Sermon for Evensong at St Mary’s on Palm Sunday, 24th March 2013
Isaiah 5:1-7; Luke 20:9-19. The vineyard of the Lord of hosts: the wicked husbandmen. The Bishop of Rome. The Archbishop of Canterbury.

Although today is Palm Sunday, I’m not going to talk about donkeys or triumphal processions. I want to pick up on the stories about vineyards which we had in tonight’s Bible readings.

If I look at the various things that have happened in this last, very busy, week, thinking about vineyards, there is a temptation to work in a reference to the Budget, and to the fact that the duty on wine will be going up, whereas the duty on beer will not. Well, I’m not going to try to comment on the wisdom or otherwise of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. The point about the vineyards in our lessons from the Bible today is that they illustrate Jesus’ teaching about following God’s commands.

In the Old Testament lesson in Isaiah, God is using Isaiah as a mouthpiece to chastise his chosen people. They haven’t taken care of his vineyard. In the New Testament, Jesus is talking about the same thing. The tenants, who are absolutely awful – they seem to be more like thieves than tenants, and then eventually they turn out to be murderers – have in effect repudiated their contract with the owner of the vineyard.

They have in effect thrown up the lease. When the owner sends somebody to make contact with them, and give them a chance to come back within the scope of the contract, they have behaved in the most extraordinarily criminal way, violently ejecting the representatives that he has sent to them, and eventually killing his own son.

Of course the story in the New Testament about the ‘wicked husbandmen’, as they used to be called, is not a parable but an allegory. Jesus meant his disciples to understand that in the story the wicked husbandmen stood for the leaders of the Jews, the Pharisees and the Sadducees. Jesus asks a question, ‘What then will the owner of the vineyard do to them?’ – do to those wicked husbandmen, to those wicked tenants?

The answer is, of course, that the landlord will dispossess them. He will re-enter on the land and turf them out. So the allegory means that the Jews will no longer be God’s chosen people, but instead, the other people, to whom the gospel message is going, will be brought in instead.

I think like all figures of speech, you can stretch its parallels in real life too far. Jesus wasn’t saying that all Jews were always no good; he wasn’t saying that all Gentiles were perfect.
He was simply making the point that, where the favoured people appeared to have rejected the God who had originally favoured them, then they shouldn’t be too surprised if they lost their privileged status in the eyes of the Lord.

But the other thing about these two stories about vineyards is that, at their heart, is a question about looking after and protecting the vineyard and its crops. That reminded me very much of the two sermons which I have heard this week, one from Pope Francis, the other from Archbishop Justin.

The two largest Christian denominations in the world, the Roman Catholics and the Anglicans, both had a new leader installed this week. I suppose technically you could say that Archbishop Justin was legally installed in February, but this was his formal enthronement.
Both the Archbishop and the Pope spoke in their sermons about looking after God’s creation. Pope Francis was preaching about Joseph, the husband of Mary, who was in effect Jesus’ stepfather. In the Latin of the old Catholic Church, Joseph was described as the ‘custos’ , the custodian, the guardian, the protector: the protector of Mary, of Jesus, and of the Church.

Pope Francis said this. ‘The vocation of being a “protector” …. means respecting each of God’s creatures, respecting the environment in which we live. It means protecting people, showing loving concern for each and every person, especially children, the elderly, those in need … It means caring for one another in our families; husbands and wives first protect each other and then, as parents, they care for their children, and children themselves, in time, protect their parents. It means building sincere friendships in which we protect one another in trust, respect, and goodness.’

You can see the husbandmen, the tenants of the vineyard, as being protectors, being custodians of that vineyard. If the new Pope was preaching about God’s call to us to be protectors, to be good husbandmen, Archbishop Justin preached about the qualities that we need in order to do that.

The choir had sung Psalm 8,

Out of the mouth of very babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength, because of thine enemies: that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
For I will consider thy heavens, even the works of thy fingers: the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained.
What is man, that thou art mindful of him: and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
….
Thou makest him to have dominion of the works of thy hands: and thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet.’

Thou makest him to have dominion of the works of thy hands: and thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet. You make us, the sons of men, the husbandmen of your vineyard.

And the readings, at Archbishop Justin’s service, started with the beautiful story of Ruth and Naomi and Boaz. Ruth, the stranger, the Moabite, the refugee, went into the fields to pick up bits of grain which had been left by the harvesters. Boaz the landowner, (plainly not of the UKIP persuasion), told his workers to leave some purposely for her, and indeed to deliberately cut some grain stalks and leave them on the ground for Ruth to pick up as gleanings. He protected Ruth, the stranger in their midst: he was a generous man: and of course the story has a very happy ending. The Book of Ruth is one of the sweetest books in the Bible. It’s only a few pages long. You might want to read it again before you go to bed tonight.

Archbishop Justin’s gospel reading was the story of Jesus walking on the water, calling Peter to come out of the boat and walk on the water towards him. When Peter got frightened and began to sink, Jesus reached out and saved him. The lesson that Archbishop Justin drew from that was that, in order to be good protectors, good custodians, of God’s world, in order to look after His vineyard properly, we needed courage, and courage would be liberated by putting our trust, our faith, in Jesus.

For as long as Peter had faith, he was brave enough to get out of the boat and walk on the water. When he noticed the wind and became afraid, he started to sink. Archbishop Justin related that need for faith and courage to the history of this country.

He said, ‘For more than 1,000 years this country has, to one degree or another, sought to recognise that Jesus is the Son of God. Sometimes we have done better, sometimes worse. When we do better’ – he means, when we have faith – ‘we make space for our own courage to be liberated, for God to act among us and for human beings to flourish. Slaves were freed, Factory Acts passed, and the NHS and social care established through Christ-liberated courage.’

And he went on to say, ‘The present challenges of environment and economy, of human development and global poverty, can only be faced with extraordinary courage.’

Who am I to improve on the wise words of the Bishop of Rome and the Archbishop of Canterbury? God calls us to look after his vineyard: we need to protect it. In order to protect it, we need courage. That courage comes from faith, faith in Jesus Christ.

Sermon for Holy Communion at 8 and 10 on the Fifth Sunday of Lent, 17th March 2013
Philippians 3:4-14, John 12:1-8 Solid Joys and Lasting Treasure

My Grandpa’s birthday was May 12th. It’s many years, unfortunately, since he died, but I still remember when his birthday was. The reason is, that Grandpa was a great one for writing letters; in fact he used to type them, on an old black typewriter, because he had arthritis in his hands and he found it difficult to do handwriting.

So we children used to get, quite often, rather formal-looking letters, all neatly typed out, about this and that. Grandpa used to live only four doors away down the same street, so we saw him a lot, but he still liked to write to us.

At the end of every letter he would sign off, ‘Lots of love from Grandpa’, and then he would put a PS; he would always put the same PS. He would say, ‘Only so-and-so many days till May 12th.’ And the idea was that he was hoping that you would give him a present – which of course we always did! So Grandpa used to really enjoy his birthday.

Now my birthday is actually going to be this Wednesday – March 20th, if you want to put it in your diary for future reference. If you ask me after the service, I’ll be able to let you have my suggested present list. I’m really looking forward to it.

But I’m pretty confident that, even if you gave me a magnificent four-channel radio control model helicopter to add to my collection, naturally at considerable cost to yourself, nobody would actually tackle you and say, ‘Why have you wasted all that money on dreadful old Hugh? You should have given him a Book Token and spent the rest on a donation to Oxfam.’

Jesus wasn’t so lucky. Mary from Bethany gave him an extremely special spa product with some very exotic ingredients, while He was relaxing, having preached the Sermon on the Mount and raised Lazarus from the dead. You can imagine Jesus ‘resting his eyes for ten minutes’ after all that, and being woken up gently by Mary, massaging his feet with some special secret potion from an exclusive spa.

But then the beautiful moment was spoiled by Judas Iscariot carping on about how expensive the spa treatment had been, and how it would have been much better for Mary to have spent her money on helping poor people. Indeed, the cost of the treatment that she had bought and used on Jesus was the same as a year’s salary for an average bod.

That’s quite staggering, really. If we say that the minimum wage today would work out at about £15,000 a year, whatever she was using, in present-day terms, was at least £15,000-worth. She just splashed it on. (You’ll remember the old advert starring the boxer, Henry Cooper, for an aftershave called Brut. Henry would take the little green bottle in one of his massive hands and liberally sprinkle himself with it. The slogan was, ‘Splash it on!’)

Splash it on. Just like Mary did. The only difference was that Brut didn’t cost very much, and you could afford to splash it on. Nevertheless I rather like the thought that Jesus wouldn’t listen to Judas’ criticism of Mary from Bethany. So much of the time Jesus is doing the right thing, being very good, helping people, curing their illnesses: and in Lazarus’ case, raising them up from the dead.

But one is a bit tempted to say that, although He was very good, very virtuous – he was a bit serious. And then we get this lovely story about Mary of Bethany and her special ointment which she poured on Jesus’ feet as a special present. Mary was Lazarus’ brother, and she was extremely grateful, because He had raised poor Lazarus from the dead. And Jesus enjoyed it.

It’s very easy for us to say that now, but it must have been absolutely stupendous, beyond imagining. Her poor brother had been dead – in a tomb – for four days, and Jesus came along and said, ‘He’s only asleep’, and woke him up. Mary, his sister, must have been completely overwhelmed, and so grateful to Jesus. So she went out and bought something which was really far too expensive, as a present, to thank Him. Judas came along and said, ‘That’s a criminal waste of money. If you had £15,000 to spare, you should have spent it on relieving poverty, not on a frivolous gift for Jesus, however nice He is.’

But Jesus said, in effect, ‘Back off, Judas. It’s all right.’ And He was clearly pleased with Mary’s gift. I think that makes Jesus all the more like us, all the more human. Mary’s present was a really super present. Jesus said that there was a place for an extravagant present, even if it meant that the money which you’d spent on an extravagant present didn’t go to a worthy cause.

Compare that with what St Paul says in his letter to the Philippians. ‘My richest gain I count but loss’, as we’re about to sing in Isaac Watts’ hymn, ‘When I survey the wondrous cross’. St Paul himself says, ‘For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish’ (3:8). Rubbish – actually the King James Version has a more Anglo-Saxon word for it. Nothing that we would call valuable means a thing to St Paul. So even Mary’s generous gift, all fifteen thousand pounds’ worth, really didn’t amount to much after all, if you compare it with the present, with the gift, that Jesus has given to us.

That’s the point. Especially now in Lent, when we are reflecting, weighing up our lives, the Bible challenges us to have a new value system. In another hymn, John Newton, who got rich as the captain of a slave ship before he saw the light, wrote,

‘Solid joys and lasting treasure
None but Zion’s children know’.

It’s very tempting to ignore this. Who wouldn’t want to be in a lovely spa and just splash it on? Who wouldn’t hanker after a Ferrari, or a Rolls?

Jesus understood this. He wasn’t as fiercely uncompromising as St Paul. He did enjoy his spa treatment from Mary, and he said, there was nothing wrong in enjoying it. He was happy to thank Mary for her generosity.

But – eventually even a Rolls will get old, and the Ferrari won’t seem so cool for ever. Even if you bath in gold leaf, eventually it will wash off. What really will last is a present which will stand us in good stead for ever. That is salvation, the knowledge that we are not just living futile lives, at the mercy of random couplings of atoms, but that God, the ultimate Creator and sustainer of our world, cares for us. ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who trusts in him may not be destroyed, but have eternal life’ [John 3:16 – my translation]. Nothing is more important, nothing is worth more, than this.

Sermon for Mattins at The Chapel of Ease, Westhumble, on the Fourth Sunday of Lent, 10th March 2013

2 Corinthians 5:19 – ‘God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them…’

Today is the fourth Sunday of Lent, sometimes known as Rose Sunday or Refreshment Sunday. More recently it has become Mothering Sunday. The good news is that Refreshment Sunday is a break in the austerity of Lent; a nice time to make a fuss of one’s mother, and to see the children giving Mum a nice day, perhaps a lie in with some tea in bed, or some nice flowers, just something to show that we treasure our mothers.

Unfortunately, however, if we think of motherhood as central to the family, family relations are not in very good shape in the world today. There are too many people whose marriage has broken down, perhaps because a partner has left with somebody else.

There are too many cases of child abuse. We are wrestling, in the church at large, with many problems of human sexuality. Our friends in the Catholic Church are reeling from scandals, most recently involving Cardinal O’Brien. It does seem inappropriate just blithely to celebrate motherhood and the family without engaging with some of the challenges which family life has to face today.

There is something very shocking about cases like Jimmy Saville and Cardinal O’Brien. It is very shocking if public figures, people who set themselves up as examples, or who preach morality, turn out not to be worthy of their fame or respect. Jimmy Saville is supposed to have perpetrated over 200 sex crimes, and although we don’t know what Cardinal O’Brien is supposed to have done in any detail, he admits that he did not do what he preached.

Last week we had the story in St John’s gospel of the woman ‘taken in adultery’. If you just think of the basic scenario: somehow she had been caught in bed with someone who was not her husband; and if you stop at that point, that is a serious matter. If we lament the fact that so many marriages fail, and that so many children and families suffer unhappiness, pain and poverty as a result, we have to pause and say that the woman – and of course the man with her – were doing what causes all that. They were not doing what they should have been doing.

Although it may be rather unfashionable to talk in these terms, it seems to me that all these things – abuse of children, adultery, being a sexual predator, abusing a position of authority, are all species of sin. What makes these things sinful, as opposed to being just bad or criminal or immoral, is that they drive a wedge between us and God. The word for ‘sin’ in Greek is ´αμαρτια, which means literally, ‘missing the mark’. You will remember the famous passage in St Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter 7, where Paul expresses his frustration and anger at his sinful nature.

He says, ‘For I know that nothing good lodges in me – in my unspiritual nature, I mean – for though the will to do good is there, the deed is not. The good which I want to do, I fail to do. But what I do is the wrong, which is against my will. And if what I do is against my will, clearly it is no longer I who am the agent, but sin which has its lodging in me.’ [Romans 7:18-20, NEB]

To a greater or lesser extent we do sinful things because of human frailty. We do sinful things, even despite knowing what the right thing to do is. When you see all the evil that is around us, it is very daunting. What does it mean? Are we submerging under a tide of immorality and godlessness?

Let’s read again what St Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthians. ‘God …. hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation; To wit, that God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them…’ [v. 18-19]

‘Not imputing their trespasses unto them.’ No longer blaming them. Contrast with that the story of the Old Testament, say in Jeremiah, for example. The prophets of the Old Testament had to battle with constant tension between God and his chosen people.

Jeremiah says, ‘Hast thou utterly rejected Judah? hath thy soul lothed Zion? why hast thou smitten us, and there is no healing for us? we looked for peace, and there is no good; and for the time of healing, and behold trouble! We acknowledge, O Lord, our wickedness, and the iniquity of our fathers: for we have sinned against thee.’ [Jeremiah 14:19-20]

That’s a very different message from the one that we find in St Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. St Paul is all about reconciliation. The interesting thing is that the word in Greek that is translated as ‘reconciliation’ (καταλλαγη) originally meant ‘exchange’, almost ‘a trade’, substituting one thing for another. It is also the word used to translate ‘atonement’, as in the Jewish festival of Atonement.

We say that Jesus’ sacrifice, his death, ‘atoned’, made ‘atonement’ for, our sin, made up for it, paid the price for it, in some way. He ‘redeemed’ us, he paid a ransom for us. I have always found it tough to think in terms of a blood sacrifice, that Jesus’ death on the cross was in some way a blood sacrifice. This passage in 2 Corinthians shows us another way of understanding the idea of atonement. Jesus’ sacrifice, Jesus’ death, reconciles us with God.

Richard Hooker, the great Reformation theologian, said, about this passage, ‘Let it be counted folly or frenzy or whatsoever, it is our wisdom and our comfort. We care for no knowledge in the world but this, that man has sinned and God has suffered; that God has made himself the sin of men and that men are made the righteousness of God.’ Richard Hooker, A Discourse of Justification, http://tinyurl.com/dxfvxzq

It’s a sort of a swap, an exchange: reconciliation. Eugene Peterson, in his translation of the Bible called ‘The Message’, which is perhaps a commentary and a translation rolled into one, expresses this passage in 2 Corinthians as follows. ‘All this comes from God who settled the relationship between us and him, and then called us to settle our relationships with each other. God put the world square with himself through the Messiah, giving the world a fresh start by offering forgiveness of sins.’

This is the clue to the Christian revolution, that God is not vengeful, he is loving. God knows that we are imperfect, and that we do bad things. The woman taken in adultery didn’t intend to hurt anybody, but was just prey to an animal passion. Even St Paul, doing the things that he hated, was still subject to the influence of sin.

We should remember this when we are confronted by people who have done truly dreadful things – the killers of little Jamie Bulger came into the news again this week, for example; and of course we can think again of Jimmy Saville and others who seem to have allowed their baser instincts to get the better of them.

Jesus said to the woman, ‘Has no-one condemned you? She answered, ‘No-one, sir.’ Jesus said, ‘Nor do I condemn you’. Jesus’ message is, to put it another way, we should hate the sin, but have compassion for the sinner. This is a message of forgiveness, of redemption, the very opposite of hopelessness and bleakness. It is a happy message. It is a message for Refreshment Sunday: Mothering Sunday. There is light at the end of the tunnel. There is a rosy glow. Rose Sunday looks forward to the dawning of the Sun of Righteousness – as Homer put it, ‘rosy-fingered dawn’ – on Easter morning.

Sermon for Evensong on the Second Sunday of Lent, 24th February 2013
Jeremiah 22:13 – Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness …. who makes his neighbours work for nothing, and does not give them their wages.

A friend of mine asked me the other day whether I have any difficulty thinking up things to preach sermons about. I explained to him that I usually use as a starting point for my sermons the Bible lessons which we read at the service. Those lessons are from a ‘lectionary’ published by an ecumenical group of liturgists representing all the English-speaking churches in the world. It is called the Revised Common Lectionary and was most recently published in 1992.

It’s quite exciting that, in the English-speaking churches round the world, Catholic and Protestant, if they use the common lectionary – and most of them do – wherever you go, you will find people using the same Bible readings each Sunday. The general idea is to read through the whole of the Bible, over a period, relating the readings to the Christian year.

So today there are lessons laid down for a ‘principal service’, in the morning, which is a piece from Genesis, Psalm 27, an epistle reading from Philippians chapter 3, and finally a gospel, Luke chapter 13. The ‘second service’, which, in Lectionary terms, is what Evensong is, has the lessons from Jeremiah and Luke which we have heard tonight, and our Psalm, 135.

So we’ve joined in with English-speaking Christians all over the world in using those Bible readings. I find that quite compelling, and so I usually base my sermon on one or other of the Bible readings for the day. There is of course the alternative that my preaching should be related first and foremost to our life today, relating to it the teaching of Jesus Christ. Rather than taking those teachings first, in the form of Bible readings, instead I could look at what’s been happening, and then try to discern what the will of God in relation to those events would be.

That’s sometimes known as ‘preaching from the newspaper’, as opposed to preaching from the lectionary. When I did read the lessons for today, I decided indeed to preach from the newspaper. I came across these words in Jeremiah, ‘Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness …. who makes his neighbours work for nothing, and does not give them their wages’, and I was tempted not to give you a detailed exposition of the writings of the prophet Jeremiah, and history of the people of Israel, and in particular of the exile in Babylon, the fall of Jerusalem in the late C6 BC, which is the background to our OT lesson today.

Instead I thought that it was very striking that the prophet was writing about a bad king – in this case, King Zedekiah of Judah, and this passage is really a prophecy directed at the whole house of David, saying what a good ruler should do. What struck me about this passage was the way in which it reminded me of a number of the debates which I have listened to recently, concerning what the government should be doing today, here in the UK. For example, on Question Time there was a lively debate between Canon Giles Fraser and the MP Dianne Abbott on the one side, and Michael Heseltine the Conservative grandee on the other. They were arguing about the government’s austerity programme, and in particular whether the burden of the various government cuts is falling disproportionately on poor people.

When I read the lesson in Jeremiah, I immediately thought about the government programme to try to get people back to work, where apparently, young people are being compelled to work in menial jobs for no pay in order, so the government says, to gain ‘work experience’.

Now I’m not going to debate the rights and wrongs of the government workfare programme, although ‘a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay’ has always struck me as a good start in this area. The point I’d like to make is that, in all the debates in which this came up, for example on Question Time, even when Giles Fraser was there, nobody mentioned God.

I should say that this was perhaps even more strange, because the programme was being broadcast from St Paul’s Cathedral. There were a couple of delightful things – one was in the credits, where the ‘set designer’ was listed as Sir Christopher Wren, and the other was when Michael Heseltine’s mobile phone rang, and it was his wife, no doubt wondering when he was going to be home for his tea. But there they were, in God’s house, and no-one mentioned God.

Nobody said, ‘What would Jesus do?’ And that was a big contrast, so far as I was concerned, to some of the other things that I encountered this week. I’ve had rather a cultural week. I started off by going to the Young Vic (which you might smile about!) to see a wonderful play called ‘Feast’ about the Yoruba people from Nigeria, and their diaspora from Nigeria to the UK, to Cuba, to Venezuela and to Brazil, which of course had a lot to do with the slave trade.

Wherever they went, the Yorubas took their distinctive culture with them, including their old gods, the Orishas, even though Nigerians are mostly Christians and Moslems nowadays. The Orishas are the emissaries – I suppose they are a bit like angels – of one supreme god. It is true that Yoruba people, even today, see the Orishas at work in all sorts of everyday circumstances. One Orisha is a an Orisha of motherhood and child-bearing, another one of beauty and love, another one is a warrior, and ‘Esu is a trickster and a shape-shifter. He is the Orisha of crossroads, the threshold, chaos and fertility, the divine middle-man’ [Programme for Feast, 2013, London, The Young Vic, p11].

So everywhere that a Yoruba goes, even today – and I was accompanied by a dear friend from St Andrew’s who is a Yoruba – she was saying that they still know about these ancient angels. They are aware of God’s presence all the time.

Then on Friday I went to the Coliseum to see the very wonderful production of Charpentier’s ‘Medea’, a 17th century opera based on the ancient Greek myth of Medea the witch, daughter of gods, who married Jason, Jason of the Argonauts. Jason was unfaithful to her. She ended up killing their children. A real tragedy, from Euripides.

Again it was very noticeable that whatever happened in the play, all the actors would refer to God – or in the Greek context, the gods. ‘Did something represent the will of the gods?’, they always asked themselves.

Earlier in the week we had our first sessions of the Lent course. This year we are looking at the Beatitudes, the ‘Blessed are they’ sayings of Jesus at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount. [Matt.5 and Luke 6]. In the first session we were looking at the saying, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’. We were reflecting, among other things, on the way in which, when these sayings are repeated in St Luke’s gospel, there is no mention of the ‘in spirit’ bit, but it’s simply, ‘Blessed are you who are poor’.

So back to Jeremiah and to the warning to the kings of the house of David. Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness …. who makes his neighbours work for nothing, and does not give them their wages, who says, I will build myself a spacious house, with large upper rooms…’ This is uncomfortably close to home. A footballer’s house, perhaps.

And what do we think about the masses of people who are out of work, who are being forced to work for nothing in menial jobs? Whatever we do think, do you think we should at least consult our Bibles? Think of the parable of the workers in the vineyard in St Matthew’s gospel chapter 20. Even though the vineyard owner paid a flat rate of a day’s pay, a denarius, irrespective whether the worker worked for one hour or eight hours, there was no question of working for nothing.

My point is this: that in this time of Lent we should look again at our lives, in the light of the gospel. We say, ‘The Lord is here. His spirit is with us’: and then we forget about him. I’m sure that at least some of you are going to tackle me on the door afterwards and explain how important it is that young people should get work experience, and that it doesn’t matter that they work for nothing, provided, of course, all the usual safeguards are in place.

You may be right. My point is not that: my point is, that in all the discussions about the rights and wrongs of it, nobody mentions God, nobody mentions what Jesus would do. Remember what the epistle of James says, in chapter 5. ‘Come now, you rich people, weep and wail for the miseries that are coming to you. … Listen! The wages of the labourers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of The Lord of hosts’.

The Bible is absolutely clear: it’s not a good thing not to pay people for their work. Funny that nobody mentions it.

Sermon for Evensong on the Sunday called Quinquagesima, or the next Sunday before Lent, 10th February 2013
Exodus 3:1-6, John 12:27-36 – ‘Father, glorify your name.’ The Riley Elf.

Do you remember the Riley Elf? Or the Wolseley Hornet? Those little cars? Well, sometimes people used to say they were just ‘glorified Minis’. They were posh versions of the Mini.

Is that what we mean by ‘glorified’ – or, ‘glory’? Is it just a sort of embellishing process? What is glory?

I’ve always found the passage in St John’s gospel that we had as our lesson really rather difficult to understand. Indeed, it’s quite a theme in St John’s gospel, glory. What is this glory?

St Paul talks about a woman’s hair being her ‘glory’ (1 Cor. 11:15), and we talk about people ‘glorying’ in some good fortune or other. 12th August is known as the ‘Glorious 12th’. The glory there seems to consist in mass slaughter of grouse. We sometimes say that it is a glorious day, when we mean that it is sunny and fine.

But none of this really seems to help us when we examine what Jesus was mulling over here, after his entry into Jerusalem on a donkey. He is thinking about the fact that he is going to be ‘lifted up’, as he says, and as the gospel put it, ‘He said this to indicate the kind of death that he was to die’, being lifted up on the cross. Just as in the other gospels they have the scene in the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus is praying to his Father, ‘Take this cup away from me’ (Matt. 26:36-46, Mark 14:32-42, Luke 22:40-46), here similarly he is thinking whether to ask to be saved from his impending fate.

On a human level, he’s afraid of what’s in front of him. So his instinct is to ask to be saved. But he knows that it is his destiny, that the purpose of his life on earth is to go through this terrible suffering. Just before this passage, he explains how death can be more fruitful, ultimately, than life. ‘A grain of wheat remains a solitary grain unless it falls into the ground and dies; but if it dies, it bears a rich harvest’ (John 12:24, NEB).

So Jesus says this rather peculiar phrase, ‘Father, glorify your name.’ And a voice comes out from heaven saying, ‘I have glorified it, and I will do it again.’ (John 12:28) Just like the voice from the burning bush to Moses in our Old Testament lesson from Exodus, here the voice from heaven, which was heard by those standing round, is miraculous evidence that God is present, and that Jesus isn’t just a man. One of the modern translations of the Bible, the Contemporary English Version published by the Bible Society, translates this section this way: “‘I must not ask my father to keep me from this time of suffering. In fact I came into the world to suffer. So Father, bring glory to yourself’. A voice from heaven then said, ‘I have already brought glory to myself, and I will do it again.'”

‘Glorify your name’: ‘bring glory to yourself’. The Greek word behind this passage (δόξα, δόξαζω) is interesting. It has been translated literally as ‘glory, I glorify’, but it started out as a word meaning, ‘I have an opinion about’, maybe ‘a good opinion’, something ‘seems to me’, then, something ‘seems good to me’. That goes on to mean something is a ‘good spectacle’, a sight to see: and it’s a very big word in Christianity.

In the Nicene Creed which we say at Holy Communion, we mention glory twice. Jesus ‘shall come again with glory to judge both the quick and the dead.’ And we believe in the ‘Holy Ghost, The Lord and giver of life, …. who …. is worshipped and glorified’. We have great hymns, ‘Thine be the glory’; ‘Angels from the realms of glory’: the Gloria itself, ‘Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost.’ Good repute, good opinion. Difficult to translate – what on earth does ‘Glorify your name’ mean here?

I think the Contemporary English Version translation is probably right. Bring glory to yourself. On one level it seems an absurd request. God is omnipotent. God can do whatever He wants. He doesn’t need to demonstrate how powerful He is. He doesn’t need to curry favour. He is God.

But still, Jesus says, ‘Bring glory to yourself’. The more I consider this, the more I think about it, it dawns on me that of course this is a mystery, a holy mystery. Jesus is weighing up two alternatives. Calling on his father to save him, or the alternative, ‘Father, glorify your name’, which must mean, ‘Do something which will redound to your credit.’ In other words, let Jesus go through with the Passion, with suffering and death.

It doesn’t seem right. But so much about Jesus contains apparent paradoxes. The Servant King. Washing the disciples’ feet. Showing humility, never glorying in his position. ‘All who exalt themselves will be humbled; those who humble themselves will be exalted'(Matt. 23:12). So there’s a paradoxical meaning to ‘glory’ in St John’s gospel. When Jesus talks about being glorified – ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified’, he says – what he means is not that the Son of Man, that he, is going to preside in triumph.

There is a paradox about the way in which he entered Jerusalem, on a donkey. It’s meant to make you think about the way in which Roman generals, after a successful campaign, would lead their armies back to Rome and enjoy a triumph: games, processions, jollifications, huge celebrations. At their heart was a kind of worship for the successful leader. Jesus wasn’t intending anything like that. His triumphal procession, on the donkey, was nothing like a Roman general’s triumph. Jesus earns his glory, his good reputation, by showing ultimate humility, by submitting to the whole process of his passion: the torture at the hands of the Romans and the Jews culminating in his agonising death on the cross.

Some triumph! But it is meant to be a triumph. It is meant to be a glory. As St John writes, later on in his gospel, ‘The book has been written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing, you may have life in his name’ (John 20:31). ‘Glory’ really has a connotation of the divine nature. Jesus is not only a man, but also he is divine, the Son of God. ‘Coming to glory’ has that meaning. The realm of glory is the realm of the divine.

We may not now think of the realm of glory as being up in the clouds, somewhere beyond the clouds, but the idea is still a perfectly good way of understanding something which is strictly beyond our understanding. So when Jesus says that ‘the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified’, he really means it is time for the Son of Man, for him, to put on his divine nature. And that means that Jesus’ glory comes not only from his glorious resurrection, but also from his suffering and his passion. That is glorious too.

We are on the edge of what we can understand. It’s not really surprising that the words we are using don’t necessarily convey the full weight of meaning which this mighty truth requires. Let’s go back to the Riley Elf. A glorified Mini. Nothing of the divine there. That’s something that should bring us up short. We talk quite easily in church about something being glorious, God being glorious, ‘Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost’, and so on. It’s a word which just slips down and does not really mean anything to us as we say it. Just like the Mini turning into a Riley Elf, are we saying that Jesus in our lives is almost like a shining ornament in the corner, very nice to look at, but it doesn’t do anything?

Or are we saying that the lustre, the glory, the special shine, that we see on Jesus, is because he is the Son of God? And because he is, that we will have to change our lives in response? I think so. ‘Who is the king of glory: even the Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory.’ (Psalm 24).

Sermon for Education Sunday, the Fourth Sunday of Epiphany, 27th January 2013
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10, 1 Corinthians 12:12-31, Luke 4:14-21 – Supererogatory Goods

For over 100 years the churches in England have recognised the ninth Sunday before Easter, which is what today is, as ‘Education Sunday’. It’s a Sunday in which we celebrate the work of all the various educational establishments, and of course in particular, the teaching that comes from our church, either directly here in church, in Bible study or sermons, and in our church schools. Here in Cobham we have St Andrew’s School, who are coming to lead our service at 10 o’clock.

The lessons, that we have set for today, have been chosen with Education Sunday in mind. In Nehemiah and in our gospel reading from St Luke, we have a picture of someone in the synagogue taking down the scroll on which the Hebrew Bible was written, unfurling it and reading from it. Both in the Old Testament lesson from Nehemiah and in the gospel, after the Bible has been read, then there’s a session of teaching.

Indeed on one level, on Education Sunday, we can just celebrate the fact that there are teachers, and that education is a great good. We can reflect that it is a very good thing that the churches are very deeply involved in the whole process of educating children and young people.

Indeed it would be perfectly sensible to have services once a year on Education Sunday that just simply give thanks to God for the fact that God has given all the various talents, all the various complementary skills which St Paul picturesquely describes in our lesson from his first letter to the Corinthians, about the different parts of the body and the fact that each of the bits and each of the body’s faculties – the hand, the foot, the hearing, the sense of smell – have their real purpose in the way in which they relate to each other in the one body. It’s an allegory for the church. The church depends on people with all sorts of different skills and aptitudes and gifts to give. Among those talents there surely is the talent of teaching.

It is, however, worth pausing at this point just to review certain things about the educational landscape as it confronts our children, and ourselves as parents, today. There is some controversy about so-called ‘faith schools’. The argument, the controversy, is whether there should be a stripe running through the whole of a church school, a colour of Christianity. Wouldn’t it be better, some people say, if schools were all completely secular – even so, perhaps children could be taught about religion, or the various religions, as an academic subject, but not as a rule of life. They argue, what about children who come from unbelieving homes, or homes where people actually believe in a different religion?

Obviously there are standard answers to that, given by the church, that in fact there is no undue bias towards churchgoers in allocating places in church schools, that there is always provision made for those who declare themselves to be either unbelievers or believers in a different faith, in the form of separate assemblies or just being able to skip going to Christian worship and attending lessons where Christianity is taught.

Anyway, the churches have a good story to tell about their openness and their inclusiveness in the church schools, and the controversy, if there is really one, is all about the fact that church schools on the whole are very good schools, and obviously more people want their children to attend them than they actually have places for. So although the church has set them up and sustains them in many important ways, non-believers resent this and demand that they should have equal access for their children.

That brings me on to the second dimension in our lessons today, in particular in the gospel. What should a good school teach? I don’t want to get into sterile discussions about the various politicians’ ideas about what the so-called ‘core curriculum’ should contain. I’m more interested today in what Jesus was doing when he was teaching in the synagogue in Nazareth as indeed, according to the gospel, he regularly did, all over the place. Was he doing the sort of job that Ezra and the Levites were doing in the story from Nehemiah?

What Ezra was reading, and then going on to teach about, was ‘the book of the law of Moses’, the Pentateuch, the first five books in the Old Testament. At the heart of the Jewish law are the Ten Commandments. You will remember all the various Ten Commandments, and you could, if you were one of these non-believing parents, point out that, in a school today, you could certainly teach, in a General Studies lesson, say, the benefits to society as a whole if everyone followed the Ten Commandments.

You would say, as an unbeliever, that the benefits of most of the Ten Commandments would inure, quite irrespective of whether they were the commandments of God as opposed to being just good common sense, necessary for peace and harmony in society.

Obviously the first commandment, ‘Thou shalt worship The Lord thy God,’ doesn’t fit with that; and moreover, if you introduce the Ten Commandments with the story of how Moses came by them, it’s quite clear that the particular context of the Ten Commandments is a context of divine revelation, but it is possible to get most of the moral benefits without needing to know anything about God.

But there are little hints of what’s different, when the teaching is actually about the divine. In Nehemiah, there’s this intriguing last thing that Ezra preaches, that people should eat, drink and be merry: but that they should send a share of their food to people who haven’t got any: those ‘for whom nothing is prepared,’ as the passage says. And that that should be something done on the Lord’s day: ‘send portions to those for whom nothing is prepared, because this day is holy to our Lord’. So that suggests that the reason for sending the food parcels to the poor people is because it’s something associated with God: you do it on the Sabbath, on the Lord’s day.

Similarly in St Luke’s gospel Jesus takes as his text the passage from Isaiah chapter 61 which actually describes the coming Messiah, the chosen one of God. Again, the point about that is that Christian teaching is not just about what is good to do – although of course there is strong Christian teaching about it – but at its heart is the question where that teaching comes from, and who Jesus was, in order to do that teaching.

You can see the people of Nazareth resisted stoutly the idea that Jesus was anything special – but that is the difference. A secular set of ethics would come up with something very like the Ten Commandments (albeit minus the first one). Essentially such secular ethics would be based on the so-called ‘golden rule’, do as you would be done by; do to your neighbour, and so on; but where the teaching really comes from God, in the mouth of a prophet like Ezra, and in the mouth of Jesus himself, as in St Luke’s gospel, the difference is that the teaching is not only to do as you would be done by, in the various specifics laid down in the Ten Commandments, but it is also to pursue so-called supererogatory goods, things which go beyond what you are obliged to do. So this is sending food parcels to people who are hungry in the Old Testament, and in Jesus’ teaching, the commandments in the Sermon on the Mount, turning the other cheek, going the extra mile: these are all supererogatory goods, doing more than you strictly have to do in order simply to keep the fabric of society together.

They are the mark of a very special kind of teacher. As Jesus himself says, Isaiah’s prophecy, in Isaiah chapter 61, setting out what the Messiah, the chosen one of God, would look like, now is fulfilled. Jesus is the Messiah. He is the son of God. He is divine.

That brings me back to what we should be doing with church schools. If all we’re doing – and that’s not to belittle it – if all that we’re doing is teach children things that they could learn anywhere, church school or not, then it’s almost as though Jesus had never come. But if on the other hand, the important thing about a church school is that it’s run by people who recognise the difference between what Ezra was doing, what the OT prophets were doing, what Moses was doing when he collected the tablets with the Ten Commandments: who recognise what the difference is between them and Jesus himself, teaching in the synagogue and actually saying that the world has changed, that Isaiah’s prophecy has been fulfilled and the Ten Commandments are no longer the whole story. Jesus’ teaching is a whole big command of love, which enjoins people to do supererogatory goods, doing more than they are asked to do, going the extra mile.

And they are doing that, because it is God who is asking them. Isn’t that just the most important thing that you could possibly teach about, in your church school? I think it is, and I’m sure that Andrew Tulloch, the headmaster, and his teachers, at our church school, are very well aware of that, and they never forget it. Long may it continue.

Sermon for Evensong at Septuagesima, 27th January 2013
1 Corinthians 7:17-24 – Putting up with Slavery

This Sunday, the third Sunday before Lent, has historically been known in the church as Septuagesima Sunday. It’s from the Latin for 70, septuaginta, and it means a Sunday about 70 days before Easter. It also begins the three weeks before Lent starts, for which an old name was Shrovetide. The idea is that we begin to move away from the jollifications of Christmas towards the self-denial of Lent.

But really I don’t want to talk much about that pre-Lent season tonight. I want to say a few words instead about what might seem to be a rather challenging part of St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, where he talks about putting up with your lot in life, and specifically, putting up with being a slave.

If afterwards you have a look at 1 Corinthians chapter 7, you will see that, each side of the passage which was our lesson tonight, there are some tough things which St Paul also said about love, sex, marriage – and on remaining unmarried, or perhaps on being a ‘perpetual bachelor’.

So you’ll see that I’m quite grateful, as a preacher, to have navigated my way through this tricky channel into relatively calm waters where the church is not currently engaged in huge internal battles. Nevertheless even though I am going to give you a break from talking endlessly about gay marriage and stuff like that, there is still something which we ought to say, about slavery. A slave is defined by Aristotle as someone who does not belong to himself, but to someone else. (Aristotle, Politics, 1.1254a14).

If you read tonight’s lesson again afterwards, it makes some difference which translation you read. Tonight we read from the NRSV, and that makes St Paul sound remarkably complacent about slavery. Verse 21 says,

‘Were you a slave when you were called? Do not be concerned about it. Even if you can gain your freedom, make use of your present condition now more than ever.’

The King James, on the other hand, says, ‘Art thou called being a servant? care not for it: but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather.’

Former Bishop of Durham Tom Wright, (‘N.T. Wright’) translates that verse as,
‘Were you a slave when you were called? Don’t worry about it. (But if you get the chance of freedom, seize it!) [Wright, N.T., 2003, Paul for Everyone – 1 Corinthians, London, SPCK, p.88]

Having looked at the Greek, they’re all possible translations, but I think I prefer Tom Wright’s version, which expresses what the King James says, in modern English. ‘…if thou mayest be made free, use it rather’ means, ‘seize the opportunity’.

People refer to this passage and say that St Paul supported the idea of slavery, or at least didn’t seem to be particularly worried about it. But just as in so many other passages, the Bible reflects the social mores of the time. And at that time, in the Roman Empire, slavery was a big fact of life. It’s generally reckoned that one third of the population were slaves.

The other place in St Paul’s letters where slavery comes up is in the letter to Philemon where St Paul writes about Onesimus, who may have been Philemon’s slave. Paul pleads that Philemon should take Onesimus back ‘for ever, no longer as a slave, but as more than a slave, a beloved brother.'(Philemon v16)

The context of all this, not only St Paul’s discussion about slavery, but also what he says about whether people should be circumcised or not, earlier on in our lesson, together with his teaching about whether people ought to get married if they’re single, is that these passages were all written in the light of Paul’s belief that the end of the world was just round the corner. All the early Christians believed that. What’s the point in getting married if everything is going to come to an end next week?

However, whatever the truth about the end of the world, St Paul says in his letter to the Galatians that he believes that the coming of Jesus has changed all the previous relationships, so that things which used to make a difference are no longer significant. So there’s no distinction between men and women, Jew and Greek, slave and free. (Galatians 3:28). All these distinctions have become trivial in the light of the coming of Christ, in the light of God showing his hand on earth, showing that he definitely cares for us. So St Paul takes the line that none of these things are particularly important. You should just make the best of things, from whatever position you find yourself in when you first come to Christ.

We now realise that the early Christians were mistaken. The Apocalypse has not yet happened. So in fact human life has carried on, people have married and had children and got on with their lives, for the last 2,000 years. But we have changed our attitude to slavery. Perhaps it’s a natural consequence of the basic situation that Paul was pointing out, namely that none of the distinctions, that people used to set such store by, now mean anything at all.

So ultimately, there is no distinction between slave and free, in anything that matters. People have come round to the view, in civilised society at least, that it is no longer right for one person to own another person, to buy and sell them as though they were things rather than people.

But I just want to stop there. Because, I’m not sure how true it is for us all happily to say that slavery has been abolished. If you remember the terrible case of the maid who was beheaded recently in Saudi Arabia: that poor woman, and apparently thousands like her, are, in real terms, slaves. They have no passports, they have no money of their own, they’re not paid, they’re simply put up in their masters’ and mistresses’ houses: they have no meaningful life of their own. Indeed, effectively, their masters and mistresses have the power of life or death over them.

That’s in Saudi Arabia. There are also dreadful cases much nearer home, again involving people from poor countries coming to work, sometimes even in this country. You will remember the terrible case of the Chinese people employed as cockle-pickers in Morecambe Bay who were drowned by a swiftly incoming tide, because nobody could communicate with them to tell them to come back to safety. Then there was a recent case involving scrap dealers who had kept a family in subjection in conditions amounting to slavery here in England for many years.

We do have laws against this kind of thing, and the fact that it still happens is not a criticism of the law, but just simply an illustration of how evil some people are. I also want to suggest to you that these most dramatic types of slavery may finally be being eradicated, but that there is another kind of slavery, which is very prevalent in this country, and which as Christians I think we ought to consider.

That is what used to be referred to as ‘wage slavery’. We are now in a situation where I expect a number of us here in this congregation have seen our children – and others here are those children – growing up, going through university and getting jobs in the professions or in banking or in major companies. And we give thanks and congratulate them, and say how well they have done. But then the reality is that in return for what are often very generous salaries, our children have no life, at least until their mid-30s.

They’re required to work seemingly endless hours. Typically one of the things that happens when they join is that they are required to sign a waiver, consenting to their employer not being bound by the Working Time Directive, and they work 15- 16-hour days, 6, sometimes 7 days a week. Admittedly they do this for what are often enormous salaries.

But they have no time to spend it. You can see the results of this in the latest statistics which were reported in the newspapers. Many, many more parents are having their first children when they are in their 30s. They have no time before then. They are so controlled, by what is really wage slavery. They are no longer their own people, but they belong to the major law firm, or to the bank, or to the consulting company, or to the major industrial concern that they work for.

They’re so defined by their occupation that they will accept this almost complete loss of their own rights to live as a human being, in return for the status that comes with being an employee of that respected employer, and receiving very generous rewards. Not only is this bad for the individuals concerned – it can’t be right to go from age 25, say, to age 35, simply going to work, as some kind of highly-skilled automaton – but also it perpetuates divisions in society.

These wage slaves are like the slaves who belonged to the highest echelons of society in the Roman Empire. They are themselves highly educated, comfortably housed, very secure in material terms, just as some of the slaves in Ancient Rome were, when they were owned by the leading members of the Senate and the aristocracy.

But the fact that the law allows employers to exploit these brilliant young people so brutally means that others, who are perhaps not quite so brilliant, don’t have a look-in. There are fewer jobs and fewer chances than there would be if, instead of campaigning to water down employment protection even more, the government looked at ways of spreading out the work which these companies do, for very high rewards, so that more people are employed and more people have chances in life. Then the wage slaves might be able to go home at a reasonable hour and discover that they had families, and beautiful places to live, and talents, which could be used not only for making money.

As Paul says, the only sense in which one ought to be a slave is in the sense that one belongs to God. Jesus paid the price for us, the highest price. We belong to him. As St. Paul says, ‘You were bought with a price. Do not become slaves of human masters.’

Sermon for Holy Communion on the Third Day of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, 20th January 2013
1 Corinthians 12:1-11 – ‘There are varieties of services, but the same Lord’ : Christians in a Plain Brown Wrapper

On Thursday we had the launch event for our Alpha Course (http://www.standrewscobham.org.uk/ see under ‘Alpha’). I can’t tell you very much about it, although I’m sure that it was a very good start. The reason is that the usual suspects in the church, like me, were not supposed to go. You might think that was rather odd, given that, as convinced Christians, we should have been very keen to spread the good news of Christ and to help to make other people into good Christians too.

I think that one reason why we usual suspects were supposed to stay away from Alpha is because of all the baggage, all the complications, that we might bring about our worship and about the way we follow Christ. We don’t want to confuse people.

You see for instance, I am an Anglican: but until 1996 I was a Methodist. Both my grandfathers and one great-grandfather were Methodist ministers. In the congregation here at St Andrew’s, I know that there are people who started out as Catholics, Methodists, Baptists, Orthodox, Pentecostals, Pioneer People. There are lots and lots of different types of Christians. All worshipping God and proclaiming the good news of Christ in different ways. And in different churches.

We’re in the middle of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, which Churches Together in Britain and Ireland organises each year, and which is part of a worldwide movement for Christian unity.

I suspect that most of us are a little bit worried about being insincere about this. I’m quite happy being an Anglican. I know that my friends Rhys and Rhonda down the road are very happy to be Methodists. My friends Craig and Clare are very happy to be Catholics. I don’t think that any of us, when we say our prayers for Christian Unity, actually want our churches to be abolished and for us to go into one great amorphous mass of Christians with a plain brown wrapper, as it were.

But in the case of the Alpha Course, although it is definitely being run by us here at St Andrew’s, an Anglican parish church, nevertheless there is absolutely no pressure on the people who come to ‘explore the meaning of life’, as the publicity puts it, to attend any particular church if they decide to take things further. There’s certainly pressure to attend some church; but it doesn’t have to be St Andrew’s. It could be the Catholics, or the Methodists, or the URCs or Baptists or the Orthodox. The important thing is to become Christian, to join the Body of Christ, which certainly does mean joining a church – but not any particular church.

Why we are Anglicans, Catholics, Methodists or whatever, is an interesting question. I suspect that between us, we could give all sorts of different answers. Probably the most common answer would be that the church we attend is the one that our parents went to, and that we were brought up in, the one that we’re most familiar with.

But that’s not necessarily the only answer. Perhaps the person you married went to a particular church, and you went along too. Perhaps you moved into a new area; you went round and road-tested all the local churches and picked one because you felt most at home there.

Certainly now, here in Cobham, it’s a very friendly world among all the churches, with no sinister undertones between them. But of course, in some parts of the world, and indeed nearer to home in Northern Ireland and parts of Scotland, what kind of Christian you are, and specifically whether you are a Protestant or a Catholic, is a question which has caused the most dreadful violence and bloodshed over the years.

Going back to the time of the Reformation, some very sharp divisions appeared. Catholics saw the Pope as the ‘Vicar’ of Christ, the person who stands in place of Christ. ‘Vicar’ comes from the Latin ‘vice’ – the same word as in vice versa: in place of. The Protestants didn’t like the thought that anyone was claiming to stand in for or represent Christ; so they called the Pope the ‘Antichrist’. Diametrically opposed views, additionally complicated in England by the thought that, once upon a time, if you were a Catholic, because of the allegiance which you owed to the Pope, this was in some sense treasonable, because you were acknowledging the authority of someone who is not the King or Queen.

In modern-day Palestine, at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, there are unseemly squabbles between the priests and monks of the various denominations who are all jointly responsible for keeping up the church and maintaining the holy places.

You can readily imagine how these sort of squabbles can come about. There’s nothing more important in a Christian’s life than their Christian belief. Therefore we can tend to think it’s vitally important that every detail of that belief should be absolutely authentic, absolutely correct. We might well think that somebody else has got some of it wrong, has misunderstood something important. I don’t particularly want to get into specifics, but I think we can all imagine the sort of things that Christians in different denominations might well debate about.

Even within the same church, there is scope for disagreement, for example about the best form of worship. There is a huge variety of worship that you can take part in, just within the Church of England. You can go to a so-called ‘high church’, where the priests and the choir wear the most beautiful vestments and robes: there may be incense, wonderful liturgy, beautiful words; very formal, great ceremony. There will be an emphasis on Holy Communion as being the most important form of worship.

Or you could go to an evangelical church where the minister doesn’t even wear a dog-collar: the choir don’t wear robes: there isn’t an organ – they play guitars and sing ‘worship songs’ instead of hymns. The heart of the service is not Holy Communion necessarily, but the word of God, in the Bible, and then in the explanation of it, the teaching on it, in a sermon.

Some services, again, haven’t changed since the mid-16th century. If you go to our sister church, St Mary’s, for Evensong or Mattins, that’s what you’ll find: a service which hasn’t changed since 1549 (http://tinyurl.com/akmehxw). Or alternatively you could come to our Family Service here at St Andrew’s, and we’ll be using a pattern of worship which our wonderful liturgist, Jan Brind, may have compiled in the last few weeks.

‘There are varieties of services – and there are varieties of spiritual gifts,’ to paraphrase what St Paul says in our lesson today. So how does all that bear on the question of Christian Unity? Do you remember Donald Rumsfeld, and his ‘unknown unknowns’? Well, in the context of Christian Unity, I want to say that there is another rather Rumsfeld-sounding concept – ‘indifferent things’, in theology the Greek word αδιάφορα, [adiaphora] which means things which don’t make much of a difference. The make-no-differences are an old idea in Christianity, and a very useful one. At the time of the Reformation, in the 15th and 16th centuries, the time of Luther, Calvin and Zwingli, one of the points of difference between the reformers and the Catholic Church was all about what was happening in the Holy Communion service.

Did the bread and wine somehow, sacramentally, become Jesus’ body and blood? Was there what was called the Real Presence, or transubstantiation of the elements, or was it just bread and wine? The reformers couldn’t agree. They all had slightly different understandings of it. Luther thought that there was transubstantiation, that there was Real Presence of Jesus in the bread and the wine. He didn’t disagree with the Catholics on that point. Calvin and Zwingli did disagree. They thought that the bread and the wine are just symbols, symbols to remind the people taking communion what the sacraments stand for. But they all, Reformers and Catholics, could agree on the basic, core doctrines within Christianity, all the things that we say in the Creed.

A great early theologian of the Church of England, Richard Hooker, used the idea of αδιάφορα, indifferent things, to great effect. The question, whether or not the bread and the wine somehow changes in the Communion service, was one of those things, he said, which actually made no difference – it was an ‘indifferent’ thing, so different sorts of Christians, Protestant, Puritan, Church of England and Catholic, could agree together on more than they disagreed about. This idea of ‘things that don’t matter’ is a very useful concept in the context of Christian Unity. It stops us from having sterile disputes, for example about what’s going on in the communion service, and we certainly don’t regard the Pope as the Antichrist any more. (MacCulloch, D., 2003, Reformation, London, Allen Lane, p.502f)

I want to suggest that whether you are a Catholic, or a Methodist, or an evangelical type, or a straight up-and-down middle-of-the-road Anglican, whatever, your Christianity is perfectly all right. I don’t think we should beat ourselves up over being in different denominations. St Paul said, ‘There are varieties of services – and varieties of service’. In his letters to the Galatians and the Romans, he deals with whether the new Christians should be circumcised, or whether they should observe any other distinctive Jewish customs like keeping the Sabbath, for example. He says, No, it’s not necessary any more.

The good news of Jesus is available to everyone, not just to Jewish people, nor indeed to any other kind of religious denomination in particular. St Paul’s great work was to spread the good news of Jesus Christ beyond the original Jewish Christians to the non-Jewish, so-called Gentiles – which is what we are, after all. All sorts and conditions of people. As St Paul says, there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave or free, in the kingdom of God (Galatians 3:28). All these distinctions are unimportant: they are ‘indifferent’, they make no difference.

So when we pray for Christian Unity, let’s pray not to become one great amorphous mass, but rather that we should make room for each other as Christians, to acknowledge that we are all one in Christ, we all believe in the same good news. But let us give thanks that there are many spiritual gifts and many varieties of service.

Further reading: http://ntwrightpage.com/Wright_Diocesan_Address_May_2010.htm

Sermon for Evensong on the First Sunday after Epiphany (The Baptism of Christ), 13th January 2013
Isaiah 55:1-11, Romans 6:1-11

You might be rather surprised to learn that I like cycling. When you look at my sylph-like figure, you might be excused if you showed a certain degree of scepticism about this! But really, I do enjoy riding my bike on a nice fine day. You are right, though: I’m not one of these chaps clad in Lycra trying to emulate Sir Bradley Wiggins up and down the Fairmile or even climbing up Box Hill – let alone doing it nine times!

My bike benefits from electrical assistance. Going uphill, the harder I have to pedal, the more assistance I get. It doesn’t do all the work for me, it gives me just as much assistance as I call for. On the way down into the village I hardly use any assistance, but on the way back up, I switch the boost to maximum!

This is the sort of mechanism that St Paul has in mind when he starts chapter 6 of his letter to the Romans by saying, ‘What then are we to say? Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound?’ In other words, pressing down on the ‘sin’ pedal brings counter-acting force, of grace, to outweigh the sin. Is that how salvation works? No, St Paul says, no, definitely it isn’t. Just because we have received God’s grace, God’s free gift in Jesus, because we have been put right with God, justified, by our faith, it doesn’t give us the green light to pursue immorality and sin.

It’s no good thinking that, because we have received grace, because we are numbered among the elect, the saved, then whatever we do, we’ll get whatever grace we need in order to put things right, however awful we are.

St Paul goes on to talk about the effect of baptism. In baptism there is a symbolic, sacramental death, drowning the old self in the water and then rising to new life as one emerges from the water. Today, the first Sunday after Epiphany, is the time in the church’s year when we celebrate the most special baptism of all, the baptism of Christ.

Why did Christ need to be baptised at all? As the son of God, he had no sin in him. The reason was, that Christ was entering into our human life. As humans, we are capable of sin; so Jesus as a human, as incarnate in our life, was baptised, washed free of any possibility of sin. St Paul develops this idea in this passage from Romans. He talks about dying and rising ‘with Christ’. A big theme in St Paul’s letters is the idea of our being ‘in Christ’. Sometimes he talks almost as though Christ was a suit of clothes. In his letter to the Galatians he says, ‘As many of you as were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ …’ (Galatians 3:28) In this passage in the sixth chapter of his letter to the Romans, he says that Christians through their baptism are ‘dead to sin and alive to God’ (v.11), or raised to new life in Christ.

I’m not really sure what that means. It’s very comforting to hear, in our lesson from Isaiah chapter 55, ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says the Lord.’ (v.8) I don’t know whether anyone can fully understand all the nuances of meaning, for somebody to be ‘in Christ’. A traditional explanation is that, for us to be ‘in Christ’ means that Christ is in us. But If Christ is in us, how does it work? In particular, how does it work for us to be ‘crucified with’ Christ, and then to rise again with him, in the way St Paul puts it in his letter to the Romans?

If we are united with Jesus in death, then, indeed, St Paul says we will be united with him in his resurrection too. But, thank goodness, none of us has been crucified: instead, St Paul makes it all depend on baptism. He says we were ‘baptised into’ Jesus’ death.

Baptism is a sacrament: an ‘outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace’. The Catechism, which little boys and girls used to have to learn by heart in the latter half of the C16, says this.

‘What is the outward sign or form in baptism?
Water: wherein the person is baptized, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
What is the inward and spiritual grace?
A death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteousness, for being by nature born in sin, and the children of wrath, we are hereby made the children of grace.’

And the Catechism goes on, ‘What is required of persons to be baptized? Repentance, whereby they forsake sin: and faith, whereby they stedfastly believe the promises of God, made to them in that sacrament.’ (BCP, A Catechism, p.295) Repentance and faith. These stand for death and resurrection, in the sacrament of baptism.

As St Paul says, we are justified by faith (Romans 4:13-5:1). The word ‘justified’ in St Paul’s letters, δίκαιωθεις in Greek, is often explained as meaning ‘put right with’, not exactly ‘excused’ or ‘acquitted’, but put into a right relationship with God. ‘Justified by faith’: there’s almost a circularity in it. If we have faith, we have a right relationship with God. If we lose our faith, we are separated from that right relationship and we are ‘in sin’. Sin is separation from God.

You might object that this is a very heavy theological burden for a baby who is being christened, and that it is a bit far-fetched to imagine that any baby is going to understand that he or she has been baptised into the death and resurrection of Christ. But, the idea of babies being baptised is a very old one. In the Book of Common Prayer you will find the next question and answer in the Catechism asks why infants, who cannot ‘perform’ the required repentance and faith, are baptised, and the answer is that their parents and godparents make the promises for them, and when they reach a suitable age, in confirmation, they take over responsibility for repentance and faith; they are, in effect, still bound by that promise.

This is all very beautiful, and it sounds great. You would expect therefore that Christians would live perfect lives. But of course, we don’t. Indeed St Paul himself goes on to say, in the next chapter of Romans, chapter 7, ‘I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin. I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate… But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.’ (Rom. 7:15,17) That doesn’t seem to square very well with the idea of having died to sin, and therefore no longer being affected by it.

I came across a picturesque way of understanding this apparent contradiction. Imagine a bus driver who has to follow the bus route when he’s driving the bus. As he drives along, he sees all sorts of interesting by-ways and detours that he’d quite like to take. But because he is a bus driver, under orders, he can’t deviate, he has to keep to the prescribed route.

But suppose that the same bus driver on his day off follows the same route in his own car. In those circumstances, he’s perfectly able to go exploring, and leave the bus route. Once, like the bus driver, we were constrained to follow the route of sin. Now, in Christ, we have been set free. We can still choose to follow the old route if we really want to. But we’re also able to choose something new, ‘newness of life.’

So we still have free will; and indeed, sometimes it gets on top of us, as St Paul was complaining. But we are now driving our own car: we ought to be a good driver. If we have faith, then we are ‘in Christ’, and Christ is in us. We are free from the compulsion to follow the path of sin. (Stone, D., 1998, The Baptism Service, London, Hodder and Stoughton: p.91)

Nevertheless, being ‘in Christ’, being ‘dead to sin and alive in Christ’, may also be rather like waiting for the Second Coming. There is a tension between the here-and-now and the not-yet. St Augustine’s prayer, ‘Please God, make me good – but not yet’, is another way of expressing this. Are we ready to ‘put on Christ’? Are we ready to ‘die with him to sin’? That is the question which we need to think about, on this first Sunday after Epiphany.

Let us pray that in this new year, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life.

There are several key features of Thatcherism. They include the following.

Doctrinaire adherence to monetarist economic theory:
A belief that ‘public’ is bad, and ‘private’ is good:
A belief that ‘there is no such thing as society’:
Military adventurism.

Monetarism

When the Conservative Party led by Margaret Thatcher won the 1979 election, it followed a time of economic crisis – a loan from the International Monetary Fund in 1976, devaluation of the pound and interest rates around 15%. The ‘winter of discontent’ of 1978/9 saw the worst industrial unrest in Britain since the General Strike of 1926.

Thatcher decided that a particular economic theory, ‘monetarism’, propounded by Friedrich Hayek, Milton Friedman and Alan Walters, was the only possible solution. It was ‘supply side’ regulation. If the amount of money was reduced, prices (and inflation) would drop. She said that ‘There is no alternative’ (‘TINA’). The economy was regulated according to various ‘money supply’ figures ‘M1, M2,’ etc.

The effect of this policy was to reduce the size of the economy, and in particular to destroy much of Britain’s manufacturing industry. Margaret Thatcher was willing to see thousands put out of work rather than modify her application of monetarist theory. Unemployment reached 3 million in 1980.

Just as Edward Heath, the previous Conservative prime minister, had inflicted huge economic damage through his imposition of a ‘3 day week’ in 1973 in the face of a miners’ strike, saying that ‘there was no alternative’ because there were ‘insufficient coal stocks to fuel the power stations’ – a claim which turned out not to be true – so Margaret Thatcher’s claim that ‘there is no alternative’ to monetarism was open to challenge, but she was still willing to sacrifice many people’s livelihoods for the sake of her economic dogma.

In fact, far from its being beyond doubt that her theory was right, in March 1981 The Times published a letter from 364 economists saying ‘there is no basis in economic theory …. for the government’s present [monetarist] policies’. For many ordinary people, whose livelihoods had been ruined by these policies, it created lasting distrust in politicians that a government could ignore the fact that there was principled disagreement among those best qualified to judge the wisdom or otherwise of what the government was dogmatically insisting on doing – and that the government preferred to stick to its questionable dogma rather than to maintain stable employment for the majority of the population.

Thatcherist economic policies, for example the abolition on restrictions affecting share dealings (the ‘Big Bang’, or deregulation of the stock market in 1986), harmed manufacturing industry and benefitted services such as banking, insurance and other ‘City’ businesses. This meant that for those without the necessary professional qualifications to work in the service sector, i.e. the vast majority, who worked in factories, employment became much more uncertain and the expectation of a single career for life disappeared. Of a working population only a tiny minority work in the favoured service sector. Apprenticeships have drastically reduced in number. All this has militated against social cohesion, and resulted in serious riots in Liverpool in 1981. People no longer had the ‘wartime spirit’ of working together for the good of the country as a whole.

It is noteworthy that David Cameron is again pursuing classically Thatcherist deflationary economic policies and justifying them by asserting that ‘there is no alternative’. Just as in the early 1980s, public spending of all types is being sharply reduced, and a recession made worse thereby. However, to the contrary, public investment, for example in major infrastructure projects, has been a powerful instrument in reviving economies in recession, for example under President Roosevelt in the USA in the 1930s, when a major road-building programme was undertaken, which created jobs and built useful assets conducive to economic growth – i.e. better roads. By eschewing such public investment, Thatcherist economic policies are still damaging the British economy, and putting many people out of work. There have again been riots.

Margaret Thatcher had never studied economics (she studied Chemistry at Oxford, and subsequently read for the Bar), and she failed to perceive some very important differences between British business practice and, for example business practice in Germany and Japan, with the result that British manufacturing has become less competitive. Industrial loans in Britain typically mature, i.e. have to be repaid or re-financed, over a much shorter period than loans in Germany or Japan, where the repayment period is much longer – typically seven years as against three. British manufacturers are rarely led by managing directors who are engineers, whereas German or Japanese manufacturers usually are. In consequence there is more emphasis on developing and perfecting better products than in the UK, where accountants rule. It is not accidental that most cars bought in the UK are produced by German or Japanese companies, and that although British car factories are producing large numbers of cars, they are not designed here, and the manufacturers are not British companies. Thatcherism has fatally weakened British manufacturing companies.

Public bad – private good

Margaret Thatcher, as a child of a successful shopkeeper, became successful, in the sense that she became prime minister rather than the successor in title to her father’s business, through hard work and application, she believed. She never acknowledged that she had received any public benefit. Her father sent her to a fee-paying, private school, and she did not win a scholarship at Oxford. Although in reality she owed a very considerable debt to her father for the privileged start in life which she received, she developed a strong belief that a person’s success or failure depends above all on their own efforts – every person is the author or their own success or failure, according to her.

This led to her despising public investment. She is reported to have said that, if one is on a bus after the age of 26, it is a sign of failure! (Interview on Thames TV in 1976). She despised universities, because she believed that they fostered belief in socialism (irrespective which subject one studied). Similarly she saw no merit in museums or theatres, and she almost never used trains.

Monetarism involved a belief in markets as measures of value. Things were only worth what someone was willing to pay for them. If something could not be bought, it had – according to Margaret Thatcher – no value. This reinforced her antagonism towards the arts, pure academic activity and research.

Her private good/public bad analysis was nowhere more clearly shown than in her policy to sell off council houses. She restricted funding to local councils so severely that they had to raise money by selling off their assets – of which the biggest was their stock of council houses. She forced councils, by various means, to sell their stock of houses at an undervalue, and offered subsidised loans to tenants in order to facilitate their purchases.

She believed that it was ‘better’ for people to own their own houses rather than to rent them. Houses were ‘better’ under private ownership. Of course in turning former council tenants into property owners, she had a gerrymandering objective, to manufacture Conservative voters. She was never censured for this although her close friend and supporter, Dame Shirley Porter, was ‘surcharged’ (in effect, fined) £27 million for a similar gerrymandering policy in the London Borough of Westminster in 2004. The sell-off of council houses, coupled with a policy which forbade councils from reinvesting the proceeds in replacement new houses, was to change the economic outlook for working-class people radically.

When council housing was readily available, people could undertake relatively menial jobs, and accept relatively low pay, and still enjoy a decent standard of living. Council houses were well built according to the so-called Parker-Morris standards, which laid down, for example, minimum sizes for rooms. By contrast, private developments were not subject to the same requirements. By being a council tenant, a worker was to some extent protected from the vagaries of the economic market, whereas once the same person had bought their council house, they were exposed to market forces such as interest rate rises. In order to enjoy the same standard of living, they needed bigger salaries – which employers were not willing or able to pay. The result was ever more unemployment.

The idea that only markets are reliable indicators of value was – and is – central to Thatcherism. Although she herself shied away from introducing marketisation into the National Health Service, her successors, such as Andrew Lansley in the Cameron government, have embraced the ideas of competition between hospitals and other ‘suppliers’ of medical ‘services’ for ‘customers’. This completely contradicts the founders’ idea that the NHS should be a source of treatment and healing for sick people irrespective of cost – and that the cost should be met out of taxation.

The likely outcome of this is to make the NHS more like the American health system – available, and very good, provided that the patient has private resources, in wealth or insurance coverage (itself often prohibitively expensive), to pay for the treatment. In the USA, poor people suffer and die, simply because they are too poor to pay for medical treatment. This is the likely outcome of Thatcherist policy in relation to the NHS.

‘No such thing as Society’

Margaret Thatcher used this phrase in an interview with a journalist from the magazine ‘Woman’s Own’ in 1987, following her third election victory. She believed that individuals could determine their own success or failure, perhaps by working hard. In 1981, her follower Norman Tebbit told unemployed people that his father had tackled being unemployed by ‘getting on his bike’ and seeking out employment. She had no understanding that the majority of working people have very little economic autonomy: far from being able to get on their bikes, metaphorically speaking, they have no bikes to ride, and little of the knowledge or mental ability to do so. They do not have the cushion of capital savings to fall back on which her policy calls for. Tebbit’s saying was, in effect, a cruel taunt.

Thatcher and her followers believed that, if someone was out of work, it was their own fault – they had lost their job because they had not worked hard enough, or they had gone on strike for better conditions. It was not understood that many places of work closed as a direct result of Thatcher’s economic dogma, the policy of restricting money supply, and through that, of restricting investment. The employees were thrown out of work without regard for their diligence or abilities. Although Margaret Thatcher may have thought that her policies were designed to promote self-reliance, in many people they produced only despair and cynicism.

Thatcher saw the protection which trades unions gave to their members, in the ultimate by striking, simply as an impediment to economic growth. She did not value job security for the mass of people, and therefore she passed a number of laws which restricted the ability of the trades unions to take industrial action in order to protect their members’ employment rights. The most damaging of these, the Employment Act 1980, outlawed ‘secondary action’; in other words, a union could strike only in furtherance of a trade dispute in which it (its members) were directly involved.

The result has been a decline in union membership and the perception among employers that the UK offers workers the least protection against loss of employment of any European country. Recently the Cameron government commissioned a report from Adrian Beecroft, an entrepreneur and Conservative Party donor, which recommended that employment protection regulation should be watered down so that the UK would emulate the USA, where employers can hire and fire at will. There is no evidence that reducing job security even further would in any way promote economic growth. In the strongest European economy, Germany, unions are represented on the supervising boards of companies and employment is strongly protected.

Where, as a result of their being able to exercise leverage despite the removal of much of their power, unions can maintain a credible threat of industrial action, as the RMT Union under Bob Crow does, its members enjoy much better rates of pay and job security than similarly-qualified people in industries where there is no powerful union to protect them. Thatcherists forget that there are many more potential victims – workers – than employers. Union power benefits society rather than the other way round, as Thatcherists would have us believe.

Thatcher’s nostrum that ‘There is no such thing as society’ has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. In removing statutory protections and emasculating collective organisations who could stand up to those who threatened the security of ordinary workers, Thatcherism has further weakened the bonds of society. The emphasis is on individual success: there is no real concern for the weak, the poor, the ill and the old. Again, the change from the caring society enjoyed during the 1939-45 war and its aftermath is striking, and disastrous.

Military Adventurism

Margaret Thatcher’s electoral fortunes were waning badly in 1982. She embraced the Falklands campaign despite the following:

British foreign policy over the Falklands towards Argentina had for several years been directed towards negotiating handing over sovereignty, but leasing back the islands in a similar way to what had happened between Britain and China over the New Territories in Hong Kong in 1898. The ‘polar research’ ship (effectively, a warship) HMS ENDURANCE was to be scrapped under Thatcher’s cuts in public expenditure. The Argentine government could be excused for misreading the signs, and drawing the conclusion that Britain cared little for the Falklands.

Having decided that it was a matter of principle that the Argentine invasion was to to be contested, just as in other spheres Thatcher was willing to risk people’s livelihoods for the sake of a dogma, here she was willing even to risk lives. Every ship which went to the Falklands was hit by Argentine bombs. By luck, all passed through the hulls of the target ships and, their fuses having been set incorrectly, exploded harmlessly on the sea bed. The BELGRANO was effectively a sitting duck which was turning away from the Royal Navy – but Margaret Thatcher personally ordered her to be sunk, with the loss of hundreds of lives. Thatcher relied on the bravery and military expertise of the British forces to draw the public’s attention away from the disastrous effects of her economic policies, and give her a war leader’s halo.

This has had a terrible effect. Thatcher’s successors, Blair and Brown, and now Cameron, believe in military might as an instrument of policy. Countless Iraqis were slaughtered through Blair’s willingness to adopt GW Bush’s doctrine of a ‘war on terror’, even despite the lack of any UN mandate. Britain went to war against Iraq in breach of international law – but in the mind of the Thatcherists, this did not matter, so long as the war was ‘successful’.

Similar bloody logic has applied in Afghanistan. Originally our forces were committed as peacekeepers, and the mission was sanctioned by a vote in the UN. We were assured by a government minister that there would be no need for bloodshed and that our troops would be home soon. That was in 2002, and hundreds of British troops have been killed and maimed since. The government puts out the line that our military activity is allowing the development of settled government and education for women – that, in the face of hundreds of years of history, Afghans can be persuaded to change their beliefs by the use of force.

The war in Afghanistan is useful for the Cameron, Thatcherist, government, in distracting attention from the dire economic situation at home, which their dogma is making worse. There are parallels with Thatcher in 1982. The sight of the British Paralympians, missing limbs as a result of being hurt in Afghanistan, was appalling. These brave people had been maimed in a completely futile cause – but the Thatcherists do not care, preferring to stick to spurious dogma about ‘achievement’ in Afghanistan.

Now as our troops are finally being pulled out, the US Ambassador to NATO, Mr Daalder, has argued that the money saved should not be put towards relieving the hardship caused by economic failure, but to more spending on arms. Thatcherist orthodoxy is that ‘might is right’.

Conclusion

Thatcher and her successors destroyed the post-war consensus between the haves and the have-nots. She destroyed the idea that the strong had a duty to protect the weak in society. Her analysis of the parable of the Good Samaritan was that the Samaritan was only able to be charitable because he was rich. The obscenity of this is breathtaking, but the damage goes very deep. Uncritical acceptance of Thatcher’s TINA has become so ingrained that few perceive how repellent her morality was. As a result, our society has no stable basis any more. The guiding principle, set by the market, is dog-eat-dog.