Monday, 7 December 2020

'Prepare the Way of the Lord' A Homily for Advent

 A sermon preached at Croydon Minster at the Service of Words and Music for Advent on the Second Sunday of Advent. Gospel Luke 1.5-25

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‘Prepare the way of the Lord. ‘

 

That is the title of this service of words and music for this great season of Advent.

 

It is also the opening message of St Mark’s gospel when the evangelist has announced ‘The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.’ (Mark 1.1).

 

Having made that wonderful statement, Mark goes on to quote Isaiah to say that a messenger is being sent ‘who will prepare your way’ (1.2) and that a voice will cry out in the wilderness ‘Prepare the way of the Lord’ (1.3).

 

Advent is a time of preparation, of clearing out distractions, being ready, alert so that the Lord’s way may be prepared.

 

It calls for you and me to have a posture of preparation. So what’s your Advent posture of preparation?

 

Is it the preparation of the athlete: on your marks, get set…?

 

Is it the preparation of the artist: with the canvas tight, with paint on the brush ready to make the first strokes?

 

Is it the posture of the musician, the violinist with bow poised above the strings, or singer having taken a breath, ready for the conductor’s hands to summons the music from you?

 

That moment before the starting gun, before the paint is smeared on the canvas, before the conductor’s baton moves – that is Advent, a moment held over these four weeks, and it’s a moment of expectation of what is to come, or rather Who is to come.

 

We stand, as the poet Malcolm Guite reminds us, between two comings: the coming of Christ as incarnate, Word made flesh, born in Bethlehem and the coming of Christ in glory at the consummation of all things.

 

Preparation, expectation, attention, waiting, yearning is our response to God’s initiative to come amongst us.

 

This church of all churches, dedicated as we are to St John the Baptist, should be imbued with Advent character: expectant, attentive, prepared and proclaiming.

 

John is an intricate and complex character, born of the priestly line, and therefore by heredity a priest, and yet also standing clearly in the tradition of the prophets.

 

The priest offers sacrifice to God for the people; the prophet represents the voice and vision of God back to the people.

 

Priesthood and prophecy are not at odds: Isaiah’s own call came in the Temple as the presence of God, in incense, filled the house. Likewise, Jeremiah was a prophet born from a priestly line and yet called to be a prophet too.

 

‘Prepare the way of the Lord’ is a prophet’s cry; receiving and making present the Lord is the priestly task.

 

It’s in the Temple that Zechariah encounters Gabriel, the archangel, like the prophets before him, telling him of the birth of the one who will prepare the way of the Lord out in the wilderness. Zechariah, husband of Elizabeth, is John the Baptist’s father. This news struck Zechariah dumb!

 

After John’s birth Zechariah rejoiced and burst into song.

 

Usually in the evening at Evensong we hear the Song of Mary and of Simeon, the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis. Tonight, this service will close with a canticle usually associated with the morning, the Benedictus, the Song of Zechariah, which speaks of preparation and what is to come:

 

And you, child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High,

for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,

To give his people knowledge of salvation

by the forgiveness of all their sins.

In the tender compassion of our God

the dawn from on high shall break upon us,

To shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,

and to guide our feet into the way of peace. (Luke 2.7-10)

 

May we be prepared to meet the one who comes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

'The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Son of God'

 

A sermon preached at the Parish Eucharist at Croydon Minster on the Second Sunday of Advent. Mark 1.1-8

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Where did it start? What are the origins? Where did all this come from? Detecting the beginnings of something is always an intriguing exercise.

 

Explorers have long sought out the source of great rivers, to discover the beginnings, the very spring from which a trickle becomes a stream, which becomes a mighty river.

 

Astronomers follow the dream of the ancients to gaze into the heavens to uncover the very beginnings of the universe.

 

And what of the beginnings of Jesus Christ?

 

St Matthew begins his gospel with a genealogy detailing the generations of ancestors of Jesus, ‘who is called the Messiah’ (cf Matthew 1.1-16), and he then tells us that after his birth in Bethlehem Jesus is visited by the Magi.

 

St Luke sets out, in his words, an orderly account, ‘from the very first’, and - after telling us of the birth of John the Baptist - takes us to the beginnings of Christ’s earthly life through the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary, when the Most High overshadows her to be the Mother of the Lord.

 

St John in his magisterial opening to his gospel declares: ‘In the beginning was the Word’. He connects who Jesus is with the Creation itself. He echoes the opening of Genesis en archÄ“, ‘in the beginning’. Jesus Christ is the Word who was in the beginning with the Father: he is God and not a creature, begotten, not made.

 

St Mark does not give us a Nativity account: there is no Bethlehem, no star, no shepherds or wise men: not the beginnings we’re used to!

 

St Mark simply states, ‘The beginning (archÄ“) of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God’ (Mark 1.1).

 

He tells it in punchy form. This is the beginning of the gospel and this gospel of he who is ‘Son of God’.

 

The Son of God, the Son of Man, the Son of Mary comes to fulfil the promise made through the prophets and heralded by John the Baptist preparing the way.

 

Christ is the source; Christ is the beginning and Christ is the fulfilment. From this beginning, rooted in God’s timeless promise, the gospel unfolds.

 

This gospel is of liberation from the constraining powers that obscure our vision of God, that impede our growth in holiness embodied and fulfilled in Christ and that draw us into the very presence of the Most Holy Trinity.

 

John the Baptist’s ministry - of calling hearers to a baptism of repentance and forgiveness of sins - is a necessary preparation, a preparation for something already begun from the heart of God.

 

John’s preparation is, in the terms of the prophet Ezekiel, about receiving hearts of flesh in place of hearts of stone (Ezekiel 11.19; 36.26). Repentance is a movement and reorientation of the heart: oh, for warmed hearts ready to receive Jesus Christ and the gospel!

 

So it begins here and we are invited to begin afresh the journey with hearts and minds renewed and set on the way of Jesus Christ: this is our Advent journey of expectation.

 

 

Monday, 30 November 2020

Waking up to the One who comes: An Advent Sunday sermon

 

‘O that you would tear open the heavens and come down’

 

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What a desperate plea we hear in the prophecy of Isaiah: ‘O that you would tear open the heavens and come down’.

 

It echoes our desperate plea now, that God would come and make things right: make things right on the international stage; make things right with the pandemic; make things right in human society; make things right in healing the creation.

 

That is an Advent plea!

 

Isaiah’s plea is followed by his reflection on the earth-shaking impact of the word and works of God. For God comes to his creation, shaping and moulding his people to his ways as a potter handles and works the clay, turning them not on a capricious wheel of fortune, but turning them back to him.

 

That is a Advent response!

 

The season of Advent echoes the desire that the Lord will come - the ancient Aramaic cry of the Church is, ‘Maranatha’ meaning, ‘Amen. Come Lord Jesus’ – and a commitment on our part to turn our hearts to the Lord again.

 

In Advent we call to the Lord to come again, as surely as he came in the flesh in his first coming: ‘O come, O come, Emmanuel’.

 

This year we cannot come together on Advent Sunday to sing that and other great Advent hymns. And what will our celebration of Christmas be like?

 

It is a dark time of the year and we seek the light; it is a dark time for many people – losing jobs, dropping incomes, being ill, feeling lonely, separated from family - and they seek the light.

 

What does our faith tell us about these times? The words given to us by Isaiah speak powerfully, ‘O that you would tear open the heavens and come down’.

 

Has God abandoned us to Covid, to Brexit, to populism, to authoritarianism, to anxiety and loneliness?

 

The story of scripture tells us we are not abandoned, not abandoned to any of these things.

 

As the psalm says, ‘The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge’

 

The One Who Comes is with us and as that psalm begins, ‘God is our refuge and our strength; a very present help in times of trouble’ (Psalm 46.7)

 

The gospel tells us that in days of confusion, doubt, fear and darkness we are to stay awake and alert to the ways of the Most High, for it is in those times that we will see ‘the Son of Man coming in the clouds’.

 

Now is the season – Advent – the season to wake up to see the one who comes, to see the heavens torn open, so ‘let every heart prepare a throne and every voice a song’.

 

Friday, 27 November 2020

'Where is the love?' A sermon for the feast of Christ the King

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Here’s a big question: where does power and authority lie?

 

When you look at the world, our country, our local community, our families, the Church: where does power and authority lie?

 

The question is a really ‘live’ one when we see the struggle for presidential power and authority over the White House and, recently, in No.10 Downing Street. It plays out at Croydon Council or in the tensions of life with others in families and churches.

 

The theologian Walter Wink speaks of ‘unmasking the powers’. In other words, in situations where things just don’t feel right, where is power, where is authority? If we can identify that then we can begin to understand a situation better.

 

That’s where the scriptures come in to help us identify where the power and authority lies.

 

Over the last few days the pattern of readings at Morning Prayer has taken us through the book of Daniel and the Revelation to John. In dramatic, sometimes outrageous, incomprehensible and alien imagery the question of where power and authority lies is tackled.

 

These strange and fantastical books are known as ‘apocalyptic’. That’s not to be confused with Hollywood action films or doom and disaster, but ‘apocalyptic’ means ‘unveiling’ or ‘unmasking’.

 

What they seek to reveal is that earthly powers and authorities are not where sovereignty, ultimate power, ultimate authority lies. Power and authority, they declare, begin and end with God.

 

Today we celebrate the Kingship of Christ; to celebrate that is to declare that the sovereignty of God is made visible in the face of Jesus Christ.

 

Yet his ‘kingship is not of this world’. His crown is one of thorns, his throne is a manger and a cross. His kingdom is revealed in service of the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the prisoner.

 

In Revelation the power and authority is revealed to be in the Lamb on the throne. The lamb is weak, frail and vulnerable in the eyes of the world, and this is a sacrificial lamb, one whose life will only make sense in death.

 

John the Baptist said of Christ, ‘Behold, the Lamb of God’. Here is enduring power, ultimate authority, revealed in love.

 

Love, the King, does not manipulate, oppress, distort, jostle, but feeds the hungry, gives water to the thirsty, clothes the naked, comforts the sick, visits the prisoner: this is the love of the Lamb of God who gives away all earthly power and authority so that he can assume heavenly, cosmic power and authority.

 

In Christ the world is not interpreted through earthly powers and authority – that belongs to him – rather it is measured by the power and authority of love.

 

Love reframes the question: in how we relate globally, nationally, locally, in families and in church. Life in Christ is shaped by love, not vying power and authority.

 

So with Christ as Sovereign King we look at the world through a different lens: the question now is not ‘where does power and authority lie in the world, the nation, the home, the church’, but in all those places where we find ourselves we ask ‘where do find and unveil the love’?

 

 


Monday, 21 September 2020

Being Valued & Labouring in the Vineyard

 A sermon preached at Croydon Minster on Sunday 20 September 2020, gospel reading Matthew 20.1-16, 'The Labourers in the Vineyard', a parable of the kingdom of heaven.


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Oscar Wilde famously said that the cynic is the person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

 

In that outlook everything can be weighed, measured, assessed, priced. There is no room for value, appreciation, delight, joy.

 

Lockdown showed us that things we value are infinitely more precious than things we can put a price on: being in church, seeing friends, visiting relatives, getting outside. How do you put a price on those things?

 

Prices change, but value doesn’t.

 

When many people today talk about ‘worth’ or value they are thinking about the ‘bottom line’, about a person or a company’s bank balance, and not their worth to the Common Good.

 

According to Forbes ‘Real Time Net Worth’, Bill Gates, the founder of Microsoft, has a net-worth of $115 billion. He himself would say that his real worth, his real value, is what his Foundation is doing to eradicate malaria globally.

 

But in a priced obsessed world the tech entrepreneurs, the celebrities, the hedge fund managers, the oligarchs must be the most significant because they top the rich lists. They are first, and the poor are last. That is how it is.

 

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Except that Jesus Christ declares that is not just how it is: the priorities of the kingdom of heaven fly in the face of that, he says, ‘so the last will be first and the first will be last’ (Matthew 20.16).

 

Jesus proclaims a kingdom that is value obsessed. Each person created in the image and likeness of God is of infinite value.

 

We see this in the parable. The landowner, who is said to be like the kingdom of heaven, rewards the labourers not on price grounds or daily wage but on the value of the presence they have simply by working in the vineyard.

 

The first worker is as valuable as the last and they are not measured by price. Their value does not lie in a transaction for their labour or even what they have contributed.

 

And this gets the grumbles going and that is about a perceived injustice based on price, not on value: the grumblers are talking in totally different terms from the landowner, who asks them ‘are you envious because I am generous?’ (Matthew 20.15b)

 

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Many people today feel themselves to be of low worth, not quite making it, not valued.

 

Low personal self-esteem is a blight of our times. But we cannot just generate esteem for ourselves; it is a vicious cycle and people feel increasingly worthless the more they are told they should value themselves.

 

But we gain self-esteem when we are held in esteem by others and when they show it. We receive esteem when we are valued and held to be precious, not when a price or measure is put upon us.

 

In God’s eyes human value and worth cannot be priced and go up and down. For love of us God prices nothing yet spends everything. As St Paul says to those entrusted with the care of the Church: ‘Keep watch over yourselves and over all the flock, of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to shepherd the church of God that he obtained [or ‘purchased’ Greek periepoiÄ“sato] with the blood of his own Son.’

 

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So the parable tells us we are of infinite value to God, who is the source of our life and our esteem. God’s love for you is unlimited, as seen in Christ’s death on the cross. Other people’s opinions, perceived judgements or what we think they think of us, wither away in relation to how we stand before God.

 

The grumblers are those who measure people by price and time, who say they don’t merit what they have received; the landowner, the kingdom of God, is generous in valuing each one irrespective of when they ‘turn up’.

 


 

The Church – established on the Apostles - is Christ’s chosen foretaste of the coming kingdom of heaven and is the crucible in which men, women and children endeavour, by God’s grace, to forge out the life of that kingdom. So it is all the more important for the Church to be a place of value not of price.

 

That means we seek to shape a culture of abundance and not a culture of scarcity: so that we rejoice in what we have and do not bemoan what we do not have.

 

This task begins in the human heart and spills out into our corporate life too.

 

A culture of scarcity is a culture that penny pinches and puts prices on things and people; a culture of abundance values, cherishes, treasures people upon whom no price can be placed.

 

‘Are you envious because I am generous?’, asks the landowner, the kingdom of Heaven. In fostering a culture of abundance, like the kingdom of heaven, let us make it our business to esteem and value others as God does, to invite them into labouring in the vineyard of God and may we be generous in valuing them such that our hospitality is boundless.

 

 

 

Thursday, 17 September 2020

Slavery, race and the Christian Church: A Reflection

 

SLAVERY, RACE AND THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH

 

The recent killing of George Floyd and the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement in the United States, and across the world, has rightly, and powerfully, shone a fresh light on racism in the United Kingdom today and the way in which this country was not simply complicit in the Atlantic slave trade, but was at the heart of it.

 

In the immediate aftermath of George Floyd’s death there was a legitimate fury that led to certain statues and symbols being toppled or questioned: the statue of Edward Colston in Bristol being one, and the ongoing campaign to remove the statue of Cecil Rhodes from Oriel College in Oxford another. We see the power of symbols and iconography and how they inform and shape our understanding of history.

 

In the light of this the Archdeacons of the Diocese of Southwark have written to the incumbents, churchwardens and Parochial Church Councils of the Diocese asking us to research any connections between our churches and the Atlantic slave trade.

 

This article sets out the connections that Croydon Minster, as Croydon Parish Church, has had with slavery and seeks to set this history in the context of how we might act today.

 

History and Remembering

 

History is about collective memory; and how we remember matters. Remembering is not just a recollection of a past event it is a piecing together of what has gone before; it is a re-membering: putting the pieces, the members, back together. The opposite of ‘re-member’ is not ‘forget’, but is ‘dis-member’. Black Lives Matter is asking us to re-member, not dis-member the past. That means we must tell, to the full, the stories of the past in a way that affect real lives in the present and shape the future.

 

This should be obvious to Christians because at the heart of the Christian faith is an act of remembering. The Eucharist draws us into the past – the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ on the cross - to make sense of the present – as disciples who walk in the way of the cross - and anticipate the future – as a foretaste of the heavenly banquet of the Lamb of God. The word anamnesis is the Greek word used in the Gospels when Jesus says ‘do this in remembrance (anamnesis) of me’. Anamnesis translates as ‘remembrance’ or ‘make present’. In that sense the past recollection is made present and active and therefore transformative. Perhaps unsurprisingly, in the context of complicity in slavery, it is amnesia and not anamnesis that is prevalent in the United Kingdom today.

 

The statues of the likes of Edward Colston and Cecil Rhodes tells us that British history is not benign and cannot be told nostalgically. Rather, British history has long festering and seeping wounds that infect how we live life today; the poison of those wounds comes out in ‘passive’ and ‘active’ racism. People of black, Asian and minority ethnic heritage[1] are on the receiving end of the dis-memberment of British history and the story of who we are today when the full story is not told.

 

Discovering ‘Our’ Story

 

It would seem that slavery has been a feature of human societies for millennia. The Israelites were slaves in Egypt and in the market place in Rome Pope Gregory the Great saw Angles, English heritage slaves, for sale.[2]

 

It is also true that the New Testament refers to slavery apparently uncritically. We cannot gloss over that. It is part of our story. Both Jesus and St Paul use the imagery of slavery and slave owners, sometimes enjoining mercy on the part of slave owners, but also saying slave should be obedient. St Paul uses the word doulos which can translate ‘slave’ or ‘servant’ to speak of the Christian being ‘a doulos of Christ.

 

This imagery became toxic as slave owners and traders, who ‘professed and called themselves Christians’ felt able to appeal to what they saw as a Biblical mandate for their practices.

 

Ironically it was from the same Judaeo-Christian source that the abolitionists, amongst them evangelical Christians such as William Wilberforce, made the case against slavery. Scripture also speaks of the freeing of slaves, both Israelite slaves from Egypt and release of captives in a Year of Jubilee.

 

What is clear is that by the 18th century British society was utterly entwinned in the Atlantic slave trade and the commerce which was reliant on enslaved people from Africa.

 

What does that have to do with Croydon Minster today? Global and national stories must be told and so must the local. That is why the Archdeacons of the Diocese of Southwark wrote to us to research any connections between our churches and the Atlantic slave trade. These connections may be expressed by monuments in the building, the naming of an institution associated with the church or benefactions over the centuries. The Archdeacons did not ask us to tear down any such connection, but to begin to account for them and how we interpret them today.

 

Some research undertaken by David Morgan has shown that there are such connections. This is not surprising given the prominence in the locality of Croydon Parish Church. The fire of 1867 destroyed memorials which were to families associated with slavery, but we know that memorials existed.

 

The Bourdieu family, who lived locally at Coombe House, erected a memorial to Phillippa Bourdieu. It was a Grecian style monument near the rood screen of the church. They owned the Hoghole Estate in Jamaica in the parish of St Thomas in the Vale.

 

The last pre-revolutionary Governor of Massachusetts, Thomas Hutchinson, has a plaque in the Lady Chapel. He would certainly have known of slavery and been complicit in it, although we do not know, without further research, if he profited from the trade.

 

We also find that the associations with slavery extended right into English society, including the Church of England. The Reverend East Apthorp, who was Vicar of Croydon in 1770s arrived from America having been ejected from Boston by the independence movement. In England Apthorp initially stayed at Addington Palace. The Palace was substantially rebuilt by Barlow Trescothick, a slave owner, who was married to Apthorp’s sister.

 

Apthorp’s father Charles was the Paymaster General of the North American Colonies, and we can be certain that he made money out of slavery.   Charles Apthorp married Grizzelda Eastwicke whose family owned a plantation in Jamaica. We also know that East had brothers who made money from slavery. Indeed in the Baptism Register for Croydon Parish Church in the 1780s there is an entry for the baptism of an ‘adult negro servant’ of the Apthorp family.[3] This man was not a member of the Vicar’s household but someone who has come over with one of Apthorp's brothers. We can only speculate if he was a freed slave.

 

Those are the facts: so where does that take us, as a church community today?

 

Sin and the Image of God

 

It must be stated, absolutely and categorically, that slavery was, and is, always wicked and wrong; racism was, and is, always wicked and wrong. In Christian terms we would add that slavery was, and is, sinful; racism is sinful.

 

Slavery and racism, which are intimately related, are sinful because the enslavement of another human being diminishes their dignity which we believe is God given to all people. Slavery is the ultimate and enduring deprivation of liberty which makes human beings a commodity to be sold and bought. Racism is wrong because it reduces people to a category, a subject, a ‘thing’ and not a person to be known, cherished and valued.

 

A Christian account of being human, drawing on the Hebrew Scriptures (most vividly the liberation of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land), sees human identity as free and subject only to God and not another person.

 

We draw our understanding of human dignity from the Book of Genesis which speaks of human beings made in the image and likeness of God and into whom God breathes his living giving spirit (Genesis 2.7).

 

Furthermore as Christians we see that divine image marred through human sinfulness, of which more below, and because ‘all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God’ (Romans 3.23): all people – irrespective of race - are in need of restoration into the image of God. In Jesus Christ we see the fullness of human potential as one who lives a sinless life because he remains a bearer of the image of God.

 

As the first letter of John teaches, ‘Those who say, ‘I love God’, and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen’ (1 John 4.20). He also states this very clearly and dramatically saying, ‘All who hate a brother or sister are murderers, and you know that murderers do not have eternal life abiding in them.’ (1 John 3.15). The enslavement of a human being is a catastrophic failure of love, and precludes a true love of God.

 

Some have called slavery the ‘original sin’ of modern western society. Original Sin does indeed tell us that we are bound up and implicated in patterns of behaviour that precede our individual existence but into which we are bound by our very membership of the human race. In Christian thought the sin of Adam speaks of the predicament we find ourselves in. Original Sin could be called ‘inherited sin’ because it is something received even if not merited, but something we all too readily make our own.

 

The doctrine of Original Sin has had a bad press in modern times. It is assumed to be a deeply pessimistic account of the human condition, implying individual wickedness from birth. Rather, it is better seen as a generous account of humanity because it acknowledges that we are all caught up in inherited patterns of human behaviour and consequences that are not of our own doing, but that we are formed by, precisely because we are social creatures and part of humanity. Attitudes to race, stemming from slavery are an illustration of how original sin works.

 

Being in Christ: A New Creation

 

For Christians life ‘in Christ’ (Greek en Christou) is the way to restore life lived in the image of God and to break the crippling inheritance of sin. St Paul teaches that the capacity for renewal is in Christ, the Second Adam: the First Adam, the first anthropos - human being - led humanity to reject the ways of God, so the Second Adam makes possible the reversal of that sinfulness through a radical obedience to God, even to death. It is this way of life that leads us ‘from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land’ (from the Church of England Baptism Service Common Worship: Christian Initiation p. 87).

 

Baptism which initiates us into the Body of Christ acknowledges both our uniqueness, who we are – ‘God has called you by name’ – and that we find our identity within a wider mystical society, the Communion of Saints. So in Baptism our deep identity is not eradicated but cast in a new light, for we also become members of a ‘new race’ as Christians. As St Paul writes:

 

As many of you as were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3.28)

 

St Paul connects this new identity in Christ to the coming New Creation which is cosmic and personal: ‘So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!’ (2 Corinthians 5.17). The ‘new race’ of being a Christian must never be into a notion of ‘whiteness’ or middle-classness or any other secular cultural construct, but rather into the ‘glorious liberty of the children of God’ (Romans 8.21)

 

The Christian narrative is one in which we are led to a vision of the New Creation in Christ. The vision of the New Testament is one of a new race of those redeemed in Christ. Identity is not defined racially or tribally. The Revelation to John describes a vision of heaven in which the twelve tribes of Israel are present, as is to be expected, but the seer continues looking and then writes:

 

After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white with a palm branch in their hands. (Revelation 7.9)

 

Slavery, Racism and the Church Today

 

As I stand at the altar of Croydon Minster and see the faithful gathered for the Eucharist I get a glimpse of John’s vision: I see people of many nations and heritage gathered around the Altar of the Lamb, and it warms my heart.

 

I, and I am sure the vast majority at the Minster, find it hard to believe that this has not always been recognised by ‘those who profess and call themselves Christians’. Yet we know that as recently of the arrival of Caribbean migrants on SS Windrush in the 1950s that the Church of England was frosty at best and hostile at worst in its reception of Black Anglicans from the Caribbean.

 

Some will say that we cannot judge people of another age by our standards. In some ways that is true; but judgement for all of us will be against the enduring message of the Gospels.

 

I behold the congregation of the Minster - and look at myself - there are people who harbour ill-will, bad thoughts, a ‘past’, envies, quarrelling and strife. There may even be people who have a racist side to them.

And so comes the call of our patron saint, St John the Baptist, that we should repent and amend our lives.

 

The Church is made up of people who get things wrong. All of us gather as broken and in need of perfecting, conversion and repentance. The conversion of society begins with the conversion of the human heart.

 

This raises big questions about how we handle apology, sorrow, regret, remorse and historic complicity. At this time penitence is appropriate. Acts of penance – personal and corporate - are not virtue signalling. They are times when one acknowledges one’s own sinful actions in the past and resolves to amend one’s life, by God’s grace. The Christian Gospel however declares that through Jesus Christ we can break the ‘habits of sin that lead to spiritual death’.

 

It also lays down the challenges for how the church: what does our church look like in how different faces are seen, voices heard and contributions valued. If we really are the Body of Christ, what is our body language as ‘people of from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb’?

 

© Andrew Bishop, 2020

 



[1] BAME is an term that is not without its detractors as being too all encompassing. The recent BBC website article ‘Don’t call me BAME’ illustrates this point (https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-53205008/race-and-identity-don-t-call-me-bame accessed 30th June 2020). Someone who is Black may be or African or Caribbean heritage and Asia is a big place and culturally diverse. The lesson is that we should deal with people of any race or heritage as individuals and not groups, whilst acknowledging there is a commonality, though not uniformity, of experience amongst many.

[2]  Gregory was reputed to have said, on seeing the English slaves ‘Non Angli sed angeli’ – ‘not Angles, but angels’, which is an interesting comment in the light of the colour of those slaves. That should not allow for a ‘superiority narrative’ in relation to the race and heritage of slaves.

[3] That the person baptised was an adult was worthy of note as it was very unusual then (the Book of Common Prayer has a rite for ‘Public Baptism of such as are of Riper Years’; that the Register notes the man was ‘a negro’ is utterly irrelevant to Baptism.