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REMEMBRANCE SUNDAY 2013

Worchester College Oxford

The Venerable Ray Pentland CB QHC

 

Isaiah 55: 1-5 – Hope for the future, and John 15: 12-17, Greater love

Introduction

There are few sounds more evocative than this, the of the chilling sound of a trench whistle breaking the silence that was the prelude to a generation of young men leaving their trenches,

going over the top and becoming engulfed in the storm of war, many of whom would never return

home.

 

Joolz Denby a British Poet asked to write some words for a new war memorial, penned the

Stanza

 

Read their names, and call them home

Chant the litany of remembrance.

 

And I believe that in a real sense that is what we are about today when we gather to Worship and

remember and to reflect, and as we do so I suggest that we are engaged in three activities,

first of all we commemorate the past, we consider the present and we make a

commitment for the future.

 

1. Commemorate the past

 

Tomorrow I will stand at the Cenotaph, that iconic symbol of our nations remembrance and

observe the 2 minutes silence at 1100 on the 11 day of the 11 month. A few days ago I had

the opportunity, to walk through the Field of remembrance at Westminster Abbey. It is all too

easy to think of the vast numbers of those who gave their lives in the wars that we might have

life. And yet as I walked through the gardens and stopped quietly to look at the small crosses

with their poppies and messages.

 

One simply said Granddad 1915, another a photograph of a young boy, John, aged 16 died Flanders, 1917.

 

Soon I passed by Names I recognised, Phil a young man in his 20’s, the message, – never

forgotten – love Mum and Dad.

It made no difference, Flanders fields or almost a hundred years later, a different land, a

different war, but still simply a soldier doing his duty, seeking to bring freedom to an oppressed

land, and so row upon row the names continued, from 99 years ago to 9 days ago.

 

Read their names and bring them home

Chant the litany of remembrance.

 

As I stood I was challenged to remember that though the names may be Legion, each one was

a unique individual, a son, a daughter, a husband a wife, a father, a mother, ordinary

everyday people, who in doing their duty gave their life that we might live. And as we

commemorate the past, as we read their names and call them home, let us remember them,

vibrant and full of life…,

 

And as we do so we give thanks to God for their sacrifice and for our freedom, and remember

that generation after generation has stood against the invasion of our homeland, and

fought against the evils of dictatorships or terrorism far from home.

 

And so as we pause to

 

Read their names and bring home

Chant the litany of remembrance.

 

2 Consider the Present

 

Part of remembrance is to consider our response to their sacrifice,

Remembrance must be more than an act of worship and some silence once a year. Indeed

for the members of our Armed Forces remembrance is not an annual event, but rather

a fact of everyday life.

 

To honour their sacrifice, is to live life to the full, It is to set high standards and work for a better

world. Those who have not been there cannot imagine

what is experienced on the front line, whether the trenches of the Somme or the hills of

Afghanistan, but perhaps a warrior from another generation captures something of their feelings.

 

Lt Gen Hal Moore in ‘We Were Soldiers Once and Young’ writes,

 

‘We went to war because it was our duty. That is

one kind of love. Another and far more

transcendent love came to us unbidden on the

battlefields as it does on every battlefield man

has ever fought. We discovered in that

depressing, hellish place, where death was our

constant companion, that we loved each other.

We killed for each other, we died for each other,

and we wept for each other. And in time we

came to love each other as brothers. In battle

our world shrank to the man on our left and the

man on our right and the enemy all around. We

held each other’s lives in our hands, and we

learned to share our fears, our hopes, our

dreams, as readily as we shared what little else

good came our way.’

 

They learned the gospel truth in the words of Jesus, that Greater love has

no one than to lay down his life for another. So,

 

Read their names and bring home

Chant the litany of remembrance

 

Sacrifice is not a word often heard today, but without it we would not be here. It is the sacrifice

of youth and potential that we remember. Experience informs us that sacrifice is a remedy

for selfishness and is an important part of maturity. We live in an age when we want

everything today – often without responsibility or cost, where the greatest achievement is to

become a celebrity of a few moments of infamy on X factor, and yet as we gather here there are

young men and women of our nation still serving

in danger, putting their lives on the line. There are many stories of heroism from our current

conflicts but one will suffice.

 

Corporal David Hayden of the Royal Air Force Regiment became the first airman to receive the

Military Cross. This is his story.

 

When one of his colleagues, Leading Aircraftsman Martin Beard, was fatally wounded,

Cpl Hayden was not prepared simply to give up on him. Against all odds he went out under

heavy fire and hoisted the injured man on to his shoulder and ran, upright, another 200 yards

across many obstacles to safety. Then he went onto rescue the rest of his section.

Cpl Hayden citation read that ‘he showed the most outstanding courage, selflessness and

personal example, risking his life repeatedly with absolute disregard for his own safety’. He said ‘I

am what the RAF has made me’ I was only doing my job – ‘

This is an example of service and sacrifice in the finest traditions of our Armed Forces, but there is

more, for our scripture reading reminds us that  these are the words of Jesus, and that He put

His words into action by laying down his life that we might have a new and everlasting

relationship with God our heavenly Father and so this morning as we commemorate the past

and consider the present, let us take time to remember that we have a God who loves us and

who has a different and better purpose for us, and that part of our responsibility is to work

towards that very aim of a better world. Sacrifice, brings its own rewards, of giving rather than

getting, of loving rather than hating, and of caring rather than just not caring. Of standing up and

doing something, speaking up rather than just standing idly by and doing nothing. If we do sit

idly by then we betray those whose lives we commemorate today, as we read their names

and call them home do we honour them by making our world a better place? So what of our

 

3. Commitment to the future

 

We live in a world struggling with evils of terrorism in a way we have never known. The

Armed Forces of our nation are called to respond to situations in places previous

generations had forgotten existed.

 

Our reading from Isaiah 55 offers us both an invitation and a promise. The invitation is to

those who are thirsty and hungry, but not simply in the physical since, rather in the spiritual

sense – and I suggest that this is all of us – we all have a spiritual need, and here we are

invited to find the answers. The writer then offers us a promise. A promise of good things of

a better world, and I can’t imagine that any of us can’t want that, and scripture points us to the

answers and the fulfilment of that promise in Jesus himself, the same Jesus who laid down

his life, the promise that our spiritual needs will be met in Him and that a better world can and

will be ours if we accept the invitation to drink and eat in the kingdom of God. Hope for the

future is opened up, based on faith in the promises of God, and therefore a new and a

better world is not an idle dream -but a matter of faith and love and courage. It is not the

inevitable result of some supposed natural progress of the human race – it is the

consequence of our resolute determination in faith that evil shall not triumph. Today is an

opportunity to remember the sacrifices of those who lost their lives as a result war, to read their

names and bring them home. Since last remembrance Sunday 9 members of our Armed

Force died on duty in Afghanistan 9 families’ whose lives have been turned upside

down, 9 families for whom this remembrance Sunday

has a new meaning, and we the remember hundreds who have

experienced live changing injuries.

 

They may see it as their duty and service. We may not agree with the whys or even the how.

However this is part of the price of living in a democracy.

From the trenches of the Somme, to the Roar of Spitfires over our island home, from guarding

our coast to the battle of the Atlantic, from the beaches of Normandy to the South Atlantic,

from the flight of the Dambusters to Kuwait, Bosnia, Kosovo, Iraq to Afghanistan, and many other places the men and women of our Royal Navy, Army and the Royal Air Force represent you and me.

 

We must never forget, and we should be give thanks for their commitment to our future.

 

For today is also about

The partners who grieve

The injured who suffer

The families who struggle

The veterans who remember

The aircrew who fly

The children who wait

The homeless who shiver

The seamen who sail

The unemployed who despair

The soldiers who fight

The disabled who strive

The heroes who serve.

Today we will pray for them,

Today we will remember them

 

Today we will

 

Read their names and call them home chant

the litany of remembrance

Worcester College, Oxford: 20 October, 2013

 

“Because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your hearts” John 16⁶

 

 

Woody Allen’s most recent film “Blue Jasmine” is not one to see when life is getting you down.  It’s a story of a Manhattan socialite whose world has fallen apart when her former husband is jailed for running a crooked financial scheme.  She arrives in San Francisco, broke but still flying first class, and is forced in desperation to turn for help to her estranged sister Ginger.  In the film Jasmine can’t control her snobbery and pretentiousness which contrasts with her sister’s earthy, shambolic but essentially contented life.  Reaching frequently for the vodka bottle, the fear, the panic and the emptiness just below the lacquered surface becomes ever more obvious, and in the end Jasmine is all alone, muttering to herself of a park bench.

 

Well, it’s probably dangerous for a preacher to theologise too much about a Woody Allen film.  But it’s worth pausing to ask – “What is Jasmine really afraid of?”  What is so scary about her loss of an artificially comfortable life that it drives her to drink and to madness?  And what if her fear is deeply uncomfortable for us because it is the fear which is endemic in our society?  That is to say that it is fear of mortality, of which every small loss, every cumulative limitation on her former life is an unwanted reminder.

 

Well, let’s test this a bit more, and suggest that our culture’s basic assumption is that our greatest problem is that we are going to die.  Therefore human flourishing is most likely to be achieved by putting energy and endeavour into all those projects which reduce risk to human life – ill health, poverty, malnutrition, limited natural resources, adverse weather and so on.  And mortality is best resisted by celebrating youth and vigour: making an immense global festival of the Olympics as a universal metaphor of triumph over limitation: which increasingly marginalising and neglecting the elderly who act as an uncomfortable reminder of our key problem.

 

And we could argue that the limitations which the human race was used to living with (until 100 years or so ago) are now seen as challenges to overcome and transcend.  Human vulnerability is not something we now learn to live with; it’s something we expect to conquer.  And doing so is part of our self-assertion, our identity: it is what defines us as human beings in contrast to the animals.  Words often read at funeral services, pointing not to death as a final destination but to the relationships beyond it.  The key project then of our species could now (in the light of all the technologies we’ve developed in the last century) be described as the alleviation, avoidance or even transcendence of mortality.  Look carefully at how some cars, exotic holidays or even perfumes are advertised, and you’ll see that they appear to be offering something very much like eternal life.

 

But it may not be loading too much on to one film to suggest that it asks us a question about all that.  What if the fundamental human problem is not mortality but isolation?  Endlessly extended life, if we’re alone, is not what we want or need.  So Jasmine ends the film in hell, speaking to herself, irreversibly isolated.  While Ginger muddles happily along with her mates and her unpredictable romances.

 

To put this into theological language would be to say that salvation comes not through overcoming limitation but through relationships – what Christians call communion – with each other and with God.  That is what lies at the heart of the Gospel, and what is affirmed week by week in services of Holy Communion in this Chapel.

 

Yet St John’s Gospel, read to us this evening, suggests that this is a hard message to hear and really internalise.  And it goes even further than that to show us in chapter 15 and 16 that the disciples didn’t get it either.  Jesus gently rebukes them for anticipating his death with so much despair “Because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your hearts”.  And he shows them the purpose of his life when he says: “In my father’s house are many dwelling places, and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will com again and take you to myself”

 

Last week during a debate on the Social Care Bill in Parliament, I couldn’t help feeling that the starkest example of this is the marketisation of care of the elderly to the point where carers have to restrict visits to fifteen minutes and reduce patients to choosing between having a drink or going to the loo.  Fixating on scarcity by increasing isolation seems to be the consequence of a culture which is deeply uncomfortable with death.

 

This life then from a Christian perspective is primarily about opening people’s hearts to each other and the prospect of hearts opened externally to God.  And pause for a moment to think about how radically that challenges our social and political culture.

 

Sitting as I do from time to time in the House of Lords, I see how much of our political discourse is framed by a desire to overcome limitation: it is a discourse about scarcity, about not having enough; about our overriding need to subordinate everything to the elimination of that scarcity and its consequent limitations.  And the assumption is that isolation, the collapse of relationships, the withering of the social bonds and networks that sustain healthy living is a price we must at the moment all pay to overcome scarcity.  Yet Jasmine, in her anguish, if she was sober enough to speak, might tell us that while doing that we are really missing the point.

 

So, one more film to finish the point.  Those of you who remember “The English Patient” from fifteen years ago will recall the agonising decision Count Laszlo has to make, when his lover Katherine is lying grievously injured in a plane crash in a cave in the desert.  Should he walk three days to Cairo to get help, leaving her all alone or should he stay with her in her desperate need?  He goes off of course to get help and returns to find her dead.  As with our culture, so with Count Laszlo, avoiding death is the overwhelming priority – but the price Katherine pays is that she dies alone at the moment of greatest vulnerability.

 

Mortality or isolation?  Which is the real problem?  This Chapel and its worship offers us an answer.

 

Freshers’ Evensong sermon, 13th October 2013, Rev’d. Dr. Jonathan Arnold

Readings: Isaiah 51: 9-16; John 15: 12-end

Words from St. John’s Gospel: ‘I have spoken to you, so that my joy may be in you, and your joy complete. This is my commandment: love one another, as I have loved you.

I want to begin this first sermon of the academic year by testing your knowledge, bearing in mind that everyone here is well educated. The simple question is this. Can you tell me where this literary quotation comes from? The first one to give the answer will win a prize. If you don’t get it the first time, I shall give you a clue the second time. And

“…  the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

The quotation comes at the very end of that remarkable work Middlemarch by Mary Ann Evans, otherwise known as George Eliot. I was lucky enough to be able to re-read the work recently and familiarise myself once again with its glorious prose and the story of provincial life, which finds nobility and grandeur of character in the ordinary. The final words relate to the most endearing character, Dorothea Brooke, who seeks to do good and find a great cause in life. We have to endure reading about her marriage to the dry, shrivelled pretentious scholar Casaubon, who is embarked, he  believes, upon a work of erudition that is so important, it is too precious for public enjoyment. Dorothea sacrifices herself to assisting in this hopeless task until she is eventually released by his death and she can find a more fruitful outlet for her kindness and benefaction, and indeed find a more fruitful relationship. The same Final chapter of the novel has words that are very apposite for the beginning of a new academic year:

 ‘Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. Who can quit young lives after being long in company with them, and not desire to know what befell them in their after-years?’ As members of this College and Chapel community, you are members of a family for the rest of your life, and so, this is an exciting and re-vitalizing time for our college, with new members of the family to welcome and a new future ahead for each one of us.

But there is one more quotation challenge and, indeed, another prize for this, which may appeal to the younger members of our gathering. Here it is, and I quote:  ‘It is our choices … that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities’. Anyone? Here it is for a second time with a clue inserted: ‘It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than out abilities.’ Of course it is from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling published in 1998, p. 245. Words spoken by Professor Dumbledore.

If you did not manage to guess correctly, do not worry, for not everyone is an expert in popular culture. Each year I take part in a village quiz, and our team is entirely composed of Church of England Clergy: a Canon Professor and Principal of a theological college, another College Chaplain, a Professor at Oxford who is also a clergyman, a vicar and myself. We must know something, you might think. One of our number was tested with the question: ‘Who was the last person or group to win the X Factor?’. He replied: ‘What’s the X Factor?’

But let’s get back to our quotations, and indeed to the scripture readings tonight, which speak of choice. What decisions have we made in our lives that have brought us, by twists and turns, to where we are right now? I don’t mean simply deciding to come to Chapel this evening, although may I commend you on an excellent choice is so doing, but the hundreds of other choices that have formed us: our parents’ choice of where we were brought up and where we went to school; the choice of friends we make; the subjects we chose to take and those we decided to reject; our A level choices; our decision to go into higher education and so on and so on … And why choose Worcester College? The wonderful grounds and buildings, the friendly reputation, the teaching, the sport or the music? Or is it more that Worcester chose you: chose you to study here, or chose you for a certain sporting team, or chose you to sing in the choir as a student or as a boy chorister. And what does Worcester expect in return? What fruit are we expecting you to bear? Academic success, sporting excellence, a glittering career? Great expectations indeed. I was saying the other day that it is difficult to find the right words to describe the work/life balance needed in a place like this.

It seems to me that the most important choice we have to make about how we should live, through this new academic year, is one of response to the words of Christ – that appeal of his that we should love one another. I particularly admire this version of the greatest commandment in John 15, because it does not say ‘Love one another as you love yourself’, which is sometimes a very difficult concept, but ‘Love one another as I have loved you’. The love of Christ, self-giving and sacrificial, is not only our model, but also our impetus and our strength. We are able to love because he loved us first and, although taking the road of selfless love can often be hard, we will always be given sufficient grace for the task.

 Moreover, the consequences of this love in action is the bearing of fruit: the kind of fruit that we hear about from St. Paul: patience, self control, joy, peace, faithfulness, gentleness, goodness and kindness. And the consequence of this work of God is joy ‘I have spoken to you so that my joy may be in you and your joy complete.’ The consequence of our response to the love of God is life in all its fullness.

The practical means by which love can be expressed in action in an Oxford college is though a mutual sense of care, kindness and responsibility. In fact, rresponsibility encompasses a number of virtues: humility, generosity, diligence, thankfulness and patience amongst others. These are all virtues that require certain amounts of self-sacrifice and discipline. Responsibility and family, or community, life go hand in hand. For if we were to be left to our own devices as individuals unaided and uncared for, and not helping others we could only fail.

This morning I was preaching the University sermon at St. Mary’s on the High Street on the day when the benefactors of the University are remembered. These patrons of learning are always commemorated in public and their legacy lives on as they are praised for their generosity. But living a good life need not necessarily mean giving on such a large scale, or receiving the glory for it. Indeed, if the gift is not in the spirit of the love and kindness Christ speak about, then it may not bring the giver much joy. I was talking to a wealthy, highly educated and distinguished philanthropist the other day, who had achieved a great deal and in turn for his generosity, had received a great deal of glory and praise for his work. I did not ask him about his motivation in life, or belief system, but he said to me that he wished to finish his life ‘a good man’. Some would say that his goodness is plain for all to see in his generosity, but he himself was still striving to feel that he was ‘good’. It reminded me of Dorothea’s words to Will Ladislaw in Middlemarch who confides to him her belief …

“That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don’t quite know what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of the divine power against evil — widening the skirts of light and making the struggle with darkness narrower.”

This Michaelmas term, let us desire what is good, respond to the call of Christ to love one another as he has loved us, and to live lives that acknowledge the responsibility and inter-connectedness of each one of us to the other. May we do this with the help of God’s grace, freely given to us, so that we may have joy, and our joy complete. Amen.

University Sermon. October 13^th, 2013 Rev’d Dr. Jonathan Arnold

2 Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19

The late writer and journalist, Keith Waterhouse was plagued by a recurring nightmare that when he died he would be visited by an angel, and taken by the hand and led into an enormous library where he was shown a long shelf of books. When he asked the angel why he was looking at this particular shelf, the messenger replied, ‘Those are all the books you should have written’. Indeed, to add to the nightmare,  in real life, Waterhouse once left 10,000 words of the first draft of his play, Billy Liar, in a taxi, although he later admitted that losing that ‘pretentious twaddle’ was the best thing that could have happened to him.

The fear of not having met one’s own targets, or of losing one’s work, is prevalent in Oxford at this time, as we begin the academic year. Someone once told me that, if you ask a scholar, ‘How was your summer?’ and he or she answers ‘It was productive’ that means they did some work. If they answer, ‘Not as productive as I had hoped’ then it means that it is likely they did next to nothing at all!

Whether this is your first year at Oxford or your fortieth, the beginning of the Michaelmas term is always an expectant one, full of possibilities and hope as well as some anxiety, trepidation and  maybe even some regret, perhaps from uncompleted tasks, or because the beginning of this year marks the end of something else. As T.S. Eliot wrote in Little Gidding, from his Four Quartets:

‘What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.’

It is difficult to make a start here without making an ending somewhere else, even if we have seen many academic years come and go. In effect, in order to make the start we have to come to terms with the loss of something else, whether that be saying goodbye to relatives, friends and homes, or to projects of work, or to a past lifestyle or place.

But the benefits of closing down, perhaps temporarily, parts of our life in order to enter a new one are great. In remembering our benefactors in the prayers today, we are reminding ourselves of the opportunities open to us because of the generosity of those who have given so much in the past. People who gave, and continue to give, precisely because they were, or are, grateful for the opportunities afforded them and wish to give in return. Remembering those who have blessed us is an important task in itself, for without the love and support of others, we could not be here today. We have every cause, at this point in the year, to be thankful and our scripture readings this morning reflect that theme.

St. Paul, in his second letter to Timothy, exhorts the disciple to ‘Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead … Remind them’, he says, that, through Christ’s death, we live and reign with him. In the gospel, it is the one Samaritan leper, from the ten who were healed, who postpones his visit to the priest, as Jesus has commanded, because he is compelled to turn back, prostrate himself at Jesus’ feet in order to thank him and praise God.

The healing that the grateful Samaritan received is, in some ways, the end of a sad story. The end of his illness and of a life of pain and exile. Jesus offers the man a gift, but not just a one-off gift. It is a gift that begs for a response and action in order for it to be meaningful. To truly receive the gift – the transforming gift of new life itself – means accepting a new way of being, of physical wholeness and opportunity, but also of continued discipleship. What happened to the other nine, we are not told, but if they considered their healing to be the end of something, they were not entirely correct. Because what Jesus offered was a beginning. The start of a new life, which is centered on the new wisdom and kingdom of God brought in by Christ himself. Christ gives life, not just a restoration of the body, but a whole new kind of life, that begins, as the healed lepers’ inspirational and instinctive act reveals, with praise and thanksgiving to God. In Luke’s Gospel, the very next verse sees the Pharisees ask ‘When will the kingdom of God come?’. It is a dramatic juxtaposition of text that show Theophilus, the intended reader, and us that they have missed the obvious. The kingdom is here and Christ has just revealed it by deed and word, once again.

The location of this drama in Luke’s Gospel is in the region between Samaria and Galilee, a place where Jews would not normally have travelled or feel at home. For some, even Oxford may seem like a strange land at the moment, as many are displaced from their homes. But as the gospel scene suggests, it is in just such luminal places and at such times that God’s blessing can be perceived and apprehended. For if we reflect, with gratitude, on the gifts that we have been given in our life, we are drawn, by God’s love and his call, to acknowledge the source of all gifts, God himself. For our response to that gift is not just to accept it and be thankful, but to use it and nurture it as we are capable by the use of our intellects and talents. It is in the daily act of thanksgiving that we understand that our lives, our minds, bodies and souls are something to be protected and fed with care. They is precious and, if properly used, can bring us to a wisdom, understanding and fulfilment that God intended for us, as his created beings who are uniquely made, and uniquely precious to the one who made us.

This year, each one of us will bring a unique perspective on the world, one that has the potential to persuade, enlighten and move others. Such exploration and expression does not end with the finishing of a degree, or thesis, or even at the end of a lectureship, fellowship or professorship. What we learn here may take us on many other journeys and find our ultimate fulfilment in the light of eternal truth yet to be perceived or known. That time when we shall know and be fully known.

In the Rule, St Benedict gave his monks a set of tools by which to create and cultivate a holy life. One of these rules reminds the monks to remember each day that they will not live on this earth for ever. Perhaps a taboo and seemingly morbid subject these days that is certainly out of bounds for every day conversation. But St Benedict knew that to contemplate the notion that we may not be here tomorrow, is to see today in a different light. Each day is as a new beginning, a precious gift to be savoured and enjoyed, each person is loaned to us for a brief time to be known and loved, creation is to be cherished with wonder and delight, life is here in this moment in all its fullness and not just a future hope. In this light, life is not simply a round of endings and beginnings, achievements and successes, the next essay, the next degree, or job, or new house, or title, trying to find some purpose in our success and glory before it comes to an end. No, it is, as the Samaritan leper realized, about life itself, it is about knowing and believing that in this moment is wholeness, all our endings and beginnings are one now, life has been given to us in Christ in all its fullness.

And in each moment of precious time we can only learn, or know, teach and explore because of the infinite variety and possibilities with God’s creation. In our exploration of the finite and the material we are led by God’s wisdom to touch upon the transcendent and infinite, just as in the Eucharist, which we will celebrate this morning, the sacrament with thanksgiving at its heart, we encounter both the physical and the spiritual, the human and the divine, leading us back to encounter that divine spark within us responding to God’s call and know him afresh, as if for the first time.

And so I encourage you, whether you are starting college as a student, a Don, a parent, or like everyone, someone who is taking another step into the future, keep your antennae alert: watch, listen and seek to find the divine within all things in every moment: in nature, in art, in words, in music and in the relationships that are and will be established in this place and the love that is yet to come. What I want to express is captured beautifully by some words of Aldous Huxley, with which I shall end:

 

We apprehend Him in the alternate voids and fullness of a cathedral; in the space that separates the salient features of a picture; in the living geometry of a flower, a seashell, an animal; in the pauses and intervals between the notes of music, in their difference of tones and sonority; and finally, on the plane of conduct, in the love and gentleness, the confidence and humility, which give beauty to the relationships between human beings.

Amen.

Leaver’s Sermon, Sunday 9^th June 2013. Genesis 9:1-17; Mark 4: 1-20.

Rev. Dr Jonathan Arnold

We apprehend Him in the alternate voids and fullness of a cathedral; in the space that separates the salient features of a picture; in the living geometry of a flower, a seashell, an animal; in the pauses and intervals between the notes of music, in their difference of tones and sonority; and finally, on the plane of conduct, in the love and gentleness, the confidence and humility, which give beauty to the relationships between human beings.

                                                                                                Aldous Huxley

When William Burges decorated this Chapel in the 1860s he didn’t pull any punches. It is an amazing collage of colour and splendour that captures the imagination. I’m sure that, along with the beautiful gardens and other places in this college, that the chapel walls and pews will not easily be forgotten by anyone who has been here.

As you know, the imagery and words that surround us have more than one theme, but a key one is the idea that the whole of creation is blessing God, giving praise and thanks for the world around us. Just as this chapel represents divinity through nature, so our readings tonight both draw heavily upon the natural world to explain our relationship with God and with each other. Firstly the covenant established between God and his people after the flood, symbolized by a rainbow in the sky, and secondly, the parable of the sower, with the resulting growth representing those who receive the seed of God’s word and allow it to blossom into a fruitful life.

With regard to the first passage, I don’t think that there is a depiction of a rainbow in here to represent the imagery in the Genesis passage is about God’s covenant with the whole of creation, but it could easily have been included.

God said, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations:¹³I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.¹⁴When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds,¹⁵I 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.¹⁶When 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.

This is such a powerful vision and very a effective connection between natural phenomena and spiritual reality: when God shows the sign of his covenant, the bow in the clouds, it is to reassure us of his promise, not just to humans but to all creation. Nothing could be simpler than the visual trigger of image and idea. And so it is with Burges’ Chapel. Image and idea relate, including the parable we heard in this evening’s Gospel, which is beautifully portrayed. You may not have even noticed it yet amongst the busyness of the building but it is here, behind me: Ecce Seminans Seminandum : A sower went out to sow. And from his seed on the ground we see the tendrils of growth which spread throughout the altar area. The fruit of that harvest is apostles, evangelists, teachers, saints. 

These are the ones who are not distracted by false idols in the world, or the ones who have no roots and fall away when persecution comes or the cares of the world, says Jesus. The ones who bear fruit are the ones who receive the seed of God’s message on good soil, and accept it and bear fruit, thirty, sixty and a hundredfold.

The Gospel message is often related in images drawn from the natural world, in the Gospels, and by the God of Israel in the Old Testament. Likewise, it is represented in art on these walls, and the floor and ceiling.

The two metaphors that we consider this evening, the rainbow and the seed that gorws in the ground relate directly to college life. Not only because the heritage of this college is one which is based upon service to God, from its Benedictine religious foundation in 1283, to its connections with Orthodox Christianity and Thomas Cookes’ foundation in 1714, which all emphasise service to God and one another at heart of our statutes, and that the chapel should be at the spiritual centre of its life. But also because, as students, fellows, staff, children and parents, we make a covenant with each other, not only to abide by certain rules, but to actively work towards a greater collegiality, based upon humility, respect, honesty, and a common purpose. Moreover, at the heart of college life is the notion of growth: the purpose of nurturing what is best in human life, and that comes in many forms, like the varied depictions of the chapel walls. Thus, in all of us here, the seed of knowledge has been sown, skills of research, writing and scientific experimentation have been honed, alongside the fostering of talents for sport, music, art, drama, or whatever it may be – skills that you will take into future careers, places of learning and research,  and to new schools.

The variety of potential that has been nurtured in this place is a reflection of the divine potential within ourselves and in the world. I think Burges knew that when he worked on this place, for the diversity of creation portrayed reflects the glorious diversity of all of you who have come here to pray, to worship, to sing, or to find peace, guidance or spiritual nourishment.

But most of all, I hope that this college, for you, has been about relationships: those between one another, our relationship with the wider world and with God. For all learning and talent is best employed in the service of the greatest kind of wisdom, which is love. 

I hope that, if you are leaving this college community, at least for a while, that you will remember this chapel, with its riot of colour and imaginative art inspired by the divine creation and the world around us. I hope that you remember the paintings, the carvings, take them in and observe them now and when you venture forth into your new lives; be inspired by the world around you. But above all, I hope that you remember us, and the people you have known here. Because it is still your college and chapel community and you will always be welcomed back whenever you wish to come. Dare I say it, you can follow us on Facebook and Twitter and the website. Wherever you are in the world, you can keep in touch.

And so I encourage you, whether you are a college leaver, a student, a chorister, a parent, or like everyone, someone who is taking another step into the future, keep your antennae alert: watch, listen and seek to find the divine within all things: in nature, in art, in words, in music and in the relationships that have been established in this place and the love that is yet to come.

‘We apprehend Him in the alternate voids and fullness of a cathedral; in the space that separates the salient features of a picture; in the living geometry of a flower, a seashell, an animal; in the pauses and intervals between the notes of music, in their difference of tones and sonority; and finally, on the plane of conduct, in the love and gentleness, the confidence and humility, which give beauty to the relationships between human beings.’

Amen.