He was called James

Last night I had the very great pleasure to preach at Evensong at the opening of the Endellion Summer Festival. This year it fell on the Feast of St James - so I was grappling with how we think about this example of being called by name to share good news, in the context of the a living community celebrating the gift of music.  Added to that, the texts were both complex and challenging in their different ways: first the stark warnings of a prophet (Jeremiah 26:1-15) and the immediacy of James’ response to Jesus (Mark 1:14-20).  In the end, calling and good news resonated through the text - and I managed to sneak in a reference to the other “James”… the indie rock band and their famous anthem ‘Sit Down’ releases  in 1989!

St Endellion Church

He saw James.

James, with his brother in their boat.

Sitting together mending the nets.

Mending nets demanded skill and patience: checking, untangling, knotting; nibble fingers handling needles; four hands holding the weight and tension.  It’s a scene which still plays out along our coastline. So mundane and time consuming we’d hardly notice it; we barely see.

And there Jesus saw him. 

Really saw him.

The fisherman: gazed upon;

by one who is God with us.

Guido Reni - Saint James the Great

He was called James.

James was called. 

He left his father and followed.

James listened, witnessed and asked a favour.

He questioned, doubted and was weighed down with sleep.

James believed, followed and fished for people.

Sharing life transforming good news made him apostle, martyr, saint.

If you Google “St James” you discover a boutique hotel, royal palace and a wealth management group; numerous schools, hospitals and a creative media company which, according to its website, injects a ‘thrill into a tailor made message’. St James’: a crown estate - a market like no other - food, fashion, lifestyle, art and events.

And in all these places, men, women, young and old, are engaged in tasks which demand skill and patience: planning lessons, cleaning offices, fulfilling ambitions, asking questions, making beds, welcoming diplomats, shaping campaigns, resisting sleep, cooking meals, managing wealth, suturing wounds, seeking work, creating art.

And God sees them; sees us.

We are seen with all our questions, passions, exhaustion and potential 

Like James, we are called by name.

By name we are called. 

Called to follow and listen, believe and share good news.

To see others as we are seen; and to see lives transformed by love. 

This is good news.

This news is, in the words of Rowan Williams, ‘a message about something that altered the climate in which people live, changing the politics and the possibilities; it transforms the landscape of social life’.  

Mark’s Gospel expresses possibility and transformation by with urgency: moments of amazement and ordinariness punctuated by the words kai euthys  ‘and immediately’. The universal scope of this good news is told in a series of intimate encounters. Today we glimpse James at the beginning of a journey. He spent the next days, months, years enfolded by good news. Good news he proclaimed. 

Good news that God’s beloved Son stood came to us in the midst of our longing, frailty and need for forgiveness. He taught with authority - revealing scope of God’s love in parables about sowers, seeds, lamps and yeast. He sought solitude as he prayed in a deserted place; he fed thousands on a hillside and taught thousands more on seashores and synagogues.  

Eugene Delacroix: Christ Calming the storm

Jesus stilled the storm and brought peace to the troubled mind.  Lepers, paralytics, the deaf, the blind and a woman with haemorrhages knew his healing power; he restored a little girl to life.  Fishermen, religious leaders, children, a tax collector and a Gentile women followed him in faith. 

He showed how God’s law of sabbath rest enabled human kind to flourish; he challenged the rich and ambitious, to serve God’s Kingdom; and treasured the widow’s mite. Jesus radically extended our understanding of kinship - all who love mercy are his mother, sister and brother.  

In him, love divine plumbs the depths of humanity.  

A close companion betrayed him; another denied him; a woman poured out lavish oil to anoint him. Bread is broken and wine is poured; tears, sleep, arrest and trial. Hosanna becomes crucify. At a moment of utter forsakenness a centurion sees God’s Son. And at an empty tomb risen life bursts forth. 

This is good news: God’s Kingdom breaks in, transforms and empowers; in our daily tasks, our journeys and our resting places. In all this is the love of God sees us as we are. Like James we are addressed by name and invited to turn and respond. Follow me!

New possibilities lie ahead; we are co-workers in this Kingdom. Transformation unfolds as we love God with all that we are; with every fibre of our being; voices, gestures, heart and mind; loving neighbour as ourself.  

The speed of James’ response is remarkable: can we imagine letting go of the equivalent of nets, family, boat and crew?  What could be so compelling that we leave familiar rhythms behind? 

And yet, we are here - we’ve stepped aside from our regular round of commitments and responsibilities to join with this living, festival community.

Do we recognise in the pull of this place of pilgrimage, something that James might have seen in Jesus? A longing for the opportunity to reconnect and reflect;  for encouragement, joy, renewed relationship and spiritual refreshment? 

Richard Hickox described the spirit of this place as something on which ‘we all feed’. He called it a ‘magnet’ as well as a ‘refuge’.  There is something magnetic and irresistible about Jesus too - but it’s not always easy or comfortable.  James found himself re-deploying his trade - a fisherman becoming a fisher of men. 

To be caught by the love of God - to draw others into that abundance - is to find our refuge, our place and our purpose. In creation God gave us freedom to follow or reject love; in Christ that rift is overcome; by the power of the Spirit’s guidance we bear the witness to the good news of that love, bringing healing and wholeness.  

To ‘catch’ people for this Kingdom is joyful and demanding. It means seeing people as they are - being with them as God was with us in Jesus. To take words from another “James”, this time the indie rock band, we are to ‘sit down’; to sit down ‘in sympathy’ with those ‘who feel the breath of sadness’, those ‘touched by madness’ or who ‘find themselves ridiculous’.

When we sit down in love: in the face of fear, or hate or tears, heaven touches earth.  To sit alongside others - to see them as God does - is prophetic. It makes hope and consolation known in the present. 

It’s not easy.

Some days, we’ll sympathise with the reluctant prophet Jeremiah. At a time of political and social upheaval he carries the lonely weight of continuing to speak of the demands of God’s love. Although he was shunned and ill-treated, he was not a defeatist. 

He was persistent in speaking truth to those in positions of authority; calling them to return to listen to God; to avoid the impending disaster by walking in the way of his law of love. 

Even in the darkest times of rebuke, mockery and condemnation, Jeremiah holds on to the hope that God will not abandon him. Nor would God abandon his people - but would touch every human heart. James saw that prophecy come to fulfilment - as Jesus brings a new covenant in his blood; as the Spirit brings new life to the law. 

Jesus saw James.

Like James we are called by name.

By name we are called.

Called to follow and listen, believe and share good news.

To see others as we are seen; and to see lives transformed by love. 

Your music gives voice to that vision with joyful song.

Over the coming days, may you glimpse a new heaven and a new earth. 

May you hear and respond to the heavenly voice declaring that God dwells with us.

Over the coming days, may you find refuge, encouragement, joy and delight.

May the Holy Spirit equip you return home embracing new possibilities.

This is good news.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Transforming Church, Transforming Lives

The text of a sermon preached on Sunday 25th September; the texts were 1 Timothy 6:19 and Luke 16:19-3. The Diocese of Guildford has launched its mission and vision strategy - Transforming Church, Transforming Lives - which includes twelve transformation goals. For more information, follow this link:http://www.cofeguildford.org.uk/about/transforming-church-transforming-lives

At the Cathedral, we are praying for parishes, schools and chaplaincies; and discerning the part we play in being a resource for that work. We pray in order to resource ourselves to play our part in the building up of God's Kingdom.  As Bishop Andrew says: 'God - Father, Son and Holy Spirit - is in the business of transforming individuals and communities, as we have the joyful privilege of joining in.'

The name Alan Scrase probably won't mean much to you.

Alan is a banknote collector; so the newly issued polymer notes were of particular interest to him. On his second visit to the bank, he was excited to discover that three of his new five pound notes had the sought after AA01 serial numbers. On the internet auction site, Ebay, they fetched £460!

What would you do - or have you done - with your first plastic fiver? The aptly named Johnny Five - a fundraising consultant - announced on Twitter that he'd given his to charity. The hashtag #firstfiver led to an impromptu social media campaign; as others joined in naming the charities which would benefit in tangible ways from an intentional act of kindness.

Some have likened the new note to Monopoly money. Perhaps that's not a bad way to begin to critique the illusion of wealth addressed in today's readings. Indeed, at last week's interfaith peace gathering in Assisi, Archbishop Justin said this: 'our money and wealth is like the toy money in a children's game: it may buy goods in our human economies that seem so powerful, but in the economy of God it is worthless'.

How we use our money matters inasmuch as it reveals our character and can express values of God's kingdom; but it is the mercy of God which quenches our thirst and satisfies our desires.  As Pope Francis commented: 'We are to drink daily of that mercy in order to overcome our sin and anger, and to bear mercy to others.'

This resonates with the story Jesus told about Lazarus and the rich man.  One longed for his hunger to be satisfied; the other longed for his tongue to be cooled. At a first reading or hearing, it makes us uneasy because it seems to suggest a simple reversal of roles. Life was unfair to Lazarus when compared to the luxury of the rich man; but God will balance things out in the next life.

It's more challenging; more transformative than that.

Jesus' "pearly gates" tale is intriguing: it's a useful scenario in making judgements about public life and personal lifestyle Contemporary humour does the same - you know the kind jokes involving a conversation with St Peter and a politician, pastor, atheist or accountant.

Today's parable is a vivid picture of our world; where the inequality between rich and poor reflects a fundamental injustice. Developing the x, y and z of a comprehensive economic policy which achieves sustainability and equity is huge task; and yet, the church is called to have a vision of how we hold together a commitment to justice with income generation - at a micro and macro level.

Transformation is possible. Archbishop Justin's challenge to Wonga and exorbitant pay day loan rates is an example of institutional shifts within and beyond church. Canon Andrew explored with us last Sunday how we might engage at a personal level (his sermon can be read here :http://canonandrewb.blogspot.co.uk/?spref=tw Here at the Eucharist we move from worshipping and serving mammon to take our place within a sacramental economy: an economy of grace and transformation, which enables us to be bearers of mercy.

In recognising that all we have is God's, we're already caught up in the process of transformation. Our faithfulness to God means using all that's entrusted to us with love.  We cannot, like the rich man, ignore the demands of mercy and generosity. The rich man's indifference, self-indulgence and arrogance is dehumanising; yet it's Lazarus who's named and remembered as one whose human dignity calls forth compassion.

This pearly gates story expands our imaginations by presenting a stark challenge to us: but what does that look like for us?  In his letter to Timothy, Paul sets out memorable 'soundbites' which we can take to heart and reflect on. It alerts us to or dependence on God's generous love; which in turn enables us to be generous.

We brought nothing into this world, we can take nothing out. Rather than getting caught up in the pursuit of transient riches and the desires of this world, we find contentment by placing our attention on God. Such contentment goes hand in hand with the pursuit of what is good, right and just; our lives begin to radiate patience, love, gentleness and endurance. We are draw on God's mercy; transforming our hearts that we might be merciful.

This is life that really that really is life.

This is the transformative dynamic of God's economy.

Such transformation is at the heart of our diocesan vision: we are all called in our own contexts and places of work, to respond to the world of God's Spirit so that we might be channels of God's love - gradually transforming the world around us. We will be aware that we face challenging times in our nation and across the world.  As a pilgrim people we share in God's transforming work. It's not just how we use our first fiver, but how in the power of the Spirit, we reveal the transforming love of God made manifest in Jesus Christ? What does that look like decision by decision, breath by breath?

Churches across our diocese will be launching our vision and transformation goals this morning: making disciples, improving buildings, sharing expertise, encouraging generosity and nurturing education.

As the body of Christ in this place we share in that vision: we are facing a period of disruption because we are restoring our building and making it accessible; we nurturing education with a new programme for schools, families and adult learning; our public lectures reach out to those of faith and goodwill seeking the Spirit's gift of wisdom.

How might a vision of transforming church and transforming lives shape our priorities, our worship, our budget, our learning together and our common life?

Feed your reflections into conversations with Chapter and talk about it over coffee. But for us to be a resource to others, we need to resource ourselves: As the body of Christ in this place, our first calling is to pray in the power of the Spirit:

Almighty God, you sustain us with your life

and transform creation with your love.

May we always rest in you,

that the world might know your healing power,

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Julie Gittoes 2016  ©

Help!

This is a text of a sermon preached at Evensong on Sunday 4 September: the readings were Isaiah 43:14-44:5; John 5:30-end.  Perhaps it's because as a cathedral we are in the midst of a period of refurbishment of the building and disruption to familiar patterns of life, that the 'key' to these passages seemed to me to be 'help'. Whatever our situation or season of life, there are moments when we cry out (silently perhaps) for help: to God, to others or within our own hearts. To help and be helped, takes us to the depth of our humanity - where in love and vulnerability we re-learn patters of dependence and freedom.  May the cries of our hearts be heard.

My help cometh even from the Lord; who hath made heaven and earth.

Help!

A single word which signals so much about our human condition: we make life easier for one another when we help out with ordinary household chores; we might improve a situation by offering help in the form of mentoring, feedback or other assistance. Help is woven into our discourse about our common life: Help for heroes and help to buy; helplines to smooth out glitches in our hi-tech lives - fixing our broadband or rescheduling a flight; helplines staffed hour by hour to offer confidential support in the face of abuse or mental distress.

Help!

It echoes in so many registers: commanding, pleading, longing and crying.

There's an intimacy to language of help. It reveals our vulnerability; our co-dependence. It undercuts our self-sufficiency, our omni-competence. Perhaps The Beatles were right: when we were younger, we 'never needed anybody's help in anyway; but now these days are gone, [we're] not so self assured. Now [we] find [we've] changed out mind and opened up the doors'.

It can be offered instinctively, yet it's hard to ask for.  Perhaps there's a fear of been refused; or being manipulated. But as life changes; when we feel insecure, giving and receiving help can be transformative. When we're feeling down; when we appreciate someone being round. 'Help me get my feet back on the ground, won't you please, please help me'.

Lennon and McCartney sing if needing somebody; not just anybody; but for the psalmist, that desire finds a very precise focus.  Regardless of age or circumstance; help is rooted in the Lord. More than that, it an expression of faith which acknowledges that the Lord is the one who preserves life itself.

Isaiah also expresses words of hope rooted in the conviction that God is our help. He addresses a community in exile; a people who'd confronted the consequences of the failure to walk faithfully in the ways of the Lord. Help for them takes the form of healing, salvation, liberation and restoration.  It's profoundly intimate and radically transformative.

'Thus says the Lord who made you, who formed you in the womb and will help you': do not fear; sins and shortcomings are blotted out; the spirit is poured out in blessing. A new thing comes into being. God is our help. Don't be afraid. God is with them. God is with you. God is with us.

That with-us-ness of God in the person of Jesus is the ultimate expression of God's help. John's Gospel uses the ordinary stuff of water, bread, light, wine to express the abundance of such love. John recounts Jesus descriptions of himself as a good shepherd and the true vine. We hear of conversations with a teacher of the law under the cover of darkness and a Samaritan woman in the glare of the midday sun. He piles on the images and metaphors to such an extent that the disciples say at one point - perhaps with a hint of sarcasm - that Jesus is speaking plainly.

The passage we hear tonight, is perhaps one where we, like the disciples, struggle to make sense: yet, this monologue tells us both who Jesus is and also reminds us of our need for help.

To set it in context, this passage comes at the end of a chapter full of life and transformation; a chapter full of challenge and controversy. In the first place, Jesus offers help to some of the most dispossessed, broken and rejected people in Jerusalem. He brings healing to the sick - including a paralysed man who's been crushed by despair; who has no one to help him.

Jesus healed him - telling him to take up his bed and walk. He helped him. He gave him new life.

He did so on the sabbath day: a day when people were invited to rest and give time to God.  Those in positions of power and privilege were disturbed and angered by what they saw - a man carrying his mat. They had so narrowly interpreted the law that rather than rejoicing in this sign of freedom, the Pharisees condemned it as work. Jesus' response was to help them too: to explore with the nature of God's work with them; to reveal that he and his heavenly Father were working to bring life. In love for them, Jesus begins with what they know: the scriptures, the law of Moses.

Jesus is one with us; he is one with God. He is perfect communion with God. He is the beloved Son, doing all that his Father wills. Life and love flows from them. Our help comes from God who made heaven and earth; who formed us in the womb; who dwelt among us.

Jesus enters into conversation to help them. He sees their fear and their hardness of heart; he names their prejudice and rigid interpretations. It's as if he invites them to respond at a deeper level - attending to the new thing springing forth. Jesus points them to the glory of God at work in him; and therein lies the challenge.

We, just as much as the Pharisees, can get caught up in a chain reaction revealing our own fears and prejudices. Like them, there are times when we seek our own glory or turn in on ourselves; times when we cling to our certainties and miss the grace of God bubbling up in the unexpected places. Yet when we risk response to God, drawing on divine help, we share in the depth of love; becoming channels of help. We proclaim the transformed life of the kingdom.

May the Spirit kindle in us a desire to cry out for help to the one who in Christ, reveals life and love. Or, as Jean Vanier put it:

Jesus came to heal us.
He is calling us
to come out from behind the barriers built up
around our vulnerable hearts
so that we may have life and give life.


© Julie Gittoes 2016

Shades of grey

This is the text of a sermon preached at Sidney Sussex College Cambridge. The theme of the term is 'Epiphanies in Broken Things', which takes seriously the shift from Christmastide to Lent.  I took as my title 'Shades of Grey: glimmers of light in darkness'.  The texts were about Moses and his encounter with God at the burning bush (Exodus 3:1-7) and Jesus's paradoxical words about glory in John (John 12:7-36a).

 

And Moses said, 'Let me turn aside and see this great sight; why doesn't the bush burn?'

Tonight we begin by entering into a familiar story. Its retelling breaks out beyond the text of the Hebrew Scriptures and  shapes our cultural imagination.

In The Prince of Egypt, Dreamworks animated it using the tagline: 'the power is real; the story is for ever; the time is now'.

In January Song, Billy Bragg's lyrics lament that he's 'tired of being wired'; he's journey's hard; he's 'standing on the sidewalk, talking to a burning bush'; meanwhile the politicians are selling freedom.

In Steinbeck's novel Grapes of Wrath, Jim Casy describes himself as a 'Burning Busher' -  convincing them others to work together towards a common goal.

The burning bush: a moment full of mystery, human curiosity and divine holiness.

The Jewish poet Yakov Azriel retells the story of Exodus by revisiting the words and finding meaning in the gaps between them:

In the shadow of a burning bush, and in

Its light, we gaze beyond the desert dune...

He paints pictures of not only what the mind sees, but what our hearts and souls intuit; he takes universal themes - the atoning for sin and God's sacred names; he plays with light and shadow and shades of grey. He goes on:

In the bush's shadow, and its light a thin

Unbroken thread of grace is seen...

The Moses we encounter tonight is a shepherd fugitive.  His story is complex. A Hebrew by birth, given up for his own safety and raised in Pharaoh's palace; living in privilege yet aware of the injustice of the regime. His intolerance for abuse and exploitation leads to an act of violence. He's a man fearing for his own life and feared by his own people. 

If this story is already fifty shades darker, then the burning bush is the breaking in of shades of freedom.  God does not coerce Moses; rather he ignites his curiosity.  This isn't a dazzling display of power and glory.  Rather in the shadow and light of an intriguing phenomenon, there's a thin line of grace which enables us to gaze beyond the desert dunes.

Creation is infused with the intensity of God's presence. This is holy ground. In the darkness of exile there are glimmers of light. Moses is called to embody that light of justice; to be one who calls for freedom in the face of systemic oppression. His 'Here I am' is met my the divine 'I am.

God acts through one who burns with a passion for justice; whose endurance thus far is a thread of grace. Shades of grey carries the light of promise. Holy ground is a place of transformation. The tale of wretched slaves and fugitives becomes a story of blessing, of lives marked by hope. 

We too are called to gaze beyond the desert dune. As the scholar Walter Brueggeman puts it: 'the end reach of this text will not come until the last man and woman enacts courage and possibility. A voice from the bush is a flaming warrant for truth to power.'

 

Such a warrant is the essence of the good news of the Gospel. Jesus reaches out the weakest and marginalised; he disrupts the seductive power of selfishness and challenges the false assurance of possessions. He brings light into the darkness when we are wounded and if we retaliate; he brings love when we are criticised and when we judge.

He sees our goodness, the expression of that most excellent gift of charity: we are bonded to each other through our bodies - they express our love and compassion, friendship and support. Bodies are conduits of tenderness, intimacy, care, passion and creativity.

In Jesus, we see the power and cost of God's love for us. His soul is troubled. He reaches a point of anguish - the prospect of his death. He cries out to his Father, and hears words of paradoxical assurance. The moment of dereliction will be the moment of glory.  All that he does reveals who God is. In life and death and risen life sin, separation, desolation are overcome. God's 'I am' plumbs the depths of humanity and raises us up. Love has the final word.

The dehumanising value judgments of this world; the dishonesty that crushes us; the cruelty that breaks our hearts: on the cross the consequences of all that are laid bare.   In its place we see a love that is so generous and  compelling that all are drawn to it.   That is our hope, our ultimate reality. 

We are to walk in the light of that love. The gift and potential of our humanity refracts God's radiant light in the tiniest of gestures and most fleeting exchange. It glimmers in the things that lift us up when we are bowed down.

Communities where people live, work, worship and socialise together, can be extraordinary places of intellectual and spiritual formation; places where we learn habits of kindness, generosity forgiveness and trust. It is a place of security and stability - where we can give and receive love and esteem.

It can be tough and risky.

We live in a world where  our 'success' is quantified in metrics of social influence, research output, degree classifications and career prospects.   We recognise complex pressures at work in us; things we shy away from; the challenges we embrace; our nagging doubts; the colleagues we find difficult.

In Jesus, God meets us precisely where we are, as we are. Here in the stillness, beauty, word and music of our worship. Later in the conviviality of hall; as we go about our lives tomorrow, might there be a shadow of a burning bush.

A place where Jesus' love and humility, his wisdom and mercy break through the barriers we build around our hearts in fear. He continues to reach out to grieving, joyous, fractured and hopeful humanity. He draws us, and people who are nothing like us, to treat others with dignity. That all may find freedom to flourish.

Where do we see glimmers of light amidst the shades of grey?  What is it that ignites our curiosity or arouses our passion for justice?  We are caught up in God's story. We are to be channels of his healing and reconciling love -  directing our time, energy, learning and skills towards goals that transform our world.

To be bearers of the flaming warrant of truth confronts the power of illness, inequality and discrimination.  It's expressed in the way universities have marked LGBT history month; it's reflected in how we raise the profile of charities - including their research, outreach and fundraising.

The thin unbroken thread of grace that transformed Moses runs on.  You have an awesome potential to be agents of change - bringing grace into law and commerce; research and teaching; public service and creative arts.  We are called to walk in the light of Christ, by the power of the Spirit at work in us, revealing something of God's love. We do that moment by moment; conversation by conversation; embodying courage and possibility: the power is real; the story is for ever; the time is now'.

©  Julie Gittoes 2016