Full of compassion, and mercy, and love

First preached as an Evensong sermon at Croydon Minster on the Fourth Sunday of Lent. the readings were The Prayer of Manasseh and 2 Timothy 4.1-18.

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Our first reading tonight was from a book called The Prayer of Manasseh. It’s a little known text. It comes from the section of the Bible that is neither the Old Testament nor the New; a collection of books mostly written in Hebrew and Greek, that dates from before the time of Christ - and that seems well known to him - known sometimes as the Apocrypha or the Deuterocanonical Books of the Old Testament.

‘Apocrypha’ simply means ‘hidden writings’ and ‘deuterocanonical’ means ‘second canon’, or ‘second collection’, in other words another collection of books in addition to the Old and New Testament.

Some churches, mainly Protestant ones, don’t accept these books as Holy Scripture at all, and others, notably the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches do. The Church of England, as ever, sits in between, stating “and the other [deuterocanonical] books (as Hierome saith) the Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine” (Articles of Religion).

What does that mean? The deuterocanonical books are not full blown scripture, so you can’t derive doctrine from them, but they are inspired and inspiring as we life out our Christian lives.

As an aside the Church of England does use deuterocanonical books in its services, the Canticle the Benedicite, Omnia Opera – ‘O all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord’ - sung at Mattins in the Book of Common Prayer comes from the deuterocanonical text, The Song of the Three Children: did you know that was a book of the Bible?! And the Prayer of Manasseh itself is used daily at Morning Prayer during this season of Lent.

The deuterocanonical books have then a special status, not just works of poetry or myth; and, even if not decisive for Christian doctrine, they can be used in praise and worship.

In our second lesson St Paul warned about straying away from true teaching and frameworks, which is essentially what doctrine is, and that some people may have itchy ears and will believe anything they’re told.

As the writer G.K Chesterton once noted, “When [people] choose not to believe in God, they do not thereafter believe in nothing, they then become capable of believing in anything.”

I am glad to say that the Prayer of Manasseh is in no doubt about God, and God’s compassion, mercy and love.

That is the heart of doctrine, our understanding of God.

Doctrine is not a set of unrealistic, rigid rules that we cannot possibly live by; rather it is the distilled wisdom of the ages, drawn from contemplation of God, which releases us and frees us to embrace the compassion, mercy and love of God.

When we cut ourselves loose from that, as Chesterton warns, we can be like a ship with no rudder, drifting around, and unable to cope with the storms that life throws at us. Or we are like a climbing plant that has no trellis to hold on to and wrap around; we sway in any breeze and snap.

Sadly the word ‘doctrine’ has been caricatured and is probably more associated today with the idea of unacceptable ideas being forced on people.

The Creeds that we say each night at Evensong and at the Eucharist are themselves statements of doctrine that articulate our faith and understanding of God, without being contracts with legal clauses and sub-clauses.

Ultimately all doctrine leads us back to God. It is a far more intricate ecology than a legalistic set of statements: doctrine makes its fullest sense when we are at worship, in prayer and acting in loving service, always bringing us back to the very heart of God, made visible in Jesus Christ and sustained by the Holy Spirit.

Manasseh’s prayer is a meditation on the human relationship with God, wondering and delighting in God’s creative power known throughout the ages.

The mercy that flows from God is immeasurable and unsearchable for human beings but is knowable in God’s compassion and mercy towards us. And this mercy extends to God’s capacity to forgive and to be grace-full even when utterly unmerited by us.

Indeed, as Jesus says, the one who sins more knows more the forgiveness of God (Luke 7.47), not that, as St Paul reminds us that we should sin just so we know more of God’s grace! (Romans 6.1).

The task of doctrine is to draw us into the depths of the loving mercy of God. As has ever been the case, there are many distractions and breezes which can appear very attractive, easy or fun, that can blow us off course or blow us over.

A constant recourse to the Divine, loving heart of God will root us and help us to grow. The wisdom of Holy Scripture, articulated in the Prayer of Manasseh, in the proclamation of our patron saint, John the Baptist, and lived out in this time of Lent, is that when we turn earnestly to God in penitence, praise and wonder we will know his forgiveness, compassion and grace.

As the Prayer of Manasseh put it:

Unworthy as I am, you will save me,

according to your great mercy.

For all the host of heaven sings your praise,

and your glory is for ever and ever. (Manasseh 14b, 15b)

Ash Wednesday: Taking Hold of Life

A sermon first preached at Croydon Minster on Ash Wednesday 6th March 2019.

‘Take hold of the life that really is life’ (1 Timothy 6.19)

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The season of Lent is, at its heart, a journey into Easter.

And that means it is a journey into

the mystery of Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection:

what is known as the Paschal Mystery.

And that takes us to the very heart of the mystery of faith:

            Christ has died,

            Christ is risen,

            Christ will come again.

The Paschal mystery shapes

            and defines

who we are as Christians.

Created out of dust,

like all humanity,

- of whom Adam is the representative figure -

God’s life, has been breathed

into our nostrils.

This breath,

            in Hebrew nephesh,

is the life breath that animates us

and gives us life

in Adam.

It is the Holy Spirit

breathed into us in the sacraments

            – baptism, Eucharist, confirmation and penance among them –

that gives us life in the New Adam,

Jesus Christ.

As St Paul says,

in a verse of the first letter to the Corinthians,

a verse we know as an ‘Easter Anthem’,

‘In Adam all die: even so in Christ shall all be made alive’ 1 Corinthians 15.22

‘Dust you are and to dust you shall return’.

            Those are words said in the Liturgy of Ash Wednesday,

            as the sign of the cross in ash is made on our foreheads.

‘Dust you are and to dust you shall return’.

We are not left in dust and ashes

– ‘turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ’ –

but rather in the dust and ashes

of human existence and awareness of mortality,

God’s breath gives life,

as he breathed over the Valley of Bones

            in Ezekiel’s vision

and animated them,

and brought them to life.

We are not left in dust and ashes,

            but given a new and glorious body

            within Christ’s body, the Church.

This is a journey, then, that confronts mortality,

            and faces it down.

Lent takes us from dust and ashes to new life in Christ.

This Lent here at this church we will spend some time in the company of the prophet Jonah.

Jonah is a deeply human character,

and the book of Jonah is a short and whimsical read of his ups and downs.

We might recognise parts,

of ourselves in Jonah.

Jonah is called by, but runs away

            from God.

In that flight

            Jonah is caught up in the storms

                        of life.

Jonah knows what life is like at rock bottom:

            ‘the waters closed in over me;

the deep surrounded me;

weeds were wrapped around my head’. (Jonah 2.5)

But Jonah knows redemption,

            scooped up by the great fish,

            in whose belly he was for three days.

Even after that miracle,

            he experiences bewilderment and anger

            when his own expectations

            and machinations of missionary zeal

            go awry.

In the end he finds shelter from God,

            a bush,

which then withers away

and Jonah is again angry

with God.

There is no neat resolution to Jonah’s story,

            and neither is there to ours.

Yet in the Gospels

Jesus speaks

            of the ‘sign of Jonah’ (Matthew 12.39; 16.4; Luke 11.29-30).

It is that sign that we have an opportunity to explore this Lent.

At risk of giving spoilers… this sign of Jonah

is about the call to repentance and amendment of life;

this sign is about hearing God’s call and claim on our lives;

this sign is about understanding mission

            to be God’s task

            in which we participate

not manufactured by ourselves;

this sign is about knowing how to navigate the depths of our experience;

this sign is about knowing our utter dependence

            on the mercy and grace of God.

St Paul says:

            ‘take hold of the life that really is life’ (1 Timothy 6.19).

The sign of Jonah

points us to God’s capacity

            in Christ

to scoop us up, die with him and be raised with him

in the waters of baptism and new life

so that we can

‘take hold of the life that really is life’

The sign of Jonah points us to a challenge.

The challenge is this

that we do not go through

and then end Lent

in dust and ashes,

like Jonah, grumpy and resentful,

but prepared, expectant and alert

to the purposes of God

            in our lives and in our world.

The Church,

in her great wisdom,

discerns that through

‘self-examination and repentance;

by prayer, fasting and self-denial;

and by reading and meditating on God’s holy word’

(Common Worship: Times and Seasons, The Liturgy of Ash Wednesday)

we can rise to this challenge

and come to celebrate Eastertide

by ‘taking hold of the life that really is life’

            in Christ:

our incarnate, crucified, risen and ascended Lord,

to whom be all honour, glory, and power

to the ages of ages.

Amen.

Wheat & Tares: Reflections on judgement and judgmentalism

First preached as a sermon by Canon Andrew Bishop at Guildford Cathedral Sunday 23 July, 2017, Sixth Sunday after Trinity. Gospel text, Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43

‘Let anyone with ears listen’ Matthew 13.43

In nomine Patris…

The parables that Jesus told his disciples and the crowds who followed him are multifaceted. On first hearing they are deceptively simple, and certainly memorable. Many, but not all, have an obvious and apparent meaning. But a second hearing, or reading, makes us realise that there is a whole lot more to them. The parables become searing and searching. If we are reading them faithfully, with attention and open to the possibility that God will speak through them, we find that the parables read us more than we read them.

Weeds in a field of wheat

And we bring our own experience and insights to the parables. If you spent the day in the garden weeding yesterday, between the showers, or have it planned this afternoon, no doubt you will be thinking practicalities and the merits of glysophate (for those not horticulturally minded, it’s a weedkiller) or the hand trowel. But more than that we start to be searched out by a parable like this. We might begin to wonder what weeds need plucking out of our own lives; what are the weeds that need plucking out of society?

This is a tough parable. Its conclusion really flies in the face of what we might assume the gospel is all about. Surely God does not want the destruction of anyone, be they virtuous wheat or malevolent weeds; so what’s all the talk of furnaces of fire, weeping and gnashing of teeth? Surely we moved on from all that after the Middle Ages? It doesn’t feel the sort of modern message we might want to hear.

So do we leave it there, declare that things have moved on a bit and conveniently ignore this parable? I suggest not.

If we remember that the parable reads us as much as we read it, it becomes frighteningly modern and prescient. This is because the parable condemns judgmentalism and commends judgement.

Judgements need to be weighed carefully

Judgement has got a bad name in recent years. This happens when we mistake judgement for judgmentalism. Making good judgements in our choices is fundamental to be responsible human beings in society. Judgements are integral to justice, and in the gospels justice and mercy go hand in hand. Mercy is not a soft option but is the partner of judgement.

Our age is curiously judgemental and not so good at making judgements. Social media firestorms rage in the heaping up of judgements against other people; be they politicians, celebrities, media figures or even, bizarrely, the judiciary. Demands for instant solutions force and hurry poor judgements which results in poor decisions. Judgmentalism evacuates mercy from justice.

In contemporary society very often the word, ‘religious’ or at least ‘Christian’ is assumed to be synonymous with ‘judgemental’. And it has been well earned. The church has often been complicit in believing herself to be the judge, dispensing condemnations and anathemas to those who step out of line.

The church has wanted to do the weeding long before the harvest. This has led, quite literally sometimes, to the burning of those people who dissent or fall outside the norms of the time or those we choose to point the finger at, scapegoat and blame.

The point of the parable is that the weeding, the judgement, is not our task. In the parable when the weeds are uprooted the wheat will be uprooted along with it: put another way, the very act of us judging and seeking to root out others corrupts us at the same time.

Marchela Dimitrova, “Jesus Christ, the Judge.” 2011

The parable resists our human inclination to judge others, and indeed even to judge ourselves. How dare we? How dare we, who proclaim in the Creed, ‘He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead’, seek to be judges ourselves? The judgement is Christ’s not ours.

As individuals, the church and as a society we all stand together under judgement. Here’s the challenge. How can the church show not what it is to judge, but what it is to stand open to judgement? In other words, to be penitential?

Remember: this parable is a vision of the Kingdom of God, not a world controlled by the church. It is as demanding for the wheat – the children of the kingdom – as it is for the weeds – the children of the evil one. Yet we are impatient to start weeding, trimming, tidying: for the children of the kingdom other gifts are required: patience, faith and trust. The judgement is Christ’s.

This has a direct personal implication and impact. As the children’s song goes, ‘Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me’. We can change that to, ‘Let there be penitence on earth and let it begin with me’.

The seeds of pernicious weeds are usually pretty tiny, mobile and germinate easily. They take root quickly and deeply. So it is with our own shortcomings– that ‘persistent buried grudge, the half-acknowledged enmity which is still smouldering’ that envy or jealousy – those things, once they root and take hold, become sin; they impair our vision and sharing in the life of God.

At each Eucharist we open ourselves up and speak words of confession and are assured that God’s judgement is merciful and inclined to forgiveness. For some, and perhaps it should be for more of us, the practice of confession one to one with a priest becomes a way of digging deeper, not to diminish ourselves but to be filled with God’s mercy. The priest does not judge, but the penitent says before God, I am open to judgement.

As a paraphrase of the last verses of Psalm 139 put it:

Investigate my life, O God,

    find out everything about me;

Cross-examine and test me,

    get a clear picture of what I’m about;

See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong—

    then guide me on the road to eternal life.

And this moves beyond the personal and into life together. What then does it look like for the church to be open to judgement? It requires us to re-position how we speak of the faith. So, rather than condemn, we commend.

It has been said that, ‘through creative, repentant activity in public life, the church participates in God’s healing transformation of the world.’ That is hard. It is also something that will not be understood by the world.

We acknowledge that this has to be spoken to ourselves as the church first so that we can speak it to the world. An example might be how we speak of the ecological crisis and sustainability. We need to retreat from sanctimony and confess the ways that our use of scripture has led to domination and the exploitation of the world’s resources. In end of life matters, we need to commend life and support all that enriches life before we condemn those of a different position: we all stand under judgement.

We cannot claim to be anything other than fallible human beings, but fallible human beings entrusted with a great treasure for and on behalf of the world.

The existence of the church is the guarantee that Jesus Christ remains committed to the world for which he died.

You and I are implicated in that as disciples. The church tells the world that Jesus’ message is to the end of the age. It is not about being superior, or judgmental, but rather, being faithful to Christ in a world that does not know him, simply out of love for that world and ‘all who dwell in it’.

So, the message is: forget the weeding! It is not my job or your job, not the Archbishop of Canterbury’s, nor even the Pope’s job, to make the kingdom neatly manicured or weeded, wielding spiritual glysophate and religious hand trowels, with us judging what is a weed and what is a flower. This is Christ’s ministry.

Let’s reject judgmentalism and take judgement seriously. And may it start right here: in my heart and in yours.

Roger Toulson (1946-2017)

Dedicated in thanksgiving for the life of Roger Toulson, Lord Toulson, sometime  Queen's Counsel, Lord Justice of Appeal, Justice of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom: the least judgmental judge I know. May he rest in peace. Amen.

© Andrew Bishop, 2017