Garden, sea and city

It was a delight to preach and preside at the Eucharist at Holy Trinity, Guildford yesterday. The texts were: Genesis 2:4b-9, 15-25, Revelation 4, Luke 8:22-25

Given the choice, where would you prefer to spend a day:

1. in a garden, your own or Wisely perhaps or;
2. by the sea, sitting in a deckchair or;
3. at the heart of the city?

As a rural lass, with an urban heart and a sister who loves the sea, like many of us I end up inhabiting all three. 

But lacking the green fingers of my parents, and the proximity to the coast, the buzz of the city draws me moth like to it’s light.

Gardens: places of tranquility and seasonal beauty; a haven of privacy and place for conviviality; a glimpse of paradise and a place of labour.

The sea: the expanse of sand or shingle ridges and the hypnotic roar of waves; a place of ice-cream and fish and chips; a haven of peace, subject to nature’s unpredictable force.

City: the energy of people filling streets and theatres, platforms, hostels and galleries; the vendors, commuters, performers and consumers; a sleepless place of restless inequality.

Today’s readings straddle all this: a garden blessed and tended; a sea raging that is calmed; a city dazzling consumed by praise. 

In the garden, by the sea and amidst the city, we are caught up in the story of God’s ways with the world and the destiny of humanity.

In Genesis we see a world which is teaming with life in all its diversity: it is good and pleasing, generative and sustainable.

We are earth creatures, formed of clay; we are God’s creatures, breathed into life.

We are placed in a world of mutual interdependence. We are in a profound way bound together with the glorious goodness of the created order. It is not a world of our own making. God’s gift is one of interdependence. We are blessed by delight and entrusted with responsibility.

In this delicate eco-system, we are confronted with the reality that it is not good for this human to be alone. 

A fresh creative act of God brings forth a helpmate.

It is not good or right for this man, this one formed of earth, this adam, to be alone.

Line engraving: God creating Eve out of Adam

Like each one of us, this solitary human needs a helpmate. 

We need companionship. The wellbeing of one is not fulfilled by dependence on God or creation alone. 

Out of our creaturely flesh our most intimate other is formed: one who opens up what it is to be human - in relation to God and the world.

In the first instance this is not about hierarchy, complementarity or marriage. Rather it points to a fundamental goodness in being together.  There is the possibility of work and creativity as custodians of the earth. As we face one another, we learn compassion, generosity and joy. 

As Walter Brueggemann puts it: ‘The place of the garden is for this covenanted human community of solidarity, trust and well being. They are one! That is, in covenant. The garden exists as a context for the human community.’

This vision of generative human companionship and shared endeavour, is gifted to us freely. God’s loving purpose for us is based in freedom, not coercion. But such freedom is fraught with risk. 

Goodness is disrupted. Faithful obedience becomes an assertion of self-will. Life and knowledge are within our grasp. The prohibition will be scrutinised and misquoted and we seize the fruit of that tree for ourselves. 

And, as Genesis will tell it in the following scene, freedom, trust and calling are exchanged for autonomy, oppression and fragmentation

We know all too well the pain of what happens when we selfishly take the mysteries of life and knowledge into our own hands apart from God: freedom to act becomes the capacity to control. 

We become fearful and mistrusting; our hearts turn inwards, away from the other; we are ashamed of our naked vulnerability and dependence. 

The tranquility of the garden paradise breaks; we find ourselves on stormy seas.

Our struggle to know how to live well with one another is met by the commandments to love God and neighbour as ourself.

Our struggle with how to live wisely in the world is bet by the prophets cry for justice and mercy.

Our struggle to know how to live is ultimately met with a new act of solidarity. By God refusing to refuse love; by God dwelling with us in Christ Jesus. 

Jesus understands our anxieties and fears; he knows our tendency to selfishness and self-protection; he knows our capacity to wound and be wounded; and also knows our desire to heal and be healed.

Jesus stepped into the boat: and he slept. As flesh of our flesh, he gives into his physical need for rest; as Word made flesh, he abides in trusting rest with God.

Jesus with his disciples on the see of Galilee

The storm arises: disruptive and ferocious. It stirs the chaos from the deep. It surges and threatens to overwhelm. It has mastery over the boat and over seasoned sailors.

And amidst the terror and looming disaster, Jesus sleeps.

The storm does not disturb him; but wakes to our cries.

And with a word of rebuke the Word brings calm: wind and waves are subdued. This sign of mastery over creation and is also a renewed breathing into us of God’s life.

Who then is this?

Here is perfect love casting out fear. 

Here God’s Word addresses us in the midst of the storm.

In the midst of those things which fill us with dread, heartache and trembling... God is. 

God is with us in the betrayals and losses; the anxiety and grief; in the things which break us down and when faith wavers.

God. is. with. us.

Loving us. 

The God who created us that we might be one, comes to us in flesh and blood. His body heals and teaches; is touched and anointed; is spat at and wept over; breaks bread and is broken for us.

And we God’s creatures are made one as we share in fragments of bread. Here we are moved beyond the ties of biological kinship and commitment of flesh and blood. Genesis speaks of being one and here, though we are many we are one body.

Here we are called by name and nourished with the bread of heaven: the covenant of love is renewed. 

Here we at this Eucharist we are led through stormy seas from creation to new creation. From the beauty and labour of our earthly garden, we are given a glimpse of a heavenly city. 

A city where, in the words of John Donne, there is no darkness nor dazzling but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music;  no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity.

Here and now we unite our voices with the saints and angels singing ‘holy, holy, holy; Lord God almighty; who was and is and is to come.

As we praise our creator God, we are united with Christ in one body. But what we say and sing with our lips we are to live out in our lives: in the urban heart of Guildford and in our gardens; amidst personal storms and at work or school.

In a world of chaos, pain and noise, in the power of the Spirit, may we be one as a people whose hearts are turned outwards to the other. 

Breath by breath may we be compassionate, generous and peaceable companions on stormy seas.

Gesture by gesture, may we be creative and just in our commitment to the earth’s sustainability.

Word by word, may we walk in the light of Christ, seeking the equity and fearlessness of a heavenly city. 

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Here we are: send us!

The text of a sermon preached at the Cathedral Eucharist on 10 February. I was struck by the way in which Jesus seeks Peter's help; by the experienced fisherman seeing empty nets bursting full in inauspicious circumstances; by the glimpse of holiness in boat. Kenneth Bailey's work on seeking Jesus through middle eastern eyes is so evocative but the text also opened up a response to more contemporary concern for evangelism and what it means for us to tell the story of God's transforming love. The texts Isaiah 6:1-8; I Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Do you remember J. R. Hartley?

He is a fictional character, an elderly gentleman. It’s over 30 years since he captured our cultural imagination in an iconic advert for Yellow Pages.

We encountered him looking for a copy Fly Fishing by J. R. Hartley.  He goes into one second-hand bookshop after another, asking the same question and receiving the same answer. It’s no where to be found.

He gets home. His daughter hands him the Yellow Pages. From the comfort of his arm chair, he continues his search by ringing around. Eventually he finds a shop which has a copy. The last words we hear are some of the most famous in advertising history: 

‘My name? Oh, yes, it’s J.R.Hartley.’

Fly Fishing still features in the top ten ads of all time alongside John Lewis, Levis and Coca Cola. A new generation of marketing experts and advertising creatives, are trying to reinvent or update the impact of the ad using the digital tools at their disposal.

For although Mr Hartley comes from a different age, that basic premise of searching for something remains the same. Instead of flicking through a hard copy of Yellow Pages, we rely on apps, search engines and social networks to track down a particular book, to find a gift or to replace a treasured item.

What are you looking for today?

What is it that we seek?

Some of what we search out reflects basic human need for stability: a living-wage, satisfying work, a regular pension, a place to call home, food and warmth. But our material needs are woven together with our quest for relationship and meaningful intimacy; for emotional support, for people to care about us; for meaning, value, dignity and purpose.

What are you looking for today?

It’s quite possible that we don’t quite know what it is that we seek; and sometimes we don’t realise what it is until we discover it in the unexpected. 

Peter’s experience as recounted by Luke is a bit like that: it brings to the surface all sorts of practical needs and reveals a deeper purpose.

Luke sets the scene: it isn’t the patience and tranquility of a riverbank, which might be at the heart of Fly Fishing. Rather we are drawn to a busy and crowded lakeside. There’s a sense of expectation - people want to listen to Jesus, to hear the word of God. But there’s also a sense of tiredness and frustration - Peter and his colleagues are exhausted after a fruitless night’s work and they want to get on with cleaning and mending nets. 

Jesus looks to Peter for help. He needs his boat to use as a makeshift platform from which to teach; but he also needs his particular skill as an oarsman to manoeuvre the boat and prevent it from drifting too far from shore. 

It’s from this place of confidence within his own world of work that Peter was able to listen to Jesus; in the familiarity and intimacy of his own boat he is caught up in a life-transforming encounter. 

Having taught the crowds, Jesus doesn’t ask Peter to row the boat back to the shore. Instead he tells him to go into the deep water and let down the nets. Given that fish hide rather than feed during the day, this sounded preposterous.  It’s quite possible that, having worked all night, Peter had a few choice words to say about that request. 

Kenneth Bailey, a scholar who invites us to see the Gospels through middle-eastern eyes puts it like this: ‘The very idea that a landlubber from the highlands of Nazareth, who has never wet a line should presume to tell a seasoned fishing captain what to do is preposterous… the order to launch into the deeps in broad daylight is ridiculous!’

Peter's Catch of Fish - Eric de Saussure

Yet, even in his grumpy exhaustion, Peter sets aside his professional opinion and obeys. The result is astonishing. The scale of the catch is indeed miraculous. It is economically lucrative too. All that Peter looks for as a fisherman is fulfilled. As Bailey puts it: ‘This net-tearing, boat-swamping catch can greatly enrich him and his team. At last he has hit the jackpot!’.

Yet, Peter doesn’t look at Jesus as a potential business partner: he responds at a deeper level. There is something here of more value than material gain, commercial success and profit margins.

Peter falls to his knees.

Having addressed his teacher with bravado, he now addresses his Lord with humility.

In the confined space of the boat, with the nets and fish, with the familiar noise and smells, Peter senses that he is in the presence of holiness. 

It is a far cry from the splendour and majesty of the Temple. The whole earth is indeed full of God’s glory; glory revealed in Jesus Christ. 

The Miracle of a Large Catch of Fish

Peter’s works echo those of Isaiah as he acknowledges his unworthiness. He is not only seeing Jesus as who he really is, but he is also being seen. As Jeffrey John puts it: ‘Peter’s words… are the authentic response of someone feeling himself, unbearably, exposed to the glare of this vast, unconditional love. He can’t bear it, he wants to run and hid; yet having known it, he could never let it go. He will give up everything to follow it’.

Jesus reaches out to Peter and to James and John too.  Amazement and fear become the place of invitation into a new partnership; his skills are to be deployed in a new venture.  Jesus takes them from the material world of catching fish to the world of catching people; of drawing them to the new and abundant life found in Jesus.

This is the heart of the good news proclaimed to us and received by us: that in his death and resurrection, Jesus Christ defeats the power sin and death and sets us free to be more fully who we are. 

As Paul reminds us, we come to know this good news because someone passed it on to us: by telling us the story or caring for us; by listening to our fears and hopes; by the way they embodied the attractiveness of God’s love in their own lives; by the way they sought forgiveness and justice, compassion and healing.

This is the very heart of evangelism: to know and show and tell of God’s love. This happens in the middle of our lives - in the places which are as familiar to us as Peter’s boat was to him; in lecture halls and offices, in hospital waiting rooms and our own homes.

St Peter - witnessing to the crowds

Here in broken bread and outpoured wine, the good news of God’s transforming love is retold. In the power of the Spirit we are sent out to tell others of what we’ve known and to see lives transformed.

To be a witness is to understand what others are looking for - hope, comfort or challenge; support, dignity or freedom. It is to respond to that search with a love that turns empty nets into abundant life.

To be an evangelist is tell of what we have experience of God’s love; and each of us is sent in the power of the Spirit to live lives and speak words which tell of that goodness. 

Whom shall I send?

Here we are; send us.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, that all might come within reach of your saving embrace. So clothe us in your spirit, that we reach gin forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you, for your own love and mercy’s sake. Amen. 

© Julie Gittoes 2019

When Christmas meets Easter...

It was a delight to celebrate Candlemas with the people of St John's West Byfleet - especially as the opening hymn was one of my favourites (Of the Father's love begotten). Candlemas is my favourite festival - because of its honesty about the challenges and sorrows of life but also because of its assertion that the light will continue to shine in the darkness.  The readings for Evensong were: Haggai 2:1-9 and John 2:18-22

Last night, my colleague turned a simple birthday cake into a dramatic extravaganza by adding an indoor fire work to the candles: on such occasions the association of food and celebration is self-evident.

Yet, our culture seems increasingly drawn into a commercially driven disconnect between festive food and seasonal specificity: Santa themed chocolate in August, mince pies in October and hot cross buns in December. 

But there is one item in particular which leads to shocked headlines:

Easter eggs at Christmas? It’s just wrong, say The Guardian.

Happy Easter (on Boxing Day): Tesco is already selling eggs, says The Daily Mail.

Shoppers take to Twitter to express their disbelief alongside pictures of the offending eggs.

In the aisles of Aldi and Waitrose, shoppers complain; whilst store managers speak of storage space, sales figures and consumer choice. 

Yet today, we celebrate festival where Christmas meets Easter.

At Candlemas, we turn from Christ’s nativity to Christ’s passion; we move from cradle to cross.

Candlemas, or the feast of the presentation of Christ in the Temple, is my favourite festival because it straddles the seasons. It weaves together the themes of amazement and sorrow; joy and grief. It confronts the reality of death and the promise of new life.

Luke’s account of the presentation, blends together the hopes of infancy, the expectations of parenthood and the wisdom of old age. 

And at its heart is a dazzling brightness. 

Light shines in the darkness.

Darkness does not overcome it.

The light of the world comes into the Temple, in substance of our flesh.

Every time we gather for Evensong, we are drawn into this moment as we share in singing Simeon’s song: the Nunc Dimittis.

Simeon held the Christ child in his arms and he beheld his salvation.

He knew that this gift of hope was not his alone. 

He looks into the eyes of this infant and beheld God with us: the light to lighten the Gentiles; the glory of the people of Israel.

Or, in the words of a Candlemas hymn, he recognised that: A glory dawns in every dark place,  /the light of Christ, the fullness of grace.

Icon of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple

This evening, our readings don’t tell us about Simeon’s blessing and counsel; or the things that Mary ponders in her heart. We don’t hear of Anna’s exuberant proclamation of good news. 

Instead we are drawn into the fulfilment of Simeon’s words: this child will face opposition; this child will reveal the inner most thoughts of our hearts; this child will challenge authority and raise up the weak.

Our second reading, parachutes us into the middle of something; like tuning into The Archers or Casualty half way through an episode. 

Jesus is asked ‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ But it’s not clear what ‘this’ is.

As an adult, Jesus returned to the Temple several times. On this occasion, he has been horrified that his Father’s house is a place of commerce. Commission got in the way worship; impoverishment got in the way of justice; exchange got in the way of gift.

The prophet Haggai had spoken of the ruins of the Temple compared to its former glory. It’s restoration was to enable God’s people to abide in that holy place - to listen to God; to be faithful to the covenant of love; to seek justice and mercy.

Perhaps Jesus recalled Haggai’s words as a rebuke in the midst of exploitation: How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing? 

We can imagine the scene - the clamour of money changers; the noise of the sheep and the doves. Jesus is consumed by zeal. Tables are overturned, coins scattered, people and animals driven out.

Christ driving the money-changers from the temple - Caravaggio 

What sign can you show us, say those in authority, for doing this? Why have you caused such chaos and commotion?

Jesus’ response claiming to rebuild the Temple in three days sound either ridiculous or arrogant, dismissive or some kind of riddle. 

Taking in a literal sense, his words are misunderstood. 

Jesus’ words aren’t fully understood until his death and resurrection. He is speaking of the temple of his body: of its sacredness.  

Three times, Haggai exhorts the remnant of God’s people to be courageous in seeking to rebuild the architectural splendour of the Temple. The God known in such beauty and majesty is now made known in the fragility and vulnerability of human flesh. 

Jesus body is the dwelling place of God; a new Temple. This body is the site of life and love; of mercy and justice. He is the Word made flesh.  A body which will reach out to bring a hope and a healing touch; a body which will be broken to bring wholeness to others; a risen body bringing abundant life.

In Christ, we are invited see our bodies as sacred too. If we live in love, we abide in God and God abides in us. By the power of the Spirit, the words of Haggai are fulfilled. The Spirit does indeed abide in us; we need have no fear. 

To appreciate the sacredness of our bodies to speak of personhood made whole. We are called to treat ourselves and others as holy. The human body isn’t a commodity or object; we aren’t a set of issues to be solved. We are in a profound sense the home of God; God’s Temple; the place where love dwells.

Jean Vanier writes movingly about the sacred space of our human flesh saying: This place, which is the deepest in us all, is the place of our very personhood, the place of inner peace where God dwells and where we receive the light of life and the murmurings of the Spirit of God. It is the place in which we make life choices and from which flows our love for others.

The implications of this vision runs deep. In the words of your vision, it means being committed to seek prayerfully to know and do God’s will. To be God’s holy people in this community is to go deep into the love of God through that rhythm of prayer and worship. 

To go deep means that the worshipping community is reshaped; becoming more open and caring; being a place where bonds of trust grow; where patient love and forgiveness create a safe place; a place where we can question and wonder; where we can see in the other the image of God. 

To go deep means that we are challenged and equipped to engage loving with the wider community of which you are part. That includes being zealous for justice; being committed to the demands of peace; but also seeking to live in a way which respects the integrity of creation, knowing our dependence on the honey bee demands a sacrifice of sustainability. 

The Presentation - Chris Gollon

Today, the light and glory of God fills the Temple in substance of our flesh.

Today, the power of the Spirit, the fullness of Christ dwells in us as we abide in God’s love. 

This Candlemas, as Christmas meets Easter, let us make Jean Vanier’s words our prayer: 

Church is the place where, 

in the midst of the demands of our daily live, 

we can come together with others, as a community of believers, 

to a place of silence, our inner sanctuary, 

to listen to the word of God, to hear the murmurings of the Spirt 

and to welcome into our being the presence of 

the Word-made-flesh, Jesus. 

As we welcome Jesus and become one with him, 

we seek to welcome each other 

and together to go forth 

to welcome others, 

revealing to them the compassion and forgiveness of God.

©  Julie Gittoes 2019