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Sermon for Mattins on the Third Sunday in Lent, 19th March 2017
Romans 5:1-11, John 4:5-42

What I want to talk about is a very famous passage, which we have had as our first lesson, from the fifth chapter of the letter of St Paul to the Romans.

‘Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ:

By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, …’

These are words which have inspired some of the greatest Christians in history, and have shaped our own understanding of the gospel. If you read article XI in the 39 Articles on page 616 of your Prayer Book, you will see that it is called, ‘Of the Justification of Man’. It says, 

‘We are accounted righteous before God only for the merit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ by faith and not for our own works or deservings: wherefore, that we are justified by faith only is a most wholesome doctrine.’

The quotation, that we are justified by faith ‘alone’ is a direct quotation from Martin Luther’s translation of Romans chapter 3 verse 28, where Luther introduced the word ‘alone’ , through faith alone, which is not in the Greek original and it is not in the King James Bible either. So I think we can infer that Thomas Cranmer, who wrote the 39 Articles, was familiar with the German translation of the Bible by Martin Luther.

So this passage brings us from just after the time of Christ, St Paul’s time, maybe 50 A.D., to Martin Luther and Thomas Cranmer in the early 1500s, when this idea of justification by faith was one of the key ideas in the Reformation, and then again it cropped up in the Evangelical revival in the early 1700s, when John Wesley was going to a Bible study meeting in Aldersgate Street on May 24, 1738, ‘When a person read Luther’s Preface to the Epistle to the Romans, which teaches what justifying faith is.’ Wesley said, ‘I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved to me from the law of sin and death’. Wesley subsequently described the experience as being tantamount to being born again. He referred to his spiritual rebirth: but it could also be described as a conversion experience. 

Indeed, John Wesley said, after he had felt his ‘heart strangely warmed’, that he had ‘not really been a Christian’ before then. That was a little bit surprising, given that he was already an ordained minister in the Church of England. With his brother Charles he even ran the so-called Holy Club in Oxford. So much for ‘not really being a Christian’ – but it does underline what a big experience Wesley felt he had had. And of course he and his brother went on to found the ‘people called Methodists’, the Methodist Church.

So much for history. What do these words really mean? What is ‘justification’? What is ‘faith’? What is the ‘grace’ referred to? What was all the fuss about in the Reformation? I expect that these are words which would not readily come to mind these days. On the other hand, Martin Luther, John Wesley, and certainly St Paul, had a different perspective. They were worried, seriously worried, about heaven and hell. Whether they would go up or go down. They were worried about God as the judge eternal. 

The word which is translated as ‘justification’ or sometimes, ‘righteousness’, has a flavour of the courtroom about it. Choosing the right, judging, deciding on the right course of action. So righteousness, being right, came also to mean being right, in a right relationship, with God. The idea was that, through man’s exercise of free will, after the fall, after Adam, mankind was imperfect, was not how God had created them to be. Would God condemn them to eternal damnation? 

Martin Luther found that the whole thing weighed down on him and caused him to become extremely depressed. He wrote that he hated that word, ‘righteousness of God’. ‘I felt I was a sinner before God with an extremely disturbed conscience … I did not love, yes, I hated the righteous God who punishes sinners.’

The Catholic church at the time preached that you could justify yourself at the Pearly Gates by having done lots of good works, and also by having obtained ‘indulgences’, which were permissions which the Church granted – on behalf of the Almighty – in return for payment. Indulgences were supposed to reduce the time which your soul would spend in Purgatory being purged of all its sins. Luther couldn’t find any justification in Scripture for those ideas; and then he lit upon the fifth chapter of Romans and the idea that we did not earn our salvation. There was nothing that we could give to God to earn his reconciliation, his pardon; but rather it was a free gift, grace; and all we had to do was to have faith.

Those of you who are church historians will know that Martin Luther is supposed to had this insight when he was on the loo. It is known in German as the tower experience – Das Turmerlebnis. The monastery where he lived had a toilet in a tower. Luther said that the idea, that the righteous shall live by faith alone, struck him, like a thunderbolt, in the monastery toilet. He is clearly the patron saint of all those of us who spend too long reading in the smallest room. 

The point was that having experienced the thunderbolt, Martin Luther was changed. In a sense, just like John Wesley after him, he felt he was reborn. I want to read you what Luther wrote in his Preface to the Epistle to the Romans, the passage that so affected John Wesley. Luther translated the New Testament into German, and added his own notes, introductions, to each book. Let me read you how Luther introduced the Letter to the Romans; and you might get a flavour of what he was getting at.

Faith, … is a divine work in us. It changes us and makes us to be born anew of God (John 1); it kills the old Adam and makes altogether different men, in heart and spirit and mind and powers, and brings with it the Holy Ghost. 

Oh, it is a living, busy, mighty thing, this faith; and so it is impossible for it not to do good works incessantly. It does not ask whether there are any good works to do, but before the question arises it has already done them, and is always at the doing of them. He who does not do these works is a faithless man. He gropes and looks about after faith and good works, and knows neither what faith is nor what good works are, though he talks and talks, with many words, about faith and good works.

Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that a man would stake his life on it a thousand times. This confidence in God’s grace and knowledge of it makes men glad and bold and happy in dealing with God and all His creatures; and this is the work of the Holy Ghost in faith. 

Hence a man is ready and glad, without compulsion, to do good to everyone, to serve everyone, to suffer everything, in love and praise to God, who has shown him this grace; and thus it is impossible to separate works from faith, quite as impossible as to separate heat and light from fire. 

It goes right away from the ancient heresy of Pelagius in the second century, that you have to do good works in order to earn your salvation. God has granted salvation, that is, the grace, to everyone who believes and trusts in him. It’s the fact of having received the grace, the assurance of your salvation, that evokes in you an irresistible urge to do good works, to express love for your neighbours.

Luther’s new idea was a dividing line between the Roman Catholics and the newly emerging Protestants. Does it make any difference to us today? As members of the Church of England, we straddle the line between Catholicism and Protestantism. Our church is not really one or the other. We broke away from the Roman Catholic Church because Henry VIII could not organise his marital affairs without clashing with the Pope. Henry in effect carried on with Catholicism but without the Pope. As king he became the “defender of the faith”, fidei defensor in Latin, which you will see on our coins as ‘F.D.’ or ‘Fid. Def.’ But we didn’t have the sale of indulgences or the doctrine of Purgatory any more. People didn’t build chanceries and chapels in which masses for the dead would be said, because people no longer believed that they could, in effect, buy themselves into the kingdom of heaven. 

What is this ‘grace’, though, if we are no longer worried about heaven and hell? We now tend to take rather a sceptical attitude towards what comes next when we die. We think that all those stories about St Peter at the Pearly Gates are more likely to be fanciful than not. Where does that leave us in relation to salvation, justification?

I think we are back to the woman of Samaria: ‘Give me this water that I thirst not’, Jesus having said to her, 

‘Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:

But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst;’ 

Our prayer must surely be the same as the Woman of Samaria’s: we need that water. And then our lives will be changed. Even staid respectable souls like us! There may not be a fear of hell and damnation – but how do we stand firm against populism, racism, xenophobia, Trump? We need God’s grace.

How does it work? How do we get it? Is it just a matter of luck, as it seems to have been with John Wesley? Just being in the right place at the right time, and in the right frame of mind? That was how Martin Luther thought it worked. He subscribed to a mystical text which came out in German in the fourteenth century, which Luther published with a preface of his own, in 1516, called the ‘Theologia deutsch’, the German theology, according to which a Christian should surrender his will utterly and completely, opening himself to the divine will and becoming possessed by the spirit of God, becoming vergöttlicht, ‘Godded-up’. 

The point about this is not that you can earn it, but you just have humbly to trust, to believe, to open your mind, to hope that eventually your prayers will be answered. What a good thing to do in this season of Lent!
Let us pray for Luther’s thunderbolt; let us pray for our hearts to be strangely warmed, like John Wesley’s. Then we will, truly, be justified by faith. 

Sermon for Evensong on the Third Sunday of Lent, 19th March 2017
Joshua 1:1-9, Ephesians 6:10-20 

In Lent we remember Jesus being tempted by the Devil for 40 days in the wilderness. Today we have a reading from St Paul’s letter to the Ephesians recommending that the Ephesians should metaphorically arm themselves to withstand ‘the wiles of the devil’, the devil, defined as ‘principalities, …[and] powers, … the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’

What is the devil, these days? Leave aside those pictures of Jesus with a horned figure on his shoulder in the desert. Principalities, and powers: it could be about Donald Trump, and Vladimir Putin, Gert Wilders, Marine Le Pen – and in some instances, even the ‘Brexiteers’. What is the ‘spiritual wickedness’ that we, the descendants of those rather sophisticated Ephesians, have to contend with? If we go through the kit which St Paul recommends that his Christian soldiers should put on, we may be able to identify the types of incoming fire that each bit of armour is designed to contend with.

Have ‘your loins girt about with truth’ is the first one. Truth is the first casualty in war, they say. But what about ‘alternative facts’, or the ‘post-truth environment’? What about powerful men saying things in public that are completely and demonstrably untrue? That President Obama got GCHQ to bug Trump Tower during the recent presidential election, for which no evidence has been offered? Or that a vote to leave the EU would immediately save £350m a week, which would be given to the NHS instead. Was that true?

The next one is the ‘breastplate of righteousness’. The word for ‘righteousness’ in the Bible means literally ‘justice’ in the sense of winning a court case. The Rule of Law: ‘be you ever so high, the law is above you’, as Lord Denning said. Human rights, fairness, the brotherhood of man. The Germany of Angela Merkel has spent €22bn on taking in, housing and looking after up to 1 million refugees. We, the UK, have baulked at taking more than 350 children from among those now roaming homeless in the Pas de Calais. The poor countries of Europe, Greece and Southern Italy, have mounted huge rescue operations and brought ashore to safety hundreds of thousands. Who is righteous? 

But we find that our Supreme Court judges, the successor to the Judicial Committee of the House of Lords, the highest court in the land, are called ‘Enemies of the People’ by some newspapers: and in the United States of America, a Federal Court judge who found that President Trump’s anti-immigration policy conflicted with the constitution and quashed it, found himself being referred to by the President as a ‘so-called judge’. Righteousness, justification, justice. All at peril in our new unenlightened world of Trump and Brexit.

I had tea and spent a happy evening earlier this week with my friends Bill and Hope from Hartford, Conn. They are retired clergy – and indeed I have on a couple of occasions preached in their churches in the USA. ‘What have you given up for Lent?’ we asked each other. Bill has had a wonderful idea. He has given up mentioning Donald Trump – at all – during Lent. Bill is already feeling the benefits. He’s calmer, happier, and can rely on words having their normal, natural meaning.

But I can’t stop thinking about it. Is there a common factor in these evils? Do they, taken together, add up to being the devil incarnate? Ingredients in the mix would include the current, increasing, nationalist, sometimes racist, impetus: hostility to facts and verifiable data: hostility towards supranational concepts of justice. Xenophobia and insularity channelling into inhospitable treatment of refugees and others in need. 

There is a common thread in all this – some commentators call it ‘populism’. This is a bleak philosophy, a mean-spirited outlook. I think it could simply be renamed ‘meanness’. ‘Unto him who hath it shall be added: but from him who hath not it shall be taken away – even what he hath.’ (Matt. 13:12). The meanest line in the Bible!

People are being blamed for being poor, and blamed for relying on benefits or food banks. They must be scroungers or cheats, say some of the newspapers. Someone recently complained to me that it was wrong that our food bank was asking people to donate cat food. I asked them how they would feel if they had fallen on hard times, but they had a pet. Would they let their cat or dog starve? 

‘Oh, I see’, they said: for the first time they realised that ‘poor people’ are not rubbish, but they are human beings just like them. All that the Good Samaritan saw, on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, was a man who had been hurt. He didn’t stop to think whether the injured man was someone who was entitled to be helped. The fact that he was a fellow human being was enough.

That is how it should be for food banks, and hospitals, and refugees. The Samaritan didn’t check whether he was overdrawn at the bank before paying the injured man’s hotel bill. He didn’t calculate whether it would stretch his resources to help the man. All that mattered was that he was hurt, that he was a fellow human being who needed help. 

We are the fifth richest country in the world. It is seriously evil to say, to people whose homes have been bombed, whose loved ones killed, who have literally nothing, that we ‘can’t afford’ to take them and care for them. That really is the devil at work. 

Just because it is written in elegant prose in a broadsheet newspaper, the Daily Telegraph or the Times – or at least in a middle-class tabloid, like the Daily Mail – it doesn’t make it any less evil. When these siren voices from comfortable warm offices, sounding so reasonable, encourage people to be mean towards those less fortunate than themselves, to put up barriers to keep the have-nots out, are they not the ‘rulers of darkness of this world’, are they not showing ‘spiritual wickedness in high places’?

The Jarrow marchers didn’t blame their hunger on other people, on ‘immigrants’. Something has changed in our world. What is wrong in going to another country to seek your fortune? Is it all right if you’re a Scotsman, or an Irishman, and you go to Dubai – but not if you’re a Romanian or a Pole coming to Lincolnshire? 

This is not right. St Paul asked that your ‘feet should be shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace’. St Paul said you should dare to stand up against this tide of prejudice and illiberality. You might need to take a bit of protection, because now populism has made it OK to be chauvinistic and racist, and the racists and xenophobes will try to bully people who stand out against them. Which is what we must do. Take the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit: you are a proper Christian, and you must not mind taking a hit or two for the truth.

Look at St Paul’s own position. He was writing this brave message, even though he himself was in prison. He was an ‘ambassador in bonds’. The least we can do, from our comfortable homes in Surrey, is to make our voices heard. If, for instance, Brexit means turning away people who need sanctuary and people who are willing to work hard to make a better living than they could at home, it is as false as Trump. Like St Paul, we may speak boldly: like St Paul, we ‘ought to speak’.

Amen. Let it be so.

Sermon for Evensong on 12 March 2017
Numbers 21:4-9; Luke 14:27-33 

How do you feel about kids’ rugby? On Sunday morning? Or, if it’s a nice day, popping in to church for the 8 o’clock service so that it leaves the rest of the day free? What about those churches which put on a special 4 o’clock service so that you can play sport or go to a match and still go to church later? The evening will still be free. Or what about that vexed question what the right time for Mattins should be? Is 11:30 too late: does it get in the way of making the gravy for your Sunday roast?

It’s a tough one, if you are a vicar and you have to organise your church’s schedule best for its ministry. What is going to appeal to the most people? What is going to put those bums on the seats? Maybe the answer is related to feeding people, literally as well as spiritually, for example in the way that the Alpha course does. They give you a meal as well as Bible study. But remember the poor old Israelites in the wilderness, complaining about the food; even the heavenly manna wasn’t much cop – it wasn’t very interesting. [Num.11:6] Maybe a nice meal isn’t it. 

We are great ones today for giving people choices. ‘One size fits all’, or Henry Ford’s ‘You can have any colour so long as it is black’, just won’t do today. Even 3,000 years ago, the Israelites were complaining to God, or at least to God’s representative, to Moses the prophet. ‘Wherefore have ye brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? for there is no bread, neither is there any water; and our soul loatheth this light bread.’ Loatheth it. It’s no good for you to just dump us here in the wilderness where the food is such rubbish! What’s the point? 

In Saint Luke’s Gospel it’s the other way round. God is not being spoken to, but he is Himself speaking to his people – Jesus, who is God, is talking to his disciples. He’s talking about relative values. The seemingly awful passage about hating one’s father and mother comes just before our lesson tonight. And then the rather odd-sounding stuff about building a tower or setting out with an army to make war: it seems to me as though the contrast is between almost reckless commitment, throwing oneself into discipleship even at the expense of your love for your family, on the one hand, and preparing accurate bills of quantities before undertaking a building project, or detailed strategic calculations of the forces required to win a battle. 

In the Gulf War the US Army devised a strategy of a need for overwhelming force, called ‘Shock and Awe’, as a prerequisite for action: Jesus’ hypothetical leader planning to take on 20,000 men, with a army of half this number, would not have satisfied US Army rules. It all adds up to your commitment to become Jesus’ disciple being very carefully weighed up – but, if you accept the call, nothing, absolutely nothing, will come before your loyalty to Jesus. 

Compare it with becoming a vicar in the Church of England today. First you have months of regular meetings with the Diocesan Director of Ordinands, who delicately and tactfully teases out of you the level of your commitment; then you go off for a country house party, called a Bishop’s Advisory Panel, for three days – rather similar to what the Diplomatic Service used to inflict on their candidates. 

Then at last – you don’t get ordained: you need two or three years of academic training first. It’s not quite ‘hating your father and mother’, but it has a flavour of the same absolute dedication.

But wait a minute: supposing you say, I’m just a member of the congregation. I do have a life to run. I may indeed have to fit church in around rugby training. Does that mean that I’m no good as a Christian? Surely not. Well truly, we don’t know; we don’t know whether Jesus would have accepted a rather less keen category of Christians. We hope so.

Maybe there’s a distinction to be drawn between full-on disciples, people who had given up all their creature comforts, left family and friends and followed Him on the one hand, and people like the five thousand, or four thousand, who did love the Lord and did follow Him, but who still took their kids to rugby training.

Another thing is this. Let’s say you do get it, you do realise that being a Christian is more than just going to a show in church each week. You do recognise what Jesus is: God, the Son of God, ‘almighty, invisible, God only wise’. What is Jesus commanding us to do in response? Is it just making sure you go to church? 

Have a look at Paul’s letter to the Galatians, chapter 5:22, ‘ …the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, … 25 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.’ ‘Walking in’ means doing; let us ‘do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in.’ [Communion Service, Common Worship Order Two/BCP 1928]. That means doing good works.  

The thing is, have you been ‘saved’? Are you ‘in the Spirit’, as St Paul put it? You hear people talking about Jesus dying ‘for our salvation’. How does it work? He died, we are told, in order that we ‘might have eternal life’. How would I explain that to someone who refused to believe it? After all, we do all actually die eventually, whether we’re Christians or not.

This is the heart of the Easter story. It is a demonstration, a revelation, that God exists, and that He cares for us. ‘Greater love hath no man, than that he lay down his life for his friends’ (John 15:13), is part of it. Jesus was condemned to death for no reason. Pilate could find no crime that He was guilty of. I suppose you could argue that the Jews saw the Christians as a challenge to them. They wanted to rub them out. They could have rounded up Jesus’ followers and had them all killed. 

The Romans could have bought into this as a way of combatting ‘terrorism’. At least one Disciple, Simon the Zealot, was a member of a militant sect opposed to Roman rule. But Jesus was willing to accept the ultimate punishment on behalf of, instead of, all of them. Think of Father Maximilian Kolbe, the monk who volunteered to be starved to death in Auschwitz in place of a man with a family who had been singled out by the Nazis. He died so that the other man could live.

Jesus died in place of sinful mankind. As St Paul put it in Romans 5:6-11, (NEB)
“6 … Christ died for the wicked. 7 Even for a just man one of us would hardly die, though perhaps for a good man one might actually brave death; 8 but Christ died for us while we were yet sinners, and that is God’s own proof of his love towards us. 9 And so, since we have now been justified by Christ’s sacrificial death, we shall all the more certainly be saved through him from final retribution. 10 For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life!”

All through the Old Testament there is the theme of man’s rebellion against God. ‘Sin’ means, being separated from God. Worshipping other gods, complaining against God’s prophets, (as we saw in our first lesson), and catalogues of debauchery, violence and immorality – breaking, or just ignoring, the Ten Commandments. God the Creator could surely have cast His creation adrift, torn it up and started again. Astronomers and physicists tell us that there are countless other ‘worlds’ beside ours. Maybe God has created better ones, where there is no war, no hunger or oppression. 

But the Israelites, maybe just the ‘remnant’, the ones who didn’t give up on God, expected that eventually they would be saved. Look at Isaiah 49, 
“Thus saith the LORD, In an acceptable time have I heard thee, and in a day of salvation have I helped thee: and I will preserve thee, and give thee for a covenant of the people, to establish the earth, to cause to inherit the desolate heritages”.

I am uneasy about an understanding of Christ’s death which sees it as a buying-off of God’s wrath. Christians have always used that language; in the Comfortable Words, “He is the propitiation for our sins”. ‘Propitiation’ (ίλασμον) is sometimes translated as the “atoning sacrifice”. But would a loving God be so cruel?

It is certainly true that, as between Jesus and ordinary mankind, Jesus could not be blamed, did not deserve any punishment: whereas ordinary mankind certainly were guilty of all sorts of sins. Although today we probably might be reluctant to say they ‘deserved to die’ for their sins: after all, humans were made that way. 

But what we can say is that, whatever the whys and wherefores of Jesus’ death, his Resurrection is the point at which we can see God at work. If Jesus was a typical human, in one sense, if he entered into our humanity – and died – then by being raised again He changed the game entirely. An awful lot hangs on this. If the Resurrection was just a ‘conjuring trick with bones’, as someone once put it, misquoting Rt Revd David Jenkins, [see https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Jenkins_(bishop)%5D then the Sunday rugby crowd can sleep easy and continue to ignore what goes on in church. But if not?

If not. What if you do get it, what if you are ‘in Christ’? That needs even more thought, as we approach Easter. If you can get beyond Sunday rugby, what then? Is going to church the whole story? We can all think of people, in politics or other leadership roles, who are quite happy to be known for going to church, but who still do things which certainly don’t look very Christian. Think of all the nice churchgoing MPs who voted to bring the Dubs scheme for welcoming refugee children to an end, when only about 300 children had been saved, instead of the 3,000 originally promised. Is that like Sunday rugby – you know, you’ve just got to be ‘practical’?

Is that it? But what, what if it is true?

Like many 65-year-olds, I was rattling round the house that our family had grown up in, with my two Bengal cats, Poppadum and Tikka Masala. First my Mrs had traded me in for a new model, a year after I took early retirement. Then my lovely daughters left for medical school and, for one, marriage and a delightful first grandson for me! Just me and the cats left.

First the bad, then the good news: they all left, but I’m still rattling around this big old house. The cats are still here – and they get to go where they used not to be allowed ….

But what are the young ones who work around here doing? They could be living at Mum and Dad’s Hotel, of course: but what if the aged parents have decamped to Marbella? There aren’t many cheap flats around in this part of Surrey.

Then I heard about Step-by-Step (https://www.stepbystep.org.uk/) Their ‘supported lodgings’ scheme matches young people who need places to live with people who have a spare room which they’re prepared to share. It’s not a formal letting; one is simply taking a lodger. If it doesn’t work out, you’re in charge and can gently kick them out.

It’s a great idea. I thought I’d forgotten about teenagers – but now I’ve got a fine one in one of my spare bedrooms. He moves in mysterious ways: gets up mid-afternoon and then works night shifts for a bit. Then he just sleeps. He feeds on pizza except when I press a steak on him. Despite all that, he’s fine company. He even feeds the cats when I go off to visit my daughters. Result! Much better than talking to myself, or occasionally to the (lovely) cats …

Sermon for Mattins at Sexagesima, 19 February 2017

Romans 8:18-25, Matthew 6:25-34

‘Don’t worry: be happy’. I think I remember a pop song along those lines. You might think that it sums up the idea in both our Bible lessons today. St Paul: ‘For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us’ and Jesus himself in St Matthew’s Gospel: ‘Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? … [and] Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’

Actually I think those are rather challenging passages today. Why wouldn’t we be worried? Why shouldn’t we ‘take thought for the morrow’? What with Trump and Brexit and the rise of ‘populist’ politics around the world – which some commentators have likened in many ways to Nazism – how can we not worry?

This last week, the Church of England did its own collective bit of worrying, when its governing body, its parliament, the General Synod, met. 

On Wednesday, I watched the General Synod live stream from Church House, Westminster. It was the debate on the bishops’ report on their shared conversations concerning sexuality. In particular the report was about the church’s attitude to homosexuality: whether there could be marriages of homosexuals in church, and how to deal with homosexual clergy.

Would it be possible for the church to regard homosexuality as not being sinful? Could gay clergy in active relationships be accepted in the church? Could gay unions be blessed in marriage ceremonies in church just like heterosexual couples? The report is 17 pages long but you can sum up the main conclusions in a couple of sentences. The bishops did not see any reason to change the church’s traditional understanding of marriage, i.e. a lifelong union between a man and woman, not gays. Instead they wanted to demonstrate the church’s willingness to welcome gays by developing new teaching material and seeking ‘maximum freedom’ in pastoral matters.

The motion was for this report simply to be ‘noted’, which seemed rather odd. The Synod was asked not to express approval or disapproval of the report, but rather simply to note that the bishops had been doing this work – as they had, for the last three years – so that they could continue with it. People clearly didn’t buy that explanation. The intended sense, I think, was that the subcommittee of bishops (it wasn’t all of them) wanted Synod to ‘take note’ of their work in the sense of seeing the way the subcommittee’s thoughts were developing, and indicating thereby that they were content for them to carry on along the same lines.

If that was the intention, it didn’t work. Speaker after speaker in the debate said that the trouble with the bishops’ report was that it looked to normal people in the outside world like homophobia and a justification for it. There was only one speaker who actually said that homosexuality was sinful, although, as Christians, she said, we should still be nice to the sinful homosexuals.

There was a lot of talk about how people in the various moderated discussions had changed their views, although I have to say that eventually in the report, nothing seems to have changed since the last major church report on sexuality in 1991. 

One younger delegate, Lucy Gorman, from York diocese, said very simply that it was difficult to attract young people into the church and get them to listen to the gospel of Jesus, in circumstances where they perceived that the church was institutionally homophobic and did not seem to reflect Jesus’s commandments of love. 

Various people, including some of the bishops themselves, stated that the problem was that the church is seemingly irreconcilably divided. 

On the one side, so-called traditionalists or conservative evangelicals argue that Scripture and tradition uphold the proposition that marriage is only possible between a man and a woman, and any other possible combination of sexes is sinful. It is however possible, they say, to love the sinner and hate the sin. 

On the other side are liberals who argue that all the supposed biblical authorities for the proposition that any kind of homosexual love is sinful are either to be understood within the social context of the time or can be accommodated within a liberal theological understanding. The more important thing is that a loving union should be blessed and upheld.

I’ve got a feeling that there ought to be a health warning about the use of the various terms to describe the parties like ‘evangelical’ or ‘liberal’, as it tends to make people behave in tribal ways rather than being rational in their analysis. So I would ask you today not to get hung up on the labels which I’m using. It might be better if I simply said that the yellow camp believed so-and-so, and the green camp believed so-and-so else. Try to identify them by what they believe rather than by their colours!

Many speakers told how the church’s current position is hurtful to many people, both ordained and lay. Faithful people with many years of membership of the church mentioned how hurtful it was to be told that you were sinful, and there was even a story of one teenager who committed suicide because, recognising that they were gay, they believed that the church would never accept them.

The bishops’ paper was couched in terms that people were being influenced by the standards of society today, and that in some sense immutable truths of Biblical teaching were in some sense being overturned or or challenged for the sake of earthly values; in other words, ‘It doesn’t matter if everyone else in England thinks I’m wrong, if I can find a biblical authority for what I believe.’ 

At the beginning and end of the debate the Bishop of Norwich, Graham James, spoke. In his introduction he said one thing which nobody else in the debate picked up, but which I think could be a key to an amicable and just resolution of the controversy. 

What Bishop Graham James said was that, since the Church’s last document, which came out in 1991, called ‘Issues in Human Sexuality’, insufficient attention has been given by the Church to scientific and medical understanding as it has developed concerning homosexual couples. 

My perception is that the scientific research concerning homosexuality can be summed up in two simple propositions. Whether one is a heterosexual, homosexual, transgender, or bisexual is not a question of volition but of genetic inheritance; you don’t choose, but you are born that way. The second proposition is that it is possible to understand maleness and femaleness against a spectrum of sexual orientation rather than according to a hard and fast duality. 

To put it another way it is not simply a question of whether people are physically male or female, that is, all-male or all-female, but it is possible that in many instances people may exhibit sexual characteristics which come from both the male and the female side which do not match their physical make-up. You can be physically male with many female attributes, for example.

All the Biblical authorities, it is said, reflect a basic proposition that marriage requires the union of a man and woman. I suggest that it might be better, in the light of the advances in science, if we talked not of ‘a man’ and ‘a woman’, but rather, of a husband and a wife, male and female parties to a union.

I wonder whether a possible area for further discussion which might be fruitful is as follows. Because of the infinitely graded spectrum of sexual orientation, one finds gay couples referring to each other, one as the husband and the other as the wife. Even though, physiologically, they may both be male or female, as between themselves, one is treated as male and the other is treated as female. I think that if ‘male’ and ‘female’ are understood in that way, behaviourally, one might say, rather than physiologically, then one can accept the Biblical and Prayer Book terms without having to explain them away.

I don’t think it can be right that God created some people in such a way that they are flawed, sinful. Indeed use of the word ‘sin’ has a connotation of behaviour, bad behaviour, the sort of thing which separates us from God. I cannot see how it can be sinful for someone to behave according to the way they were made.  

I wonder whether one could also bring in St Paul here. Chapter 8 of his letter to the Romans contains some of his most famous passages. In our lesson, we have heard the perhaps rather puzzling passage, 

‘For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.

And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.’ (Romans 8:22-23) 

The ‘firstfruits of the Spirit’ on the one hand, and ‘the redemption of the body’ on the other. It is one of St Paul’s key ideas, the distinction between the body and the spirit. It is reminiscent of the Platonic concept of ‘forms’ – in Greek τα είδη , ideas. Plato distinguished physical objects, like tables, say, from the ‘idea’ of tables; what it is to be a table.  

I wonder whether one could align ‘the body’ in St Paul with the physiological man, or woman: and the ‘spirit’ could reflect the behavioural aspect, the being a husband, or being a wife. On the one hand, the physical human being; and on the other, that they are a husband, or a wife. And what it is to be a husband, how we understand what it is to be a husband, or a wife, doesn’t necessarily coincide with their physiology. 

It can’t involve sin. Look what St Paul himself says, at the end of this great chapter:
‘For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,

Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’

Well, you might say that the Church of England is still miles away from any understanding along the lines I’ve just suggested. But the heartening thing, as I see it, is that the Synod didn’t vote to ‘take note’. I think they saw through the rather artificial way it was being considered. Not by very much, but nevertheless by a majority (except among the bishops), the Synod didn’t ‘take note’ of the report – it meant, they didn’t want anything to do with it. The Church needs to do better, they said.

I say ‘Amen’ to that.

Sermon for the third Sunday before Lent, 12 February 2017

1 Corinthians 3:1-9, Matthew 5:21-37

‘I am for Paul, … I am for Apollos.’ Sometimes people ‘cast nasturtiums’ (as somebody once said) in the direction of Christians who have a different theology, a different way of ‘doing words about God’, literally. Sometimes I think I have heard those ‘nasturtiums’ aimed at those who call themselves Evangelicals. 

This morning I want to try to give you an example of how these debates can arise, so that perhaps you can think a bit about the principles involved so that, as St Paul says, whoever you think Apollos and Paul are, in our debates, they are simply God’s agents in bringing us to faith. 

You will notice that Paul does not say that Apollos or Paul are right or wrong; that one is right and one is wrong; he simply says that both are working for the same objective. He gives a picturesque example of two gardeners, one planting the seed and the other watering it, but nothing happening until God makes the flowers grow. (I’m not sure whether those flowers were nasturtiums …)

Of course so much of what we say about God has of necessity to be rather tentative. As St Paul himself puts it, we see ‘as through a glass, darkly’ [1 Corinthians 13]. We have our limitations in understanding the greatness, the ineffability, of God: but that does not make him in any way less real.

That said, I’m not going to say very much about the other great piece of teaching which we have heard in the Bible lessons today, that is, Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount: partly because everyone here more or less knows it by heart, and partly because the lesson that I want to draw from it today is a simple one. That is, that the Sermon on the Mount has, and indeed a lot of Jesus’ teaching has, a contrarian flavour. 

One commentator has described it as ‘a whole new way of looking at human behaviour, …. which is totally at odds with what is normally thought reasonable.’ (Brendan Byrne, Lifting the Burden: Reading Matthew’s Gospel in the Church today – quoted in ‘The Measure of Perfection’, by Bridget Nichols, Church Times, 10th February 2017, p.17). 

Totally at odds with what is normally thought reasonable. In other words, if you had been around with the disciples or in the crowds listening to Jesus, you might well have thought that what he was saying was not really very sensible. Turning the other cheek, and going the extra mile, loving your enemy and, in this part of the Sermon, the so-called ‘St Matthew’s exception’ to the rules of divorce. Jesus apparently said that it is all right for a man to divorce his wife for reasons of – the Greek word is πορνεια – the same word which we still have, ‘porn’, sometimes translated as unchastity or adultery.

Certainly today we would have a lot of difficulty literally carrying out what Jesus appears to be teaching. In any case it is teaching which is couched in the society of 2000 years ago; very male dominated; only the man has the right to start divorce proceedings, for example; only the woman can be guilty of adultery. But there are no references to the principles which we bring to bear in dealing with marriage breakdown. Sometimes there is more hurt involved in keeping people together than allowing them to separate. Jesus does not say anything at all about what happens to the children in a divorce. We might go as far as to say that what Jesus says is, in the commentator’s words, ‘at odds with what is normally thought to be reasonable’. 

Well I don’t actually want to go into that today except to point out the fact that what Jesus teaches often may not look very practical, but it is all brought into focus in his great commandments of love, to love God and love your neighbour. 

Sometimes, however, these things end up in a way which we would never expect – and frankly in a not very good way, so that I think it is quite fair for us, when we are doing theology, when we are doing our ‘God talk’, to go back and look critically at some of the principles which we may have thought were correct in understanding God, because after all they seem to lead to consequences which ultimately don’t reflect those commandments of love. 

‘Okay, my brain hurts!’ you might say. ‘This is all rather too theoretical’. Let’s look at something specific, to illustrate what I am going on about. I think most of us will have been rather moved, and perhaps saddened, by what Bishop Andrew has had to say about having suffered abuse at the hands of an ostensibly Christian leader at a summer camp he attended when he was a teenager. The Archbishop of Canterbury has also talked about these same camps, although he did not suffer any abuse. Poor Bishop Andrew has told us that he was beaten, caned, by one of the leaders, a man called John Smyth, who is currently living in South Africa. 

Apparently the summer camps involved a lot of beatings in a garden shed. And indeed the camps were set up by a man whose nickname was ‘Bash’. They seem to have been inspired by the idea of so-called ‘muscular Christianity’, which seems to have arisen in Victorian times, possibly as a reaction against the rather romantic and perhaps somewhat effete ideas of the Anglo-Catholic revival, the Tractarians, the so-called Oxford Movement: John Henry Newman, Pusey, Keble, Froude and the others, mostly gathered in the senior common room at Oriel College Oxford. 

We all used to laugh at Billy Bunter – ‘six of the best’ were always administered at some stage or another all in all the stories. ‘Tom Brown’s Schooldays’ painted a picture of Rugby School where there was an awful lot of ‘six of the best’. Underpinning all this was the idea that it was conducive to spiritual improvement to undergo physical suffering, especially vicarious suffering, instead of or on behalf of somebody else. 

This was regarded as having a religious significance. It is bound up with the idea of sacrifice. People pointed to Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac his son: to the suffering in Isaiah chapter 53, ‘He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities… and with his stripes we are healed.’ Think of the aria in Handel’s Messiah, 

‘He was despised and rejected of men, 

A man of sorrow and acquainted with grief..’

The word ‘stripes’ in this means ‘beatings’, lashes. Of course there are all these references in the epistles in the New Testament – 1 Corinthians 15, for example, ‘Christ died for our sins’: Hebrews chapter 5, ‘Even though Jesus was God’s son, he learned obedience from the things he suffered’: Hebrews chapter 9, ‘Christ died once for all as a sacrifice to take away the sins of the people’. 1 Peter chapter 2, ‘By his wounds you are healed.’

The idea is what is called ‘substitutionary atonement’, or ‘penal substitution’. It is one of the things that distinguishes the theology of the Evangelicals in Christianity. You might have thought, from some of the things that have been affectionately said in the past, that these dreaded Evangelicals were distinguished by their colourful behaviour in church, waving their arms around, and by their ability to conjure up guitars in inappropriate places in the service: but really a much more important difference is their belief in this idea of substitutionary atonement. ‘Greater love hath no man…’, and so on. 

The idea is that, through Jesus’ suffering, we are made right with God, justified: that we have been brought back like a lost sheep, and this has been made possible because one of the other sheep has been hurt, even though it did not deserve to be. It was the Lamb of God, the scapegoat. It is a very old Jewish idea, from the Book of Leviticus, chapter 16, celebrated even today in the Day of Atonement in Judaism.  

As Giles Fraser has pointed out in a recent article [http://tinyurl.com/jrncff8], the muscular Christians of the Victorian age, and indeed more recently in ‘Bash’s’ camps and in the public schools until very recently, the idea was that regular beatings were character-forming. 

It may be that some of you have suffered this, and your determination not to show weakness, to be brave in the face of what is, frankly, bestial behaviour and cruelty, you might say has made you a better person. 

But I think, although we admire the bravery of people who have suffered, we know better. I think that it is at least arguable that it is a very odd picture of God, that he would countenance the causing of terrible hurt and pain intentionally. Not only that, but that he would intentionally inflict that pain and suffering on his own son. 

This is surely not the picture of a loving God. Liberal theologians, like the great John Macquarrie, once upon a time Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity and Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, for example, reject the idea of substitutionary atonement, because, when you follow the idea to its logical conclusion, the pain would seem to be the product of a God of hate rather than of a God of love. [See John Macquarrie, 1966, Principles of Christian Theology, revised 1977, 5th impression 1984: London, SCM Press, p.315]

In so many ways we realise that God is not a god of hate or a God who wishes to cause hurt – ‘They shall not hurt and destroy on God’s holy mountain’, a vision of heaven, in Isaiah again. We have to have a better understanding of God than ‘six of the best’ for Billy Bunter; except that it is not a laughing matter, as poor Bishop Andrew so bravely pointed out.

The Foodbank is an independent charity, registered in England and Wales no 1154217, founded in 2013 by Churches Together in Cobham, Oxshott, Stoke D’Abernon and Surrounding Areas.

The Foodbank subscribes to the national network of over 400 food banks co-ordinated and advised by the Trussell Trust, a Christian charity in Salisbury. Trussell has devised, and Cobham Area Foodbank follows, a system whereby people who find themselves without the wherewithal to buy food, for whatever reason, can obtain a food voucher from a voucher issuer, who may be a school welfare officer, a Jobcentre, a housing benefit officer, a minister of religion or other professional, who will be able to verify the need expressed. The voucher details the number and ages of people to receive food, and records the reason why their need has arisen. These details are fed into a national Trussell Trust database.

The Foodbank has collection bins in all the local churches and some other premises including Waitrose, Starbucks and Sainsbury’s, and it invites donations of non-perishable food, which are collected in the Foodbank van (pictured) and taken to the Foodbank warehouse at Brook Willow Farm, Leatherhead, where it is weighed and sorted by types and best-before dates. The Foodbank does not distribute fresh or out-of-date food.

 

Every Friday morning the van collects sufficient food for the week’s distribution, which takes place in the Foodbank’s ‘pop-up café’ at Cobham Methodist Church, open from midday to 1.30pm. In the last year we have distributed on average 1/3 tonne of food per week, providing food for 960 adults and 732 children – an average of 32 people per week. We are noticing an increase in numbers – around Christmas there were weeks where we provided food for between 60 and 70 people, and distributed over 1/2 tonne of food.
All the clients live locally, in Cobham, Oxshott, Stoke D’Abernon, or Downside. The area served by the Foodbank has been extended in the last year also to include East and West Horsley, Ockham and Effingham. St Martin’s, East Horsley, Horsley Evangelical Church, Effingham Methodist Church, and Posh Wash dry cleaners are all now collecting food.
Where people for whatever reason cannot come to our distribution centre, we deliver their food at home. The volunteers who serve in the distribution centre and those who do home deliveries all undergo special training in order that they treat clients appropriately, warmly and with respect.
The governing principles are ‘there but for the grace of God go I’, and Jesus’ great second commandment, to love thy neighbour as thyself. The Foodbank does not judge or advise its clients in any way, save only that there is a display of ‘signposts’ to various forms of advice and assistance.
The Foodbank does not impose any limit to the number of food parcels any client can receive. The only criterion is need. Particularly where many clients are working, but in low-paid and uncertain jobs, living in privately rented accommodation where rents rise but housing benefits have been cut or capped, (or are otherwise harmed by government austerity, as graphically shown by the recent award-winning film ‘I, Daniel Blake’), the Foodbank trustees consider that ideas of reducing ‘dependency’ are usually cruel and to be avoided. Most Foodbank clients have no chance of getting themselves out of poverty.
There are around 60 active volunteers working in the Foodbank, in transport (drivers and mates), warehouse and the distribution centre. There are no paid employees. The Foodbank is administered by a General Manager, Hugh Bryant, who also manages transport and is assisted by a volunteer coordinator and distribution manager, Christina Van Roest, and a warehouse manager, Jane Olsen. Hugh reports to a board of trustees chaired by Revd Godfrey Hilliard, including Hugh, Christina, Peter Wall and the treasurer, Claire Smith.
The Foodbank is most grateful for the support it receives financially from the churches, from various grants and generous individuals. It needs around £15,000 per year in order to meet its costs for warehouse rental, hire purchase and depreciation of the van, insurances and periodic needs to purchase food, where donations have not provided items needed in order to provide nutritionally-balanced food parcels. Bank details and a Gift Aid form may be found on the website http://www.cobhamarea.foodbank.org.uk.
Hugh D. Bryant

 

 

9th February 2017

Sermon for Evensong on the fourth Sunday before Lent, 5th February 2017, at St Mary’s, Stoke D’Abernon
Amos 2: 4 -16, Ephesians 4:17–32

Beloved. That’s how Bishop Richard Chartres, who is just retiring as Bishop of London after 21 years, starts his sermons. I have just been to a marvellous Eucharist for Candlemas this Thursday evening at St Paul’s Cathedral, when the cathedral was completely full, with several thousand people inside and a ‘pop-up cathedral’ with many more, outside in Paternoster Square.

At this service of Holy Communion, Bishop Richard celebrated and preached his last sermon as Bishop. Anyone who tells you that the Church of England is declining and falling apart should just have been at that wonderful service, which was full of spirituality, vitality, beautiful music and inspiration. Signs of decline? Not there! Not at St Paul’s this Candlemas!

It was a wonderful antidote to the constant chorus of gloomy news about President Trump and Brexit. Bishop Richard cuts a most imposing figure and when, in his beautiful red robes, with his mitre and crozier, he brought up the rear of the long procession of clergy and dignitaries, other bishops and representatives of all the other churches, I did think that there, there indeed was a real bishop, a bishop-and-a-half, you might say.

Before I went to Bishop Richard’s Candlemas Eucharist, I was a bit afraid that tonight I was going to have to do rather a gloomy sermon about the tough message that the prophet Amos was giving to Israel about 730 BC about all the things that they had done wrong:

‘… they sold the righteous for silver, and the poor for a pair of shoes; that pant after the dust of the earth on the head of the poor,’ – the last bit of which is rather opaque, but which I think means that they grind the faces of the poor into the dust – ‘and turn aside the way of the meek’. It sounds a bit like our consumer society today, where people know the price of everything but the value of nothing, and some of the newspapers are always very scathing about poor people. Fortunately, however scornful they are, they don’t stop hungry people from coming to our food bank.

But actually I got diverted by what Bishop Richard preached about the Nunc Dimittis – ‘Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace’; it was a very appropriate text, as this was Bishop Richard’s last sermon as Bishop: he is departing in peace. ‘Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace’. Bishop Richard preferred those traditional words to the more modern translation, ‘Now you are letting your servant depart’, which, he said, he thought sounded like a ‘divine sacking’ (http://bishopoflondon.org/sermons/master-now-you-are-dismissing-your-servant/), whereas, he said, he was still looking forward, looking forward to great things in future, ‘To be a light to lighten the Gentiles: and to be the glory of thy people Israel’.

Bishop Richard has been a very successful Bishop of London. Numbers of people belonging to the various churches in the diocese have increased considerably – by nearly 50%, and he has succeeded in keeping together in the diocese a wide variety of different styles and types of churches, all belonging to the Church of England, from Anglo-Catholics to charismatic evangelicals. In effect he has managed to accommodate a diocese-within-a-diocese, in the form of the Holy Trinity Brompton and Alpha ministries, with their extensive church planting activities. He told us that one of his last tasks would be to license a Chinese minister to lead a new congregation of Chinese people at St Michael’s, Cornhill, in the City. He has the knack of being at home in all sorts of contexts, but he never stops being the Bishop.

In the Christian tradition, before the bishops came the apostles, among them the apostle for the Gentiles, the apostle for us, St Paul. St Paul was in prison in Rome when he wrote his Letter to the Ephesians, that cosmopolitan city where he had met with opposition from Demetrius the silversmith who made statues of the Greek god Artemis, Diana: ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians’, they had shouted.

Paul didn’t want the Ephesians to descend to the depths of depravity which the prophets had decried in the Israelites of old. He used this famous figure of speech, about how Christians should ‘put on the new man’, as though being a Christian was like putting a best suit on. If you wore that suit, you should:
Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. [Eph. 4:31f]

In the Letter to the Ephesians there’s also a sort of version of the Ten Commandments, where Paul takes the place of the prophet. What is the message of all this for us? Does it still work to put on the Christian suit?

I started out, in this sermon, with a sly nod towards all the news and controversy, which the election of Mr Trump in the USA, and the Brexit stuff here, has been creating. What should a Christian think and say about these issues in our life today?

When the President of the USA comes out with ‘executive orders’, seemingly without any checks and balances, one of which arbitrarily bans entry to Moslems from some, but not all, Moslem countries: or when our government seems to have adopted a view of life outside the EU which places more weight on cutting immigration than preserving our access to the single market; as a country, we are terribly divided and confused. What would Jesus have done?

I think that he might well have agreed with St Paul – and Bishop Richard – that we must go forward, putting on the ‘new man’. For St Paul’s idea is that God, in Christ, has created a completely new social order.

In Galatians [3:27-28] he wrote,

‘For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.’
There it is again – the Christian suit. Put it on.
‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’

 

You are all one.

 

‘Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace’. There have been a lot of departures, recently. Not only Bishop Richard, but also our own Rector, Robert Jenkins, going, and soon Folli Olokose will have to go off to another parish – we hope, as their vicar. And the vacancies for Bishop of Dorking and Vicar of Oxshott have only just been filled.

Soon a team will have to set to in order to draft a ‘Parish Profile’ for St Andrew’s. It should really have a section in it about St Mary’s – and it probably will have one, because we are a ‘united benefice’ – but really the job is at St Andrew’s. What will our fellow church in the benefice be like, with its new vicar? What will we at St Mary’s be like, alongside them?

This is where the people in each church need to have a look at what St Paul is saying in his Letter to the Ephesians: because this letter, more than any other part of the Bible, deals with the building up of a church. Fundamental to that is the abolition of boundaries and divisions. There is room for everyone.

Bishop Richard ended his sermon by adapting the Te Deum, from Mattins. He said, ‘May God bless each and every one of you; the glorious company of my fellow priests; the goodly fellowship of Churchwardens, Readers, Lay Workers, Youth Ministers, Faithful Worshippers, and the noble army of Pioneers in Paternoster Square’.

I think that is a wonderful image. There’s room in the church for a glorious company, for a goodly fellowship, indeed for a noble army; room for all those different people; and they will all do their jobs differently: and so each church is a bit different too, as we all feel that different things are important in bringing the best of ourselves in worship to God. But at bottom, we are all one.

And Trump? So, yes, also in the world outside the church, and by the same token: Trump’s immigration ban is wrong, and Brexit, if it is anti-immigrant, is wrong. ‘For [we] are all one in Christ Jesus.’ All one. Beloved.

Text of letter to Dominic Raab MP through Avaaz, 1 February 2017

Dear Mr Raab,

You and I have already corresponded about your failure to represent your constituents’ 60-40 majority against Brexit. Even if, which I do not accept, you are able to get away with your unrepresentative position, I understand that you say you have a proper care for the best interests of your constituents. 

I would therefore urge you to support the giving of a vote in Parliament to approve or disapprove the Brexit settlement which HM Government says they will have negotiated, before any notice under Article 50 is given.

Further, I would ask that, until or unless terms are obtained which either retain our membership of the single market and customs union, or provide equal trade benefits, consisting in the absence of tariffs, which membership of the EU provides, you do not vote in favour of steps to leave the EU, as, unless such terms are obtained, leaving the EU would be catastrophic for our economy – and particularly the economy of the City of London, where many of your constituents earn their living.

I do not believe that a majority of those who voted nationally to leave the EU voted for us to leave the single market and customs union. The choice on the ballot paper was simply to advise Parliament of a wish to leave the EU or not: nothing else. Mrs May’s stated wish to interpret the vote as a vote for more restricted immigration, even if this necessarily implies leaving the single market and customs union, is not something for which any democratic sanction can reliably be claimed. Given that catastrophic harm to our economy would be caused by such a ‘hard Brexit’, I call on you for once to listen to your constituents and vote in accordance with their wishes, at least insofar as the need to stay in the single market and customs union is concerned.

Hugh Bryant

___ 
Note: Your constituent Hugh Bryant sent you this message as part of an Avaaz campaign to ensure citizens and MPs have their say on the final Brexit deal. 

Sermon for the third Sunday of Epiphany at St Mary’s 22nd January 2017 

1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Matthew 4:12-23 

When President Trump took the oath of allegiance on Friday, according to the report on the radio, he had his tiny hand on two Bibles, one of which was the one which Abraham Lincoln used, and the other was one which his mother had given him. It makes you think that the Bible must mean something to the new president. 

Using two Bibles in this way reminds me of a story which I heard about a rich old man who had two Rolls Royces. Somebody once asked him why he needed two. He wasn’t a car collector. However, he said, he felt better having two, just in case one broke down. So perhaps Donald Trump needs two Bibles, just in case one breaks down. 

‘Wait a minute’, you will say. One of the things about the Bible is that it is utterly reliable. It’s even better than a Rolls-Royce. It doesn’t break down. All you need in life is holy scripture, ‘sola scriptura’, only scripture, in Latin. But different churches say different things here. There are, perhaps, some differences of emphasis.

Today is the Sunday in the middle of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. I must confess that my heart does sink a little bit when I realise that I have to try to say something useful and enlightening about the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, especially when we have a lesson like the one which we had today from St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. St Paul ticks them off. ‘… each of you says, ‘I belong to Paul’, or ‘I belong to Apollos’, or ‘I belong to Cephas’, or ‘I belong to Christ.’ St Paul says, Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptised in the name of Paul?’

Poor old Corinthians. They are always getting ticked off by St Paul. It’s one of those points where I have to say – and I think some of you will agree with me – that I feel rather sympathetic to those Corinthians. Why am I an Anglican? Why is somebody else a Methodist? Or for a Wee Free? A Baptist? Or a member of the United Reformed Church, or indeed Roman Catholic? And is this a good thing? 

When you read a lesson like the one we’ve read from 1 Corinthians, It’s an ‘oh dear’ moment. It looks as though, although for hundreds of years, the church has been divided into lots of different denominations, everybody seems to turn a blind eye to these Bible passages which suggest that we should be all one church. 

We can trace back the various splits and disagreements which have given rise to the different denominations. For instance the original split between the church in Byzantium and the church in Rome, the orthodox and the Roman Catholics respectively; and then in the time of the Reformation – 500 years ago this year – Martin Luther posting his 95 theses on the door of the church in Wittenberg, and starting a movement which split the Western Church into Roman Catholics and Protestants. The Protestants themselves were divided, mainly between those who were Lutherans and those who followed Calvin and Zwingli, the reformed Christians. And there were – there are – Baptists as well!

This isn’t going to be a sermon where I try to teach you all about the various differences in theology and the philosophy of religion as it has evolved down the ages; why, for example, the Anglicans and the Roman Catholics have not moved together – after all, Henry VIII was a jolly good Catholic, the only problem being that he had some local difficulty with the Pope. 

Apart from that, Henry had no difficulty with the Catholic doctrines, of transubstantiation, according to which the bread and wine in holy communion actually become the body and blood of Christ; and the blueprint or route map of heaven, what happens to people after they die: that their souls go to a place called purgatory, where all the sins are laundered from the souls. Possibly laundry is too nice an image; it is more like the refiner’s fire. 

Not a nice process, but after that you were ready for your encounter with St Peter at the Pearly Gates. Henry had no difficulty with all of that; but of course Martin Luther did. He was particularly opposed to the Catholic Church’s system of indulgences, according to which you could pay in order to shorten your time in purgatory. It was very lucrative for the church but it didn’t have any basis in holy scripture. 

Martin Luther wanted to strip out all these things that were not in the Bible but which had grown up in the church’s tradition. ‘Sola scriptura’, only scripture, was his motto, his byword. Calvin and Zwingli, on the other hand, as well as relying on scripture, like Luther, did not like the traditional idea of a priest, as someone standing between the believer and God, somehow mediating worship. That Catholic idea was based on the Jewish concept of the priesthood, according to which an ordinary mortal who came into contact with God would die.

The trouble with having a priesthood is that you start to have a hierarchy, ‘princes of the church’ among the bishops, living in splendour in complete contrast with the simple life enjoined on his disciples by Jesus. In reaction against that, Calvin introduced the idea of the ‘priesthood of all believers’. God would meet anyone, directly, face to face in prayer or worship.
Why would you follow one form of theology rather than another? Surely what the Bible says, if you follow what St Paul has written to the Corinthians, is that splitting up into all these different churches is an aberration. Somehow we have all got lost on the way. True believers will all just belong to one church, whatever that is.

At that point, of course, all of you in the pews mentally shift from one foot to another, with your eyes cast down, thinking privately that it’s hopeless, after 2,000 years of history and because of the way that all of us have been brought up in different traditions round the world. There is no chance of abolishing all the various denominations in favour of a single unified church, and the idea of having to go to a single church may well fill us with some trepidation. 

‘Our beliefs are not one-size-fits-all’, you will say. You might even say, ‘My God is not like your God.’ I have always found it rather difficult when people talk about ‘my God’, because it seems to me that God does not belong to us, but rather that we belong to Him. So saying that something or someone is my God, mine, is nonsense. 

In your mind’s eye, even if not out loud, you are probably thinking, ‘I don’t want the churches to be all just like so-and-so down the road. Just think, they might make me wave my arms around or clap in time to a guitar, or have to smell incense!’ – or, indeed, whatever it is that you get sniffy about in other churches. 

But I think the thing that you need to take into account is the idea that is behind what St Paul is saying to the Corinthians in our lesson today. In effect, it is not what the Corinthians want that matters, it isn’t that they must have that great thing, that we celebrate so much in our society today, namely, choice, it isn’t that: It isn’t up to them, it isn’t up to the Corinthians: it’s up to Jesus himself. 

What would Jesus say about, ‘I belong to Apollos’ or ‘I follow Paul’? Or, I’m a Methodist, I’m a United Reformed? I’m a Roman Catholic, or an Anglican? I’m a high Anglican. I’m a low Anglican. I’m a middle of the road Anglican. I’m an Evangelical (Godfrey will tell you more about that, of course); or I’m an Anglo-Catholic. Every shade and nuance is catered for. What do you think Jesus would think about that?

What St Paul says is, ‘Christ did not send me to baptise, but to proclaim the gospel, and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power.’ In other words, the key thing is for people to hear the gospel, and in particular to hear about Christ’s passion and death and resurrection: to hear about the role of the cross which is at the heart of it. 

Provided we get the Gospel, nothing else really matters. I don’t think that Jesus would particularly care whether we like a particular church or a particular style of worship or not. The more important thing is that Jesus gets to be believed in by more people. So my feeling is that is that, although there might be moves to get closer to each other in the various denominations, moves such, for example, as ARCIC, the Anglican Roman Catholic International Commission, or more recently the conversations between the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the covenant discussions between the Anglicans and Methodists, still, you can give yourself a break; you can smile sweetly at your friends in the other churches, particularly in this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity: you can take the opportunity to go and visit each other’s churches and worship with them. But you don’t have to give up being based at the church you’ve always gone to, where your friends are. 

You definitely can be confident that we all, all of us in Churches Together in Cobham, Oxshott, Stoke D’Abernon and Downside, are united, united in that we believe in the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ; so I think we wouldn’t get ticked off like the Corinthians were. 

Mind you, going back to Donald Trump and his two bibles, as Canon Giles Fraser has written recently in his ‘Loose Canon’ column in the Guardian [https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/belief/2017/jan/19/for-donald-trump-faith-has-become-the-perfect-alibi-for-greed], President Trump does go to a different sort of church, different from any of the ones round here, a church called Marble Collegiate Church on Fifth Avenue in New York, where the minister is, or has been, the Rev Norman Vincent Peale. Mr Peale has published a book called ‘The power of positive thinking’ and has developed a theology, if you can believe this, of how to be a winner, how to be successful in business. It seems to be a sort of ‘prosperity gospel’.To be blessed, in that congregation, means to be rich.

Giles Fraser wrote, ‘When Trump was asked what God is to him … he came up with this: “Well, I say God is the ultimate. You know you look at this … here we are on the Pacific Ocean. How did I ever own this? I bought it 15 years ago. I made one of the great deals, they say, ever. I have no more mortgage on it as I will certify and represent to you. And I was able to buy this and make a great deal. That’s what I want to do for the country. Make great deals.” 

Awful, isn’t it. And it came from something at least pretending to be a church. Now what that means is something which we ought to be thinking about, especially in this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.