Educating the heart

The text preached at the Cathedral Eucharist on 30th July: I'm used to my sermon writing mind alighting on 'curious' connections, but yesterday I ended up re-reading sections of Mark Haddon's 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time'. I vividly remembered the scene where Christopher goes to the Underground for the first time - the noise and wind and waiting for silence. 

Thinking about the Underground made me recall the 'thoughts for the day' posted on customer information white boards in ticket halls. So my train of thought went back to Solomon/wisdom, Paul/Holy Spirit and Jesus' parables - 'the kingdom of God is like...'. The texts were 1 Kings 3:5-12; Romans 8: 26-end; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52.

I could feel a strong wind and a roaring and I closed my eyes and the roaring got louder and I groaned really loudly but I couldn’t block it out of my ears… and the roaring turned into a clattering and a squealing and it got slowly quieter and then it stopped and I kept my eyes closed… and the train started moving and it roared again… and it went into the tunnel at the end of the little station and it was quiet again… and the people were all walking into the tunnels that went out of the little station. 

The London Underground: captured with the words of Christopher, the 15 year old narrator come detective at the heart of Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.

The Underground: overwhelming for Christopher who has Asperger’s Syndrome - who’s never gone further than the end of his road. 

The Tube: synonymous with heat, wind, noise, tunnels, escalators, interchanges, crowds, adverts, buskers,  pushchairs, suitcases, jostling, armpits, swaying, headphones, iPhones and the Evening Standard - read and then discarded.

Perhaps we’ve become immune to sensory and social overload as we navigate by instinct: the discomfort of forced intimacy; grimly avoiding eye contact; standing on the right; rushing by on the left. 

The beep of contactless payment or the frustration of ‘seek assistance’ and finally the thud and clunk of the barriers. 

And then, often in italicised script or in block capitals, we see thoughts for the day posted on customer information whiteboards from from Angel to the Oval, Earls Court to London Bridge.

The anonymous wisdom: Trust that every situation has seeds for growth and opportunity.

Or: The world is full of nice people, if you can’t find one, be one.

Words from John Constable: I never saw an ugly thing in my life… light, shade and perspective will make it beautiful.

Or Aristotle: Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all. 

After the roaring, rushing, clattering and squealing there’s space to reflect on human life and character. What do we want - or need? Is it time to shift our perspective or enlarge our vision? How do we live wisely?

We hear of Solomon’s musings on such questions, not in the din of rush hour but in the depths of his sleep. Prompted by God’s desire to bestow a gift on him, he examines the changes in his personal situation.

First he recognises the great and steadfast love of God; then he acknowledges the way in which his father sought to walk faithfully in obedience to God’s love.  

David may have stumbled and failed but he also repented and found forgiveness. His son is acutely aware the weight of mantel he’s taking on - of his youth, his inexperience and the enormity of the task ahead. 

He knows that wealth, longevity or revenge over his enemies aren’t the answer. Good governance depended on an understanding mind and the capacity to discern what is good.

And that is the beginning of wisdom - to know our limitations, to turn to the love of God and to reflect honestly on ourselves and our situation.  

Few are called upon to national leadership; each of us are called discern what is good. Whether it’s on Chapter or community committee; in family crises and budgeting priorities; in the mundane and the life changing; in the impression we make and the future we shape. 

Sometimes life can be overwhelming - like Christopher’s physical perception of being on the underground platform: we feel at the mercy of forces around us, unsure of what’ll happen next; listening, make sense, responding. Oftentimes, we bide our time - waiting for people and noise to ebb away. 

We understand the wind and roar of the tube; but it’s harder to know how to pray in the midst of weakness, adversity and indecision. Then we, like Christopher, groan audibly or inwardly; waiting for the quietness to descend. 

Breath Of God: Deborah Brown Maher

Like us, Paul groans in weakness - like him we do not lose hope because we trust in God’s loving purposes. Romans is, in part, a clarion call to live wisely - trusting in the power of reconciling love God in Christ and abiding in the Spirit.

God’s great and steadfast love has been made known among us in Jesus Christ. In him, humanity is destined to be conformed to his image. We are called and restored to right relationship with God and each other. Through Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, we are justified: that is, made right with God. We share in this glorious inheritance with a large family. 

This is our hope: nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. All this has been accomplished. We are to live wisely by embodying the implications of the depth of this love, the scope of its embrace, the personal implications and the demands of being part of this new creation.

Wiliam Blake: sketch of the Trinity 

The Spirit helps us to pray: searching out all our fears, distress, vulnerability and hardship; knowing our hopes, loves, opportunities and our heart. The very groans of our hearts are accompanied by the sighs of the Spirit. 

Our groans are translated into most intimate language of God’s breath.

In the noise of our world, and in the sighs of our hearts, we are to have wise and discerning minds. We are to pay deep attention to God’s steadfast love and to the movement of God’s Spirit in our own situations. 

And then, perhaps, we will see something of the kingdom of heaven on earth.

Like the thoughts on the underground, Jesus’ parables are brief, puzzling and memorable. No one image captures what the kingdom of heaven is like; each story educates our heart and shapes our character. Each scenario changes our perspective - enabling us to see beauty in light and shade.  Parables speak of growth and opportunity in every situation, however inauspicious. 

Jesus enlarges our vision through seeds, branches, yeast and flour: the insignificant things which harbour potential for growth, refuge, nourishment in and for the world.

He educates our hearts with a kingdom-vision of joy and delight; which demands our whole-hearted commitment, giving all that we have to make known the love of God. A love that will not let us go.

Jesus shifts our perspective: casting a net which reaps an abundant harvest; reminding us as Canon Andrew did last week of the difference between God’s merciful judgement and the limitations of our judgementalism. 

To be trained for this kingdom, means valuing the old and new; what is given and what is found in our pursuit of God’s loving wisdom.

In this Eucharist, let us pray ‘thy kingdom come: that in the noise we might find stillness, as the Spirit helps us in our weakness; that nothing will separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus; that we, his body, may grow in love, mercy and wisdom.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Grant justice

A sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral on justice and prayer. The texts were 2 Tim 3:14-4:5 and Luke 18:1-8. Parables open up an imaginative space which can disrupt our assumptions and deepen our understanding about what it is to follow Christ. The parable that Jesus tells about an unjust judge and a persistent widow says something about prayer - but perhaps it also challenges us to think about how we enact the call to justice in our lives.

Grant me justice against my opponent.

The widow in the parable that Jesus tells, takes us to the heart of human longing for justice.

That desire was played out in The Archers: when after three years of increasing tension, Helen Tichener received the not guilty verdict we'd been waiting for.  Whether you're a fan or not, the nation was gripped by a story which highlighted the with chilling accuracy the impact of domestic abuse and coercive on control real life Helens.  

Helen's trial: drawing by Julia Quenzler

There was a feeling of sheer relief that the judge and jury recognised Helen as a survivor of serious and sustained abuse at the hands of a manipulative man who chipped away at her self-esteem, undermining her identity and free agency as a human being, subjecting her to physical harm.

Grant me justice, said the widow.

That desire was played out in a powerful speech by the First Lady of the United States. Michelle Obama is a skilled orator with a passion for justice. In a week where a powerful man defended his attitude towards women as banter, she recounted the experience of girls facing obstacles to attend school; knowing some had jeopardized their personal safety and freedom, that others faced rejection by families and communities, she wanted to tell them that they were valuable and precious.

Her words went viral. She said: 'I wanted them to understand that the measure of any society is how it treats its women and girls. And I told them that they deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, and I told them that they should disregard anyone who demeans or devalues them, and that they should make their voices heard in the world'.

Michelle Obama: how do we treat women and girls?

Grant me justice, said the widow; grant justice for the weakest and the most vulnerable; grant justice to those who aren't accorded human dignity because of their age, gender, health, capacity, sexuality, ethnicity or socio-economic status.

And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?

Justice is at the heart of this quirky parable framed on by our need to persevere in prayer; and on the other, by a challenging question about finding faith on earth.

It might seem that it is simply a call to a sort of spiritual 'pester power' in relation to God.

We're told that the judge has no respect for people; that he has no fear or love of God either. He has no sense of responsibility to those on the biblical 'at risk' register if you like: the widows, orphans and others who have a special claim to justice and protection because of they are without security or patronage in society.

We aren't told the nature of the widow's case: her relentless perseverance and determination perhaps belying a desperate need for a wrong to be put right; for justice to transform her material situation and place in society.

If a terrible judge can do what is right to rid himself of person he sees as a nuisance and irritant a waste of his time, how much more will God hear the pleas of those who cry out. So is this parable in part an encouragement to persevere in prayer - for ourselves, for others, for our world - to be relentless is our pursuit of justice? Is it a call to prayer that is urgent, passionate and focused on those who are marginalized?

And yet, there's a niggle which might make this parable even more challenging to us as disciples. 

In our gathering for lectio divina this morning, something of the fresh insight broke in:  finding assurance in offering the cries of our heart to God, however inarticulate or hesitant;  waiting on God and discerning his will for us.  What is Jesus saying to us today? What is he revealing of his love and justice?

Perhaps we can go beyond seeing God as a bigger, better more just judge. For surprisingly,  Jesus puts the word of justice on the lips of a widow. She isn't naming a specific cause - for an inheritance to be restored to her; for a family dispute to be resolved; for a fraud to be put right.

Her claim is to justice; she expresses something intrinsic to God's very nature. She seeks and names the ways of God - and she speaks out for it constantly and consistently.

The widow addresses the judge in a prophetic way: in doing so, she also challenges us.  Is she speaking a word of God in the face of our human tendency to be slow to act when things don't directly effect us? Are we the ones being challenged in this parable - that we might make decisions out of a sense of God's love and mercy; that we might respond to others out of generosity not expediency?

The paradox of our human condition is that we are created in love and for love; created in goodness, freedom and beauty; and yet we are also flawed. We get drawn away from the light of God by the glittering prizes of this world. We can be easily dazzled by power and status; by what we can possess and control. We can be impatient to fulfill our desires; we sometimes fail to act as an advocate for others when they are vulnerable.

But that is not the end of the story, for in all this,  God doesn't stop loving us. He never forgets us; and knows our innermost longings. God doesn't stop calling us back to justice and compassion.  God doesn't simply call us; he comes to be with us. In Jesus, God reveals his way, his truth and his life.  In him we see justice not as abstract principle; rather it's embodied in human flesh. In our human weakness, God's love is made manifest. In all that Jesus did and said, in his death and resurrection, we see the fullness of healing and reconciling love.

And by the power of God's Spirit, God's cries for justice become ours; our cries are his. Prayer is the most risky, dangerous, transformative thing that we can do.  In the words of John Donne, it's in prayer that God approaches us relentlessly. He wrote:

Batter my heart, three person'd God;

for you as yet but knock, breathe, shein and seeke to mend;

that I may rise, and stand, o'erthorow mee, and bend

Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.

In prayer, God works away at us - with a patient, persistent love. God acts on us, in us and through us with the careful force of a chisel on stone; a waterfall carving our rock.  Our heats melt; we are shaped and made new. Last week, some of us heard Archbishop Justin talking about prayer - praying not only thy kingdom come but also thy will be done. He quoted something Pope Frances had said to him: that 'when we pray we make room in our hearts for mercy and grace'.

 Thy Kingdom Come

In prayer, the Spirit breaths new life into us: our cries are God's cries; our lives become channels of grace and mercy. Breath by breath, and moment by moment.  Often that will entail wrestling with the responsibilities that we face.  In our homes and in our work places, where are the cries for justice, for encouragement? In what we do, can we build others up with dignity, in a world so quick to demean based on superficial judgements.

May our hearts be set on fire with love for Jesus. He is God with us - answering our fears, uncertainties, hopes and desires.  Like Timothy, we are urged to proclaim the message of God's just and peaceable Kingdom: encouraging others in prayer; convincing them of the transformative power of God's love. Today we eat the bread and drink the wine of God's Kingdom - as people of faith on earth, in the power of the Spirit, cry out for, pray for and embody God's loving justice, which restores all things.