Be loved Belovèd

 Baptism of Christ: Isaiah 43:1-7, Acts 8:14-17 and Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

A sermon preached on Baptism of Christ

Image: a woodcut by Dr. P. Solomon Raj

You are my Son, the Beloved

The one who nursed upon his mother’s breast as angels filled the air with glory is beloved; the toddler the gift-giving magi sought, is the Son whose family flees to spare him Herod’s wrath.

Today’s epiphany is revealed not by a star but in the river flowing through the wilderness and in the cloudy air broken by a descending dove.

Beloved.

The love and power and majesty of God is here: God is one of us.

Humbly standing in solidarity with us on the same muddy river banks where crowds long to plunge into running waters; repenting, turning again to love, to lay claim to new life. 

The air fizzes with expectation. Hearts wonder if John is the Messiah, the one who is to come. But no, he points to water and to one who will come with more power to forgive.

The Son who will come with Spirt and redeem us from fire by fire.

Here he is named, blessed and made known. The Beloved.

As he prays, God as Three-in-One speaks, pauses and descends to us.

Revealing a single loving heart. 

The only rhyme and pulse of life by which all things are made; 

and now calls us beloved too, that we and all things may be made anew.

Loved. Belovèd. Be loved. Be.

The first moment of Jesus’ public ministry is to draw alongside us.

In our expectation and desperation; in our questioning and our dreaming.

As the poet puts it: ‘the one discharge from sin and error’.

Here he joins us in the waters of creation; the waters crossed on the way to freedom;

He steps into the waters of God’s work in our life.

Water which cleanses, heals, and refreshes.

As the deep waters swirl and run, God’s mercy is heard

in our broken world where we thirst for justice to be restored.

On muddy banks this sin drenched world is sanctified. 

The Beloved call us to be loved.

This goes to the heart, our hearts.

We are all in this together, knowing that human power can alone cannot make whole.

The jealousies and injustices; the fear of lack and want; the pains of our loving and our mortality.

All this, and more; the things we commit or omit; the negligence, fault and loss.

In all that may overwhelm, Jesus comes with the refines art to heal, purify and gather up.

Jesus’s birth reveals God’s loving heart in weakness and vulnerability.

And now, before the Word of God speaks, he quietly steps into the depth of our chaos. 

The one whose family had taken refuge in a foreign land, here continues that costly solidarity.

Here the prophet’s words ring true: do not fear; I have redeemed you.

For in this one, God is with us as we pass through the waters of life and death;

In him no river can overwhelm; no fire consume.

The voice of love names him: beloved; you are mine.

That same voice of love calls to us: you are precious, honoured, you are loved.

Do not fear. 

I am with you.

Be loved, belovèd.

Not because we are perfect or wholly good; but because it is God’s nature to love us.

And there by to heal, make whole and holy.

That is to know a radical solidarity and unity of love, which is the heart of God’s very self.

And thereby for love to be birthed anew in us in these waters.

Even if we cannot remember the moment of our own baptism, just as we cannot recall our birth, the promise remains. 

This is our new identity: baptised, connected, interdependent, made one.

Fed in a wafer thin piece of bread, that is the fulness of love made real in ordinary stuff.

We find ourselves, in Christ, bound to one another and all humanity. 

In this we are set free to love and be loved; to be that love in the world around us.

To create, inspire, work and serve; to teach, nurture, feed and listen.

For in every human inclination and conversation, we are invited to love.

Baptism invites us to find the fire of love in the ordinary.

And there perhaps to glimpse an epiphany, a revelation of God in renewed trust, in completed task, in care given, in being heard and understanding.

You are my Son, the Beloved

Says the voice of the Father’s heart to the Son; that loving heart beats in all things through the Spirit’s work. 

In open hearts and in human touch we respond and receive to that Spirit that kindles light and love in us.

Love and power not embodied perhaps in that descending dove; but made flesh in patient acts of care; in diligent fulfilling of tasks entrusted to us; in the waiting in the mess; in the creation of new relationship.

Beloved is the promise; our identity.

Love is the heart becoming embodied in us.

Here in weakness and vulnerability, our Lord invites us to learn empathy and compassion. 

The challenge is to find this holy love and way of being in our ordinary.

To choose it, embrace it, live it. 

In muddy water and refreshing spring; in water that feels to deep.

We take a deep breath; and take the plunge. 

As Jesus stands with us and prayers at the water’s edge, he embraces all of our humanity. 

He refuses to turn away from shame or scandal, creativity or care.

The voice that made the world came from heaven saying ‘you are my Son, the Beloved’.

This is God in us who makes things new. 

As another poet puts it:

‘He calls us too, to step into that river

To die and rise and live and love forever.’

Beloved. Be loved. Love. 

Let us pray:

Heavenly Father, 

at the Jordan you revealed Jesus as your Son:

may we recognise him as our Lord

and know ourselves to be your beloved children;

through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.

Grit, determination and passion

This list the text of a sermon preached at the Cathedral Eucharist on 13 January 2019. Opening the Saturday papers, there was a lot of comment on Andy Murray - his career, physical pain, achievements, character as he contemplated giving up competitive tennis.  

It sparked reflections about the weight of expectation he faced and how we sit lightly to 'success'. How this related to Jesus' Baptism was in part about the divine embrace of human flesh, but also the power of the Spirit. Given the Cathedral's dedication to the Holy Spirit, it resonated too with T. S. Elliot's Four Quartets - the ground of our beseeching.  

However, as well as remembering Murray win his first Wimbledon title, I was calling to mind the moment I heard about the Dunblane massacre - an attack on a school where Andy and his brother were pupils. There is underpinning this sermon something about trauma, resilience and redemption. The texts were Isaiah 43:1-7, Acts 8:14-17 and Luke 3:15-7, 21-22

In the summer of 2013, 17.3 million viewers watched tuned in to the Wimbledon final.

Many more, like me, listened on Radio 5 Live.

The duration of the Men’s Singles Final outlasted the journey time from Guildford down the A281 to Alford Church. Sitting in the car park, Evensong drew closer; waiting with baited breath for those three words: game, set and match.  Followed by the name: Andy Murray. 

And he cried - having squeezed out every last drop of talent in pursuit of victory.

And six years later,  he cried - the excruciating pain of his body is telling him to stop.

Journalists reach for cliches - speaking of blood, sweat and tears. They remind us of the gangly kid who became a sporting icon; the fierce competitor who would sulk and swear; the shy man with a dry wit and the conviction to challenge misogyny in tennis.

Like Jeremy Bates, Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski before him, Murray carried a weight of expectation: every time he stepped on to court, the people questioned in their hearts whether he might be the one; whether he might be the first British man to win Wimbledon since Fred Perry.

His role of honour is quantified in singles titles, Olympic medals, weeks at number one and being named as Sports personality of the Year. His greatness, if you like, is in the headline: the grit, determination and passion at the limit of endurance.

In the realm of sport, that weight of expectation never ends. Rankings are determined match by match. Greatness is a glittering prize; elusive and subject to judgement.

The words of Andy Bull’s tribute point to a different metric of greatness; to Murray’s character. Of the man who sold the red Ferrari and kept his VW Polo, he writes: It is rare enough for a sportsman to be so successful, much rarer still for one to be so unaffected by his success. 

Perhaps being unaffected by success will enable expectations to morph into legacy, mentoring and a new pattern of life.

Today we John the Baptist had found himself in the spot light; he carries a weight of expectation that he will be the one. The one who brings freedom; who’ll triumph in the name of God.  

He remains unaffected by the crowds, taking no claim of greatness for himself. 

Instead he continually points beyond himself; to the one who is to come.

By baptising with water, he has set the scene and prepared the way. 

His words sting with the rebuke to those who abuse power; and captivate those longing for new life. He invites all who hear him to turn back to God: to open their hearts, to change their lives, to expect something - or rather someone - more.  

That expectation is met in the one who comes and stands alongside us - embodying the fullness of God’s love in the frailty of our our flesh.

In the moment of his own baptism, Jesus is revealed as God’s Son; revealed in the physicality of the moment. In this moment of prayer. 

Baptism of Jesus - Daniel Bonnell

In baptism, the divine embrace of human flesh is declared. 

The voice of his heavenly Father declares Jesus’ identity and authority as Son; the power of the Spirit though which the work of our rebirth is completed is revealed. 

Jesus is the one who restores dignity to our humanity by being with us: his baptism is a sign of the way in which the world is reclaimed, healed, transformed and blessed by the Word of God made flesh. 

In him, our expectations are subverted and fulfilled. Greatness and success are re-defined. In him, we see God’s ways at work - persistently, gently, fiercely turning us away from death and toward life.

With a passion as strong as fire, Jesus calls us back from all those things which serve as substitutes for life lived with God: the desire for control over others or the desire to be at the centre of the crowd; the reliance on what we have to define who we are; the way we might chase multiple glittering prizes which leave us empty or unfulfilled.

With a fire of unquenchable love, Jesus restores to us the dignity and calls us into a community which reflects life lived with God: where we are loved; where we are supported; where we find wisdom and joy; where we can be vulnerable; where hospitality bubbles up.

And some days, it feels as if we are still waiting for that to be made real; still waiting to be noticed or heard; still waiting for expectations to be met; still waiting for our purpose to become clear; still waiting for radical love to extend its reach.

And the gift we are waiting for is nearer to us than we know; it is for us, our name and our charism. At a Cathedral Church dedicated to the Holy Spirit, dare we pray and call upon power from on high?

We are to pray as the apostles did in Acts: that the Spirt might descend to renew in our flesh, the reality of that divine embrace; to see that love stretching forth over one another. 

In our waiting and praying,  our bodies yield to this gift of love divine.

As one theologian [Willie Jennings: Acts] puts it: God will draw near and give lavishly in an intimate space created by bodies and created for bodies. 

To pray in this way expresses our longings; our desire to liberated from fear or failure; our need for love to be move loving.

As T. S Elliot puts it:

And all shall be well and 

All manner of thing shall be well

By the purification of the motive

In the ground of our beseeching. 

Our beseeching is met in the promise of being beloved. 

The intimacy of this echoes the words of Isaiah fulfilled in Christ: in him, we are called by name and redeemed; in the Spirit we are created and recreated; formed and reformed.  

In the assurance of such love, our motives and actions are purified; the chaff burnt away. In the assurance of such love, we are called to bring healing and hope to others.

Fire and Rose

It is through the intimacy of created bodies that God’s love is made known in the world: in Christ, God’s very self is given for us, defeating death and turning us towards life.

That life and light and love, is breathed through the world by the Spirit blowing where it wills: provoking, creating, protesting, healing, crying out. 

That Spirit is poured out on us today: on broken bread and outpoured wine becoming for us Christ’s body; on hearts and minds receptive to challenge and desiring blessing; on our bodies however energetic, frail, bruised or beautiful. We who are many become one body - living, breathing and moving in the world. 

May we live with grit and determination, passion and endurance - listening to what the Spirt might be saying to us in the words and music of our worship; in the papers we read and the people we meet. What might the Sprit be saying?

In the words of Elliot (text):

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
     Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Resolutions and Revelation

This is the text of a sermon preached at Guildford for Evensong on 7th January 2018. Being the first sermon of the year, as I prepared I couldn't help but notice the ubiquity of headlines about resolutions, fitness and weight loss. This seemed to stand in stark contrast to the intense season of 'revelation' in the church's year.  The texts were Isaiah 42:1-9 and Ephesians 2:1-10

Glancing along the display of news papers in the local Co-Op yesterday, the headlines about the NHS, Trump, Brexit and the Royal wedding,  jostled for space alongside endorsements for weight loss plans or imperatives to get fit in 2018.

The Guardian seems to have deployed its journalists and columnists to write about their self-improvements plans. Decca Aitkenhead’s piece entitled ‘My extreme year of living healthily’ begins with cold baths and a vegan diet. Tim Dowling’s article was billed as ‘The lazy person’s guide to self-improvement’ - including listening to speeded up Podcasts, as if the pace of life isn’t frenetic enough!

According to a 2017 ComRes poll, the top too New Year’s resolutions are: exercise more (38%) and lose weight (33%). Eating healthily, drinking less, learning a new skill or hobby and spending more time with friends and family are all in the top ten.  

For all the column inches promoting a ‘Fast track to fabulous’ or trends that take us ‘Beyond the Fitbit’, psychologists and common sense advice agree: changes in patterns of health and happiness take time - setting specific, measurable, achievable goals which excite or inspire us.

Having discovered the physical, social and psychological benefits of doing circuits at Surrey Sports Park, there is much to be gained by realistic goals - resolving to run, walk, sing, paint, cook, read and reconnect with others at a deeper level.  

However, the pressures and expectations of the world can be corrosive - not just at the level of body image and dress size, but the temptation to live for self. 

The notions of self-interest, self-gratification, self-improvement, self-reliance, self-determination represent a turning in on one’s self. These things aren’t the preserve of the “selfie generation” but have perhaps helped to shape the widely documented age of loneliness. 

As we gather this evening, we are reminded that these early days of January are not solely to be marked by resolutions or quick fixes. Instead, we are drawn into a season of revelation and adoption. 

The last 14 days has been an intense season of revelation: we have celebrated a birth with all the associated joy and wonder at the gift of life. We celebrate because this speechless babe is the communication of Godself to us, the Word made flesh, abiding with us. He is the light and glory of God.

The Adoration of the Magi - Luca Giordana, called Fa Presto

Yesterday, we knelt alongside the Magi, in reverence and awe; glimpsing in the Christ child the bright splendour whom the nations seek. And, like them, we journey knowing that, in the words of anthem, ’Thy word, Jesu, inly feeds us, rightly leads us, life bestowing’ [The Three Kings, Peter Cornelius (1824-1874)].

Today, we stand on the crowded, muddy banks of the Jordan with John the Baptist, in repentance and forgiveness. And as we do, Jesus stands with us. He identifies with our human condition - with our selfish desires and our desire for self-improvement. But this is but the start!

Le Baptêsm du Christ - Joachim Patinir

What is revealed to us today is that Jesus is God’s beloved Son. As he is anointed with the Holy Spirit, we recognise him as our Lord. The one who does not just identify with humanity but who restores it.

In his public ministry of teaching and healing, challenging and forgiving, feeding and calling he brings salvation.  In his life, the fullness of God is made present; in his death, our selfish fleshly passions and weaknesses are overcome; in his risen life, all that we receive the gifts of grace, mercy and healing.

This is salvation from the corruption of selfishness and salvation for a life of selflessness. As Paul puts it to the Ephesians: we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works’.  

Today reminds us, that in the midst of this season of revelation, we are adopted. Being born again by water and Spirit, we are to know ourselves as beloved children. In the power of that Spirit we are to be faithful to that calling.

Our readings grapple with the reality of revelation and adoption: making sense of our calling in the light of God’s mercy and in the face of the challenges of our world.

One of the great themes of Isaiah is the extent to which we listen to God’s word - and upon hearing it, the extent to which we speak and act for the sake of what is justice. At points, God’s people are chastised for their failure to speak and act rightly. There are times of lament and times of praise; times of lengthy silence and times when the community regains its voice. 

Servant King, watercolor on canvas by E. Wierenga, www.etsy.com/shop/canvaschild

Isaiah is also looking forward to a time when God will be with his people - fulfilling that role of suffering servant, prophet and king.  He is looking for a time when God will come in glorious apparel and in great strength. We rejoice in the nearness of our God - not in overwhelming might, but in flesh of our flesh.

Jesus is God’s chosen. The servant king who brings justice to the nations. This is the one who will not grow faint or be crushed. The one who is God with us - restoring our human nature in merciful kindness and an invitation to be forgiven and to seek justice. 

The images of Isaiah speak with poetic realism about the frailty of our nature. But the one revealed to us today is the means of our adoption as beloved children: he upholds bruised reeds, kindles smouldering wicks. 

This is revelation and adoption: God is with us in Christ, a light to the nations, opening our eyes to his love, liberating us from powers of darkness; God has called us in righteousness, taken us by the hand and kept us. As beloved children, we are to make known to others this light which brings freedom; we too are to pursue what is just, that others may know that they are beloved.

Paul’s letters are infused with the language of revelation and adoption. In the passage we heard this evening, his honesty about our human nature and God’s mercy jolts us into appreciating the significance of Christ - for us, for our world and for the whole cosmos.

He knows, as we do, that following the course of the world can distort our desires; he knows the deadening effect of our selfish hearts turned inwards and away from others. Trespass, sin and disobedience is strong language marking out in shorthand those things which we do carelessly or wilfully which harm others. It names our human propensity to pursue patterns of greed, jealousy, anger or dishonesty and the impact on ourselves and others. 

Return of the Prodigal Son - Christian Rohlfs

But if Paul is brutally honest about what happens when we live solely by the desires of the flesh and our senses, he is also utterly convinced of the impact of God’s love. He is assured that in Christ, our humanity is exalted.  Two words stop us in our tracks: But God. 

But God is rich in mercy. 

But God shows great love. 

But God makes us alive together with Christ. 

But God, by grace, saves and raises. 

But God bestows immeasurable riches of grace and kindness.

This is revealed in Jesus Christ. 

This is not our own doing.

It is the gift of God.

For by grace we have been saved by faith.

This is our adoption as beloved children in Jesus Christ. 

Now in the power of the Spirit, we are invited to lived for the purposes for which we were made: such good works as God has prepared for us to walk in.

Our heavenly Father revealed Jesus as his Son, our Lord, anointing him with the Holy Spirit.

May that Spirit equip us to be faithful to our calling as adopted and beloved children.

May we walk in God’s ways of love and trust; justice and compassion; kindness and peace.

© Julie Gittoes 2018