In the heart of suffering

Earlier this year, the actor and author Stephen Fry was interviewed on the programme 'The Meaning of Life'.  He was asked what he would say if he was confronted by God at the pearly gates.  An avowed atheist, Fry replies:  I'd say, bone cancer in children? What's that about? How dare you? How dare you create a world in which there is such misery that is not our fault.

That kind of voice of protest is not unknown to us; it is not unknown to our biblical narratives either.  The psalms include passages of anguished lament alongside songs of praise and wonder.  The psalms include words of anger which resonate with the conviction of Fry's 'how dare you?'.  That voice of protest echoes within the lives of Christian communities too: in our theology and practice of endurance, resilience and altruism; in the words of Magnificat and campaigns for justice.

Rowan Williams responded to Fry on 'Newsnight' by acknowledging that it would a very, very stupid and insensitive person who never felt that.  To be human is to be confronted by the reality of pain and injustice; to be human is to grapple with our incomprehension and anger; to be human is respond with compassion and generosity.

As Williams expresses it what's mysterious is the fact that people in the heart of suffering, people who are alongside children with bone cancer still, somehow, maintain a faith, a trust of some kind.  It is that 'something' that prevents Rowan from saying 'it's all god's fault and that's it' .  Today we are confronted by a text which draws us deeply into the reality of suffering.

The book of Job is story of human misfortune and misery.  Job's story is one which explores human motivation in relation to God.   He is a devout man; he is a prosperous man. The writer of this book sets up an extended  game of 'what if?'.  The character of the Satan is like a Shakespearean court fool - asking the testing questions. He asks, does Job trust God because of his great wealth? Or as the divine character suggests, is Job's trust in God independent of comfort and prosperity.  In the opening chapters, Job's wife poses the questions forcefully, why bother to place your love and faith in God, if there's no material gain?  Do you still persist in your integrity? she says,  Curse God and die!

Chris Gollon - Job's Wife (2013)

Job's friends continue to challenge him on his loyalty to God. They goad him by offering advice and explanations. The passage we heard this evening forms part of Job's response to their torment and reproach.  He is brutally honest in his lament.  He cries out to God against the violence and agony he faces but finds no answer, no justice. 

He rages and rails against God: he feels hemmed in by darkness and cannot see the way ahead.  Having lost his family, wealth, possessions and status - the things we might regard as his pride and glory - he feels broken down.  I am gone he says.  All that defines him has been taken away - his own identity, his sense of self-worth is undermined. In the midst of loss and pain, without material stability, Job feels as if his hope has been uprooted.

He describes his relationship with God is embattled. Having known God as the source of blessing, his trust in him is now put to the test. His own intimate friends and closest family, as well as those more superficial social acquaintances, have deserted him. It is easy to become estranged when our capacity to be hospitable and generous is none existent. He sees himself as they see him: repulsive, loathsome, despised and abhorred.  They are perhaps fair weather friends - keen to enjoy the luxury of Job's bountiful lifestyle in the good days. Yet as he asks for their pity, they become like pursuers - judging him for his changed circumstances. 

The agony and cries of Job's circumstances are not alien to us.  Growing inequality in our own nation; the fear mounting on the borders of the European Union; the violence, oppression and injustice perpetuated across the continents; the shock of untimely death and chronic illness; the pain of loneliness and inexplicable changes of circumstances. All these things shape our petitions, prayers and laments.

Yet within the darkness of Job's petitions we hear words of hope and trust: I know that my Redeemer lives. The word translated redeemer is goel and literally means someone who would defend our cause; a champion and advocate. He is one who seeks justice; the champion of the oppressed.   Although his heart faints, Job utters words of assurance that he is not abandoned. Such hope of a redeemer goes beyond the expectation of literal support and practical alleviation of our circumstances.

Job's hope is in God who will stands alongside us, who reaches out to us. A God who's love and forgiveness isn't dependent on our worthiness. It is a hope which is rooted in the assurance of God with us; whose love for us is made perfect in human weakness.  The letter to the Hebrews picks up this theme of redemption expressed in part through the lives and actions of priesthood; but fulfilled in Jesus Christ.  The main point of this letter is that in him we know God with us; we know that our Redeemer lives.

The priesthood of Christ is eternal: it is expressed in his birth and teaching, his healing and suffering, his death and resurrection.  This is the drama of our redemption: a drama of God's love for the world: creating, redeeming and sustaining.  God takes the risk of giving freedom to his creation; God also risks bearing the cost of redemption on the cross. In Jesus sin and death are defeated; in him we see life restored, bursting from an empty tomb.  God sends his Spirit upon us - in our fragile and broken world - in order that we might be caught up in this redemptive activity.

As Graham Tomlin puts it in 'The Widening Circle': God's desire is to bless his Creation and to bring it to its fulfillment. He does that through Christ, the one Mediator between God and Creation. And yet he chooses to involve us in various ways in that priestly blessing. That is part of our human calling - to be a source of comfort, joy and blessing to others. We are called to abide in God's love; we are called to reflect that love in abiding with one another. 

Sometimes we protest with Job as cries seem unanswered; but rather than seeking blame and culpability like his friends, we might be called to hold the hands of the dying; to embrace those in distress.  We are called to embody that mysterious trust and faith expressed by Rowan.  It's not perfect, it's not painless; but it's love, actually. It is not something that can be presented in words; it is something that can be lived - cautiously, hopefully, wholeheartedly. 

It's a faith and trust made manifest in us. I glimpsed it at a lunch time recital hosted in by previous parish church and Shooting Star Chase children's hospice.  It's not romantic ideal; it's a piece of ordinary. The musicians performed with energy and skill; the children were caught up in rhythm which held their wordless attention; their siblings danced and clapped; bereaved parents wept and carers reached out to them. We gathered for a moment in this place. The unemployed man eating his lunch, the passer by and the worshiper; the volunteer with homemade biscuits. We came. And stayed.  And spent time together. Then in my flesh I shall see God.  Then in our frailty we find life.

© Julie Gittoes 2015

Feet of clay

What was the novel that shaped your childhood or your adolescence? For me, there was Black Beauty, Watership Down, Jane Eyre to name but a few.  Such stories have the power to help us make sense of the complexity of emotion and human decision making. The intimacy of a book, means we can't remain detached;  we learn through the lives of characters. We find inspiration in their endurance and are informed by the social vision they strive for and defend.

Fiction's capacity to connect us emotionally with human ideals is revealed in the reactions to the publication of Harper Lee's Go Set a Watchman. Perhaps you encountered  Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird as a teenager; perhaps like me you only discovered him as an adult.  We admired him and he shaped our value system. He's someone who defended a black man and stood out as a champion of civil rights; his daughter's hero and his town's moral compass.

 

But in fiction as in life, it is more complicated than that. The moral hero has feet of clay.  We feel betrayed. The one whose goodness stood at the heart of a tale about racial justice was actually a character entangled in the fear and violence which under-girded a white-supremacist society. Watchman is uncomfortable. We see the world through adult eyes. Atticus' daughter reappears, no longer the tomboy "Scout" of Mockingbird but the adult Jean Louise. She has to grow up; and she makes us grow up too. We are forced to confront inequality and injustice.

If we are dismayed to discover that fictional character does not bear our ideals but reveals our flaws, might we find hope in power of story to jolt us out of complacency?

If a novelist can tease out human failings and nudge us to a greater appreciation of virtue and empathy, how much more does attention to our biblical texts challenge and shape us?  When we read ancient texts like Deuteronomy or Peter's letter to an early Christian community, we are confronted by the frailty of our human condition and by God's desire to bless and transform us.  God is faithful to us; it is we who waver. Yet God's response is to continue to reach out to us with compassion.

Today's passage from Deuteronomy begins with a call to remember - to examine the blessings and challenges of life; and in that context to return to the Lord. That substance of that 'return' involves all that we are. We are to obey God with every fibre of our being: with mind, body, emotion and soul. We are to love with our whole self. For the people of Israel, loyalty and devotion to God was reflected not just in the physical marker of outward circumcision but in a change of heart. God is to be the main thing in our lives.

God delights in his creation; we become fruitful when we live fully in relation to the one who gives us life. If God is the focus of all that we are, then all that we do reflects his love.  Aligning ourselves with his will in love shapes the way in which we walk in the world.  Life isn't that simple though. Like Atticus, our characters aren't always consistent; our judgments don't always reflect the compassionate love of God.  That's what we mean by sin - our fractured relationships, our tendency to be selfish or to be preoccupied with our own desires. 

Our hearts are restless and we try to satisfy our longings in what we own or control; in our status and all that we choose to place centre stage. Yet within us there is a deeper desire; a remembrance that we find our rest in God. In our worship we call to mind all that we are - our joys and disappointments - and give thanks that our frailty isn't the last word in this story. In Jesus Christ, God meets us where we are.

As we hear in our epistle: For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, in order to bring you to God.  God's love made manifest in Jesus brings healing to our humanity.  The fragmented and dislocated parts of our lives are restored; by the power of his Spirit we continue to grow into the people God calls us to be.  Peter, in his final exhortations, speaks of this unity in the Spirit reshaping our lives.  We grow in our sympathies and love for the other, our hearts are opened and minds humbled.

The words of Peter continue to challenge us: we may not face suffering for our faith, but moment by moment we have to ask if our speech reflects the love of God and the values of God's Kingdom. We are to be channels of blessing - refusing to repay evil for evil. If we seek the peace of God - at the very heart of our lives - we are to pursue in our dealings with others.  If Christ is honoured in our hearts, we must honour him in our actions and in our words. In that way we give an account of the hope that is within us.

The hope that God is in Jesus Christ drawing all things to himself; that the power of the Spirit at work in us, and in God's world, continues that work of reconciliation. God's desire is to bless his creation; our calling in Christ is to directed towards others, that they may be drawn back into fellowship with God through Christ; strengthen by the Spirit we share in witness, compassion and worship.

We may have feet of clay, but we are blessed and called to be a blessing to others. In world where so many are consumed by work to survive or to acquire wealth; where many are lonely and relationships fracture, we are to live lives that reflect God's desire for us. We are to delight in God as God delights in us. We are to reveal the glory of God as we relate to each other and our world: with sympathy, love, humility and tender hearts.

A prayer of Theresa of Avila:

Trust in God

Let nothing disturb you,

Let nothing frighten you;

All things pass:

God never changes.

Patience achieves

all it strives for.

He who has God

Finds he lacks nothing.

God alone suffices.

© Julie Gittoes 2015

The dance of living

At our Cathedral Eucharist on Sunday 12th July it was a delight to welcome three newly baptised children into the life of the Christian community. We along with their families and godparents promise to support and encourage them in their faith; that their lives may be shaped by God's love.  At that same service, it was a  pleasure to be joined in worship by Dame Sarah Goad and many of the Friends of Guildford Cathedral. In so many ways they bless us with wisdom and insight, which enrich our common life. They remind us of our commitment to worship in this beautiful place, and to the wider community in culture, commerce, culture and voluntary service. We rightly give thanks for all that - for faith, service and fellowship.

The first reading from the opening chapter of the letter to Ephesians reflected that vision of blessing - poured out on us by God as we become members of one family. It speaks of human life shaped by forgiveness and hope. The second reading is far darker for it reveals the complexity of our human nature. It is Mark's account of the beheading of John the Baptist. And it seems as if the fate of all concerned hinges on the response to a dance.

Dancing is part of what makes us human: dance is embedded in our social customs. The couple's first dance at the wedding reception is as anticipated as the best-man's speech and the cutting of the cake.  Dance gives physical expression to human stories; we find identity and meaning in rhythm and movement; in the uninhibited delight of children or the trusting elegance of ballroom. 

Dance sustains conventions of gender, race and class, but also disrupts them.  It is far removed from the modest reserve which has hitherto been considered distinctive of English females'said The Times in 1816. This intimate embrace and rapidly whirling nature of the Waltz was shocking.  In 2013 the singer, Miley Cyrus sparked media outrage sparked by "twerking".

Provocation, desire, dance and power are closely aligned:  Herodias' daughter came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests.

It's intriguing tale: the dance itself is a decisive moment.  A young woman captivates her audience. A weak ruler makes a rash promise. A jealous wife demands brutality.  Her daughter unleashes events beyond her control; Herod capitulates.

Chris Gollon - Salome 2013

Herod's flash back reveals the frailty of human nature: our capacity to be seduced by power and popularity; to vent our hostility and jealously; to be consumed with desire or vanity. John had fearlessly spoken out against the chaos of Herod's personal life; his challenge to the double divorce and remarriage chimed with popular opinion, yet following arrest the king continued to listen to John, his holiness was both compelling and perplexing.

Herod is trying to make sense of Jesus on the basis of what he knew about John - he authoritative, charismatic, prophetic. In speaking truthfully about human nature and God forgiveness,  John pointed people to Jesus; he prepared the way for us to hear Jesus' message by inviting us to turn back to God.  The key question for Mark is "who is Jesus?".  All that we do in worship is a trusting response to that question: in prayer and song, in water and blessing, in bread and wine.

As we celebrate the baptism we also recognise our human tendency to mess things up. Our desires get misdirected; we wound or undermine others; we selfishly pursue what we want. That's what we mean by sin: it's reflected in broken relationships.  God's response is to love us - not just a little bit, but abundantly. He longs to bless, forgive, restore. That is the meaning of our salvation - to be brought back into right relationship with God and each other.

In the water of baptism we experience God's "yes" to us. In Christ we are cleansed, refreshed and renewed. The good news of Jesus Christ is that God is with us - taking on our human nature and meeting us where we are. All all that Jesus said and did, in teaching and healing, in his suffering and death, reveals that there is no where where God is not.  Sin is defeated. Death is not the final word. In Jesus' risen life we find forgiveness and peace.  

Therefore, we praise God, the source of life and love, because he has  blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing.  We are God's children. He has adopted us. The language of Ephesians is full of hope. It reminds  us of who God created us to be. God blesses us - with wisdom, insight, hope and glory. God is generous in forgiving; and lavish in the gifts he gives us. In Christ, the fullness of God dwells with us; at the end of time God will gather all things in his love; here and now God's Spirit gives us glimpse of that reality.

But what does that look like? Very often we think that holiness is a bit dull; a bit too otherworldly.  Yet it when we encounter it, it is irresistible. When we are met with kindness and understanding; when we are encouraged or forgiven; when we see resilience in the face of adversity; in pursuit of justice and the common good. In human lives, we glimpse holiness.

Holiness is more than "rule book" or merely hoping we will "do the right thing". Holiness, within the fellowship of the church, is a matter of practising - just like a dancer.

She rehearses choreography until it looks effortless; muscle memory means her movement is instinctive.  An experienced dancer readily adapts to new rhythms and melodies.

We are called to practice the dance of faith. To be so rooted in God in worship, that our lives echo his holiness; to know the story of God's love and improvise on it in our daily life.  To learn pray as our Year 6s  did at their Leavers' Service last week: saying thanks, please and sorry.  That dance is compelling, beautiful and inclusive - full of forgiveness and joy, patience and self-control, day by day. We do this strengthened by God's Spirit. We do this for the sake of God's world.

To gather together in worship and fellowship is to be  surrounded by a community of encouragement. We share gifts with one another - of music and hospitality, or administration and pastoral care, of voluntary service and civic or political engagement. We draw near to the altar to receive communion; to receive God's blessing. Here, we encounter Christ. We are his people, shaped by the Spirit, living lives that reflect God's love. Dance then, wherever you may be; follow the Lord of the dance, in a dance of love.

© Julie Gittoes 2015