Hope is power

Jeremiah 23:1-6, Colossians 1:11-20 and Luke 23:33-43

Finally, after months of trailers and ubiquitous adverts, The Crown is back for its third season: apparently, the first episode takes exactly one minute and 20 seconds to show us a corgi, which [according to one commentator] is one minutes and 19 seconds too long. Something she’ll forgive because of Olivia Colman.

The words from the lips of Colman’s Queen Elizabeth are:  “Old bat”, spoken as she inspects a new portrait of herself to be used on postage stamps. This austere profile, is designed to convey a sense of majesty, marked the queen’s transition from a young princess to a settled monarch. 

It's 1964, and in the words of Bob Dylan’s song of that same year: the times they are a-changin. 

A General Election is underway. Winston Churchill dies. There’s a a new Prime Minister. There are rumours of Russian interference and of a KGM spy at the heart of the establishment. Beneath the glamour and weight of responsibility  there are scandalous shadows of the Profumo Affair. There are discussions of trust and character, of fabrications and truth.

And in this drama, lavishly blending together fact and imagination, the complicated dynamics of power and privilege, service and duty are woven are played out. They casts light on the world we inhabit: the contradictions and struggles of times which are a-changin’. It could well be 2019 as much as 1964.

Today, as we celebrate Christ the King - the feast of title of this church - the images of thrones and crowns, royalty and power are cast in a different light. 

This feast emerged in the Roman Catholic Church in the wake of the devastation of the Great War: it was in a sense a warning about the ways in which human authority could be both seductive and destructive. It was an attempt to place at the heart of public life the principle that Jesus Christ is the only King.

In the words of our opening prayer: Christ’s kingship is about peace and unity; it’s about enthroning Christ as Lord of our lives; it’s about drawing the whole of creation into the life of worship.

Jeremiah has sharp words for those who are entrusted with positions of leadership. The prophet calls out behaviour which is self-serving; and promises instead to raise up a new king. The Lord of righteousness will come with wisdom and justice, ensuring safety of God’s people.

That Lord doesn’t reign from a throne or palace or parliament: instead our Lord reigns with us in human flesh. God is with us in Jesus reigning in a manger; ruling amidst the messiness of our lives, leading us into God’s kingdom of justice, mercy, compassion and peace.

Today we see the reign of love from the very depths of human sorrow and pain. 

The Three Crosses Rembrandt, 1653

Today we are invited to gaze upon the face of the one who is our Lord: like those in our gospel, we look, and see and respond. 

The inscription over Jesus’ cross is clear: This is the King of the Jews.

It’s an inscription which provokes challenge and questions; silence and indifference. 

Some stood by watching. They keep their distance. 

Some stood by, gambling: casting lists for his clothes.

Some looked on, scoffing: from the position of their own religious leadership, waiting for a sign; for the ultimate miracle.

Soldiers looked on, mocking him. If you are the king, they ask, use power in the way we understand; use it to save yourself;

A criminal looked on: deriding him. Crying out with that same questioning ‘if’; If you are God’s chosen - do something to set me free.

Three ‘ifs’ echoing the temptations of the wilderness: temptations to use power for selfish ends, to impress others or to collude with the ways of the world. 

But there’s another voice. The second criminal. And when he speaks, he sees a different kind of glory and power; he sees victory where there is shame; hope where there is loss.  

He speaks out: ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’

For although our own mistakes and misdeeds are evident, God in Jesus comes to that place of humiliation and shame and brings the gift of mercy and forgiveness.

So often we are caught up in the regrets and stories of our past that we get stuck there.

Or we get so caught up in our own plans for the future, that we are ensnared by mere wishes.

What we do have is this present moment: and there, as he confronts death, this criminal teaches us what really matters. 

A sermon preached at the joint service for Christ the King - celebrating the feast of title at Christ Church. An amazing service - gathering to break bread in worship and break bread in fellowship - expressing what it means to be two  churches and one parish.

Today in the present moment we hear, those precious words of promise: the promise of paradise. This is a moment of hope.

We are invited to embrace this hope.

We embrace this hope as we take into our hands the body of Christ: in the wafer thin fragility of broken bread, we encounter the depth of love and the promise of new life.

As we hear in Colossians: this is what makes us strong; this is the source of our patience and joy. 

The one who is the image of the invisible God; the firstborn of all creation; show holds all things together. This one is with us.

This God has rescued us from the power of darkness; from all those things which distort power and which corrupt love. 

Jeremiah challenges us about the way we exercise leadership: in our homes and in our schools, in our churches and our workplaces, in public service and in our acts of charity.

We are called to bring people together rather than to scatter them; to enable them to flourish in safety rather than leaving them fearful.  

For us, as much as for Dylan, we can be sure that times they are a-changin’. The challenge and invitation is for us as Christians to be confidence and faithful in our witness - calling power to account, yes; but also reflecting the fullness of life and love God promises us now, though the power of the Spirit. 

Perhaps we can reclaim the new slogan adopted by the Guardian: change is possible; hope is power.

That hope is in Christ: so let us celebrate this feast. Rising to challenge of sharing the fullness of love; and the hope of peace and reconciliation. 

Change is possible; hope is power.

He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Change is possible. Christ is king. Hope is our power.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

In turbulent times

This is a sermon preached at Evensong on Remembrance Sunday: the texts were Daniel 6 and Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23.  As I thought about Daniel's faithfulness in prayer, I also called to mind words by Leonard Cohen: 'prayer is translation. A man translates himself into a child asking for all there is in a language he has barely mastered'.  So much of that language we share with Daniel and with our Lord Jesus Christ in the words of the psalms. That thought resonated during Evensong, if if I didn't preach on it!  And, as Cohen so famously sang, 'And even though it all went wrong, I'll stand before the lord of song with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.'  

With a budget of £100 million, it's hardly surprising that the adjective 'lavish' is by almost every reviewer to describe The Crown: the New York Times describes the ten part series as 'an orgy of sumptuous scenes and rich performances'.

And yet, there's a fragility, edginess and humanity in every scene. Queen Mary bluntly tells her granddaughter: while you mourn your father, you must also mourn someone else. Elizabeth Mountbatten. For she has now been replaced by another person. Elizabeth Regina. The two Elizabeths will frequently be in conflict with one another. The fact is, the Crown must win. Must always win'.

There are conflicts between instinct and impartiality; marriage vows and coronation oaths; promises made to a sister and commitment to the church; the business of government and ensuring good governance. It's a world where too much character, personality and knowledge are seen as dangerous.

An ordinary, modest young woman is anointed queen and is adorned as a goddess; or in the bitter words on the lips of the Duke of Windsor: 'we are half-people. Ripped from the pages of some bizarre mythology, the two sides within us, human and crown engaged in a fearful civil war, which never ends. And which blights our every human transaction as brother, husband, sister, wife, mother'.

 The Crown

As the director Stephen Daldry says: 'it's not just the story of a family, it's the story of post-War Britain'. The glamour and possibility of this new Elizabethan age is fraught with catastrophe. Hospitals are at breaking point as a result of the smog; rationing is ongoing; the impact of the abdication looms large; post-War becomes Cold War; the Suez Canal brings crisis and controversy; both Churchill and Eden face loss of power and loss of heath.

Untimely elevation to high office vies with thwarted personal ambition; devotion to public service tests other human loves and loyalties.  What we thought were stable political realities jolt and shift like tectonic plates. We talk of metropolitan elites and those left behind; of experts and popular opinion; the will of the people and parliamentary representation.

This isn't just the stuff of The Crown - in reality or in lavish drama. It's the world as we know and experience it, locally, nationally and internationally.

This isn't just the stuff of Brexit and President-elect Trump. It permeates the life of the church as we grapple with authority, influence and faith in the public square.

This isn't just the stuff of 1918, 1947 and 2016.  It's also the stuff of the Book of Daniel.

The story of the lions' den is more than a dramatic imaginative tale; it takes to the heart of the questions of our time. Questions for church, state and for each on of us as disciples of Christ.

How do we seek stability and God's peaceable kingdom in the mess and compromise of life?

How, in the responsibilities entrusted to us, do we live with integrity and faithfulness as people called by God?

Daniel's working within a system designed to ensure stability - and the security of the king. His service is distinguished by his excellent spirit. His brilliance was a threat to others; his promotion aroused suspicion of corruption. He led a life which was consistent and centred on God; that very steadfastness becomes a means to ensnare him.

An irrevocable ordinance signed by the king would not disrupt his pattern of prayer. When human authority was elevated to serve as an idol, he prayed. Regularly, openly and faithfully. In the mess of life, that is where we find mercy.

In the face of uncertainty, our laments, petitions, and hopes are uttered on our knees; they rise like incense to our heavenly Father. As Daniel found, praying is the most risky thing we can do.  It changes us as we discern God's will and purpose for us; it changes the world as we, in Christ, commit ourselves afresh to love and service.

We hear of Daniel's fate through the words of a narrator attuned to the reaction of King Darius: he faces the implications of human attempts to manipulate and flatter.  Vanity turns to distress. As the ink dries on the page, his own signature leads to condemnation rather than rescue.  And yet, in fasting and sleeplessness he speaks of human faithfulness to God and of God's ability to deliver.  Against all the odds, the blameless is unharmed; the accusers are overpowered.

Daniel In The Lions Den: Briton Riviere

In turbulent times, we justice, peace and stability can seem like a mirage.
It is then that we need to be both steadfast and prophetic in making it real.

In turbulent times, prayer is the anchor of hope.
It is then, we need that anchor more than ever.

In turbulent times, we pray without ceasing.
It is then that our Remembrance is held in God .

President Obama has frequently quoted Martin Luther King's remark that 'the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice'. We speak of the arc of God's kingdom. A kingdom of justice and equity which we only glimpse in our fragile earthly polity.  In Jesus, that kingdom has come near; in his life, death and resurrection, he reveals the end of the story - that love wins. In his own teaching, he uses parables to explain how we are to live in the light of that truth.

So in Matthew's Gospel, Jesus isn't offering advice about how to sow seed effectively. Instead it is explained as a description of the impact of the proclamation of God's kingdom. We are good soil - we are in Christ. And yet, we too are subject to the cares of the world; the lure of prosperity chokes us; the cost of love disillusions us; the fear of lost status hardens authority.

Sower: Vincent van Gogh

In the face of those pressures, the Gospel is more than a story to give our lives meaning; it is to illumine our imaginations with new possibilities. In joy, sorrow or temptation, we are to seek God's mercy in prayer. Only then perhaps, we will act in the world as we should: for we cannot act on behalf of the marginalised if we ourselves are possessed by possessions; we cannot challenge the powerful if we ourselves are enslaved by a desire for power; we cannot serve the vulnerable if we ourselves mask of our own weakness.

For we are called to walk as disciples of Christ, the one in whom love divine  was made perfect in human weakness.

In a turbulent world we are to articulate a vision of God's loving mercy as we exercise the responsibilities entrusted to us. We do that, because in Jesus we see and hear God's 'yes' to us and all creation. May the Spirit strengthen us as we embody with integrity a narrative of fruitful, fearless and forgiving love. May God's radiance bright illumine our us and our world; may those bright beams refracted in us bring hope and joy; transforming church and transforming lives.

 © Julie  Gittoes 2016