Buried love?

Sunday, 19 November 2023:  Zephaniah 1:7, 12–18, 1 Thessalonians 5:1–11 & Matthew 25:14–30

Image of parable of the talents found here

When he was Archbishop, Rowan Williams spent a day at Canary Wharf meeting with CEOs in the midst of the financial crisis of 2008. In that context he observed that there had been a preoccupation with maximising profit without building trust or relationships and without taking time, as he put it, ‘for enterprises to come to fruition’.

He observed that:  ‘that double problem; lack of relationship and the telescoping of the time taken had produced the unreal, destructive world of speculation which has so wrecked the lives of so many, including many of the most needy and vulnerable in our society and across the world.’

His observations lead us into thinking about the parable that Jesus tells to some of his closest disciples as recounted by Matthew.  But perhaps, as the scholar Amy Jill Levine suggests, we might consider what parables do rather than what they mean. 

Jesus tells us stories which stretch our imaginations and invite us think more deeply about God’s ways with the world and our place in it. 

On the one hand, it might be possible to hear this parable as a comment on good and bad economics. Two servants trade with what they’ve been given - accepting the trust placed in them to build relationships and to take risks over time. 

The other servant buries what he’s been given - he’s fearful rather than trusting; he conserves what he has, but in isolation and secrecy.  Part of his response is driven by how he imagines his master - he alone describes him as harsh rather than generous.

There are limits with an economic line of imagining in this parable: the risk of seeking God working through those with money, assets, abilities, strengths; those who can take the risk of a gamble, who can count the cost of loss, who have the security to dare experimentation and growth.

A talent wasn’t cash used day by day, but more akin to gold bullion: wealth and security which amounted to 20 year’s of a labourer’s wage. Twenty times the London Living Wage would be over half a million.

But what is the master really giving his servants? Running through the gospels is the promise that God gives us something more precious than a lottery win - that is love. This is a love which creates, restores and sustains us. Such love is an invitation to relationship; a love that casts our fear; that creates trust. It changes us and our life. If we let it.

And perhaps that is the crux of the matter: if we’ve been given this extraordinary gift what happens if we bury it? 

Imagine that physical act of taking what is most precious and digging deep into the earth, placing it there; then spadeful by spadeful shovelling the soil over it until it disappears from sight. And then walking away. Leaving it hidden in an unknown and unmarked place. No one else knows about it.

Buried.

Love.

But strangely that is what happens to God’s love poured out in Jesus. 

The love flowing from God’s very self choosing to dwell with us, risking everything for us.

At this point in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has taught about the kingdom of God - through the lens of the beatitudes, attitudes of blessing in the pursuit of peace and mercy. He has brought healing and wholeness to young and old, influential and marginalised. 

He has told his disciples that he must suffer and die; and has sent them out in pairs to share the good news of repentance and forgiveness. He crosses thresholds and breaks boundaries. He has fed multitudes on the hillside, debated with those in authority, cast traders out of the temple and told stories. 

Stories about the nature of God’s grace and mercy; stories about a kingdom which is begins like the smallest of seeds growing into a tree offering sanctuary for birds; stories which stretch imaginations and reveal new ways of being. 

And now, as the plot against him thickens, and fear and betrayal fill the air, he tells another story about the risk and cost and abundance of this love.

For in his body this gift of Godself will be lowered from the cross to the grave; entombed in the earth, and hidden. 

And some will think that that is the end. But like the buried grain, a green blade rises and life is seen again. 

We are entrusted with this gift of life and love - so that it can multiply in relationship, with trust and generosity and sacrifice and forgiveness. 

This is the seed of a new and transformed humanity: yes, it can also feel like hard work; but the alternative is worse, we risk losing everything. 

As Jesus says elsewhere, if you hang on to life, you will lose it; if you let go of it, you gain everything. 

To give love away overtime and in relationships might be a struggle we’d prefer to avoid or bury; but to invest in it is to share in the Spirit led work of humanising the world around us. 

Challenging those who limit dignity and blessing,  or who dismiss falling through the net of our fragile social fabric as a "life-style choice”. Strengthening households, friendships and families; playing our part in changing systems; offering what we have to bring glimmers of comfort, inspiration, purpose; taking time for our enterprises in justice and kindness to come to fruition.

To build relationships where conflict can be transformed, joys are shared, burdens are carried, hope is renewed. 

To love as God has loved us: faithfully, even in small things. 

That means being alert, keeping awake as Paul reminds the Thessalonians: because we, like them, never know when the day of the Lord will come with dazzling brightness.

In this waiting, we don’t fearfully bury the gift given to us. Instead we are to go about our lives expecting to see Jesus in the familiar and in the unexpected places. 

In this waiting, we are to keep alert: responding the cries and the longings, the suffering and the stuff that brings joy.

We are called to this even more so when the world is in distress: the words of Zephaniah paint a picture of anguish, ruin, devastation, gloom and anger; of places laid waste, generations lost, homes abandoned and material resources plundered.

This is the outer darkness of mistrust, fear and love buried so deep tears no no end. 

Yet, somehow we are to encourage one another. When all seems lost, we are to build each other up; to keep the rumour, the possibility, the hope of a new humanity alive. 

To refuse to bury love with fear. To do the handwork of giving life and love away instead. No wonder Paul resorts to the language of breastplate and helmet for a spiritual struggle played out in acts of kindness, solidarity, advocacy and service.

Live in faith, hope and love, he says: trusting that salvation will be revealed, that time when God will be all in all, all our hungers met, brokenness forgiven, creation restored; trusting that in that moment of judgment we’ll be surprised by those who’ve been Christ for us; those in whom Christ as been revealed to us; and those who’ve served Christ with us.

In worrying less about what today’s parable means, we can trust that it does something in us: reminding us that as we give away in love, fear subsides; that in going to the margins, salvation breaks in.

Our trust in the one who lives, dies and lives again is renewed as we share in blessing and bread. Gathering around our Lord’s table, we say everyone has a place here, even when we disagree; but as Bishop Sarah reminded Synod last week, to gather around this table also takes us to the edge; we continue to invite others to eat with us. She said: 'if that means that I need to sit outside with the powerless, the marginalised, the lost, then that is where I will sit and I am certain that I will encounter Christ there.'

© Julie Gittoes 2023

Act faithfully

This is the text of a sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral on Sunday 12th February. The texts were: Ecclesiasticus 15:15-20; 1 Corinthians 3:1-9; Matthew 5:21-37. It was one of those sermons which involved struggle and hesitancy before the text - and in relation to life and witness of the church in our own generation. 

Having written a chapter for the collection of essays entitled Thinking Again About Marriage theology of marriage has been much on my mind. In view of discussions about marriage and sexuality in the run up to General Synod, what Jesus says about the nature of relationships is felt even more acutely. 

As we think about the 'goods of marriage' - and how we bless commitment and faithfulness - we must also have the courage to name and resist any form of abuse; to walk with the vulnerable and broken-hearted. What follows is concerned with recognising the challenge of an ethic rooted in who Jesus is - which is oriented towards fidelity and flourishing. This is mainly wrestling with text - and the cries our hearts. 

The musical She Loves Me has enjoyed an acclaimed revival at the Menier Chocolate Factory. In many ways, it is as sweet as the venue suggests: delightful witty and full of tender romance and old-school elegance.

Set in a parfumerie, it is a play that weaves together three separate love stories: George and Amalia moving from loathing, liking to loving - unaware that they are each others anonymous lonely hearts admirers; the beautiful and skittish Illona who’s seduced and betrayed time and time again; the faithful romantic, Mr Maraczek whose own marital misfortunes takes us beyond comedy to a place of crushing despair.

We can identify with these characters: loneliness, sexual attraction and the longing for companionship; disappointment, misunderstanding, betrayal; errors of judgement, moments of vulnerability, new beginnings.

All the risks and joys of being in relationship - as a couple, business partners, colleagues and friends - are revealed: there are moments of renewed resolved and changes of heart; words of truth are spoken and gestures of forgiveness embraced.  In this seemingly frivolous world of perfume, face cream and fancy soap - it seems that a seriousness about faithfulness and integrity triumphs over infidelity.

The call to act faithfully is at the heart of our worship: it is more than a moment of theatrical escapism.  In this place, we bring all that we are before God - our shortcomings and hurts, the things we’re thankful for and the burdens that weigh us down.

Honesty about our human nature - expressed in our collect as unruly wills and passions - is met  in worship with honesty about the nature of God. The one who created all things, identifies with us in Jesus Christ.

From infancy to his sermon on the mount, from the feeding of the 5000 to his entry into Jerusalem, from his death on the cross to the new life bursting from the tomb, we see the abundant love of God. We are to fix our hearts on this love - which sustains, challenges, heals and consoles.

That love still reaches out to us as we move through the acts and scenes of our liturgy - of gathering, confessing and being forgiven; of hearing and responding to God’s word; the cries of our hearts and our world are offered in prayer and the gift of peace is shared; broken bread and outpoured wine draw us into deeper communion. A communion of faithfulness.

In this drama, we are in Christ.  We are his body which is blessed and sent out - dispersed in into our homes, workplaces and communities in the power of the Spirit.

Through the lens of worship we hear Jesus’ teaching as good news.  For here, we receive grace to act faithfully - to love what God commands and to desire his promises.

Command and promise aren’t lived out it isolation - we live it together both in our worship and in our lives. We are to act faithfully in accord to a person; not a principle.  All that Jesus says is about relationships.

Relationships between friends and colleagues; about relationships of faithfulness and intimacy. The form of repetition stresses again and again that to love what God commands is a matter for the heart not just action.

Jesus sayings are hard. His illustrations sound extreme and bizarre. He stretches language, subverts complacency, reveals the demands of following him. He is describing a way of life, rooted in him; he invites us to take responsibility not just for our actions, but for our motivations. He is describing a community of hope and healing; humility and forgiveness.

As we confront the loving mercy of God in worship, we increase our capacity to reflect on our own emotional responses; to recognise and address our own anger and jealousy before it spills over to impact on others. If we are to be agents of reconciliation, let us seek to resolve grievances we have with others. Jesus deepens our understanding of these obligations.

Our calling as disciples is profoundly relational, not merely about dignity of our outward duties.  Our relationships ought to be means of honouring one another in the promises we make. There is a fundamental level of integrity which we are called to uphold - epitomised in truthful speech which does not need to hide behind oaths, but which is about keeping our word.

Jesus is primarily concerned with wholesome and flourishing human relationships - he’s alert to the impact of infidelity in the most intimate of relationships. But, says Jesus, look into your hearts: like anger, lust as a reaction, motivation or intent is also something to be kept in check. It opens us to exploitation, manipulation and potentially reduces others to objects of our unruly wills and passions.

In relation to marriage and divorce, Jesus words are about protecting the vulnerable and giving dignity to the dependent. Setting aside differences in social context, life expectancy and legal understandings of marriage, Jesus is being more radical than it sounds to our ears.

He is restoring - or introducing - a balance of power with the marriage relationship. He’s challenging the practice of dismissing wives lightly. Instead he allows space for the couple to enter into a mutual relationship between helpmates or companions. It's the calling of the church to extend this circle of blessing.

The goods of marriage - fidelity, shared endeavour, fruitfulness, stability, kindness, and care - are a cause of blessing; and a microcosm of the goods of life in Christ. Jesus’ words enable us to appropriately grieve for relationships which break down under the pressure of circumstances or disagreement, and to walk with the broken-hearted, extending hope of new life; his words call us to name exploitation, abuse and bullying - to have the courage to end such cycles and bring release; in him, we are to console the anxious and traumatised.

Jesus teaching flowing from the beatitudes calls us to a pattern of life:  together we learn to be a place of blessing - in worship, relationships and tasks. We share all that we are in a diverse community. Regardless of class, health or education, economic or relational status, gender, age or sexuality we are to act faithfully - choosing to fix our hearts on the call to love. As the body of Christ we affirm and encourage one another in that pattern of life.

Paul brings us back to the pragmatic working out of this: he asserts that we are to be guided by the Holy Spirit rather than living by the standards of the world.  And yet, the Corinthians, like us, get caught up in their own quarrels and jealousies; they follow their human inclinations in asserting rival loyalties.

We are to heed his advice too: recognising that we are all servants of God, with particular responsibilities within a common purpose. Paul doesn’t invoke personal authority or individual talent; there is no manipulation or coercion of others. Instead he speaks of nourishing one another - recognising that we work together with the free agency of others in love; trusting God for our growth.

May we choose to keep the commandments of love; may we desire God’s promises; in the drama of our lives, may we be serious about faithfulness and integrity.  Receiving the bread of life in this Eucharist, we are nourished in faith and love by Christ; we receive his grace that we might be Spirit led, breath by breath, as people of blessing and healing.  Amen.

© Julie Gittoes 2017