A Sermon on Conversion

Readings

The Conversion of St Paul (2015) Year B RCL Principal

To Be Converted, or continued, or both…

Today is, as you may have guessed, the festival of the Conversion of St Paul.  So I am going to begin by asking - as one should to an Anglican audience - "how many of you have been converted…?!??!"

No, not really.

I could tell you my conversion story, though… imagine a tubby little boy who looks just like me but without a beard, oh and mousey browny-blond hair.  This little lad is in a small chapel tent in a field of tents in a place called Polzeath (or Polzeth as many call it) and he’s chatting to a genial older chap who asks.  Do you want to give your heart to Jesus?  To which I replied yes.
So in that simple setting, having heard over the course of that week the message of faith in a new way, I committed myself to being a Christian.  It wasn’t spectacular, there were no lights or voices from the sky.  I just said a prayer.  And it was a beginning.  I called it my conversion. So did the Christian Community to which I belonged – it was a crucial part in my journey of faith.

It wasn’t a Saint Paul moment – I didn’t have a dark and disturbing past to be set free from.  Unlike the stories I had heard back in my youth of Gangland conversions in the Bronx, or the Tenderloin area of San Francisco, or the miraculous changes of heart of tough guys from the East End of London my story was boring. Which was a bit of shame, I thought. 

In Frank McCourt’s autobiographical work ‘Angela’s Ashes’ he talks of how it was common for the young Catholic schoolboys taking their first confessions to make up things in order to feel that they actually HAD something to confess.  They were worried that if they didn’t have something juicy to say they would be punished for pride or for lying!  In my protestant world, you really wanted a good conversion story.  But it was not to be – I might have embellished stories of what I considered dreadful childhood sins, but they weren’t really substantial.  I was no St Paul. My conversion, such as it was, was significantly less dramatic.

In fact, the idea of Conversion as we have had it passed down to us has picked up some negative connotations, it shares a dodgy reputation with ideas like ‘Mission’, ‘Repent’, ‘Sin’ and even ‘Salvation’ – words whose meanings have baggage, weight, because of the ecclesial or local culture that has used them.  These words have been used to bludgeon the unwary and the unsuspecting, the cowed and the dominated, the colonised and the confused.  Repent or die – physically or spiritually… 

The language of conversion has been used to threaten and coerce, and that is heartbreakingly shown in a poem by J. Neil C. Garcia which talks of the metaphorical death by drowning of a transgender woman forced to choose to be a man by her traditional family. It’s a long poem so I won’t quote it all – the link is here   – but it talks from the perspective of a transgender woman forced to live a life as a heterosexual man by her family, and talks of the perpetuation of masculine violence bound up in this act of “conversion” and its aftermath and ends with the heartbreaking words.:

…Though nobody
Remembers, I sometimes think of the girl
Who drowned somewhere in a dream many dreams ago.
I see her at night with bubbles
Springing like flowers from her nose.
She is dying and before she sinks I try to touch
Her open face. But the water learns
To heal itself and closes around her like a wound.
I should feel sorry but I drown myself in gin before
I can. Better off dead, I say to myself
And my family that loves me for my bitter breath.
We die to rise to a better life.

Conversion does not have a good history.  

And yet today is a festival – a feast of conversion. We have little or no detail of the birth or death of St Paul, Apostle to Gentiles, so we celebrate this exceptional, miraculous event which turned him from being a persecutor of the Church to being a champion of Jesus Christ and an architect of the order of the Church.  His writings, rich in theology and practical advice, deeply rooted in his Jewish ancestry and contemporary culture, desperate to enliven a burgeoning Church with the life of the living Spirit of God in Christ are a substantial part of our Scriptures and his influence is strongly felt in the church today.

We celebrate his turning from one way to another, the radical diversion of his path on that road to Damascus and his realignment to following the way of Christ. This, we are told, is conversion – a fracturing of reality, often the result of a crisis moment, a moment of revelation, a moment which changes everything…

But that is how we have so often been told conversion works, the only way that conversion works! In many traditions within the Christian faith, this is what it means to be saved –  it is such a striking image that we we have the vivid account of it not only in today's reading from Acts 26, but in two other places in Acts, also in Galatians and a reference of Christ appearing to Paul alluded to in his account of the resurrection appearances in 1 Corinthians chapter 15… Obviously this conversion was a dramatic, life changing – and according to the hyperbole of some commentators, world changing – event. 

That’s how it’s been portrayed in the stories passed down, in countless sermons, in artworks through the ages – two of which I copied for you to see and which, I hope were given out with our bulletin for today…  In the Caravaggio painting, one of at least two of Michelangelo Meris da Caravaggio’s portrayals of the Conversion of St Paul – Paul is so overwhelmed that he has fallen from his horse!
  
Which brings me to what I really want to say – like the horse in Caravaggio’s painting, or the Donkey in the nativity story, or the idea that there were three kings at the manger – there is so much layered on to what conversion is – and so much of the nuance, the variations, the different aspects of what the whole idea of conversion is and might be that it is hard to drop the baggage and consider again what this concept of Conversion might actually offer to us today!

Though I am glad for the influence of good, Christian folk, who brought me to a very deliberate start of my own pilgrimage of faith, I realise that this moment was just that – the start.  I was consciously making a commitment to my journey. I turned from one way to another, but I know that God was at work long before that moment, making Godself known to me through scripture, through the people who shared my life, through the traditions and worship of the Church community that gave me a sense of belonging.

But that wasn’t my only conversion, it was a part of my ongoing conversion.  Or perhaps a better word would be ‘metanoia’ – the Greek word which appears throughout the New Testament and is often translated repentance, but might best be understood as ‘turning’.  I’ve used this illustration before but the word ‘repent’ is one of those wonderful English words which the Church seems to have hijacked – it crops up much more in the kind of English novel that says something like ‘Mr Smithers repented of his intention to visit Miss Lambert and instead found himself heading in the opposite direction to a nearby hostelry’.  It simply means a change in direction.

Conversion too easily becomes seen as ‘flicking a switch’ – and both the Author of Acts – commonly thought to be Luke the Evangelist – and Paul himself in today’s reading are keen to stress the break between one part of Paul’s life and another.  “once I was very bad now, through God’s grace and the work of Christ, I am good’, ‘once I persecuted the Church, now I am persecuted because I serve Christ’.  This kind of dramatic break in the life narrative of Paul serves to show the wonder and the power of Christ.  It is what the Church needed to hear in its early days, the powerful and rapid transformation which Christ affects.  It’s a very black/white, light/dark, good/bad thing and easily slips into the simplistic, dualistic (as Richard Rohr might say) way of thinking that we are so inclined to veer towards.

But we all know that faith, and indeed life, are much more complex than that.  Take this poem by a Theologian and writer called Scott Cairns which I found on the Theology and Literature website. 

Adventures in New Testament Greek: Metanoia

Repentance, to be sure,
but of a species far
less likely to oblige
sheepish repetition.

Repentance, you’ll observe,
glibly bears the bent
of thought revisited,
and mind’s familiar stamp

–a quaint, half-hearted
doubleness that couples
all compunction with a pledge
of recurrent screw-up.

The heart’s metanoia,
on the other hand, turns
without regret, turns not
so much away, as toward,

as if the slow pilgrim
has been surprised to find
that sin is not so bad
as it is a waste of time.

Scott Cairns

Conversion, metanoia, repentance – whatever we wish to call it, is a lifelong activity. Turning not so much away, as towards – towards Christ, towards Christlikeness.  It is a discipline and a grace – something that comes from our openness to the spirit of God and from a longing to know and feel the life of Christ within us.

It comes partly from spiritual practice, and I have said repeatedly from this pulpit and in many groups and conversations that I believe we are being challenged to be a spiritual community in the broadest sense – a community that in word and deed turns to the way of the spirit and seeks to live by the faith to which we are called, to which we are drawn.

But conversion is, to my mind, summed up well by thinking on what it means to turn towards Christ.  For me every act of compassion is a turning to Christ.  Every prayer, every attempt to still the many voices of the world and open ourselves to the life of faith is a turning to Christ. Everytime we open a newspaper, or the browser or our computer and see news which disturbs us and we pray about it, and seek to act in response to it with justice and love we are turning to Christ. Every time we seek to care for those in need we are turning to Christ. Every time we open ourselves to truly listen to another human being, are willing to change and learn and grow, we are turning to Christ.  Every time we speak out against injustice and challenge systems of oppression and marginalisation we are turning to Christ.  Every time we come to worship, alone or together, in silence, or in liturgy and song we are turning to Christ. 

This is conversion.  Not that we become a Christian, but that we seek through all of our pilgrimage to turn to Christ.  It is summed up well, I think in the part of the Baptismal liturgy that I copied along with the Michelangelo and Caravaggio paintings for you. It’s all good stuff! But I find challenge in those last lines which ask ‘
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbour as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
Will you strive to safeguard the integrity of God's creation, and respect, sustain and renew the life of the Earth?

May we continue to learn, grown and know that conversion, that metanoia, to which Christ continues to call us.  Amen.

Midweek Sermon

As these don't tend to get shared elsewhere - here is my midweek thinking for today...

James Hannington Bishop of Eastern Equatorial Africa, and His Companions Martyrs, 1885 — Commemoration

Matthew 10.16–22

¹⁶ ‘See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. ¹⁷Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues; ¹⁸and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them and the Gentiles. ¹⁹When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; ²⁰for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. ²¹Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; ²²and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.

I’m not sure we should have favourite Bible verses, but today’s Gospel reading contains one of mine!  “Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves” says Jesus.  Not quite as powerful, perhaps as ‘For God so loved the world” or as resonant and long lasting as the image of a wayward son or a good Samaritans, but still I find it a most profound and helpful verse – and part of a profound and powerful passage.

Christians, especially Anglicans, are often looked at as being somewhat bloodless in their faith.  We are considered by the majority of people to be the acceptable face of religion!  Whether it’s true or not – apart from the odd fundamentalist or religious nut - we are looked on as a relatively mellow and bloodless kind of religion. Here I could get into a long discussion about what happens when people add the name of Christian faith to their campaigns and crusades and the less than illustrious history of the Church – but after a couple of thousand years and the ubiquity of Christendom in the west there’s a certain level of blandness ascribed to Christianity.  In Western Culture at least…

But Jesus doesn’t give us that impression.  No bloodless faith in his world.  His is a faith that is full of passion and compassion, life, love, wisdom and grace. But also a faith that is strong, life changing, risky and dangerous. 

There is an expectation in Jesus’ talking of faith that it is and will be dangerous to stand up for faith.  But there is also an expectation that those of follow the way of Christ will be able to stand. Far from the images of ‘gentle Jesus meek and mild’ we see in today’s lesson a strength in refusing to fight back against persecutors, to speak out without violence for that which is right.  Jesus reassures his hearers that that those who are taken prisoner for their faith will be given words to say and the courage of the Holy Spirit even under persecution.  I am grateful that we don’t suffer being tortured and put to death for our faith, as Bishop Hannington and his companions did and the persecutions we suffer are (relatively) mild in our society – though I know some of you will have experience of the danger of speaking out for faith – but there is still a calling to stand, to share, to change our world with the life of faith no matter what the cost.

And into this Jesus speaks these words – be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

What does that mean, though?

I think it means be canny (as they say in Scotland and the North of England) – listen and learn, take your opportunities where you can, be crafty.  Yet at the same time be honest, and transparent, be people of integrity.  Act, and be, righteous.

We are not called to naivety, or to being treated like doormats. We are called to be strong, and committed and faithful and loving, even when it hurts. We are called to be Christ like in our words and our actions, and even our thinking.

If we are willing to stand up for that which is right, and to share the faith which Christ calls us to – a transforming, disturbing, honest and powerful faith. A faith that calls all to leaving behind dishonesty and abuse, injustice and inequality. Faith that calls to love and serve one another, to know ourselves loved and to act with love towards all.

If we are willing to stand for that faith then we will put ourselves at risky of persecution, marginalisation, condemnation.  Or just of apathy and disregard. But in following Christ we are challenged to live lives which are completely dependent on God, that are different to the lives we would live without God, and that make a difference to the world as much as we allow the Spirit moving in us to make a difference to ourselves.

 May we be, with the Spirit’s help, wise as serpents and innocent as doves.  

Dust and Feet

A sermon preached at our midweek early morning Eucharist in St John The Divine, Victoria

Proverbs 30.5-9

Psalm 119.105-112

Luke 9.1-6

Dust and feet

In today’s Gospel reading, which is the one I want to focus on this morning, there is a declaration made by Jesus which I have found troubling since I first heard it.  It’s that bit about ‘wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them’ 

Really? 

In Matthew’s account (today’s reading was from Luke) it goes even further ‘Truly I say to you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for that city.’

This reminds me of my introduction to my first ever parish where the Rector announced to the congregation – Alastair comes as Curate to our community, and we hope that as he comes to us he will bring peace, and that peace will rest on us – and that he won’t turn away and say ‘Sodom’…

Which got a slightly scandalised laugh from the congregation!  Which was the point and broke the ice somewhat…

But these harsh words seem so odd from the mouth of Jesus – what is he saying? Is he really giving up on those who do not hear the message on first blush – is he really consigning to judgement those who do not accept the disciples as they share this message of the good news. It certainly doesn’t sound like good news if there are people excluded, for whatever reason, from the party!

I suspect that these words were said by Jesus – as most scholars agree that the most authentic parts of scripture, most likely to be accurately recorded and passed on, are the difficult bits – the bits we find uncomfortable. The bits that the early Church would find uncomfortable as they sought to bring all into the life of Christ.  The logic goes that if they made a point of recording it and passing it on even though it’s difficult then the chances are it did actually come from Jesus as if it was from elsewhere they would have been more likely to edit it out.

So we have these words, but like all faithful followers we are called to question. What does this actually mean? Who was it said to and why? What is the meaning behind and within these statements…

I think that these words are less a judgement on non-believers than an encouragement to us.  They remind us that not all will hear and accept the message of faith – that it is right not to browbeat, cajole or force people into accepting our way of seeing the world. Jesus is simply acknowledging that some won’t get it, and won’t want to get it.  As for the consequences of this, it is for God to sort out, not for us to pronounce judgement. 

As an aside, the comment about Sodom and Gomorrah is about the lack of hospitality shown by those cities – something that is considered sacrosanct in middle eastern nomadic societies where survival is often dependent on supporting and caring for one another.  Throughout scripture we are shown the importance of hospitality and welcome, including the famous statement by the author of the letter to the Hebrews “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” 

And as for shaking off the dust.  I think this was for those first disciples, and indeed is for us, a comment about not carrying with us our failures, or rejection, or negativity. Let nothing hinder us from our sharing of the life of Christ – do not be distracted. When the disciples were sent out with nothing, not even staff, bag, bread, money or a change of tunic, they were being encouraged to depend only on God, to strip away anything that might give a false sense of security, anything that might possibly make them think about anything other than what we call the ‘kingdom’ or the ‘reign’ of God. This is to be something that is so focussed, so intentional, so much at the heart and the foundation of what we as Christ followers are about that we are to let nothing distract us. Not even our failures.

Which should give us cause to think again about those things which might be distracting us from our calling to live and to be the good news to this world.  I think that we are too comfortable, too distracted – and I certainly include myself in this. We are rarely confronted with our calling to give of ourselves to others.  From that place of knowing ourselves loved, called, graced and embraced should come hearts and minds and lives which are consumed with the love of God. And from this spiritual foundation comes our calling to be and to bring the Good news – we are called in word and deed to proclaim God’s radical message, love for all, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, confronting the powerful and abusive, bringing comfort for the afflicted – living out the values of God’s kingdom and seeking to make those values real in our own spiritual community and in the community around us.

It’s a scary calling. It’s a spiritual calling. It’s a shared calling. It is something we as a community are being called to – this isn’t one of those ‘what are you doing because it all depends on you’ callings, but to ask what our part is within a community that seeks to live and share these values.  Perhaps our calling is to pray, to give of our time, talents or money , perhaps our calling is to volunteer, perhaps our calling is to listen to where God is leading us and to respond.

Whatever our calling, the question that comes back to us is this – what do we cling to or carry around like dust on our feet that prevents us from fully entering into this wonderful, distressing, challenging, transforming life which Jesus calls us to and what do we need to leave behind that we too might be a community which is living the power of the spirit in transforming this world.

Year A Proper 21

A follow up to the Moan Moan Moan sermon...perhaps a bit more sympathetic!

Year A Proper 21 (2008) RCL Principal

Exodus 17.1-7
Philippians 2.1-13
Matthew 21.23-32

Seeing from the other side…

Last week I preached on moaning, and talked about how good we, and by we I mean most human beings, are at moaning. It doesn’t matter what our usual temperament, or whether we are generally happy, give us the chance and we will be away, grumbling about the weather, the economy, the government, the way things aren’t what they used to be, the Church, the world, whatever.

This train of thought was inspired by the Israelites in this amazing story of the Exodus. Freed from Egypt following the 10 plagues, brought through the red sea without even getting their feet wet, they seemed to follow that up with a protracted campaign of complaint. At least that’s what the text seems to say. First of all we have complaints over bitter water, which is sweetened by God and made drinkable, then complaints over the lack of meat and bread in the desert. We had that almost incredible moment when they seem to say ‘it was OK in Egypt really because the food was good’. No matter that they were in slavery, no matter that at the end their children were being murdered, that they were being beaten and oppressed – they got meat and bread. Now I am as fond of meat and bread as the next person, as is obvious, but when compared to being free or being enslaved, even I would take the freedom and get on with sorting out the meals later. It reminds me of a picture I was sent yesterday which said in large letters ‘never underestimate the power of stupidity in large groups of people’.

And as we continue the story in today’s reading, we see more complaining, this time again over water. It seems as if the people collectively have forgotten just what God has done to get them to this point – they have forgotten his provision, his miraculous works and the way in which he has continued to care for them no matter what happens.

But, having said all that, we can if we look see a little of why they might react in such a way. They had to flee Egypt, with just what they could carry – some of which had been thrust upon them by terrified Egyptians just glad to see the back of them. Remembering that this was not the age of mass communication, there would have been many amongst them that probably had very little idea of what was going on. Many of them I expect were simply following their neighbours and friends and simply going with the flow, with no idea as to quite where or why they were going anywhere at all!

So imagine how many of them might have felt. They haven’t had particular instruction as to how long the journey will be, they probably weren’t quite sure why Moses led them to the Red Sea, but were mightily relieved when they got across it, they might not have known about what happened at the Spring but were happy to have water to drink, and then were probably bemused by both the Quails and this strange doughy substance on the ground in the mornings. So now they continue to wander in the wilderness and start to get rather concerned about where the next drink is coming from – for in a desert there is something of a deficit in water and with its rather essential part in their continued survival I expect there was a fair amount of anxiety in the camp, which soon translated into anger and complaint.

And on the other side of this is Moses, who gets the word from God, who has been at the centre of events, who himself suffers from a certain lack of confidence yet who has been called, somewhat reluctantly, to lead this rag tag brigade of somewhat disaffected folk to the new land.

But he’s the one who is expected to have the answers, he’s the one who everyone turns to, the one everyone complains to, the one who feels at the sharp end of things.
And he sees the frustrations of the Israelites, he hears the voices raised in anger, the questions, the concerns, the grumbles.

So he comes before God and again is called upon to perform a miracle, he strikes the rock and water flows out. God has again provided.

And we can perhaps see some parallels with our own Christian lives, and perhaps there’s a word here for those of us who take responsibility for leading our congregations!
Sometimes it can feel that our walk together in faith is somewhat lacking in direction! Its hard for a Church to share a vision, we all come from different backgrounds, different experience, different understandings of our faith. We are united by our desire to worship God and to know Christ, but we may all have very different ways of expressing this and we struggle to work together to make our Churches places where all are welcome and all feel at home.

It can sometimes feel as though there should be someone who holds it all together, and that role is often taken by those of us who have a responsibility for ordained ministry in the Church. And it is true that to a certain point we are responsible for leadership and guidance in the Church. But unlike Moses we don’t have the voice of God in our ear, we don’t spend quite so much time in the direct presence of God, and I personally (unlike Moses) have never had to wear a veil to shield those who meet me from the brightness of the glory of God.

No, in the Church we believe that there is only one who knows the big picture, and that is God, and we are all responsible for the life of the Church. I can see why people often turn to the Clergy to complain about the state of the Church in general, or to express their concerns and their anxieties – but in the end we all have a responsibility for the life and witness of Christ’s Church. We are all called to share the life of Christ with others, we are all responsible for making our Churches places which shed light to our communities and in our world.

In our Gospel reading for today we have a picture of two sons who are asked to help their father in the vineyard. One says ‘no’ and yet goes to help, the other says ‘yes’ but doesn’t actually do anything. In the end, says the passage, it is the one who does something that is obedient to his father, rather than the one who says something but doesn’t do anything. And though this story was particularly aimed at the religious who claimed to be following God but wouldn’t heed the call of Christ, unlike the prostitutes and tax collectors who weren’t considered worthy – it still has a message for us.

We are to be a Church that says and does! We all together have to put our faith into action. We are not to complain about the way things are and then do nothing about it! Nor are we to blame our Clergy and lay leaders for failing to build up the Church and have more people taking part in our services, or failing to get interest going in the Church or whatever. Though those of us who have responsibility for leading services, for pastoral care and for visiting will do our best to fulfil those duties, we are (in the end) not those who will fill our churches. People will be attracted to our fellowships by those who are seeking to share faith, and who are enthusiastic about Christ. And often the contacts will come from our everyday living, from friends, family and neighbours.
We are all in this together, God has called us to share in this task of living, loving, faithful following and proclaiming the Good News of Jesus Christ – may he also give us the grace to do it.

Another sermon - two in one day!

Year A Proper 18

Matthew 18:15-20

Romans 13:8-end

Exodus 12.1-14

Being Church

I don’t know what your perfect Church would look like!  A lot of people who call me about baptisms and weddings in the team mention how much they want their service to take place in this building or that building because it is such a lovely Church.  And their concern in many ways is about the building…

I think many of those who visit our churches, though, are pleasantly surprised that what makes our Churches such good places to be a part of is not how well kept they are, or whether they are architecturally wonderful, or even if they look like Churches are meant to look.  It’s the warmth of the welcome, the genuine love that many of our congregations have for each other, and a desire to follow Jesus that makes our Churches special.

I am sure there are still many things we could do to make our Churches better – both the buildings and in growing together in faith and love to strengthen our Christian community.  I know of some churches who have radically re-ordered their whole church, who have added various technological aids to worship, from video projectors and computers to variable lighting and sound systems.  For some of our Churches the addition of heating has been a radical move forward!

Some Churches have taken on more of what is known as a ‘café church’ style, both in adding comfortable chairs and good coffee – a real plus in any Church in my opinion!  They have also considered what makes people feel comfortable and uncomfortable with coming to Church and are willing to take risks with the shape and content of services in order to give people a place to explore faith and where they feel welcome in Church.

Until a couple of years ago I used to spend the bank Holiday weekend every August in the wonderful surroundings of Cheltenham racecourse.  Don’t worry, though, there is no need to concern yourself that your Clergy are either being paid too much and like to spend it on gambling, or that we have way too much time on our hands and like to waste it with frivolous trips to dens of iniquity…

I spent the weekend, along with about 20, 000 or so other Christians, praying, worshipping, listening to various seminars, enjoying music from a variety of Christian Artists, chatting to various theologians, speaking to some very influential Christian writers and speakers, and seeing some very powerful art.  This was at an Arts festival, one of the Christian festivals that has been very much a way of reconsidering what it means to be Church, over the past thirty years and its called Greenbelt.  Greenbelt was part of my spiritual landscape for nearly 20 years, and perhaps had more influence on my own Christian journey than any other thing except the great privilege of being ordained to serve the Church of God.  It is enjoyable, often stimulating, usually challenging and provides an opportunity for many Christians to consider the real meaning of their faith and to think about how to apply their faith to their everyday lives.

Because Greenbelt is so enjoyable and so profound, and because there is very little quite like it even in the Church there is a fair amount of idealisation about it.  People describe it as the ideal way of being Church – one writer said that heaven will be like Greenbelt, but with better loos.

But it is not.  Greenbelt is a great place to be, but it is not Church.  It is a wonderful mix of idealism and pragmatism, of hope and frustration, of faith and questioning.

Which brings me on to our reading for this morning.  Of course, as you know, our Bibles are a fascinating, disturbing, sometimes confusing but always exciting mix of the idealistic and the pragmatic.  And our selection of verses for this Sunday is a wonderful example of how this can be the case even within one passage. The danger, of course it that is easy to fall into a false distinction of what is ‘spiritual’ and what is realistic when we look at the Bible – as what might seem very idealistic, is actually something we have to take very seriously for our daily walk with Christ.

We see this clearly in St Paul’s writings.  Paul is probably the greatest pastoral theologian the Church has ever had or will ever have.  He is writing without boundaries, without anything to work from except his Jewish faith and the inspiration of the Spirit.  For him there was no bible, just the Jewish Scriptures and the teachings and stories of Jesus passed on through the early Christians.  St Paul sets out exactly what the Church is and should be, but is quick to address the very real situations that people are writing to him about, unafraid to tackle difficult issues and yet setting out what God is calling the early Christians to be.

  

Today’s reading is a wonderful mix of the pragmatic and the idealistic – from the idea of not being indebted except to owe each other the debt of love, to the admonishment to avoid revelling and drunkenness, debaucher and licentiousness, quarrelling and jealousy and instead to allow Jesus to be as close as the clothing you wear.

But Paul doesn’t separate the practical and pastoral from the ideal and spiritual – they are all one.  As Christians, someone said, we live with our head in the clouds and our feet on the ground – a good image of what it means to be seeking to live as Christ’s followers – and particularly as the Church of God.

Likewise in Jesus words today we have very clear instructions as to how to deal with wrongdoing in the Church – it is to be dealt with face to face, then between a small group in the fellowship and if necessary to the whole body.  Then he goes on to talk about the immense power Christians are given to bind and loose – terms to do with the spiritual battle with evil that all Christians are engaged in.  Finally Jesus reminds us that as his body, where only two or three are gathered he is there, that is what makes the Church what it is – the presence of Christ.  This is, of course, not to say that Jesus is not with us individually in the whole of our lives but to remind us that there is something special about gathering together, and that Christ is at the very centre of our meetings as Christians.

As an aside, I must say though that though we are promised that even if only two or three are gathered Christ is with us, that is not an excuse for us not turning up to Church because the numbers don’t matter!

But in these two relatively short readings for today we are given a challenge – a challenge not to set our sights too low as a Church.  It is easy to focus on the struggles we have as a Church community, on our attendance or financial difficulties or building needs and become distracted from the core of our role to be the body of Christ and to share the Gospel in this village and in the whole of our lives.

We are called as a Church to be realistic – about our shortcomings, the things that need to change, the difficulties we face.  We’re called too to be realistic about the good things, our place in the heart of this community, the pastoral work that is undertaken not only by clergy but by many members of this congregation, our family ministry, our building development.

  

At the same time our realism shouldn’t make us forget our dreams as a Church.  We are called to seek God’s vision and to live up to the ideals that Christ has called us to.  We may not do terribly well, we may fail continually, but God’s Spirit calls us to be open to the ideal as well as being rooted in the practical.  We are called to strive to bring Christ into every area of our lives, and to make our faith a part of everything we do and say.

 

As a Church we are called to bear with one another, to love, to care.  We are called also to, as Paul says. ‘wake from sleep’ and to work together for the proclamation of the Gospel.  Often the possibility of Church growth may seem far away, but we are called to persevere, to trust in God and to support one another as part of this fellowship.

  

And in the end it all comes down to one thing.  Everything we do as individual Christians and as a Church must come down to this. 

“Put on the Lord Jesus Christ’ or as it says in another translation ‘Let the Lord Jesus Christ be as close as the clothes you wear’.  When we allow Jesus to be that close to us then our dreams of faith can become reality.

Lent 2 Year A

Lent 2 (2008) Year A RCL Principal

Genesis 12.1-4a
Psalm 121
Romans 4.1-5,13-17
John 3.1-17

Different Disciples

One of the problems I have had with Christian life is not about being a Christian – it’s about how other people see Christians. Apparently we are all the same, often thought of as goody-goody’s, not really connected to the real world, we’re hypocrites, and we’re judgemental. And that’s just the comments I’ve received from my visits around the villages – my usual response is, ‘well, there’s always room for one more’

On the other hand, one of the great joys of being a Clergyperson who doesn’t really fit the stereotype is that I can shock people into thinking about whether there prejudice or stereotypes about the Church have any grounding in reality! They usually don’t – to be honest I don’t know any clergyperson that fits any of the stereotypical wet, slightly bumptious, clueless but amusing picture painted by the sitcoms.

And the fact that our ministers in the Church are all different is a reflection of the diversity that exists in our Churches. Not just the differences that exist between denominations and traditions, but the very real individuality of every one of us in the Church.

And this difference and diversity could not be more apparent than in our two readings for today. First of all, from the book of Genesis, we have Abram (not yet called Abraham, that comes later) being called by God. It’s pretty blunt – get up, leave your homeland and go where I am telling you. There will be great rewards for your faithfulness, but in order to gain these rewards you will need to leave everything behind and go to somewhere else which I will reveal as we go along. And the reading ends simply that ‘Abram went, as the Lord had told him.’
No questions, no complications, no hesitation. Complete acceptance of God’s command and simple faith and trust mean that Abram moves as God commands. Good for him!

A somewhat different story in our Gospel, however. I do love this story. In a slight departure from our Year of concentrating on the Gospel of Matthew we have a passage from St John’s Gospel. We hear the story of Nicodemus, a seeker, a Pharisee, someone who is desperate to talk to Jesus, to ask questions, to dig deeper. Nicodemus is someone with a responsible position in his faith community, a leader of the Jewish people, a Pharisee. He is on the council that offers leadership to the Jewish faith. He is someone who is probably well respected, well educated and well to do.

And he comes to Jesus by night. That cryptic line could mean that he comes secretly, that he comes under the cover of darkness, afraid to be seen consorting with this radical teacher and challenger to conventional faith. It could also just mean that he is so busy that he had no time during the day to see Jesus so had to make an extra effort to see him at night. Whatever, we see that Nicodemus made that effort, he wanted to ask questions, to speak to Jesus.

And Jesus comes back with some quite deep, quite startling answers. He responds to the questions with a challenge, a challenge to follow, to be open to the work of the Holy Spirit and to accept the life given by God. It seems to me that Jesus respects Nicodemus enough to be blunt with him, he sees that this Pharisee for all his learning, his responsibility, his background, needs to make a choice, needs to decide for himself what the truth is and how he is going to follow.

In the end Jesus points to himself, using his favourite description of himself ‘the Son of Man’, and says that the ‘Son of Man’ must be lifted up so that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. Jesus makes that bold declaration, one that we all know ‘God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him should not perish but have eternal life’.

Nicodemus remains silent. We don’t have any indication of how he reacted to this. But if we jump on to the end of the Gospel we read his name again when he and another member of the council (Joseph of Arimethea) are willing to take the risk of asking Pilate for the body of Jesus after his crucifixion. Nicodemus had remained on the council, he’d not taken the step of joining Jesus band of followers – but perhaps he’d continued seeking the truth, maybe he’d even visited Jesus again, asking questions, wondering which way to go. That’s all speculation, what we do know is that Nicodemus is named again and that he was probably named because he would have been familiar to those who read the Gospel first. Perhaps he joined the followers of Jesus at that time and was there to witness the appearance of Christ after his resurrection? We don’t know – but we do see him there, performing with Joseph of Arimethea, a service to Jesus. Perhaps despondent, perhaps wishing he had made a public commitment before this time – but willing to take the risk of being associated with Jesus after his execution.

Nicodemus is someone who could not do what Abram did, he seems unable to just pack up and go in response to Jesus challenge. But we are shown in the Gospel the grace of a God who gives us all another chance, and who brings Nicodemus to the point where he too is willing to take a risk of faith, and do something for Jesus.

And these two extremes are encouraging for all of us who seek today to be followers. There are people in our congregations who are absolutely sure of what Christian faith is about, and seem to suffer from very few doubts about how things should be done, and what God wants for our parishes. There are others who ask questions, for who faith involves wrestling in heart and mind with questions of meaning and truth. There are those who embrace their doubts and who are unafraid to say that they are not sure, that they are still seeking. There are many of us who are between the two, and whilst sure about some things regarding our faith, are open to speculation of others.

And there are some of us who can go from one end of the spectrum – from absolute certainty to questioning everything and back again – on an almost daily basis!

And all of us, wherever we are on the scale, are needed in the Church. We need the questioners, the doubters (and doubt is not the opposite of faith, unbelief is). We need those full of ideas and certainties. We need those who want to rush forward and try something new, we need those who want to hold on to the old and who ask why we should discard things.

All of this is part of the richness of who we are, and reflects the richness of God’s calling which is for all people. And if there are still those who are under the misunderstanding that everyone who goes to Church is the same, it is our task to let them know that this is not the case, and to draw them in to be come a part of God’s varied fellowship of faith. It is we who are trying to follow who are the best adverts for the faith which means so much to us.

One day all of our questions will be answered, but until then we share our doubts and our certainties and if we work together then we will share our faith with one another and with a world which is no in need of the faith and hope and love that only our God can provide.