Illusion

A sermon preached at Evensong - thinking about optical illusions and Isaiah's challenge to return to the Lord rather than seeking 'smooth words' or 'prophetic illusions'.How might scripture shape our 'faith optic' to ask the right questions in the face of illusion in public discourse. 

The texts were Isaiah 30: 8-31; 2 Corinthians 9

"The dress" in the Independent

In February 2015, Cecilia Bleasdale took a photograph of the dress she planned to wear at her daughter Grace’s wedding.

After disagreeing about the perceived colour of the dress, Grace went on to post a picture of the dress on Facebook, where friends  continued to disagree over the colour they saw: was it white with gold lace or blue with black lace?

The discuss soon went well beyond the small island community of Colonsay.  The dress was the the subject of 4.4 million tweets within 24 hours. 

Celebrities including Justin Beiber and Kim Kardashian came out on different sides of the colour perception; Taylor Swift said it left her confused; Lady Gaga went her own way, calling it ‘periwinkle and grey’.

The creative director of Roman Originals was gobsmacked by the attention the dress was getting. The company confirmed that it was blue and black; it sold out within 30 minutes of restocking; and the debate continued, attracted scientific not just celebrity interest. 

The science of why people saw the same dress differently is complicated: more than on explanation was offered. 

It was an illusion: a distortion of the senses or a misrepresentation of the sensory stimulus.

Our brains process colour by relying on two things: the colour of the object  itself and the colour of the light source. The image of ‘the dress’ was overexposed. It was partly in shadow, with a blue-ish hue (the blue/black perception); and partly under the store’s yellow lighting (read as white/gold). 

Whereas optical illusions can be disorientating but also somehow satisfying - as our eyes learn to read a single image as either a duck or a hare.

It is far more damaging in our social, political or religious sphere. Tonight we hear again words from Isaiah who once more warns Judah about the false promise of relying on Egypt to save them from the Assyrians. 

A rebellious and faithless people chose not to see or hear what is right: they want smooth words and prophetic illusions. 

Our public discourse is shaped by blogs, data analysis and social media as well as political speeches, policy documents and press interviews: there is so much data and information circulating on climate change, public services and trade deals; surges of protest, activism and debates about democracy. 

There are those in the academic realm who talk about intensive explorations of the ‘discourse of illusion within multifarious dimensions of contemporary public discourse’: just the sound of that makes our eyes spin as much as any optical illusion.

How do we resist the siren calls of smooth words and prophetic illusion that tell us that it’ll be alright?

Just as we can understand our optical biases in relation to light and colour, can we attune our spiritual gaze to see more clearly?

Amidst the shadows and back lighting, we can see those things which are oppressive or deceitful; we can place our trust in a God.

The Lord our God waits to be gracious to us.

God’s character of mercy and justice can be our plumb line.

As Isaiah expresses it: In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.

In the face of adversity and affliction, we can be agents of blessing.

God has set before us a way of love which reaches out to neighbour and accords dignity to each person. 

This is the way, Isaiah writes, walk in it.

We read the illusions and truths of our own generation through the lens of love.

A love that multiplies when given and shared. A love that enriches and overflows.

Such love is not politically naive or socially biased: rather it can be a blessing in abundance in the small things; it can be a clarion call of resistance in the big things.

In the face of anxiety and uncertainty, thanksgiving and joy, this love is an optic which brings change, renewal and hope.  Let us pray for this gift of grace.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Freedom, Life and Love

A sermon preached in one way at the baptism of Michael, Ariana and Benaiah at St Mary's; preached as invitation to consider what it is to be baptised at Christ Church. 

In part inspired by Esi Edugyan's magnificent novel Washington Black: lyrical and compelling exploration of the nature of freedom in the face of brutality and beauty; meditating on the capacity of the human heart, to harm and to heal. 

The readings were: Isaiah 58.9b-end; Psalm 103.1-8; Hebrews 12.18-end; Luke 13.10-17

Today we welcome three new members of the church, the body of Christ.

We welcome them with joy and thanksgiving.

We welcome them into freedom; into life; into relationship.

Today is the beginning of a journey and an opportunity for us to ponder our baptism - not as past event but as present identity and future hope.

The story of our lives is woven into God’s story.

As human beings we’re hardwired to respond to stories.

It’s why we get addicted to soaps or spend hours with our head in a good book.

From the most popular west-end show to the latest Hollywood blockbuster; from the bedtime stories we tell our children to the lyrics of our favourite album we love to get lost in a good story.

Sorry telling isn’t the preserve of the professionals: we do it every day. 

When we meet up with friends of colleagues; when we gather to celebrate or grieve; when we logon to Facebook or tell a joke; and over refreshments after this service, we tell stories. 

Words and expressions hold our interest; connections are made between; and we look forward to a satisfying ending!

One story which has captivated and challenge me recently is the novel Washington Black by Esi Edugyan. She’s a masterful storyteller - full of strength, beauty, courage and creativity.

She takes us from the heat of the  sugar cane plantations to the dazzling frozen wastelands of the Arctic; through the muddy streets of London to the Moroccan desert. Inspired by a true story, this tale of liberation rests on taking a risk. 

The risk of stepping into the new-fangled cloud-cutter: what we’d recognise as a hot air balloon.

This story of freedom, identity, empowerment and being fully human is also a quest to make the world more whole.

Early on young Washington, or Wash as he’s known, asks: ‘What does it feel like, Kit? Free?’

She gathers him close, her hot breath at his ear, saying: ‘Oh, child, it like nothing in this world. When you free, you can do anything.’

By the end, Wash is a scientific explorer and an artist; no longer slave or assistant but accomplished in his own right. The urge to draw gave him a sense of peace and calm. He says, ‘At the easel I was a man in full, his hours his own, his preoccupations his own’.

Freedom.

Peace.

Fullness of life.

These are the things of God’s story.

These things are good news.

The life stories of those baptised today will unfold as they discover their gifts and skills; they will forge deep connections with family and the friends they’ve yet to meet.

Today we commit ourselves to pray for them and to encourage them; to show by our example how to live fully as members of one body; to seek, with them, the things that make for peace.

We began with Isaiah reminding the people of God of the purpose of the Sabbath.

Living in Hendon, we glimpse something of the gift and command of Shabbat as our Jewish bothers and sisters cease from their routine pattern of work and actives when control or pressurise us.

The pace of life visibly changes; life in all its fullness is rediscovered.

For Isaiah, the discipline and rhythm of Sabbath also teaches us that our neighbour is not a burden.  Our neighbours are our community. There is freedom in the gift of Sabbath; their is life in its command.

Remove the yoke, the burden.

Stop pointing the figure; speaking of evil.

Offer food. Satisfy the needs of the hungry and afflicted.

This is Sabbath. Here is light shining in the darkness.

Sabbath invites us to set aside our own interests.

Rest, renew your strength; be refreshed by God’s word.

With the Lord as our guide, God’s people rebuild, repair and restore.

The setting aside of a holy day is to be a delight.

But.

As with good gifts, there is always a temptation to subvert it or to turn away. We risk burdening others rather than releasing them from the yoke of oppression. The weakest and powerless suffer most from our collective failures of self-interest.

But.

God keeps calling us back to the heart of God’s own story: of life, of freedom and love.

This is freedom from all that hurts, wounds and burdens us, what in short hand we call sin.

The freedom of this new life has God's love at its heart. It means we can do anything: anything that echoes that love in what we say and think and do.

God speaks of life and freedom and love by the prophets; and God’s word becomes flesh in Jesus.

In our Gospel reading, Luke tells a story of how Jesus revealed the power of God to heal and set free.

Think about the woman at the heart of this story. We don’t know her name; but Jesus sees her. 

Imagine the world lived from her perspective: not being able to make eye contact; the narrowness of sight-lines; the frustration and vulnerability; the impact on her social life and household.

She was welcome in the synagogue; she was there to embrace the gift of Shabbat.

Shabbat was the day was a day for healing: for life, liberation and community. 

Synagogue was a place for praise: the right place for her burden to be lifted.

Woman, says Jesus, you are set free.

Set free to participate in the community she’s already part of; to embrace fullness of life.

In the face of indignation, Jesus invites his critics to grasp afresh the meaning of the Sabbath: a time to restore human dignity and bring release.

In the face of freedom, the crowd rejoiced at all the wonderful things Jesus did.

Baptism draws us into this story of life and liberation.

Anointed with oil, we tell the story of God’s blessing as they discover their own gifts.

Water is poured out, we tell the story of God’s love from slavery to freedom, from death to life.

Receiving a candle, we tell the story of God’s calling to be light in our world.

As they grow up, these three human beings need the love and support of their parents, godparents and extended family; they need the prayers and encouragement of all of us, Christ’s body in this place; they will need the wisdom of teachers, friends and mentors who they’ve yet to meet.

At every Eucharist, we tell the story of God’s love poured out in creation and the human struggle to set aside self-interest; we tell the story of the prophets crying out for justice and the cries of the vulnerable. 

Each week, we tell the story of God’s own Son abiding in flesh of our flesh; teaching, healing and telling stories; giving his life blood that we might live; giving us bread that we might be one body.

At every Eucharist, the cross with which we are marked in baptism, calls us to worship with joy and thanksgiving; and we are sent to continue that story of life and freedom by the power of the Spirit at work in us. In our words and actions.

Welcome.

Here you find freedom, peace and fullness of life.

Make this story your story. Amen.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

We cannot love without giving

A sermon preached at Evensong  on 18 August: Isaiah 28: 9-22; 2 Corinthians 8:1-9

The missionary Amy Carmichael once said:  “We can give without loving, but we cannot love without giving”.

We can give without loving.

We cannot love without giving.

Amy’s words seemed to resonate with today’s readings; but I realised I knew nothing about her [something of Amy's story].

Amy Carmichael

She had grown up in a wealthy Irish family in the 1860s. Her father owned a flour mill business. She benefitted from the best education money could buy; and enjoyed the finer things of life.

Such comfort and stability did not last. The business began to lose money and eventually closed. The stress and worry took its toll on her father, who became ill and died.  Amy’s schooling came to an abrupt end and she spent a decade helping her mother take care of her younger siblings.

Such a shift in circumstances and status would’ve undoubtedly had an impact on the young Amy. Yet in biographies, it’s not the personal hardships that come to the fore.

Instead there are two stories which are told about her: one was when she and her mother were having tea and biscuits in a restaurant, a little girl had her nose pressed against the window; she was begging and without food. Amy promised that when she grew up she’d give her money to the poor.

The other story captures a moment as she returned home from church. She came across a poor elderly woman carrying a heavy bundle. Along with her two brothers, they helped her along and carried the bundle.  In respectable Belfast, she noticed that she was noticed - the embarrassment and shame of association; the bad weather and the woman’s rags. She described the experience as ‘a horrid moment’; saying they hated doing it.

Just as she passed an ornate Victorian fountain, she heard the words: ‘Gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay stubble — every man’s work will be made manifest; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. If any man’s work abide…”

Having looked around to see who had spoken, she saw only the people looking on at them. Amy was stuck by an intense conviction that this was God’s voice. She shut herself away in her room and the young woman who had an eye for beauty decided to change her priorities.

Her service and witness began with work amongst the millworkers in Belfast and ultimately she became a missionary in India: setting up orphanages to rescue children from temple prostitution.  This single, childless woman became known as Amma, mother, by many. When asked by an aspiring missionary what the life was like, Amy wrote back saying ‘missionary life is a chance to die’.

May of us will be able recount decisive moments or encounters which change the direction of our lives. Some of us might narrate that (often with hindsight) as a sense of calling or vocation. Few of us end up serving with an overseas mission. Yet all of us have a commitment to use the resources entrusted to us for the good of others, not just our own comfort.

According to the Charities Aid Foundation, there are four key reasons why people give: personal values a sense of morals or ethics; belief in a specific cause; faith or religious belief; and finally personal experience.

Those reasons certainly echo with Amy’s life - and perhaps they resonate with us too.

We may feel that there is moral obligation or duty to give back to society; to use what income we have to reduce inequalities elsewhere. Sometimes there is a specific cause close to our hearts - whether that’s a passion for the arts or a commitment to oversees development. 

Within CAF’s secular survey, 71% of those interviewed were able to articulate belief, religious practice or spiritual values as a motivation for their giving. In addition, as in Amy life, there are personal experiences which trigger giving.

When Paul writes to the Corinthians, he is wanting to encourage them to grow into mature and obedient givers. He is nurturing a sustained attitude that connects the gift with relationships. As Amy puts it, it is possible to give without love - because there’s an urgent demand or compulsion. Yet when our lives are rooted and grounded in love, giving is a natural response.

Paul’s reflections on the generosity of the church in Macedonia describes this as being about an act of grace. By doing so, he is changing the way we think about money. To give out love, to give in relationship, is to participate in an economy of gift rather than exchange. It is a sharing in the economy of a gracious and generous and self-giving God.

Recently, Lloyds Bank ran an advert called the M-word. We hear snippets of conversation such as ‘No, we haven’t talked about it openly’ or ‘I prefer to keep it private’ and ‘it’s a touchy subject’. Finally the voiceover says, ‘it’s good to talk about money’.

Paul would have agreed. Over the coming months, we will have to talk about the M-word: about budgets and priorities, planned giving and the common fund. We don’t give in a vacuum. God’s gracious giving is part of the motivation; but identifying the need is the context.

Thinking about money and generosity is challenging at the best of times; but perhaps even more so at present when the Sunday papers are full of fear, suspicion and interpretations of the Brexit narrative. Isaiah roundly attacks the leaders of Israel and Judah for the way in which they’ve misled their people with lies and falsehood and by making treaties with death. Instead he reminds them that their security lies with God.

Paul also trusted in God; but also knew that divine generosity had to take human and practical form. When Jewish converts in Jerusalem find themselves cut off from families or at risk of losing their jobs, Paul sets up a relief fund. Love and generosity take on a systematic form.

Let’s pray for clarity of vision and priorities; for generosity in response to need. 

We can give without loving.

We cannot love without giving.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Forces for change

I'm not a reader of Vogue. I don't think I've ever bought a copy. However, I did come across the September issue for £2; and was intrigued to know how the Duchess of Sussex had got on as a guest editor.  The readings were: Jeremiah 23:23-9; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56

The September issue British Vogue has attracted more attention than usual because of its guest editor: HRH The Duchess of Sussex.

The Duchess writes that she and the editorial team have aimed to go a bit deeper to produce an issue ‘of both substance and levity’. So amongst the glossy, high end advertising there are pages on ethical and sustainable brands; features on heritage and history. 

Meghan’s vision was to focus is on “forces of change”: on women who’ve made an impact or who are, in her words, ‘set to re-shape society in radical and positive ways’. Among them are activists, actors, advocates indulging Michelle Obama, Greta Thunberg and Jameela Jamil.

These diverse change-makers are aged from 16 to 81.

The faces on the cover of Vogue span the generations.

Yet so often news headlines speak of generations at war; of stolen futures or neglected responsibilities. 

Whether its around housing, pensions or job security; culture, technology or how we vote; the cost of tuition fees or social care: it’s all too easy to pit Baby Boomers against Millennials; to treat successes, failures and struggles as a zero-sum game.

One writer talks about the multiplying effect of rapid change: globalisation, the digitisation, housing bubbles and urban transience. He says ‘many older people have deep roots in their communities but few connections, while many young people have hundreds of connections but no roots in communities’ [Alex Smith on the generation gap].

Such generational divides contribute to loneliness and fragmentation. Add to that the multiplying effects of the tensions and uncertainties around Brexit, and irrespective of party politics or conviction, we face a challenging future. Uncertainty of that sort is the hardest thing to deal with. 

Our scriptures present us with challenging words about divisions; and also words of encouragement. 

We are called afresh to live by faith.

Elsewhere, the prophet Jeremiah has rebuked those who cry ‘peace, peace’ where there is none. Today we hear further words of rebuke when prophets fail guide people to seek justice and mercy.

Jeremiah is riled by the vague and seductive of ‘dreams’ which doesn’t touch the needs of the poorest; ‘dreams’ which don’t demand anything of the powerful. Dreams which entice people forget their God; to forget the commandments to love.

The offer of consoling falsehoods is damaging to the fabric of society; claiming the nearness of God yet not responding faithfully. Instead they collude with the lies and deceits of the heart.

God is as near to us as our every breath; and yet, also ‘far off’. God’s nearness can’t be treated as a veneer to our social life; the one who fills the heavens and the earth can’t be contained by our agendas. 

The God of whom Jeremiah speaks is close to those who are far off. This God is with the widow, the orphan and the stranger. 

Jeremiah rebukes to prophets for dreams which lead to forgetfulness and a failure to love God and neighbour. Such forgetfulness divides the generations and fragments society.

Instead, the one who has God’s word speak it faithfully.

This word is a force for change.

Like fire, it burns aware impurities; refining and purifying our hearts.

Like a hammer, it breaks down in justices; strengthening communities across generations.

This word comes to dwell with us in Jesus.

In him is radical nearness, intimacy or proximity: he is with the poor and marginalised and influential; the abused and lonely and the advocate. He is with the child and the widow and the politician; the sex worker and the tax collector and the journalist. He is with the despised and the powerful; the carer and the cared for.

He is with us, saying: the kingdom is near.

He is asking, do you love me?

He is with us, looking on us with compassion.

He is asking, who is the neighbour.

Jesus is God with us yet not contained by us: in our households, workplaces and schools; in our streets, within our political institutions and woven into our social fabric.

Jesus is with us as a force for change.

It isn’t comfortable.

This peace does not imply an absence of division: because it does oppose the injustices and self-interests of this present age.

As Jeremiah expressed, there is a difference between God’s peace and false peace; between the peace which seeks the common good, harnessing the hopes and wisdom across generations; and the peace which colludes with worldly values, deceitfully turning fear into a zero-sum game.

Jesus speaks of his death as a baptism; of the pain, struggle and stress which will be born by his body. For the peace that he brings comes through the shedding of his blood.

He dies to defeat death; he lives to bring new life.

Jesus endured shame for the sake of the joy of God’s Kingdom.

By the cross, heaven and earth are reconciled: God’s love is with us to the end and for ever.

This brings the world to a point of decision: to be seduced by dreams or embrace the Kingdom?

Jesus expresses the choice through the lens of the family.

Family values get interpreted and shaped by wider political and social trends: the hard-working family; the family business; the nuclear family; the family inheritance.

The Kingdom values that Jesus speaks about go beyond biological ties to a vision of kinship where we see others as our brothers and sisters.

Conflicts arise when we witness to that Kingdom because its values challenge personal dreams and deceitful hearts.

This Kingdom is good news for the poor, oppressed and captive; it is at odds with narrow visions of self-interest; it invites us to be forces of change; to advocates and activists for justice, freedom and healing; allowing light to shine in our fragmented world. 

Just as we become adept at reading the signs clear skies and storm clouds, we are discern the signs of this Kingdom in our midst.

We do that by faith.

We do that in the company of clouds of witnesses.

By faith we are to be people of peace; and to be just and compassionate.

By faith, we show strength in weakness; being faithful to the promise of life.

By faith, we are to be with the prisoner, the fearful, the lonely, the grieving.

Jesus proclaimed the nearness of the Kingdom in words of rebuke, encouraging and warning.

He also embodied it: in gestures of acceptance and healing; in acts of hospitality and in being with others.

Among the 15 strong women on the cover of Vogue is a mirror: space to see ourselves as part of this collective.

In this Eucharist there is space to be one with Christ: members of his body, agents of his Kingdom. 

We are to be forces for change.

Today’s collect reminds us what that looks like: our hearts are to be open to the richness of grace; our lives enlivened and enlightened by the Spirit.

We are to be forces for change: loving, joyful, peaceful; holy, strong and faithful.

Our nation needs courageous Christian witness at a time of at best uncertainty at worst crisis. 

As forces for change in every part of our city, how can we make connections and strengthen communities?

Come to this table where the living Christ offers us bread for our journey, for our joys or our tears.

Share this meal together: be the living Christ this week, bringing hope out of despair and truth out of deceit.

Christ calls you by name: in the Spirit, be a force for change.

© Julie Gittoes 2019