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

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

Easter: the main event!

The text of a sermon preached today - Easter Day. The texts were Exodus 14:10-18, 26-15 and Revelation 15:2-4

Alleluia! Christ is risen.

He is risen indeed: alleluia!

Bunny versus Santa Claus ran the headline.

Hot-cross buns or Christmas cake, bland Turkey or luscious lamb? ran the tagline.

You’d expect a weekend cookery supplement to run with a virtual ‘food fight’’ between Christian festivals; and after the misplaced ‘outrage’ over Easter eggs, it might be wise for a preacher to stay well away from references to chocolate on Easter Day. 

Bunny versus Santa Claus with illustration by Sam Island

However, the columnist Stephen Bush began his article with what he calls the ‘theological side’.

He wrote: ‘Easter is better than Christmas for many reasons. If, like me, you grew up in a religious household, you will know this is because the Easter festival is the main event, AKA the Resurrection, while Christmas is just the warm-up band, in which some bloke and his misses forget to book a hotel and accidentally invent Airbnb to solve the problem’.

Yes, Easter is the main event. Resurrection speaks of life, joy and the transformation of the world. In Jesus dying and rising a new age has begun. We are a new creation!

But Christmas is much more than the warm up act:  that bloke and his misses AKA Mary and Joseph held in their arms a speechless infant. That child is God with us; the Word made flesh.

Christmas celebrations gives us the first song of the main event. Then we sang ‘Hark! the herald angels sing glory to the new-born King, peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled’. Today that work of reconciliation is made visible.  Our songs of praise continues: ‘Jesus Christ is risen today, Alleluia!’ and ‘Love’s redeeming work is done’.

All that Jesus said and did was an expression of God’s love; an embodiment of God’s life.  

When he washed feet and broke bread; when he touched the sick or he spoke to the marginalised; when he welcomed the child or challenged the rich; when he told stories about the lost being found; when he calmed storms on the sea or of the mind in turmoil. 

Then. 

In these moments. 

We see the power of God work bringing healing, wholeness, forgiveness and peace.

On Good Friday we recalled Jesus’ identification with our suffering, wounded, struggling and failing humanity.

On Holy Saturday we waited. Jesus death took God’s love to the very depths of despair and life-less-ness.

On Easter Day we rejoice through life-giving love, that pain and grief is transformed and made beautiful.

Now.

Moment by moment.

We can begin again, enabled by the love and power of our risen Lord.

Today we celebrate because resurrection is a remaking of creation itself.

This remaking is something we see only in part: we and all creation are groaning in eager longing to see the fulfilment of this vision of peace and everlasting joy. It’s a longing expressed in another song: the hope of life and and love of Song of Songs which we heard in today’s anthem.

Our readings today might be surprising We haven’t heard about the empty tomb; or the fear, bewilderment, and amazement of the first witnesses; of Mary Magdalene in the garden or the disciples on the road to Emmaus, or of Peter’s proclamation to the people of Jerusalem.

Instead we’re given a bigger perspective on the main event of life, joy and resurrection. It’s a bigger story which renews our hope.  Scripture begins with the goodness, diversity and beauty of creation. Although we are created in and for love, we become ensnared by bitterness, misdirected desires; our capacity to control and harm; our own fears.

Exodus tells of those who’d been enslaved by the Egyptians - exploited, degraded and oppressed. Now they’re afraid of what lies ahead.  For Israel, the certainty food and shelter as slaves seemed preferable to the unpredictable journey of liberation, through the wilderness, to the promised land.

Their flight to freedom was complicated and dangerous. We hear of the casualties amongst those who wanted to recapture them.  A microcosm perhaps of the tensions and cycles of violence, protest, freedom and domination we see in our world today. 

Crossing the Red Sea: Dura Europos Synagogue, C3rd

In the chaos of the mud and the drama of a divided sea, these people take a step towards the freedom God desires for all people. No wonder that they sing; no wonder they rejoice in a glorious triumph; no wonder they attribute salvation to God; no wonder they take the risk of journeying on. 

This is a foretaste of what is accomplished in Christ’s death and resurrection: in love made perfect in weakness, powers of destruction are broken.

Our second reading gives us the finale if you like: the book of Revelation uses kaleidoscopic images to communicate what is beyond the limitations of our human language, but which fulfils our hopes. A glimpse of everlasting life; the time when God will be all in all.

It speaks of a time when evil is conquered and suffering is no more.This fiery, glassy sea echoes the liberation from slavery through the sea; it echoes the baptismal waters through which we die and rise with Christ. The song of heaven resounds; giving us a glimpse of time when all peoples and nations will be united in glorious joyful song to God.

We long for that day.

Today is the main event. Through Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, human history has changed. He restores broken relationships - freeing us from all that limits human flourishing and from death itself.  

We are mortal: we live, breath, create, suffer, rejoice, grieve, endure, restore and we love. We are mortal; vulnerable. And yet, because God acted in his Son Jesus Christ, we are able to live in a new way, living breath by breath in his Spirit. We are to be the gift we receive: a people of joy and healing.

As we sing ‘alleluia’ today, our lives are caught up in the main event of resurrection: our life begins anew today and every day. Because Jesus was, is and will be, God with us. Our alpha and omega; our beginning and our end.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Looking beyond the stars

This is the text of a sermon preached on Epiphany at Guildford Cathedral exploring revelation and incarnation; worship and joy; our ongoing journey of faith. The texts were Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12.

When they saw that that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.

Later this month, you’ll have the opportunity to become an amateur star gazer for the evening.  The external lighting will be turned off as Cathedral becomes home to a pop up observatory. Volunteers from our local astronomical society will be on hand to help you use telescopes to explore the night sky.

For a moment, the wonder, curiosity and expertise of the magi might be ours. The depth of space, of time, of light… it is the same sky that they observed.

They watched and calculated and scrutinised not for one night, but for a lifetime. They notice some thing new. A brighter light. A comet, a supernova or a conjunction of the planets?

This cosmic sign revealed to them the birth of the one who is the morning star: the splendour of light eternal and sun of righteousness; the love that said ‘let there be light’ is the love birthed in a stable; the love that is all in all, rest in a mother's arms, turning a house into hallowed ground.

The light has come - our light has come - in the midst of darkness: the darkness of the shadow of death, the darkness covering the earth, the thick darkness over the peoples.

This light dawns in the midst of political crisis and the brutal reality of human violence. Jesus’ birth takes place in time. In the time of King Herod. In the time of occupation, empire, threat and displacement; in the time when ruling by fear reveals fragility and creates instability.

It is in a world such as this that Herod finds himself acting as a catalyst. Those who’ve been guided by hope need help. In their desire to worship a new born king,  magi come to a palace, to the place we think power resides. In his desire to retain control of his own kingship, Herod consults experts and points the mysterious strangers beyond the stars to a a place. To a place where the child was.

When they saw that that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.

Stefan Lochner, Adoration of the Magi, c. 1440, Cathedral, Cologne

This light dawns in the midst of political crisis and the brutal reality of human violence. Jesus’ birth in time, is the still point in a transforms the world for all time. In our time, with its violence, instability and displacement of people; in our time, God continues to reveal to us his patient and loving response to our impatience and fear.

And it looks like a child with his mother. This is God with us. In the midst of us.

And we pay him homage: this child calls forth joy, yes; but as God’s very self, this child causes us to kneel and to worship.

And treasure-chests are opened.

Gold is offered a sign of Jesus’ kingship, yes; but also placing all of our resources as the disposal of a different kingdom; a setting aside of our desire to control and embracing instead love.

Frankincense is offered as a sign of Jesus’ divinity, yes; an act of putting first the call to prayer and worship; a placing at the heart of our lives the deep attentiveness to God.

Myrrh is offered as a sign of Jesus’ reconciling the world, yes; and this healing means confronting pain, sorrow and despair; here, we glimpse cross, death and resurrection.

The light has come. It shines in darkness. The darkness does not overcome it.

The wise men’s journey continues on another road:  they go, resisting fear and abuse of power; they return, witnesses to love, light and glory.

The Christ child’s journey continues on another road: he goes with Mary and Joseph, and seeks refuge in another land;  he will return, to set us free, revealing God’s love, light and glory.

King Herod’s journey continues on yet another road: his fear turns to fury, fury to violence; his violence becomes lamentation and death.

And yet, love wins.  Still the light shines. In our world.

It is not overcome. It reveals truth to us. We have to decide.

When they saw that that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.

We need to take heart from the diligence and joy of the wise; but perhaps we need to embrace their courage too.   For their quest throws up the deepest questions of identity: of who we are, who this child is and how we are to live in the world.

Day by day, we pray that the Holy Spirit might kindle in us the desire to seek and to find; to worship and to rejoice. In the light of the Christ child, not only do we see but we become radiant; our hearts over flow.  In the light of the Christ child, we experience something of God’s grace. The outworking of that grace is challenging; our imaginations our stretched, we live differently embodying God's wisdom in whatever we're doing this time tomorrow.


Such grace is, in the words of Rowan Williams, ‘the mysterious capacity to look in the face the destructive effects of human ignorance’. In saying this, he was reflecting on Shakespeare’s improvisation on the revelation which we celebrate this Epiphany; it’s a reflection on grace in Twelfth Night.

In a play which hovers between comedy and tragedy, we see the a journey of attentiveness and courage; an emotional journey of learning to make acquaintance with storms in order to love.



Shakespeare places us in the tumult of a ship wreck - drawing us into the lives of a rescued twin and a lost brother. He confronts us with the chaos of misrule, the delusion of self love, the cruelty of mockery; intoxicating passions and suffocating grief are played out in a whirlwind of mistaken identities.

The person who knowingly puts on a disguise, is the one person who effectively navigates the complex pathways of love. Viola’s is a love that serves and attends to the other; it is a love which is vulnerable and resilient; a love which is rooted in the assurance of faith and hope; a love which is neither defensive nor manipulative, but utterly authentic. Her maturity brings life, healing; it enables other to let go of their delusions and to interact more truthfully.

The resulting epiphany is of restored relationship as Sebastian looks on his disguised sister and says: Of charity, what kin are you to me? 
What countryman? What name? What parentage?

The revelation we glimpse today answers those same questions too: the mystery of Christ which has been revealed is about our kinship. Because he is God with us - living, dying and rising for us - we are children of God. As Paul puts it, we, the Gentiles, have become fellow-heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.

If we are to seek wisdom like the magi and to love like Viola, we do so by entering into a drama which reveals our identity as members of Christ’s body.

The drama we enact today, names the shipwrecks and storms of our human condition: in the Eucharist, our fears, frustrations and desires, our griefs, betrayals and hopes are expressed.

The drama we enact today, names the patient and generous love of God which continues to reach out to us: in the Eucharist, we touch and taste and see grace that does not look away, light that continues to shine, hope that dispels fear and love that increases our capacity to love.

When they saw that that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.

Our journey continues on another road: step by step, may the Spirit equip us to witness with boldness to the love of God, revealed in Jesus Christ.

Julie Gittoes © 2017