Easter 7, 12 May: Sidney Sussex: Ezekiel 36: 24-8 and John 17:6-19
‘A whole lotta love gone bad’: so runs the headline for The Guardian’s review of “The Tortured Poets Department”.
Taylor Swift makes capital in processing her romantic travails: unsparing, with a quiet sadness. Details ooze through the lyrics; love lost, lessons learnt, in searing particularity.
The closest I’ve come to my heart exploding, she sings, is a ring taken off her middle finger and put on the one people put wedding rings on. A joke to him that wasn’t a joke to her: playful or calculating, hurt by the one she knows and decodes.
The one she’ll forget but not forgive, who didn’t measure up in any measure of a man. Was any of it true, she asks? How do any of us ever know?
To be human is to love: completely and imperfectly; hearts explode and spirits break.
We live within the circles of intimacy of households and friendships, mentors and lovers. Somehow we are banded together as we attempt to live life, its challenges, failures, successes and rhythms.
Our heartbeats ring out the joys; they toll the rhythms of our grief. We protect ourselves, retreating to solitude; we find balm in the company of others, the safety of friends; we take risks, giving all for another not knowing how it begins or ends.
Or as Swift puts it: I would’ve died for your sins / instead I just died inside.
Today’s second reading takes us to the heart of love, to the heart of love in the face of betrayal and death. It takes us to the heart of Jesus’ prayer.
Having washed his disciples’ feet, the atmosphere now carries the weight of pain and promise. In Stations of the Gospel, Rowan conveys the intensity and density of this moment:
The bowl glows in the furnace.
Inside, the beads of sweat
Spit and scatter.
We might extend it in our mind’s eye: bread crumbs on the tables, the taste of wine lingering; the salt of sweat and tears; dirty water and the gaze of eyes turned towards him, and his eyes turned heavenward.
‘I ask’ says Jesus.
His parting words express the longing for unity in the face of betrayal, for protection in the face of hostility, and for joy as they are sent into the world.
The disciples have shared in his life up until this point. There is still so much that could be said - and letting go in the face of death breaks human hearts. He does die for our sins, all that separates us. There is still so much that will unfold - as resurrection life restores human hearts. He does not leave us dead inside.
They cannot bear it now. But he can ask, in love, for love to sustain them in loss; for love to renew their hope; for love to establish a new community.
As David Ford puts it in his commentary, Jesus’s desire is that the: intimacy and intensity of God’s own life opened up for wholehearted, trusting participation in the ongoing drama of being loved and loving.
We and the disciples are sent into a world which can sometimes be hostile: where trust and participation is low; where communities can be siloed or marginalised.
Jesus prays into that reality: that they and we might be protected in that ongoing drama.
The worship that we share as we gather around our Lord’s table - the place where bread breaks and wine is poured out. Even now, our evening songs and prayers are but a gathered interval in our scattered life.
We will be sent out from this place - blessed as we move into the spheres of our work and family life, our networks of relationship and numerous tasks.
The gift of the word is part of what sustains us, but the sacrament too. As the text of Wood’s anthem this evening reminds us, in me manet, et ego in eo, alleluia, the one who eats and drinks dwells in God, and God in them, alleluia.
As bread gets inside us and enlarges our hearts, as blessing rests on us to expand our imaginations. In God, the desires of every living thing are satisfied.
Our hearts are turned from self-absorption to attention to God; and onwards into concern for others. God’s self-giving love for the world revealed in Jesus Christ, continues to flow through the power of the Spirit.
Jesus prays for this sanctification - this ongoing work of the Spirit. Holiness is the nature of God - we draw near to this refining fire of love in worship, in penitence and faith, in forgiveness and renewal, moving from pain to peace, in our gathering and being sent.
As our introit puts: Holy is the True Light - passing wonderful, lending radiance to them that endured.
The radiance of that light falls on us too - in the heat of our conflicts and loves. We share in ways of holiness - focused on what matters most, with dedication, and persistence. In this is glory and joy: in being faithful in small things, ordinary things; doing them with great love.
As the seventeenth century priest and poet Thomas Traherne wrote: ‘Those Things are most Holy which are most Agreeable with God’s Glory. Whose Glory is that he is Infinit Lov’.
There are echoes here in the words of the prophet Ezekiel. In the face of separation, exile and fragmentation he focuses on God’s action: gathering, cleansing and renewing.
Restoration confronts us with the radiance of holy and refining love. To be cleansed from the consequences of rebellion against God’s ways - letting go of the idols that have supplanted the commandments of love; letting go of the corruption that has exploited and diminished others.
God promises renewal: a new heart and a new Spirit. Human will and desire will be recommitted to ways of love. A heart of stone is cold, unresponsive and lifeless; a heart of flesh beats, kindles love and sustains life.
When Jesus prays, he asks that we too might come alive to God’s love and God’s desire for the world.
In anticipation of Pentecost, we gather in awareness of risen life, but also in prayerful waiting. We are waiting for the Holy Spirit to touch human hearts, to create something new.
We look to an inheritance, a home of unfading splendour; but here and now, we are being guided out of a troubled past and into an unknown future. The Spirit gives space for rehabilitation and redemption - in this world and in the world to come.
For now, we are called to continue in that drama of being loved and loving. To wholeheartedly participate in the life of the world - but with the intensity of God’s life in us; life shared in the intimacy of breath and gesture; in the infinite movements of renewal and pursuit of what is just, beautiful, equitable and peaceful.
We are restored penitents. Our heart beats celebrate life’s joys and mark our grief. Love will sometimes go awry; we won’t always measure up. Everyday is an attempt to live this drama of being loved and loving. Sometimes we succeed; sometimes we don’t. But we practise habits of love - human and divine. We’re lent a radiance that restores.
