Doubt as productive

16 April 2023 (Easter 2): Acts 2:14, 22-32, 1 Peter 1:3-9 and John 20:19-end

As human beings, we often seek certainty but also find ourselves living with doubts. 

There may be times in our lives when guidance and direction are important; or there might be moments when we need space to weigh the questions, trust our instincts. 

Some of us might be predisposed to ways of thinking and acting rooted in confidence and clarity; others of us may experience decision-paralysis or imposter-syndrome, being all too familiar with doubt.  

Perhaps we say to ourselves ‘I’m not sure’ or ‘I don’t know’ - on the threshold of changes in work or relationships, circumstances. It is rare to hear such phrases in public though.

Someone seeking to change that is Nicola Reindorp, the CEO of Crisis Action. In reflecting on the impact of her own doubtfulness on her career, she decided to explore it in conversation with neuroscientists, counsellors, economists and leaders. 

In doing so, she writes [here] that she ‘discovered another side to doubt that is productive and powerful, not the destructive doubt of paralysis and pain, but a productive form of questioning and discovery.’

In a way, her “rebranding” of doubt makes sense: she puts it at the heart of self-awareness and humility, seeing it as a prompt for curiosity and learning. Doubts enable us to interrogate our own biases driving not only innovation but also inclusion and diversity. 

Does it help us understand Thomas better? He was someone who elsewhere in John’s gospel speaks openly and directly about his thoughts. Questions don’t seem to phase him. So perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us that his faith and belief was also mediated openly, directly and indeed relationally. 

St Thomas - Diego Velázquez

As Rowan Williams puts it: ‘doubting Thomas is often thought of as demanding hard evidence - unless I touch the wounds - and yet it was his encounter with the person of Christ that sparked faith.’

Thomas's doubt leads to a desire for touch; but what he sees inspires his belief, his trust. His testimony opens up space for others to find new purpose, new life. 

A better nickname might be ‘inspiring Thomas’ after all!

Does such a rebranding sit alongside what we hear in our text?

The tomb was empty. The doors were locked. 

Rumours of resurrection were circulating as fears were pressing in.

Into that place of grief-stricken hearts and troubled minds the risen Lord breathes peace.

To the exhausted, troubled and anxious: peace.

To the fearful, questioning and grieving: peace.

To the curious, hopeful and courageous: peace.

The marks of the nails and the pierced  side are visible: the continuity of scars witnessing to the continued presence of the self-giving love of God. 

The one breathing peace was of the Father’s love begotten; breathing peace having been betrayed, denied and beaten.  

Those wounded hands took the sting out of death and now reach out to places of mistrust, pain, disappointment and guilt.

Those wounded hands also reach out with the balm of love to forgive and heal rather than condemn.

But Thomas was not there. 

His doubtfulness means the confidence or charism of the words of others was not enough. He needed to see, to touch, to feel the breath of peace.

Those are productive signs of questioning and discovery rather than a painful paralysis. 

He had to take that doubtfulness into the week of waiting, of talking, eating, praying. 

Did their joy give space for his questions? Did his curiosity deepen their joy? Did their peace soothe his hurt? Did his interrogation prompt deeper fellowship?

The tomb was empty. The doors were locked. 

Stories of resurrection filled the room, fears being dispelled.

Into that place of hearts warmed by conversation, fellowship and prayer another word of peace is spoken. 

There is no rebuke or condemnation - simply an invitation for Thomas to reach out, to touch, to see, to trust.

Doubt becomes worship: my Lord and my God!

Evidence and observation becomes unconditional acceptance.

That is not the end of the matter: all this is for our sake - the words, the stories, the testimony, the breath of peace.

All this is written to assure us that we are healed by the same words; that we might put our trust in the promise of renewed life; that we might know ourselves to be loved, forgiven, restored, made whole and blessed. 

More than that, in the power of the Spirit, the risen Jesus sends us to transmit that love and forgiveness. 

In problem broken bread and outpoured wine, our fragile and fallible bodies are nourished as we are called from penitence to restoration; as we allow love to seep into those locked places of fear. 

This new life is a gift but also a process. The Spirit is at work in us - confronting us those things we hide from and cultivating in us new hope and dignity.

This process is held within our community - the accountability we have to one another before God.  If doubts are about curiosity, self-awareness and humility - if it prompts our learning and the safe space to interrogate our own biases, questions and weakness - then they have their place. 

Together, faith and doubt can be productive: bearing those first fruits of healing, generosity, conviction; rejoicing with those who rejoice, weeping with those who weep.

Hand in hand it staves off those things that paralyse us or hidden growth and change; finding a deeper stability and ways forward that do not coerce, demand or control. 

This kind of questioning and discovery drives the processes of forgiveness: being honest with ourselves and knowing what sets others free; the changes that bring hope and liberation; letting go of habits which cause harm.

For the one who breathed peace was the one who endured the worst of humanity - shame, failure, selfishness and betrayal - and burnt it away in the refining fire of a crucible of love.

Perhaps Thomas and Peter strengthened each other in their faith and witness through the way they tested, challenged and encouraged one another. Certainly Peter’s words - in Acts and in his letter - speak of a liberating hope and new life, which is full of gladness, mercy and love. 

It is a message, as Willie Jennings puts it, that is ‘far more powerful than its messengers’; it is a remarkable message which draws our life from fear to peace. 

Faith and doubt, peace and forgiveness: worked out in prayer, fellowship and breaking of bread for the sake of the world.

As Rowan says: ‘Faith is not just ideas in your head, faith is not just feelings in your heart - faith is the whole of a new life, making a difference to your lives, to your neighbours, to your community, by the grace and the Spirit of God.’

© Julie Gittoes 2023

Forces for change

I'm not a reader of Vogue. I don't think I've ever bought a copy. However, I did come across the September issue for £2; and was intrigued to know how the Duchess of Sussex had got on as a guest editor.  The readings were: Jeremiah 23:23-9; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56

The September issue British Vogue has attracted more attention than usual because of its guest editor: HRH The Duchess of Sussex.

The Duchess writes that she and the editorial team have aimed to go a bit deeper to produce an issue ‘of both substance and levity’. So amongst the glossy, high end advertising there are pages on ethical and sustainable brands; features on heritage and history. 

Meghan’s vision was to focus is on “forces of change”: on women who’ve made an impact or who are, in her words, ‘set to re-shape society in radical and positive ways’. Among them are activists, actors, advocates indulging Michelle Obama, Greta Thunberg and Jameela Jamil.

These diverse change-makers are aged from 16 to 81.

The faces on the cover of Vogue span the generations.

Yet so often news headlines speak of generations at war; of stolen futures or neglected responsibilities. 

Whether its around housing, pensions or job security; culture, technology or how we vote; the cost of tuition fees or social care: it’s all too easy to pit Baby Boomers against Millennials; to treat successes, failures and struggles as a zero-sum game.

One writer talks about the multiplying effect of rapid change: globalisation, the digitisation, housing bubbles and urban transience. He says ‘many older people have deep roots in their communities but few connections, while many young people have hundreds of connections but no roots in communities’ [Alex Smith on the generation gap].

Such generational divides contribute to loneliness and fragmentation. Add to that the multiplying effects of the tensions and uncertainties around Brexit, and irrespective of party politics or conviction, we face a challenging future. Uncertainty of that sort is the hardest thing to deal with. 

Our scriptures present us with challenging words about divisions; and also words of encouragement. 

We are called afresh to live by faith.

Elsewhere, the prophet Jeremiah has rebuked those who cry ‘peace, peace’ where there is none. Today we hear further words of rebuke when prophets fail guide people to seek justice and mercy.

Jeremiah is riled by the vague and seductive of ‘dreams’ which doesn’t touch the needs of the poorest; ‘dreams’ which don’t demand anything of the powerful. Dreams which entice people forget their God; to forget the commandments to love.

The offer of consoling falsehoods is damaging to the fabric of society; claiming the nearness of God yet not responding faithfully. Instead they collude with the lies and deceits of the heart.

God is as near to us as our every breath; and yet, also ‘far off’. God’s nearness can’t be treated as a veneer to our social life; the one who fills the heavens and the earth can’t be contained by our agendas. 

The God of whom Jeremiah speaks is close to those who are far off. This God is with the widow, the orphan and the stranger. 

Jeremiah rebukes to prophets for dreams which lead to forgetfulness and a failure to love God and neighbour. Such forgetfulness divides the generations and fragments society.

Instead, the one who has God’s word speak it faithfully.

This word is a force for change.

Like fire, it burns aware impurities; refining and purifying our hearts.

Like a hammer, it breaks down in justices; strengthening communities across generations.

This word comes to dwell with us in Jesus.

In him is radical nearness, intimacy or proximity: he is with the poor and marginalised and influential; the abused and lonely and the advocate. He is with the child and the widow and the politician; the sex worker and the tax collector and the journalist. He is with the despised and the powerful; the carer and the cared for.

He is with us, saying: the kingdom is near.

He is asking, do you love me?

He is with us, looking on us with compassion.

He is asking, who is the neighbour.

Jesus is God with us yet not contained by us: in our households, workplaces and schools; in our streets, within our political institutions and woven into our social fabric.

Jesus is with us as a force for change.

It isn’t comfortable.

This peace does not imply an absence of division: because it does oppose the injustices and self-interests of this present age.

As Jeremiah expressed, there is a difference between God’s peace and false peace; between the peace which seeks the common good, harnessing the hopes and wisdom across generations; and the peace which colludes with worldly values, deceitfully turning fear into a zero-sum game.

Jesus speaks of his death as a baptism; of the pain, struggle and stress which will be born by his body. For the peace that he brings comes through the shedding of his blood.

He dies to defeat death; he lives to bring new life.

Jesus endured shame for the sake of the joy of God’s Kingdom.

By the cross, heaven and earth are reconciled: God’s love is with us to the end and for ever.

This brings the world to a point of decision: to be seduced by dreams or embrace the Kingdom?

Jesus expresses the choice through the lens of the family.

Family values get interpreted and shaped by wider political and social trends: the hard-working family; the family business; the nuclear family; the family inheritance.

The Kingdom values that Jesus speaks about go beyond biological ties to a vision of kinship where we see others as our brothers and sisters.

Conflicts arise when we witness to that Kingdom because its values challenge personal dreams and deceitful hearts.

This Kingdom is good news for the poor, oppressed and captive; it is at odds with narrow visions of self-interest; it invites us to be forces of change; to advocates and activists for justice, freedom and healing; allowing light to shine in our fragmented world. 

Just as we become adept at reading the signs clear skies and storm clouds, we are discern the signs of this Kingdom in our midst.

We do that by faith.

We do that in the company of clouds of witnesses.

By faith we are to be people of peace; and to be just and compassionate.

By faith, we show strength in weakness; being faithful to the promise of life.

By faith, we are to be with the prisoner, the fearful, the lonely, the grieving.

Jesus proclaimed the nearness of the Kingdom in words of rebuke, encouraging and warning.

He also embodied it: in gestures of acceptance and healing; in acts of hospitality and in being with others.

Among the 15 strong women on the cover of Vogue is a mirror: space to see ourselves as part of this collective.

In this Eucharist there is space to be one with Christ: members of his body, agents of his Kingdom. 

We are to be forces for change.

Today’s collect reminds us what that looks like: our hearts are to be open to the richness of grace; our lives enlivened and enlightened by the Spirit.

We are to be forces for change: loving, joyful, peaceful; holy, strong and faithful.

Our nation needs courageous Christian witness at a time of at best uncertainty at worst crisis. 

As forces for change in every part of our city, how can we make connections and strengthen communities?

Come to this table where the living Christ offers us bread for our journey, for our joys or our tears.

Share this meal together: be the living Christ this week, bringing hope out of despair and truth out of deceit.

Christ calls you by name: in the Spirit, be a force for change.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Eating what's put in front of you!

This is the text of a sermon preached at St Mary's and at Christ Church: I was struck by the phrase about the 70 disciples being told to eat what is set before them; and the sense of peace being shared over food and in a household. The challenges of bearing burdens and being restored in gentleness flow from this sense of deep peace being gifted and shared; a peace shared in households and work places. 

The texts were: Isaiah 66:10-14; Galatians 6:1-10; Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Writing in The Guardian’s food supplement, Yotam Ottolenghi says: ‘now’s the time when we all head outdoors to soak up every last bit of rare sunshine’, so it’s only natural he muses, that we take food outside with us.

Ottolenghi's Summer Feast in The Guardian

The al-fresco options in this feast include spicy pulled pork vindaloo; lime and poppy seed law; mango ice-cream; and summery savoury tarts filled with lamb and courgette; tomatoes and mozzarella; crab and broad beans; salmon and fennel.

It’s mouthwatering fare, but it’s not the stuff of the average hastily assembled picnic of baguettes, cheese and porkpies; nor is it the spontaneous, seize the moment it’s stopped raining BBQ!

But most of our dealings with food and hospitality are not like the glossy magazines. We have family favourites: the meals of our childhood; the recipes we learnt in food-tech; the comfort food we can cook without thinking; the pasta and pesto standby. 

The food landscape we inhabit stretches from Deliveroo to food banks; from indulgence to basic need. The food we take outside with us, might be wrapped in plastic for convenience; consumed in a way which publicly reinforces the pace, isolation and inequality of our food culture.

There’s a line in today’s gospel which takes me straight back to school meals, Saturday tea and a variety of invitations given and received: eat what is set before you. 

What sort of economy of food is this? 

Jesus sends out 70 disciples: they’re officially commissioned or appointed to go ahead of him. They operate as a critical mass of witnesses; dispersed in pairs, walking the roads, covering the ground. 

A striking image of disciples being sent 

Jesus describes this task as a harvest: there’s a sense of urgency and abundance. Time is short; the labourers are few.

There’s risk to this enterprise: they take no money and go with the clothes they stand up in. They won’t be taken for wealthy travellers or merchants; they will be vulnerable and defenceless. They walk the roads, cover the ground prepare the way; and they do so by finding a place to stay.

The place for greeting and witness, for safety and harvest is in the home. The place for encounter is around the table; it’s over food and drink provided for them.

Embedded in Luke’s narrative is a system of mutual relationship. 

Peace is given, received and shared.

This peace is something tangible; something we can experience.

It’s a gift of wholeness, of calm, of bringing together: to begin with such a greeting to offer a physical gift. A gift of being present, or words which create a feeling of belonging. 

Peace isn’t spoken of on the road - but in the home. In the place of birth and marriage, of parenting and intimacy, of family and household. As one biblical writer these ties are ‘disrupted and a new family connected through loyalty to Jesus and through hospitality, is created’.

This peace can rest on and bring rest to the household willing to receive it.

This peace can be rejected and return to the one who gave it; but it doesn’t evaporate or shrink or disappear.

Peace is given, received; shared, returned. 

This is an economy of gift within which we can live and relate and flourish.

Food is part of this peace-able social system: the disciples themselves aren’t to seek out a better offer - rejecting the eastern equivalent of the beans and baked potato in favour of the perfect spinach and ricotta cannelloni!

They are to eat what is provided for them: complaining or pushing food around the plate causes offence.

To eat what is provided to them is not only reward for labour but a seal of new relationship. 

Sharing food in peace is a sign of the nearness of God’s Kingdom. 

The small moments of acceptance, of breaking bread, of fellowship at the table, point towards something bigger.

Breaking Bread Together

There are moments of rejection in this story too: of bread not broken, of quieter tables which point us to the pain of separation and brokenness.

Not every place is receptive to a message of peace; not every seed will bear fruit. 

There are times when we have to let go and move on: shaking the dust off our feet. 

But when the disciples return, what is it that they rejoice in? It’s not proclaiming good news or seeing a change in ordinary homes; it’s not in proclaiming peace or seeing it accepted.

No, it’s the stuff that sounds more heroic: defeating powers of darkness, what we Paul sometimes calls principalities and powers. Jesus’ response reminds them that the struggles of this world are all too real.

Rather than boasting of their own power and taking pride in what they have done, Jesus reminds that God is the source of all insight and power. He reminds them that at the heart of the good news is the work of drawing others into relationship with God. 

By reaching out to the poor and despised; by restoring hope and bringing healing, victory over sin and death is embodied; and in bridging that separation, we are better equipped to overcome our separation with others. 

There is no place for lone-rangers or superheroes in this way of witness: there will always be vulnerability alongside this work of transformation. To sit and eat together, to eat was is provided for us, is one of the most intimate, generous and powerful things we can do. Here we become family.

It is across that table that we build networks of support and friendship, resistance and peace. Over broken bread, light breaks into our lives.

Jesus is invested in who we live in the world now; how we find peace in our own hearts and our own households; how we seek to follow the commandments of God. 

Paul describes this as sowing in the Spirit: not because we are reaping a harvest through our own efforts, but because we are taking our share in God’s harvest. This harvest signals the fulfilment of the Isaiah’s promise: there will be joy and gladness; that we will be nourished and comforted; that even grief and mortality will be transformed.

This is a harvest of the new creation. 

Through the triumph of the cross, this new realm is everything.

At the Eucharist is a place where we come together around one table and break one bread.

Each time we come to this place, we receive afresh a message of peace. 

CNS file photo

We are invited to eat what is put in front of us; what is placed into our hands.

This meal nourishes us here and  now as we find new strength for the journey. We are fed by the life and love of God, given for us in Christ Jesus; we are given a foretaste of the eternal heavenly banquet. 

At the end of the mass, we walk away from this holy place, fed by this sacred food. And often the frustrations and separations of the world confront us more acutely. We get swept up in them. 

The challenge of living and working for the good of all raises challenging questions - what does peace feel like here, what action leads to justice there?  How does this meal change our own households? Whose burdens will we cary this week? Who will be the one to restore us in a spirit of gentleness?

May we who eat what is placed into our hands this day, dedicate our freedom to God’s service: may our households reflect the economy of life-giving love; may we speak and act for peace; for we are a new creation.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Here we are: send us!

The text of a sermon preached at the Cathedral Eucharist on 10 February. I was struck by the way in which Jesus seeks Peter's help; by the experienced fisherman seeing empty nets bursting full in inauspicious circumstances; by the glimpse of holiness in boat. Kenneth Bailey's work on seeking Jesus through middle eastern eyes is so evocative but the text also opened up a response to more contemporary concern for evangelism and what it means for us to tell the story of God's transforming love. The texts Isaiah 6:1-8; I Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Do you remember J. R. Hartley?

He is a fictional character, an elderly gentleman. It’s over 30 years since he captured our cultural imagination in an iconic advert for Yellow Pages.

We encountered him looking for a copy Fly Fishing by J. R. Hartley.  He goes into one second-hand bookshop after another, asking the same question and receiving the same answer. It’s no where to be found.

He gets home. His daughter hands him the Yellow Pages. From the comfort of his arm chair, he continues his search by ringing around. Eventually he finds a shop which has a copy. The last words we hear are some of the most famous in advertising history: 

‘My name? Oh, yes, it’s J.R.Hartley.’

Fly Fishing still features in the top ten ads of all time alongside John Lewis, Levis and Coca Cola. A new generation of marketing experts and advertising creatives, are trying to reinvent or update the impact of the ad using the digital tools at their disposal.

For although Mr Hartley comes from a different age, that basic premise of searching for something remains the same. Instead of flicking through a hard copy of Yellow Pages, we rely on apps, search engines and social networks to track down a particular book, to find a gift or to replace a treasured item.

What are you looking for today?

What is it that we seek?

Some of what we search out reflects basic human need for stability: a living-wage, satisfying work, a regular pension, a place to call home, food and warmth. But our material needs are woven together with our quest for relationship and meaningful intimacy; for emotional support, for people to care about us; for meaning, value, dignity and purpose.

What are you looking for today?

It’s quite possible that we don’t quite know what it is that we seek; and sometimes we don’t realise what it is until we discover it in the unexpected. 

Peter’s experience as recounted by Luke is a bit like that: it brings to the surface all sorts of practical needs and reveals a deeper purpose.

Luke sets the scene: it isn’t the patience and tranquility of a riverbank, which might be at the heart of Fly Fishing. Rather we are drawn to a busy and crowded lakeside. There’s a sense of expectation - people want to listen to Jesus, to hear the word of God. But there’s also a sense of tiredness and frustration - Peter and his colleagues are exhausted after a fruitless night’s work and they want to get on with cleaning and mending nets. 

Jesus looks to Peter for help. He needs his boat to use as a makeshift platform from which to teach; but he also needs his particular skill as an oarsman to manoeuvre the boat and prevent it from drifting too far from shore. 

It’s from this place of confidence within his own world of work that Peter was able to listen to Jesus; in the familiarity and intimacy of his own boat he is caught up in a life-transforming encounter. 

Having taught the crowds, Jesus doesn’t ask Peter to row the boat back to the shore. Instead he tells him to go into the deep water and let down the nets. Given that fish hide rather than feed during the day, this sounded preposterous.  It’s quite possible that, having worked all night, Peter had a few choice words to say about that request. 

Kenneth Bailey, a scholar who invites us to see the Gospels through middle-eastern eyes puts it like this: ‘The very idea that a landlubber from the highlands of Nazareth, who has never wet a line should presume to tell a seasoned fishing captain what to do is preposterous… the order to launch into the deeps in broad daylight is ridiculous!’

Peter's Catch of Fish - Eric de Saussure

Yet, even in his grumpy exhaustion, Peter sets aside his professional opinion and obeys. The result is astonishing. The scale of the catch is indeed miraculous. It is economically lucrative too. All that Peter looks for as a fisherman is fulfilled. As Bailey puts it: ‘This net-tearing, boat-swamping catch can greatly enrich him and his team. At last he has hit the jackpot!’.

Yet, Peter doesn’t look at Jesus as a potential business partner: he responds at a deeper level. There is something here of more value than material gain, commercial success and profit margins.

Peter falls to his knees.

Having addressed his teacher with bravado, he now addresses his Lord with humility.

In the confined space of the boat, with the nets and fish, with the familiar noise and smells, Peter senses that he is in the presence of holiness. 

It is a far cry from the splendour and majesty of the Temple. The whole earth is indeed full of God’s glory; glory revealed in Jesus Christ. 

The Miracle of a Large Catch of Fish

Peter’s works echo those of Isaiah as he acknowledges his unworthiness. He is not only seeing Jesus as who he really is, but he is also being seen. As Jeffrey John puts it: ‘Peter’s words… are the authentic response of someone feeling himself, unbearably, exposed to the glare of this vast, unconditional love. He can’t bear it, he wants to run and hid; yet having known it, he could never let it go. He will give up everything to follow it’.

Jesus reaches out to Peter and to James and John too.  Amazement and fear become the place of invitation into a new partnership; his skills are to be deployed in a new venture.  Jesus takes them from the material world of catching fish to the world of catching people; of drawing them to the new and abundant life found in Jesus.

This is the heart of the good news proclaimed to us and received by us: that in his death and resurrection, Jesus Christ defeats the power sin and death and sets us free to be more fully who we are. 

As Paul reminds us, we come to know this good news because someone passed it on to us: by telling us the story or caring for us; by listening to our fears and hopes; by the way they embodied the attractiveness of God’s love in their own lives; by the way they sought forgiveness and justice, compassion and healing.

This is the very heart of evangelism: to know and show and tell of God’s love. This happens in the middle of our lives - in the places which are as familiar to us as Peter’s boat was to him; in lecture halls and offices, in hospital waiting rooms and our own homes.

St Peter - witnessing to the crowds

Here in broken bread and outpoured wine, the good news of God’s transforming love is retold. In the power of the Spirit we are sent out to tell others of what we’ve known and to see lives transformed.

To be a witness is to understand what others are looking for - hope, comfort or challenge; support, dignity or freedom. It is to respond to that search with a love that turns empty nets into abundant life.

To be an evangelist is tell of what we have experience of God’s love; and each of us is sent in the power of the Spirit to live lives and speak words which tell of that goodness. 

Whom shall I send?

Here we are; send us.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, that all might come within reach of your saving embrace. So clothe us in your spirit, that we reach gin forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you, for your own love and mercy’s sake. Amen. 

© Julie Gittoes 2019