Seeing differently

Sunday September 25, 2022: Amos 6:1a, 4-7, 1 Timothy 6:6-19, Luke 16:19-31: a sermon preached at St Mary's and Christ Church

 

Last week began with words from Archbishop Justin on the nature of loving service, those we remember; whereas those who cling to power and privilege are long forgotten [Her Late Majesty's Funeral].  The week ended with a “mini-budget” and an MP [David Lammy] saying ‘I have a joke about trickle down economics. 99% of you won’t ever get it’. 

 

It’s a joke which we know isn’t funny. As the psalmist says, we trust in a God who gives bread to those who hunger, and the poor are still waiting for justice.

 

A sermon isn’t a lesson in economics or Trussenomics.. Rather it is an opportunity to see our world, its systems and priorities through the lens of scripture. The contrast is stark. Today, we hear of the prophet Amos pointing out that weath and revelry pass - alas, he cries, for those who’re at ease, secure, notable and rich - but who are not grieved at the plight of others.

 

We hear too from Timothy the familiar words said at funerals: taking us to the heart of the human condition ‘we brought nothing into the world, we take nothing out’ Therefore, we are to be content with food and clothing, and take hold of the life that is life. Loving service now - and hope in death, the gate of glory.

Paul warns the younger man Timothy that love of money can supplant love of God and obedience to God’s commandment: hearts turn inwards, swayed by harmful desires; succumbing to greed rather than generosity, comfort rather than compassion. But riches are uncertain and what we have we should be ready to share. 

 

We know that we are facing a cost of living crisis and that the most vulnerable are already suffering. Putting profit before people and selfishness over stewardship is cruel. As the CEO of the Children’s Society puts it: ‘billions in tax savings for high income earners is going to do nothing to help families bearing the brunt of this crisis’ [from Twitter 24 September]. 

 

Whatever our capital p  politics, it hurts us to see what God sees; in the words of Amos, we should be grieved at the plight of others. To acknowledge the brokenness and brokenness, the systems of greed and exploitation is part of our call to be capital p prophetic. 

 

In the parable Jesus tells, the unnamed rich man chooses not see what is in front of him as he feasts sumptuously - he neither acknowledges Lazarus nor alleviates his suffering. Lazarus is visible, human, real; longing for a crumb, consoled by the presence of dogs.

The Rich Man and Lazarus - James Janknegt

 

In this story, death is the gate of a great reversal: the wealthy, gluttonous foodie thirsts  in agony; the poor man is comforted by Abraham.  There is a chasm  set between them. 

 

Lazarus cannot be sent to do the richman’s bidding: neither in offering soothing water nor in warning his brothers. The wisdom of Moses and the prophets should be enough for us: love God and neighbour - alas for those who are rich.

 

There is an urgency to this uncomfortable story: it highlights what’s at stake; strips away the illusion that our choices are endless. It’s a story about wealth, the temptations of riches and the apathy induced by material comfort. It challenges us - whatever our financial position - to see the world as God sees it: to see the reality of suffering,  need and ultimately human dignity.

 

The richman couldn't not see Lazarus - he may have considered whether he was lazy or ‘deserving’ poor; wondered what led to his circumstances; tossed him spare change occasionally. He may have considered, as he entertained wealthy friends, how to solve ‘the problem’ of street homeless. He may have noticed him, but not truly seen him. 

 

Jesus invites us to see each other: to recognise our shared humanity, dignity and worth; to see the kinship between us. The one who is God with us, invites us to risk the cost and vulnerability of being in relationship with others; to hear their stories and see in their faces something of our own fear and fragility, indeed our own mortality. 

 

To see Lazarus, the richman would not only glimpse something of his own fractured dignity; to acknowledge his circumstances, privilege and complicity in the suffering of others. To see would be to admit ‘we bring nothing into the world, we take nothing out’; that to cling to power is to be forgotten; it is to be grieved at the plight of others, to be content with what we have and to share.

 

One of the refrains of Moses and the prophets is that love of God, true fear and awe of God, is the beginning of wisdom. If we show such reverence - to the one in whom we live and move and have our being - we cannot not have the same reverence for others: our fellow human beings who bear God’s image and indeed the whole of creation. 

 

We are all impoverished by the incapacity to grieve the plight of others;  by the trading contentment for what we have for craving more than we need; by exchanging short term profit for long term sustainability. 

 

To see in this way demands personal commitment and collective effort. It means finding ways to reduce or cross the chasm between want and plenty - a chasm we create and reinforce through the policies and politics we choose. It is unsettling because it demands courage and imagination, but Jesus subverts the norms and hierarchies we live by, crossing the chasm of life and death to bring new life.

 

In the book The Spirit Level  Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett argue that inequality has a damaging effect on society: ‘eroding trust, increasing anxiety and illness, encouraging excessive consumption’. Equality, they argue, is better for everyone.  The Joseph Roundtree Foundation called for more research on the policy and tax implications of their work - some of that includes recognition of our interdependence and need for security; reducing stigma and increasing commitment to the common good.

 

To take hold of life that really is life might mean bearing the burdens of others, being content with what we have and confronting privilege. We trust in a God who crosses over the chasms we construct and maintain - in Jesus we are shown a way of selflessness and loving service. As Archbishop Justin said, we are shown who do follow - losing our lives in order to gain them.

 

We have everything we need: created and creaturely goodness; the gift of forgiveness and the hope of blessing; we have the life, death and resurrection of Jesus; we have power of the Spirit gathering us together as one. Dare we offer healing love to our world - in what we spend, in how we protest, in what we campaign for, in who we see and who - and what - we serve. Amen.

© Julie Gittoes 2022

Breathing the words of Mary

 A sermon preached at our patronal with prayers for Her Late Majesty: Isaiah 61:1-11, Galatians 4:4-7 & Luke 1:46-55 

Standing in front of our Vicars’ board is a humbling and poignant thing: the dates  connect us to past generations, eras and circumstances. They mark out times of  conquest, plague and reformation; of settlements, civil war and restoration; of  empire, industrialisation and commonwealth; of the blitz and the welfare state, state  funerals and accession. 

Most of the names are unremembered apart from being said out loud by the  current incumbent wondering how they navigated change, how they, in the power  of the Spirit, shared God’s word and witnessed to Christ. 

They baptised at the font we use today; they, like us, took bread and wine saying  take and eat do this in remembrance of me; we are united with them in every ‘our  Father’. We laugh and weep like them; we comfort and seek consolation like them.  

We come as T. S. Eliot expresses it: ‘you are not here to verify, instruct yourself, or  inform curiosity or carry report. You are here to kneel where prayer has been valid’. 

Amidst the changes and chances of this fleeting world, we continue this rhythm of  worship and witness; dwelling in the eternal pulse of love, the fullness of God. Our  lives are but small things held within this overarching story of God’s love for the  world. 

Madonna of the Dispossessed by Mary C Farrenkopf

We trust in a God who works through small things: through one woman’s “yes”  God’s Son is made flesh; immensity cloister’d in [her] dear womb. It is through the  child-bearing of blessed Mary that we receive adoption as children of God, and if  children then also heirs.  

Heirs of a promise of a kingdom. Archbishop Fisher, who gave Her Late Majesty a  book of devotions as she prepared for her coronation, said: ‘The Christian lives in  two worlds at once; the world of Christ’s completed kingdom… and the world of  continued conflict against the powers of evil’.  

In some ways, Mary’s song - the familiar words of the Magnificat - is one which  shapes how we live between these two kingdoms.

Mary’s whole being is caught up in praise of God, the assurance of grace: she  embodies the words of Isaiah as mind, body, soul and Spirit are caught up in the  fullest expression rejoicing and exultation. She also calls us into service of God’s  kingdom on earth. 

On Friday, Bishop Sarah said: ‘A life lived in the service of others is a rare jewel. It is  a jewel that Her Late Majesty The Queen wore as a crown.’ Isaiah speaks of a rich  crown too - of jewel and garland, garnets and robes. These were no mere earthy  vesture but speak of God’s salvation and righteousness. 

Salvation being God’s power to heal, restore and make whole. Righteousness being  the quality of God’s faithfulness and loving mercy. Through Jesus, salvation is for  any and for all - the greatest and the least. Mary speaks of this promise, remembered  across all generations. 

In Jesus, the powers of evil are undone: though his presence in the world, through  his death and descent to the very depths of alienation and despair, though glorious  hope of resurrection. As Rowan Williams puts it: ‘he comes to his new and risen life,  his universal kingship by searching out all the forgotten and failed members of the  human family’.  

This is the stuff of the world of Christ’s completed kingdom. This is our hope. 

Mary names the conflict and struggle of this world. She gives thanks for what God  has done in faithfulness, blessing and generosity. She speaks of the consequences  for the world.  

The one whose name is holy will make known mercy from one generation to  another. And mercy is revealed in deliverance from poverty, exploitation and  domination.  

As this courageous, joyful, obedient and determined young woman makes the voice  of the prophets her own, God’s own Son is being knit together in her womb. Her  words look forward to the start of his public ministry: the poor lifted up, the rich  sent away; the hungry filled, the powerful challenged.  

She declares the work of salvation and righteousness in relational terms: human community  transformed, resources redeployed and imaginations enlarged. This is a song through which  we too are called to embody God’s compassion, love and mercy; through which we seek  all that makes for the flourishing of humanity and all creation. 

Today, we hold in mind the life and words of one who, as a young woman, made  vows and promises which she spent a lifetime inhabiting. Her Late Majesty was  greeted in an Abbey with great pomp and ceremony; but she also knelt, laying aside  regal robes and jewels, to be anointed.  

The Queen - photographed by Cecil Beaton to commemorate her coronation in 1953

In her book of devotions, Archbishop Fisher had invited her to ponder this moment  - anointed God’s servant until her dying day, drawing on resources of divine grace  with a heart, mind and hands to do his will. The words Fisher gave the young  queen were, ’in answer to God’s call and consecration, I dare to breathe the Virgin  Mary’s words: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy  word”.’ 

We too as adopted children and heirs are invited to breathe Mary’s words as we live  trusting in God’s Kingdom amidst the real conflicts and challenges of the earthly  realm.  

Suc works are often about small things. Like seeds planted in hope - germinating  unseen - brings forth shoots from the earth; small things out of which new life and  hope springs up.  Bringing the margins to the centre is not the preserve of the new Prince and Princess of Wales alone; it is the work of all of us, members of Christ’s body; people who breathe in Mary’s words. 

God’s righteousness and salvation is enfleshed in Mary’s womb; from this small  God’s power and love is made perfect in human weakness. This power breaks  through in us too - as we break bread in remembrance of our living Lord; as the  Spirit breathes through us, strengthen us for service. 

In a small thing - a fragile wafer - we are fed, restored, strengthened by Christ’s  body; we become his body, receiving dignity and purpose as adopted children  and heirs.  

We receive this gift not just for ourselves but for the world. Here, even in our grief  we sing songs of hope and praise, vision and protest. Here, we commit to the  pursuit of justice, compassion and peace; to courageous advocacy for the powerless  and marginalized. Here, we like Mary, and all who dare to breathe her words,  commit afresh to acts of service as a nation mourns Her Late Majesty who shares  with us the inheritance of God’s kingdom. 

We sing Mary’s song in places of vulnerability and fear; we breathe her words in  solidarity with suffering and anxious. As members of Christ’s body we do small  things which bring healing and hope; bringing the margins to the centre, seeking  justice and peace. 

The day before her coronation, an archbishop invited a young queen to ponder this  peace in these words: ’But above all God has taken me into his peace and I praise for  his being what he is, for his goodness, his enabling power, the certainty of his  unfailing love’.  

As she takes our rest, may we continue in our service: may God be in my head in  our thinking, speaking and at our departing. Amen.

© Julie Gittoes 2022