Timeless and again

Evensong 5th May 2013

Some of you may just have say and listened to this evening’s reading from Matthew and thought – why are we back to this again?. Whilst I hesitate to discern the minds of those who concoct the lectionary I would hazard a guess that we are being reminded of all the the Easter season is, of the story so far before we head towards our next major feast, the Ascension on Thursday.

 Some folk cannot understand the repetition with which Anglicans surround ourselves, week on week we have similar words, year on year we have seasons and festivals, repetitions of colour, movement and sound. Some would see this as an excuse for not really engaging at all, of simply going through endless motions.

This is nowhere more true than in the BCP. Common worship gives us options but Cranmer was careful in his liturgy to remove the complexities of the Roman rite – its changes and turns through the year – and give the English people a straight forward set of liturgy which could be used week in and week out – a few seasonal variations and, of course,  the collects, added accent but all in all week on week congregations would say the same words, day by day clergy would return to the same offices.

But, in fact, this repetition is not boring or facile, return never is. We come back to apparently the same place but always changed, day by day, week by week and year by year. Whether it is in the Bible readings in the Lectionary or in the words and actions of the liturgy we have grown and changed, we have walked further with Christ with each reenactment, with each response to invitation.

I rather like those films where you have the villain running down a cavernous spiral of stairs and the hero chasing, leaning over the edge to spy his prey and plan his heroic plunge down several flights as they near the bottom. Not that Chrisitan life is a chase, although sometimes we fall for heroism of competativeness – but rather that we return often and at each time are in a different place on the journey. The view has change a little. For some the image of climbing these stairs is helpful, for others going down, down, down deep into the depths of God – both have merit.

T.S Elliot in Little Gidding puts this much better than I can
If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always.

So whilst it might seem that we have been here before, whilst we feel as if these words of scripture are repetition there is a sense in which all that we do, all that we are given by God, all that we become in this place and continue to be are quite outside time.

Children are often taught now by repetition on a cycle – learning starts on a a topic in early years and then in each re-introduction they are taken deeper and wider into the subject. That is how we seem to learn, basics first and then slowly, time after time, we become used to the idea and can take in more and more.

Why should God be different when God knows us so well. Structure and order, seasons and times simply open a door to that which is beyond, to God himself. Not hoping to hold but beginning to frame.
Let me end with a bit from the last stanza from the poem;

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
Amen.

st george

St George is an interesting character. As I have commented before he is, perhaps, an unlikely choice for the patron of this nation, as he almost certainly never came here – if, indeed, he is more than a mythical character at all.

But the story of St George is a good story. A dragon, a princess and a handsome young knight. It is easy to understand and leads to the conversion of, apparently, fifteen thousand people as the dragon is deafeat under the sign of the cross.

The versions of the legend vary. The historical George is more likely to have been from Turkey and his story, lost in the myths of time, revolves around the Roman army and his rebellion against the persecution of Christians which led to his martyrdom.

Story is immensely important to us as human beings. We live in a world surrounded by books full of stories, films, television programmes and, of course, real life. We are naturally curious about stories, we love to find out what happened, want to know why someone is so kind or so cruel, we long to understand the world around us and to learn of new and interesting stories.

There is no doubt that stories cast all sorts of interesting light on our lives. Stories are often the best way of communicating social conventions, moral absolutes and religious truths. We tell children stories endlessly.

Our problem with stories comes when we get caught into the cycle which much of our world is caught in – that of sensationalism. The media whips up stories into a frenzy and we can all too easily get caught up in that – it is like gossip on a large scale designed not to educate or encourage but to feed salacious and escapist appetites. It does not take too much looking, each and every day, to find stories which are being hyped and exaggerated in order to grab our attention, people who are being manipulated and used in order to feed our appetites, people who are so caught up in the lives of others that they forget to live their own.

I am not accusing the legend of St. George of being merely sensationalist – the clear message that even the greatest foe can be overcome in the name of Christ, subdued and subjected might well be seen to relate to the Christianising of the beast of the Roman Empire which occurred shortly after his death – and its then demise. (Although modern scholars might question the efficacy of the Christendom project!).

If a patron saint though, is supposed to reflect in some way the character of the nation, I wonder where St. George fits. Certainly there are still dragons to be overcome in our world and in our nation. Dragons of children who learn fear and not hope, dragons of massive fiscal inequality, dragons of lack of opportunity and lack of faith, dragons of consumer appetite and loss of self worth. We could list them all. But there is another side to slaying a dragon – you have to know where your strength comes from – you have to believe deep inside that the cross really means something and is a transformative presence and that starts with each and every one of us.

Extraordinary bravery is not the norm – dragons and monsters often do not present in fiery fury but in a much more insidious and seeping way. The beasts which beset us wear away at our souls. And perhaps for that every day living we need a different sort of pattern, a different sort of patron for a much quieter battle.

In one version of the legend St George takes three goes to defeat the roaring dragon. In a highly symbolic rendering of the story he twice retreats to an enchanted orange tree to rest his wounds. The dragon has fought him back and then split his armour from his body. Vulnerable and wounded he gains strength under the shadow of the tree which protects him from the poison of the beast – then he emerges and runs in, mortally wounding the great animal in close combat.

It is not the most common version of the tale, but it has something worth pondering – a patron with the need for rest and return. A patron who draws strength from something outside himself, who needs help and protection. A patron who of himself would have been defeated and is reliant.

Enchanted orange trees or God's loving arms, we are all called to be heroes, to defeat the roaring and creeping dragons alike but from a place of weakness and vulnerability, a place of reliance and self knowledge.

So what sort of patron is St. George and how are we, as the body of Christ, building God's kingdom here, in this green and pleasant land?

Could we live like this?

Could we live like this?

The theme of this sermon could well have been chalk and and cheese with readings about both Peter and Paul, the two great named apostles of the New Testament who, in many ways could not have been more different but between them present a pericope of discipleship. One, Peter called from the beginning of Jesus ministry, with Jesus throughout His earthly ministry, Jesus right hand man at the end, if sometimes bumbling and careless. And Paul – a persecutor of the Christian Church who is convicted by a mystical experience as he journeys in his fury. Paul the Jew of Jews and yet called to minister to the Gentiles. Peter in the tight core of the twelve and working out of Jerusalem.

They are chalk and cheese and in odd proportions. But the question I want us to think about today is could we live like this? Could we live like what? - you say. Like apostles? – well yes but more specifically like those who have met the risen Christ – not just as Peter and Paul – who were, after all Peter and Paul – but as who we are here and now. An There is a praise song by Matt Redmon which paraphrases the question I am asking very well:

Could we live like Your grace is stronger
Than all our faults and failures?
Could we live like Your love
Is deeper than our hearts can fathom
Could we live like this?

Could we live like Your name is higher
Than every other power?
Could we live like Your ways
Are wiser than our understanding?
Could we live like this?
Could we live like this?

The name of the song is – we could change the world – and the story of the text is we can change the world because God is exactly what God says God is on the packet – and the packet, of course, is Jesus.

It is no exaggeration to say that both Peter and Paul led world changing lives but in a way which left them vulnerable and, ultimately, physically desolate. These men who must have been brilliant in themselves, capable of all sorts of things for themselves, what was it that made them turn around and join God's kenosis, God's outpouring – remember we read the Jesus did not cling to equality with God but poured Himself out. Paul talks about being a libation – being poured out – this utter letting go and offering of self seems almost impossible but it is what we are called to.

For both men it starts by owning up to who they have been, who they really are. In Chapter 21 of John Peter goes off fishing. It is he who jumps out of the boat and runs to the shore (falling into the water reminiscent of baptism, of course), it is he who hauls the net ashore and it is the conversation with Peter which John records in detail.

John is never careless in his writing and Jesus does not say things three times by accident. Think back to that scene around the fire in the courtyard of the High Priest. Do you know the man they ask? I do not says Peter, I do not and I do not. Do you love me Peter, asks Jesus – yes Lord, you know I do, you know I do, you know I do - and this time the breaking dawn is greeted not with a cockrel but with an affirmation - feed my sheep. And then in an astonishing act of commission Jesus passes his mantle – truly, truly (amen, amen – John's catchphrase for “pay attention to this” - and “amen, amen “ Jesus says in chapter 13, “I tell you before the cock crows.....) Amen, Amen he says to Peter – you will be taken, you will be poured out.

The story of the Damascus Road is dramatic and well known. We can easily assume that Paul went from the house of Ananias off to Jerusalem and then immediately started his missionary journeys – in fact he did not. He went away for several years before commencing the great mission which is written about in Acts. Paul did not have that background of walking with Jesus that Peter did – when Peter is forgiven and commissioned it is against a background of pieces of the puzzle about Jesus which will slot into place, words, times experiences. When Paul is converted he is turned from but to be truly turned towards and to learn to walk with Jesus he will have to journey a little further.

Paul must go to Jerusalem – it is in the schematic which Lukes give for mission, from Jerusalem, through Judea and to the ends of the Earth. Paul is schooled by the Apostles but he soon finds himself in conflict with the Greeks – and what happens then? – he gets sent home like a naughty school boy. Paul is not yet who he will be – his energy is still of someone in battle, of someone assured of self and self rightness - he has just switched sides. Peter and the Apostles have learned this lesson, know that he needs to learn to be a disciple and sent him off to learn in a place where he cannot do them or himself so much damage.

Paul, needs to learn what this really means. He needs to enter more fully into that journey of abandonment of selfishness and embracing of true self. He needs time to get to know Jesus, to learn who this voice that has called him on the road actually is. He needs to come to terms with that within him which has driven him to such hatred – to learn to accept the forgiveness and welcome he has been offered. He needs to learn to be a disciple before he can take on the task and mantle of apostle.

There is a very real sense at the end of John that the mystic has come down off the mountain. The disciples are in the sacrament of daily life, getting on with what they so, and it is here that they encounter the Lord. Paul has to learn this new resurrection way of living as someone who is truly free because he is truly forgiven.

There is a lot of criticism of Christians that we spend too much time naval gazing. This is fair – we like the sound of our own voices too much sometimes, we snag ourselves up and trip ourselves over in our own tedious arguments and suspend ourselves with our wretched cleverness. We are like Peter full of good ideas and hot air, failing to stop and wonder, we are like Paul militant and walking around and kicking up just and conflict, failing to stop and listen.

What would that look like. If God is who God says God is – if God behaves the way God behaved in Jesus? This massive and amazing story which has been laid out before you like gold covered pavements over the past few weeks – what if that is true – what difference does it make – what do you see, how do you sit or walk or stand in the light of a resurrection which, quite literally, bathes you in light. How is our response one of total honesty and total release and handing over – of pouring out of self at the feet of Christ. Of course this Eucharist is central – here we offer all that we have and all that we are – what do hearts that are lifted up look like, what do lives who reflect the presence of God feel like.

The end of the song has us standing in love and grace and power

“And all You say we are” And the only way to know this – to know who God says we are is to spend time listening.

Peter and Paul abandoned their own narratives and emptied themselves out in the story of who God said they were. God calls us each to that same action of abandoning the selfish and finding the self – but really – could we live like this?