Christ the Cornerstone - a sermon for Evensong and Cathedral Praise. Ephesians 2:11-22

Walls, borders and boundaries.

The news is full of them at the moment – human devices created to keep what we call “civilisation” in order.

After all, if people simply had the right to wander freely across God's earth – anything might happen.

We might, heaven help us, discover that strangers and aliens were actually parents and children, teachers, hairdressers, nurses, taxi drivers,  - people just like us.

And we might be tempted to repeat the radical transformation we saw in Berlin in 1989, to tear down the barriers we have imposed upon ourselves and make fresh efforts towards peaceful co-existence, trusting that there are sufficient resources for all, if we work from a position of need and not greed.

We might.

But perhaps we might not...because, you see, we humans remain anxiously small-minded and often small hearted.

We find it much easier to organise the world along the lines of “them” and “us”...
And that has been so since time immemorial.

As Paul writes to the Ephesians, those divisions are constantly in his mind.

His readership, Gentile Christians in Asia Minor, were very much outsiders from a Jewish perspective...excluded by law and by custom.

Even the very fabric of the Temple was designed to keep Gentiles at a distance, as a structure of several barriers. Outside the Temple there was a yard, called the court of the Gentiles, and a wall. On the wall at intervals was placed a warning for a Gentile not to go a step further on the penalty of death. On the other side of that wall, the next court was reserved for Jewish women. Another barrier kept them from penetrating further. Inside that barrier only Jewish men were permitted, but they too were excluded from an inner zone for the priests alone. But even then, a final barrier existed where only the high priest could enter the sanctuary of the holy of holies, and that only once a year!
"KEEP OUT" was pretty much the motto of the place, expressed in its every stone.

Writing this on Heritage Open Day, when our doors have been freely open and visitors have streamed in by the hundred, it’s tempting but facile to make a comparison. Buildings can shout so loudly that sometimes it is just not possible to hear the message of those who speak from within – and sometimes those buildings need to be interpretted, to make sure that architecture does not accidentally subvert purpose.

For the 1^st century Jews, though, architecture and purpose were as one and the message was clear. The Temple was a statement of the identity of the Jews as God’s chosen people…and God stayed secure behind the curtain that ensured that the holy of holies remained just that. Sacrosanct. Holy. Set apart…

It worked like this – in order of holiness...

God

Priests

Jewish men

Jewish women

and then – firmly outside, the Gentiles, non Jews – that is to say EVERYONE ELSE….- which would, of course, have included US.

And, says Paul, those Gentile outsiders were a very sorry lot, with nothing to look forward to at all.

Traditional Jewish teaching suggested that the coming of Messiah would bring only destruction for them. They had, after all, no place in the “commonwealth of Israel” - Paul's shorthand for the elect, the people defined by their relationship as God's chosen since the days of Abraham. And worse of all, these non Jews existed “having no hope, and without God in the world” - not, perhaps as atheists (the ancient world tended to believe in some sort of god for sure ) – but as those who found that the religion they practised made little difference to a life that was nasty, brutish and short.

As a rather cheesey Wayside pulpit (is there any other kind? Discuss) put it quite well

“No God, no hope"..and then, adding a “k” and a “w” 
“Know God, know hope”

No God. No hope.

The situation for centuries. A world in waiting.

But – something incredible happened...that something that made it possible to add the "k" and the "w"....

Something that tore the temple curtain apart and changed everything for always.

The crux of this passage – and the crux of our faith.
The cross – the ultimate expression of God's solidarity with God's creation, of his all inclusive love for the world.

Yesterday at the Reader's Service I found myself silenced by some words in a hymn that I otherwise love; words that suggested that, at the moment of Christ's death, a mighty righteous anger at the heart of all things was finally extinguished.

“On the cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied”, the author wrote – and everything in me longed to shout out “NO! At that moment God finally proved to an awestruck humanity that God is totally FOR us...that there is nothing that God will not do and has not done to communicate God's love for us."

And the power of that love broke down all division. Matthew tells us that it split the curtain in the Temple so that suddenly there were no outsiders at all. Everyone was included. Everyone could have access to God – all the time. Including people like us.

He [Jesus] has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, 16and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. 17So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; 18for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father

Where there had been divisions, there was now a new community of faith and worship...founded on that utterly compelling love which the world saw – and sees – in the person of Christ.

If that sounds exciting – it should do – though it's easy to lose sight of the excitement amid the familiar ways of life and of worship.

But, you know, it is what brings us here...

WE are not simply the constant beneficiaries of God's love at work in the world, but we are also inheriters of that new way of being, that new humanity reconciled to God and to one another – though that might not always be as obvious as it should be.

Last week, as we celebrated our Queen's long reign, there were many memories shared of her visits to Coventry, and to this place where, of course, she came to lay a foundation stone. A corner stone is similar, but not identical in purpose. It was the first stone to be placed at a construction site when a building got under way,its function to set the pattern for the building as a whole.

So if Christ is our cornerstone – not only is he the one on whose love we build our lives, but also the one whose life provides the template, sets the standard for all of us who follow after.

This new community of love founded at the cross is now the place where God dwells on earth...not in a building but in a people.

The Church.

The household of faith -where those who were once excluded are now part of the family,

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, 20built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.

That's our genesis as a community of reconciliation...but it's important to note that the Church's potential as a dwelling place for God depends on COMMUNITY – on being joined together.

The Church to whom Paul wrote stood for the overcoming of those deepseated divisions that had split his first cenutry world into Jews and Gentiles...Today that Church MUST stand

for the overcoming of divisions forced on the world by tradition, class, color, nation, for only in our unity can we represent God's presence in God's world. The cross of Christ, lifted up and proclaimed, draws all people to our loving God, and speaks of an end to all division. And that is what we must show to the world, where the pain of division continues to hurt and destroy.

It's part of our calling to welcome and hospitality...which won't mean automatic assimilation...

When we speak of those who have joined the church as having experienced “conversion” - this won't automatically turn all who enter our doors for worship into people Just Like Us. Paul recognises this as he explains that unity comes through the blood of Christ...

The idea of blood shed to achieve conquest was very much part of life in the Roman world...and those conquered were quickly brought into conformity and uniformity with Rome's ways.

In the upside down world of God's kingdom, blood shed in apparent defeat brings diverse peoples together and invites them to share in God's mission in Christ...

So – nobody can be excluded.

We are asked to be reconciled with all people...not just those who fit in with our notions of what a church (small c) should be like....because actually, the point of Church (capital C) is that it is a community for all. It won't always seem that way (though look around at your neighbours at "Later" and you might feel more optimistic) - but that's our calling. 
Not a club for the likeminded but a home for the excluded...

We will all struggle with different kinds of people.... It may be people of other faiths, or alternative lifestyles. It may be those of a particular political hue...For me, I'm conscious of the very real danger of being illiberal in my liberalism...of wanting to exclude those who see the world in terms of black and white, “in” and “out”.

But...I'm not called to exclude them. 
I'm called to love them.

In case you're still not sure what you can do to practice reconciliation yourself, someone online suggested a quick route to discovering those groups with whom you most need to make peace. Try praying for yourself the prayer of the Pharisee in the Temple – and fill in the blank.

“O Lord, I thank you that I am not like ___________________.”

Then change your prayer

Ask God to help you to recognise His image in that group of people...and to enable you to work with them in the service of his kingdom, that together you – we – may be built into a dwelling place for God...and a sign of God's kingdom on earth.

Because that, after all, is what we are for.

Migrants, crumbs and the Syro Phoenician woman - a sermon for "Later" at Coventry Cathedral, Trinity 14, 6th September 2015

This time last week I was at Greenbelt contemplating another night under canvas. It had rained hard all afternoon – and I was feeling slightly grumpy about my decision to camp, having commuted to the festival from the comfort of my own bed for the past 10 years.

In the event I was perfectly comfortable, despite a rather leaky waterproof.

Camping at Greenbelt was a good choice.

I was there with my family, my friends, and the wider festival community whose presence makes those 4 days of faith, art and worship an essential highlight of my year.

Yeah, it was damp and chilly on the camp-site on Sunday and Monday – but the truth is that I wouldn't have changed places with anyone else in the world, no matter how much you paid me.

But at the same time as 6,000 festival goers settled down for the night in our muddy field, across Europe thousands of refugees were also struggling to get to sleep in camps that had nothing to do with faith, fun or creativity...

The refugees whose very existence has prompted the language of crisis ...whose desperate faces fill our screens...who, surely, if we listen, will call us back to ourselves and to our true humanity.

They are people on the edge, right enough.

People like the woman we encountered in our gospel – an outsider, on the fringes...less important than the dogs who scratch and scramble for crumbs under the table.

Someone who doesn't belong, who has no rights.

But a mother, desperate to do the best for her child.

Just as Aylan's parents, and thousands like them, were desperate to do the best for THEIR child.

But oh dear God – we're slow to learn, aren't we?

Living on an island seems to make us alarmingly well – insular.

And yet – and yet...LISTEN...to these words written by another Dean John...John Donne of St Paul's, writing almost 400 years ago

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thy friend's

Or of thine own were:

Any man's death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind,

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

We can't pull up the drawbridge...because we are interconnected.

These are our brothers and sisters, crying out in despair.

And we can't hide behind the differences of race or creed or language.

Whatever Cain thought, there are times when we are most truly our brother's keepers...our differences swept away in the face of our common humanity.

I know it's not easy. Not easy practically, politically, even emotionally.

We're not good, on the whole, at dealing with outsiders

.

We are, all of us, more comfortable with familiar situations, familiar people...and that can make the Christian life a challenge.

We know the theory – God's love embraces all...but we tend to organise our lives, even our churches, into zones of like-mindedness.

And we're not alone.

1st century Jews, Jesus among them, had had many centuries to establish themselves as a race apart...God's chosen people...The ultimate insiders, secure in an identity reinforced by law, faith and practice. But in our gospel today Jesus encounters someone from the other side of the tracks – and is challenged and changed by the encounter.

He has crossed into Gentile territory, where Jewish law, Jewish custom have no remit – and comes up against a woman driven by that most compelling force, parental love.

She pushes her way in, intent on claiming the healing she believes her daughter deserves.

Like so many others, she throws herself on the mercy of Jesus. Kneeling at his feet she entreats his help.

And what happens?

For reasons that may be obvious, I’ve never tried to tell this story in a primary school assembly, but if I did, I know that the children’s answer to that question would be. What happens?

“Jesus makes the child better”

That’s what we’d all expect.

Jesus goes about doing good, healing, rescuing,- surely that’s the essence of his earthly ministry. Of course Jesus is going to comfort the mother and heal her child, without further ado.

Except that he doesn’t.

Not at first.

First, we find ourselves thrown off balance, our expectations flouted by words of such staggering rudeness that they are almost unbearable. Jesus, JESUS of all people, tells that frantic mother that she and her child are no better than dogs….and I don’t think we’re under any illusion that he meant cute and cuddly spaniel puppies.

He is saying without compunction that as Gentiles, the woman and her daughter are not fully human, and they’re therefore beyond the scope of his love, his healing.

“It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs”

It’s extraordinarily hard to hear this. We want to retain our soft focus image of Jesus, the source of endless compassion…but this abrasive stranger shakes us.

However, this woman is made of sterner stuff, and refuses to go away quietly.

Instead, she responds in kind, picking up Jesus’s words and turning them back on him without missing a beat.

We may be dogs, but surely you’re not so mean that you begrudge us even the left-overs.

She refuses to take No for an answer…

And in doing so, she stops Jesus in his tracks.

Against his own expectations, he is forced into really seeing her, - another human being, a child of God…and what he sees makes him change his mind in a radical way.

Hang on...

Jesus change his mind?

Surely not!

As God’s Son, Jesus must be perfect…the unmoved mover, no shadow of turning, right?

Well, it seems to me that since Jesus is fully human, he must have lived and learned. Even Mrs Alexander was prepared to accept that Jesus went through all the normal stages of physical development – “day by day like us he grew”

So too, surely, he learned and grew in relationship…and maybe sometimes he changed his mind. It seems to me that today's gospel presents Jesus rethinking the scope of his whole mission, as he responds to that Gentile woman whose love for her child is every bit as fierce and determined as any Jewish mother's.

His eyes, his ears, his heart are opened...and another miracle of scandalous grace occurs.

And oh, how badly we need that scandalous grace today.

We find it so hard to admit we might be wrong.

We cling to the notion that we don't really need to listen to the voice of strangers, because we already know the truth. It’s hard not to sympathise with the Jews, who believe themselves to be the insiders, on a fast track to Salvation. We don't have to look far in our churches, or in ourselves, to find traces of that same approach.

Time, then, for us to be challenged.

Today's gospel concludes with a second encounter, as Jesus heals the deaf man, transforming his life and his world with that great “Eph phathah” “BE OPENED”.

That, surely, is the call to us as we confront the heartbreak of men, women and children fleeing for their lives, and risking those lives again and again as they seek a place of safety, somewhere they can call home.

Preaching back in July I quoted some words of radical welcome ...and because they were well received the Precentor decided to print them on the cover of our service books. They have generated tremendous interest in the weeks that followed...and I would want to say loudly and clearly “HERE I STAND. I CAN DO NO OTHER”

Here's what I said...

We extend a special welcome to those who are single, married, divorced, widowed, gay, confused, filthy rich, comfortable, or dirt poor. We extend a special welcome to wailing babies and excited toddlers.

We welcome you whether you can sing like Pavarotti or just growl quietly to yourself. You are welcome here if you are ‘just browsing,’ just woken up or just got out of prison. We don’t care if you are more Christian than the Archbishop of Canterbury, or haven’t been to church since Christmas ten years ago.

We extend a special welcome to those who are over 60 but not grown up yet, and to teenagers who are growing up too fast. We welcome keep fit mums, football dads, starving artists, tree huggers, latte sippers, vegetarians, junk food eaters. We welcome those who are in recovery or still addicted. We welcome you if you are having problems, are down in the dumps or don’t like ‘organised religion.’ (We are not that keen on it either!)

We offer a welcome to those who think the earth is flat, work too hard, don’t work, can’t spell, or are here because granny is visiting and wanted to come to the Cathedral.

We welcome those who are inked, pierced, both or neither. We offer a special welcome to those who could use a prayer right now, had religion shoved down their throat as kids or got lost in the city centre and wound up here by mistake. We welcome pilgrims, tourists, seekers, doubters… and you!*

But...speaking our welcome is one thing. Living it is quite another.

We can long to BE truly inclusive, reflecting God's boundless hospitality in our every moment....but we don't always get that right.

So- we need to pray...to ask God to speak that great “Ephthaphah” over us too....

We need God to open OUR ears, eyes, minds, hearts..

We need to allow ourselves to be challenged and changed, as we encounter a God who listens and changes his mind, whose unlimited love seems almost to surprise himself.

We need to be open to the realisation that with God there are no boundaries...that there is grace enough to include us all

We need our eyes opened so we may SEE our brothers and sisters as God does, as beloved children, neither better nor worse, more or less beloved than we ourselves.

... our ears opened to hear their voices – and our tongues loosed so that we can be their advocates, speaking for those silenced by circumstance.

Today the 3 readings the church offers all share a single theme

James makes it so very clear.

“If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? He asks

If we don't act on our faith, it is ultimately pointless...for our faith should be transformational, enabling us to go beyond our innate caution, our fear of the unfamiliar, to offer the clothing, food, shelter that our brothers and sisters so badly need.

We don't need to be fearful. God's generosity abounds.

To welcome the stranger will not lead to penury for the hosts.

To exclude them may just be the end of our claim to humanity....for actually, there is no “us” and “them”. Each of us, from the politicians who make decisions to open or close borders to the refugee family camped at Calais is created in the image of God...and God loves each of us equally.

No favourites.

“God loves the rich and poor.” the Old Testament reading from Proverbs proclaims...going on with stern words for those who try to restrict that love...

Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity.

Those who are generous are blessed.

Do not crush the afflicted at the gate

for the Lord pleads their cause.

The afflicted at the gate...a picture as compelling as the images that have shaken the world this week.

And but for the grace of God, we could find ourselves waiting there too.

A friend in ministry offered a prayer space, with stations that included a pop up tent and an invitation to pray for refugees...As she tidied up, she found this reflection, written from the viewpoint of a Syrian mother....another desperate woman longing to save her family.

Listen.

IT’S A JOURNEY I DIDN’T WANT TO TAKE.

BUT HERE I AM, RUNNING FROM FEAR AND MESS AND WAR.

WANTING TO FIND PROTECTION AND SHELTER. WANTING TO SAVE MY FAMILY.

IF WE HAD BEEN BORN IN DIFFERENT PLACES, THIS COULD HAVE BEEN YOU. IT COULD HAVE BEEN YOU.

It could have been you.

Or me.

No man is an island, entire of himself.

We belong together – children of the same heavenly Father....alike dependent on his love and his mercy – which are without limit.

So, in the end, there's no need for any outsiders.

We all belong and there is enough and to spare for all….

Nobody need be content with crumbs from under the table.

Again and again, God’s reckless mercy sweeps us off our feet, his love compels us to come in, and we find that we are all alike included in a boundless welcome.

May God give us grace to share that welcome with all who need to know that they are not alone, that the human family can and will care for its own, in God's name.

Sermon preached at the Cathedral Eucharist, Trinity 12B, Proper 16

Pray for me, that when I speak a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel...

Lord – in your mercy hear my prayer.

That process of prayer before preaching is something we take for granted, I'm sure...and I know, if I'm honest, that more often than not, if I'm in the congregation, my involvement in the preacher's prayer is limited to a formulaic “Amen”...though the view is rather different when I'm standing here, as I am right now, hugely conscious of the sheer presumptuousness of ascending these steps to speak about God and expecting others - you - to listen!

Just who do I think I am??

Preaching the word can surely only be possible if we hand the whole process over directly to God.

That's why for me the hope that the words I preach will be in the name of the Father, Son & Holy Spirit always comes in the form of a petition . “May I speak...” and not a declaration "I speak..."

How could it be otherwise.?

I'm overwhelmingly conscious that when those words are simply the overflow of my own hyper-active thoughts, they remain disturbingly earth-bound. I need, then, to engage with Paul's exhortation to pray in the Spirit...for the whole business of prayer is, of course, always about both communication and relationship.

But here as we meet for worship it would be easy to take it for granted. It's pretty much the first thing we do whenever we gather to hear God's Word, and to support one another in the life of faith. We come as individuals, carrying all the joys & concerns of our own lives, and as we pray The Spirit knits us together, and transforms us into the Body of Christ. Together we hear, see, taste, smell, feel, and sing God's love. And we respond in prayer.

Prayer is what most sets a church apart from any other sort of gathering.

It's our core purpose – and there is something about meeting somewhere where prayer has “been valid” since the days of Leofric and Godiva that adds extra impetus to the process.

My former bishop Michael Perham reminds us that prayer is like a spring running underground throughout our worship. “We hear the scriptures read, but in a way we pray them and that is why God is able to speak to us through them. We listen to the sermon, but in a way we pray it ...and it the prayer that changes it from dry theology into good news for our lives. We sing hymns and psalms, chants and songs, but at another level we pray them...”

Prayer is the life blood of the Christian community...the means by which we put down deep roots into God

But prayer is not, really, about what we do. It is, to quote Rowan Williams, rather an environment that we inhabit...the environment that is our relationship with God.

Among many many books on prayer on my shelves is one called simply “An Affair of the Heart”.

I love that reminder.

Prayer is an affair of the heart...

It should have nothing to do with duty – with the formulaic business of “saying our prayers” - though it's true that established habit and carefully crafted words can hold us steady when our hearts and minds are in tumult.

Terese of Liesieux puts it beautifully

“I say very simply to God what I wish to say, without composing beautiful sentences, and he always understands me. For me prayer is an aspiration of the heart...”

An aspiration...

A longing of our heart to turn towards God...a re-orientation of heart, mind, spirit as God calls us back to our truest selves.

And that aspiration is outstripped in every way by God's longing to reach out to us.

So prayer is most truly a conversation based on the language of love.

The love with which God reaches out to us, in myriad ways...through creation, through the arts, through Scripture, through one another – and above all through his Son, the living, breathing Jesus, who walked the earth, and the risen Lord who invites us here to meet him in bread and wine

God's endless unconditional love ....and the faltering love that we offer in return.

Here is the God whose arms are always open...who waits constantly for us to turn towards him, whose heart aches in longing for us to come to know Him...the God who is “always more ready to hear that we are to pray” and whose boundless generosity outstrips even our egocentric demands.

But we are oddly resistant – bafflingly narrow in our view of what God can do in us and for us.

He offers us life in all its fulness, “more than we either desire or deserve” but we ask instead for a win for the Sky Blues, fine weather for a wedding, or a 4 bedroomed house in Earlsdon.

Perhaps it is because we are too conscious of our own shortcomings, “guilty of dust and sin” - but you know, God has already dealt with that.

No matter how much we may struggle with ourselves, with those recurrent patterns of thought and behaviour that we have tried and tried and tried to bury, with the distressing realisations that “That – THAT – is part of me!!”...God has already dealt with it.

Yes – even those things we can't bear to mention or acknowledge.

God, in Christ, has them covered.

“Forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid”...

Perhaps though we're simply too busy to bother. Prayer seems a pointless waste of our valuable time – for we're trapped in the self-important, self-reliant habits of contemporary life that leave little sense of the deepest realities

“People on sinking ships complain of many things, but never of distraction in their prayers” said Herbert McCabe...and it's surely true that we petition with most urgency when we know that we are at the end of our own resources.

At that place where human capabilities are exhausted, and material distractions lose their power, prayer takes off as never before - for at that point we know that what we most need are words of eternal life.

“To whom shall we go...?” indeed.

But in the meantime, perhaps it is simply that we don't believe prayer will change anything.

Sometimes we may not recognise God's gifts...

We pray for healing and perhaps God's gift to our loved one is the healing that comes as he gathers them safely into his arms.

Was our prayer answered?

Not as we chose...but surely the answer came.

If we imagine that prayer is all about changing God's mind, about bringing him round to our way of thinking – our hopes will often be disappointed, and so we decide to give up.

Transformation will happen right enough....but it's most likely to be a transformation of US as we pray, as we spend time with God, as we honestly struggle to mean those well-worn words “thy will be done”.

Sometimes, of course, we shy away from the recognition that God invites us to become the answer to our own prayers...that, having prayed for the poor and hungry to be relieved, it falls to us to go and feed them...but that is part of a continuing conversation as well. 

I know that when I'm tempted to let fly at God about refugees, global warming, child poverty, I can expect to hear God challenging me to BE an active part of the Body of Christ...to back up my words with radical action.

Prayer will change me, if I let it...and it is certainly futile to pray if you have no intention of doing anything different when you rise from your knees – for in every relationship we can expect to be changed by the one with whom we're engaged.

In this relationship we place ourselves, trembling, in the hands of the living God....and as we place ourselves where God can touch us, and try to let go of the protective layers of assumptions about ourselves, and about God which so often disrupt our conversation, we become more truly, fully ourselves...

There in the stillness, where words cease, is God.

And you.

And I.

And all the needs of the broken, hurting world.

Rowan Williams again.

“When you're lying on the beach, something is happening that has nothing to do with how you feel or how hard you're trying. You're not going to get a better tan by screwing up your eyes and concentrating. You give the time, and that's it. All you have to do is turn up. And then things change...You simply have to be there where the light can get at you”

So, in the end, there is nothing really to understand...nothing to “get right”...no props required, no special words - not even "hands together and eyes closed".

Prayer is all about love, God's love reaching out to us and helping us to respond little by little, as we are brought into alignment with the One who calls us to know him, leads us to trust him and speaks to us the words of eternal life...to Him be glory both now and forever.

Almighty and everlasting God, 

you are always more ready to hear than we to pray

 and to give more than either we desire or deserve: 

pour down upon us the  abundance of your mercy, 

forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid

and giving us those good things which we are not worthy to ask 

but through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, 

who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, 

one God, now and for ever. 

Amen.

Call me Mother - a footnote

After I linked to this post on Facebook, there were some interesting reactions...To start with, a number of colleagues read it as a directive to call me "Mother" whether they wanted to or not.

Can I say LOUDLY that I'm delighted to be called Mother if that's what you find helpful - but if you don't, for goodness sake don't feel that you have to!
The point is for the label to enable, not confuse relationship...There might be times, I guess, when those who normally call me Kathryn might want to relate more specifically to me as a priest - and use "Mother" to differentiate...but again, it's all about the terms of the relationship.

But I was also struck by a childless friend, an ordinand who felt that she wouldn't be able to use the title as she had not been a mother herself. To her I would say, as I do on pretty much every Mothering Sunday that I'm let loose in a pulpit, that Mothering has never, ever been the exclusive preserve of those who give birth. 
When I think of those who have offered me the most consistent nurturing along the way, my father would be at the top of the list, but he would be closely followed by my children as well as many wonderful friends, both male and female, parents and childless. 
That list of behaviours shared by priests and parents is absolutely possible (not easy, but possible!) whether or not you've given birth...and indeed, it does not include giving birth at all...

Because, you see, at that moment of procreative miracle, the parallel fails.
As clergy we do not birth the Church - nor the faith of any of our congregation.
That is, of course, the work of the Holy Spirit - and her alone.
In fact, that's just what Paul says in the passage from Roman's I've been wrestling with for 8.00 tomorrow
⁴For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. ¹⁵For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” ¹⁶it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God...

At which point, of course, we're back at the paradox that if God is our true father, perhaps we should save the labels of parenthood for God alone...

But I suspect it's a second-order issue really.
If it helps you, great. If not, forget it!

Breathing Space: Walking the Labyrinth

Ever since I arrived in Coventry last year, I've wanted to bring a labyrinth into the Cathedral, and when I was given responsibility for the informal 6.30 service which we have re-launched as "Later", it was only a matter of time....
Some years ago, #1S and I spent an anxious few days drawing out and then spray painting a simple Chartres design on a large piece of theatrical canvas - and it has been amazingly well-used since, going out to all sorts of churches across Gloucester diocese and even getting involved in curate training there. And on Sunday it finally got unrolled in Coventry.

With the choir year ending that morning, the theme of holiday, holy-day, rest and re-creation was an obvious one. I'd found a rather lovely outline for a prayer walk based on psalm 23 here, so I grabbed some colouring sheets, a finger labyrinth and my CD of Preisner Requiem for my Friend and we were off. 

"Later" has a smaller congregation - so there is ample opportunity to befriend the building, and experience time out with God in any number of quiet corners. However, we still aren't very experienced in the ways of creative worship - until January, this service was a straightforward prayer & praise mix every week, under the "Cathedral Praise" banner...Now, that format alternates with the contemplative "Breathing Space", which seems to hit the spot for many - but I still feel I need to provide a fair amount of guidance, and often something vaguely resembling a preach too. 

So we started with a prayer, read our psalm slowly together, and then this:

Tonight’s theme, looking towards our summer break, is based on probably the best-loved of all the psalms.

Psalm 23 is, of course, a reminder of God’s presence with us throughout the whole of life, whatever our inner and outer landscapes. It may be that we find ourselves led along the gentle, peaceful paths where we are nurtured and sustained, where it is easy to recognise God’s care for us as we enjoy green pastures and still waters. That’s the kind of place in which we long to linger – and indeed, there are times when we really need to linger there, whether we know this or not. In an increasingly driven society, where 24/7 access is available for everything from health-care to groceries, it can be hard to stop, to breathe in the peace that God longs to share with us. 

We neglect the principle of Sabbath – time out to BE, and not to DO…

We seek to dam the still waters to generate electricity and calculate just how much more profitable those green pastures might be if they were sold off for development….

But we have a God who rested when he had made the world, and who invites us to take time out to rest with him, to luxuriate in his care for us, to run barefoot amid the green pastures and drink deep, refreshing draughts of those still waters. The Lord who is our shepherd leads us there and protects us while we rest, for he knows that we need those quiet times in which His Spirit can be at work restoring our soul.

Holidays – HOLY days – are part of God’s plan for us, and though we don’t have to have ££££s to spend on jetting off across the world, we are foolish and self-destructive if we ignore our need to come aside for a while and rest.

Follow the shepherd.

But that shepherd is there with us, too, during the hard times…the times when illness, unemployment, and the struggles of family life tax us and exhaust us…The times when wherever we turn there seems to be trouble and sadness….when each step that we take is hard, hard work – as if we were struggling through the darkness, heading towards our own death. These times too are foreseen by the shepherd – and he will never ever leave us to face them alone. He lends us his strength (for comfort means “with strength”)…and reminds us that he has a special purpose for each one of us, for which we are set aside as surely as any monarch anointed at their coronation, or priest at their ordination.

We are invited to feast in the wilderness, even in the valley of the shadow, surrounded by those who wish us harm. We are given blessing upon blessing, so that our cup overflows – and then we have the promise that this is just the beginning…that when we’ve completed this life’s journey, we will live in the house of the Lord forever.

So now we have time to savour these words and to rest on the promises they point to.

You are invited to take a phrase with you as you walk the labyrinth, or to ponder it as you find your own path around the Cathedral.

If you wish, there are activities for you to explore on the table…a paper labyrinth that you could trace prayerfully with a pen, a text from the psalm to colour and make your own, a way of praying for yourself and for one another.

We will end this time of prayer walking by ringing the peace bell and returning to the prayer circle for our closing prayer.

Walk gently, knowing that God walks with you.

And so we began.

Some people spent almost the entire hour prayerfully colouring in the text, others departed, armed with a colouring sheet and some pens, to far flung corners of the Cathedral, while there was a steady stream of barefoot pilgrims making their way round the labyrinth.

Some carried knotted string...Here's why

Tied in Knots

Life is complicated. Relationships are complicated, and we take so much time worrying...Take a piece of string from the table, sit down and spend some time bringing to God all those things that worry you.

For each worry, tie a loose knot in your piece of string and pray, telling God about each concern and asking God to help you to trust Him with it.

When you are ready, take this string with you on your walk into the labyrinth....When you reach the centre, exchange it for one of the pieces of string you'll find there, that represents another's worries. Pray, thanking God that he cares for the person who tied those knots, and that he will answer their prayers.

Pray that they will receive God's peace.

It's often easier to believe that God will deal with another's problems, rather than our own so as you pray, try to acknowledge that God will do for you what you pray he will do for others. Keep the unknotted string with you, in your purse or pocket, and when you come across it, let it remind you to pray for the person whose problems you offered to God - and to give thanks that God cares for you.

The labyrinth is quite small, and I fully expected people to return to their seats having exhausted the resources I'd provided well before an hour was up, but in the event we all sank gratefully into the silence, and it was only out of care for the verger, who can't go home til we've all departed, that I brought myself to ring the peace bell, our signal to regroup when our time out with God was over.

And, the space and stillness spoke to many.

We had some unexpected visitors: a couple passing through Coventry and just wondering what might be on at the Cathedral, a bypasser who thought it looked interesting and just happened in, a visitor from the "Holy Ground" congregation at Exeter Cathedral, who was intrigued to find us exploring similar ways of worship here. For some of our regulars it seemed to hit the spot, providing what they needed in ways that I couldn't predict. One way and another, it was all very lovely - and exactly what I needed after a particularly busy weekend.

I'm so glad that we waited - but so glad that, when the time was ripe, we could spend such a fruitful evening exploring God together.

Call me Mother

Last Wednesday a friend and I found ourselves leading a workshop on priesthood and parenthood.
Some of those attending were probably slightly disappointed, as they had hoped for practical tips for saying Mass with a toddler tucked under the arm, or ways of retaining the respect of your congregation after an enthusiastic Y1 has regaled them with tales of "What Mummy said to Daddy when  the car broke down"...but we were intent on something a bit different.

As a priest in the Catholic tradition I'm entirely comfortable calling my male colleagues "Father", though when I was first ordained I was oddly resistant to being called "Mother". In retrospect, I think this was mostly because I was very conscious that my ordination would have a considerable impact on my children, who had been used to having the first call on my time and attention, - and asking them to share the name that they called me as well as so much else just seemed like a bridge too far. In addition, having grown up in the kind of traditional parishes where "Father knows best" was a code for "So just sit in your pew and be quiet", I was absolutely resistant to any hint that this might be reflected in my ministry. I was not prepared in any way to subscribe to the use of parental language to encourage generations of the faithful to rest, passive and dependent as new-born infants , accepting no responsibility for the life of the church at all, though sometimes invited to share in carefully chosen chores, "to help Father". So, for the first few years after ordination, despite serving in a relatively Catholic context, my answer to the "What do we call you?" question was always, quite simply, "Kathryn".

Latterly, though, I've begun to adjust my ideas. This came about in part by spending time with friends in London diocese, where the language of Father and Mother feels entirely natural (even in quite catholic parishes in Gloucester it felt rather contrived, - you could somehow hear the inverted commas whenever it was used), and partly because I realised that actually, what people choose to call their priest is important in helping them to establish the relationship. So, while I absolutely REFUSE to answer to "Rev Kathryn", and enjoy "Canon Kathryn" (in a wryly amused "how on earth did THAT happen?" kind of way) I am now entirely happy to be called Mother as well, because for me that is all about relationship. I was scrabbling around trying to work out exactly what I meant by this when John-Francis Friendship wrote a rather helpful blog on the subject
Listen
"I have no desire to be addressed as ‘Reverend’ nor, for that matter, Vicar (another lazy way of referring to clergy) – I am not a vicar and never have been!  But I value being called Father and I will call women priests Mother because it reminds me and, I hope, them of that relationship in God we are called to both embrace and live out.  It reminds me that, as a priest, I am not called into an ordinary relationship with those I encounter but into a relationship in God our heavenly Father – and Mother.  "

Isn't that lovely?

So - in our workshop we went on to brain-storm some parental roles - and our list looked something like this:
Feeder                      
Referee                     Challenger                  Negotiater                     Lender of resources
Comforter                  Mopper- up                 Confidante                   Provider of rituals
Welcomer                  Nurturer                      Protector                      Playmate
Celebrater                 Enforcer of discipline  Enabler                        Peace-maker  
Teacher                     Listener                      Boundary-setter           Story-teller
Setter of moral tone   Faith-keeper              Walker-beside              Someone who is always there

As we talked through these parental roles, it became increasingly clear that there is a huge and genuine cross-over between the tasks of parenthood and priesthood...

Of course, the priest exists to enable the ministry of the Church, and to facilitate encounters between God's people and their God. TOGETHER priest and people are called to be walking sacraments, living signs that the Kingdom of God has come near, and our collective task is to respond to those who say                    "Sir, we would see Jesus" (John 12:21)
We, and all God's people, exist to mediate God's love, to continue the work of the Incarnation - as Augustine so wonderfully puts it 
"You are to be taken, blessed, broken and distributed that the work of the Incarnation may go forward".
But...it is not, even for a second, actually all about US.

The other role that we identified gets to the heart of this...for both priest and parent are called to work ourselves out of a job, to let go, sometimes even to push our children out of the nest so that they can truly fly.
Always, always, it is about the priest (and the parent) getting out of the way...
Whenever I preside at the Eucharist, I  aspire to become transparent....
This is a paradox, of course, because the only thing I can bring to my priesthood is myself - and in shaping and setting the tone for a congregation's life, or that of a family, my own gifts and skills woill have their part to play. I don't comfortably identify with the traditional catholic clergy of my childhood who would remove their wedding rings in the vestry before celebrating Mass, as a sign that they left their own personal identity behind, any more than I want to create children (or, dear heaven, a congregation!) as mini-me's. Nonetheless, I've been conscious over the past few years of the risk that exists in that loving family relationship which can be part of parish life at its best...that sometimes, just sometimes, the deep affection of priest and congregation for one another can divert the focus from the God who is the ONLY reason for any of it.
"Sir, we would see JESUS".

We need to have strong relationships with our children - and with our churches - but those relationships are not there to serve our own needs but to enable children and churches alike to fly..So another key text is those words of John the Baptist
"He must become greater and I must become less" (John 3:30) 

On Friday of last week my daughter phoned in a state somewhere between joy and panic to tell me that she has a place on a 2 year post-graduate course IN CANADA!!!!!

She is 28,. She left home for uni a decade ago and has since collected a whole raft of degrees, lived in different towns and cities, coming home from time to time, but dancing her own dance, independently, to the music given to her alone.

And now she is going to do so on a different continent - and I have to let her - because, actually, that's the point!

Like it or not, as her mother, my job is to make myself redundant and let her go joyfully (though perhaps the odd tear is allowed)...to see her and her brothers independent, adult, living their lives, singing their songs, not copying mine.

I lent them resources for a while, - and I guess I always will. It would be a strange parent who refused to feed her children, no matter how grown up, - but they don't need to need me. You see, for them as for the congregations I serve, I'm simply the 18th camel.