Touched by an Angel

A sermon for Michaelmas preached at Evensong - a poetic beginning and ending. The texts were: Daniel 10:4-21 and Revelation 5

St Michael

Some words by the eighth-century Northumbrian scholar Alcuin: Sequence for St Michael

Hear us, Michael, 

Greatest angel, 

Come down a little 

From thy high seat, 

To bring us the strength of God, 

And the lightening of His mercy. 

And do thou, Gabriel, 

Lay low our foes, 

And thou, Raphael, 

Heal our sick, 

Purge our disease, ease thou our pain, 

And give us to share 

In the joys of the blessed. 

Underlying the psychedelic imagery and dazzling weirdness of today’s lessons, there are threads of these poetic medieval themes: strength and mercy; light and healing; blessing and joys.

These are themes of consolation.

We long for such consolation, especially as seasons turn with darkening nights and shorter days; especially with the prospect of literal and metaphorical storms.

Angels are associated with the presence of God. In the books of  Daniel and Revelation, angels appear as mysterious spiritual beings who dwell in the realms of light. 

They remind us that we live in eternal day. Though Christ, darkness has been banished. In his death, death dies.

Our old foe no longer has the final word: laid low by light and love and life divine. 

The angels in this evening’s readings, share in the beauty and holiness of unceasing praise in heaven. They dwell in the nearer presence of God. Yet they also go forth from the holiness on high as messengers. They speak words of protection and peace. 

Angels appear in scripture at times when human beings wrestle with their memories, hopes and fears as Jacob did. They bring heaven to bear on earth and help us lay hold on life that is life.

At others times there is obedience and joy as when Mary embraced her call to be the God bearer; and when Joseph took on the role of guardian and protector of wife and child. 

They bring courage and strength in the fulfilment of our calling; and whilst we sometimes struggle with the message or find ourselves rendered speechless; we are also blessed by entertaining them unawares in moments of kindness and hospitality. 

Part of the consolation of this evening’s readings it the glimpse they give of the imagined unimaginable of heavenly worship.

Revelation speaks of a new song and of myriads and thousands singing with full voice.

The voice of many angels sings one song: giving glory the the Lamb of God, the risen and ascended Lord. The one who is power and wisdom and glory and blessing. 

This worship is so all encompassing that the praises of heaven draw all creatures of heaven and earth into one. 

God is worshipped, given honour and worth; and in our songs earth and heaven meet. 

The worship of heaven is like never stop. It is continually echos the pulse of God’s love for the world. We tune into it when we lift our voices and open our hearts. 

As we live and breath in this awesome place, we are swept up in the beauty of holiness; the eternal hymn of praise. 

Praise which gives glory to God; but which also raises us up. 

Angels teach us that worship is a way of being; an encounter with God changing us from glory to glory.

They remind us of the consolation to be found in tuning into this rhyme and rhythm of love.

Love that speaks of strength and mercy when we are our hearts are turned in on ourselves. 

Love that brings to light our hopes and woes and tenderly heals the loneliness within.

Love emboldens and sets free bringing blessing and joy to those who cross our path.

We are changed by love divine. Angels remind us that love we cannot contain or confine.

That love stretches from the medieval scholar to recent poet.

 “Touched by An Angel” by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Angelic embrace

A sermon preached on the Feast of St Michael and All Angels (Eucharist). I can't believe that the Angel of the North has turned 21. I still remember the first glimpse of the sculpture; and look out for it every time I travel north. How might this iconic angel shape our understanding of the place of angels - and indeed enable us to extend an embrace. The texts were: Genesis 28:10-7, Revelation 12:7-12; John 1:47-51

The Angel of the North

The Angel of the North is iconic.

With its 54 metre wing span creating a sense of embrace, this 20 metre steel sculpture greets travellers to and from the north east.

When Antony Gormley was invited to submit his ideas to Gateshead Council, he famously said that he didn’t do “motorway art”. 

What changed his mind was the context: an image of a remote mound next to the A1 which covered 300 years of mine-workings.

‘Is it possible’, writes Gormley, ‘to make a work with purpose in a time that demands doubt?’

His answer was to make an object which would (in his words) be a 'focus of hope at a time of painful transition for the people of the North East, abandoned in the gap between the industrial and the information ages’.

It recognises the sacrifice of generations of miners who’d worked the pits; it marks the end of an era and refuses to lets us forget.

The angel’s form modelled on the torso of the artist himself; its 200 tonne body is ten times life-size. 

This angel has come of age, having stood for 21 years: withstanding winds and rain; shrouded in snow and bathed in sunlight.

Rarely does this angel stand alone; nor does this icon slip from view. 

An angelic way-marker and gateway; rooted in earth and raising our eyes heavenward.

In uncertainty, transition and abandonment this northern angel remains a focus of hope and belonging.

In her beautifully illustrated book on angels, Jane Williams ponders her own underlying questions about what these figures. What do they tell us, she asks ‘about our own longings and what messages they might bring us about our place in the world, our connections with each other and our relationship with God - if we really listened to them.’

The Angel of the North speaks powerfully of hope, place and connection - emerging of a sense of abandonment.

The Angel

This feast of St Michael and All Angels extends to us an invitation to us to listen carefully to our world and our longings; to notice and bridge the gaps.

The ordering of angels speaks of God’s holiness and greatness; but they also speak of the distress of separation and division between us, earth and heaven, humanity and God. 

They stand as way-markers, ladders, gateways, reminding us that even at points of isolation God still reaches out; God still reaches out with a fierce, tender and radiant love.

The language our Eucharistic Prayer speaks of how angels reveal God’s wise purpose for the salvation or healing of the human race.

The ministry of angels speak of steadfast love and protection. Whilst they behold the one equal light of God’s glory, beyond dazzling and darkness, they also keep faithful vigil for us. They guard us in the way that leads to life; they guide us to God’s kingdom of light. 

As Jane Williams writes: ‘The angels are part of the struggle to define what kind of a universe this is to be be.’ 

The help to enlarge our vision of the world. Reminding us that in the struggles against fear, oppression and suffering, the strength of God’s goodness is the ultimate reality. 

It may not always feel that way - our God doesn’t coerce humanity to make the good, wise and just choice. The struggles and tensions are real; and yet, as in the stories we hear today, we are to be alert to messengers of assurance and encouragement, who help us to glimpse traces of grace.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus greets Nathaniel as someone he already knows - even though they’d never met. 

Jesus looks on him and sees someone who is honest; a child of God without deceit. Nathaniel takes Jesus’ literal answer as a sign that he must be the Messiah, God’s chosen and anointed one.

Jesus has something deeper in mind. He is more than what they think that title means. John tells of the call of Andrew, Simon, Philip and now Nathaniel. They are all invited to come and see; to open their eyes to something that is ‘more than’. 

They are to name their heart’s desire; the thing they seek. They are invited to stay. To be with the one who was with the the Father. To abide with the one who stoops down to earth to raise earth to heaven.

Jesus enables them to go deeper when he talks of angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man. He’s reminding them of a story of their ancestor Jacob; the story which we have heard this morning.

At this point in Genesis, Jacob is a fugitive. Having tricked his elder twin brother Esau out of his birthright, he had fled. In that time of being separated from his own kin, he earns a living using his skill in rearing animals; he settles in marriage. And yet, here he is sleeping out in the open with a rock for a pillow.

He is utterly alone. He is in-between places and in-between people. He’s caught between the consequences of his act of deception and self-will; and the purposes God has in store for him.

The vision he receives is one of hope.

Jacob’s ladder by Albert Huthusen

God is saying, I have not abandoned you; I know you and I am bound to you. 

Despite his physical isolation, he is reminded of his human ancestry and of God’s faithfulness. This land is gift; his people will be a blessing; blessing the earth.

Heaven and earth were not separated. There was an unseen ladder - upon which angels ascend and descend, ministering to the world. 

Through a flawed human being a promise is renewed: blessing is extended.

Today we hear Jesus reminding the honest Nathaniel of the story of crafty Jacob; but he goes a step further in telling him that he is that ladder. 

He is the visible means of joining earth and heaven.

Come and see, says Jesus; open your hearts and minds to see more.

Jesus is still inviting people into a journey of faith and transformation; Jesus is attracting us to abide with him and walk with.

We live in a world where many still cry out to God; willing God to tear open the heavens and come down. 

We live in a world where many echo Gormley’s question: asking, is it possible to create and work and live with purpose in time of doubt?

We live in a world where many still long to open their hearts and minds to a new vision; to follow a more authentic way of life and love; to begin, however falteringly, a journey of faith.

In Jesus, the heavens are opened. 

The Word becomes flesh: walking with us in human weakness to lead us into a new vision.

The longings of Jacob and Nathaniel have been fulfilled and God’s promises continue to be renewed here among us.

For, how awesome is this place!

The altar around which we gather is where we are no longer alone; here we unite our praise with angels.

The bread which we take, is Word made flesh stooping down to be with us.

The world in which we tread, is raised up to heaven; the ultimate hope and reality is revealed.

And yet, the image of St Michael reminds us of the ongoing  struggle. He is more than an angel; he is a warrior. He reminds us with utter seriousness of the fight for all that is good and just and holy.

St Michael

May we be messengers of love’s fierce radiance; discerning traces of grace.

May we pierce the darkness of our world with words and actions of hope; and, like that northern angel, offer a tender embrace of belonging.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Listening to the children

A sermon preached at St Mary's and Christ Church, Hendon on Sunday 22 September: Yes, I was watching Strictly  last night- the glitz and glamour; and perhaps that's how we like our parables. Today's story is more complex however - a bit like taking lessons from The Aprrentice. Yet the image that really resonated was that of listening to the chlldren of this age - quite literally the children striking for climate action. That also chimed with Amos's prophetic message; and Paul's plea to pray for what is good and right. The texts were:  Amos 8.4-7; 1 Timothy 2.1-7; Luke 16.1-13

BBC image

It’s that time of year when celebs are ‘strictlified’: from a vlogger to a viscountess, from a comedian to a CBBC presenter. There’s a surfeit of sequins and spray tans; kicks, flicks, chassis and swivels.  

And perhaps that’s how we like our parables too: nice, comfortable and familiar; the biblical equivalent to cosy Saturday night TV.

We may think that today’s parable is more like expecting to develop our ethical code from the boardroom shenanigans of the next season of The Apprentice. 

The swagger and desperation of their deals to the ruthlessness on show in the board room finds an echo in the story of the rich man and the manager: there’s evidence shrewdness, decisive self-interest, dishonesty and squandering money; there’s a quick fire reckoning but no time to answer before a judgment gets made.

You’re Fired!

Share TV image

It’s possible to imagine the manager sitting in the Apprentice cafe sullenly stirring his tea as he contemplates his future without a job; without access to a millionaire’s cash.

How do we enter into this parable? 

When we hear the words ‘rich man’, do we assume that Jesus is building up to a rebuke based on wealth?

When we hear of the manager being sent away, do we think that his attitude to squandering money will change as it did for the prodigal son?

As with any parable, it’s not always helpful to try to tidy it up in order to present one neat moral message. If we do, we risk reducing the challenge to one of being ‘nice’.

The story Jesus tells is uncomfortable. 

It is a worldly tale which frames recognisable concerns about wealth and fear of destitution; of pride and dishonesty; of self-interest and gaming the system. 

Judgements and decisions are made quickly, yet the motivations are complicated.

The rich man doesn’t investigate the rumour he’s heard; he doesn’t give the manager time to account for himself; he’s dismissed on the spot.

The manager has to secure a living and find friends: he uses economic dealings to win hospitality.   The speed with which he acts could be more indicative of self-interest than compassion - and yet is not cancelling interest and aliening debt a sign of mercy?

The welcome he might receive is set on ambiguous terms - are his new friends embracing him out of gratitude or because of his capacity to defraud?

Yes, this is uncomfortable stuff.

Jesus is interrogating our values; not condoning dishonesty.

Our values are often interrogated publicly and collectively: for example, Archbishop Justin’s condemnation of pay day lenders was followed by the revelation that the church held shares in Wonga, which led to a review of the investment portfolio and a campaign to seek justice for those facing debt burdens.

Or we might think of Occupy London protesting against the wealth of the 1% in the church yard around St Paul’s in 2011. For some, it served as a modern day parable; a defining moment highlighting the need to reform financial structures, seeking a more sustainable future. For others there’s a legacy of hurt and anger; or concerns that by focusing on the cathedral, the protest lost sight of its primary concern.

Photograph: Ben Stansall/AFP/Getty Images

A year later, Dean David talked about the need for ongoing reflection on the morality, integrity, and regulation of the financial sector. He also stressed the need to interrogate the values at the heart of the Christian faith; learning to navigate some of the challenges and projections; building stronger partnerships for the common good; seeking to communicate clearly and listen carefully.

How we address the vital issues facing our country and our world includes examining how we acted in the past - and what we will do in the future. 

And perhaps its a concern for the future that lies within today’s uncomfortable parable.

An American Pastor says that Luke’s account of Jesus’ parables ‘provides an acknowledgement that there is a proper use of wealth that is entirely antithetical to the behaviour of his own one percent: Give a banquet, not a private feast; live in community, not separation; and promote human flourishing, not personalised profit.’

This is about acting now in a way which echos God’s Kingdom.

How does what we are faithful to on earth reflect the treasure of heaven?

The manager has stewardship of the rich man’s business. We don’t know how honest or competent he was. But we do know that in the face of dismissal, he looks to his future. 

Whether he was a cheat and scoundrel or a compassionate radical, he acts with foresight. A child of this age has the ingenuity to challenge the children of light.

We also have a vision of the future, albeit with different values. 

As Dean David reflected, we are to use whatever wealth or influence or power we have to make friends; to cultivate partnerships; to build strong relationships.

We are to seek, anticipate, build and reflect the values of God’s Kingdom. 

And there perhaps release from debt or unjust dismissal stands alongside Jesus concern for the feasting with the poor and marginalised. 

If we cannot service God and wealth, were do we place our primary allegiance: are we children of this age or do we reflect another Kingdom?

Over recent weeks, the phrase ‘children of this age’ has a different ring to it.

Greta Thunberg strikes outside the Swedish parliament last summer. Photograph: Michael Campanella/The Guardian

On Friday, from Tavula to New York, millions protested over climate change; yesterday’s headlines called it ‘The day the world took to the streets’.  One of the most iconic photos over this movement to speak and act is Greta Thunberg - pictured sitting alone outside the Swedish Parliament last August; this week she was pictured shaking hands with Barak Obama who called her ‘one of our planet’s greatest activists’. 

Link to The Guardian video

Such protests embody something of concerns expressed by the prophet Amos. He challenged the self-interest, profiteering and ruthlessness of those in power. In trampling the needy and ruining the poor they shied away from being accountable for their actions. 

There would be a reckoning, however. His ability to look towards a future judgement and to name the consequences of injustice was part of his prophetic leverage. Revealing the worst case scenario and consequences of their actions was an encouragement to change. 

Acting with foresight and interrogating our values can transform our world.

Such foresight beings with prayer: when we come before God with the concerns of our hearts - out hopes and fears, our burdens and longings - we are changed. 

As we stand in the presence of a loving God, we increase our capacity to act with love; aligning our wills with God’s wills; allowing the values of God’s kingdom to shape our actions and priorities. 

Paul also exhorts us to pray for everyone: asking, thanking, petitioning, interceding. He names the particular call to pray for those in high positions. And as we pray, we set our worldly reality in the context of God’s peaceable kingdom. 

Prayer reminds us and strengthens us to seek all that is good and right and acceptable; it names the dignity of rich and poor; it acknowledges our capacity for change; to foster justice rather than hatred.

Prayer places our current situation of climate protests and political debate within the broader context of God’s story. It changes our frame of reference and gives us courage to refuse the status quo.

Dare we listen to our children? We will allow them to interrogate our values?

It is Christ who is the mediator between God and humankind; Christ who gave himself for all. Christ who gives himself to us afresh in bread and wine.

Our hope is that this truth will turn hearts and minds. That our lifestyles and actions will reflect the values of justice and compassion. Let us pray that we might trust in this ultimate reality. 

In the power of the Spirit, may we live and work with confidence, compassion and creativity for a kingdom of justice and peace. We do this for the sake of our children and of our planet.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Radicals and visionaries

A sermon preached on Sunday 15 September at the St Mary's/Christ Church Eucharists. Having been inspired by the William Blake exhibition, the themes of being radicals/visionaries seemed apt as a way of thinking afresh about lost sheep/coins. 

The readings were: Exodus 32.7-14; Psalm 51.1-11; 1 Timothy 1.12-17; Luke 15.1-10

Rebel.

Radical.

Revolutionary 

The three words used by the Tate to describe William Blake the printmaker, painter and poet.

The visionary artist whose work projected the hopes and fears of his own age.

Projected them, not on large canvases; but concentrated them in little small pages.

Printed. Hand coloured. 

You have to look closely at these little images.

Mysterious; terrifying; radiant; weird;

As we are drawn into his world, do we see ours afresh?

As one critic puts it: ‘His symbols blaze with truth. These are images that look death and suffering in the eye and still believe in a redeemed humanity, a Glad Day’.

Blake saw the worst and best of our human condition.

His wife Catherine once said: ‘I have very little of Mr Blake’s company; he is always in Paradise’.

This Paradise was often turbulent such was his sensitivity to the callousness and injustice of the world.

And yet, that turbulence leads to a restless questing after a glimmer of hope; or a trace of grace.

In a sense, the more you look at Blake’s images, we see ourselves as both lost and found.

We carry the marks and anxieties of experience; we long for the joy and divine security of innocence.

We live in the bustling, vibrant, consuming city which inspired Blake, in which he struggled for survival. We know the fierce, burning brightness of the Tyger and the soft, tender meekness of the Lamb. 

Both made and loved; lost and found. 

Today we hear Jesus tell two stories about things that are lost - either in the wilderness or in a house. These things have value and are sought out by the shepherd and the woman - who evolve into symbols of Jesus; revealing the depth of God’s love in redeeming or restoring or finding us.

What might if feel like for us to know that God’s love reaches out to each individual?  Does it strengthen or weaken the group? 

One of the wisest writers on the parables, the late Kenneth Bailey, helps us see these stories through the lens of Middle-Eastern eyes.  He shows how Jesus inhabits the Hebrew tradition and reshapes it in relation to who he is as God’s beloved Son.

Bailey writes: “If the one [sheep] is sacrificed in the name of the larger group, then each individual in the group is insecure, knowing that he or she is of little value. If lost, he or she will be left to die. When the shepherd pays a high price to find the one, he thereby offers the profoundest security to the many”.

It is good news for all that one is found; it is a source of human and heavenly joy that the lost is love; we become more complete, more whole, when another is beloved.

Bailey sees in the stories about sheep and coins a cluster of theological ideas: the nature of leadership within community and the abundant gift of grace offered to the rescued one; the cost to the shepherd of finding and restoring that one to its place or home.

There is an acknowledgement of what happens when humanity is lost - and unable to find its way home. The isolation and fear, the hurt and fragmentation. What in short hand we call ‘sin’ - our separation from God and others. 

Yet rather than being despairing, there’s much joy and celebration in these stories. Our repentance is imagined as an acceptance of being found - of being carried when we are lost and helpless. 

The images of these stories invite us to imagine ourselves within them. Like Blake’s paintings, they blaze with truth; they look suffering in the face - and also reveal the glad day of redeemed humanity.

This is about us as individuals, yes; but it is also about the life of the community. It speaks of God’s self-giving love rippling through the wilderness until we are brought home. Neither the one nor the many are abandoned. Jesus is talking about himself as well as us. He is the one who demonstrates costly love in the turbulence of our world to bring us to new life.

The story of the woman and her coins deepens the meaning of these themes: there is a shining light and diligent searching; we see the cracks in the floor, the dirty, grimy corners; and there is joy at being found and restored.

A sheep might become sick or injured when it is lost; there might be hurt or scarring. And yet the coin reminds us that we lose nothing of our value, our worth or our dignity for having been lost. The choice of Jesus’ imagery also elevates the world of all women. 

In addition, whereas the shepherd must search a vast wilderness, the woman knows that the coin is in the house. We are assured that the lost will be found because the coin is definitely in the house.

This work of reconciling humanity to God’s very self, God’s heart of love, is refracted in our other readings. In vivid and personal terms, they reveal the impact of our impatient, unjust or selfish desires; but also reassure us that those things are not the end of the story.

In Exodus, we hear of the ‘stiff-necked’ people who decide to melt down their precious metal to turn their tangible wealth into a tangible idol: they contain and limit their vision of god by producing ‘a thing’; an object within their control. 

Their anxiety echoes in our lives and our world - in Blake’s depiction of the worst of our human condition - when we place our security in what we can do, in our wealth, our ambition or ability. Our trust in God wavers in the turbulence of the world; we forget God’s blessings;  and seek out dark corners away from the light.

Whatever the vagaries of the human heart, God’s love for us remains constant: this love is fierce and faithful; just and merciful. Such love names the ways in which stray like lost sheep; but also reminds us that we are lambs called by name.

God knows that we need to constantly rediscover and relearn the truth that blazes deep within us. God rebukes and forgives precisely in order that we might grow in wisdom; God’s acts of justice call us to a more radical way of life.  

We are sought after, rescued, carried and redeemed in order that we might witness to the good news that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Godself. 

This love is not abstract. It is revealed once and for all in Jesus Christ. When he was lifted up on the cross, looking suffering in the face; and when he lay in the depths of the grave, overcoming death; when he burst from the tomb, revealing the radiance of light divine and the hope of redeemed humanity.

This love is not abstract. It is revealed in transformed lives and in the stories we tell. Paul’s story is one such act of testimony.  He writes to the young man Timothy of his own journey. He was lost - dawn to violence and injustice. He was found in the blazing light of the risen Christ. He was carried in this overflowing love.

That experience of patience and mercy becomes a song of praise to God who is immortal and invisible. Today we share that praise as we are invited to see ourselves afresh as worthy of full acceptance. 

Jesus came into the world to save us; to bring healing and hope. In bread and wine, we touch and taste the grace of God’s love. Receiving those gifts, we become what we are: members of one body. We are rooted and in a true sense radicals. Visionaries for God’s Kingdom; concentrating the light of God’s truth in each gesture.  In the power of the Spirit we are sent to be agents of hope, compassion and blessing.

Almighty God,

you search us out and know us:

may we rely on you in strength

and rest on you weakness,

now and infall our days;

though Jesus Christ our Lord.

© Julie Gittoes 2019