Embrace

The text of a sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral on Sunday 17th January. In the midst of Epiphanytide, we focused our attention on the wedding at Cana - a celebration of human love and commitment; the first of Jesus' signs recorded by John.  Preaching on this theme in the context of Primates2016 was challenging and I am very much aware that I am on a journey in relation to how we live in Communion.  Recognising we're called by the one Spirit, to witness to the love of God made manifest in Jesus Christ, yet worshipping and living in radically different contexts. I find myself drawn to a hopeful, challenging, irenic place.  That's costly. It expresses both a range of loves and relationships; it risks a bigger vision of God's Kingdom.  I keep thinking of my late supervisor Dan Hardy - renowned for saying 'it's more complicated than that'.  However, at this point I cannot give up hope for reconcilation, deepening trust and mutual affection. The readings were 1 Corinthians 12:1-11; John 2:1-11. The conversation afterwards was stimulating, honest and somehow  oriented to God's future.

The opening airport scene of Love Actually is full of moments of loving recognition: Regardless of age, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, health or status human love is poured out in hugs, kisses, embraces. From Heathrow to Guildford Station, we've all been there: waiting, scanning the crowd, glimpsing love.

The Prime Minister, played by Hugh Grant, says: 'Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere.  Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there...'

To embrace expresses the risk and vulnerability of love - you stand, arms flung wide; waiting and hoping that the other will respond. You embrace, enfolded for a moment in wordless affection. That's but the beginning. For embrace then means letting go, stepping back, moving on. Embracing whatever might unfold.

Embrace risks openness to the other: the lonely, ostracised and busy; the self-sufficient, judgemental and weary. As a Communion, we face most acutely the hope and  pain of being in relationship: the desire to maintain conversation and build trust, the deep hurt  of alienation and the depth of our difference.  Today's  Gospel  of overwhelming abundance meets us in this broken middle.

Jean Vanier in his poetic and prophetic commentary on John, describes marriage as a covenant of love a 'sign of sacred union, enfolded in love, that enables people to grow in forgiveness, tenderness, kindness and compassion'.  Having recently contributed a chapter to a book that seeks to think again about marriage, the fruitfulness of such exclusive intimacy is, I think, important precisely because it looks beyond the bonding of human sexuality.

Jean Vanier: Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus through the Gospel of John 

That bonding becomes a sign of a love that is radically "more than".  Marriage is a public and inclusive relationship which can be a sign of the abundance of love that cannot be possessed but only given.  The paradox is that as two become one, space is created for a third - and for many others - in hospitality, compassion, generosity. Things extend beyond the couple into a multiplication of love.

Cana is about wine in abundance.  Vast quantities of water are transformed.  The ordinary becomes excellent.  It is enjoyed when the guests have already had plenty to drink.  But this generosity and abundance comes from a place of lack.

The party is in full swing, noone is paying attention to the potential crisis of grumbling guests and an embarrassed couple. One person does notice. It is Mary who pays attention. It is Mary who trusts Jesus. Their exchange is opaque. But perhaps it alerts us to the deep awareness that what is about to happen is not merely the alleviation of a potential social disaster; rather it is sign of the breadth and depth of love, actually.

Yes, this is about abundance of life and joy, which increases our capacity to receive, and therefore give, even more love.

Yes, it is a glimpse of our ultimate reality when God's love will be all in all.

Yes, it reveals our deepest desires to be known and loved.

But, when does this abundance manifest itself?

When the wine runs out, when there is nothing left, transformation occurs.

When we are most vulnerable, most wounded, most broken, most fearful, love is there.

When we lack everything, when hopes are crushed, in the face of terrible loneliness, the anguish of exclusion, even there is love.

When others seek to dominate or control, when the vanities of power, ambition or moral superiority come to the fore, when fragmentation seems all but inevitable; may be love is there.

When walking together seems impossible and mutual affection inexpressible; perhaps love is especially there.

When the cost of our loving is painful, when those who love face prejudice and violence, and when our own lack of love falls short: there, most generously, is love.

None of us can be written out of this story of abundant love.

To return to Jean Vanier, 'our desire for love is not a hoax, awakening in us a thirst for an unattainable, infinite, eternal love that can be quickly crushed by the limits and brokenness in us all. We are not cheated of love; love is possible'.

If this is our ultimate hope, how do we move forward when at a human or institutional level we feel cheated?

In part the answer lies in the moment we see Mary with her son our saviour in the final chapters of John. Jesus' hour has come. The consumption of excellent wine at a wedding reveals the abundance of God's love; the water and blood flowing from his pierced side, reveals the depth and cost of that love.

This is glory: the refusal to refuse to love.

At this Eucharist we are caught up in that - continuing to break bread; continuing to partake of one cup.  We do so in a fearless hope that this is not the end. Just as water was turned into rich wine, so the poverty of our human nature is transformed by the riches of his grace. It is only in the renewal of our lives that God's glory breaks through. And not in the renewal of our  lives alone, but those of our brothers and sisters in America, Pakistan, Nigeria, Australia and Mexico.

On Friday, Michael, the Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church said: 'The pain for many will be real. But God is greater than anything. I love Jesus and I love the church. I am a Christian in the Anglican way. And like you, as we have said in this meeting, I am committed to 'walking together' with you as fellow Primates in the Anglican family'.

May we remain committed to walk together, bearing the pain, hope and bewilderment.  May we walk together because the marginalised need the prophetic; the persecuted need visionaries; the proud need the humble. As in marriage, so in the church, love is abundant. The more it gives, the more it receives, in order to give.

Radical love cannot be an exclusive club; it has to be an inclusive witness.

In washing feet, the Primates stayed together.  Perhaps what Archbishop Justin has risked in reconciliation, is the possibility of the transformation of the Anglican Communion - where fear and rejection will be replaced by trust and affection, where reproach will be transfigured by grace.

Paul reminded the fragile and fractious Corinthian church  'No one can say "Jesus is Lord" except by the Holy Spirit'. More than ever, we need the affirmation of the varieties of gifts, service and activity; of wisdom, knowledge and healing.


©  Julie Gittoes 2016

Our basic human situation

And loneliness swept over her like a rushing wind, mysterious as the thin tears that covered her eyes suddenly, too thin to be noticed, she knew, as she lifted her head and glanced at the doorway again. 

A fleeting insight into overwhelming and incomprehensible loneliness; a glimpse into the heart of Therese at the very end of the Patricia Highsmith's novel Carol.  Todd Haynes has turned the book into a beautiful BAFTA nominated film, in which Cate Blancett embodies Carol with subtlety and power.

It's a psychologically complex narrative; an erotic novel in which love costs. Attraction, hostility, curiosity, vulnerability, misunderstandings, hopes - the process of making moral sense is laid bare. Highsmith conjures up an emerging world, distant yet familiar: perfume and cigarette smoke;  departmental stores and cafeterias; a mother buying a doll; a wife in the midst of divorce.

According to Therese's definition, it's a classic: something with a basic human situation.

Something of our human situation was captured in the BBC's The Age of Loneliness. Regardless of age, marital status, gender, health, sexuality, social or economic circumstance people sought to express the in expressible pain of being lonely.

Any reimagining of Body of Christ must also start with paying deep attention to the basic human situation. Why? Because that is where God meets us and because that's where we are called to meet others. In multiple encounters in worship and daily life, we become more fully Christ's Body.

Our reimagining is a way of life and a story of reconciliation. It is love that endures, hopes and transforms. It is love in fleeting human gesture and sustained social engagement. It is love that is with us and with others, even in face of disagreement. Love is prophetic: patiently impatient, enlivened by God's daring Spirit. In short, it's generous.

Today we keep the Feast of the Baptism of Christ, we continue to reflect on the mystery of God with us, the manifestation of God's love.  Perhaps it is as we recall Jesus Christ standing on the muddy banks of the Jordan that we are drawn into the depths of God's love for us.

In the Word made flesh, Godself identifies with our basic human situation in all its complexity.  The one who made us becomes one of us. Such our Feast reminds us of our calling as members of the body of Christ - and perhaps think though what that means in our own lives and contexts.

In worship, we hold before God, our desires and fears, our grief and fragility, our intellects and responsibilities; all that haunts us, even the mysterious loneliness that sweeps over us.  Here, our basic human situation is touched by God's love for us. In the silences that fall at the end of phrase...  or as the chord fades  away, we attend to soft echoes of mercy and grace. In the intimacy of our gathering together and in the spaces between us, we glimpse a hoped for reconciliation.

Paul in his letter to the Romans grapples with the reality of our human nature. He grapples with equal passion with God's faithful and loving response. Tonight we catch a but a glimpse of how he works this out - his argument is in full flow. If God's response to sin, is forgiveness, should we continue living as before that we might experience more grace?  No, he says, because we are caught in a new reality. A new reality that breaks into our basic human situation.

Paul knew all about misdirected desires - greed, rivalry, lust, abusive of power.  He wrestled with the guilt of doing what we sought to avoid; the betrayal of broken relationships; the mistrust of self and other. Like us, he saw creativity and compassion in human lives, and the echoes of God's love in our cries for justice and liberty. In his prison cell, perhaps he too knew the rushing wind of loneliness.

His letter is rooted in the assurance was that God's response to our human situation, was to meet us in it. Jesus identified with us in the burdens we carry - freeing us from the glittering prizes that seduce us. Encounter by encounter, step by step, Jesus' spoke words of freedom, love, challenge and forgiveness.  In the agony of the cross and the coldness of the grave, he plumbed the very depths of alienation.  In his resurrection power, light and glory break through. In the waters of, baptism our identity is reconfigured in him. Our old self is no more; we are set free.

Walk in the newness of life, says Paul.

Walking is a significant word in our thinking for what it is to be members of Christ's Body.  To think of ourselves as a body means we are called to walk in the world, just as Jesus did. Every gesture, encounter, task and conversation is an opportunity to make manifest God's love. This body isn't reducible to a building or an institution. We are a worshipping people, a pilgrim people; led by the Spirit, we reflect God's love.

This new life is revealed in gradual shifts in character - as we learn to be a little more patient, joyful, kind.  It bears fruit in the diligence of our research and as we collaborate with others in the pursuit of wisdom.  It's seen as we delight in the other; in extending hospitality; in a risk taking generosity that sees beyond the surface of things.  Walking in the newness of life is a foretaste of God's Kingdom. We see glimmers - light reflected in the darkness.

Isaiah speaks of an abundant feast overflowing with richness. He kindles a vision where those who have nothing are nourished by goodness. The bread that satisfies is the Word made flesh. We  taste and see the love of God broken bread; in receiving his body is nourished and sent out. In a generation of increasingly loneliness - and increasing inequality - the life of the Body of Christ needs to resist being so preoccupied with its inner life that we fail to be compelling witness to God's healing love.

Generosity flows from God, a gift to the world; a compelling light that demands our attention:  as Dan Hardy put it: The truth and purposes of God are 'refracted' – as it were spread like a band of colour – in other forms of life and thought; and the purpose of theology is to rediscover the dynamic of God's life and work in this 'band of colour' and from it.

That's a good summary of the vocation of the Body of Christ too. We pay attention to the intensity of the light of God in worship, abiding in faithful love  and receiving forgiveness.  We also pay attention to the refracted light in our world - walking as Jesus did conversation by conversation.

Such an imagining of the Body is costly for we carry with us the pain and prejudices of our world. Such an imagining of the Body is vulnerable as we carry within us the joys and longings of our world. Perhaps a global level we pray for a reimagined  and generous Body as the Primates meet in Canterbury:  refined by God's love in prayer, attentive to God's love in the cries of the world.

How we reimagine the Body of Christ will unfold over the term - from the digital to the erotic, the resurrected and the imprisoned. For now, dare we extend the sphere of intimacy in response to the other, bringing a balm in loneliness; dare we extend our compassion to the other, out of the vulnerability of our loneliness ?

May generosity,  that is the Spirit's gift, sweep over us, mysterious and radiant. Not so thin it goes unnoticed; but that others walk with us in Christ's steps.


©  Julie Gittoes 2016

Text of a sermon preached at Jesus College,  Cambridge on 10th January 2016: Isaiah 55:1-11 and Romans 6: 1-11