A Sermon preached at Fordingbridge and Sandleheath Churches on Trinity 6, July 8th, 2018, by Canon Gary Philbrick.
Ps. 48, II Cor 12:2-10, Mark 6:1-13
Lord God, take my words and speak through them,
take our minds and think through them,
take our hearts and set them on fire with love for you,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.
I, along with Nicky and Rachel, had the wonderful privilege of attending the Celebration Service for the 70th Anniversary of the National Health Service in our Cathedral at Winchester on Thursday. The Cathedral was almost full, the Service had been wonderfully crafted, and there was a number of highlights.
Before the Service, a Filipino Choir from Southampton General Hospital sang, and that was great. Another choir, the Basingstoke Hospital Male Voice Choir sang an extremely moving version of the old revivalist hymn, ‘When the storms of life are raging, stand by me’. And the Cathedral Choir sang wonderful anthems by Vaughan Williams and Elgar.
The preacher was the new Bishop of London, Sarah Mullaly, known to many locally from her time as Canon Treasurer of Salisbury Cathedral, before becoming one of the first women Bishops in the Church of England, as Bishop Suffragan of Crediton. Before that, though, she was the Chief Nursing Officer for England, the most senior advisor on nursing matters to the Government – amazingly, it was during her time in this post that she trained part-time for ordination and served as a Self Supporting Minister. Her sermon included praise for all those from overseas who have come here to work in the National Health Service. And she reflected on compassion, which I’ll come back to later.
But the real highlights of the Service were the Testimonials given by two NHS workers. One spoke of her mother, who completed her training in 1948 and started work for the new NHS, and how she, the daughter, had followed in her footsteps. And the other, amazingly, had been working for the NHS for 55 years, always in what started out as Casualty, and is now A & E, and she’s still working at Southampton General – she didn’t look old enough to have been working for that long, but she did tell us that her mother is 104, and still fit as a fiddle.
These personal stories of those with long connections with the NHS made me reflect on a number of things, starting with the fact that I’d never really thought about the fact that I was born when the NHS was less than ten years old. Nowadays, ten years goes by in a flash, but then, it seemed to me as a child, that the Health Service had just always been there.
Which made me wonder whether anyone has memories of what it was like before the Health Service was formed? [Any thoughts?]
It was just after the trauma of the Second World War that the Health Service was founded; there was still rationing, and bombed out houses, and people still suffering from the war. And, of course, the National Health Service was founded against the wishes of a large majority of doctors throughout the country, who, for a variety of reasons, some good, some selfish, didn’t think it was a good idea.
It was an act of enormous political courage, to go against the wishes of such an influential group of people, and many who weren’t doctors, to stand up for the principal that, just as education should be open to all, regardless of wealth or social status – a battle that was won in the late nineteenth century – so should health care be available to all, based on need, and free at the point of contact.
Many of those who fought for a National Health Service did so out of their Christian convictions; alongside many who were not coming at the project from a faith perspective. But, whatever the motivation, it was a deeply Christian concept, drawn from the historic traditions of the country, the traditions of health care provided by the Church over many centuries. And, of course, going back to Jesus’ own ministry, as we heard at the end of our Gospel Reading this morning, when he sends out the Twelve to cast out demons – what we might now call mental health – and anoint with oil and cure the sick.
It’s worth reflecting on the links between the words we use in this area: hospital and hospice, both linked with words such as hospitality and hotel, and all deriving from the Latin word, hospes, which means both host and guest. Interestingly, host has developed to mean just the one providing hospitality, but the original Latin, hospes, meaning both host and guest, recognised that you can’t be a host without someone to host, and you can’t be a guest without a host – they are both relational terms.
The NHS Values are Christian values – and, of course, they are shared by much wider faith and non-faith communities. We heard them in the Service on Thursday.
The NHS values are:
- Working together for patients.
- Respect and dignity.
- Commitment to quality of care.
- Improving lives.
- Everyone counts.
They are a magnificent set of values, aspired to by the great majority of the 1½m employees of the Health Service.
Now, there are problems, of course. As we all age and have greater health needs, we put the NHS under greater strain; more and more effective treatments are discovered, which inevitably cost more; many of us would have died of illnesses in the past which are curable now – and we have some of those in the congregation this morning. There are the difficulties of recruiting and retaining enough staff, especially while a number of European nurses and others wonder about their status here after March next year.
And there are failures or care – such as those we have been reading about at Gosport Hospital recently.
But, as the Bishop of London said in her address on Thursday, ‘The National Health Service was born out of a vision of healthcare available to all, regardless of wealth or status. Born out of a belief in something called the Common Good’.
She went on to reflect on the Parable of the Good Samaritan, with its question at the end, ‘Who is your neighbour?’ And she said, ‘Ask any nurse on any ward in this country this question and I am pretty sure of the answer you’d get: the patients they tend and care for. The NHS embodies this Gospel vision of compassion for all, regardless of age or race or religion’.
And she ended by saying, ‘We are here today to give thanks to God for our NHS and to pledge ourselves anew to make it the best we can. To ensure it serves all who need it with humanity and dignity and compassion. In the coming months and years there will be more pressures upon it. More change. More difficult decisions. We pray today for those making those decisions that they might be true to the vision of the Common Good which inspired the creation of the NHS seven decades ago’.
I thought we’d have a few moments for reflection on our own experience of the Health Service, both good and bad; to think of those who staff the NHS, and to pray for its future, and then I’ll read a poem.
These are the Hands
for the 60th anniversary of the NHS
These are the hands
That touch us first
Feel your head
Find the pulse
And make your bed.
These are the hands
That tap your back
Test the skin
Hold your arm
Wheel the bin
Change the bulb
Fix the drip
Pour the jug
Replace your hip.
These are the hands
That fill the bath
Mop the floor
Flick the switch
Soothe the sore
Burn the swabs
Give us a jab
Throw out sharps
Design the lab.
And these are the hands
That stop the leaks
Empty the pan
Wipe the pipes
Carry the can
Clamp the veins
Make the cast
Log the dose
And touch us last.
© Michael Rosen, reproduced by permission of United Agents (www.unitedagents.co.uk) on behalf of the author
Very occasionally when watching an old film, usually set in London, the street scene will include a man with a sandwich board declaring something like “Repent your sins, the end is nigh”. The only sandwich board I have seen in real life is some poor chap who stands on the A303 somewhere near Andover advertising a pub during opening hours. Like the sandwich board men who have disappeared so has discussion about sin. The church plays it down nowadays perhaps because people see the church as judgemental, goody-goody, and self-righteous if it does call sin out.
There are of course many types of outpourings of sin, of the Ten Commandments written down by Moses, eight are things you must not do. The two readings tonight seem to me to be about stubbornness and disobedience. The king refuses to accept that God is supreme and Adam of course went and ate the apple from the tree when he had been told specifically not to.
I don’t think many of us set out deliberately to sin do we? Do you get up in the morning and think “I’m going to be really bad today”? But there are times in life where we come up against it almost as a dare or just because we wish to rebel. Honour they father and mother is one of the two commandments that doesn’t have a “not” in it, but oh, what an opportunity there is to “not” honour your mother and father. My mother, a primary school teacher who I and Margaret both had the unfortunate opportunity to be taught by, was exceptionally good at pointing out what we should not do. Given this I spent 3 years of my life finding as many opportunities as possible to rebel against her instructions. I may have shared this before. Given we lived in Grantham in Lincolnshire; you may wonder why the school decided that the year four trip would be to Whipsnade Zoo in Bedfordshire. Over 100 eleven year olds cooped up in coaches on one of the hottest days of the year for several hours. We had all been given some pocket money to enable us to but a souvenir but we were instructed, by Mrs Ward, that the one thing we were absolutely not allowed to buy was a pen-knife. Well, challenge laid down, I set off for the gift shop to locate the pen-knives, made a purchase and whilst showing it to my friends cut my finger so badly that eventually I had to own up for fear my life-blood was ebbing away. Needless to say this resulted in the wrath of mother and endless threats as to what she would do to me for several weeks to come. It was, however, the best pen-knife I ever had; I discovered when she eventually reunited it with me. Was it worth it – you bet your life it was. I was the hero of the hour. Have I repented – no.
But disobedience can get us into far worse trouble than a cut finger and being grounded. Fortunately for us though, disobedience to God gets us into far less trouble than it did in Old Testament times. For the Old Testament is full of the vengeful God, the God that punishes, the God that brings terrible things to bear on those who disobey him. If we had started this service at the beginning, instead of where we now do, we would have all repented of our sins, meekly kneeling on our knees, as the prayer book puts it. And here’s the big difference. One act of utter obedience changed the whole relationship we have with God. The only person “without sin” gave up his life so that God would begin a new covenant with us which allows us to be forgiven, no matter what the sin. He didn’t need to go to Jerusalem when he knew the chief-priests were after him. He didn’t need to announce his arrival in such an obvious way which wound them up even more. He didn’t need to stay there when he knew Judas Iscariot was going to betray him, and he may well have been released by Pilate if he had answered his questions differently. But he knew what he had been asked to do – he says to God “if you can take this away, please do so”, but when God doesn’t he stays the course, he is obedient to the last and he suffers the most terrible fate as a result.
But does this really give us carte blanche to do whatever we want to because we know we can have the slate wiped clean? That rule doesn’t apply in society does it? Well, the cynic might say it does when you look at the list of possible crimes that can be committed before action is taken, especially with car crime and robbery. In some places now the police won’t even attend a burglary because they argue they are too stretched to do so. But in general society still exacts punishment for crime. Despite what I’ve just said, our prison population is as high as it has ever been. In secular life we don’t forgive as readily as God forgives. Just take the case of John Warboys, the convicted rapist, due to be released after serving his sentence. Only now are ways being found to try to get him for other crimes so he is never released. Of course the difficulty we have is that unlike God, we have no way of knowing if that person has utterly repented and has changed. The only way we will find out is if he or she is released and then what happens as a result and of course if it goes wrong, out will come the knives. But clearly God will forgive that person. Jesus does exactly that as he hangs on the cross, telling the repentant criminal hanging next to him that he will go to paradise. My guess is that Jesus saw into his soul and saw the absolute repentance of that man.
Where does that leave us then? And of course we are not just talking about simple disobedience now are we, for sin can manifest itself in much more evil ways. Clearly we can forgive huge sins. Just look at some of the reconciliations between allied and German or Japanese soldiers from the second war who have surpassed the hatred to form bonds which have lasted until death. Torture has been forgiven in the name of peace and being able to move on. But it can’t be easy can it? How does a mother forgive someone who has murdered her son, yet it happens.
Fortunately few of us will ever be placed in such situations but we do face sin every day in our lives. People hurt us, people say things which cut into us, sometimes it is intentional, and sometimes it’s just carelessness of actions or thoughts. Families are torn apart, relationships ruined, over relatively trivial things, because sometimes we would rather keep the hurt than let it go. How many times have I heard, “I have a brother but we haven’t spoken since…” I come from a tiny family. I knew my parents, two of my grandparents and I had an aunt and an uncle. All my other relatives were a more distant link than that. I didn’t have the opportunity of brothers, sisters, cousins and I’m certain I lost out as a result. I married into a huge family and now I have a reasonably significant one of my own, three children with spouses and almost six grandchildren. I look at families that have split and I wonder, how could that have happened, how could they have lost something so precious? Things have happened in the family I am now part of in the past which could have caused rifts but I thank God that every time at least one person on the wrong end of the issue has been gracious enough to forgive.
So I guess my message is this. From one sinner to another, and I very rarely dispense advice, but I’m going to make an exception tonight. Over the next two weeks we will watch Jesus take the most excruciating journey, the ultimate sacrifice for every one of us here, a man without sin, nailed to a cross and left to die in agony, for us – to give us the chance to start again, to be free of all the things that mark us. So tonight I leave you with this – if there is a hurt you can forgive, if there is something which has separated you from another – forgive it, let it go, especially if it stemmed from some petty disobedience, for God has forgiven our disobedience time and again, and will continue to do so as long as we ask for it. Amen.
There’s no two ways about it, the gospel reading today isn’t full of joy although it does end with Jesus offering hope to those who follow him. Why isn’t it joyful, because it’s about death. It is said that there are three topics to keep away from avoiding conflict, discussions that talk about sex, politics or religion, but I’d also add another which we don’t like to talk about – death. It’s a paradox in many ways because it is the one thing that we will all end up doing at some point, so in many ways it is the most normal and natural thing, but the logic of that argument doesn’t take into account the things that make us human – relationships, love, trust, reliance on each other – all the stuff that comes from the heart. Whilst it is completely normal when it happens it hurts because all the stuff of relationship is lost and the greater the relationship, the more it hurts those left behind.
I make no secret that when my great friend Andrew died just over 3 years ago, I struggled for months. I ended up finding someone I could talk to about it because I could not come to terms with it. That made me feel guilty at the time – he was my friend, but he wasn’t my husband or my father, what right did I have to feel so lost? I came to realise with help that it isn’t the level of relationship that regulates grief; it’s the depth of it. Andrew and I clicked at a level where we had a deep trust of each other. He enabled me to sing in public, he was there as a sounding board if I needed one and I for him, and we both loved single malt whisky in equal measure but I suspect the latter wasn’t the root of our relationship. It turned out he wasn’t “just” a friend, he was everything a friend could be, and I was poleaxed by his loss. So whilst death is an everyday occurrence it is far from simple to deal with when it happens to someone you are close to.
I don’t know if it is the case or not, but if we spoke about death more, perhaps it would be less scary. But is it also the case that if we really told each other what our relationships mean we might feel more comforted when we lose someone. How often have you heard someone say “I wish I had told them that…”, or “I never got so say…” I have no idea if the British are more reserved than other nations, but we do seem to have a tendency not to express our feelings good or bad. We don’t whoop like the Americans, we don’t wail when in deep distress like many eastern and African people do. Just think about the last disaster you witnessed on the news in somewhere like Egypt, husband, wives, mothers, wailing in deep, deep anguish, but that isn’t our way is it. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry” we often hear when someone breaks down during a eulogy – why – why do we feel ashamed to show our grief?
So when the Greeks came visiting Jesus I suspect they were somewhat taken aback when he started to tell them he was about to snuff it. They had heard of his miracles and the amazing things he had done and suddenly he started to talk about his death. I wonder what their reaction was?
But he wasn’t just talking about his actual death I don’t think, nor just about anyone’s actual death. He was also talking about the loss of opportunity when we fail to grasp it. A plant grows, it produces fruit and seed and it dies – it has gone, yet if we plant the seed next year and it grows then the old plant lives on too, its death has brought life. How often do we cling on to something which is only just about alive because we are too frightened to let it go and replace it with something which will bring so much more.
Through my dealings within the deanery I am involved in working out how we re-use the ordained post that we release at Hyde which has been gifted to New Milton. It was clear that the post at Hyde whilst doing good, could never have the impact that it can have in New Milton. So we worked out how to look after Hyde, Harbridge and Ellingham differently, and in effect the post of vicar died.The plan is to start a new resource church in New Milton – a church plant and use the now dead vicar’s post as the person who will lead this new church, but we had to let one thing go to start another.
The reason we can start a resource church in Milton is because two other deaths already happened. St Swithun’s church in Bournemouth had closed, first as a CofE and then as a free church. It was empty but it was surrounded by many students and young people. Holy Trinity Brompton, the founders of Alpha took a leap of faith, took the building on and sent some of their people to start a renewed church and now in its fourth year it has over 600 mainly young people worshipping every Sunday. A short while later St Clement’s church in Bournemouth was also about to close. Its congregation of a few older people had decided they could no longer continue. St Swithun’s was asked if there was any way it could help and so they planted into St Clement’s which is still open and now has over 100 worshippers each Sunday. But there is a twist to this. St Clement’s still had that small faithful group of older people and the people from St Swithun’s knew their brand of worship wouldn’t suit those people, so as well as introducing all the new stuff, they honoured and kept the existing and they even increased the number of times the existing was available, so now that church which was at death’s door is flourishing and still giving life to those who had remained faithful to it. Whilst it didn’t die, it took the congregation to decide that their way of life might have to go if survival was to happen.
So what do we cling onto – a job we can do but we don’t enjoy, a relationship that isn’t all it should be, a house that costs us every penny we earn but which isn’t a home, material stuff so we can keep up with next door, but which doesn’t make us happy. And why, mainly because we are afraid of letting it die because we don’t know how that will make us feel and we fear change and we fear loss even though whatever it is might be causing us pain – “better the devil you know”. I don’t tell you this to make me look good, but when I left HSBC several people I knew who I thought were really fulfilled and who had big houses and nice cars, who I thought might judge me, came up to me and said “I wish I’d had the courage to do that because what I do really doesn’t fulfil me” and I was shocked.
So back to the reading – if Jesus hadn’t died, our slate wouldn’t have been wiped clean, we would still have the relationship of the Old Testament people with God, a vengeful God who visited retribution. But it’s not like that for us is it – we can mess up time after time after time and ask to be forgiven and we are, but what pain did Jesus have to endure for our sake? New life was given that day, Christians were born as we now are because Jesus put away the bad stuff and bargained for us a new relationship with God and as a result, as it says in the reading, “the ruler of this world”, what we might call the devil or evil, became less powerful. Yes evil still exists but we have the power in God to overcome it.
And personally – what should we let die so we can spring forth new life – what conversations should we have to make dealing with real death more bearable? What should we do as a church? It is said we are slowly dying, so what do we let go, and what do we dare to do instead. Do the maybe 500 or so of us that make up the worshippers in Avon Valley need 7 churches, no we don’t, but can we bear to part with any of them – for that is like a death. Buildings are very important, they witness to the world that we are here, they hold memories of changes in our lives, baptisms, weddings, funerals and much more, but at the end of the day WE are the church and it might be that we need to define ourselves differently in 2018 to 1818 or 1518 if we are to do God’s work in these places. I’m not suggesting it has to happen, but I do think it’s a conversation we should have, death and all its trappings are difficult to deal with, especially if we can’t bring ourselves to talk about them. But if we can what amazing things might happen as a result?
4/III/18 Lent 3 Ex 20:1-17, Jn 2:13-22
May the words I speak and the words you hear be God’s alone. AMEN.
What place does anger have in our life of faith? That’s a question which is raised in different ways by both of our readings this morning.
As part of a list of instructions to new Christians, the writer to the Ephesians says, ‘Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger’ [Eph 4:26]. What place does anger have in our life of faith? Is there such a thing as righteous anger? Is it possible to be angry without being led into sin?
Our first hymn [AMRW 563, v. 2] is one of the few which reflect Jesus’ anger, and it was good to sing it this morning:
Jesus Christ is raging,
Raging in the streets,
Where injustice spirals
And real hope retreats.
Listen, Lord Jesus,
I am angry too:
In the kingdom’s causes
Let me rage with you.
Let’s come at this slightly tangentially by looking at the media storm about revelations of sexual misconduct at Oxfam. There are at least two shocking aspects to this story.
The first, the less shocking of the two, is the discovery that Oxfam workers had been paying for sex in the aftermath of the 2010 Haiti earthquake. By calling it the ‘less shocking’ of the two, I’m not trying to undermine the awfulness of what happened, or to condone the actions of the aid workers who have done so much damage to individual Haitian people and to the reputation of Oxfam, but simply saying that we should not be surprised that in a large organisation which is helping about 18 million people in the poorest countries of the world each year, there will be a number of bad eggs [See Paul Vallely, CT, 23/II/18, p.15, for that number]. And the reason that we shouldn’t be surprised, is that we know, as God says to Cain, shortly before he murders Abel, that ‘sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it’ [Gen 4:7].
Sin lurks at the door – we know, as Christians, and those trying to explore the Christian journey, that sin is ever-present; that often, even when we’re trying to do good, sin creeps in. We do something nice for someone, and we can’t help just dropping little hints about how good we’ve been, so that others will know; we make a donation to charity, and come away with a smug feeling that we’ve done something good, when we’ve only given the price of a cup of coffee; and so on.
Because we know all this, one of the first things we do when we come to worship together each week is to acknowledge sin, both individual and corporate – we have confession and Absolution. And we need this each week, not just once a year! We acknowledge our sin, and the sin of the world, we receive forgiveness, and we move on to the rest of our worship. It is important to acknowledge our sins and failures to God, but that is not his last word to us. Yes, we are fallen sinners, but, more importantly, we are redeemed by God’s love in Christ. That is God’s last word on us!
Human beings have an infinite capacity for good, but also an infinite capacity or evil, and for self-deception. We’re very good at convincing ourselves that we’re doing something bad for good reasons.
All human beings, and all human organisations, are capable of sin – individually and corporately.
And so, although the Oxfam exposé is sad and shocking and makes unpleasant reading, we shouldn’t be surprised that sin has crept into even the most worthy of human institutions.
What I have found even more shocking is the way that some of the media, and some politicians, have used this scandal as a way of attacking Oxfam as a whole, and aid organisations in general.
When there is a sex scandal in Parliament, and goodness knows, we’ve had a few of those over the years, we don’t hear politicians saying that we should cut off all funds to the House of Commons until it has been sorted out. When there were extremely unpleasant revelations about the misuse of power for sex in the film industry, no one said that we should boycott all the cinemas and not watch any films on TV.
And yet, because of the regrettable actions of a small minority of Oxfam employees, people have been calling for a suspension of its funding, from Government and other donor organisations – the only effect of which will be to damage the lives of those 18 million people, living in unimaginable poverty, whom Oxfam helps each year.
The actions of a few are, in some quarters, being used to harm the interests of the many, often by those who question the whole basis of aid. There may be legitimate questions about the aid agencies, but they should be addressed honestly, and not via the back door of a scandal such as this.
Which brings me back to anger.
Very few of us will not be angry at some point – and many people carry large amounts of anger about with them all the time. What’s it for, and what do we do with it?
As Nicky points out on the front of this week’s Partners, Jesus’ ‘Cleansing of the Temple’, as it is usually called, appears in each of the Gospels. In the three Synoptic Gospels, Mark, Matthew and Luke, it appears as Jesus enters Jerusalem at the start of the last week of his life. In John’s Gospel, as we read this morning, it comes at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, immediately after his first miracle at the wedding feast at Cana in Galilee.
That’s a very significant placing of the story. In the first chapter of John, we hear of John the Baptist, and his pointing to Jesus as the Lamb of God; and Jesus calls his first Disciples to him. And then, in John 2, Jesus is, in effect, called out by his mother, and turns the water into about 150 gallons of wine – that’s a lot of wine by anyone’s standards. And immediately after that, after the narrator comments that Jesus ‘Revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him’ [Jn 2:11], he goes up to Jerusalem for the Passover, and his first action there is to drive out those selling the animals for sacrifice, and to turn over the tables of those exchanging normal everyday currency into Temple Money for the offerings. That must have caused quite a scene!
We know that Jesus was capable of enormous compassion. Here we see that he is also capable of anger – he shares the human condition with us, and he feels our anger and pain.
There is lots in the background of this story, about those making excess profit from selling the animals for sacrifice, and those changing money charging high rates of commission, and so on. I don’t think we can extrapolate from that that every financial transaction in a place of worship is always exploitative.
But Jesus obviously has a burning anger for justice. Unlike us so often, the things that made him angry were not things which impinged on his own self-interest, which trampled on his own feelings, or his own well-being. The things that made him angry were those which impinged on the poorest in society, on those on the margins, on women, children, lepers, outcasts, those mistreated by society, by the wider world.
There seems to be a righteous anger, which is directed at those things in the world which are against God’s will – as opposed to the infant-like anger we so often feel when we don’t get our own way, when the whole world seems stacked against us.
It does seem like there is a place for anger in our faith. But like every other aspect of our lives, sin can creep into our anger. ‘Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger’ [Eph 4:26], says the writer to the Ephesians. We should be angry at the injustices in the world, at the terrible things which happen to people, at earthquakes, and cancer, and people dying too young, and children suffering – all of these things and many more should provoke us to anger, to prayer, and to action. Our hearts should burn for righteousness, we should give to charity, use Fairtrade, try to make a difference. This is righteous anger.
Ann Lewin, whose material we are using in the Lent Groups at the moment, puts it like this, in her poem ‘Temple Cleansing [Watching for the Kingfisher, p. 103]:
I guess it’s not strange that when I read the two readings set for this evening, I thought, “I’ve spoken about all of this before”, the subject matter being faith.
A number of you here are roughly the age Abram was when God commanded him to up-sticks and move his family to a faraway land. For most people the age of 75 denotes a time to settle down, not to start on another new journey. I reckon if I had been Abram I might have decided to stay put. But he didn’t. For some reason he heard and he believed and he obeyed. And of course it didn’t stop there did it, not long after he and his equally aged wife were expecting a child – that must have been quite a shock.
The musings that follow are utterly mine and I don’t ask you to agree with any or all of them, some I have already voiced before.
To have faith in our society in this place is a very simple and straightforward thing to do. Yes some people might wonder why you come here and believe in someone you’ve never seen but the worst most people will think of you is that you are a bit strange. No one is going to come knocking on the door in the middle of the night and drag any of us away because we believe in God.
The attitude to faith, to Christianity, is quite benign in this country and in some ways I think that’s a real issue for us. Because if we come here, say nothing controversial and go about our lives without worrying others, we will be easily tolerated, because we can be easily ignored.
It is only when one of our leaders does something controversial that the non-Christian community pricks up its ears – the Archbishop makes a political point and is roundly told off, even though he is by right a member of the highest form of government in the land, or the Pope makes some amazing gesture which appeals to the media for a few days and then everything returns to normal.
So what place does faith have in our lives? Some people come to places like this out of curiosity, for some it’s little more than a comfortable habit, perhaps an escape from the world, for others the hour or more they spend it such places per week is a chance to meet with God, and for others it is a place they come to as part of a complete life built around the God they worship. Now I suspect we all fall into that spectrum somewhere and we have been in different places at times in our lives.
I probably shouldn’t pick on Gary, but he’s an easy target – suppose next Sunday you are all here and Gary says “God came to me in a dream overnight and he has told me that we all have to sell everything we have because we are going to start a new Christian mission in Middlesbrough. Do you believe Gary is a faithful servant of Christ? – I do, and then what if John or Kate came in and said “I’ve had the same dream” – what would we do, what would you do? Would you follow Gary’s lead believing he really did hear from God? It wasn’t just Abram who upped and left because he heard God – his whole family went as well.
Or suppose something happened akin to Len Deighton’s SS-GB whereby this country was invaded not by a Nazi regime but by a pagan regime that banned the practice of our faith? Would you go out there and stand up for it or would you decide that a quiet life which didn’t include meeting to worship God was the best option?
Of course we don’t know the answers to any of this until we are tested do we? And in my lifetime we certainly haven’t been tested.
So it begs the question, should we make something happen? We know our numbers in this country are in decline, but we still come here, so it must mean something to us. Are we going to fight for it or are we going to let it go to the grave a little more every time Mr Newman is called upon to despatch one of us? (For the sake of balance other funeral directors are available.)
Let’s list some issues; of course we don’t see so many because we live here but what about:
- Knife crime;
- Deep seated poverty;
And the things we do see
- Families ripped apart
- The health service teetering on the brink.
Are these issues ones which we should be actively involved in trying to resolve because we have a faith in God who tells us to love everyone? Is that part of our faith, or is our faith limited only to praying for the world. Don’t get me wrong, prayer is a very powerful thing and a huge part of what we are, but we only have to look at Jesus’s own life to see that prayer was just one side of the coin – did he only pray for Zacchaeus? Did he only pray for the Samaritan woman at the well? No he didn’t – he got involved, he got his hands dirty in both cases and many more. He intervened. Neither of them were a massive threat to him or to those around, he could have let both incidents go, but he chose not to because he felt compelled to help those people live a different life. What about us?
In case you think I’m building up to a big ending with a blindingly obvious answer, I’m sorry I’m not. It’s easy to stand here and spout at you all. Some may go home and say, “well there he was, ranting again, never mind it’s Rachel next week”, some might email Gary and say “can’t you change his tune or ask him to keep his thoughts to himself” and others may go home and switch on “Call the Midwife” and forget everything I said. My point though is this – I don’t know any more than any of you what we should do, but I guess that’s at the heart of it – our faith drives us individually. God talks to us all in different ways and for different reasons and it is up to us to answer that call in whatever way we decide is the right one. Some of us might get an extra nudge like Jonah – “try running away from me and I’ll keep after you Jonah” says God and Jonah finally gets the message, but in my experience, in this age, he puts few of us to such a severe test.
Due to the way my diary has worked out, I have written this several weeks before I shall deliver it, and before the P.C.C. meets to deliberate on what our response in faith is to the gift of the Lillington legacy. For me it’s not about how it is spent, but what we have decided our purpose is here in this place at this time. Let me reiterate my earlier warning before I finish – this is just my opinion and is one of many, but if all we do with that money is to keep this place in tip-top order, beautiful though it is, then for me we will have wasted a massive opportunity to be faithful. If however we spend that same money doing something to this place which is based on welcoming others to us, looking after them, responding to their needs, allowing us to go out to them in Jesus’s name, well, that’s a very different matter.
Abram stepped out in faith and was richly rewarded in due course, but he had to take that first step into the unknown. Do we have that faith?