Faithfuls

Christmas 2022: Isaiah 63:7-9, Hebrews 2:10-18 and John 1:1-14 A Sermon preached at Midnight Mass - from "The Traitors" to 'The Chord". The TV show IS based on games such as ‘wink-murder’ or 'mafia' which has proved popular with youth groups, including our own, for decades. The chord from 'O come all ye faithful' is well known amongst musicians - there are even t-shirts!

I  am a faithful.

Even if you’ve not followed "The Traitors", spoilers, reviews and comments have been all over mainstream and social media, adding a twist to the famous opening line of one of the carols we’ll sing tonight. 

Come on, you faithfuls!

Some players were nominated as traitors and were tasked with “murdering” the other faithful contestants, while the latter had to identify the traitors and “banish” them. 

Unlike the game played in church halls and youth clubs, over £100k was at stake.  Everyone played as a faithful.

There were group challenges and quizzes - building up bonds of friendship, camaraderie  and trust as well as the prize fund. Then there were accusations, theories, eliminations, betrayals; a creeping paranoia and mistrust, prejudices and judgements. 

The finale included cryptic farewells, parting gifts, special pleading and an ultimatum.  Could they all say, I am a faithful? Or would someone have to confess to a game of deceit and manipulation and  divided loyalties, with all the pressure that went with it?

Yes, it was a game - albeit one shot in a fabulous location with ordinary people. 

But games  can reveal the very worst as well as the best of family and friends. If you’re thinking of playing Monopoly, Cluedo or Absolute Balderdash tomorrow, we see the competitiveness, suspicions, duplicity, selfishness and disappointment - as well as, I hope, some magnanimity and laughter. 

O Come; come all ye faithful.

For to be faithful with all its joy, song and exaltation in no way denies the complexity, pain and fractious nature of the world we live in; the personal wounds and the systemic injustices - the greed, betrayals or inequalities, the abused power.

But there is more. To be faithful gives us a different lens on the world: one of hope. 

A hope of resolution; of something more; of outrageous possibility and extravagant love.

It’s a hope we see as human beings turn their hearts outwards to the other - letting go of self-reliance, self-absorption or selfishness. 

As "The Traitors" ended, we were given a glimpse of that in both friendship and forgiveness. To be faithful names the grace of those things. The little acts of kindness; the moments of consolation; the celebration of those fierce loves; the marking of new beginnings; the longevity of human companionship and creaturely companions too. 

It’s a hope we see and hear and receive afresh tonight because of a single Word. A Word made flesh. 

O come, all ye faithful. You are faithfuls. Come and adore the one who is God of God, light of light; very God birthed by Mary - reflecting God’s glory in the fullness of our human condition. 

We come here faithfully; coming to behold and adore Christ the Lord.

Sometime ago, the New York Times published a piece entitled ‘everyone wants to hear this one chord in a Christmas carol. The chord from an arrangement of ‘O come all ye faithful’. 

It is the one known as the “Word of the Father chord” or just “The Chord”: it brings awe, mystery and drama to our worship - full of anticipation as it finally resolves. A startling moment that captures our attention and moves our hearts. 

It is more than a scrumptious harmonic moment. It carries deep meaning and resonance. That final verse which we will sing this happy morning, is a reference to the opening of John’s Gospel read tonight. 

It takes us beyond angels and shepherds. It takes us to the very heart of God - to the love that creates and makes whole; a love that does not let us go, but longs for us to grow in friendship with God and each other. 

The one chord illuminates the one Word: there is a directness and simplicity to this pairing - it demands our attention, draws us into the mystery and intimacy of this love. It holds us there as heaven stoops to earth and raises earth to heaven. 

We are invited to be faithful in ways which are deeply practical. It is about being messengers of peace; rejoicing with those who rejoice; bringing comfort to those who weep. 

To be faith-full is to build community and trust; to restore hope and justice; to nurture understanding, confidence and purpose. That will look different in our homes, workplaces and communities.

However we feel this Christmas we know that the stresses, grief, anxiety, uncertainty and loneliness are real - but that they co-existing alongside the laughter, memories, comfort, opportunities and love.

The Word of the Chord is one who lives to share the sorrows and the joys - who is with us in the darkest hours. It’s a  love that cannot be banished; a love that restores the traitor; a love that calls us to one table, to share one bread - one cup, and serve one world. 

That is grace. And truth. And love. So come, ye faithful. Let us adore him. 

© Julie Gittoes 2022

Wachet Auf - awake!

 Advent Sunday 2022: Isaiah 2:1-5, Romans 3:11-end and Matthew 24:36-44

In a poem which we will hear in full this evening, entitled ‘Advent Calendar’, Rowan Williams explores this holy season of expectation, in earthy terms.

He will come like last leaf’s fall - with flayed trees and shrouds of leaves; like frost tracing its icy beauty; like dark - with the bursting red December sun before the night sky envelops us. 

Today marks the beginning of  a holy season: one which is startling, not sentimental.  He will come, will come, / will come like crying in the night writes Rowan in the final stanza.

He will come like child yes; he comes like blood, like breaking as Mary labours to give birth. 

Image my own

This child comes, like every new born, disrupting rhythms and routines; this child breaks us open too, bringing the promise of new life to this death-bound world, marked with winds and mist and the star-snowed fields of sky.

In the cantata we’ll hear tonight, Bach draws us into a midnight hour: where maidens wait with lamps lit; where voices from watchtowers call us to awake from sleep and arise to meet the one who will come, will come, will come. 

He will come like a bridegroom; like one who has tenderly sought after his beloved. He will come like one bringing graceful strength and gentle judgement; like one inviting us to share in joy and gladness at a feast. 

The music stretches our imaginations with an emotional pull and a spiritual longing: oh to open our hearts and be alert to embrace the wonder of God; a God who calls us beloved. 

May lamps burn bright to embrace the one who comes: be alert, be prepared; wake from sleep, the Lord comes and will not delay.

In Christ, there is hope for more: not a confidence in the glittering prizes and illusions of this world; the lesser hopes destined to disappoint. This is a hope in victory over death, in loving and merciful judgement, in  new and abundant life. 

It is the kind of hope which gives us courage in the face of present struggles and worries.  He will come, will come, will come; saying beloved, I am here.

Yet our Gospel reading speaks not of labour pains or the cries of childbirth; nor does it speak of lamps, bridegrooms and wedding feasts. 

Instead, we are given a disturbing image of a household being broken into; of the distribution of a stealthy intruder, damage and loss. It challenges our peace and security. 

In part this is the scandal of Christ’s coming - like leaf fall, frost or darkness. He will come in a way that is unexpected. He comes like a child - born to wake us from sleep, to bring life out of death. 

If Bach takes up the imagery of well-trimmed lamps and the foresight to provide extra oil; he also wakes us up - calling us into a season which we do not embrace lightly or selfishly; but with vigilance and faithfulness. 

We are to keep awake; to notice what is going on in our hearts, communities and world. We are to be prepared, responsive, ready. We are to be rested yet alert; trusting in God.

So perhaps the shock of today’s gospel is a challenge to us in a couple of ways.

Are we if not literally asleep, then sleepwalking through life. Are we caught up in busyness or the mundane that we miss the urgency of the moment - moments to console or rejoice, support or love. Wachet auf - sleepers awake - pay attention to what matters.

Jesus doesn’t come in the way we expect - like a child, like a bridegroom and even with stealth. Perhaps we might take that as an invitation to let go of our assumptions and embrace Jesus with joy; knowing that there is no place, no circumstance that is too insignificant, ordinary, complex for God’s love to dwell there.

As we open our hearts in that way - letting go of the pressure to have every detail worked out - we make space for a God who calls us beloved. Sometimes, we have to let go of persistent fears, even the fear of death itself; and the heavy burdens, the many distractions of life or entrenched attitudes about ourselves or others. Those things which get in the way the beauty of God’s desire for us; which stop us loving our neighbours as ourselves. 

If the imagery of being robbed is a startling and disturbing one, perhaps in this way we can set it alongside the new life promised and how we make that present in our interactions now. 

For Paul, living in God’s daylight meant laying aside - being robbed of - what he calls the works of darkness: from quarrelling to drunkenness, debauchery to jealousy. In doing so we begin to make space for God’s ways of peace. We are called to awaken from the rest and refreshment of sleep to be active in offering hospitality and consolation. 

He will come, will come, will come: like leaf’s fall, frost and darkness; he will come like a child, bridegroom and beloved. 

He comes wanting us to be prepared for - and to prepare the way for - a transformed world: today we come to God’s banquet and joyful feast where in bread and wine we are called to light and joy, consolation and love.

Here, and at every Eucharist,  we are taught God’s ways; ways that we might walk in. Ultimately God will come as arbiter and judge over human hearts and between the nations. We pray now that the Spirit, our advocate and guide, will help us begin that work of turning swords into ploughshares, spears into pruning hooks. Laying aside all that does us harm.

Wachet Auf!

Awake!

Be vigilant and faithful!

Be prepared - with lamps brightly lit!

He will come - drawing us into a holy season. 

A season which is startling, not sentimental.

He will come with a birth that leads us through life and death to new life.

Live lightly and intensely, with purpose and love, before we let go of this life; trusting in a greater hope.

This child comes, like every new born, disrupting rhythms and routines; this child breaks us open too, bringing the promise of new life to this death-bound world, marked with winds and mist and the star-snowed fields of sky.

(C) Julie Gittoes 2022

Are you the one? Finding hope and joy

 Advent 3: Isaiah 35:1-10, James 5:7-10 and Matthew 11:2-11

In 1980, the sitcom Hi-de-Hi! appeared on the BBC. 

After the customary “ping, ping, ping” of the xylophone, Gladys Pugh - played by the late Ruth Madoc - says: ‘Hello campers; rise and shine. It’s a beautiful Maplin morning and we’ve got lots of Maplins’ fun in store for you today’.

Set in a fictional holiday camp, there is an atmosphere of forced amusement and fun. It’s expected that the ‘first laugh of the day’ will be at breakfast, with sports, laughter, games and entertainment filling every minute thereafter. 

Underneath that performed jollity, the entertainers are mainly out of work actors or faded stars and former champions; people out of pace and looking for something more. 

We have reached the third Sunday of Advent - known as Gaudete Sunday, a Sunday of rejoicing. As the liturgical “ping, ping, ping” introduces us to gladness, abundance, blessing and joy, perhaps we have arrived with a sense of unpreparedness, dread, tiredness or overwhelm.

Gladys Pugh’s ‘Hi-de-hi’ demands an Advent type response of rise and shine; wake up be alert. Yet, when we read the newspapers, see the evidence of our own senses, the beautiful mornings are shot through with discontent; the fun or laughter in store is combined with tears. 

And yet, and yet, our readings today allow us to be honest about that reality and tension; they draw us from despair to longing; they renew in our flesh and bones something of the mystery of God’s.

The one who gives us permission to long for joy when we don’t always feel it is John the Baptist.  In him, we see questioning and patience in our waiting; and the conviction to trust the promise that God will come. 

For today, the forerunner sends his disciples to ask Jesus a question: ‘Are you the one?’ And he waits, in prison, for an answer. 

Image: Visio Lectio

When he lept in his mother’s womb, Elizabeth felt joy, connection and recognition that the child her younger cousin carried was indeed ‘the one who is to come’. 

In the wilderness, he was the one who prepared the way by preaching a message of repentance. His dress and diet were strange and other - yet he was compelling,  inviting others to turn back to God’s ways of justice and love.

Now we find him imprisoned: his seeking after truth and courageous unmasking of abused power  had confined him to the loneliness of a cell He challenged a faithless and unfaithful king; he faces death as a result of a flirtatious whim and vain promises. 

Has it all been for nothing? Or are the stories he’s hearing true? His boldness has given way to uncertainty, his clarity becomes a need for reassurance. So he openly, honestly, bravely turns his despair into longing; he asks that poignant question: ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ 

He asks. He waits. Might his patience give way to gladness; might joyful news strengthen his heart?

Jesus’ response isn’t a simple yes of self-identification. He points to what can be seen, known, talked about, witnessed to. He sends the disciples back to John saying - tell him your stories, for those stories reveal who Jesus is. 

The truth of Jesus emerges in these encounters: in fear and shadows, in whispers and speech, in movement and song. Listen to that, and be glad; may that news strengthen your hearts. As John waits, as we wait, God comes near; the promise of Isaiah is fulfilled. 

We aren’t told how John received the news and stories. Perhaps his joy renewed as relief broke in? Perhaps he saw life beyond his own death as God in Jesus raises up, restores and brings hope.  

We receive those stories today - trusting that Jesus is indeed the one who was to come, who came and will come again. In his words, we find encouragement and a depth of joy that goes beyond the first joke of the day. 

You are blessed, he says, if you don’t take offence at me: even when things are harder or more complicated than we’d imagine, he invites us to stay rather than run, to ask questions rather than quit; to wait patiently for the dawn when it is still dark.

For God is present in both the joy and the pain. There is something sacred about what we are gifted on this gaudate Sunday. We can trust our responses to the world - grief, rage, shock, despair - because those things reveal what needs to change. 

Our experience sharpens our longings and refines our actions - if every second we exist is a gift, is something sacred, we can dare to feel deeply because God is in it; God feels it too. As James wrote, we can allow for patience in sorrow and joy in abundance; we can ask questions and choose to act in a way that sets others free. 

Perhaps in a way John understood real joy. It is not sentimentality or superficiality: it’s not the rise and shine of Maplins’ fun. It is  the depth of assurance that God will come to save us;  that God’s activity is beyond his own circumstances; that life extends beyond the grave and finds completion in God. He has gone ahead of us - knowing that his hope was not in vain, despair to joy. 

Prayer for this Sunday from Christian Aid:

Every second we exist is a gift, 

Gone in a whisper, it will not come again…

So God of us all, we come to you and ask

That you help us unwrap it,

and teach us to share it,

and call us to cherish it - 

this precious life we’ve been given.

There are gifts we can offer each other;

time, forgiveness, consideration…

things we cannot purchase,

but which are priceless.

And there are the lessons

we desperately need to learn -

about love that does what it says,

about concern that changes our behaviour,

about this life that we’ve been given that

explodes in beauty when we understand 

how to give it up.

Every second we exist is a gift.

Gone in a whisper, it will not come again…

When poverty robs our sisters and brothers,

when unfettered power proclaims some lives 

are more important than others, 

when the prophetic voice of those struggling

under the chaos our over-consumption has 

caused, is drowned out, call us to listen,

to learn, to change.

Every second we exist is a gift.

Gone in a whisper, it will not come again.

Your creative, joy-filled love gave us life.

May we share it with the same joy and generosity.

(C)    Julie Gittoes 2022