Embodying holiness

Preached as a sermon at Croydon Minster on Sunday 29 August. Readings: Deuteronomy 4.1-2, 6-9; James 1.17-end; Mark 7.1-8, 14,15, 21-23

Over the last few Sundays we have heard from the sixth chapter of St John’s gospel. That’s the chapter that opens with the Feeding of the Five Thousand, an event that is ‘unpacked’ as we receive Jesus’ teaching on how he is the Bread of Life and how we participate in his life as we consume the Bread of Life.

 

Eating and nourishing: it’s all very physical; of the body.

 

As Christians, we should know that bodies matter.

 

At the heart of our faith is the incarnation, which is the ultimate in saying that human bodies matter to their Maker, to God. The incarnation tells us that the Eternal Word, Jesus Christ, takes human flesh: that is; has a body, is a body. That’s what St John is saying when he declares ‘the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us’ (John 1.14)

 

That divine body nestles and grows in the womb of the human body of Mary, which is why we honour her so highly as the Mother of God.

 

In John chapter six, and elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus is clear that to participate in his life we need to connect with his body in a physical way, the act of eating.

 

Christianity is not a religion of the mind or intellect disconnected from the body; that’s the way known as Gnosticism which is ultimately body hating. Indeed we declare, in the Creed, we believe in the Resurrection of the Body, in other words one’s soul and body are so intimately connected that God will raise both together.

 

In society today we see signs of body discomfort, to put it mildly. There’s the idolising of the body – think Love Island - and the loathing of the body when people speak of being trapped in a body, as if their body is not part of them.

 

There is a growing separation of body and mind in the Western outlook. It was put a long time ago by René  Descartes who said, ‘I think, therefore I am’. In other words, my thinking is what makes me, me. The limited body is apparently inconvenient to pure thought and reason.

 

The Olympic Games, and now the Paralympics, are fascinating because we see the human body pushed to the extremes of physical endurance, poise and power. But we also understand the intimate connection between body and mind. For the first time many athletes, such as Simone Biles, have spoken of the pressures on their minds as much as their bodies.

 

It rather gave the lie to the idea that if you want something enough, as an act of will of the mind, then you can have it. That is the route to deep frustration and malaise. Do you not want it enough? Or do you blame your body, as if it is something remote from you? ‘My body let me down’.

 

So the relationship between the body and the mind, let alone the body and the soul, is the stuff of philosophical and theological discussion and practical application.

 

That reflection on the body gives the backdrop to how we might handle this morning’s gospel. What is Jesus talking about as he condemns the Pharisees for their outward practices of holiness and cleanliness?

 

First, we should note that the Pharisees were a group within first century Judaism. Often the legalism of the Pharisees has been used to dismiss Judaism down the centuries. Not all Jews were Pharisees, and indeed some of the first followers of Jesus were themselves Pharisees.

 

Pharisees sought holiness in everyday life, what we might call ‘embodied holiness’. That in itself is laudable and good, but as we shall see there is a flaw in the application.

 

The Pharisees wanted to take the holiness codes of the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy that applied to temple priests and extend them to everyone. In so doing the practice became burdensome and, what Jesus really gets at, utterly hollow.

 

When Jesus comments on the practices of the Pharisees it was not the intention but the application that he takes issue with.

 

To hallow everyday life and action by infusing it with a vivid sense of God’s presence is a wonderful thing. Why not this week try and find small prompts in your day to spur you to the recollection of God’s presence so that you can embody holiness. That begins with cherishing the gift of the body God has given you and being at home in it.

 

For me, I wear a cross around my neck. As I put it on each morning I say the words of Jesus, ‘take up your cross daily and follow me’ (Luke 9.23). It is one small action I use to hallow the beginning of the day and intentionally commit myself again to the way of Jesus.

 

Saying grace before meals, a simple prayer of thanksgiving, is another great practice, whether eating alone or in company. It hallows the day and hallows the act of eating.

 

I could go on: prayer before bed, fish on Friday, saying the Angelus morning, noon and night, and such like, in these ‘little ways’, as St Therese of Lisieux called them, we can embody our desire for holiness.

 

There’s a health warning about holiness: it’s what Jesus pointed out with the Pharisees. No one wants to be called ‘holier than thou’. Holiness is never about superiority; that’s where the Pharisees fell short. Holiness doesn’t look down on others but invites them to look up to the Holy God.

 

The pursuit of holiness is what we do! ‘O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness’ (Psalm 97).

 

Holiness connects body and soul. It’s about the inward movement of the heart as much as outward action. When the heart is right, holiness of thinking, speaking and acting will flow.

 

St Benedict counsels, ‘Do not aspire to be called holy before you really are, but first be holy that you may be truly called so.’ (The Rule of St Benedict, Chapter IV, 62 my emphasis).

 

We come now before the Holy God, seeking the holiness that is his gift, so that as we taste the body of Christ, the Bread of Life, we may be one of body and soul and live our lives to his glory.

Temples, bodies, sacrifice & encounter: A Lent sermon

 Preached as a sermon at Croydon Minster. Gospel text John 2.13-22.

 

‘[Jesus] was speaking of the temple of his body’ John 2.21

 

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For centuries the temple in Jerusalem sat at the heart of Israelite religion.

 

The temple was the place of sacrifice and of encounter with the presence of God in all his holiness.

 

Housing the Ark of the Covenant, the very presence of God, the temple’s roots are deep in the story of God’s people.

 

Early on, in the account of the Exodus it is as a roving sanctuary, resting on the journey as the people of Israel moved through the wilderness before entering the Promised Land.

 

Eventually, brought by King David, God’s presence in the Ark came to rest on Mount Zion and his son, Solomon, began the work of building the temple to house God’s presence.

 

Solomon’s temple fell into disrepair when Israel was captive in exile in Babylon. Yet under the priests Ezra and Nehemiah it was restored, and by Jesus’ day it had recently been rebuilt by Herod the Great, taking some 46 years.

 

That brings us to this visit of Jesus to the Temple, as recorded in all four gospels (Matthew 21.12-17; Mark 11.15-19; Luke 19.45-48).

 

Indignant at what he finds Jesus sweeps away the buying and selling which is a spin off from the necessity to have animals to sacrifice in the temple.

 

Some see this as an example of Jesus’ anger, an example of his humanity. On one level that is right - Jesus has assumed our humanity - but it’s not that Jesus is ‘losing his rag’. As the disciples later remembered, it is ‘zeal for God’s house’ that has consumed him: it’s zeal; it’s passion.

 

Re-read today’s gospel and we see that what Jesus is doing, in the tradition of the prophets, is a purposeful, intentional act of resetting the Temple to its original purpose: sacrifice to God is not about trading animals; encountering God is not a commercial transaction.

 

The temple is to be a house of prayer, a place of encounter with the Living God.

 

What is new, and different from the prophets, is that this is a divine visitation on an institution that had become all too human: as the prophet Malachi had said, ‘the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple’ (Malachi 3.1).

 

The stone-built temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70AD, some forty years after the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. So where is the temple now? So where is the place of sacrifice now? Where is the place of encounter now?

 

The clear statement of our gospel today is that the temple is a temple of flesh: the temple of Jesus’ body. So, that’s the place of sacrifice; that’s the place of encounter with the living God. The Body of Christ is of course profoundly what the church is: you and me together, who feed on the Body of Christ in the sacrament.

 

This is the place of sacrifice, Jesus Christ gives his life that we might live. Jesus Christ is both priest and sacrificial victim: ‘worthy is the Lamb once slain’ (Revelation 5.12), not a lamb traded in the temple precinct, but the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.

 

The temple is not abolished by Jesus but transformed and relocated in his flesh.

 

Read the letter to the Hebrews and the Revelation to John and you see that the temple, recast by Christ, feeds the Christian life and imagination.

 

In its cleansing, the liturgical life of the temple - its rituals, customs, sacrifices and services - are transformed by Jesus and embraced by the church, not to exploit God’s people but to feed them.

 

So, then, where sacrifice and encounter with God take place there is the temple. In Christ this is a temple cleansed and fit for worship.

 

So as Christians when we speak of the temple we speak of Jesus Christ, we speak of our church building and we speak of ourselves.

 

Our church is a temple, a place of sacrifice – where lives are offered and life is received – and this holy place is a place of encounter.

 

And you are too.

 

As St Paul says, ‘Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?... God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple’. (1 Corinthians 3.16,17).

 

Christ’s Mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary, is the pioneer of this reality. The power of the Most High dwelt in her body, she gave her body – her human body, her woman’s body - as the Lord’s temple; her life was opened to receive his life.

 

This all points to the reverence and honour we have for the body as Christians: we believe in the resurrection of the body, the ultimate statement of optimism about human bodies.

 

So we reject the separation of body and soul, the ancient heresy of Manicheism, which sees the soul as too good or pure for one’s body; the body is seen as a terrible encumbrance on a free spirit, and it means life is only lived through the body and physical gratification. That is the path to self-loathing. It afflicts many in our culture today.

 

We are body and soul together.

 

Christ visits the temple of our bodies and as we pray in Lent, ‘wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin’ (Psalm 51.2). That is a prayer that Christ might purge us, turn over some tables and upset some of our cosy bargains with God, so that we can become more truly people of sacrifice, offering our lives to Christ, the Lamb of God, that he might give us life in this bloodless sacrifice of the Eucharist.

 

Let us pray that we might be worthy temples of the Holy Spirit, a worthiness which is not earned but is Christ’s gift, in the words of the Book of Common Prayer:

 

We offer and present unto thee, O Lord, ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice unto thee; humbly beseeching thee, that all we, who are partakers of this holy Communion, may be fulfilled with thy grace and heavenly benediction. (Book of Common Prayer, Order for Holy Communion)

On Being Present: A Candlemas Homily

Preached as sermon at Croydon Minster on the transferred feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple.

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The feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, the scene described in today’s gospel, ends the great liturgical cycle of the Incarnation - from Christmas to Candlemas - 40 days of intensive focus on the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ, Son of God, Son of Mary.

 

At the heart of today’s gospel is presentation and reception. Christ is presented by Mary and Joseph; received by Simeon and Anna.

 

That action repeats in the liturgy of the Eucharist: Christ is present in word and sacrament and presents himself to be received by us who present ourselves in the temple to receive him.

 

But being present in the temple these last 10 months is not open to everyone. For very good reason some are present but in a virtual way.

 

The ideal is always to be physically present in church receiving the Body of Christ, being the Body of Christ, just as Jesus Christ was present in the flesh as Emmanuel, God with us.

 

But being present is not only about physical presence.

 

In the world of work and in schools a well-known problem is the opposite of being present and that is absenteeism. If you’re absent you cannot produce, you cannot engage.

 

There is another problem at work, at school, and in church, which is rather different but has the same effect. That is known as presenteeism. That’s when you’re present but not attentive, not engaging, or as they might say, ‘the lights are on but no one’s at home’.

 

In a pandemic being present, physically, emotionally, spiritually is hard.

 

This is desperately hard for us all at the moment. I know it myself some days, and I know others do too. As a spiritual condition it’s known as akedia of which some features are: listlessness; the inability to get motivated or engaged; putting off what could be done today to an indeterminate tomorrow; a vague questioning of God’s presence with us; lack of confidence about what the day will bring and what its point is.

 

There’s so much more to this than ‘Keep calm and carry on’. This is a spiritual issue demanding a spiritual response. It is about looking for moments fulfilled, not just ticking off the days on the calendar or clock watching; it is about seeing each new day as a gift to us and living it as far as we can to the full: you could use the opening words of Morning Prayer each day:

 

As we rejoice in the gift of this new day, so may the light of your presence, O God, set our hearts on fire with love for you, now and forever. Amen.

 

There is so much more to say on this theme, but for today let’s turn back to the Gospel reading to see what is going on. Simeon and Anna - tired, blurry eyed and feeling time was running out on them - are both patient yet eager eyed for God. Their hearts desire. Their hope and expectation is fulfilled. And they are ready to ‘move on’ fully trusting that God is present with them, in living and in dying.

 

May this Candlemas be a time when our spirits and sight are renewed and, knowing Christ to be present in our lives, may we present ourselves to him in faith and hope and love.

 

'This is the Christ' A homily for the Baptism of Christ

 First preached as a homily at Croydon Minster 10th January 2021.

‘This is the Christ, the Chosen of God,

the one who will bring healing to the nations’

(Antiphon to the Benedictus in Epiphany, Common Worship: Daily Prayer)

 

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‘Behold!’ - says John the Baptist – look, feast your eyes: this is the Christ.

 

Today, at the river, John fulfils his title and baptises Jesus in the waters.

 

In water - the signifier of life, creation and renewal - is where your rebirth, and mine, takes place.

 

Baptism washes us clean from sin and we are born into the life of Christ. So Jesus does not need baptism from John, except to reveal himself to us, to make the waters holy and to promise abundant life.

 

Here is the life of the Blessed Trinity. The Father-Creator speaks; the Spirit descends - as at the creation – and the Word, from the beginning, in flesh stands in our midst.

 

The divine life is seen on earth so that human life may be transformed and renewed, reflecting the ways of heaven which is now torn open so that we can see God’s ways, the ways of heaven.

 

Life in Christ means that we are set on fire with faith, hope and love which flows from God, within and amongst us, spilling out into the world which is already his. His grace flowing before us transforms, renews and heals his distorted and disfigured creation.

 

The Baptism of Christ reveals that if anyone is in Christ there is New Creation (cf 2 Corinthians 5.17).

 

The light of the first day of the Creation shines out today, because ‘from sunrise to sunset this day is holy, for Christ has risen from the tomb and scattered the darkness of death with light that will not fade’ (Preface for Sundays in Ordinary Time, Common Worship).

 

And now, heaven is torn open, bread is broken, hands outstretched and Christ’s body presented to us afresh so that again we are transformed, renewed and recreated in his love.

Come closer: overcoming fear and isolation

‘The water that I will give will become in you a spring of water gushing up to eternal life’. (John 5.14b)

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‘Quarantine. Contagion. Social isolation,’.

We’re hearing those words all the time at the moment.

For some people they are reassuring words because something is being done in the face of a threat and something we don’t understand. For others they are a gross overreaction to something that is no worse – surely? they would say - than the ‘flu.

Each person will have their own take on that, and for many people there is either a resigned sense that these things have to happen or a sense that as long as things are in proportion then we should do what it takes.

Here at the Minster we are being careful to minimise any risks especially to those people who have underlying health issues or are very frail.

But what is really important is that, unless absolutely forbidden at some point in the future, the church will remain open for prayer, and divine worship will be offered.

And that is not simply a pragmatic decision.

If we are open to God and to our neighbour then we want our church to be open to both. In times of adversity an open church is a sign of the presence, commitment and hope of God reflected in the life of those who follow in the way of Christ.

What we keep open are the wellsprings of God’s love, warmth and hospitality: contagion does not isolate us from the One who loves us.

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Yet, Christians will feel uncomfortable about words like quarantine, contagion and social isolation, not on medical grounds but on theological grounds because they threaten key gospel values. Let me be clear that I am not criticising wise advice about how to respond to the Coronavirus, but rather what underlies our spiritual disposition and response to it.

In the face of quarantine, contagion and social isolation the way of Jesus tells us:

1.     do not fear;

2.     do not neglect to meet together;

3.     do not exclude anyone.

Do not fear. Of course we need to be wise in our actions and behaviours, but if we operate out of our fears, whether in the face of this virus or in any aspect of our lives, then we turn in on ourselves and we whither spiritually.

So in the face of adversity let us root our assurance in God and consider and plan how we respond from a place of confidence not fear.

To that end a pastoral plan is in place so that those who are isolated or lonely can be contacted. And that can be done by anyone. If you are staying inside why not ring others; they will benefit from that, and so will you. Let’s be really intentional in supporting one another. Might it even be that this virus can bring us closer together as a church, albeit initially over the phone?!

Do not neglect to meet together The letter to the Hebrews says, ‘do not neglect to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encourage one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching’ (Hebrews 10.25).

A reason we find words like quarantine, contagion and social isolation uncomfortable is because we are social animals. We need to be together. Christians are never Christian alone. Fellowship is rooted in being one in the body of Christ.

This current time of the virus should make us cherish all the more the value of being together as God’s holy people in worship. It’s when we’re unable to come together that we realise the benefits of doing so.

That’s our challenge over the coming weeks if people are quarantined, that they don’t feel cut off from fellowship and encouragement. So as and when you ring people pray for them. It may feel odd, but you can pray over the phone with them.

Do not exclude anyone. The priority of inclusion is very much more than a secular imperative: it is rooted in the Gospel imperative that goes deep into the heart of Jesus’ ministry which we see exercised in this morning’s gospel reading (John 4.5-42).

The words quarantine, contagion and social isolation could be applied to the woman Jesus encounters at the well. She is a foreigner, an outsider, of dodgy religious credentials: as the text reminds us, Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans (v. 9b). And she has dubious morals and a complex personal life (vv.18).

All the evidence points to this woman being in a form of quarantine and certainly socially isolated.

She is at the well at noon. In a country like Palestine people don’t go to wells in the middle of the day, you do that first thing in the cool of the day.

And you don’t go alone, unless you somehow transgress norms and what is acceptable. And as a Samaritan woman who is unmarried yet living with a man she certainly falls in that category.

And her behaviour is viewed in that time as potentially contagious itself, and to be avoided.

Yet Jesus talks to her, sits down with her, drinks with her and offers her living water.

And the disciples see this as astonishing.

The woman’s encounter with Jesus - the one who saw deep into her heart and her life - has drawn her out of her quarantine, shown her, and society, that she is not immorally contagious and she is socially re-integrated.

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So be prudent and follow the advice, but also remember that on a deeper level you are not quarantined from God; the shortcomings of your life are redeemed by drinking the living water of Jesus Christ and in that you find yourself in healthy relationship with others.

And likewise the gospel reminds us never to quarantine, write off or socially isolate those we find unpalatable, uncomfortable, odd or not like us.

This is Christian mission today too. Through this encounter Jesus demonstrates both the unrestricted, flowing compassion of God and from God’s wellspring she tells others to drink of the living water and they drink such that they can say, ‘this is truly the saviour of the world (v.42b)

‘The water that I will give will become in you a spring of water gushing up to eternal life’. (John 5.14b)

An Epiphany Sermon - Souls & Bodies: Journey to Bethlehem

This sermon was prepared for the Parish Eucharist at Croydon Minster, Epiphany 2019  but in the end not preached, as more (?Better) inspiration moved me to speak without notes...

‘Arise, shine for your light has come… And you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice’ (Isaiah 60)

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The Magi - wise seekers after truth - have come to their journey’s destination. They have followed the star and arrived in Bethlehem.

As a token of this we have placed their figures in our crib, and next Sunday in the evening, through scripture, prayer and music, we will reflect more deeply on the gifts they bring and on the wider themes of Epiphany.

To get to Bethlehem the Magi set aside time, money and effort to make a potentially perilous journey.

Gold represents the majesty of Christ, and, you could say, the cost of their journey; frankincense represents Christ’s divinity, and the spiritual dimension of their quest; myrrh foreshadows Christ’s death, as it is used for anointing dead bodies, and it tells us of the dangers the Magi went through to get to Bethlehem.

Their arrival in Bethlehem was an ending: they had reached their destination. But it was a beginning too. Things had changed; they went home, but by a different way, breaking new ground; life could never be the same again.

The Magi reflect the deep human propensity to want to seek out new things, to discover to explore. This impulse starts early: over Christmas we had niece and nephew aged 4 and 6 staying with us; say no more!

It continues into adulthood. The news over the last few days has been filled with human pursuits and searching: NASA’s ‘New Horizons’ interplanetary space probe; the Chinese landing on the far side of the moon.

Little children, the Magi, NASA, the Chinese space programme and all of us share the same impulse to explore, to gaze up into the heavens and see possibilities beyond what is immediately obvious or just there. (Of course for NASA and the Chinese there are other motivations too about power and domination).

This is of feature of the journey of faith.

‘The heavens are telling the glory of God’ (Psalm 19.1) says the psalmist. In the heavens the Magi saw, a star that would lead them to God’s glory, but not where they expected it.

Many people today identify with journey, with quest, with seeking. The metaphor of life as a journey is a very powerful one: after all, Jesus described himself in journeying terms, ‘I am the way, the truth and the life’; the Church is often described as ‘God’s Pilgrim People; and Christianity was first known simply as the ‘Way’.

Many people today, though, journey after an imperceptible something, not even as tangible as the star, no longer trusting that they can ever find a place to rest and be renewed.

This is encapsulated in the phrase often heard, ‘I am spiritual but not religious’.

That phrase – which needs addressing - captures the zeitgeist of our times. ‘I am spiritual but not religious’: it says, I want to have a sense of something wonderful, but I don’t want to be pinned down; I know there’s more to this, but I can’t trust the answers that others have found to be true; I seek after truth, but can’t trust that there is even such a thing as truth.

It begins to reduce being human solely to what is thought to be a spiritual quest and wrenches that experience away from our bodies. It means that there is a difference between how I feel and what I do. And the body is less and less valued.

To reduce being human solely to an unembodied spiritual quest means that I don’t need anyone else, it becomes essentially most lonely and introspective. As Archbishop Rowan Williams suggests, spiritual death is when life is shut in on itself. This is a huge burden to place on ourselves.

The most perilous, fearsome journey known to man is the journey into the human heart and to be at home in our mortal bodies.

There is a great divorce in Western culture, emanating from the thought of Plato, which seeks to separate out body and soul. This hasn’t always been helped by some strands of Christian thought over the centuries which has been suspicious of the body and implied that the ‘spiritual’ is more pure. This leads to us getting tied up in knots about purity, sexuality and physicality.

In society this body/soul split has accelerated such that the body is perceived to be an encumbrance on the true ‘me’ inside. It’s the disembodied spiritual quest and yearning. This can led to all sorts of pain and a sense of being ill at ease with one’s own body and, at its extremes, to the tragedy of bodily self-harm let alone the ways human bodies are also cheapened by others through violence, torture and pornography.

To be human is to be body, mind and spirit all together and to be called into relationship with other people and with God, the source of our life and hope.

Religious faith seeks to locate the spiritual life in the body with practices that shape and are shaped by faith, faith in the truth that finds us before we find it. This is about life turned out from itself towards God and towards others, whilst cherishing the God-given body that we have.

Christianity is nothing if not about our souls, our minds and our bodies. We draw this directly from the great Christmas gospel of the first chapter of St John’s gospel, ‘The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us’: God’s truth, Jesus Christ, finds us before we find him.

Jesus Christ inhabits a human body; is a human body. The Magi’s spiritual quest is met in the reality of a human body that can be seen, touched and held. And in this body dwells the full presence of God. The glory of the Creator and the wonder of creation are here, in Jesus Christ.

The star led the Magi to something, someone, very specific, tangible and embodied: God in Christ. This is what our faith leads us to this morning as we come on our spiritual and religious journey to meet him afresh in his Word and in his Body.

We come to worship and to adore and to offer not gold, frankincense and myrrh but ourselves in his service.

‘Arise, shine for your light has come… And you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice’ (Isaiah 60)

'Bearers of Christ the Living Bread to a hungry world' A homily for Corpus Christi

A homily preached at Guildford Cathedral on the Feast of Corpus Christi, 31st May 2018.

+ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today is one of those propitious days when two great celebrations of the Church Year converge. Today is the feast of Corpus Christi, the Day of Thanksgiving for the Institution of Holy Communion, which always falls on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday.

Today is also the 31 May, on which falls the celebration of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary to Elizabeth. The actual celebration of that feast will come tomorrow, it having been bumped a day by Corpus Christi.

So how might the two connect, and each give an insight into the other?

I invite you to picture two images.

Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament at Croydon Minster

The first image for your mind is of the monstrance in which the Consecrated Host is placed for the Eucharistic procession and benediction. It is simply a receptacle – albeit a rather splendid one - that enables us to see and focus upon the intensity of the Lord’s presence in the Eucharist.

The second image is the one printed on the front of your order of service. It is the ancient image known as the Virgin of the Sign. It shows the Blessed Virgin Mary displaying Christ just like a medallion; you could almost say that in that icon Mary is a monstrance, displaying Christ so that people may see and believe.

'Virgin of the Sign' or 'Virgin Orans'

But Mary was more than a receptacle to carry or to display something. As St John’s gospel tells us ‘the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us’. God’s full presence dwelt in Mary’s womb, such that from her he receives the very humanity that each one of us shares.

The Word made Flesh dwelt in Mary’s womb: gestating; growing; and being nourished by her body.

Christ, the Living Bread, first knew nourishment from the body of his Mother, receiving her lifeblood through the umbilical cord; now he nourishes his Church through his body and blood, in the power of the Holy Spirit.

So for nine months Christ was carried; Christ was hidden.

Whilst hidden in Mary’s womb Christ was nevertheless present. The account of the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth makes this clear. Elizabeth greets Mary saying, ‘Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb’. And John the Baptist - himself still hidden in his mother’s womb – dances for joy before Christ’s presence.

John’s leaping echoes the way in which King David danced and leapt before the Ark of the Covenant, which bore the presence of Yahweh, the LORD, which had preceded the Israelites on the sojourn of the exodus from Egypt. The ark was being brought into Jerusalem and ‘David danced before the LORD with all his might’ (1 Samuel 6.14).

In visiting Elizabeth Mary had out with haste to a Judean town in the hill country bearing Christ up hill and down dale to her cousin’s home (Luke 1.39). Christ in her had been recognised, honoured and adored.

Mary journeyed and tonight we process, as many will around the world, with Christ in our midst and visible in the Blessed Sacrament. The monstrance will be our ark.

Christ, in the Eucharist, will be carried through marble floored churches, across fields, around churchyards, down footpaths beside busy dual carriageways, as one church I know in Leeds will be doing tonight.

In some parts of the world that procession will be accompanied by dancing, some by formal processions, some by rose petals strewn along the way.

God moves and travels with his people, sometimes hidden, and sometimes made manifest and visible.

The challenge of all this is to see how we bear Christ in our lives in a world that oftentimes does not wish to see Christ, cannot see Christ or looks away at Christ’s presence: the world avoids Christ’s gaze.

The challenge of this is for us to see Christ both visible and hidden in the lives of other people.

The challenge for us in this is to be more than walking monstrances - simply receptacles - however splendid or beautiful we are, and to be more after the example of Mary: those who accept Christ into our lives, growing and taking form within us; to be like Mary of the icon, people from whom Christ shines out, with her, our hands lifted in prayer and praise of God. Therein lies human dignity and beauty.

‘Give us this day our daily bread’. Tonight we stretch out our hands to receive afresh the bread of life, the Body of Christ. The presence of the bread of life, hidden and made manifest in our lives, will transform us, help us to grow, open us to God and open to all people.

And then we move: bearers of Christ the Living Bread to a hungry world.