What are you looking for?

A sermon on Jesus's invitation in John 1: come and see. 

The texts were: Isaiah 49:1-7, I Corinthians 1:1-9 and John 1:29-42

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for has been described as one of U2s most deeply felt songs, as vulnerable as it is stirring, a search for that elusive, missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle of longing and desire; the gap between expectation and the event.

I have climbed the highest mountain

I have run through the fields 

Only to be with you

It was released in 1987 on ‘The Joshua Tree’ album; and stayed at number one for nine weeks. The equally iconic video was filmed in Las Vegas with next to no budget. Bono and Edge play out the imagined interaction between would be street preacher and busker.

I have run

I have crawled

I have scaled these city walls

These city walls / only to be with you

Against the dazzling lights of casinos, a place which perhaps epitomises human desire to fill a void,  Bono pushes the top end of his vocal range accentuating that longing; lingering on the word still:

But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for 

Yes, there are strands which express highly romantic human longing; but this burning desire doesn’t satisfy; it continues to search. It presses on. 

It’s perhaps a prayer of a kind: longing for meaning, belonging and purpose; for something more, reaching into depths of the human condition. 

Bono himself calls it ‘a gospel song with a restless spirit’.

This restless spirit may still be running; but also believes in a kingdom to come.  

In the final stanza we hear:

Your broke the bonds and you

Loosed the chains

Carried the cross

Of my shame / Of my shame / you know I believed it

The restless spirit meets the heart of a gospel song: a song of freedom and hope. And yet, the drive of this doesn’t quite rest here - the question that echos is the question on Jesus’ lips in today’s Gospel.

What are you looking for?

Those words are addressed to each of us.

Jesus doesn’t impose or assume. Instead, we are invited to look into our own hearts; to be aware of our own motivations, desires, and restlessness.

It is a questions that draws us not only into conversation but into relationship. 

What have we not found? What are we looking for?

Responding with a question of their own, the disciples ask: Where do you live?

They can’t name what’s on their heart just yet; but they do want to be with the one who gives them permission to ask.  

The response is not a location but an invitation.

Come and see!

Come. See.

It is an invitation to stay; to abide; to rest; to dwell.

The Word of God, abiding near the Father’s heart, dwells with us.

We too are invited to dwell with Jesus.

This is ordinary, intimate and particular: people meeting a specific moment, in a certain place.

The truth of love divine meet restless human hearts, setting them free.

But although we don’t know what passed between Jesus and the disciples; but we do know that what they found was something to be shared.

As a result, Simon too is seen as he is: he’s given a new name to express his calling, to be a rock of faith and strength.

As Jesus looks on us, we too are seen by the face of God: we are seen and loved.

The late Jean Vanier devoted much time to pondering the mystery of John’s Gospel; and built communities around abiding in love.  He writes: each of us has personal walls and pain. The yearning of Jesus is to traverse those walls. The vulnerability lies in waiting for the walls of our hearts to come down in the presence of love and for peace to enter.  

The who who crosses the wall of our vulnerability does not come to us in power, but with gentleness.

John the Baptist declared it to all who walked by: behold, look, see: here is the Lamb of God.

It was the blood of a lamb that saved the people of Israel from slavery; enabling them to walk to freedom in a Promised land.

The blood of this lamb, extends that gift and promise of freedom to many nations. 

This lamb frees us from the things which imprison us: our fears and misdirected desires, our capacity to wound and be wounded.

These are the bonds, the chains, the shame named by U2; what in short had we call sin; our restlessness, things which separate us from others.

This lamb frees us to find new life in communion with God: bearing the weight of our pain, struggle, sorrow and isolation on the cross.

The cross breaks bonds and chains, it undoes shame: when we haven’t found what we’re looking for, love stoops down to our restless, broken, loving, seeking hearts and finds us.

In this Eucharist we behold the Lamb of God. The one who takes away the sins of the world.

We behold and are beheld: we touch and taste our hearts desire, the living bread.

In this Eucharist, God comes to the hidden and sacred space within us, to our deepest self; and there, God breaths love and peace. Seeds of communion with others are planted; shoots of communion with God who says come and see and rest.

Desire is just the start of it.

The longings spoken or unacknowledged.

The restlessness not satisfied by anything on anyone.

This desire is just the start: for there we are found and held and known by name.

We are no longer searching for; but being seen; looked at; beheld and found.

It begins in a small way, this moment of abiding in love.

Jesus attracts a few people. They begin a journey. They walk with him.

And this small group take up the message of a love and peace, of forgiveness and hope.

They take it up and share it across all generations; they seek a kingdom in this world, which is not of this world.

And sometimes this people, this body, this institution, this church forgets. We forget that we are followers of lamb, not a people of power.

And sometimes, in a world of conflict and competition, the church succumbs to the abuse of power.

We have seen that all too clearly and painfully this week in the broadcast of The Church’s Darkest Secret. But we saw it too in letters to a broken to church; in testimonies made at IICSA.

But having been seen, we have to find a way forward, with humility; daring to seek a way forward which speaks of justice and mercy, of life and hope.

As we ask ourselves what we’re looking for or what we most desire, as churches in this parish, we are invited to come and see.

As we dare to be still and to pray, may God give us a clear vision for how we might love and serve others; may God raise up amongst us, preachers and pastors; leaders and visionaries. 

As the prophet Isaiah reminds us, we are called and named to serve a God who is faithful; a God who makes all things new in Christ. 

As Paul reminds us, we are called - together - to call upon the name of our Lord Jesus.  We are a body, seeking, finding, abiding; that the poverty of our natures might be transformed by grace.

May the Spirit so strengthen us and enrich our life that we may witness to the power of God’s love; that in the renewal of our lives, God’s glory might be made known.

© Julie Gittoes 2020

Radical inclusion

A sermon peached at the parish eucharists. The texts were: Isaiah 9:1-4, 1 Corinthians 1:10-18 and Matthew 4:12-23

It’s more than fifty years since The Kinks sang ‘Dedicated Follower of Fashion’.  In it they mock the superficial dandy keeping up with the latest designers and their daring styles. 

Ray Davies wrote the song as a critique of a slavish conformity that followed the latest trends at the expense of individual identity. 

It seems that far from being reluctant to follow anyone or anything, human beings are capable of a surprising immediacy in succumbing to external influences.

From the newspaper columnist we read and the teams we support through to adopting new technologies, we are in many ways instinctive ‘followers’. 

Social media highlights that in many ways: we choose who to follow or follow back; we form ‘our tribe’; algorithms and influencers drawing us echo chambers or fan bases.

There’s even a meme of Jesus sitting next to a young man, saying: ‘No, I’m not talking about Twitter. I literally want you to follow me’. 

It’s that kind of immediacy that today’s gospel draws us into: it’s not without cost, but it is also transformative. 

John himself has been arrested. His work as forerunner is done. He has prepared the way for Jesus; he has pointed others him.

As we move from a time of preparation to one of fulfilment, Jesus takes up John’s message: ‘Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near’. 

This is an invitation to follow: to turn our attention to God, to notice the nearness of God’s love in flesh and blood.

As a child Jesus been honoured by the magi: those seeking wisdom from far flung lands.

As a child, he fled with Mary and Joseph to the safety of the land of Egypt.

As an adult, Jesus raises up our humanity in being baptised in the Jordan.

As an adult, he now withdraws to Galilee: in the face of threat, he refuses to engage in retaliation and violence.

He goes to Galilee, to the very heart of the land of Israel.

He goes to particular places; places like Zebulun and Naphtali which were once more under imperial control.

He goes beyond the Jordan to the Galilee of the nations, as Isaiah calls it.

In these particular places, something expansive and liberating breaks in.

In the face of gloom and anguish and the burdens of oppression, there will be rejoicing.

Light breaks into the darkness, it shines for all peoples.

Jesus returns to this particular place of Galilee; he goes with a message of hope. 

Repent, he says: inviting human hearts to turn to love.

The kingdom is near, he says: in him, that love divine draws near to us in human breath and word; gesture and touch.

Jesus comes to Peter and Andrew; to James and John. 

He comes to them, and to us, and calls them.

He takes the initiative and says ‘follow me’.

It is an invitation to walk with him.

They drop everything. They follow. Immediately.

This call is unexpected. It disrupts the ordinary rhythm of daily life.

Those first followers are called from family and from work; from the familiarity of all that sustains them.

This new commitment takes precedence over all other relationships and obligations. 

But what takes precede is love. 

They are called to follow; to walk.

As they do so, they become aware of the needs of others ; of their desires, fears and motivations. 

They learn to collaborate, to set aside personal ambition; they face the call to be courageous in responding to the powerful and the vulnerable. 

They learn this from one they follow: the one who breaks the rod of the oppressor; the one who embodies God’s reign of justice and of peace.

One commentator suggests that as these fishermen move from service of economy and empire  they are being invited to take up ‘God’s great and gracious drag net which takes in all sorts and conditions of people.’

Therefore all sorts and conditions of people are invited to share in good news: this news is radically inclusive; lived out in diverse households; expressed in kinship across race and class, age and sexuality. 

This news is radically inclusive in bringing transforming love to places of anguish and gloom; it is lived out as we get our hands dirty in involvement in the stuff of this world; it is expressed in the justice we seek and how we use our own social or economic capital.

This news is radically inclusive, and yet, as Paul is all too aware, the church can be a divided body; falling into argument rather than agreement. 

Paul cuts to the chase: we should be united in the same mind and purpose.

That purpose is to bring hope, forgiveness and liberation. 

We live out that purpose in the power of God, seen in the utter vulnerability of the cross.

What may look like foolishness is a radical statement that there is no longer any place where God’s love is not: it reaches to the depths of despair and raises us to the highest joy; it defeats death and brings new life.

We who break bread together are called to be of the same mind; we receive the blessing of a love that passes all understanding are called to be united in one purpose.

Jesus says, repent, turn your hearts to love.

He says, the kingdom of justice and compassion has come near.

This one who is God with us, calls us to follow, to walk, to live and breath this love.

Anoint us with your Spirit that we may share the good news of freedom; may our lives illumined by word and sacrament, shine the radiance of love.

© Julie Gittoes 2020

Unusual Kindness

The theme of the 2020 Week of Prayer for Christian Unity was 'Unusual Kindness'. It was a delight to preach at our joint service.

The Boy, the mole, the fox and the horse was a Christmas bestseller at Waterstones and is billed as the new Winnie the Pooh.

It’s a beautifully illustrated book. It’s full of wisdom about what matters in life: it’s full of courage and love, friendship and inspiration. It names vulnerabilities and hurst, and our longing to belong. 

You may have been given a copy; or bought several to give to friends; mine, sits on my bedside table.

The characters emerged from the imagination of the illustrator Charlie Mackesy when he was thinking about the bravery of asking for help. The characters perhaps reflect different aspects of who we are as human beings - a child’s curiosity, the mole’s enthusiasm, the fox’s pain and the horse’s wisdom.

Above all, it is a book which encourages us to live with courageous kindness; and to ask for help when we need it.

“I’m so small” said the mole. 

“Yes”, said the boy, “but you make a huge difference.’

`”What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Kind” said the boy.

Kindness. 

An unusual and courageous kindness.

A kindness that is so ordinary; yet utterly extraordinary.

Not so much a random act; but an intentional way of being.

Kind.

This evening’s service has invited to us to mediate on and immerse ourselves in another story. A story which is full of risk.

What we hear in Acts can’t be reduced to an adventure story on the high seas; it is a drama of survival infused with the hope of salvation.

The winds are fierce; the water swells.

The ship is at risk along with its crew and their cargo; the prisoners and the owners profit.

If there was a time for courage, for unusual kindness, this is it.

We see it Paul in the way he steps into the confusion and chaos. The centurion and the owner are deliberating about the risks they face; and Paul also speak up. He speaks of a different risk. In the words of black American theologian Willie Jennings he speaks of ‘risk rooted in the love of the Creator for a fragile creation’.

The risk of that love is seen as God reveals Godself in Jesus, Word made flesh. The risk of that love is seen in the Spirit guiding, breathing, speaking, comforting in the unexpected.

Paul knew that he and his companions were in the hands of a God who overcame death. He spoke that word amidst the winds and the waves, in the face of the anxiety of human effort and concern. 

Words of a prophetic kindness.

Words spoken when we’re struggling to survive; when we fear drains our hope.

Words not always heard at the time.

Words which dare to say God lives and we too will have life.

Paul rests in the stability of his faith. 

He acts out and shares his faith amongst the chaos; he reaches out the hungry, desperate and exhausted.  

He breaks bread.

This too is an unusual and courageous act of kindness; a simple act which brings nourishment and encouragement. 

Simple bread: satisfying under and renewing hope.

As we minister together across Hendon and Colindale, perhaps we can sit with the question posed by Jennings: ‘when will we offer food - and invite the fearful to eat?’

Kindness. 

An unusual and courageous kindness.

A kindness that is so ordinary; yet utterly extraordinary.

Not so much a random act; but an intentional way of being.

Kind.

The ship disintegrates; life is at risk. It’s the centurion who shows humanity in preserving life. He steps out of the world of profit and security; he acts for a world of humanity and dignity.

He offers a thread of hope in crisis.

But what now, as this human cargo finds itself washed up, exhausted, battered and traumatised. 

They’ve been saved from storm and wave; saved from the threat of violence. Their lives once deemed expendable are restored to them; but they are in acute need.

Will they been seen as a risk or someone else’s problem? Will they be seen as a threat or a burden to be left at the mercy of the elements?

The Maltese make a fire.

The invite the shipwrecked to sit in its warmth.

What they offer is fully human. And it is full of grace.

They offer hospitality, without condition or limit, at a point of need.

This is perhaps how good news arrives. Not with power, but with weakness and courage; with humility and kindness.

Willie Jennings suggests that this offers us a template. He writes ‘a template is forming here not simply for missions but for the living of the life of faith, where we recognise our vulnerability and our shared need for one another as the beginning point of sharing the gospel’.

Kindness. 

An unusual and courageous kindness.

A kindness that is so ordinary; yet utterly extraordinary.

Not so much a random act; but an intentional way of being.

Kind.

Kindness that expressed love, human and divine. 

Kindness in which we see a glimpse of the Spirit at work.

In this kindness, salvation has come not only the the shipwrecked but also the the people of Malta. 

We don’t hear Paul speak - no word is preached, not testimony is given; in stead he continues to be a servant of God amongst strangers.

And yet in the sharing of food, in unconditional acts of kindness; in the risk of sharing life and all that is life giving, something of the power of Jesus’ risen life is made known.

He comes amongst those strangers and citizens in healing and service: the reality of God’s love, the life of the risen Christ and the grace of the Spirit are mapped on this unexpected act of kindness.

Like the boy, the mole, the fox and the horse, we gather as one; as Christians from differing traditions, with different gifts of wisdom, delight, hospitality and passion. 

Yes, we one in Christ, receiving from one another kindness and encouragement; yes, we live together by acts of kindness. Our ecumenical life together happens at the intersection with multi-faith engagement.

The God who calls us to worship and service, to hospitality and witness, calls us to seek and build a kingdom.  When we’re fearful, who is is that comes alongside us in those places and feeds us.

To seek a kingdom in a place which is at the cross roads of cultures and faiths, just as Malta was. That this week of prayer overlaps with Holocaust Memorial day urges us, in our engagement with others, to stand together.  In those places may we offer food, and invite the fearful to eat.

May we be agents of healing and able to accept gifts of others; may we seek justice and harmony; may we resist mistrust and separation. 

May we be ready to give grace-filled hospitality.

May we be ready to receive such grace-filled invitations. 

For in those things, God is waiting for us to arrive.

`”What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Kind” said the boy.

Kindness. 

An unusual and courageous kindness.

A kindness that is so ordinary; yet utterly extraordinary.

Not so much a random act; but an intentional way of being.

Kind.

© Julie Gittoes 2020

Epiphany is outrageous hospitality

On Sunday, we celebrated the Epiphany with a joint service at Christ Church - and the Bishop of Edmonton, the Rt Rev'd Rob Wickham was our celebrant and preacher. The text of his sermon - on outrageous hospitality and imagination - is shared, with permission, on this blog.

Just over a week ago, Hampstead and Belsize Park were hit by terrible anti semitic graffiti.  

Thankfully, the public outcry as a result proved that the majority of people do not want to go along with the targeting of a specific group, culture or creed in such a crass way, and the messages of support for our Jewish brothers and sisters was a warm reminder to us all to act in solidarity, and that this is appreciated.  Yet again, this was another example of the need, as the Archbishop reminded us in his Christmas sermon, on being a people who reconcile and build bridges in society.

I am mindful also that the levels of hate against Christians continue to increase, although much less reported.  Last year it was reported that something in the region of 215 million Christians experience high, very high, or extreme persecution.  North Korea remains the hardest place to be a Christian, but Christianity "is at risk of disappearing" in some parts of the world. Christians in Palestine represent less than 1.5% of the population, while in Iraq they had fallen from 1.5 million before 2003 to less than 120,000.  I also wonder what the impact in the Middle East will be now following the death of Qasem Soleimani at the hands of the Americans.

Recent research has also mentioned that the greatest risk to Christianity is not religious extremism, but ethnic nationalism, viewed in many countries’ immigration and wider societal laws.  Ancestry becomes even more dominant, as many countries and peoples try and assert their identity and culture upon others.  Perhaps we have seen something of this in North London over Christmas?

Epiphany gives us a very different view of God’s vision for humanity.  Yet is it a vision which is very controversial in today’s world.  The story of Jesus being born is an easy one for us to get our heads around.  We can cope with birth, we have all been born, we all have a mother, and the idea that Mary gives birth to Jesus is very straightforward.

But the Epiphany story develops the wider implications of God becoming a human being, taking our flesh.  The one through whom all things came into being has now, in human form, come into being, and there are implications on how each of us live our lives as a consequence- a matter which takes a lifelong of learning to begin to scratch the surface of significance.

Therefore if Epiphany means revelation or making known, what is God trying to make known to us.

Well up until now, Jesus has been born, and shepherds have visited.  Shepherds were, we think, Jewish, poor, local and empty handed.

Now the scene has been set in that Herod has again been mentioned, and Bethlehem has been mentioned.  Now Herod was a vassal king, showing allegiance to the Roman Emperor.  The Magi were associated with the study of the stars and the interpretation of dreams, and they travelled a long way.  They were educated, rich and powerful.  Given that this was now no longer a local matter, but that boundaries were being broken, power is being threatened, Herod begins to get scared, and calls the chief priests and scribes together for a conference.  Jerusalem, the great and powerful city, is being shaken by Bethlehem, a sleepy poor village.  The poor are the teachers.

Already the status quo is being shaken, and even the old tactics of manipulation for your own powerful ends- come back and tell me, so I too may go and pay homage…  become unstuck as the magi go home a different route.

And what of the gifts.  Odd gifts.

–  Gold is a gift fit for a king. It recognized that Jesus was a great king, the king of the world. 

–  Frankincense is a special kind of fragrance that was used by a priest. 

–  Myrrh was a sweet-smelling liquid that was rubbed gently into the skin of someone who had died. It indicated that Jesus’ death would be important.

King, priest and prophet, all demonstrated at this moment of epiphany, revelation.

So, what do we learn from all of this?

Outrageous hospitality is what we learn.  Outrageous in its absurdity, craziness and the extraordinary imagination that God possesses.

3 brief conclusions, if I may.

God invites.  The shepherds, the Magi, the calling of Mary, the birth of Jesus.  All God’s doing.  God’s interventions, calling the rich and the poor, the near and the far, the educated city dweller and the uneducated nomad, the Jew and the gentile, some come through heavenly intervention- a chance occurrence and encounter, others through study of the stars, dreams.  All are led to Jesus.  We cannot put boundaries on who can be invited, especially if God does the invitations, leading his people to Jesus.  Therefore, be surprised, be imaginative.  A culture of any church can prohibit as well as welcome those whom God is calling.

God is not constrained by ethnic nationalism.  To say that England was or is a Christian country is absurd.  Yes, we live in a country that has been shaped, politically, legally, medically, educationally by our religious heritage, but the inspiration for each of these is in bringing people to Jesus and enabling our communities to flourish.  Our task again is to confidently let God bring his people to a revelation, an epiphany of Jesus, where they too can bring their grifts whilst paying homage.  The State is not the saviour, but Jesus is our saviour, and this demands a radical response in the way in which we live, and in the way we shape community.

If this is the truth, then our understanding of our epiphany this morning, our role as the parish churches of Hendon- a place of such diversity- is so important.  The Epiphany story reminds us of God’s call upon all.  How do we respond as the parish churches, with an ecclesiology, an understanding of what it means to be an Anglican, which serves the whole community?  It is precisely because of this heritage that we can proudly boast of a Christian impact upon health care, schools, and the law, but what does this look like afresh today.  We cannot dwell in the past.  In other words, what does it mean to be a church for all Londoners- with a vision for the flourishing of all Hendon, and not keeping the St Mary’s and Christ Church show in the road!

Thank you, St Mary’s, and thank you Christ Church.  Your presence here is so important, as God invites.  Please do not put boundaries on his activities, but may 2020 be a year of joyful imagination, seeing where the spirit is at work, daring to join in.

Epiphany is outrageous hospitality.  May you be the church for all in Hendon, showing the same outrageous hospitality, powerfully shaping our shared life together.  Don’t leave it just to the secular authorities, or even worse to the manipulative voices of ethnic nationalism but let God to God.

Amen

© The Rt Rev'd Rob Wickham 2020