the vital issue facing the Church in England and the nation, is the loss of this country’s long tradition of Christian wisdom which brought to birth the English nation: the loss of wonder and amazement that Jesus Christ has authority over every aspect of our lives and our nation. There is nothing more needed by humanity today than the recovery of a sense of ‘beyond-ness’ in the whole of life to revive the spring of wonder and adoration. So the call is to live and be good news to everyone. It would be fantastic if people not only said of Jesus Christ, “What sort of man is this?” but said of us, his followers, “What sort of people are they? Their gracious actions, and the language on their lips is of God’s goodness and love. Let us get to know them. There is something extraordinarily normal and wonderful about them.” As a 10-year-old it was Christians like that who created in me a thirst for Christ, the living water. ‘I stooped down and drank, new life flooded my whole being’. Forty-six years later, I am still amazed by God’s constant love and forgiveness. These are the words of someone who knows what it is to make a new beginning in life, but then to persist. New life had flooded his whole being, and 46 years later he continues to be amazed at God’s gift of love and forgiveness. And this had sustained him in his first calling as a lawyer and judge, through the imprisonment he had suffered under the dicatator Idi Amin, through the experience of being an asylum seeker in this country, and then throughout his ministry as a priest - and one who has continued to know the harshness of discrimination because of the colour of his skin. Perhaps it’s because we live fairly comfortable lives on the whole that we need to be reminded of the richness of the faith and tradition we possess by people like John Sentamu. He comes from Africa and perhaps for this reason appreciates so much what we take for granted. I was struck by his reference to great people of the past like the hristian social thinker, R. H. Tawney, Archbishop Michael Ramsey and Archbishop William Temple, people we barely if ever remember. We need a perspective like theirs which connects us to the society in which we live. Because we are called to be, a mixed community of sinners called to be saints, a divine society where the risen Christ in the midst of it is grace and truth, and the Holy Spirit is at work within it. An inclusive and generous friendship, where each person is affirmed as of infinite worth, dignity and influence. A community of love, overflowing in gratitude and wholehearted surrender, because it participates in the life of God. This corporate-discipleship, we call the Church, worships God and infects the world with righteousness. That’s a reminder that Christianity is not just about structures of the church, nor re-structuring, paying for ministry, keeping up buildings. It’s about a faith which connects us with God and society. It’s a call to the Kingdom which together is God and his people. When shall we celebrate Christmas? Christmas Midnight Mass 2005 Paul Heatherington, Reader of St Cuthbert’s, Benfieldside John 1.1-14 Every year there are discussions about how soon Christmas decorations ought to go up. Once, they were put up on Christmas Eve. Now, you can regularly see them as early as October. Debates also go on about when decorations should be taken down. Is it Twelfth night, and when exactly is Twelfth night? One person I talked to last month takes his decorations down on Boxing Day. For him, Christmas has then ended. At the other extreme, Christmas lights are sometimes seen throughout the year; they never seem to come down. Generally speaking, businesses that benefit commercially from Christmas sales have sell-by dates. For some products, such as perfume sales, it might be closing time on Christmas Eve. For sales of Christmas cards, it is sooner. Christmas trading ends on December 24th. Unsold stock must then be disposed of, or the prices slashed. There are exceptions, of course. Those involved in hotels and catering or drinks work on. But the point I want to make is that in today’s consumer society, businesses must plan long in advance if they want to maximise financial rewards. The result is that every year, as early as February, traders begin their offerings for Christmas decorations and associated paraphernalia, to ensure that the public are bombarded during the twelve weeks before Christmas. We are an Easter people and Hallelujah is our chorus, but did you know that the planned retailing of Easter eggs begins from Boxing Day! And this is a Tesco packet of hot cross buns with a sell-buy date of 25 December! The shops have closed. The world has moved from the secular mid-winter festival of Christmas into the sales. But for the Church, this is the beginning of the Christmas season which we will celebrate for more than a month, until Candlemas. The reading which we heard from St John’s Gospel is impressive and majestic English, though it has a mysterious side to it too. For those who want to know when to begin celebrating the birth of Jesus, St John does provide some answers, if you look carefully. A little background may help to explain. Mary, the mother of Jesus, was Jewish. A child is Jewish, if the mother is Jewish, not the father. Jesus was a Jew. Of course, Joseph was Jewish, as were all of the first Christians. Later, Christianity moved into the world of the Gentiles. But when St John wrote his Gospel in about the year 100, the Christian Church was no longer Jewish. Most Christians then had a Greek, rather than a Jewish background. The Gospels of Matthew and Luke begin with family trees. For Jews, it was important to know that Jesus was a descendant of King David. For potential Jewish converts a family tree beginning with Joseph and going back to David was therefore vital. Matthew and Luke’s gospel accounts work for Jews. But for those without a Jewish background, it was of no relevance to learn that Jesus was the Son of David, meaning a descendant of David. They wouldn’t even have heard about King David. And it was of no interest to them to learn that Jesus was the Messiah promised to the Jews. How could John attract non-Jews as disciples of Jesus? It was pointless to start his account of Jesus with a family tree, as Matthew and Mark had done. How could he tell the good news about Jesus so that it would be understood by Greek converts sufficiently to attract them? John talks about the Word made flesh. This is Jesus, God’s Son coming into the World. The beginning of Genesis is this: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth… God then spoke these words, “Let there be light”; and there was light. In Genesis, God creates by means of his Word. And John’s Gospel also starts with, In the beginning was the Word… This is no coincidence. In a few sentences, John has condensed the Old Testament for his Greek readers. This is how God works. When God speaks, big things happen – a Universe is brought into creation by his Word. For John, a new Creation is brought about by the same Word and that is Jesus. God, all-powerful, shows how mighty he is, not by the force of his action, but by entering our world in the frailty of human flesh. God speaks his will and purpose, and the Word is made flesh. Tonight, a baby is born. John was the bringer of good news, the great evangelist, and a superb marketer. He talks about the Word made flesh to try to make the birth of Jesus relevant to Greek speaking first century Gentiles. How do we find that birth relevant today? This is how Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, looks at it, Christmas is the Christian’s Christmas present to everybody else. Christmas, for a Christian tells us why people matter. They matter because God took us seriously, seriously enough to get involved with our lives to suffer with us and change things. That’s what I believe, that’s what Christians believe and Christmas exists because of that belief. The secular world is made aware of Christmas months in advance. “All that glisters is not gold” and flashing Christmas lights in the long dark nights of winter do not give light to the world. The worldly mid-winter festival of Christmas may be detached from the Christmas, which we are celebrating tonight. But we need to look beyond the consumerism, the selfishness, the violence and injustice of our world. St John wrote for the Greeks, but he also wrote for us. This is the message of Christmas. John declares that all who receive Jesus, who believe in His name, he gives power to become children of God. God enters here as surely as he did 2000 years ago. There are twelve days of Christmas, seven in December and five in the New Year, so Twelfth Night is 5th January. But St John’s message is not simply for the twelve days of Christmas, or the Christmas season to Candlemas, or the twelve trading weeks before Christmas. If you want to know when to begin celebrating the birth of Jesus, the answer is 24/7 fifty two weeks of the year. John’s message is for all and for all time. Jesus is the light that shines through the darkness. The true light, which enlightens everyone, has come into the world. God came to earth in human form, in the baby Jesus we rejoice in tonight. Darkness and Light Christmas Day 2005 Rosie Junemann, Reader of St. Cuthbert's, Benfieldside Isaiah 9.2-7 Luke 2.1-14 I consider myself very fortunate to live in a house with a view across the Derwent Valley. In the past few weeks there’s been a particular pleasure in watching the sunrise. On these midwinter mornings we wake to complete darkness. Darkness gives way to the grey, cold dawn. And then, on a clear day, the light of the sun first touches the brow of the hills across the valley and then gradually descends over High Waskerley Farm, and the fields and plantations, until it touches the roofs of the houses in the village. In a relatively short period of time, the whole valley is flooded with light. I wonder if the prophet Isaiah had this kind of image in his mind when he spoke of darkness and light? “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; Those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.” Isaiah lived in Jerusalem about 700 years before the birth of Christ. Prompted by a vision, Isaiah embarked on his mission – to warn of the terrible consequences of sin and to comfort his people with the knowledge of God’s love. The book to which he gave his name is in fact a compilation of the work of a number of writers, who continued Isaiah’s work over a period of about 150 years. These were dark days indeed for the people of Israel. In Isaiah’s time they lived in the shadow of the Assyrians. In fact, in 700 BC the Assyrian army attacked Jerusalem itself. About a hundred years later, after Assyria fell to the Babylonians, King Nebuchadnezzar captured and destroyed Jerusalem and its Temple. The king and most of the people were taken into exile in Babylon. Here they stayed for about 70 years, until the Babylonians were, in their turn, defeated by the Persians, and the exiles were allowed to return to their homeland – a land whose physical, social and religious infrastructure had to be rebuilt. In the prophecy which we heard in this morning’s Old Testament reading, Isaiah turns the people’s thoughts away from the dark days of the present to a vision of a bright and glorious future. A king will come from David’s line to rule in peace and justice for ever. This is not a prediction of Christ in a direct sense, but of a great and good king who will come to deliver his people. Isaiah’s vision became Israel’s burning hope – hope for a Messiah, a king who would lead and save them. Was the world a better place to be at the time when Jesus was born? Certainly not in Israel! The shepherds watching over their flocks at night in the fields around Bethlehem were also people who ‘walked in darkness’ – and not just in a literal sense! These shepherds were poor people, living pretty much as social outcasts, unable to worship with their fellow Jews because they could never satisfy the requirements for ritual cleansing. But they were also living in the shadow of the Roman occupation, and subject to Roman law and punitive taxation. And yet it was to these humble and fearful people that the glory of the Lord was revealed, and the angel brought the good news of the Saviour, the Messiah, the Lord. We can be sure that even these simple shepherds would have understood the angel’s message as the fulfilment of Isaiah’s vision, of Israel’s longing for a Messiah. This powerless baby cradled in a humble manger is that great king! When the angel stood before them the imagination of the shepherds was fired. In that moment the shepherds began to glimpse new hopes for the future, new possibilities for the days to come. When the glory of the Lord shone around them, their eyes were lifted from earth to heaven. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; Those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.” There can be no doubt that for many people hearing the Christmas message this morning, 2005 has been a time of deep darkness. I cannot recall a time when we have lived in the shadow of so much tragedy. Immense natural disasters – tidal waves, earthquakes and floods – have been compounded by man’s inhumanity to man – war, terrorism, and violence. There is so much to fear – the spread of AIDS, the possibility of avian flu, the effects of climate change. Of course there has been personal suffering for some people, too – bereavement and loss, illness, failure, loneliness, uncertainty. Like the Jews of Isaiah’s day, like the shepherds at the time of Jesus’ birth, we are also people who walk in darkness, who live in fear. Christmas brings us the opportunity, as it does each year, to see the light. When we stand with the shepherds to peer into the stable we can see not only the light of the glory of God but also the reassurance of God with us. The child in the manger is Christ, the Light of the world – the Light which brings understanding, new life, and the warmth of love. We can, as it were, watch the sun rise across the valley, bringing clarity of vision, fresh comfort, and restored hope. Cardinal Cormac Murphy O’Connor, the Archbishop of Westminster, writing last week in The Observer, comments that wherever disaster has struck this year, compassion has quickly followed. People have responded with compassion and political support to the needs of the poor and hungry people of the world through the Make Poverty History Campaign. People have responded with compassion and generosity to the suffering of victims of natural disaster. Countless small acts of compassion and care were seen in the aftermath of the London bombings. “The dignity of the divinely-created, divinely nurtured human being is a wondrous thing,” writes Cormac Murphy O’Connor, “and when it shines through – as it has so often this year – it leaves everything changed……. This year the light of the manger has burned very brightly indeed.” The light of the manger also inspired the monk and writer Henri Nouwen. In the early 1990s he wrote a journal of his experience of staying in a Trappist monastery. This is how he describes his experience of Christmas there: “The monks smile and embrace me, the night is soft and quiet, the gentle sounds of the bells during the midnight ‘Gloria’ still echo in my soul. All is still and quiet now. The branches of the trees outside are decorated with fresh white snow and the winds have withdrawn to let us enjoy for a moment the unbelievable beauty of the night of peace, the Holy Night. What can I say on a night like this? It is all very small and very large, very close and very distant, very tangible and very elusive. I keep thinking about the Christmas scene that Anthony arranged under the altar. This is probably the most meaningful ‘crib’ I have ever seen. Three small wood-carved figures made in India: a poor woman, a poor man, and a small child between them. The carving is simple, nearly primitive. No eyes, no ears, no mouths, just the contours of the faces. The figures are smaller than a human hand – nearly too small to attract attention at all. But then – a beam of light shines on the three figures and projects large shadows on the wall of the sanctuary. That says it all. The light thrown on the smallness of Mary, Joseph, and the Child projects them as large, hopeful shadows against the walls of our life and our world. While looking at the intimate scene we already see the first outlines of the majesty and the glory they represent. While witnessing the most human of human events, I see the majesty of God appearing on the horizon of my existence. While being moved by the gentleness of these three people, I am already awed by the immense greatness of God’s love appearing in my world. Without the radiant beam of light shining into the darkness there is little to be seen. I might just pass by these three simple people and continue to walk in darkness. But everything changes with the light.” The fig tree - and where are we coming from? Epiphany 2 - 15th January 2006 The Revd. Martin Jackson, Vicar of St. Cuthbert's, Benfieldside 1 Samuel 3.1-10; Revelation 5.1-10; John 1.43-51 Jesus calls to his first disciples - and to us - with two simple words, “Follow me.” First, according to St. John’s Gospel, he calls Simon Peter and Andrew. The next day - where our Gospel reading starts - he calls Philip, who’d been a neighbour of Andrew and Peter. Then Philip tries to make an introduction and takes Jesus along to meet his friend, Nathanael. This is where it seems to go wrong… because Nathanael’s reaction is anything but gracious. Philip tells him, this is the man we’ve been waiting for, the man who’ll really make a difference, it’s all there in the Bible… and he’s called Jesus, and he’s from Nazareth! But all Nathanael can do is to harrumph: “Nazareth!! Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” The first disciples of Jesus are not a promising lot. A couple of fishermen, one of whom will always prove to be impetuous, rash and useless at living up to promises; a former tax collector; a failed freedom fighter; a couple of ambitious place-seekers; a thief and traitor; and a number of them who never really seem to do much including Nathanael who comes across as the first curmudgeon of the New Testament and then re-appears only briefly in one verse of John chapter 21 (verse 2, if you want to check it) on a fishing expedition. What did Jesus think he was doing? Andrew Greely, American priest, sociology professor and novelist, puts it this way: Jesus had [a] peculiar taste in friends. You put the whole crowd together and they were not as smart as one of the third rate philosophers in Rome. Maybe some of them could read and write. They were perhaps street smart, but [if] you were going to announce the nearness of the kingdom of God would you surround yourself with folks that wouldn’t make assistant precinct captain? They were utterly insensitive to Jesus’ spiritual message and interested only in the power and prestige they were going to have in his kingdom (which they didn’t understand at all). One of them was a thief and ten of them cowards. Surely, even if he had decided to limit his choice to Galilee, Jesus could have done better? Why these sluggards and nerds? Why indeed? And why do we pretend that our leaders today are better than they were? Patently the first Pope and the first bishops (if we want to use that analogy) were not sacred persons, but inept, often stupid human beings? Why do have to pretend that their successors are any better? Why should they be immune from criticism? Have we missed the point somewhere along the line that the leaders of the church and the followers in the church are fragile, imperfect human beings and that Jesus chose them precisely because he wanted a human church? If he wanted something better, he should have turned it over not to the philosophers in Rome but to the Seraphim. But, of course, that’s the point. Jesus doesn’t come preaching the Gospel simply so that he can have a Church made up of angels, saints and seraphim. He doesn’t even want a Church where the philosophers have got it all worked out. He wants a human Church, followers who are ordinary people like you and me - like Andrew and Peter, Philip and Nathanael. There is a point in Jesus calling people like them. Philip himself is not someone that most of us could name as being of prime importance in the Gospels. But right from the start we see his contribution. He might not be able to articulate the finer points of what he believes, but he wants to share it anyway with other people. He takes Jesus to meet Nathanael; he gets miserable old Nathanael up on his feet from under his tree, and he pushes him towards Jesus despite his protests. Later we’ll find him bringing Gentile visitors to Jerusalem to meet Jesus. Still later we get confusion with probably a different Philip in the Acts of the Apostles preaching to Samaritans, reaching still further beyond the fringes of belief as he helps an Ethiopian pilgrim to understand the scriptures; and at the end of the Acts of the Apostles we see this Philip with his family, creating a welcome for St. Paul, and with his church community around him, a testimony to a life of faith-sharing. Whether or not these Philips are the same person, the point is the same. Jesus needs ordinary people who can carry his message - and being clever or articulate isn’t the first qualification. All that’s needed is a willing heart. But with Nathanael even that seems to be lacking. Don’t bother me, he seems to be saying to the enthusiastic Philip. And his dismissiveness could be hurtful. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael is blunt about feelings we may harbour: I’m comfortable where I am; I’m comfortable with what I know already… And that can mean, I’m comfortable with my ignorance, and I’m comfortable with my prejudice. But Jesus needs people like Nathanael, he needs people like us - and thank goodness he uses people like Philip. Philip persists: “Come and see…” He gets Nathanael onto his feet and takes him to Jesus. And even before He reaches him, Jesus hails him: “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.” Other translations have it, “Here is an Israelite worthy of the name…” Jesus recognises him as someone who speaks plainly, who doesn’t cover up what he thinks. The name Israel which was given to Jacob, son of Isaac, is a word that means “he struggles with God.” Jesus can see this straight away. Nathanael - beneath the blunt gruffness - is a man with a good heart, who struggles to know the way... How does Jesus know that, Nathanael asks. And the answer is strange - it’s because “I saw you under the fig tree.” That’s enough for Jesus - and it’s enough for Nathanael to be told. Jesus knows about Nathanael, he knows he can use him, because he was in the right place. But what does that mean? Can God use me? Am I in the right place? We can convince ourselves that we’re of little use to anyone, never mind to God. We don’t know enough, haven’t got the right skills, have so many commitments, and need to be where we are - these can be our excuses. But where is God going to find the people he needs? Where does Jesus find his followers? The answer we get in today’s first reading is that God finds the greatest of the Judges of Israel, Samuel, while he’s still a young boy, and he makes himself heard while that young boy is in bed. Surely God can’t be speaking to Samuel - wouldn’t he speak to Eli the priest first? Samuel can’t comprehend it, until Eli realises what is going on: stay where you are, stay in your bed; know that God has a message which requires not priests and the Temple but which needs you and your open heart - so let him speak to you where you are. That’s why Jesus can call disciples who were simple fishermen working with their nets. He can call us. And he calls Nathanael from under a fig tree. Some commentators say that a wise student of the Jewish Torah would study while sitting under a tree, so that seeing him there gives Jesus the measure of the man. But perhaps Jesus is simply saying, I’ve seen you there - I know you; I need you. The fig tree is what will sum Nathanael up, in the same way that it’s enough for the Gospel writer to say that Philip comes from Bethsaida, and it’s enough for Nathanael to be dismissive of Jesus when he hears that he comes from Nazareth. Now Nathanael recognises something new: “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” He realises that Jesus has the authority of a teacher who can be called Rabbi - and it’s not just that he comes from Nazareth… he comes from God. And Nathanael comes from under a fig tree… The question for us is, where are we coming from? What is it that sums us up, what are the ignorances and prejudices that we need to leave behind us? Do we realise that already Jesus sees us and calls us? - just as we are… Perhaps what we need above all in today’s society is to recover our human identity as spiritual beings. We need to recognise that we are more than the sum total of the molecules and atoms from which we are physically created. We are more than all the stuff which we cling to as material possessions. We are made by God, loved by God, and called by God to be his people. We simply need to hear his call, feel his touch, let ourselves respond. It’s not that we should let go of our reason, but it’s to recognise that there are things beyond rationalisation. Believing is not something to be ashamed of. Praying is not something we need to apologise for. We don’t need to worry if we don’t have all the answers, and a faith which expresses itself in humility has much more going for it than the arrogance of certainty. Happiness & Harmony 4th Sunday before Lent(Proper 1) Sunday 5th February 2006 Rosie Junemann,Reader St Cuthbert’s, Benfieldside Isaiah 40. 21-31 1 Corinthians 9. 16-23 Mark 1. 29-39 May I speak in the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen Just a few days ago I read a report in the paper which said that Edinburgh residents are among the happiest in Britain. According to a poll, 92% said that they are satisfied living there, compared with 86% of Glaswegians and 72% of Londoners. Edinburgh’s rating puts it fourth in a list of Britain’s happiest places. But which place topped the poll? Northumberland – with 96%! The few hundred yards which separate us from Northumberland are a mere technicality! It’s reassuring to know that I am preaching this morning to some of the happiest people in Britain! By contrast, the people listening to the prophet Isaiah, some 600 years before the birth of Jesus, were very unhappy people. The people of Israel were no longer the prosperous, proud and confident race who had successfully defended the kingdom of Judah and the city of Jerusalem from the Assyrian army. Now they were a people defeated, living in exile in Babylon, and utterly subject and powerless -discouraged, dazed and destitute. They might well have asked “Do we deserve this? Is our exile a just punishment from God because we neglected Him? Has God rejected and abandoned us?” Isaiah’s key task at that time was to comfort and console these dejected people, and to help them to sustain their faith in God in their darkest days. That is why these chapters in the middle of the book of the prophet Isaiah are known as ‘The Book of the Consolation of Israel’. The prophet Isaiah was undoubtedly a great preacher. He spoke with authority and assurance. His message was clear and direct. And he wasn’t afraid to challenge – or perhaps even provoke – his listeners. “Surely”, cries Isaiah. “Surely you cannot have forgotten everything you have always known! Surely you must remember the truth that has been self-evident from the very beginning! Our God is the great Creator of the earth, the Lord of both universe and time. And this same mighty, powerful God is the source of our renewal and strength. God who calls all the stars by name knows and understands us, too. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.” “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.” But there’s something very special about this omnipotent Creator. He knows, understands and cares for every one of his people – all those who believe and trust in him. Consolation indeed - for the people of Israel in exile. But do Isaiah’s words hold any meaning for us today? Can we also see that same blend of power and compassion in God - as we see him in Jesus? Today’s passage from Mark’s Gospel is part of a section which describes a day in the life of Jesus when he visited the village of Capernaum, on the north-west shore of the Sea of Galilee. It was the Sabbath and in the morning Jesus taught in the synagogue. Leaving the synagogue – it would have been about midday – Jesus and some of his disciples went to Simon Peter’s house. Here, he cured Simon’s mother-in-law of a fever. That same evening such a great crowd collected outside the house that Mark tells us that ‘the whole city was gathered around the door”! Jesus cured many who were sick and healed others who were mentally ill or spiritually tormented. In his healing ministry, Jesus exercised power over both the natural and the spiritual world. Eye-witness accounts tell us that Jesus taught and healed ‘with authority’. His authority combined a unique knowledge with a unique power. But there’s something very special about this powerful man. He understands and cares about the needs of the weak and vulnerable. His strength is shared with the faint and the weary. In Jesus we see consistently a God whose power is tempered with compassion. In her new book ‘Approaching Easter’, Jane Williams (wife of the Archbishop of Canterbury) reminds us that compassion is also an important human characteristic. God calls us to be like him – to be people who respond in compassion to other human beings. She writes: “Every time we act with compassion towards someone else, we bring them into our society. We acknowledge them as human beings, like ourselves, with needs and feelings just like our own. Compassion refuses to allow us to treat each other as though we are of no account, as though we do not really exist.” As a part of God’s creation, strengthened and empowered by God’s love and care, we must in our turn share what we have with the weak and vulnerable. God turns his face to the faint, the weary and the powerless and refreshes them. Jesus cares for the sick, the ugly, the unclean, the possessed - those on the very margins of society. Can we, in our turn, show our compassion for those whom our society shuns – alcoholics and heroin-users, people with dementia and schizophrenia, people who are HIV positive, and people disfigured by accident, illness or disability? The writer Henri Nouwen reminds us that there are many people “whose suffering is hidden from the eyes of the world: the suffering of the teenager who does not feel secure, the suffering of the husband and wife who feel that there is no love left between them; …….. the suffering of the gay man or woman who feels isolated from family and friends; …… the suffering of the millions who feel lonely and wonder if life is worth living.” Are we sufficiently aware of, and responsive to, the suffering of those around us? But in the words of Isaiah I think there is another powerful message for us today. He reminds us of our small place in the whole scheme of things. In God’s eyes we are ‘like grasshoppers’ – and yet he knows and cares for each one of us. As part of God’s creation, strengthened and empowered by God’s love and care, and in response to them, we must in our turn care for the whole of God’s creation. As Christians we must open our eyes to the intricacies of creation, to the need to maintain the essential balance and harmony of the natural world. I am painfully aware of my own shortcomings in respect of living a ‘green’ lifestyle! It’s hard to keep up with the flow of information – and even harder to be disciplined! But there is so much that each one of us can do. For example - a recent newspaper article pointed out that many of the cut flowers we buy here are imported from countries as far away as Kenya, Columbia and Costa Rica. Many of us are familiar now with the concept of “food miles” and are concerned about buying imported foods, rather than locally grown, seasonal produce. But have we thought about where our flowers come from? A spokesman for Friends of the Earth said “The growth of cut flowers from abroad is a seriously worrying trend, and there is too much at stake in terms of climate change and other environmental problems to allow it to continue to grow.” Global warming may sometimes seem like too big a problem to address – but each small step we take can contribute to saving our planet. Since we live in a beautiful, peaceful and relatively prosperous area, we may well be amongst the happiest people in Britain. We could just sit around and count our blessings. Or we could take action – to share what we have with some of the less happy people in the world and to preserve what we have for future generations. The Church Times recently published a prayer from an American organisation called Web of Creation. It’s a prayer for ourselves, that we may strengthen our half-hearted support for our fellow human-beings and for nature itself. Loving God, all your creation calls you blessed. In love you have formed a universe so diverse yet so related and into its web you call us forth to walk the land and swim the sea with all our natural brothers and sisters. To the stars we seem no more than blades of grass. Yet to you, each of us, as each blade of grass and each star, is an irreplaceable treasure, an essential companion on this journey of love. Open our hearts to understand the intimate relationship that you have with all creation. May we give hope to tomorrow’s children. Amen Loving the unlovely 3rd Sunday before Lent 12th February 2006 Martin Jackson, Vicar, St. Cuthbert's, Benfieldside 2 Kings 5.1-14; 1 Corinthians 9.24-27; Mark 1.40-45 There are many reasons why people put off going to the Doctor’s. “I’ll probably be better by the time I get an appointment,” you might say hopefully. Or there are the questions the doctor is going to ask about how you’ve been looking after yourself: just how much exercise do you take? – have you given up smoking yet? – what’s your diet like? – how many units of alcohol are you consuming every week?... and many more potentially embarrassing questions - and you wonder just what you’re going to have to have to admit to. And then there’s the fear of what the doctor is actually going to do to you. Which bits is he/she going to prod and feel? What am I going to have to reveal of an anatomy of which I’m less than proud? And after all that, what might the treatment involve? – alright if it’s a course of antibiotics, but what about hospital referrals, long courses of drug therapy, operations, the bits which might be unlovely but which we don’t want to live without? I’m not trying to put you off going to the Doctor’s! This is just the way I feel when I’m at my most hypochondriac – in my mind, I’m near dead or dying even before I manage to ring the Surgery for an appointment! But try to think what was in the mind of Naaman, the commander of the armies of Aram (modern day Syria) as he looks for a cure for his leprosy. It wasn’t newly diagnosed,… it was something he seems to have lived with for a long time. He’s a high-ranking General despite his illness. He’s learned to live with the disease – and perhaps we need to be reminded that what the Bible calls leprosy is not necessarily what we call leprosy (Hanson’s Disease), but was a catch-all term for a number of skin disorders. How many doctors had he seen in his own country, how much indignity had he been put through? – all to no avail, as he continued to suffer a disfiguring condition which didn’t sit at all well with his public prominence. Naaman seems to have given up hope of a cure. Why should he want to put himself through any more prodding or lay himself open to any more useless courses of treatment? The suggestion that he turns to the prophet who lives in Israel is a last chance for him, an alternative therapy of which he seems highly sceptical. Naaman goes seeking his cure in the way a General would. He takes his dignity along with him in a big way: piles of silver, loads of gold, fine clothes and a letter from his king – this is the reward for the man who can heal him. But a man who can arrive in this fashion is also a threat. The King of Israel sees the horses and chariots which accompany Naaman: “Now we’re in trouble,” he says. “There’s no hope of a cure. The doctors have never been able to do anything for him. He’s obviously just picking a fight!” But what Naaman needs is not what kings and generals expect. He goes on to the house of Elisha the prophet, and finds someone quite different from the physician to the royal court he might have expected. He parks his chariots outside Elisha’s house, but the prophet doesn’t even come out. No fussing over this man so concerned for his dignity! And while Elisha saves him from the prodding and probing of a doctor, his remedy is not at all what he wants to hear… “Go and bathe in the River Jordan – and do it seven times!” Has Naaman really come all this way to hear this? If Elisha is so great a prophet, he ought to come out and wave his arms around and cure him! He ought to give heed to Naaman’s important position! If bathing is involved, it shouldn’t be in that excuse for a river, the Jordan, but in one of the mightier rivers of Syria – perhaps it’s as though Naaman had come from Gstaad and been told to take the waters at the Spa in Shotley Bridge! Anyway, no doubt Naaman has tried all that sort of thing before! Naaman storms off in a rage… Fortunately his servants calm him down. “OK,” they say, “he’s asked something pretty pathetic. But you’d have done it if he’d asked you to do something really difficult. Why not give it a go?” And they persuade him. He swallows his pride, goes to the river Jordan, washes in it seven times, and he is healed. On one level, the message is that Naaman must recognise that Elisha speaks with the authority of the one true God. And he does! – when he goes home, he takes a trunk-load of Israelite earth with him, so he can worship on the soil of the land promised by God to the Israelites. But there is another level, I think. Naaman’s first need is to recognise that he doesn’t have all the answers. The solution doesn’t lie in being able to throw your weight around. Horses and chariots might win you battles, but they can’t win you your health. Fine clothes may cover up disfigurement, but they don’t cure it. And heaps of money in the end serve only to show you what can’t be bought. For Naaman, the need is to find humility: to acknowledge his need; instead of issuing his own commands, to listen to others. And finally to give up standing on his dignity. He goes to the river Jordan – and we can imagine the scene: first he has to unburden himself of the warrior’s armour and weapons; then to take off the fine clothes of status; and finally, as he stands naked by the river, to reveal what needs to be healed – not merely a physical condition, but his defensiveness, aggression, his pride. Naaman cannot find healing as the rich general of mighty armies, but only as a man. The Gospel story tells us something more. Another leper who comes to Jesus for healing. This man is an outcast. He has no wealth. His words - “If you choose, you can make me clean” - show what has happened to him: he has been rejected by his community because his skin disorder makes him ritually unclean; he is a source of contamination for any who come into contact with him, so he can no longer live amongst his own people. This is a man who has nothing, except the hope that Jesus will do something for him – and whatever it is, he cannot buy it, nor can he expect religion to do anything for him, because his disease has turned him into someone to be avoided by religious people. But Jesus speaks to him: “I do choose. Be made clean.” And the leper is healed. He is healed without having to do anything – no bathing in rivers; the sole requirement that he goes and sees a priest is simply so that the man can be seen to be healed, can be pronounced clean in a ritual sense, and can be brought back into the life of his community. Everything is changed for this man, not simply by what Jesus says to him, but by what Jesus does. The leper comes to Jesus in his need, and Jesus’ first response is to reach out to him, to stretch out his hand and touch him. Words will do nothing on their own. As we might say, no end of good advice can make no difference to the way we live. The leper needs to be met where he is and accepted for the man he is. The touch of Jesus - more than anything else - shows his acceptance of the person in need. Because in touching the leper - the man declared ritually unclean and thrown out of his community - Jesus makes himself unclean. He doesn’t give him words of sympathy. He shows what “sympathy” really is – its literal meaning, to suffer with someone. Because in touching the unclean man, Jesus shares in his condition. In this short episode, we see what is at the heart of the Christian Gospel – what we mean when we talk of the Incarnation, of God’s Son taking human flesh. Jesus comes to us and shares in all that we are. He brings healing, he transforms lives, and he does it not by throwing his spiritual weight and power around, but by entering into all that needs to be healed. Jesus comes as the “wounded healer.” Not someone with the answer to everything, but one who can bring hope in our suffering because he knows what it is we suffer – sharing in our humanity, even in the uncleanness of the leper, he knows what it is that needs to be healed. Do we know our need of healing – our need of God? Honesty with ourselves is one of the hardest things to achieve, which is why it is a good idea to be able to open ourselves up to someone else: a spiritual director, a member of our family, a friend.... And we can make a start by acknowledging our vulnerability, as finally Naaman must do. To stop covering up. To see that for all our ability, wealth and achievements we can’t get it all sorted on our own. And this may help us help others in their need. So we don’t see them simply as people who are the authors of their own misfortune, people who deserve what they’ve got, people we can do without - like the folk of Jesus’ time thought they could do without the people they categorised as “unclean.” “People are not loved because they are beautiful; they are beautiful because they are loved.” It’s love in action which Jesus brings to those who have less than nothing to offer. And when we feel unlovely, we do well to learn from this saying – and know that we are loved. Into Lent - the Covenant with Noah 1st Sunday of Lent 5th March 2006 Martin Jackson, Vicar St. Cuthbert's Church, Benfieldside Genesis 9.8-17; 1 Peter 3.18-22; Mark 1.9-15 This is the first of what we hope will be a series of sermons running throughout Lent. The idea is to whet your appetite, and we hope you’ll come back for more - don’t miss the next exciting instalment! The theme running through the series is that of “Covenant”. And I suppose we need to start by asking, what does that word mean to you? I first came across it as a word in common usage when it was used for a legal agreement which allowed people to set aside money for their children free of tax to be used for their education - you took out a “covenant” on their behalf. That was some time ago, and I’m not sure whether the term is still used in this way. What we know is that the needs of our children are all the greater. I’m looking with some trepidation at what the implications of Higher Education “top-up” fees might be as one of my children nears that age when they are going to be applied to him! Then more generally a “covenant” became another undertaking which allowed you to give money to a charity or church with the understanding that the tax you’d already paid on that money could be re-claimed for the used of that charity or church. At first you needed to say you would give a particular amount regularly over a period of four years - quite a commitment, but a valuable one for us at St. Cuthbert’s: it gave us an indication of what income we might expect, and we’ve been able to claim back thousands of pounds which you’d already paid to the Chancellor of the Exchequer - at absolutely no extra cost to you. Now of course, covenanted giving is even easier. There’s no time scale. You can give as much as you want, so long as you’ve paid tax on it - and these days it goes by the name of “Gift Aid.” If you’re not already giving to St. Cuthbert’s by covenant or Gift Aid, please ask what you need to do! All it requires is your signature. And make sure you Gift Aid any donations to charity as well. For every £1 you give, the church or charity can claim an additional 28p for ordinary tax payers. Now… all that has been about money - which is an important thing! Giving money to something says you take it seriously. Covenants which lasted four years (as they used to) meant you had to think things through seriously and be committed to what you were giving. But of course a covenant is something much older than a modern means of re-claiming tax. It’s a solemn agreement. A Covenant in law is defined as a “promise signed in the presence of a witness that a certain act shall be performed or shall not be performed, or a solemn declaration that certain facts are true.” And the sense with which it’s used in the Bible is that it is a solemn agreement in which God is involved. But not just God. It’s about God and his people. It’s about the reality of their relationship and about responsibilities. It tells what God does for us because of the reality of the God who creates, redeems and loves his people. It reminds us of the seriousness with which we should treat our side of the covenant: we should know what we are letting ourselves in for if we dare to say that we are God’s people. So today we hear a story from the early chapters of the Bible. It’s the conclusion of the account given in Genesis of a great flood. Noah, his wife, his sons and their wives have been given the task of preserving life in all its varieties - they’re to round up enough of each species and herd them onto a great boat where they’ll be safe from the flood which will wipe out everything else that exists on dry land. And despite some initial scepticism they accomplish the task. The ark is back on dry land. You can imagine the disembarkation of all those animals. Noah builds an altar and offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving to God. And then God speaks: I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, 10 and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. 11 I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth. God establishes the covenant and it’s with everyone - in fact it’s with every living creature - not just human beings. The covenant with Noah is the original covenant. There are other covenants later in the Bible - notably next week we’ll read of God’s covenant with Abraham. But these are with particular people. Next week’s for example will lead to God being known as “The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” the God of a chosen people who will become known as the Israelites or the Jews. But the covenant with Noah is far more embracing than that. I still remember hearing the story of Noah on a radio programme when I was at Junior School. The dramatisation was graphic. But what has stayed with me is not the swirling waters of the flood and the beating rain, but the end of the story where the rainbow appears in the sky. And I remember the imagery of the bow arc-ing up to the heavens and the implication that on it there was a sort of invisible arrow pointed at God himself. That’s not explicitly said in the account in Genesis, but you can see where the idea comes from: 13 I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. It’s as though there’s an arrow pointed at the heart of God, and he is the one who has put it there: When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, 15 I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. 16 When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth. God looks at the bow and knows what it’s about. This is a God who will be faithful. He may be depicted as a God who has brought about a flood which wreaks destruction. But however we may perceive him, this is not what he wants. His will is good for his people - and this means all people, not a chosen few; and the covenant is with every living creature, because he has created all things and seen that they were good. Of course, it’s possible to treat the story of Noah’s ark and the great flood as mythology. You can have fun with it as you sing “The animals went in two by two.” And Julian Barnes in his book, “A History of the World in 10½ Chapters,” tells the story from the point of view of 7 woodworms who had stowed away on board with imaginable consequences. But the fact that the story gets told in so many different ways is significant. The account of a great flood goes back thousands of years, not only into the pages of the Bible, but in stories from other ancient civilisations of the Middle East. There was a truth which they all recognised: that we can seem to be so much at the mercy of the elements; that life is precarious; but also that there are grounds for hope in the faithfulness of God. The bow pointing into the heavens is a reminder of God’s part in the creation and his desire that it should work out for good. But it needs to be a reminder to us of the pressing need for responsibility on our part. I read last week that the Antarctic ice cap is calculated to be melting so that 35 cubic miles (kilometres?) of water are being discharged into the ocean every year - that means an overall increase in sea level of 0.4 millimetres a year. It may not sound much - but that’s 4 millimetres in 10 years, and we don’t know what the additional effect of the melting of the Arctic ice cap may have, not least on the flow of the Gulf Stream. Can we see an approaching global disaster? Do we want to blame God for the possibility of a future great flood? - or can we accept some responsibility to the environment ourselves? God’s covenant is made not just with Noah but with those who had travelled with him in the Ark and with their descendants. It’s to say that God is faithful to the whole creation. It’s a call to us to recognise that his love extends to people of every race and creed - so there must be respect for every person, mutual tolerance between peoples of different religions and none. It’s a reminder that God has created the world in its goodness; and if he is to be faithful to his purpose it’s a requirement that we too should be responsible in the stewardship of all with which he has blessed us. As we pray in one of the Eucharistic Prayers used at the altar: Look with favour on your people and in your mercy hear the cry of our hearts. Bless the earth, heal the sick, let the oppressed go free and fill your Church with power from on high. God calls us all and we have to decide how to respond The Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary Mothering Sunday Lent 4 Sunday 26 March 2006 Exodus 2.1–10; Luke 1.26–38 Paul Heatherington, Reader These are Paul's notes - the whole experience was interactive and dramatic, so you really needed to be there to appreciate what is going on here. I am going to come to the Gospel reading when God called Mary, but first I shall briefly set the scene for the reading which we heard, which was from the beginning of Luke’s Gospel. This Lent we have been looking at “Covenant” that is God’s covenant or promises. In a way, this is the story so far… God promised that all nations would be blessed though the family of Abraham. God had promised King David that one of his descendants would reign for ever – not just over Israel, but over the world. God had promised that a child was to be born who was to be the Messiah, the king of the house of David. And the king who was to come would be God’s son. (2 Samuel 7:12 ; Psalm 2.7 ; Psalm 89.27 ) God calls us all and we have to decide how to respond. Let’s look at how three prophets first responded to God’s call. The Prophet: Jeremiah (Jeremiah 1 4-6) Now the word of the LORD came to me saying, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” Then Jeremiah said, “Ah, Lord GOD! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.” The Prophet: Moses (Exodus 3/4) So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” Moses answered, “But suppose they don’t believe me or listen to me… O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” Then the LORD said to him (G)o, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak.” But (Moses) said, “O my Lord, please send someone else.” The Prophet: Jonah - Jonah 1. 1-2 One day, The Lord spoke to Jonah son of Amittai: “Go to Nineveh, that great city, and speak out against it: I am aware how wicked its people are. Jonah, however, set out in the opposite direction in order to get away from the Lord. The Gospel Now let’s compare those three great prophets of the Old Testament with the Gospel reading we heard. Joseph was descended from King David. Joseph and Mary were engaged to be married. God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth with this message for Mary, “You are truly blessed! The Lord is with you.” Mary was puzzled by the angel’s words and she wondered what they meant. The angel told Mary, “Don’t be afraid! God is pleased with you, and you will have a son. His name will be Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of God Most High. The Lord God will make him king, just as his ancestor David was. He will rule the people of Israel forever, and his kingdom will never end.” How did Mary respond to God’s call? When God’s plans were announced, Mary was naturally stunned and asked the angel, “How can this happen?” but did she ask to be excused like Jeremiah? No she didn’t! Did she say, as Moses did “O my Lord, please, not me! Choose someone else.” No she didn’t! Did she run away in the opposite direction like Jonah? No she didn’t! God calls us all and we have to decide how to respond. Unlike the men I have mentioned, when Gabriel explained, “Nothing is impossible for God” Mary simply said, “I am the Lord’s servant! Let it happen as you have said.” Mary knew the scriptures. She knew the psalms. She knew a Messiah was expected. Mary was herself a Jew, and she shared the hope and dream shared by all Jews that the promises God had made would all come true. In the Old Testament reading we heard about a baby being floated in a basket on the river. That’s a bit weird, don’t you think? Sometimes mothers do strange things…whatever floats their boat. And God often does things we don’t expect, like joining us here on earth as a human, when his Son is born of Mary. Mary is the best example to us all of what happens when God calls us to be his people. Let’s be thankful for Mary, the mother of Jesus and let's be thankful for our mothers. And let’s remember, that God calls us all and we have to decide how to respond. Let’s pray… Father God, we trust you. You have taught us as children to honour and obey our parents. Help us, to listen to your voice just as Mary did and to respond to your teaching. Seeing Jesus... 5th Sunday of Lent Sunday 2nd April 2006 Rosie Junemann Reader, St Cuthbert’s, Benfieldside (Lent theme of ‘covenant’) Jeremiah 31.31-34 Hebrews 5.5-10 John 12.20-33 When I was a little girl, there was a time when I desperately wanted to see the Queen! You have to remember that around the time I started school, an old King died and a new Queen was crowned. In fact, I wasn’t yet at school when George 6th died. I was coming back from the shops, with my mother, and the baby in the big cream pram, when an elderly neighbour, dressed in black and with tears rolling down her cheeks, broke the news to us. I can remember the silence on the radio – no ‘Listen with Mother’ that day! I was at school, however, by the time of the Coronation. In honour of the occasion, every child at school in Leeds was given a special tin of toffees with a picture of the Queen on. Very few families had televisions at that time but people crowded into each other’s houses to watch the Coronation. There were the glittering jewels, the silks and satins, the golden coach. For a little girl this was the stuff of fairy tales! But people said it was real – and I wanted to see the Queen for myself! Now, before everyone here over the age of 50 starts to reminisce about the 1950s, let me take you back to 1st century Palestine and today’s Gospel reading! At the time of the Passover festival, Jerusalem was always full of people – mainly Jewish pilgrims from Galilee and all the countries of the Jewish Dispersion. But Jerusalem was also a Roman garrison town and a busy commercial centre. There would have been non-Jewish visitors from every corner of the Mediterranean – from Italy, Greece and North Africa – and from the trade routes to the East. At the start of today’s Gospel reading, John tells us that among the crowds of people gathered in Jerusalem were some Greeks who wanted to see Jesus. I wonder who these people were and why they wanted to see him? They could have been businessmen or, perhaps, tourists. The Greeks were known for their thirst for knowledge. Did they hope to learn from his teaching? Perhaps they had heard stories of his miraculous powers and wanted to benefit from his healing skills? Or – filled with the stories and the images of Zeus, Artemis and Aphrodite - maybe they wanted to see for themselves someone who might be a god? I guess it’s the same for most of us here. Having heard so much about him, we would like to see Jesus, too. Seeing Jesus. Isn’t that exactly what the Bible is for? To help us to know and to see God – and to see Him especially in the life and the person of Jesus. The story that the Bible tells is the story of God’s relationship with His people. It’s the story of God’s eternal faithfulness in the face of a fickle and disobedient people. Time and time again God entered into agreements with his people. In the past few weeks we’ve heard about God’s covenants with Noah, with Abraham and with Moses. But time and time again his people let him down. In our Old Testament reading this morning we heard God speaking through his prophet Jeremiah, more than 500 years before Jesus was born. The old covenants, the old agreements, have failed. God will make a new covenant with his people. But this will be a different kind of contract from those of the past. The law will no longer be written on tablets of stone. It will be written on people’s hearts. No longer will people teach each other to ‘know the Lord’. They will all know him. This is a very different kind of relationship. To use a present-day analogy: Do you travel at 30 miles an hour in a restricted zone because the law says you must and will punish you if you don’t? Or, do you drive carefully and cautiously in a built-up area, because if you don’t you might put children and other vulnerable people at risk? Both behaviours might look the same, but they are based on very different principles – and on different kinds of relationships with the people around us. (Of course, the 2.1 million people who were convicted for speeding offences last year clearly didn’t subscribe to either policy!) Jeremiah tells us that God has always loved his people ‘like a husband’. Now is the time for his people to make a loving response to him - to enter into a relationship like the covenant of marriage – a mutual commitment to love, trust and faithfulness. Our second reading today was taken from the Letter to the Hebrews – a letter in which the writer painstakingly explains to his Jewish readers how this new covenant has been fulfilled in Jesus Christ. Right at the start of his letter he states “Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son”. It’s as if all along God has had a master plan to put the world to rights. The new covenant has arrived in Jesus Christ because through him our sin has been dealt with. But there is a price to be paid. ‘There was no other good enough to pay the price of sin’. Jesus fulfilled his life’s purpose by dying on the cross so that we might be forgiven. The Greeks who came to see Jesus, the Greeks we hear about in John’s Gospel, will see him - lifted up on the cross - lifted up in death. And this is how we can see him, too, as we approach Easter. As he himself said, Jesus, lifted up on the cross, ‘will draw to him all people for all time’. Thinking back to the beginning of this sermon, you may well be wondering - did I ever get to see the Queen? Yes! Because soon after the Coronation she toured Britain before she set off to tour the Commonwealth. Standing in the crowds by the roadside, somewhere in West Yorkshire, I caught a brief glimpse of her, smiling and waving, as her car drove past. It was, I admit, something of a disappointment! No golden crown, no silken robes, no glittering jewels! When we see Jesus on the cross – what do we see? There’s a hymn we sometimes sing in Passiontide: ‘I sometimes think about the cross, and shut my eyes and try to see the cruel nails and crown of thorns and Jesus crucified for me.’ No golden crown, no silken robes, no glittering jewels. But a man dying in agony. When we see Jesus on the cross we might feel compassion for that man, or bitterness for the cruelty that some people inflict on others. We may recognise in Jesus the grace and forgiveness of God for mankind. We may experience hope for the future, the expectation of healing and peace. We may know release from the burden of sin. We may encounter, perhaps for the first time in our lives, an unconditional and reciprocal love. Some of you may be familiar with the work of the 17th century poet and writer Thomas Traherne. Here are some of his thoughts about the cross: “Our eyes must be towards it, our hearts set upon it, our affections drawn, and our thoughts and minds united to it ….. There may we see God’s goodness, wisdom and power: yea, his mercy and anger displayed. There may we see man’s sin and infinite value, his hope and fear, his misery and happiness. There might we see the Rock of Ages, and the joys of heaven. There may we see a man loving all the world, and a God dying for mankind.” Passion and Resurrection Today Easter Day – Sung Eucharist 16th April 2006 Martin Jackson Vicar of St. Cuthbert's Acts 10.34-43; Mark 16.1-8 The significance of Holy Week, let alone those days we call Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter, simply passes most people by. Except as a marketing opportunity… By Monday of last week, my mother tells me, there were no Easter Eggs left in her local supermarket (I’ve been given gladioli bulbs instead!). A girl cutting Paul Heatherington’s hair remarked that she was getting Friday off this weekend, but not Saturday – why couldn’t she have worked Friday and taken Saturday off to give her a long weekend?, she asked. Yesterday morning in Morrison’s, there was an announcement over the Public Address System that this being Easter, shoppers might like to start thinking about planning their purchases for Christmas! People who rely on television to provide their lives with significance will have found Good Friday to have been marked as little different from any other day. You had to turn to the obscurity of ITV3 on digital TV to find Franco Zeffirelli’s “Jesus of Nazareth,” dredged up from the 1970s and definitely showing its age. Surprisingly perhaps, it was BBC3 which made the best stab at saying something about the relevance of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection for today. BBC3 – the BBC’s “yoof” channel and the home of such alternative comedy as “Little Britain”, “Nighty Night” and “Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps” – declared its intention of taking the story of Jesus’ Crucifixion out onto the streets and to set it to the popular music of Manchester, using songs from Primal Scream, New Order, M People, Elkie Brooks, Oasis and Robbie Williams (actually from Stoke on Trent). As “The Guardian” put it: Never before has the music of so many blasphemers, adulterers, Judases, sodomites, narcissists, drunkards, pill poppers, and ne'er-do-wells been compiled to celebrate the passing and second coming of Jesus. I wonder how many of you watched it?... It was fascinating. Thousands of people turned out. The whole event was live with a huge crowd in Manchester’s main square, another crowd carrying and following a half ton illuminated cross, and the story of Jesus unfolding as he journeyed with his friends from an unpromising beginning by a hamburger van to his arrest by baton-wielding riot police. It could have been all cliché – but it was strangely moving to see the crowds incited by the compere-turned-Pontius Pilate to cry out “Crucify him” and to hear Mary lament her Son’s Passion with the song “Search for the hero inside of you.” It might have seemed a cheap irony to have Judas Iscariot after betraying Jesus sing “Heaven knows, I’m miserable now,” but it was effective… and there was fresh insight from Jesus’ words to the repentant thief, not on a cross but in the claustrophobic police van where they first encounter each other. And it was still more shocking that this 21st century Jesus was not publicly executed but simply hooded and sent off-stage to be done away with secretly – “that’s the way we do things today,” as the modern Pilate remarked. It was the Pilate character who had the task of summing everything up: “You didn’t expect a happy ending, did you?” he asked. But even as he spoke the voice of Jesus sounded from the top of the Town Hall tower overlooking the square, “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” sung over again and again. It was quite startling, the crowd taken unawares, my own doubts about the whole exercise rebuked. This was an affirmation – not just of the Gospel story, but of life itself which cannot be destroyed, and given a new relevance for those crowds of young people who might otherwise have treated the event as simply a precursor to another Friday night’s clubbing. At Easter we affirm our faith in the risen Christ – “Christ is risen!” And at the same time we recognise its relevance to our lives now. This is a faith which doesn’t need to be protected but to be proclaimed. Where we seek comfort in long-held belief, we need to ensure that we don’t simply substitute cosiness. “Lo, Jesus meets us risen from the tomb…” But would we recognise him? Do we force him into an image which makes him invisible to others? How can we declare his Resurrection so that the new life he brings may be perceived in this world he came to redeem? So much depends on the images and language we choose when we speak of Christ. Good Friday has that most powerful central image (literally crucial) of the Cross – but alone the Cross speaks of death and destruction. Julie Nicholson, a priest in Bristol, gave up her parish ministry after her daughter was killed in the London bombings last year, because she has found herself unable to forgive the bombers – her experience of the Cross alone could not move her to forgiveness; though she has come to find comfort in another image of the Pieta, Mary holding the dead body of her son in her arms. Perhaps the difficulty we have is in finding an image of Easter as powerful as those images which speak of loss, death and bereavement. How do you depict an empty tomb? – it’s simply a space with nothing in it; what more can it tell us? How can we portray those meetings of the risen Christ with the disciples? – if they at first don’t recognise him, how can we show who he is? how can we expect other people, ignorant of the story, to recognise him? Can we make of Easter something more than an excessive indulgence in chocolate eggs, can we find a symbol more potent than the Easter bunny? The answer is that Easter is not a “quick fix” to our problems. There is no magic recipe. It follows only after Good Friday. The potency of the image of the flame on our Easter Candle depends on recognising that it burns in the darkness. There is Easter joy – but this is more than hollow cheerfulness. This is a joy which grows out of recognising the state of the world as it is, and knowing God’s love for it. This is a joy which grows out of the darkness which infects our own lives, when we recognise that Christ touches us in his love. One of the Christian images of Easter I have found increasingly potent is the Orthodox icon depicting Christ’s work between his death and Resurrection: Christ enters the world of the dead (what the western Church calls the harrowing of hell) and rescues them. He enters the darkness, raises up Adam and Eve, one with each hand – and he lifts us up. Christ brings new hope to our world, marked as it is by the deadness of scepticism and apathy. From the darkness of a tomb come light and life. The bodies of those who died by crucifixion were rarely buried it seems – but instead left to rot on their crosses, or cut down and simply dumped in the open. Perhaps that is why the Gospel writers are so emphatic about the witnesses to Christ’s burial. There could be no empty tomb if Jesus had not first been buried. We feel the human importance of knowing what has happened to the mortal remains of loved ones. It was marked last week by the efforts being made to identify the three soldiers killed near Ypres during the First World War whose remains have just been found. It’s important that their identity be restored, that they be properly remembered. The viciousness of terrorist kidnappers and totalitarian regimes is no more frightening than when they dispose of their victims secretly, leaving loved ones without resolution in their loss. But Christ – by his Resurrection – gives us a new identity. We start by remembering. Michael Mayne in his book, “Pray, Love, Remember,” points out that to re-member is the opposite of dis-membering. It’s the making new of what has been torn apart… of Christ’s body on the cross, of the lives of so many who know desolation and darkness, of the broken world in which we live. And remembering is also the opposite of forgetting. What is not remembered cannot be healed – and that includes past hurts… We do not come to terms with our grief simply by forgetting the faults of others; they need to be forgiven. This is more than the first witnesses to the Resurrection can take in. Women finding the tomb of Jesus empty that first Easter morning flee from it in terror and amazement, Mary Magdalene in the garden mistakes the risen Christ for a gardener, disciples walking to Emmaus do not recognise the stranger who joins them on the road. Still more is necessary if they are to know that Christ is risen. “Love will tear us apart” was one of the songs sung in BBC3’s “Manchester Passion.” It was appropriate because it was love that took Jesus to his death on the Cross. But it’s love also which will restore us, re-member us, bring us to that new relationship with God and each other, and it’s love which triumphs as Jesus rises from the dead. Vocation Sunday – a living or a life? 4th Sunday of Easter – Eucharist 7th May 2006 Martin Jackson, Vicar of St. Cuthbert's Acts 4.5-12; 1 John 3.16-24; John 10.11-18 ‘We know love by this, that the Son of God laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.’ (1 John 3.16) There are days when you can wake up and think, “I just don’t know how much longer I can go on doing this.” Perhaps that’s not something that everyone feels, I’m not sure that even most people have felt it, certainly I hope not most of the time. But at least some people will say those words – and say them some of the time. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this…” It might come out in words like these, and it might be said about marriage or some other relationship which is being endured – which saps the spirit rather than builds it up. It might be the experience of illness, borne personally or in caring for a loved one who gets no better and whose needs are ever greater and more demanding. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this…” someone might say when they are the victim of misunderstanding or find themselves in the midst of a mess of their own personal making. Or it might be work and pressures which overwhelm rather than fulfill the individual. What allows you to be the person you really are, rather than the individual you are forced into being? And what keeps you going regardless of all those pressures bearing upon you? I ask these questions because today is observed by the Church as “Vocation Sunday” – and vocation is about the recognition of calling, about seeing what I am called to be… more than a job, beyond planning a career, and where you need to hold in balance circumstance and reality. I was a bit surprised the other day when my older son asked me, “How old were you when you decided to become a Vicar?” I don’t normally expect questions like that from him that might require some profound attention to what I’ve been doing with my life. But the question arose from the vulnerability that young people turning 17 years of age feel when the pressure is on them to make choices… How you decide when you’re that young what subjects you want to pursue at A-level or university? How do you know what job you might want to do? What if you might make the wrong choice? I’ve heard it said that most people will be expected these days to make several career changes during the course of their working lives, but that’s not much comfort when you’re starting out and that first big choice confronts you. I suspect that it was much easier when I was growing up. There were no fees to find for a university education, you could do what you want, many people finished their degrees not much clearer about what they were going to do with their lives – there just seemed to be much more time available before those critical choices had to be made. But of course the question that Adam put to me was the wrong one. I’m not sure I ever decided to become a Vicar. Being a “Vicar” is a job – in fact it’s a job-title, though a convenient one and rather easier to get your tongue round than “priest-in-charge” which is what I was when I came to this parish. I’m only a “Vicar” because first of all I’m a priest – and being a priest is both more and less than a job. A job is something you do. A priest is only something you can be. You’re ordained to it – something about you is said to be changed by ordination, but only after it’s first recognised that it has to do with the person you are. There’s careful assessment in the selection of clergy, but fundamentally the issue which prevails above any question of abilities and skills is “who is this person? – what is at the root of their being? – how are they being called to respond to God’s calling?” And if that sounds terribly profound, it’s not because there is a set of answers which can be ticked, and mean you can go forward successfully to be ordained – it’s because they are questions which need to be answered about each and every person if we are truly to respond to God. Everyone has a calling if we are truly God’s people. It’s a calling that’s addressed from the time of our baptism – individuals known by name, baptized in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. From that time on God lives in us, we live our lives in God. But do we recognize it? What difference will it make to our lives? What is God calling me to be? And the answer can be worked out in many career choices, as people do many jobs. The call to priesthood doesn’t necessarily require working it out in a particular job. People like Ian can continue a secular job day-by-day in teaching, and it could have been in other careers too. Since ordination I’ve always been one of the stipendiary clergy – paid by the Church – but it doesn’t always have to be that way, and I would still go on being a priest, whether paid or not. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this…” That’s a statement that perhaps in the future won’t be so much an indication of desperation as a statement of financial reality if the Church simply finds itself unable to pay its clergy – but they wouldn’t stop being priests. “Can you carry on being a Vicar?” That’s a question that a former neighbour asked me when she heard about the problems I was having with my marriage. The question was well-intentioned and kindly asked. And not long ago the answer was so often “No.” I remember in my teens how someone from my home parish who had gone on to be ordained experienced the breakdown of his marriage in the early years of his ministry as a priest – and that was the end of his time in a parish. Just a few months ago, I met a hospital chaplain from the other end of the country, who’d been through the same experience – twenty-odd years ago there’d simply been no recognition of what he could do in parish ministry. These were particular ministries that were cruelly ended, though thankfully the service of these priests was not, as they went on to express their vocations in new ways. When I wonder, can I carry on in my own personal circumstances, I have to recognize just how many other people have to carry on with their own lives and in their own calling. If I find it tough to be a single parent and a priest, just how tough is it for anyone else? Can you be a single parent and a Christian? I guess that in the past it wasn’t too easy to be seen as a respectable church-goer if you had a failed marriage. I’d wish it on no one. But a church which recognizes the realities of daily living will be a church in which clergy as well as lay people will find those realities bearing personally upon them. “How much longer can I go on like this?” For me as a priest there needs to be a reality to my calling. For anyone I’d say that being tested in your calling – in the circumstances of daily life – is not the same as the denial of that calling. Asking myself - where should I be now? - I’ve learned to appreciate so much more where other people are in their lives, how they fulfil their callings. You can change a job, but it doesn’t mean that you give up a calling. I could stop being a Vicar, but I’d go on being a priest. I’ve learned that you can cease to be a husband, but I can’t envisage not being a father. That’s about being what I am… who I am. Priesthood is not just about me – that wouldn’t be priesthood, because the priest should exercise priesthood to enable people in their own vocation and calling. You can’t be a priest on your own. You need support – support which I’ve learned to value so much. And you need to recognize what other people must be enabled to do by the fact of your priesthood. Prayer is fundamental. “How can I go on?” There are those disciplines which you simply do. Like prayer. And if the priest needs to get on with prayer as part of the stuff of daily living, then it’s something for every other Christian too. Love is the other fundamental. Love in which we so frequently fail, but which is nevertheless our motivation and the basis of our calling. The recognition of love is the recognition of our being in God. Which brings me back to those words from our second reading with which I began: ‘We know love by this, that the Son of God laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.’ The Gift of Friendship 6th Sunday of Easter – 21st May 2006 The Revd. Martin Jackson Vicar of St. Cuthbert's Acts 10.44-48; 1 John 5.1-6; John 15.9-17 Some words from today’s Gospel: “14 You are my friends.... 15 I do not call you servants any longer, … I have called you friends…” Forget for a moment the words I’ve missed out – it’s the emphasis on friendship that concerns me here… A couple of weeks ago at Evening Prayer I found myself reading this poem to the congregation… So most of you won’t have heard it! I’ll read it again now: A pen appeared, and god said "Write what it is to be Man." And my hand hovered long over the page until there, like footprints of the lost traveller, letters took shape on the page’s blankness and I spelled out the word "lonely" And my hand moved to erase it, but the voices of all those waiting at life’s window cried out loud “It is true.” This is R.S.Thomas’s poem, “The Word.” Pretty well the antithesis of those words of Jesus I first quoted. Thomas was writing not just as a poet but as a priest who wrestled with the human condition and the barriers we find in communication with God and other people. What he says is what people often want to avoid saying. Where we try to be chirpy and answer the question, “How are you?” with that expected non-threatening response, “Fine,” Thomas instead is embarrassingly honest… “Write what it is to be a man”… “and I spelled out the word ‘lonely.’ I wonder how R S Thomas would fare if he were going through the selection process for ordination today. One of the questions candidates for ordained ministry are asked when they get to the stage of facing a diocesan selection panel concerns how they relate to other people. How are relationships in their family? And what about “friendships”? It’s the interpretation they give to that question which interests me. Giving their answer, people will say they have anything from two or three close friends to reeling off a Christmas Card list of hundreds. What constitutes a “friend”? You can be challenged by that question when BT offers you discount on your phone bill for the numbers you’ll add on your “Family and Friends” list – and then you look at the bill and think, I’ve got the wrong people on this list! When people start a speech off by addressing everyone as “Friends,” you might wonder whether they really have you in mind – and if so, what do they mean by “friend”? It’s a warning to politicians who might well come out the worse for wear if their audience is truly honest, and to clergy who address their entire Parish Magazine readership as “My Dear Friends…” – and then put the same letter before the whole world on the Internet. A business man said to me, “I don’t have friends, just acquaintances…” That’s a depressing observation, not least for its honesty. In our churches I hope we can do better, but it has to be said that clergy don’t necessarily give a good lead. When I was ordained there was still a tradition – happily breaking down at the time – that “you shouldn’t have friends in the parish.” It was the fear that if you were seen to favour one person over another, then it would cause offence. And for centuries monks and nuns lived with a ban on what was called “particular friendships” – everyone in their community merited exactly the same treatment, but with the result that the community was turned simply into a network of disconnected individuals. There is a trap where in seeking to be friends with everyone, you end up being friends with no one in particular. So what about the celebrities who give lavish parties for just a few hundred close personal friends? – there was one mentioned on the news while I was in the shower this morning, but if it makes the news, how normal can that be? Against that we can set the intensity of friendships which might or might not endure – but which mark us and form us as the people we are. R S Thomas thought that the human condition was “lonely”, but that’s a heart-breaking observation that perceives what is missing in the lives of people who have come to think that way. We need other people. We need friendships which remain real despite the distance of space and time. We need people who are there for us when we need them – and at the same time need a readiness to be a friend to them through all the life-changes we experience. And we need an openness to celebrate new friendships. It’s something I find really moving when some one says, “May I count you as a friend?” It’s a question that needs to be asked more often… Sometimes people say, “Don’t presume upon friendships.” I’ve found myself pondering whether this is a good rule. And this is where we need to get theological. Come to our 8a.m. Eucharist using the Book of Common Prayer and we use the wonderfully-named Prayer of Humble Access: “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O Lord…” it begins. Don’t make presumptions, it seems to say. But then there is a twist in the prayer. What you should not presume is your own state of worthiness: “We do not presume to come to this thy Table,… trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies.” You can presume when it comes to your relationship with God in Christ, for Christ has made us his friends and called us to his table. “I have called you friends.” These are his words in today’s Gospel – the calling is to sit with him and eat. The modern version of that prayer you’ll find in our “Common Worship” booklets on page 10: “Most merciful Lord, your love compels us to come in.” This version misses out the reference to presumption – and perhaps a problem in modern society is that people presume just too much! – but it gets it right that it’s God who takes the initiative in calling us into fellowship with him. “You are my friends…” says Jesus, and he calls us to be friends to him and to each other. St Gregory of Nyssa – in the 4th century – wrote: This is true perfection: not to avoid a wicked life because we fear punishment, like slaves; not to do good because we expect repayment, as if cashing in on the virtuous life by enforcing some business deal. On the contrary, disregarding all those good things which we do hope for and which God has promised us, we regard falling from God’s friendship as the only thing dreadful, and we consider becoming God’s friend the only thing truly worthwhile. For Gregory friendship with God was the one essential. Everything else followed from it. God loves us, and we see it because he doesn’t count the cost when he sends his Son into our world. Here is some one who will go to the Cross for us. But he reminds us: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Love and friendship are there to be given and received freely, without charge. We are called to be friends of God and friends to each other. But can we do it? Don’t we find ourselves counting the cost? Can I afford to be his or her friend, we might find ourselves asking? That’s when friendship can be seen to cause obligation. It’s to fall into the trap of thinking that if we are to be a particular person’s friend then we have to emulate his lifestyle, reciprocate with presents of similar worth and match the magnificence of their dinner party invitations… The fact is that friendship does need to be worked at, but never so that you lose sight of who you really are, never so that friendship with one person or group causes you to shun another. “You are my friends if you do what I command you,” says Jesus – “that you love one another.” The new commandment of Jesus is not an order that he lays upon us. Andrew Greeley, the American priest and novelist, tells this story: Once upon a time there was a certain bishop who was very proud of being a bishop. He was also very careful to see that everyone treated him with great respect because, after all, he was one of the successors of the apostles, wasn’t he? He didn’t seem to remember what a stubborn, pig-headed, and difficult crowd the apostles were. He was upset whenever the acolytes that the masses he said around the diocese were not trained to perfection. Some people thought he was a real jerk. Others thought he was a nice enough guy for a bishop but that he had a few obsessions that he would well get along without. So one day, the sixth Sunday of Easter to be exact, he was saying mass at a parish where a certain mother had warned her little girl not to offend the bishop. Well, the little girl was a feisty one and she wasn’t afraid of the bishop or anyone else (few six grade girls are). So when she was slow in bringing the towel for the washing of hands and he snapped his fingers impatiently, she stopped in her tracks. Bring me the towel the bishop ordered. The feisty little girl remembered the Gospel and shouted right back. Don’t give me orders, I’m not a servant, I’m a friend. Everyone laughed. So did the bishop. He hugged her and said of course she was a friend because she had the courage to tell him when he was making a fool out of himself. Then everyone applauded and the bishop had learned a valuable lesson about what the Church is. “You are my friends… love one another…” People with the wrong idea might expect that if God gets mixed up with this world and wants to put things right he would “lay down the law.” But he doesn’t. Christ comes not to lay down the law, but to lay down his life. God takes the initiative of friendship with his people. He loves us, and draws us into his love. He counts us his friends, in a friendship that we can presume upon, in a friendship we are to share with others. How can you talk about God? - and why? Trinity Sunday – 11th June 2006 The Revd. Martin Jackson, Vicar of St. Cuthbert's Isaiah 6.1-8; Romans 8.12-17; John 3.1-17 Some words of Jesus from today’s Gospel reading: “no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit... no one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man… God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.” What we are depends on who God is. And we speak of God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. These are just a few words from the Bible which have a bearing on the nature of God – but in them there is scope for the thousands of books which have been written on how we understand God. ...What it is to speak of God, and to say of God that he is “Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” And it’s not just a matter for theological speculation. Christians have fallen out with each other over their understanding of the Trinity – of how Father, Son and Holy Spirit relate to each other and to our humanity. They’ve rioted in the streets, excommunicated each other, Churches have gone into schism, and Christians have called each other heretics – all for a failure to agree on their understanding of God. Most people find it hard to see what there is to get worked up about. I remember a conversation with a taxi-driver when I was travelling in the Palestinian territories of the West Bank. Taxi drivers in this country may talk about the weather or what’s on TV, in America they tell you how to put the world right (or how America can put the world right) – but in the Middle East they talk about religion. This taxi driver was a Muslim in a town which has been one of the centres of resurgent Islam. He thought Muslims and Christians could make a common cause. After all, he said, you believe in Jesus, and Jesus is a great teacher and prophet. Christians believe that, and we Muslims believe that. Yes..., I could have said, (but was wary of his reaction,) but Christians believe rather more than that. And Jesus is not just a prophet with prophecy reaching its fulfillment in Muhammad. What my driver could not understand was how any man could be compared in any way with God, never mind be God. And I suspect that many people in our own still largely nominal Christian country are closer to being Muslims than to Christianity in terms of what they really believe. For a start it’s easier to say what a Muslim believes than a Christian. Sunday by Sunday, Christians recite the Creed – it takes up at least a page of the service book, and we generally say it at such a pace that there’s no way you can take it in. The Muslim statement of faith is so much simpler: “There is no God but God, and Muhammad is his prophet.” That’s it. No worry about how we can believe in God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit – who is not three Gods but one God, who is three persons yet one in Being, indivisible yet at the same time not confused with one another. And that’s just a start.... It took Christians three centuries to work out the basics of what we call the Creed – and still more time to argue over the details. It took Christianity more than three centuries before it gained anything like widespread acceptance in Europe, and then it needed the backing of the Emperor. But the message of Islam, proclaimed by the prophet Muhammad, spread throughout the Middle East and North Africa in just a few short years of the seventh century – and there’s little doubt in our own day who is clearer and more fervent about their faith between Muslims and western Christians. You can understand why. Muhammad lived in a society of many tribal divisions where religion was a mish-mash of animist beliefs on the one hand, and some rumours of dispute-riven Christianity on the other. Muhammad could take up the basics of a religion where God had spoken to Abraham. He could accept the general truths of the Teacher called Jesus. But the simple genius of his message was the single thrust that God is God alone, and the truth of God is to be found complete only in the Quran as he himself enunciated it. Believe in God, believe the words of the Prophet. It’s a simplicity which perhaps many people in today’s world are seeking. When people say they believe in God, when they talk about Jesus and the truth of his teaching – … but then can’t quite work out how to make sense of the teaching or how Jesus could ever have expected people to put it into practice. Christian teaching as such is just not that clear. The Bible is not like the Quran so that you can open it up and apply it at face value to the situation in which you find yourself. That’s not to say people haven’t tried to do it. Mormons have tried – and have ended up with an appendix, the Book of Mormon, which they need for their interpretation of the Bible. Christian Scientists have tried – and have ended up with a faith neither Christian nor scientific but making life itself rather unreal. Jehovah’s Witnesses have tried it – but in seeking to hear the voice of God have reduced Jesus to being less than God so that the clear teaching they seek to give depends so much on their own particular interpretation. Christians have a lot to learn about other religions. And on the whole we’ve a lot to learn about our own religion – and it’s not as easy as others. At least its Creeds and doctrines are not as easy, because Christian faith cannot be reduced to a few simple doctrines, and the Christian way is more than simple commandments and teachings you can put into practice. The Christian way is faith revealed in Jesus Christ. We look upon this man and see God: “All that the Father has is mine,” Jesus tells the disciples. He shares the fullness of our human life, but when he comes to people in their need, when he touches them to give healing, when he speaks to crowds and individuals, when he weeps for a dead friend or joins in celebration of a marriage, then people know they have been touched by God. This is the reality people know from which all our doctrines grow. The doctrines are doctrines, but the experience of God in people’s lives is real. What people find happening in their lives when they meet with Jesus is simple – it’s putting it into words which is so difficult, and why people are put off wrestling with doctrines and theology. But the very complexity is in a way important – it says, you can’t reduce Christianity to simple statements, you can’t wrap God up in just a few words. What we find in the experience of God working in our lives is real, and not easy to talk about. It would be easier to talk of one God in his heaven, remote from our world and judging it according to commandments which have been enunciated plainly by a chosen prophet. But that is not the way of the Christian God, who comes to us in human flesh, who knows personally the complexity and contradictory ways of human nature. It is because Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, the Son of God, shares our humanity while bringing to us the fulness of God’s divine nature that we can say God knows what it is to be human. The judgement he brings upon the world is not condemnation but redemption. In Jesus – God and Man – he brings us to the heart of his divine nature; he takes us to heart. And God’s work is on-going, not just a matter of history. “The Spirit ...will guide you into all truth,” we read last week at Pentecost. God’s Holy Spirit is as close and real to us as the breath we breathe - God at work in our lives, here and now. So it’s important to recognise him as God: not far away but close as close can be; and leading us as one who is all that God is. Father, Son and Holy Spirit – not one of them is less than the fullness of God, never working alone, not just ways of experiencing God, but not duplicating God either, because each person is the whole Being of God. On Friday the Church celebrated the Feast Day of two great Christian saints. One is Columba, who left his native Ireland to take the Gospel to Scotland, founding the abbey of Iona, proclaiming a message which before long found its way to our own Northumbria. His name literally means “dove,” so he may all the more readily be seen as a means by which the Holy Spirit worked. But this was God at work with a man who bore the guilt of complicity in tribal feuds – a man whose following of the teaching of Christ had been compromised. The fact that God could work with him bears testimony to a faith which is rich, which can’t wrap God up in matters of right and wrong, but which speaks of the experience of divine forgiveness in Christ, and of the power of the Holy Spirit to lead the less than perfect towards the truth. The other saint is less well known in this country, St. Ephrem of Syria. In his writings and disputations, Ephrem worked hard in the fourth century to defend the emerging Orthodox Christian understanding of God. He saw how heretics spread their message by putting it into popular songs and worked against them by composing Christian songs and hymns of his own. He is known to the Syrian church which still sings those hymns as "the harp of the Holy Spirit" – some of his words are found amongst the hymns we sing even today in our own church. What Ephrem recognised is that words on their own – even words about God – are sterile things. Our whole being needs to engage with God – our worship and song lift our souls to God, and show us something o