Author: admin

IT’S VERY GOOD TO BE WITH YOU THIS EVENING TO SHARE YOUR WORSHIP IN THIS REMARKABLE COLLEGE CHAPEL WITH ITS ORNATE DECORATIONS.

I WAS INTERESTED TO LEARN THAT DURING ITS REDECORATION IN 1864 THE FOUR GUILDED STAUES OF THE EVANGELISTS IN EACH CORNER CAUSED A GREAT DEAL OF CONTROVERSY, THE COLLEGE LIBRARIAN DENOUNCING THEM AS IDOLATROUS, WHILST OTHERS SAW THEM AS ABOMINATIONS. WELL, FORTUNATELY THEY SURVIVED AND SINCE THE RESTORATION IN 2001 WE CAN SEE THEM IN ALL THERE GLORY.

THE FOUR CREATURES TRADITIONALLY REPRESENTING THE FOUR EVANGELISTS ARE A LION, AN OX, A CREATURE WITH A HUMAN FACE AND A FLYING EAGLE AND THEY’RE TAKEN FROM THE FOURTH CHAPTER OF THE LAST BOOK IN THE BIBLE, THE REVELATION TO ST JOHN., WHERE THOSE FOUR CREATURES ARE AROUND THE THRONE OF THE LAMB IN HEAVEN ENGAGED IN CEASELESS WORSHIP.

IT SEEMS TO ME THAT IF THOSE FOUR CREATURES ARE REPRESENTED IN THE WORSHIPPING HEAVENLYHOST, THEY ARE PROBABLY TO BE FOUND IN THE WORSHIPPING CONGREGATION HERE ON EARTH, PERHAPS EVEN AMONGST THOSE WORSHIPPING HERE THIS EVENING.

LET’S GIVE THEM A LITTLE MORE THOUGHT. FIRST THERE ARE THE LIONS – I ASSOCIATE THE QUALITY OF FIERCE COURAGE WITH THEM. THEY ARE THE STRONG FIGHTERS OF THE JUNGLE. JESUS COULD BE AS FIERCE AS A LION. FOR EXAMPLE HE COULDN’T ABIDE HYPOCRISY. WHITE WASHED TOMBS HE CALLED THE PHARISEES – THEY SAID ONE THING & DID ANOTHER.

HE ANGRILY CONFRONTED THOSE WHO WOULD STONE A WOMAN TO DEATH. HE WOULDN’T BEND BEFORE THE QUESTIONING OF THE CHIEF PRIESTS & PILATE, & SO THIS LION OF JUDAH WENT TO HIS DEATH BATTERED BUT UNBOWED.

THERE HAVE BEEN MANY LIONS IN THE WORLDWIDE CHURCH WHO FIGHT AFTER RIGHTEOUSNESS. FOR EXAMPLE DESMOND TUTU WHO FOUGHT TO END APARTHEID. CHRISTIANS WHO SACRIFICED THEIR LIVES TO SEE AN END TO THE TYRANNY OF COMMUNISM. CHRISTIANS WHO STRUGGLEE FOR JUSTICE IN THE BASE COMMUNITIES OF LATIN AMERICA.

THEN THERE ARE THE CHRISTIAN LIONS FIGHTING TO MAKE POVERTY HISTORY OR SEEKING JUSTICE FOR THE PEOPLE OF DARFUR AND ZIMBABWE.

THERE ARE MANY LIONS ENGAGED IN FURIOUS FIGHTS IN SOME OF THE ISSUES IN THE CHURCH TODAY – THE BATTLE TO SEE AN END TO DISCRIMINATION BETWEEN WOMEN AND MEN IN THE MINISTRY OF THE CHURCH AND BRING THE ORDINATION OF WOMEN AS BISHOPS.

SOMETIMES THE BATTLES ARE TERRIFYING AS LIONS FIGHTING FOR THE RIGHTS OF GAY PEOPLE ENGAGE WITH OTHER LIONS FIGHTING TO DEFEND, AS THEY SEE IT, THE CLEAR BIBLICAL TEACHING. THE RORING AND THREATS ARE SOMETIMES TERRIBLE, BUT FORTUNATELY WITH LIONS, AS WITH DOGS, THE BARK IS SOMETIMES WORSE THAN THE BITE.

WE HAVE OUR LIONS THEN, & I THANK GOD FOR THEIR COURAGE. THEY’RE NOT OF COURSE ALWAYS THE MOST REASONABLE OR COMFORTABLE OF PEOPLE. THE PROPHET ISIAH HAD A VISION OF THE COMING KINGDOM WHEN, HE WROTE THE LION WOULD LIE DOWN WITH THE LAMB. ONE RABBI COMMENTED, PERHAPS, BUT IF SO THEN I DON’T THINK THE LAMB WILL GET A VERY GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP – & NEITHER DO THE FELLOW XNS OF THE LIONS IN TODAY’S CHURCH – BUT THEN WE SHOULDN’T EXPECT SLEEP WHEN WE COME TO CHURCH.

I RATHER LIKE THE ACCOUNT OF FIELD MARSHAL MONTGOMERY’S VISIT TO A SCHOOL IN MY DIOCESE JUST AFTER THE WAR HAD ENDED. HE TOLD THE BOYS, “MY JOB IS FIGTHING. FIGHTING THE GERMANS OR FIGHTING ANYONE WHO WANTS A FIGHT.” PERHAPS, BUT WHAT WE IN THE CHURCH HAVE TO LEARN OF COURSE IT NOT TO SPEND ALL OUR TIME FIGHTING WITH ONE ANOTHER, BUT TO FIGHT INJUSTICE & OPPRESSION IN THE WORLD AROUND, AND TO FIGHT SIN & HYPOCRISY WITHIN OUR OWN HEARTS.

THE LION THEN IS THE FIRST OR YOUR GUILDED CREATURES FROM REVELATION & THE SECOND IS THE OX. THE OX HAS A GREAT CAPACITY FOR HARD WORK. IT’S THE TRACTOR OF THE DEVELOPING WORLD. IT CAN GO ON GOING ON, HOUR AFTER HOUR, DAY AFTER DAY, DRIVING THE WATER PUMPS, PULLING THE PLOUGHS WHICH TURN OVER THE NEW GROUND.

THE OX IS SO IMPORTANT THAT IT JUST MADE IT INTO 10 COMMANDMENTS. “THOU SHALT NOT COVET THY NEIGHBOURS HOUSE, OR WIFE, OR SERVANT OR OX.”

INDEED ONE OF THE EXCUSES OF THE PROSPECTIVE GUESTS IN J’S OPARABLE OF THE MAN THROWING A DINNER WAS, “I’VE JUST BOUGHT A TEAM OF OXEN & MUSTY GO & TRY THEM OUT. SORRY I CAN’T COME TO DINNER. J’S HEARERS WOULD HAVE WELL UNDERSTOOD. OF COURSE THE OX MUST TAKE PRIORITY. THE HARD WORK OF THE OX WAS THE ENGINE OF LIFE IN BIBLICAL TIMES.

JESUS OFTEN WORKED AS HARD AS ANY OX, TEACHING & HEALING THE CROWDS WHO NEVER GREW LESS, & EACH OF YOU MUST HAVE SOMETHING OF THE OX IN YOU BECAUSE YOU MUST HAVE WORKED LONG AND HARD TO GET HERE, AND LIFE AT OXFORD WITH ALL ITS STIMULATION AND FUN ALSO CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF HARD ACADEMIC GRIND.

CHRISTIANS WHO’RE PREPARED TO WORK LONG AND HARD WITH LOYALTY & DEDICATION ARE THE BACKBONE OF ANY CHURCH & THIS CHAPEL COMMUNITY NEEDS A GOOD NUMBER OF THOSE PREPARED TO BEAR BURDENS & RESPONSIBILITIES FOR THE COMMON GOOD.

CHRISTIANS WHO WORK LIKE OXEN FOR GOD’S CH & GOD’S WORLD HAVE THEIR HEROINES LIKE MOTHER TERESA CARING FOR THE DYING ON THE STREETS OF CALCUTTA. “I WOULND’T DO THAT WORK FOR A MILLION POUNDS “A VISITOR SAID TO HER. NEITHER WOULD I SHE REPLIED. CHRISTIAN OXEN DON’T WORK FOR THE MONEY, BUT FOR THE LOVE OF THEIR LORD & COMPASSION FOR THEIR NEIGHBOUR.

IT’S A HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO THAT DAVID LIVINGSTONE GAVE TWO ROUSISNG LECTURES AT THE UNIVERSITIES OF OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE CHALLENGING PEOPLE TO FOLLOW HIM TO AFRICA TO HELP HEAL ITS SORES AND BRING THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST TO AN ENSLAVED PEOPLE.

MANY HEEDED THE CALL, AND AT GREAT PERSONAL COST. AT ONE TIME I WAS CHAPLAIN TO THE UNIVERSITY OF KENT AT CANTERBURY AND WHENEVER MY SPIRITS SAGGED, I USED TO POP INTO S. AUGUSTINE’S COLLEGE AND SIT IN THE CRYPT CHAPEL. ST AUGUSTINE’S USED TO BE THE MISSIONARY COLLEGE OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND, THE PLACE WHERE MANY OF THOSE VICTORIAN MISSIONARIES PREPARED FOR THEIR MINISTRY.

THE WALLS OF THE CRYPT CHAPEL TODAY ARE STILL COVERED IN PLAQUES COMMEMORATING THOSE WHO HAD GONE OVERSEAS. EACH PLAAQUE BEARS A NAME AND TWO DATES – A DATE OF DEPARTURE AND A DATE OF DEATH, AND IT’S AN UNUSUAL PLAQUE FOR THOSE TWO DATES TO BE SEPARATED BY MORE THAN 5 OR 6 YEARS.

IT MAY BE FASHIONABLE TO CRITICISE THOSE MISSIONARIES WITH THEIR CULTURAL PREJUDICES AND DOGMATIC ATTITUDES, BUT THEY WERE PEOPLE OF GREAT FAITH AND COMMITMENT. THEY PRAYED EACH MORNING DURING THEIR TIME OF PREPARATION SURROUNDED BY MANY OF THOSE MEMORIALS. THEY KNEW THAT THEY WERE GOING TO ALMOST CERTAIN DEATH AND YET THEY WENT, CONFIDENT IN THE LOVE OF GOD AND THE POWER OF CHRIST’S GOSPEL. WE MIGHT CRITICISE THEIR CULTURAL IMPERIALISM, BUT THERE’S NO DENYING THEIR COURAGE AND CONVICTION. CHRISTIAN OXEN WORKING HARD AND TIRELESSLY FOR WHAT THEY PERCEIVED TO BE THE COMMON GOOD OF GOD’S CHURCH AND WORLD.

IF THE FIRST GUILDED CREATURE IN S JOHN’S VISION IS THE OXEN AND THE SECOND THE OX, THE THIRD IS THE CREATURE WITH THE HUMAN FACE. I LIKE TO INTERPRET THAT AS THE CAPACITY FOR INTELLIGENT LOVING. TRADITIONALLY THE AUTHOR OF OUR GOSPEL READING THIS EVENING, S. MATTHEW IS REPRESENTED BY THE CREATURE WITH THE HUMAN FACE AND THAT’S APPROPRIATE FOR MATTHEW PRESENSTS A JESUS WHOSE HEART AND HEAD LIE WITH THE MISSION OF TEACHING AND HEALING – IMAGINATIVE PARABLES CAPTURING THE HEAD AND MOVING THE HEART, GENTLE TOUCHES BRING HEALING TO BROKEN LIVES – INTELLIGENT LOVING.

ANY CHURCH NEEDS MEMBERS WITH THIS CAPACITY FOR INTELLIGENT LOVING. I LIKE THE STORY TOLD BY THE ARCHBISHOP OF YOR, JOHN SENTAMU, BEFORE ORDINATION HE WAS A HIGH COURT JUDGE IN UGANDA DURING THE REIGN OF IDI AMIN & LIKE MANY OF HIS FELLOW COUNTRYMEN JOHN WAS IMPRISONED & BEATEN. HE WAS AT THE POINT OF DEATH, INDEED HE REPORTS THAT HE ONLY WANTED TO DIE.

IDI AMIN HAD FALLEN OUT WITH THE ANGLICAN CH & SO JOHN WAS VISITED IN HIS CELL BY A ROMAN CATHOLIC PRIEST WHO WAS ALLOWED INTO THE PRISON. NOW AT THAT TIME RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN THE ANGLICAN CH OF UGANDA & THE RC CHURCH WERE NOT CLOSE, THE CHURCHES OFFICIALLY HAD LITTLE CONTACT WITH EACH OTHER.

JOHN WAS STAGGERED THEN, WHEN THE ROMAN CATHOLIC PRIEST OFFERED HIM HOLY COMMUNION. “BUT FATHER YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DO THAT I’M NOT A CATHOLIC, I’M AN ANGLICAN” HE TOLD HIM. “NEVER MIND, EAT IT” THE PRIEST REPLIED, “IT WILL DO YOU GOOD” & EAT IT JOHN DID, & IT DID DO HIM GOOD, IT WAS AN ACT OF HOLY COMMUNION, HOLY CONNECTION. IT CONNECTED JOH WITH THE WORLD OF SUFFERING HUMANITY IN THE GAOL. IT CONNECTED HIM WITH THE WORLD OF CARING HUMANITY OUTSIDE THE GAOL. IT CONNECTED HIM WITH THE WHOLE CH OF JX WORLD WIDE, HISTORY ONLY. JOHN MAINTAINS THAT THAT ACT OF XN KINDNESS ON THE PART OF THE PRIEST SAVED HIS LIFE. THEOLOGICAL NICETIES APART, THE CHURCH IS OFTEN CALLED TO FOLLOW THE EXAMPLE OF THE CREATURE WITH A HUMAN FACE. THE EXAMPLE OF INTELLIGENT LOVE.

THERE IS OF COURSE BOTH KINDNESS OF HEART & KINDNESS OF HEAD. KINDNESS OF HEART PLUMPS THE PILLOW OF THE SICK PERSON. KINDNESS OF HEAD ASKS ‘WHAT HAS CAUSED THE SICKNESS” KINDNESS OF HEAD IS AT THE ROOT OF THE NEW HUMANAITY – THE HUMAN CAPACITY FOR INTELLIGENT LOVING – THE CREATURE WITH THE HUMAN FACE.

THE LION, THE OX, THE CREATURE WITH THE HUMAN FACE, THEN FINALLY IN HIS VISION OF HEAVEN S JOHN SAW THE FLYING EAGLE. SOARING INTO THE AIR, GETTING, AS IT WERE A GOD’S EYE VIEW OF THE WORLD BELOW. AND THE FLYING

THE EAGLE, I’M TOLD, HAS A NATURALLY BIFOCAL EYE. IT CAN AT THE SAME TIME HAVE A WIDE VISION TAKING IN THE WHOLE SCENE, & IN THE CENTRE OF ITS EYE ARE A BUNDLE OF CELLS WHICH ENABLE THE EAGLE TO FOCUS ON THE PARTICULAR, THE LOCAL. THE EAGLE CAN SEE THE SLIGHTEST MOVEMENT OF THE SMALLEST MOUSE ON THE WIDE EARTH BELOW.

JESUSA CHRIST HAD A COSMIC VISION. HE KNEW THAT HE WAS ENGAGED IN A TIMELESS CRUSADE AGAIST THE FORCES OF SIN & EVIL, HE WEPT OVER JERUSALEM AS HE SAW THE WAVE OF HISTORY COMING TO SWEEP IT’S LIFE & ITS TEMPLE AWAY. HE HAD A WIDE VIEW OF EVENTS & YET AT THE SAME TIME NOT A SPARROW IN THE MARKET PLACE ESCAPED HIS ATTENTION.

IN THE CRUSH OF THE CROWD HE KNEW THAT AN INDIVIDUAL IN DEED NEED HAD TOUCHED HIM. NOBODY ESCAPES HIS NOTICE & CARE FOR IN THE EYES OF J EACH ONE OF US IS SPECIAL.

THE CHURCH STILL HAS ITS VISIONARIES, THOSE WHO NOT ONLY SEE THE WORLD AS IT IS, BUT HOW IT MIGHT BE WHEN TRANSFORMED BY THE GRACE OF GOD.

OUR GOSPEL READING FROM THE FIFTH CHAPTER OF ST MATTHEW SPELLS OUT THE KIND OF COMMUNITY THE EARLY CHURCH WAS CALLED TO BE. PEOPLE WHO WERE VISIONARIES STANDING OUT FROM, AND ABOVE THE WORLD AROUND – THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD LIKE A CITY ON A HILL, PROUD OF ITS DISTINCTIVE LIFE, SALT OF THE WORLD BRINGING FLAVOUR AND TO ALL LIFE – ENHANCING WHAT IS GOOD, AND COMBATTING THE POISONESS.

VISIONARIES ARE NOT IN SHORT SUPPLY IN TODAY’S WORLD AND CHURCH. THERE ARE THOSE CONCERNED WITH CLIMATE CHANGE AND CHALLENGING US TO REUCE OUR CAPRBON FOOTPRINT IF FUTURE GENERATIONS ARE TO HAVE WHOLE LIVES. THERE ARE THOSE RISING ABOVE GLOBALISATION AND SEEKING TO REPRESENT DIFFERENT AND WHAT THEY BELIEVE TO BE BETTER VALUES.

VISIONARIES ARE EVER NECESSARY IF THE WORLD IS TO MOVE ON, BUT THEY CAN BE DANGEROUS PEOPLE TO BE AROUND, FOR ALTHOUGH THEY ARE STRONG ON VISION THEY SOMETIMES ARE WEAK ON DETAIL.

WHEN DEAVID LIVINGSTONE CALLED THE UNDERGRADUATES OF OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE TO FOLLOW HIM INTO THE HEART OF AFRICA HE HAD A VISION OF A STEAM BOAT DRIVING UP THE ZAMBIEZI INTO THE HEART OF AFRICA, THERE ESTABLISHING COMMERCIAL ESTATES AND PLANTING CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS AND CHURCHES. HE OMITTED TO DISCOVER THAT IN FACT THE GREAT RIVER WAS BLOCKED BY FIERCE UNNAVIGATABLE RAPIDS, AND SO THE EXPIDITION HAD TO TAKE A QUITE DIFFERENT DIRECTION, THE COMMERCIAL ESTATES WERE FORGOTTEN, AND A CHRISTIAN SETTLEMENT WAS LEFT TO ITS OWN RESOURCES WHILST LIVINGSTONE SET OFF IN A VISIONARY PURSUIT FOR THE SOURCE OF THE NILE.

VIRUTALLY ALL THE FIRST MISSIONARIES DIED OF DISEASE, PRECOMINATELY MALARIA AND THE BASE WAS SOON ABANDONED, MUCH TO LIVINGSTONE’S FURY, AND A FRESH START WAS MADE AT THE COAST AT ZANZIBAR.

HAD HISTORY STOPPED AT THAT POINT THE STORY OF LIVINGSTONE’S VISION WOULD HAVE ENDED IN TOTAL FAILURE, YET AFTER HIS DEATH MUCH OF THE VISION HE’S HELD CAME TO FRUITION – THE END OF SLAVERY, CHRISTIAN MISSIONS PLANTED THROUGHOUT CENTRAL AFRICA. AS CHRISTIAN CREATURES WITH A HUMAN FACE WITH A CAPACITY FOR INTELLIGENT LOVING PLANNED CAREFULLY AND WELL, AND WERE JOINED BY HARD WORKING CHRISTIAN OXEN, DOCTORS, NURSES, TEACHERS, PRIESTS WHO WERE PREPARED TO GIVE YEARS OF THERE LIFE IN TURNING VISION INTO REALITY.

AND THE PARABLE – WE NEED ONE ANOTHER IN CHURCH AND WORLD IF THE CHURCH IS TO BE AN AGENCY WHICH HONOURS GOD’S LOVE AND VISION AND THE WORLD IS TO BE CHANGED.

SO DEAR BROTHERS & SISTERS IN CHRIST, PASSIONATE LIONS, HARD WORKING OXEN, INTELLIGENT HUMAN BEINGS, VISIONARY EAGLES, GO ON WITH THE WORK WHICH YOU HAVE BEGUN, AND AS YOU GO, REJOICE THAT TOGETHER, LIKE THE FOUR CREATURES IN HEAVEN, YOU CAN WORSHIP TOGETHER AROUND THE THRONE OF GOD’S GRACE, SINGING, HOLY, HOLY, HOLY IS GOD, THE SOVERIEGN LORD OF ALL, WHO WAS, AND IS, AND IS TO COME.

IN THE NAME OF THAT HOLY GOD BE ALL HONOUR & GLORY, WORSHIP & POWER, NOW & FOREVER. AMEN.

Rt. Rev’d Dr. Tom Butler, Bishop of Southwark
7th October 2007

 

So we have come once again to that time of year when we think about endings but also new beginnings.

I know that for some of you the burden of finals still lie ahead and yet for others they are now just a bad dream and life has become a blissful celebration without tutorials, libraries, lectures and books. And yet, for each one of us, in our different ways, this is a time of endings: the end of Trinity term, the end of this academic year, the end of doctoral research and postgraduate study, the end of singing in the choir, the end of attending Evensong, the end of working in this place, the end of life at Worcester College, Oxford.

Now, before I get you all thoroughly depressed along with myself, let me haul you back from the brink with some words from T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets. In Little Gidding he writes,

‘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.’

Thankfully it hasn’t happened this term, but previously, sometime during the Trinity term, gaps would appear in the front row of the choir. Of course, it was nothing sinister, just the natural progress of time as treble voices came to an end. When I worked at St Paul’s Cathedral, the clergy had this cruel tradition of having the hymn ‘The day thou gavest Lord is ended’ on the last service of term, which was often accompanied by the silent whimpering of ‘broken’ choristers. A devastating ending and yet ‘the end is where we start from’. Little did I imagine that one day, from the ashes of those broken voices one of the boys would be opening the batting for England and another singing bass as a professional singer, from an ending had come a new beginning.

And so for us, who dwell in this time of endings, at the same time, we also stand in the moment of new beginnings. For some of us this new beginning is obvious, defined and structured as we leave to begin careers, charitable work, further research, or a new job. Whilst for others, it is less so, less clear and must be discerned in time. But either way, it is a beginning, a start from which we grow and develop, just as we did when we were first freshers’ and probationers to the Scholars and choristers we are today. What we are to become is not always clear as maybe we would like, but perhaps that is a good thing for then we are open and willing to travel less chartered waters and to carpae daeum or seize the day. One thing for certain is that wherever we go we take with us all that has brought us to this ending, all that we are and all that we have learnt, regardless of our age and experience. In the fear of beginning to sound like a patronizing Polonius, let me turn to the words of Paul in his letter to the Philippians. If we wanted to reflect on what it is that we have learnt, what it is that we take with us from our endings into our beginnings then perhaps his words are our surest guide,

‘whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.’

And yet to know whatsoever is true, or honest, just or pure is not something we just wake up with one morning, just as a bass voice does not magically appear from the ashes of a treble voice, it must be discovered and learnt through the exploration of many endings and beginnings. As T. S. Eliot writes,

‘With the drawing of his Love and the voice of this Calling
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.’

Whilst Eliot captures the sense that life is an exploration, a journeying which deepens us and changes us so that we discover things we have known as if for the first time, I am acutely aware that, in this of all terms, his words also lead us back to the events of nought week, when all of us were reminded of our ultimate ending in which all our explorations will cease. For many of us Tsz’s tragic death was like a frost in spring, devastating, pointless and cruel. And yet through the faith of his parents, who with a white shroud put him to bed for the last time and the love of his friends, who spoke words which only echo in the silent depths of the heart, we were reminded that in the ending of death is the new beginning of life everlasting, where through the drawing of love we arrive at the point from which we came and know it for the first time.

In the Rule, which lies at the source and beginning of this college, St Benedict gives his monks a set of tools by which to fashion and cultivate a holy life. One of these is to ‘day by day remind yourself that you are going to die’. If you have a yearning for the church to be radical and counter cultural, then maybe this is it. Too often we kid ourselves that through medicine we can live forever, so much so that to speak of death is a morbid taboo rather than a precious reality. For St Benedict knew, in an equally violent age, that to contemplate the idea 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 cherish with awe 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 job, the new house, the title or the chair, sucking out the marrow of our lives with so called purpose before they come to an end. No, it is 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, the new beginning of eternal life is for us now not in the future alone, there is no pointless death or wasted life for we dwell in the eternal now.

What then, you may ask, is the end or purpose of life, if it is not to get the internship, to become the professional singer, to write the doctorate, to live a life worth living, if it is not about the obituary in the Times? Knowing that we stand in the eternal now, the end or purpose of our lives is that for which we were created and that for which we were redeemed, namely praise. For we have been liberated into the eternal moment and as such, become a song of praise and thanksgiving. A song which consists of the words of our endings and beginnings, a song which is unique to each one of us, a song which is not dictated by our explorations but which is shaped by them into our hymn of praise.

As you leave the Chapel this evening, as we come to another ending and a new beginning, may the words of the Jubilate which you heard read tonight and which are written above your heads as you leave, resonate in your hearts and be a light by which you explore this life and contemplate the next: ‘O be joyful in the Lord all ye lands, serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song’.

Amen.

The Chaplain
11th June 2007

It’s a pleasure to be here in this wonderful chapel of yours.

On this Sunday evening the lectionary invites us to reflect on what must be, I suppose, one of the most influential and yet, for the thinking Christian, difficult of New Testament texts – ‘Go and make disciples of all nations’, a text that is sometimes known as ‘The Great Commission’.

More than any other this text has, down the centuries, defined Christianity as a missionary religion. It has been heard as a stirring command from Christ himself, and so has helped to foster in the church a crusading missionary spirit which led, in the nineteenth century, to the foundation of the missionary societies which took the Gospel to “heathen lands afar”. This crusading missionary endeavour led without doubt to some great achievements in terms of bringing aspects of Christian care to foreign countries (one thinks of medical care in south India); but also this missionary spirit has led to enormous conflict with other societies and other religions, and untold cultural damage.

Recently we have become only too painfully aware of the dark legacy of that crusading spirit, and, now, arguably, we are suffering something of the blowback … particularly in the Middle East.

‘Go and make disciples of all nations.’ Two imperative verbs in a text that creates huge difficulties for the thinking Christian. But it would seem that we cannot avoid it. There it is right at the end of Matthew’s Gospel – the foundation of the church’s missionary life. And yet we know that this text, and the attitudes of moral and religious superiority that have grown from it, have spawned terrible violence and aggression.

The Great Commission … the inescapable call from Christ himself to evangelise the world … … or is it? That is what I would like briefly to consider with you.

I want to suggest that there has been profound misunderstanding of this text – caused largely by the way it has been mistranslated and consequently misunderstood. And I believe we simply have to unlearn it as we have received it. And that should be no surprise. With faith we need constantly to be both learning and unlearning. Learning and searching for deeper meanings, and unlearning the damaging distortion of meanings that we have received. And if we do this we may find that the original meaning of this text can be recovered, so that instead of it being used to promote our faith and cause over against their faith and cause – whoever ‘they’ may be … Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, atheists – it will point to a set of values and a way of being human that offers hope to all, whatever religion they may or may not belong to.

So let’s read and reflect again on these last words from Matthew’s Gospel searching for a more precise grasp of his hints, his clues and his language – so that we may arrive at a truer meaning.

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. … And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit ….

The first thing to notice is the reference to place. I am married to a geographer, and I have learnt that where things happen is as important as what happens – that place really matters. Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. Here is the first big clue. The final meeting with Jesus and his disciples happens, he tells us, in Galilee, on a mountain. Galilee …? A mountain in Galilee …? Where have we heard that before? Where, Matthew wants us to ask, was there another meeting in Galilee, on a mountain? And what was said there …?.

By this allusion to place, Matthew is reminding us, as he approaches the end of his great work, of what lies at the heart of it – what its central message has been. He is reminding us of that great section which begins at chapter 5 and is called ‘the sermon on the mountain’. It is a sermon which begins with the teaching which is the clearest expression in the whole Gospel tradition of the way of Jesus Christ – the Beatitudes.

There in Galilee, on a mountain, Jesus of Nazareth taught the upside down values and virtues of the non-violent Kingdom of God. On that mountain he said that at the heart of the way of the Kingdom is not power and strength and certainty of conviction (those things which powered the missionaries), but … (remember the beatitudes?) … poverty of spirit, the capacity to mourn, a gentle mind, a pure heart, a merciful spirit, a deep hunger and thirst for justice, the courage to make peace. These are the values and virtues of his Kingdom, of his way of being human. So, by placing this last scene again on a mountain in Galilee Matthew is reminding us of them again, as he gives us the last words of the Risen One.

Then, having set the scene, Jesus comes to them and speaks. But before what we have come to call ‘the great commission’ Matthew puts in a preface – a preface which seems to underline the idea of great power and might lying behind the commission that is to follow: ‘all authority … Jesus says … in heaven and on earth has been given to me … go therefore …’

All authority in heaven and on earth has been committed to me. Here is the first big misunderstanding. Down the centuries we have understood authority almost entirely through the notion of power – power enforced if necessary by force. All authority in heaven and on earth has been committed to me. Notoriously in the crusades the Gospel was taken to Muslim lands with the cross in one hand and the sword in the other. Nearer to our own times, through the nineteenth century Missionary Societies, the Gospel was spread across the world hand in hand with all the political economic and military might of the world’s greatest colonial power.

That is how we have understood and still understand ‘authority’. But it is not how the Gospel of Matthew understands it. The Greek word ‘exousia’, translated ‘authority’ is in the Gospel not so much to do with power as truth; not so much to do with might, as authenticity. Matthew ends the sermon on the mount with the comment, …the crowds were astounded at his teaching for he taught as one having authority, and not as their scribes. He means he taught them with authenticity …with a kind of vivid reality which they had not known before and which went to the heart of them. He taught the truth.

So in Matthew’s mind – ‘authority’ is entirely de-coupled from notions of power and might. In this preface he is saying, that here, about to speak his last words to us, is, the Authentic One, to whom truth has been given.

And what does this Authentic One say? Does he say: ‘go and make disciples’? No. He does not say that. The Greek word normally translated as ‘go’ … as a commanding imperative, is a mistranslation. The verb is not an imperative at all, but a present participle – ‘poreuthentes’, literally it means … ‘as you are going along’, or ‘as you are passing from one place to another’ … that is to say: in the ordinary course of your daily life as you are going along …

… ‘make’ disciples??

Again, no. The verb ‘to make’, which has overtones of force and has so often been understood in terms of force – either physical force, or psychological force – is not there. But rather in the Greek, what is there is the word for a disciple now turned into a verb – and yes, an imperative … so the literal meaning is: ‘as you are going along, or as you are passing from one place to another, disciple all peoples’ .

The meaning is ‘lead all peoples – not just Jews – but all peoples into the following of, the discipling, the discipline of these virtues that were at the heart of my teaching: trust and poverty of spirit, humility and the capacity to mourn, gentleness of mind, purity of heart, courage in peace-making, the pursuit of justice, love of mercy … lead all peoples into this new way of being human … shape the lives of non-Jews also in these pathways of peace, these life-patterns of simplicity, these virtues of trust that I spelt out to you then – … and do it …simply … ‘as you are going along’ … as natural opportunities arise ….

So you see, accurately translated, the meaning is quite different. There is no hint at all of coercion here. And no great ‘command’. We are not told ‘to go’… not commanded ‘to make disciples’ in the sense that the church has so often preached. He simply says, ‘as you are going along seeking day by day to live the Kingdom way like lights shining in the dark … be yeast in the dough of the world … lead all peoples into a process of spiritual formation, in which their lives are shaped into my radical way of vulnerable trust, of mutual love, of peace-making, of the pursuit of justice, of gentleness, of humility, of purity of heart … and as they see the attractiveness of this way, many of them will want to be immersed in the God you reveal who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit …’

The key to chapter Matthew Chapter 28, is Matthew chapters 5 to 7 – his great passage in which the ancient law is re-interpreted for the new messianic age in which all humans of all races and all faiths are now through this Christ invited to belong.

As we read this passage again as Matthew meant us to read it, we are challenged to the very depths. Do we live this new way of being human? Do we walk his way of vulnerability and trust, gentleness, humility, truth and purity of heart, pursuing justice …? Do you? Do I? It is the way that will enchant and unite the world.

Lord have mercy upon us.

Rev’d Canon Patrick Woodhouse, Precentor of Wells Cathedral
3rd June 2007

In St. Pauls’ letter to the Galatians that we had read to us this evening, he contrasts the desires of the flesh with the things of the Spirit. One set would appear to sit in direct opposition to the other. But isn’t it true that we often see aspects, dimensions of the divine if you will, in the most unexpected places and amongst the most unlikely people.

And this is self evidently true when we poke our noses above the ecclesial parapet and engage with the greater humanity. I suppose, to use a gospel image, I want to assert that the goats are not as beyond the pail as we might first be led to think. In this regard I am reminded of the diaries of Oswin Creighton, a member of the Royal Army Chaplain Department, who served with distinction throughout the First World War. And he was not alone when he observed that the average Tommy Atkins from the rough end of the trench, whose maison d’etre, whilst slogging it out in the mud of Northern France, was decidedly on the fleshy side – I’m conscious that we have choir boys here this evening – that same Tommy Atkins was also capable, and indeed demonstrated the highest form of Christlike sacrifice in crawling under heavy, withering fire into no-mans land to rescue a fallen comrade. I can think of so many other examples in my linited and very different expereince with the armed forces. Rayner McBirney of the Royal Irish, who went some way to prevent me from going over an ice ridge in Grytirkan in the South Atlantic; staff sergeant Merill who in the teeth of an horrendous amphibious landing exercise said to me, “Padre Sir, you just stay near me” – sound advice as I swim like a brick. Or an old friend of mine, I can still see his face in the mess at Shawbury, John Coxen who was killed in Iraq at Christmas. A man who was profoundly good, a gentle, peacful, patient loving man. And yet he like the others I mention this evening were also a bit fleshy!

And what I say can be replicated in so many other instances as well. Yes indeed a the sharp end of service life it may be more apparently dramatic; but what about those other realms of everyday life – the men and women who serve in the police, the fire service, the ambulance service, or in our hosiptals and all manner of humanity that exists behind the doors of millions of homes. You see God in the most unlikely of places and amongst the most unexpected people.

And what I say this evening is not some wishy washy, limp sentimentality, woven into my mind by the expereince of serving in the traditions of our services nor seen through a rosy haze that I name the great British people. Far from it, for it is a theological statement that requires us to think and therefore to illuminate and define our understanding of the Almighty. It is a deeply incarnational view that acknowledges that matter matters and that human life in all its many contradicitons and imperfections has the capacity to convey the love of God, both within and without the Church.

Studdant Kennedy, popularly known as Woodbine Willie was another collossus of a chaplain born out of the horro of the Great War. He, like Oswin Creighton saw how in its exposure to the waste of humanity in the trenches, the Church found itself so often unable to articulate the truth of the Gospel. Ironically, maybe even paradoxically, it was the Church that ended up being taught by those fleshy Tommy Atkins. A different vision of God emerged, a braoder comprehension of his transcendence took form – and we are still learning the same lessons 100 years later. The Church is still learning how it is that God must be taken out of the box, it is still learning to affirm rather than judge; the cataracs of her impaired vision still needs attention in order that she may see that what God created was and is as a starting point good; impaired and fractured may be but nonetheless the repository for the potential for God’s love.

It strikes me that in all that is good and true, and noble and honest and kind and loveable in human endeavour and relaitons that we see the very imprint of the character of God himself. Belief in God, a thing of the past, a quaint medievak pastime, a gentle sop for insecure people – I think not. Isn’t it fascinating where we see God – in the most unexpected places and in the lives of the most unlikely people. Amen.

Rev’d Hugh Bearn, Vicar of St. Anne’s Tottington and Chaplain to the Queen
20th May 2007

The story is told of four monks who came to see the great desert father, Abba Pambo. Each spoke about the virtue of one of the others. The first fasted a great deal, the second was poor, the third had acquired great charity and they said of the fourth that he had lived for twenty years in obedience to an old man. Abba Pambo said to them, “I tell you, the virtue of this last one is the greatest. Each of the others had obtained the virtue he wished to acquire, but the last one, restraining his own will, does the will of another”. The monk who “lived in obedience to an old man” was devoted to the loving service of another.

Obedience is a term, which has come to make many of us shudder today. It doesn’t seem to have any good connotations whatsoever, and appears to be in direct contradiction to many of the things we prize most highly, such as freedom and personal choice. In contrast, obedience is often seen as a narrowing down of life by submitting one’s will to another in a servile sense, to the extent of abdicating from personal responsibility. As children we were all taught to be obedient to our parents, our teachers, well basically anyone who was older than us, and though at times this may have been challenged or negotiated it was still pretty clear at the end of the day who was in charge. Its not surprising therefore that obedience has often been equated with an infantile state of submission in the best-case scenario and as dictatorial oppression in the worst.

Well our two readings this evening seem to uphold this view of obedience. To any sensible person, God’s command to Abraham to sacrifice his son seems outrageous, regardless of whether it be a test of faith or not. How could a loving God command such a thing of a faithful servant, surely these are the actions of a tyrannical bully. Equally shocking though is Abraham’s apparent blind obedience. In true Old Testament brevity, we know nothing of what Abraham is thinking or feeling about such a command, all we are told is that he obeyed without a word of question or complaint. Surely this is an example of religious oppression at its worst and we can’t blame it on a human institution this time as it comes from the very mouth of God.

Similarly, in our New Testament reading from John, Jesus commands Peter to be essentially like him, the good shepherd, and to tend his flock in what appears to be proof of his love. However, in contrast to Abraham whose obedience brings the reward of a ram for sacrifice instead of his son and the Lord’s blessing, for Peter the reward is to be bound and taken to a place he does not wish to go. To obey Jesus’ commands not only seems to be about losing freedom but also one’s life. Peter had seen what had happened to Jesus and the kind of death he endured, surely he must be mad to obey such a suicidal command.

It would be easy to dismiss these two passages as being about the spiritually elite who, either impress or horrify us by their faithful obedience, but either way are out of our league. Easier still would be to interpret these passages differently and stress not the obedience, which is asked of both Abraham and Peter but the faith they show. But this would be to avoid a very thorny issue and not answering a charge, which is often laid against God. Given this, how then are we to understand these passages, let alone apply their wisdom within our lives?

Maybe one of the things, which clamours at our ears and prevents us from listening to the Word in these passages, is our negative and fearful understanding of obedience itself. Obedience has not always had such connotations. As we heard in the saying from the desert fathers, obedience has been held as the highest of all the virtues, not because it was to do with submitting to another’s will but because it was to do with loving service of another. This understanding of obedience can be found at the very root of its meaning. The word obedience comes from the Latin oboedire, which does not mean to obey but to listen. The prefix ob can be translated as ‘in the direction of’ whilst audire means to hear. The word obedience thereby conjures up the image of leaning towards someone, straining to hear what they are saying, giving them all your loving attention as if your life depended on it. Obedience therefore is not so much about hearing and obeying as listening in love to another.

From this understanding of obedience the story of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son is no longer simply seen as a test of his obedience to the will of God, but rather of his loving trust in God. God tells Abraham that he must do the impossible and he listens and does what he is asked, not out of obedience but out of loving trust. All parents know that, whilst a child may see obedience as your will over theirs, from the parents point of view all is done out of love and concern. Explanations may make this all clear, but when a two year old is on the verge of rushing into a road, what is important is that, regardless of whether they can see the car or not, the child in loving trust immediately hears the voice of the parent and listens or obeys. It is this depth of love and trust that God tests in Abraham and the result of this is not so much a reward of many offspring, as the ratification of this relationship in a covenant between God and the people of Abraham.

Our reading from John’s gospel is similarly more concerned with mutual love than doing as Jesus commands. What is immediately striking about Jesus’ three commandments to Peter is that they each spring from a question concerned with love. There is something of the paranoid lover in Jesus as he keeps asking, as if for reassurance, whether Peter loves him. So much so that Peter starts to get annoyed, even hurt that Jesus doesn’t know how much he loves him. Here we have a scene where Jesus is not so much testing Peter as seeking the assurance of their mutual love. It is out of this that Jesus asks Peter to look after his sheep and lambs, not in the sense of being a priest to the flock of the church, but in the sense of mutual love. Just as Jesus has loved his sheep, so he asks Peter and each one of use to do likewise and to love and care for one another. To strain and listen in love to the needs of others, freely choosing to put aside our own desires for the sake of theirs, and so fulfil his command to love. The words, which follow are thereby a reality check, to walk the way of love is to walk the way of Christ, and like Peter before us, it is to find ourselves similarly bound and taken where we do not want to go. But this willingness to give up our own desire for self-fulfilment for the sake of others is no longer a servile obedience rather the path to freedom and fullness of life.

This new and liberating understanding of obedience can be found not so much in the words of John’s account as in its structure. It cannot be a coincidence that Jesus’ three questions to Peter before a burning charcoal fire mirror the three questions put to him on the night of Jesus’ arrest. There, Peter full of fear not only denied Jesus but also himself. Fear cast out love and made him his obedient captive, a slave to his will. Now the resurrected Jesus stands before him, not to give Peter a chance to undo his denials but to physically show him that ultimately it is love which casts out fear, he is no longer obedient to its bonds of oppression, love has set him free. But his love is not just a new set of shackles it is the way, which leads to true freedom and to life. If we want proof of this, then we need only look around.

In the last few weeks, I have never seen such an overwhelming expression of kindness and goodness and love as I have experienced in this College. Time and again individuals have set aside their own concerns and fears and have strained to listen to the needs of others and have been obedient to their call. It has not answered those questions of why such a brilliant and good young man such as Tsz should be killed so suddenly but it has brought love to a desolate situation, it has brought resurrected life out of death.

So let us this evening in loving trust strain once more to listen to the words of Christ to “Come, follow me” and to seek to walk in his way of loving obedience which casts out fear and leads to the freedom of fullness of life. Amen.

The Chaplain
13th May 2007

Christ is Risen!

The two passages from Scripture that have been chosen for the service this evening tell us at once that we are still celebrating Easter, the Resurrection of Christ. We have heard the second chapter of the Book of Jonah and John 21:1-14. The whole of Jonah is read at the first Easter service in the Byzantine Church – along with fourteen other Old Testament passages that point forward to Christ’s rising from the dead – and the passage from John is one of the eleven Resurrection Gospels that are read one after the other through out the year at successive Sunday matins, beginning at Easter itself. This evening I would like to take a look at the inner connections between these two quite different texts.
The immediate link between Jonah and the Resurrection is provided by the last verse of the preceding chapter, which we did not hear. This tells us that ‘Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights’ (Jonah 1:17).

The connection between Jonah and the Resurrection goes back to Jesus himself. In Matthew 12:39f. Christ says to the scribes and Pharisees who are seeking a sign from him: ‘An evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given to it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas: For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale’s belly; so shall the Son of man [that is, ‘I’] be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.’ The parallel Lukan passage has only ‘For as Jonas was a sign unto the Ninevites, so shall also the Son of man [that is, ‘I’] be to this generation’ (Lk 11:30). We are entitled to think that Matthew, faced with Jesus’ original cryptic saying as recorded in Luke, felt it necessary to expand the reference just in case someone missed the point.

Most of Chapter 2 of Jonah is taken up by a psalm that Jonah must have composed in retrospect, after he was saved. The language is very powerful:

I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord, and he heard me; out of the belly of hell cried I, and thou heardest my voice. For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over. Then I said, I am cast out of the sight; yet I will look again toward thy holy temple. The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head. I went down to the bottoms of the mountains; the earth with her bars was about me for ever: yet hast thou brought up my life from corruption, O Lord my God. When my soul fainted within me I remembered the Lord: and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple (Jonah 2:2-7).

We can almost hear Christ himself having similar thoughts as he accepts death in that incomprehensible combination of trust in the Father and dereliction that is reflected in his words to the penitent thief and his quotation from another psalm: ‘Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani, My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me?’ (Mt 27:46). But God had not forsaken Jonah, just as he would not forsake Christ. For ‘the Lord spake unto the fish, and it vomited Jonah out upon the dry land’ (Jonah 2:10). Christ too is freed from death, having, like Jonah, offered his own life for the sake of others.

Here the sea is something frightening, capable of taking a man prisoner and holding him for ever – like death itself. And to be swallowed by a monstrous fish is simply a suitable way of expressing what has befallen the prophet – and would befall Christ. But God is in control. He speaks to the fish (that is, to Death), and the fish releases Jonah onto the shore
It is at this point that we can see the connection between the story of Jonah and the passage from the Gospel of John. In John, again, the sea has a role to play, though this time it is calm and unthreatening. Again, there are fish, though this time they symbolise not death but life. Again, there is a shore, and again, as with Jonah, it is a shore on the other side of death. Jesus stands there, his life, like Jonah’s, having been ‘brought up from corruption’. Jesus takes up the story where Jonah in the Old Testament narrative of the whale left off: on the other side of salvation.

Now it is the disciples who are ‘at sea’, both literally and figuratively, fishing at night unsuccessfully, having caught nothing. When asked if they have anything to eat, they say, ‘No.’ And Christ tells them that if they will obey his simple command and cast their net ‘on the right side’ they will find what to eat. They do as they are told, and as a result are enabled to share a meal with Christ. They don’t eat the fish they have caught themselves, however, but the fish and bread provided by Christ. The thing to remember is that it is only after they have carried out his commandment that they are able to share with him his food.

Within the passage from John we see the disciples lifted from one level to another through their obedience to Christ. This movement actually corresponds at a deep level to what happens between the story of Jonah’s salvation from death and the Resurrection of Christ. We are invited to move from one level of understanding to another. It reminds me of a story I heard years ago. You have to imagine yourself in a courtyard in a Jewish ghetto, somewhere in Eastern Europe. A rabbi is sitting there reading a commentary on Jonah, and a young boy comes up to him and asks what it is he’s reading. And so he tells him the story of Jonah and the whale. Having listened carefully, the boy asks him, ‘Is that really true?’ And the rabbi is silent for a long time before he answers: ‘Well, it wasn’t true then, but it is true now.’

Within revelation there is hidden the arrow of time. God’s self-revelation always points forward to something yet to come. The inner truth of the story of Jonah is revealed only centuries later in the Resurrection of Christ. Saint Maximus the Confessor (a seventh-century Byzantine ascetic and theologian) has expressed this in a dramatic way. The Old Testament, he says, is like a shadow: it gives you only a vague idea of the reality to which it relates. The New Testament is like an icon, an image, and is able to express more clearly the reality towards which it points. But the truth about the world – about God, about man, about creation – will only be seen in the Age to come. Only then, in the Kingdom of God, will we know what the past has been about.
To know the Resurrected Christ – in this present age – is to have some idea at least of what the Kingdom will be like. Christ has broken into this world from the End, from that final shore, and invites us to join him there, through obedience to his commandments, in an eternal Feast. Amen.

Christ is Risen!

Bishop Basil of Amphipolis
6th May 2007

+ Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” I said to him, “Sir, you are the one that knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” Rev 7:13-14

I remember him well. He was a policeman, and was engaged in the serious sort of study required of those who wish to be ordained. The class had been wrestling with an awkward bit of the New Testament and suddenly he asked: “Right then, what does it really mean?” When I began, “Well, that depends …”, his frustration got the better of him. “Teachers, you’re all the same! There’s never a straight answer to anything!” My heart went out to him. Here was an honest man, seeking to answer the call of God on his life. Just when he thought he was secure in his faith, clear about his vocation and ready to flourish in his training, he was faced with questions on every side.

Of course, for those of us fortunate enough to enjoy the benefits of the academy, my response may not seem so odd. We are accustomed to considering shades of meaning and weighing differing opinions. But this man’s working life was dominated by questions of fact: was that car exceeding the speed limit or not? Were the fingerprints of this young man to be found on the knife flung aside after a burglary? Was this young lady telling the truth when she said that she hadn’t meant to take goods out of the shop without paying for them? Establishing the truth about things was very important to him.

And so it is to us as people of faith. The problem of meaning in the New Testament, of intelligibility, is an ever-pressing issue. Tonight’s texts give us a wonderful set of examples to tackle. The Acts account of the death and raising of Tabitha a.k.a. Dorcas, seems straightforward enough, until we give it closer attention. Perhaps we should begin there.

As always with Luke, we need to remember that although his primary thrust is historical, it isn’t ‘history as we know it, Jim’. Luke is shaping and moulding his material to demonstrate his belief that human history is the arena of God’s activity. He isn’t really concerned with a straightforward narration of the facts. His main focus in part 2 of his work (Acts), is with the orderly and unstoppable spread of the Gospel from Jerusalem to the uttermost parts of the earth (Rome). As Acts comes to an end, Paul is in the imperial city, proclaiming the Gospel without hindrance. So, as we approach the story set for today, we need to ask why Luke tells it: what is its place in his history?

Well, this section of Acts has two tales running in parallel, that of Paul and that of Peter. The chapter begins with the account of Paul’s conversion and early ministry in Damascus, his unseemly departure from that city and attempt to join the disciples in Jerusalem. It requires the intervention of Barnabas to win acceptance for Paul, who then stirs up a storm of opposition before being sent to Tarsus.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Peter has been going about here and there among the believers. He heals a man who is paralysed, and many find faith through this. Then Tabitha, one of the saints, dies and is prepared for her burial—that is to say, make no mistake about it, she was really dead. Peter responds to the call to come without delay to Lydda and raises her. The tale spreads like wildfire, and many more folk come to faith.

This seems straightforward enough, but we need to remember that in part 1, the Gospel, Luke has shown two similar miracles of raising the dead: that of the son of the Widow of Nain, and that of the daughter of Jairus. These two miracles bear striking resemblance to the doings of Elijah and Elisha of old. So in our tale, Peter is doing what Jesus did, and Jesus does what the great prophets do before him. But it goes beyond that, for Jesus also teaches in Luke that the only sign that will be given to those who refuse belief is that of Jonah, who is raised whole out of the whale’s guts. That is to say, the sign for the generation is the resurrection of a beloved child; the resurrection of God’s anointed one.

What we have in the tale of Tabitha, then, is more than a little incident involving Peter that places him in the line of the prophets. We are expected to see the event as part and parcel of the core proclamation of the faith. Christians are those who stand up for the truth of the resurrection of Jesus Christ—none more so that Tabitha, who literally gets up, proclaiming the good news in her flesh. It isn’t surprising that such a faith spreads everywhere.

Where Acts seems clear enough to one who will work at it a little, Revelation seems opaque. While we can see a bit of what is going on, there are few straightforward markers in the text to aid interpretation. On any scale measuring intelligibility, this work scores fairly low down the scale. The text begins with a rather bald “after this,” which seems o.k., but The ‘this’ is the sealing of the 144,000 souls from the tribes of Israel who belong to God. “Ah … right …” I can hear you say, “so what does that mean when it’s at home?” Well, to answer this, we need to step back a bit, because we’ve come in too close to a big scene. We’ve been looking at the little brush strokes and we need get further away from the images if we are to see the whole picture.

Let’s start at the very beginning. After the opening chapter of the Apocalypse sets the scene, a series of seven short letters have been read which concern the strengths and weaknesses of various churches. The congregations are warned to be on their guard against those things that seduce them away from their faith. As Revelation 4 begins, the prophet finds himself in the throne room of heaven, where he sees intense worship offered to God by the whole cosmos. This includes worship of the slain and resurrected Lamb (a thin disguise for Christ). In his turn, the Lamb inaugurates the events of the last days as he opens the seven seals on the decisive scroll.

As the seals are opened, the four horsemen ride out, the souls under the altar pray for redress and creation is irrevocably changed. Now comes the interlude before the opening of the last (seventh) seal. The righteous must be marked as belonging to God; it’s for their own protection. As John observes this event, it seems that only a small remnant of Israel is guarded. But, as our section begins, the symbol shifts and becomes a vast hoard that is beyond counting. They are dressed like the redeemed, and they sing equal praise to God and the Lamb. They join with the whole of creation singing a doxology.

Now an elder challenges John: does he know what he is seeing? John challenges the elder in his turn and wins an explanation. These are the souls ransomed and raised by means of Christ’s blood; they have held to their faith through thick and thin. It is their privilege to worship God continually. Then, echoing Isaiah, we have a beautiful passage confirming their blessed state. They no longer suffer, the Lamb becomes shepherd, guiding them to the water of life, and God becomes comforter, wiping away all tears. It is no wonder that this passage is often read at funerals. Only, what does it all mean?

John shows us a vast flow of events. His text is littered with allusions and symbols, some of which we can pick up, and others of which remain puzzling even after intense study. What we must always remember is that the events that are narrated are meant to serve as encouragement for those who are listening. The prophet is trying to ensure that they are strong and clear-sighted, so that they can hold to their faith throughout the ordeals that are to come. Although the visions are heard one after the other, and some parts of the material are numbered, we mustn’t assume that John is offering us an orderly and chronological account of the end of time. We need to share John’s experience: no that matter where he looks, he sees something significant, something beyond proper description. What takes place in the Apocalypse stands outside of time; the prophet does his best to make an orderly account for us. The truth is that everything John sees is eternally present before the face of the Almighty; any sense of time and order (before this … after this) in the text is imposed for the sake of our understanding.

This suggests that we are correct in thinking that Revelation is there is something other than a strictly intelligible and scientifically coherent document. It calls for a different kind of handling, because it bears witness to a different kind of truth. The Apocalypse purports to be an unveiling of the mind and purpose of the Almighty. In unfolding this to us, the Seer is touching something that is ultimately beyond both him and us: God is only marginally and occasionally accessible to our senses and our intellects. By definition, God is beyond us. So John is showing us something that is essentially a mystery, and mystery it must remain. We are reaching out to the Lord who is mostly beyond our apprehension; we can’t grasp God entirely. But that is all right. We’re human, and what John is trying to show us is that if we cling to the bits we know, then the Almighty will do the rest. God will comfort, Christ will save, and build us into a kingdom, and priests, the divine will holds us when our grip fails, and will raise us up to life at the last day.

Now where does all this leave us in the light of Easter, and in the light of a tragic death? Well, I think we find ourselves in a profoundly helpful position. We don’t need to deny the resurrection because it doesn’t make scientific sense. We can legitimately state that we are on a different kind of territory. When we work with out texts, we are exposing a different kind of truth. Humankind, we may rightly assert, would be much poorer without the possibility of resurrection, veiled in ambiguity as it is. It is our task and delight to accept, proclaim and rejoice in this glorious mystery, of the resurrection of our Lord and of each human being.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed, alleluia! Amen.

Rev’d Canon Dr. Marilyn Parry, Oxford Diocese Director of Ordinands
29th April 2007

This sermon is part of a series of nine, all on the chapel décor, which have taken some four years to complete. My first was about the matins hymn, the ‘Benedicite’, which is set in the cornice above the windows. Seven others have been on the chapel windows. This final sermon focuses on the ‘Te Deum’, another morning canticle, which is sent in the dado below the friezes under the windows. It is well hidden: more of that shortly! But you have heard it sung so magnificently by our choir as the anthem just before this sermon. If you want to see its content, it can be found on page ten of our Prayer Books: you might turn to it to make sense of what follows.

But first, you might well ask, why two morning hymns at Evening Prayer? The answer is that, when the chapel was refurbished in the 1860s, attendance was compulsory every morning, so the architect, William Burgess, used the texts which would be most familiar to that nineteenth-century congregation.

Let us consider, as a preface to this sermon, the ‘Benedicite’. You should all be able to see some of it from where you sit. It’s mainly a call to all the natural order to praise God: ‘O all ye Green things upon the Earth, Bless Ye the Lord…. O all ye Fowls of the Air… O all ye Beasts and Cattle… O all Ye Seas and Floods, Bless Ye the Lord…’ and each of these is illustrated on the walls below, on each side of the stained glass window. The ‘Te Deum’, by contrast, is mainly a call to all humanity to praise God: ‘We praise thee O God, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord…’. Burgess, as architect, and Holiday and Wooldridge, as craftsmen who worked on the friezes and windows, viewed the entire chapel as an illustration of how nature and humankind unite together in praise of God. If you look around you should see how dominant this theme is.

The Te Deum dates somewhere between the second and fourth centuries AD and was used at a time when the Christian Church was expanding yet persecuted, and its overall theme is that the praise of God can counter the fear of men. Originally in Latin, it is often associated with Hilary of Poitiers or Ambrose of Milan, although it is not typical of their metrical hymnody; you’ll see even from your English edition that it’s really rhythmic prose. Only the first five verses, from the oldest part of the hymn, are on the dado, and these focus our praise on God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. [Praises to Christ as the Suffering Son of God form the second part, and the third and latest addition, from various psalms [27:9; 144:2; 122:3; 32;22; 30:2] form a different response, on the theme of mercy and forgiveness. The whole canticle has been set to music on countless occasions – in Gregorian chant, by Mozart, Bruckner, Berlioz, Dvorak, Haydn, and Britten. Sir William Walton set it for the Queen’s Coronation in 1952; and the Charpentier setting even made it into the Eurovision Song Contest! So although ancient, its theme of ‘the church praising God in every circumstance’ is what has kept it alive.]

Burgess made the ‘Benedicite’ clear to see and relatively easy to read, but the ‘Te Deum’ he deliberately hid from our sight and made almost impossible to read -unless one knows it already. [Starting at the north side, it somewhat hesitantly reads ‘We praise Thee, O God: we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord. All the earth doth worship Thee and the Father everlasting. To Thee all Angels, to Thee the heavens and all the Powers therein, To Thee the Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry: Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabbaoth.’] Burgess placed this Matins hymn behind the backs of the congregation; he also broke up almost every single word and combined it with half of another, making the effect seem like utter nonsense. Starting in front of the organ, the first word is ‘Wep’; the second is ‘raise’; almost every other ‘word’ is presented as something resembling Lewis Carroll’s ‘Jaberwockey’. Certainly the reader has to know the ‘Te Deum’ in order to make sense of it. The consequence was that Burgess could apply more of his characteristic ‘chapel humour’: the word ‘raise’ (taken from ‘praise’) is set behind the Vice-Provost’s stall, whilst at the other side, a rare but complete word, ‘God’, is set behind the Provost’s stall.

However, Burgess frequently used humour to bring out something serious. For example, the verse above the door as you go out reads ‘Let us enter his gates with thanksgiving’, reminding us that the church is an entrance to the world outside. Similarly Burgess intended the Te Deum to have a serious message, although it is clear that he asks us to search for it. He provided words for only the first five verses, but he also adapted the verses which followed them in artistic representation, in a manner which requires us to search for their hidden, more serious meaning

That representation is on the six friezes below the six windows: here Burgess has depicted in detail that vast and diverse ‘company of praise’ of which the ‘Te Deum’ speaks. First, the angels: ‘to thee all Angels cry aloud’: they are on the north side, near the altar – we have Uriel, Raphael (with his fish!), Gabriel (with a lily) and Michael (with his sword) and their ‘choir of eight’, singing ‘Holy Holy, Holy Lord God of Sabbaoth’. [The actual words are found in panels starting behind the altar and continue down to where the chaplain is sitting]. Second, the apostles: ‘the glorious company of the Apostles praise Thee’: these are on the middle frieze on the south side of the chapel- here you can see all twelve apostles illustrated together, with Peter with his key to the church, and Andrew with his cross. Third, the prophets: ‘the goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise Thee’: not only are there seven Old Testament prophets, each holding a scroll, above each of the seven windows – but also we find an eclectic group of twelve prophets matching the twelve apostles. They can be found on the frieze opposite the apostles, next to the angels: you might be able to see Enoch, then Noah, then Miriam singing and dancing, and David and Solomon – holding his Temple- and Huldah, Isaiah, Daniel, Malachi, John the Baptist and Anna. Fourth, we have the martyrs of the church – ‘the noble army of martyrs praise Thee:’ – and these are found next to the prophets, behind the choir stalls, forming another diverse group, including two angels with the Holy Innocents, Stephen, Polycarp, Aquinas of Canterbury, Catherine (with her wheel), Perpetua, Cecilia (with her pipes), Jan Huss, Jerome of Prague, and Latimer and Hooper (both Bishops of Worcester). Fifth, the ‘holy church throughout all the world’ Burgess divided into two groups, one of well-known saints and the other of layfolk representing all walks of life. The saints are behind the choir stalls on the north side: Augustine, Ambrose, Monica, Helena, Charlemagne (or King Olaf of Norway, in either case sporting the ginger beard of Daniel, a college fellow and soon to become Provost), Benedict, Catherine of Sienna, Elizabeth of Hungary, Wycliffe –with his Bible- and Luther and Pascal. The ordinary layfolk – including again a number of women- are on the south side, by the altar, where we see a bishop, a king, a doctor, a knight, a nun, a sister of mercy, a poet, a lawyer (with his red tape!), an artist, a carpenter, a farmer, a mother, and a fisherman. To bring his message home, Burgess took some artistic license by painting in the faces of people known in Oxford in his day.

So the ‘Te Deum’, in both words and pictures, moves from the praises of the heavenly host, to the praises of the apostles, prophets, martyrs and saints, to the praises of anyone and everyone – and this therefore includes those of us here in chapel tonight, for we are called upon too to join them in their paeon of praise. We have therefore both an appeal both to our intellect and imagination as we are invited to become part of that great community of faith, throughout the entire world and throughout the entire history of the church, a company giving praise to God in every place at every time and in every circumstance.

Most of those portrayed around us were part of a suffering church, but they knew that persecution and hardship are overwhelmed by praise. This was also the theme of our readings from Daniel and Revelation; each reading depicted how release from suffering comes when God’s saints move from lamenting their own condition to being lost in the praises of God. In Daniel, this was what the faithful Jewish community in Jerusalem had to learn, persecuted because they refused to bow the knee to the Greek Emperor and worship Greek idols. In Revelation, this was the faithful Christian community throughout Asia Minor had to learn, because they refused to bow the knee to the might of Rome and worship their gods. [We might ask, what is the corresponding challenge, in Oxford, today? ]
———————————————————————————

As our chaplain explained, this sermon is really part of another sermon series on the Beatitudes which has been running throughout this term. You might ask how these readings and these reflections on the ‘Te Deum’ have anything to do with the Beatitudes, not least our final one, ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of God’. To this I would reply: a commentary on this Beatitude is to be found in Daniel and Revelation, but it is also to be found all around you. It is found in the Apostles, Prophets, Martyrs, Saints and indeed the whole church of God surround us, suffering communities and suffering individuals, persecuted for righteousness’ sake, yet ‘blessed’ in their suffering because they have learnt to transform their pain into an experience of God – Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

As for the Beatitudes, several preachers this term have commented on their ‘upside down’ appeal. Stephen Cottrell, Bishop of Reading, observed how they ‘offer a topsy-turvy view of life’, which was not surprising in that they were spoken by Jesus, who turned the values of the world upside down and inside out. Tom Wright, Bishop of Durham, also reflected on the way that the Beatitudes reversed the world’s values, and he said they were really about reality ‘the right way up’. Certainly this final Beatitude, which affirms blessings for those who suffer innocently, belongs to this same ‘topsy-turvy view of life’.

‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake’. Innocent suffering is something we all have to face at one time and another. Sometimes it is physical; at others, mental or emotional; often it is a profound spiritual pain, when we feel deprived of yet yearn for the presence of God. Innocent suffering is a real test as to how we live out our faith within a finite and often evil world. By far the most important comfort in our suffering is to realize that we are not alone. Suffering is the hallmark of the Christian faith, as you’ll see in the chapel window behind me, and it reminds us that the servants cannot expect less than their Master. So when it comes to pain and persecution, and indignation that this is undeserved, and our own ability to pray is very limited, and resources are scarce, let us seek another reality, an alternative vision, one which begins with the praises of the heavenly host, moves on to the praises of the prophets, apostles, martyrs and saints of the church, and ends with ourselves. It is as if we let these others pray and sing for us: we need to feel their presence, to hear their pain caught up in praise, and this is what this chapel allows us to do. This is how we can discover the secret of that ‘blessedness’ in suffering, the secret which all the Beatitudes seek to convey- an experience of God who enters into our pain yet also transcends it. So it begins with a prayer of lament at our human condition; but it ends with a hymn of praise to the God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Dr. Susan Gillingham, Fellow and Tutor in Theology
4th March 2007

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

There’s a wonderful rabbinic story that says when God had created all the blessings for humanity he looked around for a pot or vessel in which to put them. When he couldn’t find one, he created shalom, peace.

The most peaceful time I can remember as a child was sitting by the River Windrush, listening to the water rolling over the rocks, and to birds singing and soaring in the clear blue sky. It was lovely, a vision of Eden.

The most peaceful time I can remember recently however was waking up early in Al Amara in Iraq after half a night sleep, uninterrupted for once by any mortar or rocket attack, walking out onto the compound and watching the amazing stars in the Arabian sky. They really did look like a myriad of diamonds spilled onto a black velvet cloth. And looking at the moon, even though we were far apart, I knew that my wife would have looked at that same moon that night, and somehow we were together.

For me that peace is the more poignant of the two memories, not just because of the contrast between the previous days activities in a violent riot, but also because I knew how transient and rare it was. It was, and remains a precious memory.

Most of my strange parish were either blissfully asleep, and mostly snoring or quietly and vigilantly on duty. And because of those few on guard, I was, for that brief instant, safe in that strange land. Their watchfulness allowed me my quiet contemplation, and gave me that truly wonderful moment of peace.

For me those soldiers on duty were children of God, in their vigilance and their activity they were creating peace, if only for those few minutes. But what next.

Well, the recent history of Iraq is heartbreaking, for all that Saddam Hussein was a ruthless and cruel man, and that Iraqis, and indeed that part of the world, would be much better off with a more righteous leader, the West has acted in arrogance. During his tyrannical reign we sold him armaments and technology, with no thought of the consequences. Then when he stepped out of line on the orders of our elected politicians, his regime was destroyed, and subsequently we have failed to bring lasting order, or to win the peace.

It’s such a shame, the early days following Operation Telic were full of hope, the Iraqi people treated our media, politicians and soldiers as liberators and peacemakers, and they were!; the Ba’ath party’s regime was evil, but it’s all gone terribly wrong. Disparate groupings, and would-be leaders have created war and tyranny on their neighbours, and our soldiers, and those of all the other countries involved, continue to try, seemingly ineffectively, to restore hope.

In many areas of that troubled land fear has replaced joy, anarchy rules the streets, and senseless violence, torture and horror have returned. Despite the news on the ground it’s actually not all bleak, but it is very very far from perfect.

What are we to do? Well according to Micah the LORD requires us. ‘To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God’. This seems to preclude the possibility of walking away and bringing all our soldiers and NGO’s safely home, even though it would save British lives and a fortune. No instead our soldiers, perhaps some 1500 fewer in Iraq, are commanded to continue to stay to act with justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with God.

You might be aware that the confluence of the Tigris and the Euphrates lies north of Basrah, and just off the road north east to Al Amara, and that it was there that Garden of Eden was reputedly to have been formed. When I visited however the Cherubim with a flaming sword seemed to be away on a lunchbreak, and all that I could see was a broken concrete car park and a dead tree. It’s a desolate place; and far from the image Eden.

But the two etyiological creation accounts in Genesis still offer the reader visions of the perfection that God desires for us, whilst the subsequent narrative of the fall at the very least offers a theological explanation to the question ‘why isn’t the world perfect?’

The reality that our world is still far from perfect is why today we so earnestly need peacemakers. People who work to provide a vision of a better world, a world evolving into a planet of justice and equity rather than one falling back into feudal inter fighting and injustice.

Just to make this clear, British soldiers, on the whole prefer to be called just that, soldiers, they like being popular with indigenous peoples, but they’d much rather be in the pub, with their mum, or playing with their gamestations, their average age is only 23. And to be honest calling them a peacekeeper seems to invoke a negative reaction, and appears to have overtones of failure.

Which is a same because unlike some people in the world, soldiers know that they aren’t all good, and they certainly know that they aren’t perfect.

Soldiers know that when the great and good have finished and have failed, it will be their job to offer their lives, and to stand in the way of someone else’s danger, until some form of justice and peace can be negotiated.

But they also know that they aren’t lost to God. In moments of tedium I have often found soldiers either reading a copy of the New Testament, or wanting to discuss God with me. They don’t really do ‘Jesus’, and on the whole they really don’t do Church, but they like God, and they love the idea of redemption and peace.

But when they read the passage we just heard as our second reading, they know that God incarnate reached out in peace to an outcast, to the tax collector, and offered Levi such a powerful vision that he followed Jesus and then expended a fortune in entertaining him and his followers.
Despite the prevailing religious environment, Levi, the collector of tax for the hated Romans, was loved by God.
And if God can love a Tax collector, a leper, “even that bloke Judas, Padre, can God love me?”

As a completely unarmed Army Padre, I seem to represent a glimpse of normality, safety, and decency to soldiers, who day and night do their duty on operations in Afghanistan or Iraq. What they sometimes experience and have to do could not be in any way described as peaceful, yet they are only there because of decisions made by legally elected democratic Governments, and in many ways soldiers are far more pragmatic than politicians about the chances of easy success. It would be wonderful if our politicians were more successful in their negotiations, then soldiers could spend more time in their ‘pot’, in barracks, or better still down the pub.

Unlike many people in the Western world, British soldiers really know the price of freedom and peace, they know that the world isn’t pretty, and they also know that when push comes to shove, whether they want to or not, it will be their duty to try to restore order in some unpleasant environment. And they do it, and have done it time and time again. There is no one else.

And over the last four or five years they’ve done it almost continually, many for a measly remuneration of just 12.5 thousand pounds a year. And governed by strict laws of armed combat they have, on the whole (with very few exceptions) acted justly, humbly and despite incredible provocation, so often incredibly kindly, and have quietly gone about their duty time and time again.

And that’s why, for me, the Rabbinic story works so well; the imagery of God first looking for a pot to store up his blessings for humanity. Then God realizing that pots are used to store things for when they are needed, and that our blessings cannot be saved up for a rainy day but are in constant demand. God’s blessing to the peacemakers, shalom, cannot be passive but essentially is active.

Since Eden, the world and societies within it have evolved, and it seems to me that the Pauline concept, of our redemption also being in the process, of us being redeemed now and not yet, compliments this idea of an active peace, and the continuing need for peacemakers.

Today, in many ways, the world is a lot more peaceful than it has been, but it’s still far from perfect. And because of this, continuing painful evolution, when our politicians demand some poor mother’s child will have to deploy, and stand in the way of evil, or danger, and be ready to be counted.

The harsh truth remains that, despite the joy of Easter Morn, the bitter reality is that this is still a fallen world, a world in process, and until it, and we, are all finally redeemed we will continue to need peacemakers. Because of the glorious resurrection, there is always hope; but when peacemakers initially fail, to sleep safely in all our beds, to study, or even to look at the stars; I know that we’ll still need God’s blessing, and, for the time being, unfortunately we’ll still need those soldiers. May God bless them.

Amen.

Rev’d Dowell Conning, Army Chaplain
25th February 2007

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

‘Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God’.

Of all the Beatitudes I think this is the most attractive but possibly the least attainable of them all. Sadly all of us will mourn the death of someone we hold dear, most of us will at some point be filled with righteous anger and compassion for the situation and of those around us, and some of us from time to time will reflect that meekness and humility which is so highly prized, but how many of us will ever be pure?

We don’t need St Augustine, or any other theologian for that matter, to tell us what the true state of the human heart is like. We know for ourselves that it is a battleground of conflicting thoughts and emotions, desires and duties, goodness and evil. I remember having to go and see Bishop of London in a final interview before I was put forward for ordination. I don’t know if you have seen or know him, but he is the most formidable and intimidating of men. I have blanked out most of that terrifying ordeal, but I do remember his weighty words of caution: ‘Be careful, for the heart is very deceitful.’ Perhaps not the most encouraging things to say but it was memorable and made me stop and think about my motivations and desires and not to put my whole trust in them. For the heart, the core of our being, our deepest, truest selves made in the image and likeness of God, is warped and disfigured by sin.

I was going to go on and preach a sermon about how we can purify ourselves, redirect and reorder our destructive passions through a life of virtue in accordance with the other Beatitudes, and our reward for this enormous effort would be to see God. But while I was writing this I was suddenly struck by the fact that even in my own experience seeing God is not governed by the state of our hearts, it is not a reward for the spiritual elite who have toiled up the mountains of virtue and made their hearts pure, but is a gift offered to us all.

There are greater people to attest to this, not least Paul and Moses, but emboldened by the Bishop of Reading’s eloquent testimony the other week at St Aldates I want to tell you my story. For when I was nineteen, at university in Exeter, I did see God, not in any literal or visionary sense, but in the sense that a door was opened in my heart and I knew who the ground of my being, the end of all my desire was and I fell in love with Love himself. I had done nothing to deserve this. I was no ascetic and living the life of a hedonistic student in the fullest sense (there was no way you cold have called me pure). And yet I saw God, and that sight did not leave me for a long time, but was a physical feeling and a spiritual desire. Ironically, this did not make me feel pure in any sense, but on the contrary, much more aware of my impurity. A door had been opened and a light had been switched on, but whilst wonderful, its glare showed up so many blemishes and disfigurements, which the darkness had previously hidden. Since then I would say that the hardest part of my life is to look at that disfigured heart, illuminated by God’s light, and try to live with the reality that God loves that person, and not the one I would like him to see.

It would be so much easier to stand before God, to see God knowing that we were pure, holy, that all our dreadful thoughts and ideas did not exist, that we had trodden them down by the habit of virtue and we stood before God as our reward and our right. But the truth is far more harrowing. We stand before God naked, for he sees past all our attempts to hide what we really are, to trick him into thinking we are good and virtuous people. He sees all this and more. For whilst God Looks on our disfigured faces it is with the light of love that he sees, and this light pierces through our outer image and into the heart, which he created in his own image, which he knows and loves, and which, like him, is pure.

Those great mystics, like St John of the Cross, describe such an encounter as being set on fire. The fire of God’s love is ignited in the soul and slowly radiates out, purging the soul of all its sin until it becomes all flame. For no one who encounters God, be it through music, liturgy, scripture, academic study, nature or the words of others, is ever left unchanged by the experience. The flame of Christ’s presence in our lives, in our hearts, warms and illuminates us in a very real and tangible way. For the mystics of the Eastern Church, like Evagrius and Gregory of Nyssa, this is revealed in the life of virtue, which is not only the response to the love of God within our hearts, but is also the means of redirecting our passions to fulfill our truest and purest desires. The Beatitude is thereby turned on its head ~ blessed are they that see God for they shall be pure.

Unfortunately, from my own experience, I know too well that we cannot live on the mountain top, that the vision, the sight of God fades and the flame within us, is not so easily felt. But the mystics encourage us by their words, both hard and reassuring, that it is now, when the first flush of love is over, when we dwell in the dark night of the soul, that God begins his real work of stripping and burning and changing to reveal our true selves. It is now that our faith, our hope and our love of God are our anchor; that whilst we may at times see and feel nothing of his presence, we know that he dwells in our hearts. It is now that, against all the odds, despite the sin within ourselves and in the world, we live with the expectation of seeing him, glimpsing him wherever he shows himself. It is now that we can say: ‘Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.’
Amen

The Chaplain
18th February 2007