It involves understanding what might trigger memories of trauma; it means not colluding with authority and silencing survivors. It means attending to what unfolds within IICSA; and praying for all involved in that process. The challenge and calling of being a safe church a theme in my final sermon at Guildford Cathedral; and I’m addressing it now in one of my first at Hendon.
This is the text from Evensong - although the final section is notes, because I spoke without a script at that stage, before ending with a prayer which reminds us that our human character is refined and shaped by coming into the presence of God.
When I was a child, I waited for my mind to grow, for my experiences to accumulate and my choices to solidify, taking shape into the likeness of a person. That person, or that likeness of one, had belonged. I was of that mountain, the mountain that had made me.
So writes Tara Westhover towards the end of her memoir entitled Educated.
It’s more than a coming-of-age story; it’s more than a so-called misery-lit of a tough childhood. It’s an episodic narrative family and identity; it meditates on memory, blurred by violence and the silence that followed it.
It’s set in Idaho part of the heartland of America, yet socially on the edge and economically fragile.
The mountain of which she speak is known as the Indian Princess: the weather, the seasons and Westhover’s home lie in its shadow.
This domestic realm is shaped by other shadows: the shadows of struggling to make a living out of scrap metal; the rejection of modern medicine; the framework of fundamentalist religion; and the disengagement from schooling.
The human shadows loom large: the prophetic imaginations of a father and his tendency it mania and depression; a mother who defers to his authority whilst seeking some sort of independence through essential oils and unlicensed midwifery; the brooding violence of a brother, which is terrifying in its volatility and its predictability.
It is compelling and heart-wrenching, eloquent in its compassion; it's about determination and dislocation; it’s about finding redemption, yes, though a learning and finding a voice. Westhover calls it an education - this child waiting for her mind to grow; waiting for her selfhood to take shape. She muses on the transformation, the process of letting go of guilt, and the separation from parents.
The catalyst for such a separation came down to years of spiritual control and manipulation which culminates with her father saying, 'I will offer, one final time, to give you a blessing’.
She writes of his burning conviction, but what for him is mercy is actually loss of self. She describes the way the silence in the room settled, undisturbed and oppressive. And knowing all that has gone before, the cycles of fear and control, she says to her father, ‘I love you, but I can’t’.
The refusal of his power over her is the true blessing; the mercy is seen in retaining custody of her own mind.
To receive a blessing is a gift of knowing that we are precious in the sight of God: that we are beloved, accepted and valued.
The blessing that God wishes, to bestow on us is a word of life and of purpose.
And yet, as Westhover’s memoire reveals, in human hands words of blessing withheld or threatened deny life and love and purpose.
This is complicated and painful territory.
Some of you may have heard +Philip North talking about the church’s complicity with abuse and the silence covering it up; of his words calling for a spirit of repentance and a review of structures. He and many others are calling for a change of culture away from unhealthy deference to clergy, especially in senior positions.
Instead perhaps we might think in a prophetic and pastoral way about how we listen to and treat survivors of abuse; how we recognise the fruit of power exercised with maturity for the sake of the vulnerable; and to imagine what it is to bless and be blessed - not out of fear or control, but to bring life, mercy and wholeness.
The themes of authority and the nature of blessing flow through this evenings texts too. And perhaps we can find hope and courage through the way in which they reflect both the complexity of our human relationships and the grace of God at work in the world.
Jacob and Esau are twins whose relationship is fraught and contested from the very beginning. They wrestled with each other in their mother’s womb. Esau was born with Jacob clutching at his ankle.
Their mother Rebekah had received a vision or prophecy that the elder would indeed serve the younger - that God’s blessing would be worked out through character and calling undercutting sibling hierarchy.
Prior to the passage heard this evening, Esau had given away his birthright - the promise of blessing - for the sake of a bowl of stew. Returning famished from the field, he acts impulsively and recklessly.
Esau was, however, his father’s favourite. Perhaps that’s why Isaac attempts to reset the natural order of blessing privately. Jacob, on the other hand, was Rebekah’s favourite. Perhaps that is why she conspires in encouraging Isaac’s deception.
What is unleashed at a family level is weeping and fury. It is Esau who stays at home whilst Jacob flees his murderous wrath. He leaves behind the inheritance - an inheritance that was insecure at a human level, and yet assured by God’s promise.
Do read on in Genesis to discover the path that leads to the reconciling of brothers and to the outworking of blessing through subsequent generations. A blessing which takes us to Joseph, through slavery and exodus to freedom in the Promised Land.
Our second reading takes us to the fulfilment of blessing in Jesus Christ. Mark gives us a glimpse into the complication of ‘home-coming’. Jesus had grown up in a Nazareth - a place as marginal perhaps as Westhover’s Idaho in terms of population and social/economic impact.
But it was his home. Having spent time teaching and preaching around Galilee and Capernaum, he returns with his disciples.
No doubt news of his ministry has drifted back to the hill country; and now, having relied on hearsay, those who have known Jesus since infancy, childhood and into adolescence get to see for themselves. They extend a preaching invitation to the local lad who’d gained with a growing reputation.
They are astounded: by the wisdom they here; and by the power of his words.
But astonishment turns to offence: they stumble over the fact that they know him.
It’s a bit like cognitive dissonance: how can this be; we know him? Their assumptions and authority colluded against seeing the love that gives life.
Some were healed: their faith revealing what familiarity hid from others; life flowing from trust in power in words of liberation and blessing.
God’s ways of blessing reach out into our incomprehension and puzzlement; our astonishment and fear.
We are blessed; and we have a responsibility to be a blessing.
That means taking seriously our commitment to safeguarding within this church community; valuing the work of our children's champion and safeguarding office; begin aware of signs of abuse or neglect amongst children and vulnerable adults.
We do this not only to meet the highest standards that the world expects of us; but also to express the values of the kingdom including what is just and merciful. +Philip talked about changing a culture. That includes being aware of triggers and listening to stories; of not silently colluding with abuse of authority.
To be blessed and to be a blessing to others is about enabling people to fulfil their potential - for their true selves to take shape in ways which are about flourishing and life. Coming before God in worship, in penitence and faith, reminds us that our character is formed by encountering the refining presence of God. We need to be courageous in seeking the welfare of others.
I end with word by Francis of Assisi which reminds us of God's holiness; and inspires us to reflect that character:
You are holy
You are holy, Lord, the only God and your deeds are wonderful.
You are strong, you are great.
You are the most high, you are alright.
You, holy Father, are King of heaven and earth.
You are three and one, Lord God, all good.
You are good, all good, supreme good, Lord God, living and true.
You are love, you are wisdom
You are humility, you are endurance.
You are rest, you are peace.
You are joy and gladness, you are justice and moderation.
You are all riches, and you suffice for us.
You are beauty, you are gentleness.
You are our protector, our are our guardian and defender.
You are courage, our are our have and our hope.
You are our faith, our great consolation.
You are our enteral life, great and wonderful Lord.
God almighty, merciful Saviour. Amen.
© Julie Gittoes 2019
