Disgust, holiness and hospitality

This is the text of a sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral on Sunday, 2nd September. A couple of years ago a friend recommended Richard Beck's book "Unclean"; and the themes of disgust, holiness and hospitality resonated with the questions about the law raised by the following texts: Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9; James 1:17-end; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15,21-23

It’s 19th April 1987. A 25 year old woman visits a London hospital. She’s perhaps the most photographed fashion icon of her generation; but the image captured on this day isn’t remembered because of her striking blue dress.

Instead it continues to be remembered because it broke down barriers of stigma. Princess Dianna had looked a nameless AIDS patient in the eye, smiled and shook his hand without wearing gloves.

Diana shakes hands with an unidentified AIDS patient on April 19, 1987. John Redman/AP

Research had demonstrated a few years previously that HIV AIDS couldn’t be transmitted by person to person touch. However, it was this ordinary gesture of human interaction, in front of the world’s media, which began to challenge ignorance, misunderstanding and fear.

A nurse at the London Middlesex Hospital said, “If a royal was allowed to go in shake a patient's hands, somebody at the bus stop or the supermarket could do the same”.

Today, HIV-positive people live full, healthy, loving lives, serving in professions from lawyers and haulage drives. Nevertheless, HIV remains an urgent global challenge with more than a million people dying from AIDS in 2015; and many more being infected, orphaned or losing their livelihood or social status.

HIV-AIDS induced fear and exclusion because it touches on triggers of disgust outlined by the psychologist Richard Beck in his book entitled “Unclean”: sex and bodily fluids, sickness and contagion, contamination and death. 

He explores the visceral reactions of disgust and avoidance, but this  is more than an exercise in psychological analysis. He also explores what it means for those patterns to be redeemed.  Beck grapples what it means for God to desire mercy and not sacrifice; for Jesus to eat with tax collectors and sinners; or for the church to draw boundaries of inclusion and exclusion. 

He sets this out as two impulses: “one impulse - holiness and purity - erects boundaries, while the other impulse - mercy and hospitality - crosses and ignores those boundaries”. 

The commandments in Deuteronomy, negotiate these impulses of holiness and mercy. They were teaching about giving honour to God in worship, delighting in sabbath rest and by shunning forms idolatry; and observing them all to strengthened community through giving honour to parental and martial relationships; outlawing false witness, theft and murder.

The people of Israel were called to be a distinctive community; to be wise and discerning. It’s not surprising that as they encountered other nations and traditions debate arose as to how to guard, teach and live out these ordinances.  What was allowable on the sabbath? Should wealth be set aside for God or family obligations? What about food was safe or unclean? What about sex, sickness and death?

Teachers, priests and scribes didn’t the people to forget. They didn’t want to take anything away from the commandments; but diligence in observing them led to more  burdensome detailed laws were added in.

In Mark’s gospel we glimpse part of that ongoing debate. The scribes and Pharisees have continue to challenge Jesus about the nature of purity and the keeping of the law. Elsewhere, this division is focused on human need such as hunger, illness or isolation; in part Jesus exposes our vulnerability and kindles a desire for mercy; for loving embrace.

In order to remain ceremonially clean, the priests had to be careful about what they ate or touched. Over time such prescriptions were observed more widely. So they attack Jesus and his disciples - for eating with unclean hands.

As Jesus’ explores elsewhere in the parable of the good Samaritan, the impulse for purity set up boundaries which made it hard to fulfill the impulse for mercy.  Today, he challenges the hypocrisy of getting things out of proportion. By focusing on the minutiae of the tradition, Jesus accusers risked failing to fulfill the will of God which the commandments embodied.

He goes on to describe with a bluntness, which may evoke an element of disgust, the way in which food is eaten and digested, asking: how can something which passes through our bodies be a source of defilement?  

Instead we are to examine our own hearts and consider what human nature is capable of: envy, deceit and adultery; greed, pride and stupidity; anger, self-indulgence and deceit.

No wonder the psalmist cries out: “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and put a new and right spirit within me” (Ps 51).  As my spiritual director put it. We have to guard our hearts. We guard our hearts from being misled by the overwhelming power of sexual chemistry which plays on our loneliness, and desire for intimacy.

We also have to guard our hearts when we seek self-advancement at the expense of others; when our guilt or failure tempts us to be less than honest, eating away at trust within community; when our envy, conscious or not, diminishes others; when our frustration drives us to despair rather than facing the challenging but creative conversation.

It is because of the frailty of these human hearts, that God’s only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, came from the intimacy of his Father’s heart to be with us. To be with us in the fleshly and messy reality of our lives. Love draws near in our bodily lowliness and prideful hearts.  

As the poet, W B Yeats puts it: “Love had pitched his mansion in / The place of excrement; / For nothing can be sole or whole / that has not been rent”. It takes our proximity with birth and intimacy, illness and death to realise that that is where love is; in the midst of nappies and bedpans. And God goes there

W B Yeats

What then does it mean for our fragile, sensual, muscular, ageing, graceful and imperfect bodies for the Word to become flesh? Out of his fullness, we have all received endless grace. The law was given by Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ”. We are redeemed by grace; by God becoming one of us.

Jesus touched the sick with healing love and restored the dying to life; he embraced those made ‘other’ through sexual exploitation or mental distress; he ate with those whose hearts were open. He was betrayed and abused; cursed and humiliated. He died. And in dying broke death’s power; in his risen life is forgiveness, mercy and love.

The aspiration of our cathedral community to be warm-hearted is an expression of the commandments to love: to love God and neighbour. We cannot do that in our own strength; it is God’s Spirit who warms our hearts, kindling that flame of love. As James writes, all our generous acts of giving come from above; through grace our creatureliness bears the truth of God’s image.  The fullness of life in God is revealed in a fruitful life.

James uses language which is vivid and physical. He senses that the good that we do begins with what is planted in our hearts, that God’s word of love.  We are to be quick and attentive in our listening; but slow in our speaking and our anger.

Doing what we hear is mediated in a multitude of loving gestures.  The gentleness of which he speaks is not a soft option. It means caring for orphans and widows; protecting the vulnerable; listening to the dispossessed;  showing compassion to the stranger. Seeking what is just in this world - walking with humility before God.

 

Children's Society

No human being, whatever age, should feel alone. As Christians we don’t offer simple answers to complex problems. But we do commit to being alongside those who feel unloved, isolated, scared; those who self-harm, who’re grief stricken and unable to cope. As the Children’s Society tagline puts it:  We listen. We support. We act. 

In our workplaces and homes, may we who are united in prayer and the breaking of bread bring hope and hospitality to others. The impulse for holiness is made real in the impulse of mercy; breaking down barriers of stigma and despair.

© Julie Gittoes 2018

Holy grace in an untidy church

Introduction

This paper was given at the Society for the Study of Theology Conference 'Thinking the Church' and takes as its starting point comments made by the Archbishop of Canterbury in his presidential address to General Synod in February 2014. Justin Welby spoke of the need for a massive cultural change with the Church of England, so that people could flourish together despite deeply held differences. That shift is a journey of learning to live as an 'untidy church': learning to love those with whom we disagree and seeking mutual flourishing, rooted in what the Archbishop calls 'holy grace'.

I begin by setting out the challenges and hopes of his address. It is a vision that resists perpetuating the fearful denigration of the other; to sustain it we need resources which prevent us lapsing into idealism which is readily abandoned. I wonder if Dan Hardy's work on the nature of holiness might help us here. His description of divine holiness as a refining fire which heals fragmentations is challenging and compelling.

Holiness understood as transformative and performative leads to consideration of two questions: firstly, how might the dynamics of holiness increase our capacity to live with untidiness within the life of the church? Secondly, how is holiness embodied in such a way that it becomes a movement of hope in the world?

Prayer - Chris Gollon (2009)

The address

Archbishop Justin uses the five principles agreed by the House of Bishops (in relation to the
legislation to women and the episcopate) as an example of how love and trust work: ‘the love has to
be demonstrated and the trust has to be earned. But the love cannot be demonstrated if it is refused
and the trust cannot be earned without the iterative process of it being received and reinforced in the
reception.’ This might be described as a practice of holiness.

The ‘massive cultural change’ necessary for the living out of ‘a commitment to the flourishing of
every tradition of the church’ means accepting that those with whom we disagree are ‘deeply loved
by Christ and therefore must be deeply loved by me’. For him, the ‘gift that Christ gives us, of loving us to the end, to the ultimate degree is meaningless unless that love is both given and received, and
then passed on’. Holy grace is cruciform: we are held and moved by God’s holiness in worship,
participating in the refining fire 'as it has occurred in the Cross of Christ’ (Hardy, Finding, p. 20.).

Loving in this way is a difficult and risky calling. The Archbishop speaks about the need for integrity,
transparency and honesty; about doing what we do out of love. Such practices are societal patterns
needed to create trust. So we ask with Dan, what difference does worship make in cultivating
holiness? (Hardy, Finding, pp. 22-23.).  Might a ‘holy trust’ equip us to face disagreement and crisis in the hope of healing.

Holiness and healing do not equate to ‘tidiness’. The Archbishop said that an untidy church tells the
world 'holy grace' rather ‘consistency and coherence' is the ultimate virtue’. The Church of England’s
untidiness is reflected in lobbies and groups within and beyond the synodical structures of
governance and episcopal collegiality. When these things work well, love overcomes fear; but often
the opposite is the case. To acknowledge that the ‘resources of love lie within God hints at the
performative nature of holiness. That is an encounter with divine promise and assurance in worship,
in penitence and faith. Such love is demanding. It is a process of gracious reconciliation which is
cruciform.

Many of the issues which are centre stage engender fear: fear of rejection and irrelevance, the limits
of authority and generosity. Yesterday's headlines about GAFCON show just how acute and corrosive
these fears are. Perhaps Dan’s legacy will edge us beyond tribalism towards a holy and gracious
church. A church that is not preoccupied with its own inner life, but called outwards by the Spirit to a
creative vision for the sake of God's kingdom.

A refining fire - nature of holiness, human and divine

In Finding the Church Dan states that ‘holiness, sociality and worship are – or should be – extremely
rich and powerful notions and practices, and therefore capable of orientating vast ranges of life in the
world’ (Hardy, Finding, p. 8). He warns against supposing that it can be fully grasped – theoretically or ethically. Whilst heading this warning against domesticating such vision, we hold on to the challenge of how such practices change us and deepen our engagement with the world, not least because for Dan the church is constituted by mission and worship.

To begin with, how does Dan's understanding of holiness relate to the scope of God’s work in
creation and salvation? The gift of creaturely freedom is risky: our desires are misdirected, our lives
dispersed and fragmented; we are in danger of losing the sense of God’s presence with us (Hardy, Wording, p. 68.). ‘Extensity’ names this spread-out-ness in the world - our human propensity to get caught up in things. 'Intensity’ describes God’s self-movement of love towards the world – in creation, redemption, the perfection of human life in the world (Hardy, Finding, p. 34.) This intensity calls forth a response. Dan uses Coleridge’s term ‘abduction’ to describe the dynamics of this attraction to God. This attraction is cultivated and sustained in worship as we a turned away from self-absorption, as we participate in God's ways, as our desires are reformed.

Might this be a holy grace for an untidy church?

For Dan holiness and God are mutually defining: holiness is the attraction to God, which calls and
moves people; it is beautiful, satisfying and humbling; relational and performative ( Hardy, Finding, p. 12.).  It is rooted in the triune God. Dan says: the property of holiness is one of ‘intrinsic relation to all else… then holiness is intrinsically triadic… the Trinity immanent in God is his consistent performance of holiness, but this is maintained – as the Trinitarian economy in the world – through God’s energetic congruence with the world’ (Hardy, Finding, pp. 14-16.).

‘Facing the holiness of God, and performing it within human social life, is the special provenance of
worship. There all the interrelated dimensions of life are raised to the holiness of God’ (Hardy, Finding, p.19.). It is not merely routine human activity. God’s ‘formative, freeing and energizing attraction’ shapes us (Hardy, Finding, p. 20.). Worship is a crucible which enacts and extends holiness, which heals fragmentation of our extensity.  Might, in the words of Barbara Pym, our 'incremental shifts in virtue' be an outworking of holiness, in Christ, in anticipation of the Kingdom?


Increasing our capacity to live with untidiness

How might the dynamics of holiness increase our capacity to live with untidiness within the church?

For Dan, the Eucharist is an occasion of performing – and thus learning – the quality of God’s
holiness in action, whose implication are seen as it reconstitutes the life of those involved, forming
their multifold interactions with others.’ It counteracts fear and cultivates love (Hardy, Finding, p. 21.).  Might it also be a place where holiness is kindled not as a list of prohibited or acceptable actions, but as a way of being in relationship?

In Finding the Church, Dan describes the way in which trust liberates us to act without fear; it is a
sign of love which we give to others. It shapes and enriches our relationships, creating what Dan calls
'moral density'. If human flourishing is ordinarily dependent on stability and systems of
accountability, what difference does worship make?

How might the Eucharist enact a 'holy trust' as we are confronted with the 'refining fire' of divine
holiness? Divine intensity is the response to our extensity. Dare we approach worship in the
expectation that God will establish and transform our relationships as the cruciform fire of God's
holiness refines us?

Archbishop Justin criticised sermons offering the moral claptrap of niceness. Rather we are drawn
into a moral density is enacted in the sacrifice of Christ, which we call holy grace. Living this out in
the life of the Church is difficult and demands patience and attentiveness, which stretches our human
capacity. But our capacity is stretched by placing our assurance in God’s holiness. Only then can we
live with untidiness; waiting for difference to become a gift.

This increased capacity to disagree well in an untidy church sounds idealist. Dan himself was not
naïve about the cost in his work within Anglican Communion on issues of sexuality, gender, the
interpretation of Scripture and authority. He continually reignites our imaginations as we seek holy
grace in an untidy church. Let’s for a moment consider the reality of a local church in crisis and
discover the possibility of healing and the balm of spirit.

In Wording a Radiance, Dan describes the way in which the pastor opens herself to be an agent of
transforming and healing spirt. Individuals might then shift from being passive recipients to active
agents of the Spirit: Dan describes this as a turning from 'self-attraction to divine attraction and thus
attraction to others' (Hardy, Wording, p. 107.). It is not immediate, simple or straightforward; it is not mere choice or will. It is the central drama of our ecclesiology: 'when a pilgrim's openness to the Spirit is met by the Spirit and 'other' replaces 'self' as the object of attraction. This is not the end of the drama but the beginning: an opening for attraction to meet attraction and, with the balm of the Spirit, for a wounded Church to walk with Jesus' (Hardy, Wording, p. 107.).

It is difficult and time consuming. Holy grace demands that we deepen bonds of mutual trust and
affection by improving the quality of our disagreements. Holy grace in an untidy church means living
in the hope of healing. Dan has a word for this too: he calls it ‘granulation’, a healing from deep
within. When intransigent problems and differences are centre stage, they consume our energy.
Confronting the holiness of God in worship creates space and gives us the assurance to take risks,
with patience and generosity. It does so because our attention refocused on the glory and light of
God, whose kingdom ‘is not a matter of our working out every detail of how to move on; we need to
leave room for the Spirit to work’(Hardy, Wording, p. 105.).

Holiness - a movement of hope

Enriched by the Spirit, how is holiness embodied in the world as a movement of hope?

In Finding, Dan talks about holiness of God demanding the proper interaction between ecology,
history and culture; and social institutions playing a key role in the performance of holiness as
‘provisional approximations to the good’. In Wording, sociopoesis (the creating of the social)
emerges from his discussion of the way in which holiness is enacted in the world. Dan's
diagrammatic representation of this demonstrates a two-way dynamic, under God for the sake of the
Kingdom.

If facing holiness in worship cultivates generosity, trust and reconciliation in the face of disagreement, it becomes both a gift and challenge to the world. Rather than becoming overly concerned with our own ‘inner meaning’, how do learn afresh how to persist with our task in the world? What might be the signs of hope for the world of this holy, graced and untidy church?

Archbishop Justin spoke about letting go of the absolutes of coherence and consistency; but I
wonder what that might look like in term of holiness conceived as a mode of engagement.
Commitment to facilitated conversations and the Archbishop's frankness over Wonga might be
examples of that.

Risking incoherence and inconsistence might be part of our prophetic calling. If our assurance is
located in God - in his holiness - we increase our capacity to live with difference. Life is not tidier or
less complicated, but with God centre stage when we abide in the perfect, holy and refining love that
casts out fear. Holy grace in an untidy church is cultivated in worship, but it is also about witness.

The body of Christ radiating the light and love of God for sake of the Kingdom; opening up true potential of human life. As Dan puts it:'Liturgy is one way of facilitating and helping people enter into this creative dynamic and drawing them deeper into the light, letting it penetrate and irradiate them. But this opening is certainly not exclusive to the Church: there are lots of other ways, too, and we need to recognize and interpret them in public life. It is about how the Church relates to the world (16 Hardy, Wording, p. 106.).

If Dan was renowned for acknowledging the complexity of that, he was also renowned for calling us back to the unfolding work of the Spirit.


© 2015 Julie Gittoes