Writing about humanity

A sermon from Evensong 1 September: Isaiah 33:13-22 and John 3:22-36

Writing in one of today’s papers, Johanna Thomas-Corr writes: ‘The hoopla around the lunch of Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments is more reminiscent of the unveiling of an iPhone or something Pokémon related that that of a mere book’.

The Testaments is the long awaited sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale: a dystopian novel which has gained a new audience as a restful of its Emmy award winning TV adaptation. It’s the most borrowed book from London libraries; sales have increased 160% since the title of its swap was revealed. 

It tells of ecological disaster; the dismantling of democracy; the erosion of women’s rights. It was chilling when it was published 34 years ago; now the red-clocked handmaidens with their white bonnets stand as a symbol of women’s resistance. 

There’s something prophetic about Atwood’s work: she’s described as being before her time but perhaps that’s precisely because she’s so attuned to the dynamics and pressures of the world we live in. As Thomas-Corr’s profile peace puts it: ‘if there’s something that interests her about humanity, she’ll write about it.'

Isaiah, as we’ve noted in recent weeks, is also alert to the dynamics and pressures of his own world. He notes the way power shifts and discerns where false hopes lie. He calls out the lies and smooth words. He names those things which are illusory or which will lead to death and destruction. 

Yes, he is interested in humanity; but that’s not all he speaks and writes about. 

He speaks about humanity in relation to the world - but that is shaped by his primary commitment to the words and commandments of God.

He names the ways of the godless: the evil doers; the reckless; and the sinful: who despise the call to justice and mercy.

He names the ways of the righteous: those who aren’t susceptible to bribes; who do not profit from oppression; who speak of what is right and hesitance themselves from evil.

He names the ways of the Lord: who will judge and rule and save; whose majesty is to be acknowledged; who commandments are to be understood.

Jerusalem is to be the quiet habitation of the Lord: restored and rebuilt that God’s people might be healed and built up.

Isaiah spoke in later chapters of God’s messiah; the suffering servant. It is this one, chosen and beloved, who will dwell with us in the habitation of our flesh.

John the Baptist was interested in the stuff of humanity: naming our need to turn to God; to find hope, forgiveness and a new beginning.

John also names the stuff of God: knowing that he was not the Messiah, but the one going ahead to prepare the way. The one who captured imaginations, aroused curiosity and made our hearts and mind receptive to the Lord’s beloved Son.

His joy was fulfilled when he sees his beloved cousin on the banks for the Jordan: he baptised him in solidarity with the fragility and potential of our human condition. 

He beholds him afresh today: knowing that he must decrease for God’s Son to increase. He points others to him. 

He points to this one who is above all; who abides with the Father.

He points to this one who knows the earth; who is flesh of our flesh.

He points to this one who will give the Spirit measure upon measure.

This is our Lord.

The Word who gives voice to our hopes and our salvation.

This Word is beloved of the Father.

Humanity is of interest to this Word.

Our Lord sees us and loves us.

We abide in the hands of this one.

In ecology, democracy and feminism: the words of the Word challenge us.

Our Lord calls us to obedient love.

Moment by moment, this love calls us to live lightly and intensely.

Calling us to speak and to act: for the sake of the eco-systems of which we’re apart; for the sake of our social and political life; for the sake of the equitable treatment of women and men.

This Word is heaven touching earth; and raising earth to heaven.

His Spirit leads us to echo the prophetic cries for mercy, justice and truth.

That we too may give word to that which builds up and renews.

We do so in the assurance that in this Word of love, even death is but the beginning of life.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Choose what is beneficial!

A sermon from Sunday Evensong - thinking about connections, common humanity and seeking the good of the other (via Joseph!). It begins with a description of the TV2 film "Connected" which can be seen here.  The texts were: Genesis 42:1-25; 1 Corinthians 10:1-24 

A camera pans across a waiting room.

A voice over says: These people have a lot to talk about.  They just don’t know it yet.

It’s a diverse group in terms of age, ethnicity, mobility and dress.

They walk into what looks like a sports hall; standing in a crowd.

The voice over continues: In a minute we’ll show them they have more in common than they think.

Thomas, says the conveyor of this ad hoc gathering, will you stand over there. And Aske.

She says: Thomas you live in a lovely house with his family.

That house had been Aske’s childhood home.

That’s right. They laugh.

Different families; playing games in the same garden.

Next, Mathilda is invited to stands opposite Aske.

They’ve faced each other before, on the rugby field aged twelve.

They give a hi-five, saying: Good game.

Inge’s an old woman. She steps forward, facing Mathilda.

When she was born 27 years ago, Inge’s was the first face Mathilda saw.

My midwife she says; they hug and cry.

Anna’s husband had a heart attack whilst out jogging.

The person who reacted quickly and saved his life comes and stands in front of her.

Knud looks at her. Thank you, whispers Anna.

Just below the surface, a total stranger can turn out to be someone you’re actually connected to.

The fireman, the online gamers, the dog owners.

Rana and Maher came to Denmark as refugees from Syria for years ago.

Dorrit and Jan stand next to them. They have a similar story from WWII.

And Rikke steps up: her great-grandfather took the risk of sailing all night to bring Jan to Sweden.

The voiceover kicks back in, saying. It’s easy to mind our own business; harder to mind the community.

This invitation to discover something in common, something that connects us comes from the commercial world. 

The Danish company TV2 with it’s tagline ‘all that we share’ has produced several of these mesmerising and humanising mini-films.

They’re pieces of cinematic art which invite us to see beneath the surface of things; to step outside our own boxes and to recognise the common humanity beneath the surface of things.

Genesis draws us into the space of common humanity fraught with memories of hurt and the reality of power.

Andrew Lloyd Webber told us how Joseph loved his coat of many colour; how handsome and smart he looked, like a walking work of art. So memorable was this musical of a dazzling coat of colours, that one ordinand I know sang the lyrics to herself when translating Genesis in a Hebrew exam. 

But there’s only so far you can go in improvising on the text with red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ochre and peach and ruby and olive and violet and fawn and lilac and gold and chocolate and mauve…

Lloyd Webber tells us of the dreams and the dreamer’s demise. Joseph sings of closed doors and a land of his own. We learn of Pharaoh being kept away with vision of fat and thin cows; and Joseph’s rise to be his right hand man.

This evening we come in at the chorus of ‘Those Canaan Days’: golden fields of corn are no more. Now the fields are dead and bare; No joie de vivre anywhere.

We’re a long way from the Joseph mega-mix number. 

The scene is full of recognition and what remains unrecognisable.  

Joseph recognises his brothers, but he treats them like strangers: in public there is a harshness to his tone, in private he weeps.

Before there can be a joyful reunion, there is a time of reflection.

Joseph perhaps recalling the arrogance of his youth as well as the wrong done to him.

The bothers have lived with guilt and remorse for twenty or more years.

They’ve seen their father’s heartbreak.

They’ve treated young Benjamin with more care than they did Jospeh.

Now in a desperate attempt to avoid starvation they bow before the one whose dreaming they’d despised.

They do not recognise the one sold into slavery; they don’t know of his imprisonment. 

They bow before a leader; an unrecognised brother. 

If TV2 were filming this perhaps they’d say: stand hear Joseph and you Reuben. 

Your brothers divided by envy and united by love of your kin.

Perhaps they’d hug and weep, laugh or high-five. 

Joseph can’t rebuild the trust that quickly. In shock and self-protection he sets his own test of honesty and truth. He will see his father and his brothers. They will live and not die.

The story does not end there: relief from famine becomes prosperity in a new land; prosperity becomes threat and enslavement. Slavery is turned to freedom; freedom means walking in the wilderness, trusting in promises yet to be fulfilled.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul reflects on the time our ancestors spent in the wildness: he notes the faithful presence of God in the parting of the sea and in the guidance of the cloud; in the provision of manna, quail and fresh water.

And yet, as we learn elsewhere, they grumbled and complained. They longed for the cucumbers and garlic of Egypt. 

The received commandments to love God and neighbour, and yet they fell into idolatry: the golden calf being no substitute for the holiness of a God who spoke in burning bush and the still small silence. 

Paul gives to the Corinthians a warning from history: complaint led to idolatry, idolatry led to immortality. Hearts turned away from God become hearts that turn in on themselves. 

Choose life, Paul is saying, that is at the heart of the commandment of love.

To choose life, can sometimes mean taking risks as Jacob and his sons did: seeking refuge in an unfamiliar land.

To chose love, can sometimes test our capacity to forgive, as Joseph moved from harshness to tears; living and loving beyond youthful vanity and sibling guilt.

It’s easy to mind our own business; harder to mind the community says TV2.

Paul reminds us that we are one in Christ, one in the bread we break and the cup we bless.

This is all that we share.

Paula Walker - Circles of Life

And in sharing, we choose life and love that moves beyond stereotypes; which challenges the corrosive prejudices of race, class, gender, age or sexuality.

We are to choose what is beneficial to others and what builds up. 

As Paul says, Do not seek your own advantage, but that of others.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Blessing

A sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral Evensong on  21 May: the readings were Zechariah 8:1-13 and Revelation 21:22-22:5.

Alleluia: Christ is risen!

Frocks and flowers; vintage cars and a village church; a designer dress for a society wedding; locals, journalists, celebrities and royalty: it seems that on the topic of #PippasWedding, both social and print media were in sync.

Wedding feasts feature in our scriptures as an image of God’s Kingdom - of the peaceable and joyful unity of earth and heaven, creation and Creator.  The excitement surrounding ‘the day’ touches on our human longing for faithfulness, intimacy, love; it delights in the orientation of our lives towards a future of blessing.

Blessing which is not just about ‘a couple’ or ‘their children’; but the stability of a household which enables generous hospitality. A wedding celebrates a marriage - a union of both radical exclusivity in fidelity and radical inclusivity in strengthen bonds of society.


We know, of course, that our human relationships are complex and fragile: we live amidst disagreement, the compulsions of self-interest, failing health; we face demands of work, the experience of loneliness, the harm done by coercion and abuse.

Being human embraces the tenderness of care for others - and the challenges, cost and strain of those acts of love. Being human embraces the reality of being cared for by others and the need for dignity in holding the memory of who we are.

If we scroll past photos of #PippasWedding and read beyond the front page of the newspaper, we confront the things which preoccupy editors and readers alike; the news weaves our individual cares and concerns into the uncertainty of our national life and global context.

Social care

We read of concerns for the wellbeing of the elderly and social care; concerns for the welfare of children in terms of nutrition and education.  There are stories about media bias and alternative facts; climate change, missile testing, asylum seekers and knife crime.

Words like 'tension', 'uproar', 'chaos', 'opportunism', 'feuds' and 'crisis' dominate headlines. Yet we also glimpse joy as some of the girls held captive in Nigeria are reunited with their families; and hope for reform in Iran as Rouhani wins a second term in an unexpected landslide.

How do we live wisely as disciples of Christ in the midst of uncertainty? Our readings offer us prophetic visions - words of hope and expectation of a world which will be renewed.  These are more than snappy slogans or dreams to anaesthetise us in the face of painful realities.

Both texts emerge in response to situations of great upheaval. For Zechariah it was return from exile, and the longing to rebuild the Temple; for John, it was the terror of persecution and a longing for heaven, when our Temple will be Godself.

The most used words in the main political parties’ 2017 manifestos suggest that they will ‘ensure’ that in ‘government’ they will ‘work’ to do ‘new’ things to ‘support’ the ‘people’. 

The words resonating through our texts, speak of that which is faithful and holy; of salvation, strength and peace; of blessing, light and life; of humanity sharing in love divine. The new thing for which we long - and which God will fulfil - is the healing of the nations.

Neither Zechariah nor Revelation tell us how to vote - whose manifesto to support.  But they do give us a set of measures to hold each and every earthly power and authority to account.  They do not speak of GDP or taxation - but they do express signs of a flourishing social order within the abundance of creation.  They do not speak of policy - but they do hold a vision of joy, peace, justice and flourishing by which policies can be judged.

For Zechariah, there is a deep longing for the centrality of worship of God: for us too, worship is time and space set apart to offer our petitions and thanksgivings, to seek forgiveness and receive blessing.  Worship redirects our attention to the light and love of God - restoring our vision for right relationship with others.

Can we enable old and young to live together in safety? Might we honour the wisdom of age and cherish the joyful playfulness of youth?  This drawing together of all peoples might seem impossible for us - with our competing loyalties and priorities, but it is not impossible for God.

But to be God’s people in faithfulness and righteousness strengthens us to work hard. It is a recalling to rebuild the place of worship on firm foundations; it is calling to ensure reward for labour, safety and harmony. This vision of the good life is reflected in the the fruitfulness of agricultural land. People are blessed to be a blessing to others - we cannot possess this goodness, rather it flows ever outwards and onwards.

Zechariah’s prophetic measures are vital for us: vital as we seek to establish interdependence between the generations, deploying our social and economic capital with equity; vital as we renew our bonds of culture, trade and diplomacy across Europe; vital as we seek a fruitful sustainability in agriculture, industry and environmental policy across our regions.

I will save you, says our Lord; I will bless you. Do not be afraid but let your hands be strong.

The Revelations of John stretch our imaginations with colour, sound, metaphor and symbol. He wants us to be inspired by the dazzling glory of God’s reconciling love.  William Harris gives musical voice to this imagining in setting the words of Edmund Spenser: For Faire is the heaven... how then can mortal tongue hope to express the image of such endlesse perfectnesse? We glimpse that love through a glass darkly - yet God is with us in Christ Jesus, breaking bonds of sin and death; God continues to abide with us by the power of the Spirit, breathing upon us the blessing of peace.

There is no temple in the heavenly city for then we will see God face to face: God dwells with us and we with God. God who creates, redeems and sustains us, gathers all the nations into this renewed creation. This is a vision of all being made new. All our longings are satisfied; all our griefs are healed.

We walk by the light of God - bringing with us all that reflects the divine honour and glory in us. The waters of life - bright as crystal - wash away all that is false. The tree of life is fruitful; its leaves are for the healing of the nations.

This is less a prediction that a hope made real; a hope which we are being exhorted to reflect in the world which we inhabit.  If God is the one in whom we live and move and have our being, may we be a blessing to the world in which we live and move and have our being.

Blessing in how we treat employees, care for carers and the benefit we bring to our communities, and the careers we pursue. Blessing - by engaging with our MPs and in the choices we make about food, fuel and waste. Blessing - in all that this week holds. We are a new creation - in the power of the Spirit, may we reveal the light and love of God as Christ’s body here on earth.

© Julie Gittoes 2017