We are Nazarene

Sermon for Trinity 11.

^{Matthew 16:21-end, Romans 12: 9-end}

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Sunday 31st August has been designated a global day of prayer for Iraq. With the fact of persecution staring us in the face, and sickening images across our TV screens,

How are we to respond to evil?

I hesitate to say I have ‘4 answers’ but here are 4 things to perhaps consider…

1. It is a reality in our world.

Recently the Church had an attempt at producing a revised baptism liturgy, an updating of the present form of words, which contains these questions, posed to the parents and godparents: ‘Do you reject the devil and all rebellion against God?

Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil?’

These were replaced with: ‘Do you reject evil, and all its many forms and all its empty promises?’

Well, you can imagine the furore this caused in a Church that isn’t exactly known for embracing change!

I wonder whether you would be a keep-the-devil-in sort of  person, or a reformer?!

The writer and Christian Francis Spufford reported on a baptism he attended where the new words were used to great effect(he thought) and he wrote about it in the Telegraph; but others were not so sure.

Personally I don’t find it easy explaining the devil-and-all-his-works part of the liturgy to baptism families; but recently I did just such a thing where the dad had been a soldier in Bosnia in the 90s.

He didn’t need convincing of the reality of the presence of evil in

the world. It was only too clearly etched in his memory.

In fact it isn’t the first time I’ve talked to a member of the armed forces where the concept of PTSD has come up. There is only so much horror we can cope with as human beings.

And we have been seeing a great deal of horror in Iraq recently.

It is our honour as Christians to display the Arabic letter ‘n’ on our order of service today and to put up posters of the same in our area.

The reason for this is helpfully explained by Russell Moore on the Patheos Blog, from which I quote:

Christians around the world are changing their social media avatars to the arabic letter “n.” In so doing, these Christians are reminding others around them to pray, and to stand in solidarity with believers in Iraq who are being driven from their homes, and from their country, by Islamic militants. The Arabic letter comes from the mark the ISIS militants are placing on the homes of known Christians. “N” is for “Nazarene,” those who follow Jesus of Nazareth. Perhaps it’s a good time to reflect on why Nazareth matters, to all of us. The truth that our Lord is a Nazarene is a sign to us of both the rooted locality and the global solidarity of the church.

How do we respond to evil and persecution; to the scenes we have witnessed on the news recently, scenes of such evil that we shudder to even concentrate on what is before our eyes...?

1. 2. Persecution has been with us from the beginning.

We said Morning Prayer on Friday, during which we remembered the beheading of John the Baptist, and I must admit that the story took on a fresh and deadly perspective as I thought about the beaheadings which have been reported recently. his is not simply an outmoded, historic mode of execution; it would appear it is happening in the 21st Century.

How should we respond?

As ever, the Word of God speaks into this situation.

The Christians at Rome knew a thing or two about persecution.

The 1^st state organized persecutions of Christians took place under Nero in AD64 but the first Jewish Christians had been persecuted before that, and scattered to the four winds, after the death of Stephen, the first martyr.

Someone has said that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.

I found an interesting essay, which questioned this assertion.

The author was Canadian and he had carried out research on the Russian persecuted Church; concluding that sometimes persecution actually wipes out a Church, so it is not as easy to say that persecution leads to church growth.

But he concluded that Church growth nearly always led to persecution of some sort.

His comment to his fellow Christians in Canada was this:

So when people ask me, “Do you think we will ever have persecution here in Canada?” recently I’ve

been inclined to answer, “Why should we be persecuted? In what way is the average Canadian Christian

making such a difference for the kingdom of God that he/she warrants being persecuted? In what way

does the average Canadian Christian stand out from his/her society in such a way that the offense of the

cross that Paul speaks of in Galatians is exhibited?”

(https://www.persecution.net/download/seed.pdf)

We might take his words to heart in this country…

So how are we to respond to evil?

       3. We weep with those who weep.

If we are to weep with those who weep, it means being informed.

That’s where we will probably need to supplement our newspaper reading something from a believing perspective.

Canon Andrew White is the only Anglican Priest still ministering in Baghdad and has frequently been called upon in the past by Islamic and Christian leaders to act as go between.

His church has a rich ministry of worship ad humanitarian aid, is constantly under threat, many of his staff members have been murdered; yet still the ministry of gospel continues there. I will read a latest extract form his blog:

Update from Iraq – Canon Andrew White

AUGUST 27, 2014

My Dear Friends,

How I long to be able to tell you positive things here. So for a moment I will not tell you the negatives. This is the week of our children’s first communion, it is one of the biggest events in the churches year. Each day the children come for several hours of intense study. There is such excitement. Yesterday as I sat down with the children I asked them why they were so excited. They basically said that when they were baptised their parents had promised that they would follow Yesua but now they have decided themselves. I was able to give each of the children a mega-voice solar powered bible, we have had many donated to us from “Leading the Way” in Australia and Northern Ireland. These bibles have been such a cause for joy amongst us, some are also going to be given to the people in the North who have had to flee leaving everything including their Bibles. So amongst the devastation there has indeed been the joy of our Lord.

Meanwhile we always think that things cannot get worse but they continue to. Dr Sarah is in the north with a good team of people we have got there doing so much of the relief work with the huge numbers of displaced people – Christians, Yazidees and others. I think that it is wonderful that the person heading up our work amongst those fleeing the Islamic State is in fact a Muslim helping the Christians.

One thing that has caused us great distress in our work is that there are all sorts of Christian groups turning up here going to the camps, taking pictures, asking the camp managers what is needed but delivering nothing. All the authorities are saying to Dr Sarah that she is the only one that helps them. This is the sad reality we have not seen other on the ground bring real help. UNHCR is now on the ground providing basic tents and food but there is so much more we have had to do. Provision of wheel chairs, babies cots, nappies and medicines to name but a few of the many things we are providing. Yesterday I heard an account from one of our people who used to be here with us. He is disabled and was not able to flee with everybody else so he hid with his children. Eventually the Islamic State broke into the house they lined up the children and said that unless he converted to Islam they would all have their heads chopped off. He said the words of conversion and they allowed him and his children to live but made them stay. He cried on the phone to me “Abouna Abouna I still love YESUA, will he still love me and my children?” I assured him that He did and that he still was a Christian and belonged to Yesua. I thought what would I have done if my boys were going to be killed in front of me?’ (http://frrme.org/canon-andrews-blog/)

So finally, how do we respond?

4.     Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good’ (Romans 12:21).

We know that evil will be overcome with good because of the Cross.

In our gospel Jesus has the painful experience of rebuking Peter (it must have been pretty painful for Peter too).

The suffering comes before the glory.

Jesus will not be deterred from the Cross, because only the final facing down of evil with his body and blood, will open the way to victory.

Whatever theory of the cross you like to hold to, I’m fond of the one the Church Fathers gave us, which they called ‘Christus Victor’: that through his death, Christ triumphed over evil and defeated it completely.

Let us hold onto this fact as we consider our brothers and sisters in Iraq, and Canon Andrew White and the work of St George’s Baghdad.

How are we to respond to evil?

By remembering it is a reality in the world.

    By remembering that persecution has been with us from the beginning and indeed may always be the result of a spiritually healthy church.

    By weeping with those who weep.

    By holding onto the Cross, where evil is overcome by good.

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

A Mother's Boldness

^{Sermon for Trinity 9.} 

^{Matthew 15: 27}She said, ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.

I expect, like me, you have been following the news unfolding in Iraq with horror.

My attempts to update myself on new events about fundamentalism and its terrifying spread through Iraq, is met with warnings online of graphic photos, and I’m not sure I want to see them.

The Catholic online reporter writes: ‘what is happening in Iraq and Syria, especially to Christians, is not hyperbole. They have shown no mercy to women or children.’

Wherever there is violence and conflict, it is often mothers and children that come in for the most severe fall out.

As a mother (and I expect anyone who is a parent will feel the same) I can only imagine the horror of fleeing from persecution, and the ensuing fear, travelling, homelessness, hunger, exhaustion and dislocation that has been brought on the minorities in Iraq who do not wish to see it become an Islamist State.

Mothers and children are traditionally thought of as in need of protection, certainly when children are very small and defenseless.

But in even in extremis, mothers have always been resourceful when it comes to protecting their own children.

On Friday the Church remembered Mary the mother of Jesus, one who said yes to the demanding call of God, who was also made a refugee at the time of Herod’s purging of Jewish babies, ad sent into exile in Egypt.

In our reading today we see the strength and determination of another resourceful mother, though this time a non Jewish mother.

In Jesus’ day the the Jewishness of a baby was carried down the maternal line.

As an online Jewish blog explains:

‘Jewishness is not in our DNA. It is in our soul. The reason it is passed down through the maternal line is not just because it is easier to identify who your mother is. It is because the soul identity is more directly shaped by the mother than the father…

Jewishness is passed down by the mother because being Jewish is a spiritual identity, it defines our very being. And our very being we get from our mother, both in body and in soul’

(from http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/968282/jewish/Why-Is-Jewishness-Passed-Down-Through-the-Mother.htm)

Historically, the Jews had to guard their faith with strong boundaries which marked them out from the surrounding pagan nations

As a matter of national survival, circumcision and the Ten Commandments/special relationship with Yahweh was instituted, and at various points in Jewish history, strongly threatened.

It’s a known psychological fact that threatened people put up boundaries.

Into this steps Jesus, a Jew, with a strong sense of mission to the Jews, but a habit of crossing boundaries, to the horror of many other Jews surrounding him.

The Jewish faith was closely guarded by the Pharisees and Sadducees.

To some extent their guardianship was admirable: there were many threats, but this close guarding could alienate the less religious and make them feel like outcasts.

And outcast were Jesus’ speciality.

We who are used to the rituals of the church, what you do at the communion rail, what you do during prayers and hymns, how you find your way around books in church, mustn’t forget that all these things are alien for a growing % of the population.

In Jesus’ day things were very demarcated.

The desperate woman who approaches Jesus to heal her daughter, is not part of the covenant people; she is a non Jew, an outsider.

It was unusual for a woman to instigate a conversation with a man.

Even more so, that a Gentile, one of the unclean ones, should approach a Rabbi.

And it may be, like me, you are puzzled, even disturbed, by Jesus’ reaction.

In Mark he says he was only sent to the house of Israel.

Matthew embellishes by adding that he ignored her requests and the disciples became bothered by her insistent calling out.

He certainly doesn’t hurry to respond to her.

We might also ask, why is Jesus even in this pagan territory of Tyre?

Mark suggests Jesus went to region of Tyre to escape the crowds.

He is in pagan territory; he doesn’t expect to find faith in this place.

He hadn’t bargained someone who was about to throw herself at him.

Timothy Keller, writing in his book on Mark’s Gospel, asks the question: ‘How do we approach Jesus?

When did you last throw yourself at Jesus?

Do we have a sense that God is too remote, or that He can be accessed at all hours, no questions asked, so long as he grants me my hearts desire?

Do we come to him casually, or with awe and wonder?

I come across people who are afraid of God, who despise him, who are upset with him, or who ignore him, as well as those who love and worship him.

For instance, some people keep their hands in our pockets when they worship God

I recall someone getting told off during training for preaching with ‘a lazy evangelical hand’; one hand in the pocket doesn't exactly send out the right signal about how we view things divine...

The Syrophonecian woman comes to him in desperation though.

Again, Tim Keller: ‘You know why she has this sudden boldness don’t you? There are cowards, there are regular people, there are heroes, and then there are parents. Parents are not really on the spectrum from cowardice to courage, because if your child is in jeopardy you simply do what it takes to save her.’ (p.86, King’s Cross)

Jesus’ response, that it is not fair to take the children’s food and give it to dogs, seems an insult to us, even with our toleration and love of dogs as pets, which was unknown in Jesus’ day.

In his day they were simply creatures that begged; they scavenged at the foot of the table, hoping for leftovers.

In our society, where people insist on their rights, we are astonished that the woman herself was content to go along with this figure of speech, this suggestion that she is like a dog content with the leftovers.

In fact she understands perfectly what Jesus is saying, revealing her abject poverty of spirit.

Blessed are the poor in spirit….

She knows she is not worthy.

As we say in the Eucharist, echoing her very words:

‘We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table…’

Isn’t this the key to the question ‘who is richly blessed by God?’

Those who are richly blessed are those who know their need.

And suddenly, here is the universal Saviour who cannot fail to respond ultimately to a show of faith, wherever it may be found.

So for the woman’s amazing retort, that even the dogs eat the crumbs under their master’s table, her request is instantly granted: an exorcism, from a distance.

Her daughter is healed instantly.

To quote Tim Keller again – ‘She’s not saying Lord give me what I deserve on the basis of my goodness’; she’s saying ‘Give me what I don’t deserve on the basis of your goodness – and I need it now’ ‘ (p.88-9)

This is a parable of the gospel in a nutshell.

Here are the disciples, slow to understand, trying to prevent Jesus from going to Jerusalem and be killed.

Here are the Pharisees, obsessed with internal religious order, unaware they are neglecting the very essence of a loving God and failing to share the good news.

Here is an un-named pagan, a woman, who immediately understands the free gift of God in Jesus Christ and doesn’t mind debasing herself to get it.

And so we come to Mary, the mother of Jesus.

It was her special day on Friday, 15^th August, and we marked it at Morning Prayer on the Team.

Here too is a woman of humble spirit, in this case, a Jew, but one who said yes to God, and bore Jesus to be the Saviour of the whole world.

As we listen again to the ancient piece of music, 'There is no rose of such virtue',

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x67ewYepN3g 

let us also say YES along with Mary, and may we follow in her footsteps of obedience, as we pray for mercy towards all those mothers in Iraq who cry out to God, and to us, day and night.

Amen.

Outside the comfort zone

The vastness of the Pacific, off Vancouver Island. Overwhelming even when calm. July 2014.

Trinity 8A

From Matthew 14: 22-33, Jesus walks on water.

Peter answered him, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.’ He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’ 

Today in church we thought about the story of Jesus walking on the water. In itself, it's pretty amazing. Why does Jesus display his divinity in this way? He so often seemed to hide his real nature (the so called 'Messianic secret') but here he does his own thing, regardless of anyone else. Perhaps. Or perhaps not...Perhaps he knew the disciples were out there, needing a divine encounter. Perhaps he just enjoyed being God in the flesh and doing God-like things once in a while. I personally like a perplexing Jesus sometimes...

The phrase 'outside your comfort zone' may be a relatively modern one but it describes exactly how it must've felt for the disciples to look up from straining at the oars on that windy night, seemingly without the help of their Master present with them, and to see him approaching in such a mysterious and other worldly fashion, fresh from his 'night on the bare mountain'. 

(I hear the voices of 'reason' saying 'you can't believe that he really, actually walked on water can you? It's just not possible...' but to be honest, when you're dealing with the supernatural, anything is possible).

But the very human side to the story begins in the second half of the reading. The disciples, crying out that it must be a ghost, are addressed by Jesus across the roar of the wind: 'Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid' (verse 27).

And the story could stop there. It would be good as it was. But it continues, with Peter's response. A display of divine power calls forth some response, and out of all the disciples, it was going to be Peter who would want to join in. 

'Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water', says Peter. Jesus simply says 'Come'. And so Peter does. He gets out of the boat, in the wind and the waves, and begins to walk towards his Master, doing exactly what the Master does. But. And there's a big but; and it's a 'but' which I understand only too well, having spent a significant part of my summer holiday doing things and going places way out of my particular comfort zones (viz. flying, boating, climbing and going up high things in cable cars).

The 'but' is that Peter, understandably, forgets to look at Jesus and looks at his circumstances instead. The wind, the waves, the it-not-being-normal-to-walk-on -anything-other-than-dry-land business. Like me, looking out of the airplane window and thinking about the altitude and the 200 mile an hour clouds rushing by and the time zone changes and the cabin air pressure and thinking 'this is just not normal...'

Poor Peter: 'but when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, 'Lord, save me!' Peter's cry is the basic cry of the human condition before a righteous and awesome God: 'Lord, have mercy'. 

The proper response to Jesus walking on water, calling us to follow, saving us and stilling the storms of life, is of course, worship.

Being 'outside your comfort zone' is perhaps a glib phrase, but outside can feel an extremely uncomfortable place. 

We thought in church of those we knew for whom there appears to be no comfort, or of our own situations where life has strayed outside of what feels good and normal, whether through relationship breakdown, addiction, relocation, bereavement, unemployment or illness. I thought of a brave little boy I know who, having just celebrated his 4th birthday, now faces 14 lots of general anaesthetic in order for radiotherapy to be able begin to fight off his recently contracted cancer. I thought of his parents.

Where is the Good News in this gospel story, or in countless stories of people struggling with deep, dark and difficult situations? 

The Good News is not a happy clappy, glib 'I'm okay really'; but a deep knowledge that, like Peter walking towards Jesus and crying out 'save me'; it is precisely outside the comfort zone where we have our deepest experience of God.

And so in church we dropped pebbles into a freshly filled bucket of water to represent each situation before God, as an act of prayer. They sank, of course. 

But not out of sight.

Adventures in Silence

Sheep in the fields around LLannerchwen, near Brecon.

My first two tastes of ecclesiastically managed silence were not terribly successful. Anglican Ordinations are always preceded by 'silent' retreats but for these to work, silence really needs to be accompanied by solitude, and a theological college stuffed full of 2 or 3 dozen other retreat-ants, a number of whom have never encountered silence at all and have no idea what to do with it, does not work well; especially for the more extrovert amongst us.

My next proper attempt at silence took me in 2012 to Loyola Hall (now sadly closed) where silence was plentiful, despite the presence of perhaps 20 or so others, but the difference was I didn't know anybody. A guided retreat (this one in the Ignatian tradition) sees you all arrive and eat the first meal together, chatting and settling in, then from day 2 there is silence throughout the building and grounds, except for the acts of worship and 30 minutes of daily one to one spiritual direction. 

Apart from the lovely modern chapel, the building was a bit institutionalised; you needed a bus ride to escape the suburbs; but the Jacuzzi was fun (seriously). I found the evenings long. When you've got no one to talk to, no TV, radio or social media, you do wonder how you can fill all the hours in the day. And silent corridors are very silent. I came away just beginning to glimpse the power of silence to help me enter the presence of God more fully, but it still felt a bit 'difficult' (see here why) http://parttimepriest.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/reluctant-retreatant.html

Beautiful Pembrokeshire, near Ffald y Brenin

In 2013, I decided Pembrokeshire was the place for silence. Having heard lots of amazing stories about Ffald y Brenin, a house of prayer in the Welsh hills, I phoned to see if I could be accommodated. They were full 9 months in advance, but after being encouraged to stay off site, like many other hopefuls, and drive in each day for worship and prayer in the chapel, I found a local hotel and, come July 1st, set off down the M4.

Ffald y Brenin was utterly gorgeous, the countryside stunning and the worship in the celtic style round chapel truly uplifting.

Ffald y Brenin. Wonderful worship but not silent.

But it wasn't very silent. There were lots of fascinating visitors (pilgrims) each day and the temptation to be ultra sociable was too much. In addition, down in the valley for the evenings, I lost the impetus to stay silent and instead would come back about 7pm, eat stodgy hotel food, watch three hours of detective shows on the TV and go to bed. 

I learnt a great deal that week about the charismatic and the celtic (and, obviously, Lewis)  - see here http://parttimepriest.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/eitheror-spirituality.html
however, real silence was still beckoning.

Welsh hills, and the spirituality of the great outdoors had just begun to seep into my consciousness, so I returned to Wales this summer, and on someone's good advice, got a place booked at Llannerchwen, a small Catholic retreat house run by the Society of the Sacred Heart. This time I would be on site all the time, self catering, and have guaranteed silence from sun up till sun down. 

I was nervous: silence AND solitude - I imagined a blasted hillside with nothing to do but pray, but I was determined 'this would be it'. Llannerchwen was suitably tricky to find, up a long winding track off a 'B' road above Brecon. It was gentler, greener and prettier than I'd imagined, consisting of a small cluster of 'hermitages' and a tiny chapel, with the sisters (all 2 of them) taking it in turns to live on site, alternating with an ecumenical team of lay spiritual directors, so there's always someone 'in' with a warm welcome and friendly advice when you knock on the main house door. You also feel connected in a small way to the others staying there, with a half hour of communal silence in the chapel at 5.30pm.

As soon as I arrived in Llannerchwen and saw the view from my window, and took my first walk across the field to meet the sheep, I realised what I hadn't ever properly understood about 'silence': outdoors at least, it's not ever properly silent. Instead of being an absence, what silence is, is space to be: space to listen to creation, to God and to yourself.

A typical self contained residence at Llannerchwen.

Apart from my 2 requested sessions of spiritual direction, which I found very helpful, my main 'guide' was Sara Maitland (or at least, her book). Maitland is a writer and practising Catholic who has sought out silence in some of the remotest places in Britain, and chronicled the effects of silence on human beings, from long distance sailors to hermits and explorers. I knew that rereading her book 'A Book of Silence' (2008) would help me navigate the hours spent alone without talking to anyone. And it did. 

The real joy was discovering I wanted to be outdoors all the time. I was very lucky with the weather. I took long walks in actual walking boots and read OS maps (very unlike me) and I listened. Mainly to sheep. But also to birds, insects, farm machinery, the odd jet, the wind rustling the grasses. I became attached to the sheep at the bottom of 'my' field'. Ridiculously attached, because they never shut up. Not even at night. It was immensely comforting. 

Easy to pray looking at this: you just sit and think 'wow', and watch the bunnies.

And I had one of those experiences Maitland warns about, towards the middle of the five days, when I knew I'd used up all my own spiritual/emotional resources. Reading was boring, I was tired of walking and tired of the inside of my own head. 

It was Paschal who said 'all man's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone'. It's true. I was thoroughly tired of my poor inner self by then, and low in spirits. I was grateful for the good advice of one of the sisters the following morning, about God's delight in us, and desire to give us everything as a gift. I spent the last day enjoying some more human company in Brecon, glad of the smile of a passerby, the free sunshine, the welcome of an ancient place of worship which cost nothing. Learning that everything that is worth anything in life is free, and that we own too much and consume too much was both freeing and sobering.

St Francis in the herb garden outside Brecon Cathedral

Most precious of all was this revelation: I'd spent a couple of years wondering why it seemed God didn't speak very directly to me. Why does he appear silent so often? In spending hours looking at those Welsh hills, and walking in them, I realised with a shock that God had never stopped speaking. He is constant. He is there. It's just that life is too full, life is too noisy, we want quick results in ministry, we want God to jump to our tune. That's just not how it works. I left that place absolutely steeped in a quiet joy, in gratitude, and in the silence which was in fact full of God and full of creation. A silence full of speech.

At last a retreat where 'silence' did what it does best: bring us to the end of our own resources and reveal the normal default of God's abiding presence everywhere.

Pen y Fan: the view form Llannerchwen.