Easter 7, 12 May: Bell Sunday: Ezekiel 36: 24-8; Acts 1:15-7, 21-end; John 17:6-19
Bells are part of our soundscape: here in Hendon - and in towers from Didbrook to Long Melford, Westminster Abbey to Christchurch New Zealand, broadcast at 05.43 each Sunday morning on Radio 4.
Bells call the living; they mourn the dead.
Bells ring out our celebrations; they toll the heart beat our grief.
Every peal is an attempt: a reminder of life’s challenges, failures and successes; of all we practise and place our trust in; rhythms, patterns, changes; individuals, banded together.
Jeremy Pratt, Conductor of the Abbey Company of Ringers, said of church bells, that ‘they are the loudest and most public, outward-facing voice of the Christian Church. When people hear them, they know something is happening.’
For some, it might be a call to prayer; for others, a reminder that prayer happens, routinely or in extremis; for others the sound of prayer itself.
Today’s gospel takes us to the heart of Jesus’ prayer. In the context of parting conversations and the washing of feet, in the intimacy of an upper room, his words ring out.
Perfume lingers in the air, bread crumbs on tables; the taste of wine and the salt of sweat and tears: because the atmosphere carries the weight of pain and promise.
‘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. There is still so much that will unfold - as resurrection life restores human hearts.
But they cannot bear it now. And he cannot say it. 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 - as bread breaks and wine is poured out - is but a gathered interval in our scattered life. We will be sent - in peace - into the spheres of our work and family life, our networks of relationship and numerous tasks.
The gift of the sacrament is part of what sustains us - as bread gets inside us and enlarges our hearts, as blessing rests on us to expand our imaginations.
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, in gathering and being sent.
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. He focuses on God’s action - of gathering, cleansing and renewing.
The experience of exile had been traumatic - the separation from homeland and places of worship, the fragmentation of community. They will be gathered together and reassembled as a people.
That restoration goes hand in hand with being 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 God’s ways. A heart of stone is cold and unresponsive; 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 Acts the disciples gather in obedience to God - in awareness of risen life, but also in prayerful waiting. They are waiting for the Holy Spirit to touch human hearts, to create something new.
God guides them and us out of a troubled past and into an unknown future. As they tell the story of betrayal and replacement. But the power of love reaches to the depths of the grave, including Judas. The Spirit gives space for rehabilitation and redemption - in this world and in the world to come.
For now, the disciples 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 called into cooperation for the common good in shared service.
Like bells, we call the living and mourn the dead. Our heart beats celebrate life’s joys and mark our grief. 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 are individuals banded together - with our hearts beating the rhythm of love, our lives following its pattern and changes.
May our lives, not just our bells be an outward-facing voice of the church: so that when people meet us, speak to us, get to know us, they sense that there is something happening. A rhyme of love that renews and heals.
© Julie Gittoes
