Final Sermon for Evensong at Coventry Cathedral 16th July 2023

 

Forgive me this afternoon if my main object seems to be to preach, quite literally, to the choir.

I hope my words may have some relevance elsewhere too, but let’s start with the singers. Oh my goodness.If you were intent on reducing your Canon for Worship to helpless tears, congratulations. “I was glad…” presses pretty much every emotional button I have available – from the wedding of a dear friend here, to our Diamond Jubilee service – not to mention the many many times I’ve sung it myself in different choirs and different contexts. And, always, of course, it does what it says on the jar – so that I was and a I AM glad that we have come here together into the house of the Lord….

Glad – but sad as well. In other words, a bit flayed, ….raw, vulnerable, open to whatever God might want to do in this final Evensong of our time together.

And, of course, that is often what music does for us. It bypasses our defences – of logic, of busyness, of simple inattention – and forces us to be present and open in the moment.

And the moment is, most often, where we find that we can meet with God.

That’s why this service of Evensong is so important to me, and why each and every voice in our choirs is doing something that matters even beyond excellence in performance. St Augustine said that those who sing pray twice…On a bad day, it may be that we find ourselves substituting singing for any other kind of engagement in prayer, - but on a good day, music builds bridges to God like nothing else and expresses the truth of God in ways that words can simply never aspire to.

And what is true for you as you sing is true for those who listen as well.

We can’t always do faith with our understanding – though that’s not an invitation to switch your brain off the moment you come in to worship. But if you don’t see yourself as a person of faith, or if the readings leave you cold, or with far more questions than answers, the invitation is simply to let the music take over and do what it does best, transforming the moment as it opens a window onto eternity.

Yes, our worship will always be inadequate. How could it not be, when you consider the greatness of a God beyond all words, beyond all telling?  The spiritual writer and mystic Evelyn Underhill knew this when she wrote

"If God were small enough to be understood, He would not be big enough to be worshipped"

The hymn we will sing very soon recognises that too, with its opening question

“How shall I sing that majesty…” highlighting the gulf between us, in our human frailty, and the God who has drawn us here

But when we worship, when we turn hearts and minds to God, however much we may struggle with the process, we will find ourselves carried, if we’re only willing to allow it. Just that tiniest movement towards God “Where heaven is but once begun”…sweeps us up in the song of praise that started as the world began, and will continue even beyond its end.

And, you know, the notes that we have sung together in this place will resound in God’s heart forever, for God delights in every movement of the heart towards him. Wherever we are, whatever comes next in our lives, in this place where prayer has been valid for centuries we have begun the work that is ours for ever, to magnify the Lord and rejoice in God our Saviour.

So, let us bless the Lord. Thanks be to God!

Farewell sermon for the Cathedral Eucharist, Sunday 16th July 2023

 Merciful God, you have prepared for those who love you                                                            such good things as pass our understanding:                                                                              pour into our hearts such love toward you                                                                                  that we, loving you in all things and above all things,                                                                    may obtain your promises,                                                                                                    which exceed all that we can desire;                                                                                      through 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.

Loving you in all things and above all things.

Really, I think that this is what it is all about…the Eucharist, the Cathedral, ordained ministry, the whole Church in all its wild wonder and terrible pain. It’s why we are here – not just here in the cathedral this morning, but why we were created in the first place. That we might learn to recognise God wherever we turn, and recognising, love with all our hearts

And put like that, it sounds so deceptively easy…not least because the Collect frames that love in terms of aspiration to a reward – because, of course, that’s how humanity functions. The need for future promises is never part of God’s identity. God’s love does not depend on our response, - not for one moment., - and as we reflect on this morning’s gospel, it’s probably good to remember that.

You see, I suspect I’m not the only one who has spent anxious hours (perhaps not at a stretch – I’m not that pious) wondering what kind of soil I might be. Usually, I land myself somewhere midway between the rocky and thorny ground, conscious that many a promising beginning in my journey of faith has been curtailed because I’ve been just too preoccupied with other things – sometimes, even with doing things FOR GOD as a priest in God’s Church. Then there’s time for a bit of self-recrimination, wailing and gnashing of teeth (I'm good at that) before I am gently reminded that maybe Jesus didn’t intent this parable as a motivational tool, but simply a reminder of how God is.

Here’s the thing. The sower keeps on sowing. Wildly profligate, flinging the seed- that message of reconciling love – recklessly far and wide, regardless of the success or otherwise of the process…It’s bonkers by any human standard. Such a waste! And yet, God keeps on doing it…because it’s part of who God is. Not just love but outrageous EXTRAVAGANT love.

 Let anyone with ears listen…

You see each seed is always, without fail, a sign of hope.

That something so small should carry within it such potential is never less than miraculous, even when our focus is the relatively ordinary…And yet time and again, despite the inherent risk of sending, perhaps, a dandelion blowing every which way on the breeze, that potential is eventually realised. Maybe not in the way we expected, or where we had planned – but nonetheless, realised as something new comes into being.

We’ve all watched seeds of hope flourish here in this place…The hope that Provost Howard voiced in that extraordinary Christmas message – that his community, shocked, battered, grieving, - would TRY to banish all thought of vengeance from their hearts and set out to build a kinder, more Christ-child-like world. Who would have guessed we would still be telling that story 83 years on? Or what kinds of reconciliation plant would grow from his vision. Clearly he had both heard and received God’s seeds of love…

But there have been times, too, when we’ve felt the disappointment of a world and a church that seems largely oblivious to the words we share day by day, as years have passed without us being noticeably different from any other community that aspires to much but falls over its own feet repeatedly. We long to be a reconciled and reconciling people – but sometimes its hard even to be reconciled to ourselves.

“Be kind to one another, tender-hearted…”

We know that the plant of kindness doesn’t always grow as well as it might in our own hearts and souls. Does that mean that we need to return to that cycle of self-doubt and recrimination which can sometimes trap us?

Surely we can trust that the seeds that have been planted will come to fruition, because they are not ours but God’s…There’s so much inevitability in our first reading. God speaks…

My word shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
   and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

It’s not down to us, not dependent on our efforts, our determination to transform ourselves into more fertile, more productive ground. It’s all going to happen, as surely as the cycle of the seasons.

During that first spring of the pandemic, when I’d imagine most of us spent at least some time contemplating our mortality, I found the sheer beauty of life returning to our city, the sunshine, the birdsong, the hawthorn blossom, deeply reassuring. It helped me to remember that while my time here had always been limited, that was exactly how it should be, that I was only the tiniest part of the great cycle of creation in which we could recognise God, and that God’s self-revelation in everything had begun long before humanity and would continue beyond us, in every corner of the universe, and beyond the farthest star. That’s the promise we hear expressed in Isaiah…

¹² For you shall go out in joy,
   and be led back in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
   shall burst into song,
   and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
¹³ Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
   instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
   for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.

 

An everlasting sign.

God in all things – there for us to recognise, there for us to love, - in all things and above all things.

Over my years here, there have been so many moments of recognition for me – yes in our worship, the alchemy of word and music that transforms again and again;  in the beauty of our building and its power to surprise and subvert…But even more in the stories of fragile hopes and broken lives entrusted to me along the way…in random acts of kindness from friends and strangers…in shared moments of silence when we knew beyond doubt that God was close…

I’m so very grateful for all those glimpses – and for your part in them, as God’s beloved people here. Long long ago, Augustine wrote “Life is for love…Time is only that we may find God” – so let’s pray that Collect once more today, but try to live it every day, to the glory of God’s name.

 

Merciful God,
you have prepared for those who love you
such good things as pass our understanding:
pour into our hearts such love toward you
that we, loving you in all things and above all things,
may obtain your promises,
which exceed all that we can desire;
through 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.

Mercy, not sacrifice, a sermon for the Cathedral Eucharist, 11th June 2023, Proper 5C, 1st after Trinity

Do you look forward to the readings Sunday by Sunday, or do you sometimes catch yourself wondering quite why youre hearing them at all. As you almost certainly know, the readings that we hear are those prescribed by the Church of England, in line with something agreed by many denominations, the Revised Common Lectionary. The point of the lectionary is to ensure that the Church hears and reflects on the fulness of God’s word in Scripture, rather than being tied to the favourite passages of the preacher week after week, even if particularpreachers always seem to end up deliveringthesamemessage. 

You might notice the shape of the lectionary particularly in the way that a 3 year cycle leads us deeper into engagement with each of the gospels in turn, as we move from year A to B to C, - but you may not be conscious of a weekly choice that we make between a “Continuous” track, in which one Old Testament book is followed through, and a “Related” option – because often the relationship between readings is not that obvious. It’s very much in contrast to the days of the ASB, when every Sunday had a theme, so that the preacher might suspect that their work had already been done for them. 

Today, though, you would have to try quite hard to miss the connection between our readings – and when we hear the same words aimed at us from two very different contexts in Scripture, I think perhaps we should attend to them.

Listen

I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,
   the knowledge of God rather than burnt-offerings, God says, speaking through Hosea, while in our gospel Jesus invites us all to 

Go and learn what this means. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”Do you look forward to the readings Sunday by Sunday, or do you sometimes catch yourself wondering quite why youre hearing them at all. As you almost certainly know, the readings that we hear are those prescribed by the Church of England, in line with something agreed by many denominations, the Revised Common Lectionary. The point of the lectionary is to ensure that the Church hears and reflects on the fulness of God’s word in Scripture, rather than being tied to the favourite passages of the preacher week after week, even if particularpreachers always seem to end up deliveringthesamemessage. You might notice the shape of the lectionary particularly in the way that a 3 year cycle leads us deeper into engagement with each of the gospels in turn, as we move from year A to B to C, - but you may not be conscious of a weekly choice that we make between a “Continuous” track, in which one Old Testament book is followed through, and a “Related” option – because often the relationship between readings is not that obvious. It’s very much in contrast to the days of the ASB, when every Sunday had a theme, so that the preacher might suspect that their work had already been done for them. Today, though, you would have to try quite hard to miss the connection between our readings – and when we hear the same words aimed at us from two very different contexts in Scripture, I think perhaps we should attend to them. Listen I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt-offerings, God says, speaking through Hosea, while in our gospel Jesus invites us all to

Go and learn what this means "I desire mercy, not sacrifice"

It's usually a good plan to obey direct commands from Jesus, so let's go. Both passages use the Hebrew word “Chesed” – a word which wraps up in itself all the positive attributes of God: love, covenant faithfulness, mercy, grace, kindness, loyalty – and is often used to reflect on God’s generosity towards God’s people. Here, though, we are told to live it ourselves, in acts of devotion and loving-kindness that go beyond the requirements of duty. It is a word that leads us towards grace, setting aside any system of sacrificial payment through which we might atone"for our faults.

Better yet, as always, Jesus does not simply tell us how to do life. He models it, so that the encounters in this morning’s gospel provide worked examples. They show us where mercy and sacrifice diverge, and encourage us to consider whether we see ourselves as humble recipients of grace, or independent souls who hope to earn salvation by doing the right thing.

So, as we reflect this morning, I’m going to ask my favourite question: where do you find yourself in the story? I’m pretty sure you’re there somewhere.

Perhaps Jesus met you in an unlikely context, as he did Matthew at the tax booth. Perhaps he called you, and you just upped and offed in obedience to his voice…You didn’t have anything worth bringing with you, but you knew you had to come. Where have you travelled since with him? Do you still hear him loud and clear? Does his call inspire glad obedience or reluctance? Are you mainly conscious of the reach of his mercy, encompassing you, or of the demands of faith, the sacrifices that drive tax collectors from their booths and force them, force you, to rethink your life choices? Maybe you even felt that his mercy was contingent on your sacrifice? That can be an easy mistake to make.

Perhaps, though, you’re currently rather disappointed in Jesus. Does his choice of friends bewilder you? Wouldn’t it be easier, really, if he confined his attention to people on the inside…those whose behaviour we can monitor and control, those whose way of being chimes with our own. Do you find yourself asking, in the quiet of your heart, what on earth Jesus sees in someone like X? Does he HAVE to be so undiscriminating?

Heres the rub Mercy, not sacrifice. Not even if the sacrifice is one enshrined in all that you understand of religious practice. Not even if you’ve spent all your days in steadfast obedience to laws enshrined by common consent. This, - THIS – is the way we do things here…

Hard though it may seem – that’s just not how it works. Forget about playing by the rules and earning your place at the table. This is an absolutely open invitation…There’s nothing you can do to win his attention, or garner his love.

It’s yours already.

You are as beloved as if all that Love had no other object in the whole of creation. You too are caught up in that tide… Mercy, not sacrifice. Not easy for those who are leaders, those who are used to setting agendas, planning strategies, controlling outcomes. This is a different way.

Now, just as Jesus is challenging those who have spent their days focussed on obedience to the rules, a leader among them comes to kneel at his feet. He is facing a crisis. There is death and disaster, a father bereft but nonetheless trusting, turning to the one person in whom he dares place his hope when, rationally, all hope has gone.

Is this you? Carrying a weight of sudden grief, but remembering to turn to the only One with the power to heal? You’re confident that he will hear you. You belong here. You have favoured status except – what IS he doing now? We’re back with another demonstration of that reckless mercy, that boundless loving kindness which over-rides so much that seemed to matter. Goodness, there’s even queue jumping. That bereaved father was here first.

And yet…

And yet…

If you’re not sure of your welcome, maybe stealing in quietly, hiding behind a pillar, leaving before the end, not even daring to name your need – well, this is your story too. A woman, and one ritually unclean, touched the fringe of Jesus’s cloak. Let’s enter her thoughts for a moment.

This is bound to be OK. Jesus has his attention fixed on that important man with the overwhelming loss. Dreadful for any parent. The worst grief. My need is tiny in comparison, though it has weighed me down for years, but I would hate to be a bother. I can surely reach out in my need, and receive healing without any fuss. Like the synagogue leader, I know Jesus has the power to change the world for me – but my confidence is based on who HE is, not on who I am, because honestly, I’m pretty sure I don’t amount to much.

I have nothing I CAN sacrifice – so I’ll turn to him, stretch out a cautious finger and gently touch the silky softness of that fringe. Then I will wait for his mercy that will come down like showers, like spring rains that water the earth. There’s nothing the earth can do to make the rains fall. Only wait. Hope and healing are on their way.

Go and learn what this means.

Are you getting the idea now? We are all of us dependent on chesed, but what might it mean to live, not just as one who knows their reliance on God’s loving kindness, but as one whose focus is on sharing it? What might a church look like if it clung to this way of being? How might it change? Would new voices be heard that are currently silent? New priorities emerge in the ways we use our resources? At ordination priests are commissioned to tell the story of God's love, but that call is for everyone. What if we actually set out to do it every single day? Would our life here be any different? And what about you? Where are you in the story? Have you learned what that verse means for yourself? It’s one to hang on to, because not only does God desire this, God offers it, again and again and again, a gift to be treasured and celebrated but always, always, to be shared. Amen. Thanks be to God!

Evensong Easter 6 Zechariah 8.1-13 Revelation 21.22 – 22:5, 14th May 2023

 Preaching here some weeks ago, Canon Mary presented a convincing argument for our not “skipping to the good part”, the end of the story in life or in faith, - but sometimes it’s hard to agree with her. One of our former American interns used to say, at the end of a trying day in the office “Any time now, Lord, would be good” – and as we reflect on this evening’s reading from Revelation I’m gripped with that same sense of longing that fills our Advent worship .

Perhaps “O come quickly” is the kind of prayer that I need more often than simply in those weeks before Christmas.

After all, Revelation gives us so much to hope for with its vision of a new heaven and a new earth. Just before the passage we’ve read comes the wonderful comfort of God wiping away every tear, the assurance that there will be no more death, sorrow nor sighing, neither shall there be any more pain

With all that in prospect, there’s much to be said for skipping to the good part.

And yet, of course, this radical revision of everything we know  and experience as mortals will involve some loss. Listen again to the opening words of tonight’s reading

I saw no temple in the city

No temple at all

This precious beloved cathedral, and all those other holy places that have sustained the faithful through the centuries, not even referenced in the new heaven and earth. The best of human art and artifice wiped away as irrevocably as all those things we will rejoice to see the back of. 

For those of us who work or worship here, that may be quite a challenging idea. We know the power of the building to speak of God’s reconciling love. Many of us found ourselves feeling almost cut off from God during our covid-tide exile, and it was very clear when we returned to worship that it was the space even more than the community that held our congregation together. 

It’s Christian Aid week, of course, and that always raises questions for me about our stewardship of God’s gifts to humanity, as we recall their one-time strap line “We believe in life before death”. Should we rejoice in this place at all, when we know that poverty, hunger and disease are a daily reality for many, while we have the luxury of feeling irritated if a favourite hymn is sung to the wrong tune? Actually, that’s a false dichotomy…I suspect that abandoning cathedrals won’t lead to a greater generosity towards the world’s poor, and even as we agonise over whether or not we should expend human and financial resources on maintaining the life and worship of this place and so many others we cling to them because they are our windows onto heaven. 

Rooted in the material, we humans need material reminders of the God who can sometimes seem so far beyond us that he is out of reach – but who draws near to us in Jesus, and, of course, as we meet him in the bread and wine of Communion.

We are allowed to relish the sacraments, and those other sacramental signs that confirm God’s involvement with our daily lives, indeed we should delight in them, see them as the gifts that they are

But we can look forward to a new reality...a reality in which they are gone because they are no unnecessary.

No places of worship. Not even this one, ruined and rebuilt

No encounters with Christ at Communion.

None of the signs that have spoken to us through the ages of God’s presence among us.

Right here and right now, that may feel like an unimaginable bereavement. It’s hard to leap forward in our imaginations, to put ourselves into a context where this will not be experienced as loss at all.

So today I invite you to try to imagine yourself skipping to the good part

You see, we won’t need signposts to the Almighty- not one, - any more than we will need lamps, as we enter into that place where there is no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light.

In the new creation our whole existence will be worship, and we will see God as God is and know even as we are fully known.

I wonder if we might try, on the basis of this vision, to sit lighter to those things that we treasure now – whether in style or place of worship. It can be so easy to conflate the signpost and the destination, but as we reflect on the brokenness of our world, I long to stand beside that tree whose leaves are for the healing of nations, to walk with others through those gates that will never close, to wade knee deep in the crystal water of the river of life, and to join in the ceaseless worship of eternity.

Let’s pray

‘Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling but one equal light, no noise nor silence, but one equal music, no fears nor hopes but one equal possession, no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity, in the habitations of thy majesty and thy glory, world without end. Amen.’

Sermon for the Cathedral Eucharist, 7th May 2023, Easter 5 and the Coronation of King Charles 3rd

"Do not let your hearts be troubled."

If we know anything at all about life in this year of grace 2023, it is surely that many hearts and many minds are troubled indeed. To find unequivocally good news anywhere is incredibly hard…Wars and rumours of wars, the climate crisis, the cost of living crisis, the refugee crisis (three crises on that scale feels like some kind of a record) plus the struggles of the NHS and strikes in profusion. We have no shortage of things to trouble us, and those widespread feelings of disquiet are surely part of why some voices have proclaimed that this weekend of Coronation celebrations is completely out of step with the reality of life for most people. It’s hard not to sympathise with those who suggest that this is really not the time for a colossal party, particularly if you are ambivalent about all that is being celebrated. 

After all, we are seeing so many national and international institutions failing. Things we had believed in – that ours is a hospitable country that always seeks to welcome those in need, that we can always expect to find integrity in public life, that our national institutions in Church and State can be relied upon to meet our needs when the chips are down – are inevitably challenged by the evidence of life around us.

Listen!

Our Earth is degenerate in these later days; there are signs that the world is speedily coming to an end; bribery and corruption are common; children no longer obey their parents; every man wants to write a book and the end of the world is evidently approaching." 

OK. Those words allegedly come from Assyria in the year 2800BC – and while that source may not be entirely accurate either, you’ll recognise the general drift. Since time immemorial, there has been much to trouble our hearts…and if you seek your security in any of the institutions that have been created to bolster society – Church, State or monarchy, - then you can expect to be disappointed. 

You see it’s all a question of where you place your belief, and your allegiance.

Believe in God. Believe also in me

  

It’s striking that today’s gospel, offering reassurance to so many grieving families, provided the text for Archbishop Justin’s sermon to a grieving nation at the last great state occasion, the funeral of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Speaking then, he drew inspiration from Queen Elizabeth’s strong Christian faith, the foundation of her life of loving service. Church of England convention demands that in this Easter season if we are only having 2 Sunday readings we must always include Acts alongside the gospel. Today that’s rather a shame, as the alternative from the first letter of Peter sets out the theme of Christ as sure foundation, and invites us to “come to him, a living stone” so that we may be set apart, our identity taken up into his as we become

“A chosen race, a royal priesthood…once not a people, now God’s people”

This is to be our foundation too. It’s not about how well we follow, but whose way. 

I am the way, says Jesus, …come and walk in it, tread my path of welcome, forgiveness, reconciliation and service. 

That’s an invitation for each and every one, great or small.

And what might this way look like for you and me today? 

Yesterday’s coronation began with a child…

 ‘Your Majesty, as children of the kingdom of God, we welcome you in the name of the king of kings.’ 

And the King replied in his name – the name of Jesus, the name of the king of kings – and after his example, ‘I come not to be served but to serve.’ 

And that’s it.

For us and for him.

That service which is perfect freedom, the heart of Jesus' leadership, was the first theme of the coronation liturgy…a compelling reminder amid all the pomp and circumstance, that here we saw an individual undertaking to live his life for the sake of others. Being human, Charles will do this more successfully at some times than others…and he bears a huge weight of expectation from so many, whom he will surely disappoint along the way. But the intention is there. As Prince of Wales he lived with the motto “Ich dien” – I serve. Now as monarch he has been charged with that service in so many ways, heavy with symbolism. Whatever your feelings about yesterday’s events, can I invite you to find time soon to stand in our Chapel of Christ the Servant and pray for the man who can never be more than a man, but of whom we ask so much. 

But then, can I encourage you to reflect on how that loving service which he has pledged to us, can be made real in your own life as well. This is our calling too.

Ask God what situations and relationships are lined up for you to practice Christ-like living – as the Prayer Book puts it “ that we may do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in”. Seek out those opportunities, and then get on with doing them. It’s as simple and as challenging as that.

If all that feels beyond you, if you feel too small, too sad, too tired or bewildered to do anything at all, if your heart is indeed deeply troubled then remember that after all the high ceremonies yesterday, the new King and Queen made their way to the altar as we will do shortly, to receive the life that is Christ, offered to us in bread and wine. 

In that sacrament there is food for our journey, the food that transforms us, God coming to us that we might come to God and know for ourselves that truth and that life which we can claim now and for eternity. 

Evensong Easter 4: Ezra 3.1-13 &:Ephesians 2.11-22

Where do you look for security in times of challenge and change?

Where do you feel most at home?

It might be with family and friends

It might be in familiar places, or familiar routines

It might even be in a gathered community, coming together to offer worship. Something like this, perhaps.

In our first reading tonight we encounter God’s people struggling to maintain their identity on their return from exile. They’re back in Jerusalem, which ought to be something to celebrate, but nothing is really as it should be, since the Temple has been destroyed. Worse, they are mortally afraid of their neighbours and determined to keep them at a distance in every way, underlining the differences between them as they cling to familiar routines, marking the seasons of their liturgical year, celebrating the festivals as best they can.

And, little by little in practicing those rituals they gain confidence in themselves, remembering who they are as God’s people once again, living out the days until foundations can be laid and work on the new Temple finally began. And then, of course, there is great rejoicing from some – equaled by great lament by others. Things have changed. The new building is not going to be quite what it was. Things have been lost that cannot be recovered. Is this new start a day of joy or of regret? Can they, can we, embrace a new kind of future that looks very different from all that went before? Change is HARD.

I’m sure questions like these were bubbling just beneath the surface in the weeks and months leading up to the consecration of our new cathedral here in Coventry, 63 years ago. I know that many regretted the decision not to simply rebuild, covering over the wounds of history by denying that they had ever been, even as others rejoiced at the new vision that was taking shape before their eyes. 

But, you know, even the most special, most beloved  place of worship is only ever a means to an end, a signpost to a way of being with God. Were every cathedral, every church and chapel, razed to the ground tomorrow, THE CHURCH would be just fine.

That’s what our second reading is about, as it introduces a new way of being community, in startling contrast to that presented in the Ezra text. This is where WE come in, you and I. We are here because, in one way or another, we have responded to the invitation to come closer, as Christ abolishes all divisions, uniting all humanity in one body, even as his own body is broken on the cross. Those neighbours whom the Israelites saw as a threat in Ezra’s day, the strangers, aliens, outsiders (people rather like us) are suddenly transformed into family –  citizens with an equal right to belong to the new reality founded on Christ. And of course that includes you and me.

Suddenly, scandalously, we are ALL insiders, all members of the household with as much right to be there as the prophets who looked towards God’s kingdom and the apostles who shared its good news. I wonder, is that cause for rejoicing , or would you just as soon God was a bit more inclined to discriminate? Making room for ME is fine – but does God really have to be quite as generous in welcoming those people over there? The ones who don’t seem to want to behave as we think they should? The ones who look different, sound different…THEM

A long time ago, before ever I imagined I might work here one day, Dean John and I were sitting on the grass at Greenbelt festival when he said very firmly that reconciliation was not an aspect of the gospel, but absolutely and incontrovertibly reconciliation WAS the gospel. 

Over the years since then, I’ve come to understand more and more what he means. And yes, I have come to agree with him.

It’s all about bringing together those who were divided…nation and nation, race and race, class and class. (Perhaps this is sounding familiar?)

More importantly, it is about reuniting broken humanity with the God who holds us steady no matter what…

There are to be no divisions

Here is a new humanity and we belong, not because of where or how we worship, nor because of who our friends and family might be, but because of Jesus. As he speaks peace to us, whether we are close by or need to strain our ears to hear his invitation, he draws us to him – and there in him we find our true community

No regrets: a gospel reflection for the panel at Southwark, March 2023

I was saving it for a special occasion….had been saving it for years. Silly, really. As I got older, the chances of my needing it for my wedding night receded and yet still it stood in a corner of the room, waiting. Precious, but untouched. The lid sealed.

But then everything changed. The day that Lazarus took sick, our world was rocked, and on the day he died it shattered.

Two women alone, how would we survive in our small town where people could be so unkind about old maids? 

We buried him, and only when I reached home did I realise. I’d forgotten my jar of ointment. I could have used it on his beloved body. Should have used it. What was I saving it for?

And then came the transformation, wonderful, impossible. Death undone. That great voice calling my brother’s name and drawing forth a response, even from ears sealed in death. It was probably good that Jesus named Lazarus that day or all the dead of Bethany and beyond might have emerged in answer to his call. Yes – there was a smell of death. My perfume would have helped then – but in the joy of reunion that only added to our reality. Lazarus restored.

We were so happy when Jesus returned with his friends, the week before Passover. The house was full, the table laden, Martha busy as she delights to be. Wherever you looked, there was joy. Those I loved most sitting and eating together. A special occasion.

Then it came to me – my great idea. There’s nothing more special than receiving those you love back. No future party could ever be better than this, and there was one person to thank, one person to receive my every token of love and gratitude. I went to the corner, took the jar, anointed Jesus’s feet. My tears of joy flowed too as I focused on those weary, dusty, beautiful feet that preached the gospel just by being here. Then I realized it was too much. My tokens of love would overwhelm…Jesus would slip if he tried to stand, - so I used my hair, letting it too fall over his feet, as I dried them. And the house smelled of love and joy and hope – evidence, like my living, breathing brother, that nobody could deny.

Of course people were angry. It !I was saving it for a special occasion….had been saving it for years. Silly, really. As I got older, the chances of my needing it for my wedding night receded and yet still it stood in a corner of the room, waiting. Precious, but untouched. The lid sealed.

But then everything changed. The day that Lazarus took sick, our world was rocked, and on the day he died it shattered.

Two women alone, how would we survive in our small town where people could be so unkind about old maids. 

We buried him, and only when I reached home did I realise. I’d forgotten my jar of ointment. I could have used it on his beloved body. Should have used it. What was I saving it for?

And then came the transformation, wonderful, impossible. Death undone. That great voice calling my brother’s name and drawing forth a response, even from ears sealed in death. It was probably good that Jesus named Lazarus that day or all the dead of Bethany and beyond might have emerged in answer to his call. Yes – there was a smell of death. My perfume would have helped then – but in the joy of reunion that only added to our reality. Lazarus restored.

We were so happy when Jesus returned with his friends, the week before Passover. The house was full, the table laden, Martha busy as she delights to be. Wherever you looked, there was joy. Those I loved most sitting and eating together. A special occasion.

Then it came to me – my great idea. There’s nothing more special than receiving those you love back. No future party could ever be better than this, and there was one person to thank, one person to receive my every token of  love and gratitude. I went to the corner, took the jar, anointed Jesus’s feet. My tears of joy flowed too as I focused on those weary, dusty, beautiful feet that preached the gospel just by being here. Then I realized it was too much. My tokens of love would overwhelm…Jesus would slip if he tried to stand, - so I used my hair, letting it too fall over his feet, as I dried them. And the house smelled of love and joy and hope – evidence, like my living, breathing brother, that nobody could deny.

Of course people were angry. It was an extravagant gesture….but I promise I was not seeking attention, whatever my siblings said. My focus was on entirely on HIM…the One who changes everything, who turns despair to hope, darkness to light. Those words about his burial shook me. Why bring death to a feast of life?

But all too soon I understood, wished I had more nard, to anoint him once again on the third day of the week when we gathered at his tomb. His OPEN tomb. We wept. We called his name, but expected nothing. We knew that only he had that power to raise the dead.

I didn’t see him afterwards, though others I trust promise me that they did, - that they saw with their eyes and touched with their hands. THEY ate with him once again, but I was home in Bethany, trying to make sense of these extraordinary days.

We talk about him all the time, about that day, about all that he did, and said, and was. I’ve heard that he once talked of a man who knew a pearl of great price was hidden in a field, and sold everything so he might own the field and possess the pearl. 

That is my story too. My treasure was nothing compared to the treasure that HE was…

The pearl of great price who sat at our table, healed our family, gave us light and life.

That was a special occasion you see. Worth everything. No regrets.

Here I am again

 Once upon a time, this blog was an ever-present help in times of curacy! The place where I could tell stories , suitably anonymised, do athe much-needed external processing without completely overwhelming my beloved, introverted T.I. and generally focus on what God seemed to be up to, in the parish and in me.

I loved it, and the many friends I made along the way,  with several of whom I am still deeply connected

With incumbency, though there was more to process, there were fewer stories that were honestly mine to tell, and the blog became mostly a repository for sermons and any other odd bits of writing.  Latterly,  despite the wonderful experiences of Cathedral ministry it hasn't even been that! I've added pictures and brief catch ups on twitter, made new connections there, and have realised that the dust gathering here is a good six months deep. 

I'm not ready to move out completely though. With another move ahead I'm already finding there are thoughts bubbling, about endings and beginnings, about the London in my bones and the Coventry I have grown to love, that have made me say quietly "That could be a blog post".

At the very least, I'd like to put my sermons somewhere once more, so here I am, opening the windows, dusting off the cobwebs and planning, if not to move back in, to at least visit more often. I'll put the coffee on....

Pray and do not lose heart Trinity 18, Proper 24 for the Cathedral Eucharist 16th October 2022

 One of the complaints frequently levelled at the Church of England as an institution today is its fondness for adopting management tools from the secular world, often some time after that world has moved on to another, different approach. Thus, when I was training for ordination I experienced not only Myers Briggs and Gilmore Freyling, but also the Belbin inventory. What I learned and whether it has made a difference is perhaps open to debate, but it was always at the very least INTERESTING to discover more about oneself. The Belbin test is designed to help people find their preferred style of working within a team...Individuals answer various questions until their preferences are clear – and are then given a score depending on what emerges. A healthy team will include a variety of preferences - visionary planners, people with a critical eye for detail, those good at implementing the ideas of others...and more. You might find it entertaining to consider which of your clergy might have which preferences, and which might be most useful around the place on a day to day basis. The options include those styled "completer/finishers" who find their satisfaction in a job done thoroughly and well. Completer finishers are well worth having on your team if you hope ever to see a project through to a successful conclusion – but I regret to inform you that the last time I was asked to do a Belbin interview, produced a score for this category that was so low it was almost in negative numbers!

I may be fine at having 6 great ideas before breakfast, but when it comes to sticking with projects from launch to completion, I'm probably not your woman. I get bored quite quickly as the unfinished tapestries and knitting projects around the house testify … so perhaps it's not surprising that when I first looked at today's readings my heart sank.

 

That heart sink was compounded when I reflected on all the dearly loved and surely well-deserving people whom I know, who are currently having truly torrid times, in a wide variety of ways. Of course I’ve prayed for them, as I have for this countryand our government, for the planet and those most grievously impacted by the climate crisis, for peace in Ukraine, for a place of warmth and safety for all those who seek shelter around the cathedral campus overnight as the temperatures fall, - and so the list continues. I’ve prayed and prayed again, a heart-felt cry of “HELP!” and thus far the results have not been encouraging.

 

It would be extremely tempting to give up, or at the very least to berate God soundly for not falling in to line with my longings for some quick and effective fixes. Perhaps you know the feeling?

 

Couple all of that with an habitual anxiety that I should NEVER be a bother, and you can see why this morning’s parable is a tad tricky to preach with integrity. Working with my favourite question “I wonder where you are in the story” I cant easily cast myself in the role of the widow, whose relentless appeal for justice, against the odds, won her the day. But that’s EXACTLY the invitation…

 

All this talk of the unjust judge might seem unsettling at first. It's easy to jump to conclusions, and presume that Jesus is equating God with that hard-hearted judge who neither fears God nor respects people... the kind of God who ears seem deaf to those cries of HELP that resound across the universe. I have heard intriguing interpretations (by reputable scholars, including Sam Wells) that invert the parable so that we encounter God as the widow, relentlessly pleading with the unjust rulers, the governments that exclude, disadvantage and oppress, but I’m not sure that’s where Jesus is going with the story. For once, this parable is not setting out to explain an aspect of the Kingdom – but to show us how we should be in our life of prayer.

We’re given the interpretation before we even hear the story, just to make sure we land in the right place

 

Jesus told his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.

Those communities for whom Luke wrote that orderly account of his were confronting all sorts of challenges to life and to faith, - it was ever thus – so in setting out the agenda of the story Luke is acknowledging that. You can imagine him saying to himself “I know it’s tough for them…and hard times can make belief almost impossible, just when you need it most. I won’t let them be in any doubt…they need to keep at it….stay in touch with God even when God seems to be looking in another direction.

Right

In a certain city…Jerusalem, perhaps? Or maybe even Coventry? For like all parables, this is OUR story too

In a certain city there lived a judge…

 

A judge, eh? One who holds the power of freedom or imprisonment, sometimes life or death…One we need to know is kind and wise and humane. Except that he’s not. He sounds, frankly, a nightmare…but he’s the only route to justice that there is, so you either give up and go home or….Well…

 

Christmas is coming and already advertisers are intent on harnessing what they call “pester power” - the way that children can and will continue to nag, badger and entreat until their adults give in and provide the “must-have” toy, game or garment of the day.

This parable is ALL about pester power – and it makes no bones over asserting that it should be a recognisable element in our prayers.

 

God won't mind – I promise!

God loves it when we turn to him again and again – when we bring to him those people and situations about which we care most deeply.

Despite my reticence, we will never EVER be a bother to God.

This is the same God who, in our OT reading, speaks with compelling hope of the day when God’s people will have such a close relationship with God that they will have literally nothing to learn about him. “They shall all know me, from the least to the greatest”….They will live in harmony with my law, til it becomes the very rhythm of their heart-beats.

 

OF COURSE we can’t be a bother to God. OF COURSE God listens to our prayers.

 

Yes. I know it’s tricky

I'm willing to bet that we have prayed for world peace on every Sunday of your Christian life – and mine.

Week after week after week...

And we know that there isn't a day when someone somewhere experiences just how short of peace the world remains.

We've prayed, day by day, “Your Kingdom come” - but struggle with the evidence of a world still gripped by powers of selfishness, violence, corruption, greed.

 

But – does that mean it's time to stop praying?

 

Of course not!

 

Yes - we can be discouraged.

And often, we lower our expectations...

We have learned by experience that prayer does not work like a slot machine, - prayer in, desired result out – and so gradually we may allow it to become a fairly meaningless duty, or we pray so vaguely that it is impossible to discern what an answer to prayer might look like.

 

We lose hope and lose heart.

 

But prayer is surely about tuning our wills to God's

It's not about changing God but about changing US.

Spending time with God, growing our relationship...holding on tight through thick and thin to the God who loves us.

Think back to the spring, when we were constantly confronted by Jacob wrestling with the angel.

Think of that persistent widow

Keep going.

 

It won't always feel easy – remember the cry of the psalmist 

"How long, oh Lord, how long?"

"Day and night I cry out to you, but you don't answer me"

But even as the psalmist complains, he addresses that complaint to God. He keeps the relationship going

It’s the same for us. We need to cry to God day and night. we need to hang on, we need to wrestle for our own particular blessing.

 

Please do try to take that seriously…Whatever it looks like, believe that God is listening, and that keeping close to God no matter what is always, without exception, the best policy.

It may seem that prayer achieves little…but please don’t give up.

Listen again to the final question that Jesus puts in our gospel today

“When the Son of Man comes – WILL he find faith on earth?”

I wonder.

Will he find faith in his church? In each one of us?

 

If we really believe what we say about God – that He is a God of love, compassion, and endless grace...a God who makes all things new and heals the broken-hearted – then surely we will make our relationship with Him our priority, trusting that though God’s ways are not our ways, that sometimes it seems that we’re getting nowhere, yet nonetheless, it always makes sense to stay close, to pray, and not to lose heart.

 

It’s not long now until Advent, when we wrestle with that sense of Now and Not Yet that is our current experience of God’s Kingdom. Many of our prayers land in that same territory, -prayers heard but not answered as we might have hoped. Nonetheless, they are the cords which bind us to God, that keep our relationship active and current, that give our hopes and our fears, our griefs and rejoicings, somewhere to go

 

We NEED to pray and not lose heart because it is through those prayers that we draw close to God – and there is nowhere better to be.