And she laughed – the Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

Sunday 22^nd July 2018 – St Mary Magdalene

2 Cor. 5. 14-17 & John 20. 1-2, 11-18

Wednesday was the last time I had some decent sleep. By Saturday I was past feeling tired. My heart was beating very fast and if I lay down I doubted if I could have physically shut my eyes. It felt as if they were permanently open. Not sleeping properly is a funny business. You never get used to it – even years as a fisherman, often working solidly for two or three days and nights, doesn’t prepare you for the strange sensations that come with total exhaustion.

On Thursday night we struggled to stay awake in the garden while he went and prayed alone. He did this sometimes, it was normal, and so we dozed – until the soldiers came and everything began to go wrong. It all happened so fast – as the soldiers searched the garden I justified running away by reasoning that I would be no use to him sitting in a cell. A few of us gathered back in the upper room – we sat – sometimes talking, sometimes arguing, sometimes in silence. We did not know what to do and he wasn’t there to ask. A damp, grubby towel hung over the back of a chair accusing us of the selfish weakness which was the cause of our guilt.

We made ourselves believe that he would be able to talk himself out of any trouble he was in – we expected him to walk through the door sometime on Friday. But Friday passed in the blink of an eye, yet in agonising slow motion. Before we knew it, before we could do anything, he was dead.

On Thursday night we had contemplated his temporary absence. On Friday night we struggled to comprehend his permanent absence. We did not sleep; we talked, we argued, we wept, we remembered times past. With him gone we had no focus, no direction. We were aimless and exhausted – a paralysing mixture of feelings. The instinct for survival made us eat on Saturday. We ate in silence, we were all remembering the last meal we had shared with him – remembering the things he had said and done – we broke bread and shared wine without words being said. We gained some strength from the food, we gained more from sharing it together.

I began to look forward to the escape of sleep which would surely come on Saturday night. I made myself comfortable and settled down. For hours I loitered and fidgeted on the edge of sleep.

In the dark hours just before dawn I heard movement in a room down the corridor. A door quietly opened and closed and I saw Mary, our friend from Magdala, walk quietly into the dark of the pre-dawn morning, her head bowed, her step nervous and tentative. I saw the old Mary, the wounded and troubled lady we had made friends with all that time ago. I let her go – we all needed to do things our own way – she was probably just going to the grave to weep. I went back to my mattress, laid down and thought of Mary. Her friendship with us had been her salvation. She seemed to grow in stature, of course she didn’t, it was just that she started walking with her head held up instead of bowed down. She certainly grew in confidence. I sensed that for the first time in her life she felt valued, respected, loved. What would become of her now? We had already started talking about returning to Galilee to pick up our nets, but where would she go? What would she do now he was gone?

As these thoughts and questions rumbled around my head sleep finally came, the heavy, deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion and grief. When the others woke me up I had no idea if I had slept for minutes or hours. I came round slowly – I could tell by the light and by the angle of the shadows that it was early morning. I thought I had slept for a whole day and then I noticed the candle that was still burning by my mattress – I knew it in every detail having stared at it so much during that troubled night – it was the same shape and size. I realised I had slept for only an hour or so. I began to be angry but then I noticed the atmosphere in the room was very different from the night before. People were fully awake and listening to Peter. It was all very strange and confusing. Peter was saying that Mary had gone to visit his grave very early and that when she had got there the stone had been rolled away and the grave was empty. Mary had run back and woken Peter and one of the others (presumably I slept through that minor commotion) and they had run back to the grave with her. They saw that the grave was empty as well – they had even gone inside and seen the shroud neatly laid where the body had been. Peter and the other one had then run back here to tell the rest of us. That’s when I had been woken.

A discussion began immediately about what had happened. Everyone began to develop a theory mostly based on the assumption that the body had been stolen either by Zealots wanting to start a revolution on the back of news about a resurrection, or by Romans nervous that His grave would become a symbol and a focal point of rebellion.

“Where is Mary?” I asked.

Peter and the other disciple looked at each other.

“I thought she was following us”, Peter said, “she’ll probably get here in a minute.”

I left them all animatedly discussing the empty tomb. I thought there would be time enough to work out what it all meant later. I was more concerned for Mary right now. She was fragile, vulnerable. I remembered the hunched and nervous figure who had walked into the dark morning and I remembered the demons that tormented Mary when we first met her – one day she would be manic, frenzied and the next she would be lifeless and stooped. Slowly these wild moods had subsided and she had become a person, a woman – she could talk and she could listen. It was as if the swirling storm of her moods had lifted and she began to shine with wisdom, compassion and even holiness.

As I walked searching for her my thoughts were mixed. One moment I was anxious for her – what would this empty tomb do to her, I felt sure it would disturb her and feared that her demons would descend and enshroud her again. Then I thought about the empty tomb – had the body been stolen? I remembered some of the things he had said about dying and rising again – I had not understood them then and I did not understand them now – but I began to wonder if something cataclysmic was happening, if something was changing, if God was at work bringing a new kind of order from the chaos of these confusing days.

As I walked, the dawn was turning into the day. All thoughts of tiredness had vanished for the time being and I was consumed with worry about Mary.

And then I saw her some way off walking slowly towards me. At first I did not recognise her, she looked different, taller! Her steps were slow, thoughtful yet sure. Her head was up – she was looking at the trees and the sky. When I finally realised it was her for sure my first thought was relief – she was safe, and then I realised how strong and confident she looked, stronger and more confident than I had ever seen her.

I knew in that moment that the conspiracy theories explaining the empty tomb my friends were developing were nonsense. The transformation in this woman approaching me, the strength and confidence in her step said one thing;

He lives!

He is risen!

It was then that she saw me. We both quickened our step but we didn’t run. In a few moments we were facing each other – we did not touch or embrace. It’s hard to explain what was happening as we stood in front of each other. Silently we were celebrating, rejoicing. I could see him in her eyes, his love, his wisdom, his compassion, his playful smile.

I held out my arms to embrace her

“Mary”, I said.

She looked at me, paused for a moment, and then she stepped forward, we held each other …… and she laughed.

Desire: Human and Divine – Canon Dr Christopher Collingwood (Chancellor)

Canon Dr Christopher Collingwood (Chancellor)

Sunday 15^th July 2018 – Matins

Deuteronomy 28:1-14     Acts 28:17-31

There can scarcely be another piece of choral music which more exquisitely captures that sense of longing and desire conveyed in the words of Psalm 42 as does Like as the Hart, the anthem by Herbert Howells we’ve just heard. Richard Wagner’s opera, Tristan and Isolde, is a masterpiece in its use of the language of music to evoke the very experience and feeling of desire, but compared with the little more than five minutes it takes to sing Like as the Hart, Tristan takes some five hours! And although there is a musical resolution of desire in Tristan in the closing bars of the opera, Like as the Hart leaves us with the feeling that the desire is somehow still there, awaiting its consummation.

There’s something of a restless, unsettled quality about Like as the Hart. The music’s both expansive and taut at the same time and, like much of Howells’ music, it always feels to me as if the composer’s just about managing to keep the lid on a volcanic energy, which is constantly on the verge of erupting. The music has an extraordinary strength and power, which always seems to have a forward momentum, as if it’s forever seeking its destination but not quite getting there. Even though musical destinations do indeed seem to be reached, there’s so often something rather bittersweet about them, such that they leave us wanting something just a little more satisfying, more definite and slightly less ambiguous. And it’s precisely for that reason that Howells so eloquently captures the real nature of our human desire and of what we’re all ultimately longing for, whether we realise it or not, for imbuing all of Howells’s music, it seems to me, is the sense of longing for that which alone will satisfy, yet which seems always to be just ever-so-slightly out of reach, that mysterious reality we call God: ‘Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God’.

Desire’s a tricky customer, not least because it’s inescapable. Without it we’d never even get out of bed in the morning, let alone do anything else. Desire in one form or another is what motivates every decision and choice we make, every action we undertake, so it’s really important to discover what it is we really want. Our desires are shaped and formed in all sorts of ways by our biology, our culture, our upbringing and social convention. Some of what human beings sometimes desire has been and continues to be deemed by various societies and cultures as unacceptable, or even immoral, and yet it’s only by facing squarely what we think we want, and discovering what we really want, that desire can be channelled creatively and constructively rather than negatively, for, in the end, desire is God-given, and it’s the very thing that draws us to God. As St Augustine of Hippo put it in book one of his Confessions: ‘You have made us for yourself, O God, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you’. So the beginning and end of desire is love. All our searching and all our restlessness is a kind of divine discontent, precisely because there’s an intuition of divine love in the human heart. The repression or misdirection of desire is, in the final analysis, disastrous, because unless and until we can identify our most fundamental desire as the desire for God, we shall be forever unsatisfied. The beginning of the fulfilment of desire lies in identifying that what we really want is God: ‘Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God’.

The reading we heard from the Acts of the Apostles as the second lesson doesn’t on the face of it seem to have much to do with desire. Yet the whole of the Acts of the Apostles is actually about desire and its fulfilment, for in its entirety the book can be seen as a story of both God’s desire that the gospel of divine love be made known to everyone, and also of human desire to give everything in response to that divine love as the only thing that will finally make sense of our existence. The Apostle Paul becomes the focus of these twin desires in Acts, for from his conversion on the Damascus Road in chapter nine he’s portrayed as being marked by a restlessness to come to know and understand more fully the nature of the sheer grace of divine love, and to share what he’s come to know for himself with everyone. The way the author of Acts conveys this is to depict Paul as longing to preach this gospel of love throughout the Roman Empire and, most importantly, as showing the fulfilment of Paul’s desire, despite the many twists and turns that threaten to throw him off course, by his reaching the centre of that Empire : Rome. In a quite unexpected way, the city of Rome itself becomes the symbol of both human desire and also of God as the end, the goal and the fulfilment of human desire. So it is that the end of the Acts of the Apostles sees Paul arriving at his destination to share the good news of divine love for all, which he did, we’re told, with all boldness and without hindrance’.

What is it that you most want? Have you ever stopped to consider that your desire, however unlikely this may seem to be, is simply a reflection of your real desire for God and of God’s desire for you: ‘Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God’.

Reaching the unGoded – the Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

Sunday 8^th July 2018 – 6^th Sunday after Trinity

Jeremiah 20.1-11a & Romans 14.1-17

‘For the kingdom of God is not food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.’ Rom. 14.17

As the Church faces the challenge of diminishing congregations it has developed all sorts of strategies and plans to increase numbers. Last month there was ‘Back to church Sunday’ with all sorts of ideas and resources available to encourage those who do go to church to bring along family and friends who have perhaps fallen away. This project is aimed at those who used to have a church connection.

Most of the initiatives the Church has developed are about connecting with the 90% + of people who don’t have any real connection with church at all – this large group of people are often referred to as the ‘unchurched’. So, Fresh Expressions of church like ‘Messy Church’ and Café Church are all about trying to do church differently to connect with people who, at present, have no connection with church at all. Most of this activity is good and to be encouraged, but I really don’t like referring to those we want to connect with as the ‘unchurched’ and the reason why I don’t like that title is partly to do with what Paul is saying in Romans 14.

In Romans 14 Paul is being incredibly inclusive. When we read this passage it is good to remember that Paul, who wrote it, had been a Pharisee, a person steeped in the Jewish Law, a person who had led a life of scrupulous obedience to the law, a set of rules, which, for example, included clear guidance about what was ‘clean’ to eat and what was ‘unclean’ and should not be eaten. For the vast majority of his life, Paul had measured his life, and others lives, by measuring obedience to the Law. It is with this background that he now writes ‘nothing is unclean in itself; but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean.’ In other words, Paul is saying that we should not measure or judge other people’s faith by our own standards, we should not count people as being ‘in’ or ‘out’, ‘saved’ or ‘unsaved’ by judging whether they are expressing and practising their faith in the way we do.

There is a danger for all church communities that we all engage in mission with the aim of connecting with people so that they become members of our church community – this is understandable and is what targeting the ‘unchurched’ seems to be all about. With what Paul says in Romans 14 in mind I just wonder if it would be better if we adjust our thinking and change from targeting the ‘unchurched’ to think about targeting the ‘unGoded’. To stop aiming to make church members like us and to start aiming, first and foremost, to connect people with God. It may be, for example, that someone comes to York Minster and encounters God in some way, maybe through this magnificent building which is steeped in prayer, or maybe through the wonderful music we are privileged to experience, or maybe through coming the Minster Mice, our fortnightly service for toddlers and their parents, or maybe, even, through something that someone says in a sermon – stranger things have happened! The point is that if someone encounters God within our church community they then need to see whether this is the right church community for them to grow and be nurtured in their newly discovered faith. In my time here I have come across people who have encountered God here for the first time and stayed and grown in faith here and I have also known people who have encountered God here and have found another church community where they have felt more ‘at home’ where their faith has been nurtured.

Mission should be more about God and less about Church.

By thinking about those who don’t come as the ‘unchurched’ we run the risk of giving the message that faith is all about coming to church and learning to do church the way we do church. Paul reminds us at the beginning of Romans 14 that we should welcome those who are weak in faith, not to quarrel with them and to try and make them express and explore their faith in the way we do, but to truly befriend them and somehow enable them to be drawn into the ‘righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit’ which is at the heart of faith. Some people will find that ‘righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit’ by coming to Choral Evensong at York Minster and some may find that ‘righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit’ by worshipping in a completely different way at St Paul’s Holgate or next door at St Michael le Belfry.

Today we are delighted to be welcoming Abi as our new curate. Abi was ordained deacon here last week and intends to remain as a deacon. She is a self-supporting minister so she has a job and she also has a family, this means that she will be with us for two days a week. Abi will be working with Catriona, our Succentor, and the rest of us as we engage in mission, seeking to enable people to encounter God and to enable them to discover the right church community to celebrate and explore that encounter. It is fantastic that Abi’s home church is St Paul’s Holgate, a church with a different tradition and a different way of doing things than here and she will be helping me and my colleagues to ensure that we never fall into the trap of thinking that the only way to properly do ‘church’ is the way we do church here!

The welcome we offer to all who come here every day is mission. It so happens that we are organising a Mission weekend at the end of September that will be led by the Archbishop. (please see the note about this in our Notice Sheet) As we engage in all these missionary initiatives we must remember that mission is not all about Church it is all about God. Our diocesan vision is that we should be generous churches making and nurturing disciples. Part of what it means to be a generous church is to play our part in making and nurturing disciples of Jesus Christ and helping those new disciples to find the right church community, wherever it is, for them to grow and thrive.

There is only one real mission initiative and it is God’s – everything we do is never our mission, it is always God’s mission.

Let us pray

Almighty God, we pray that more people may know your love for them. We pray for all the preparations for our mission in September, for Archbishop Sentamu and for everyone who will come to the mission. Pour out your Spirit and grant us, a renewed experience of your love, a renewed vision of your glory, a renewed faithfulness to your Word, a renewed commitment to worship and to your service, that your love may grow among us, and your kingdom come; through Christ, our Lord. Amen

From the old we travel to the new – The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

Matins Sunday 24 June 2018

Mal. 3. 1-6 & Luke 3. 1-17

Usually we remember saints on the day that they died, but today we remember the birth of St John the Baptist because it marks the beginning of a new era, a turning point in the revelation of God. St John the Baptist marks the frontier between the Old and the New Testaments. He represents the Old Testament and introduces the New. This is perhaps best illustrated by the fact that when he was as yet unborn, he leapt for joy in his mother’s womb when Mary, pregnant with Jesus, came to visit – this has always been interpreted as a sign that his ministry was all about preparing for and celebrating the birth of Jesus.

There are some interesting comparisons when we look at events surrounding the birth of John and the birth of Jesus.

It was while Zechariah was in the Sanctuary of the temple making an offering of incense to God that he was visited by the Angel Gabriel to be told that his old, barren wife would bear a child. We are told that Zechariah was ‘Terrified and fear overwhelmed him’. This terror and fear is clearly taken by the Angel as disbelief because after the angel had spoken to Zechariah for some time, explaining what was going to happen, he was struck dumb as a punishment for his disbelief. So we have a holy priest, doing holy things, in a holy place having an encounter with an angel, responding with disbelief and being struck dumb.

Then, in Luke’s version of this story, the Angel Gabriel appears to a young peasant girl called Mary – the angel explains that, even though she is a virgin, she will conceive and bear a son. We are told that Mary was ‘perplexed’ and ‘pondered’ what the angel was saying. At the end of the encounter Mary says

‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.’

Mary then went to visit her relative, Elizabeth, who was already pregnant with John and the baby in her womb leapt for joy. It is then that Mary sang the Magnificat – the greatest hymn of praise in the bible, the hymn of praise we sing at every evensong. The Magnificat is all about the raising up of the lowly, the scattering of the proud, the bringing down of the powerful and the feeding of the hungry. It is a vision of a new world order.

When John was born he was taken to be circumcised and given his name – Elizabeth says his name must be John, and when the people check with the still mute Zechariah, he writes on a writing-tablet, ‘His name is John’ and immediately he gets his voice back and it is only then that he praises God and sings a song of praise, a song we call the Benedictus, which to this day we sing or recite daily at Morning Prayer. The picture Luke paints at this point is of Zechariah holding his precious, new born son and singing a song all about the redemption of the people of Israel, it is about how God has worked through the prophets of old to be true to the ancient covenant God made with Abraham to build up and protect his descendants who would become a mighty nation. Towards the end Zechariah addresses his baby son,

‘And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.’

The song of Mary essentially looks forward to a vision of our great saviour God working to make a new world order in the future. The song of Zechariah looks back to see how God has always been working to protect and save his people and that it is from his previous acts and promises that this new prophet arises to lead God’s people to a new dawn, from the darkness of the past to a new future filled with light.

These stories and songs are beautiful and dramatic and they provoke challenging questions for us. I must confess that as a priest I am profoundly disturbed by the fact that the priestly character, Zechariah, in a holy place, going about his priestly business is simply terrified, overwhelmed by fear and unbelief when God actually speaks to him through an angel. And yet when an ordinary carpenter is visited by an angel he accepts it and responds immediately and when a young peasant girl is visited by an angel, presumably just in the countryside around Nazareth, despite being perplexed, she also quickly accepts that God is calling her and says ‘let it be to me according to your word’.

This made me think about how I would react if I was just going about my priestly business in a holy place, like this, and I experienced a revelation from God – how would I react? I suspect I would be terrified just like Zechariah rather than receptive and rejoicing like Mary. This is a stark reminder that we cannot confine or constrain God. Certainly God is revealed in holy places and through religious actions and through religious people – but God is also revealed outside all of this, God is also revealed in other settings and to unlikely people. We make a big mistake if we think God only works through religion – we have to be alive to the fact that it’s not only bishops speaking with authority from their Cathedrals or Synods, or priests standing in pulpits, who reveal what God has to say. The poor and the marginalised, the non-religious can also reveal profound truths about God and God’s ways and we must also always be listening to them as well.

Week by week in church we explore the revelation of God to us through scripture and sacrament – we are confronted by a challenge to proclaim God’s love and to live in new ways. Does this terrify and frighten us into silence like it did for Zechariah? Do we stay locked in our churches, and in ourselves, waiting for someone or something to push us out of our comfort zone? Or do we move outward and forward confidently, like Mary, despite being somewhat perplexed, and sing songs of praise and thanksgiving envisioning a new world order?

We walk in the footsteps of St John the Baptist today, we, as individuals and as a church, are the voice God needs to speak his Word. We are the voice that should be speaking God’s eternal Word of forgiveness and mercy. God’s eternal Word of light that shines in darkness, even in the darkness of death. God’s eternal Word guiding us all in the ways of peace.

With the words of the Song of Zechariah and the Song of Mary in our minds, let us pray

Give us, O God, a vision of your world as your love would make it; a world where the weak are protected and none go hungry; a world whose benefits are shared, so that everyone can enjoy them; a world whose different people and cultures live with tolerance and mutual respect; a world where peace is built with justice, and justice is fired with love. Amen

I believe in God: The Creed in the Eucharist – The Reverend Canon Peter Moger

Sermon Preached at Sung Eucharist  17 June 2018

The Reverend Canon Peter Moger

The C of E sometimes gets a bad press when it comes down to specifics of faith and belief.  Unlike some of brother and sister Christians, who are very anxious to define exactly what they believe, Anglicans have always tried to steer a ‘middle way’.  The C of E is a ‘broad church’ in which Catholics and Evangelicals, Liberals and Conservatives do their best to co-exist.

The advantage of this is that it’s inclusive and recognises that people receive and understand the truth about God in different ways.  The flip side is that the C of E is often accused of being woolly and refusing to stand firm on essentials.  Hence the apocryphal story that: “In a recent poll, when Anglican bishops were asked if they felt that bishops suffered unfairly from being caricatured in the media. 77% said, ‘It depends what you mean by caricature,’  22% said, ‘It depends what you mean by unfairly,’  and 1% said, ‘It depends what you mean by bishop.'”

‘It depends what you mean.’  So are all matters of faith and belief purely relative, or are there absolutes? – even for Anglicans!  Is there a ‘bottom line’, and if so, ‘what is it?’  When a priest takes up a new appointment s/he makes the Declaration of Assent, that the C of E professes the faith ‘uniquely revealed in the Holy Scriptures and set forth in the Catholic Creeds’, but that it is called by God to proclaim afresh that faith in each generation.  So there is a tension here – between the givenness of the historic statements about our faith – and the life of a Church which is ever open to the renewing work of the Holy Spirit – the Spirit who will ‘lead us into all truth’

One of those historic statements – one of the ‘Catholic Creeds’ – is the Nicene Creed.  It forms part of the liturgy of the Eucharist.  We recite it every Sunday – but where did it come from and what’s it doing there?

What we call the Nicene Creed is, quite simply, a summary of basic Christian belief.  But it’s important to remember that it’s the product of a particular period of history.  The title suggests that it was the product of the Council of Nicaea – one of the great councils of the early Church which met in 325 – though in fact some parts of the Creed weren’t written until later – maybe, some think, at the Council of Constantinople in 381.

It’s the sort of document you get when people of differing views sit around a table and try to hammer out something they can agree about.  Put bluntly, it’s ‘committee-speak’.  It’s not poetry, it’s not a hymn, not Scripture, nor even particularly derivative of Scripture, but the work of a committee.

If we think that today’s Church is in a mess because it can’t agree about everything, it’s all pretty mild compared with the Church in the 4^th century.  That was a Church in turmoil.  There were serious disagreements – most of them over the nature of Christ.  How it is that we can speak of Jesus being both divine and human?  This was the hot issue of the day.

As so, carefully constructed phrases were put together to try and express this in terms that the whole Church could accept.  The phrases sorted out those who were ‘in’ and those who were ‘out’.  The phrase which we translate into English as ‘of one Being with the Father’ or (from the BCP, ‘being of one substance with the Father’) is an example of this.  The key word is the Greek word homoousios (meaning ‘of the same substance’).  But this word – agreed at the Council of Nicaea – was later questioned on the grounds that it wasn’t in the Bible.  Some of the debates have changed little over the centuries!

So what’s this ancient theological (or even political) document doing as part of our regular worship?  When it was first written, it didn’t form part of the order of the Eucharist.  In fact the Creed wasn’t officially part of the Eucharist until 568 and even then it’s uncertain as to how widely it was used in worship.

Now its place in the service is significant.  It acts as a sort of pivot – after the readings and the sermon, but before the Intercession and our sharing in the bread and wine of communion.  The Eucharist is about God sharing our life in order to change us.  So, the Creed comes at the point in the service when we will have encountered God during the readings and will have begun to be changed by that encounter.  This encounter with God and the transformation which follows is usually something which impacts on us as individuals.  (We often talk about bits of the Bible hitting different people in different ways).  But we come to the Creed not just as individuals but as members of the Church.  The Creed is a corporate statement of belief.  Not just for us here in York, but for the whole Church.  One writer has put it this way:

‘We must get away from the notion that the Creed consists of ….. statements of ‘fact’, and hang on to the idea that it expresses something about the relationship of worshippers to the Church, to the Christian community as a whole.  Saying things together is a badge of belonging.’

[Averil Cameron, in Living the Eucharist, 58]

In this sense, the Creed is ‘Catholic’.  The word ‘catholic’ appears towards the end of the creed [‘We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church’] and it’s important to remember what it means here.  Many Evensong worshippers from across the world like to ask after the service, ‘why do you say catholic in the Creed if this is a Protestant church?’  But in the 4^th century, there were no Roman Catholics, Orthodox, Protestants or Anglicans.  The word must be understood in its original context – meaning ‘according to the whole’ – the Church across all times, in all places and encompassing all who believe in Jesus Christ.

The Creed is also an ecumenical text – a set of words that Christians from different places and backgrounds can share.  The context in which the earlier forms of the Creed was put together was one of the ecumenical councils of the Church – and the words were designed to provide a uniting statement of faith for Christians whose individual interpretations of the faith varied.

When we meet with other Christians, we probably won’t agree on everything.  But we can all say the Nicene Creed as an affirmation of the faith we share.  The Creed is ecumenical.

Now I’ve said quite a lot about the function of the Creed – but rather less about its content.  It would be foolish to try and cover the content of the Creed in a single sermon!  But, if we are to get some grasp on what the Creed actually says, we need to look again at what the Eucharist is about.  Remember, it is about God meeting with us to share our life in order to change it.  God shares our life through becoming one of us in Jesus (incarnation) and changes our life through the death and resurrection of Jesus (redemption).

The Creed actually spells this out for us.  [see p …].  Each paragraph deals with one person of the Trinity.  So the first talks about God the Father – the creator of all.  The second paragraph, which is by far the longest, states in skeleton form, the basics of our belief in Jesus: that he is the Son of God – God in human form (or ‘made incarnate’) – that he died, rose again, ascended and that he will return.  This is the guts of the Creed – remember, most of it was written to sort out the controversy surrounding the incarnation – and that Jesus is both God and human being.  But here, within this 2^nd paragraph are the basic essential statements about God sharing our life and transforming it.  ‘He was made man’ – ‘he was crucified for our sake‘ and ‘he rose again’.  God sharing our life in Jesus – and transforming it.  The final paragraph talks about the Holy Spirit – the person of the Trinity who gives life to Church – and points us beyond the present to the future, where God’s transformation of our life will be complete.  When we participate in the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

The Nicene Creed is a helpful reminder us of the essential truths of Christian belief.  But it’s important to remember how much it is an historical document.  One of the things that the words of our liturgy do is to preserve the memory of the Church – and that applies very much to the Creed.  But for most of us, the theological problems of the 4^th century are light years away.  For us, I suspect the main purpose of the Creed is to be a badge of corporate identity.  That, as we say it, we affirm that we are Christians – that we share that faith with others down 2000 years of history and today across all traditions, cultures and nationalities.

As individuals, the Creed can be a personal statement of our acceptance of the basic truths of creation, incarnation, redemption and the hope of resurrection.  Of our belief in God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  The act of believing – of having faith – is crucial for us.  In St John’s Gospel – we are told that the book has been written precisely for that purpose, tha

‘we may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing [we] may have life in his name.’ [20.31]

This is also what the Creed is trying to tell us.

The value of children’s questions – The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

Sunday 10 June 2018 Matins – 2^nd Sunday of Trinity

Deuteronomy 6.10-end & Acts 22.22-23.11

In the first reading from Deuteronomy the chosen people are receiving instructions from God about how they are to behave – they are reminded of God’s generosity and kindness to them, for example, God led from slavery in Egypt to a fertile land with vineyards and olive groves they did not plant. They are also told to be careful to be obedient to God’s laws, ‘You must diligently keep the commandments of the Lord your God and his decrees and his statute’. All very clear and all very serious. Then, towards the end of the passage, the people are told to be ready to answer their children when they ask about the meaning of the Lord’s decrees, statutes and ordinances. We all know that adults are able to play all sorts of games with each other, trying to appear to answer questions that are actually being dodged or ignored. Adults have developed all sorts of abilities to avoid answering tricky questions by producing impressive sounding words which are in fact just ‘waffle’. Such techniques are often employed on the ‘Today’ programme and on ‘Question Time’ but they cannot be brought into play when talking to children – they will not accept it. Explaining things to children is a fantastic exercise in making you think about what something actually means.

Interestingly, when the instructions for celebrating the Passover, the main religious ritual in the Jewish religion, were established one of the important features is that the youngest child present asks 4 questions about what is happening, for example, why unleavened bread and bitter herbs are being eaten. In this way the Jewish community is led to think very carefully about why they are doing what they are doing and to clarify in their minds the importance and significance of what is happening.

When I was first ordained I was full of confidence and hope – I had a degree in theology from University and had spent a further two years at Theological College learning about ministry, reflecting on matters of faith and thinking about how I was going to use all that I had been learning when sharing in leadership of the churches entrusted to me. Within 5 years of my ordination I became the chaplain of Helen House, the first ever hospice for children. Within weeks of starting this new ministry I had to begin to deconstruct all the neat and tidy theology I had learnt, I had to think deeply about doctrines concerning salvation, redemption, resurrection and forgiveness, I had to think about what we are actually doing when we pray and I had to think about where God is in a place like Helen House. I did all this, not in order to write essays or dissertations, but in order to respond to the questions of deeply traumatised parents, most with very little Christian education or biblical knowledge, and in order to respond to the questions of very sick children.

Please do not make the mistake of thinking that talking to children about profoundly important theological points of view and complex doctrinal issues, is actually all about ‘dumbing down’ because it absolutely isn’t – it is about honing down what is most important to its core truth.

For example, if a child asked me about heaven I would talk to them about what it feels like when their mum or dad gives them a cuddle, we would talk about that feeling of being comfortable and safe, that feeling of having someone caring for you, that feeling of warmth and well-being. Heaven is like that, heaven is that feeling for ever. That is not just words, that is a way of talking about and Romans 8.39 where we are told that nothing ‘can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’ and 1 Corinthians 13.8, ‘Love never ends’.

I remember reading somewhere that preachers should never say anything in a sermon that they couldn’t say standing at the gates of Auschwitz. I think it is also true to say that preachers should never say anything in a sermon that they couldn’t explain or describe to an inquisitive child.

A Headteacher of a school in one of my previous parishes always wanted me to conclude any Christian teaching in assembly by telling the children what that teaching looked like in the playground. That helped to focus the mind in a similar way to thinking about answering the questions of children.

So, in the reading from Deuteronomy the people are told to respond to the questions children would ask them about the meaning of the Lord’s decrees, statutes and ordinances – the answer they are to give is that the keeping of the law is the people’s response to the great love and generosity God showed to the people in bringing them out of slavery in Egypt to freedom in their own fertile land. In other words, the laws are not to be kept for their own sake but as a loving response of the people to the loving action by God.

Think about what you believe about God and then think about how you would explain that or talk about that to a child – it is my experience that by doing this our faith doesn’t become simpler or easier but it does become deeper and much more grounded in reality.

Let us pray

Give us the eyes of a child, O God, to delight in your world. May we see your wonders anew, hear the sounds of joy and laughter, and discover as we play the majesty of your glory. Keep us from closing our hearts through arrogance and pride. Open us to the praise that excites the soul, through Jesus Christ. Amen

The Law – gift or curse? – The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

 Sunday 3^rd June 2018 Evensong

Jeremiah 5.1-19 & Romans 7.7-end

There are some who doubt the truth of the bible and there are others who believe every word of the bible is divinely inspired truth. As I have read and re-read the verses from Romans 7, set for our second reading, I have resolved to show this passage to anyone I speak to who doubt the truth of any of the bible and to those who think every word is true!

What we have in Romans 7 is an insight into the inner workings of Paul’s mind as he struggles to understand where God is in all that he is experiencing. As I have reflected on Romans 7 I have found it impossible to imagine why anyone would fabricate such writings or why anyone would ever think it is adequate to simply say that every word of scripture is true because it was divinely inspired.

Paul was a complicated man. He became a passionate disciple of Jesus after spending his adult life as a Pharisee, steeped in the Jewish law, which directly led him to persecute the early followers of Jesus vigorously and violently because, in accordance with his reading of the Law, he thought they were blasphemers. In the midst of all of this, as we all know, he encountered Jesus in a vision on the road to Damascus, was generously enfolded in the community of the followers of Jesus and became the passionate and articulate disciple of Jesus we all who know. Paul wrote more of the New Testament than anyone else.

In Romans 7 Paul acknowledges that though the Law is good it can lead to sin. The Law is good because it seeks to ensure justice and order. If there was no Law then there would be anarchy and chaos. The Law exists so that people can flourish. But there is a problem, because once you have the Law you will have people who forget that keeping the Law is a means to an end, not and end in itself. The Law is there not to contain, control, test or trick people, it is there to liberate people so that they can flourish as individuals and as communities. Paul could see that some people in authority were using the Law to frighten and manipulate others, in fact he had been one of those people himself. The Law is a gift from God to bring life but it can be misinterpreted and abused to bring death. It feels strange to say it, and this is what Paul is struggling with, but a life giving gift from God can lead to sin and spiritual death.

There is another problem with the Law and it is what I will call ‘The beans up the nose’ problem. Let me explain, we had some friends who also had three sons, like us. Most of us know that small children can be very imaginative in the ways that they can misbehave. Once our friends gave their sons their tea, beans on toast, and inspired by other recent bouts of mischief, issued the instruction, ‘do not put these beans up your nose’! Choral evensong at York Minster is not the place to go into the details of what happened next, suffice it to say, there is something in human nature, not only for mischievous children, but also for adults, that when you are told not to do something, that is the thing you want to do. As Paul says in verses 18 & 19 ‘I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.’ It is no coincidence that when we talk about this tendency in human nature to explore what is against the Law we talk about the attraction of ‘forbidden fruit’. The first sin came about because the first Law God gave was this, ‘of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat’ Genesis 2.17. Would Eve had been attracted to the forbidden fruit if it had not been forbidden …..? There’s a thought to ponder. With the carnage of the beans on toast debacle in mind, at least she only ate it!

I rejoice that we are able to read about Paul’s his turmoil in struggling to see where God is in the Law and all that surrounds it and I rejoice that when our forebears sat down to decide what writings should be included in what we now call The Bible, they included passages like this, passages in which the complexity and contradictions of our relationship with God are so plainly recorded, passages like this, which reveal that simply saying something is true because God said it, is simply not good enough.

I have often said that I believe Spirit filled divine inspiration helped Paul and others to be brutally honest when they wrote the books that now make up the bible, we should pray for the same Spirit filled divine inspiration to be with us as we read the bible so that we can find a way through the complexities and contradictions.

But let’s get back to this passage in particular. Laws are there to set a framework within which everyone can live and thrive. Paul reminds us that living by the Law is a constant battle to do what is good, not just for our own sake but also for the sake of our community. There is a selfish element within all human beings that seeks the fulfilment of personal ambitions and greed and all of us are willing to risk chaos, or at least disorder, to satisfy those ambitions and that greed. Speaking from his own experience and his own inner battles, Paul is telling us that we need strength and commitment to embrace and love the Law God gives us because the Law was given not to frighten and control but to enable people, all people, to thrive and to love.

Blessed Alcuin of York (c. 730-804)

Eternal Light, shine into our hearts;

Eternal Goodness, delivers us from evil;

Eternal Power, be our support;

Eternal Wisdom, scatter the darkness of our ignorance;

Eternal Pity, have mercy on us—

So that with all our heart and mind and soul and strength we may seek your face,

And be brought by your infinite mercy into your holy presence through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Creating Space for Truth, Clarity and Grace – Canon Dr Christopher Collingwood (Chancellor)

The Reverend Canon Dr Christopher Collingwood (Chancellor)

Sunday 3 June 2018 – Matins 11.30am

Deuteronomy 5:1-21   Acts 21:17-39a

Listening to the radio yesterday morning, I heard Ian McEwan, the acclaimed novelist, speaking from the Hay Literary Festival. By the way, if you haven’t read his latest novel, Nutshell, I can thoroughly recommend it; it’s an absolute hoot! Anyway, McEwan was responding to the observation that sales of novels are seriously declining at the moment. He’d been asked whether people were less inclined to read these days and, if so, why that might be. Although he conceded that attention spans are perhaps shorter than they used to be, and that the attraction of film and television was strong – indeed, several of his own novels have been adapted for the cinema – he argued passionately that the novel remains a wonderful medium for exploring consciousness, human relationships and the interaction between human beings and the world as a whole.

Now I could almost certainly guarantee that having been presented with today’s two Biblical readings, your first reaction isn’t likely to have been that they’d make great novels, TV or film! In the first, from the book Deuteronomy, we heard a recitation of the Mosaic Law, recognisable as a version of the Ten Commandments, and in the second, Paul’s portrayed in the Acts of the Apostles as kicking up a stink during a visit to Jerusalem, the geographical and spiritual centre of the Jewish Faith. Acts purports to be history, and so isn’t intended to be read as a work of fiction. But it could so easily be turned into an historical novel or adapted for the cinema as a biopic, or for the television as a biographical drama, along the lines of something like A Very English Affair, based on particular historical events in the life of the former Liberal Party leader, Jeremy Thorpe, the last episode of which is to be screened this evening. Acts has all the ingredients necessary for a gripping drama.

For starters, take Paul himself. He was a highly complex and controversial character: intelligent, opinionated, abrasive and fearless. He was an all-or-nothing kind of guy. Raised as a strictly observant, zealous Jew, convinced that the Law had to be adhered to rigidly, he was the primary motivator of the persecution of the first Christians. But then, as he was on his way to Damascus to arrest Christians, he was stopped in his tracks by an encounter with the Risen Christ, which utterly changed his life. No longer believing that obedience to the Law was capable by itself of leading to salvation, he began to preach a gospel of grace, to be appropriated by faith, a gospel that wasn’t for Jews alone but for Gentiles as well. Much of the drama of Acts arises out of the impact of this monumental shift in Paul’s experience, thinking and action.

In today’s reading, he’s depicted as going to meet the leaders of the Jerusalem Church to tell them of the work that, as Acts puts it, God had been doing among the Gentiles through his ministry. The Apostles are clearly impressed and heartened but they’re also quite savvy. Stories of Paul’s alleged abandonment of the Jewish Faith had been circulating, with the result that there was huge potential for conflict among the Jews in Jerusalem. Jewish nationalism was on the rise at the time, in much the same way that populist movements are springing up in our own day all around the world. So the Apostles advised Paul to present his legitimacy to the Jewish population by submitting himself to the Jewish custom of shaving his head in accordance with the Law as part of a rite of purification.

But then rumours begin to be circulated. It’s alleged that Paul’s taken Gentiles with him into the temple, something that, if true, brought with it the death penalty. The author of Acts refutes this allegation, but the mob’s incited and feelings run high, to the extent that the crowd’s on the verge of lynching him. Just at the last moment, though, the tribune comes to the rescue and allows Paul to speak under the protection of Roman soldiers.

Now today’s reading ended at this point; we didn’t hear what Paul had to say. If you want to know, you could come back next week and hear how the story continues! Or, of course, you could read it yourself. Suffice to say that Paul presents his impeccable credentials as an observant Jew, recounts his experience on the Damascus Road, and has his Jewish audience in the palm of his hand right until the last moment when he mentions the G-word – Gentiles – and then all hell’s let loose. The crowd gets whipped up into a frenzy and demands that Paul be done away with. It’s only when the centurion hears that Paul’s a Roman citizen that he realises that he really does have to protect him under law, and whisks Paul away to safety.

If I’ve done nothing else, I hope I’ve demonstrated that the Acts of the Apostles can be quite exciting! But that’s not really enough for a sermon, so what’s the point I want to make? It hinges on the suggestion that a false allegation is made against Paul: that he took Gentiles into the Temple, whereas, in fact, the author of Acts denies that this was so. The whole sequence of events unfolds on the basis of rumour, innuendo and hearsay. We know from our daily lives just how damaging these things can be.

And this brings me to the passage read from Deuteronomy. One of the commandments relates to just this: ‘Neither shall you bear false witness against your neighbour’ (5:20). Now this could mean specifically perjury or simply lying more generally. The important thing is that it implies an overwhelming concern for truth, and justice for one’s neighbour. Jesus would later summarise the whole Law by saying that we should love God and our neighbour as our self, and that there was no commandment greater than these. In other words, love of God and neighbour is lived out in practising justice towards our fellow human beings.

We’re all far too quick to make judgments about others. We do so without patiently seeking to establish facts, without really wanting to get to the truth of the matter, and we jump to conclusions when we don’t have the full picture. We’ve always known this about certain parts of the press and the media but social media now makes it possible for something to go viral, whether it’s been established to be true or false. And once it’s out there, it’s almost impossible to reel it in. The world thrives on rumour, innuendo and hearsay.

So what’s to be done? Three things. First, don’t assume that what you hear or read is unequivocally true. Check it out first. Acknowledge that there’ll almost certainly be another dimension to the story.

Second, be cautious and restrained in how you speak, especially of others. Don’t perpetuate rumours and hearsay, don’t jump to conclusions and assume that something’s true just because someone’s told you. Put yourself in your neighbour’s shoes and ask what justice requires in a given situation.

Third, and this is perhaps the most important point of all, introduce into the whole of your life the practice of pausing. When you’re under pressure, when you’re put on the spot, take your time, take a few deep breaths before speaking or responding. This is where meditation can help. It allows us to sit lightly to all the stuff that arises in the mind, all the internal dramas that serve to give us a sense of self. This ‘self’, though, so often clouds and distorts our vision. It’s only by letting it go that clarity begins to emerge and we can see things for what they truly are.

One person who practises and models this to perfection is Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury. When he was interviewed on the radio some years ago – it was, I think, on something like Radio 4’s Today programme – he was asked a very tricky question, and he clearly knew that whatever he said was likely to incriminate him with one group or another. So with extraordinary presence of mind he simply said that he needed to take a few moments before answering. There followed about 10 seconds of silence, something that broadcasters loathe and dread, because it’s what they call dead air. But he just paused and his silence spoke volumes.

We can also do that, for it’s when we step aside, it’s when we choose a kind of inaction, that God can act. Paul himself knew this, for after his experience on the Damascus Road he disappeared into the obscurity of the Arabian Desert, not just for a few seconds but for three years, so that in that silent space he could begin to discern what God was asking of him, to see from God’s perspective. Jesus, too, understood the value of pausing, of silence, of inaction, for when a woman supposedly caught in the very act of committing adultery was brought to him by a baying mob, he simply knelt down on the ground and doodled in the sand before speaking: ‘Let the one without sin cast the first stone’. When God’s given that kind of space, clarity and truth can begin to emerge, grace can come into play, and the most unexpected and surprising things can happen.

The Trinity made easy? – The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

Sunday 27 May 2018 –  4.00pm Evensong

 Ezekiel 1. 4-10, 22-28a & Revelation 4

As Christians we do have a tendency to get into a state about the Trinity. We find it hard to explain to others and difficult to talk about. And yet we are blessed, baptised, confirmed, married and buried in the name of the Trinity, ‘the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.’

The Trinity falls into that category of thing that we know we should believe but which, to our rational, 21^st century minds, we actually find difficult to believe, like supernatural miracles, virgins giving birth and dead bodies walking out of tombs.

Where did the doctrine of the Trinity come from? It was not handed down from heaven as a kind of divine CV. Neither was it created by a super-clever theological Einstein to be put into creeds, to become a kind of defining tenet of our faith, something we have to put a tick against on the application form for becoming a Christian. Neither was it ever meant to be a dogma to daub on banners as we Christians went to war, in centuries past, with those we called heretics and non-believers because they didn’t believe in the Trinity.

The doctrine of the Trinity is simply an attempt to explain our experience of God. We experience God as creator, the prime mover, the source of all that is. We also experience God as personal, one of us, someone who shares in our humanity and identifies with our life experience, that is Jesus. And then, as we heard last week with the story of Pentecost, those first Christians had an intense sense of Jesus’ constant presence with them even when his physical presence with them had come to an end. This was a dilemma – it did not seem to make sense. God was the creator, the source of all creation, God was personal, one with us in Jesus and when Jesus was no longer physically present among them the first Christians still had a profound sense of God being with them and within them. So the doctrine of the Trinity grew out of people’s experience of God, it is simply an attempt to describe our experience of God.

Think of any life changing experience like falling in love or bereavement or becoming a parent and then think about how you explain that experience to someone else. Someone once said to me that they felt as if a bucket of love had been poured over them when they fell in love. The bereaved often talk about feeling as if part of them has been amputated when a husband or wife dies. New parents talk about living in a new world with new horizons when a child is born. We are always finding ways to try and describe the inexplicable and indescribable. The trouble is that the more you talk about something, the more you try to define something, the more complicated everything becomes. This is not a reason for not trying to talk about your experience, we just have to be careful and measured and never claim that we have the definitive explanation. Our attempts to talk about these important life-changing experiences are valuable and worthwhile but they will always fall short of what our experience actually is.

The Trinity is simply the Christian communities attempt to explain and describe the way we experience God. But we must remember that it is ultimately only an attempt to explain and describe what is inexplicable and indescribable. As the ex-Bishop of London, Richard Chatres has said,

When we think about God we are not supposed to pretend that we know everything. We are supposed to proclaim with the hymn ‘O Lord my God when I in awesome wonder….’ That awe is what worship is about.

The doctrine of the Trinity is hugely helpful and important, we should reflect upon it, dwell in it, but in the end we are not called to worship the explanation, the ‘description’ of God, we are called to be drawn into the awesome wonder of God which is beyond explanation and description.

I think we end up getting anxious and confused about the Trinity because everyone wants everything explained these days. Everyone wants everything to make sense and to fit in with our understanding of the way the world works. Bookshops are full of books with titles beginning with ‘How to …..’ or ‘Such and such for dummies’ or ‘so and so made easy’. It maybe that lots of subjects can be handled in this way but we make a huge mistake if we attempt to squeeze humanity’s experience of God into this ‘make everything easy and accessible’ packaging. I think we need to come at this from the other end and start, not with making everything easy and accessible, pretending that we can know everything, but by being drawn into the mystery, generating worship that leads to a sense of that ‘awesome wonder’ we sing about in that hymn. What people need now is less information and more inspiration, less explanation and more exploration, less stark simplicity and more rich complexity, less manmade systems of belief and more divinely inspired glimpses of glory.

So the Trinity is an attempt to explain the way we experience God, an explanation that has helped endless numbers of people draw close to God. The books and sermons written about the Trinity have helped countless people into a deeper understanding of God and a deeper relationship with God – that is why the doctrine of the Trinity is a precious, holy and sacred thing. Everything that happens to us as Christians happens in the name of the Trinity. The best way we can respond to this is not to spend our time attempting to explain the Trinity and make it easy for people to understand, but to lead people, through our love and compassion, through our worship, through the beauty of our church building, through our welcome and our witness, to experience something of God who is the creator, the source of all true creativity, who is Jesus, one with us, and who remains constantly present in the energy and inspiration of his Spirit. We are not here to defend or explain the doctrine of the Trinity we are here to lead others into an experience of the awesomeness and wonder of God who creates, redeems and sustains.

Let us pray

Eternal source of life and love, holding all in purposeful order, awaken reverence and awe for your mystery and wonder.

Eternal Presence, making visible and intimate the depth of your being, draw all people into your outpouring heart.

Eternal Spirit, indwelling, moving creation into being and hearts to leap for joy; inspire justice, excite truth and refresh the face of the earth.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit, blessed and glorious Trinity, to you be glory and honour, now and for ever. Amen

The Spirit of God fills the whole World. Alleluia! – Canon Dr Christopher Collingwood (Chancellor)

The Reverend Canon Dr Christopher Collingwood (Chancellor)

Sunday 20 May 2018 – 4pm Evensong

Ezekiel 36:22-28   Acts 2:22-38

One of the delights of Common Worship, the Church of England’s suite of liturgical resources, gradually introduced over the last 18 years, and which stands alongside the older Book of Common Prayer, is that it gives distinctive character to each of the Church’s seasons. Daily Prayer, for example, which we use here for the service of Morning Prayer each day, though its structure remains the same throughout the year, allows the particular flavour of each season to be captured and celebrated through the carefully selected provision of appropriate Biblical material. Thus, during the 10 days between the Feasts of the Ascension and Pentecost, as we’ve focussed our attention on waiting for and being open to the Spirit, the canticle or song recited after the first reading on each occasion has been drawn from the very words we heard as the first lesson from the Prophecy of Ezekiel this afternoon:

‘I will take you from the nations…I will sprinkle clean water upon you…A new heart I will give you, and put a new spirit within you, and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. You shall be my people, and I will be your God.’

This great feast of Pentecost is often referred to as the birthday of the Church. The Acts of the Apostles, from which the second lesson was taken today, tells, in chapter two, of how the Apostles were transformed and energised by the power of the Spirit on the day of Pentecost, giving them new vigour, vision and purpose. It narrates the remarkable change that took place in the Apostles, from their experience of disappointment, fragmentation, and even depression, perhaps, after the crucifixion of Jesus, first to their bewilderment in the face of resurrection, and finally to their new and fresh understanding of what the events of Good Friday and Easter Day actually meant, and of how they were enabled to tell the story in a different way. And we heard something of that in Peter the Apostle’s sermon, recounted in the second lesson.

All this is remarkable and wonderful. There’s a real danger, though, that it’s considered to be a story about the Church alone. It isn’t. It’s a story about the whole world, the whole of creation. This is something that’s made abundantly clear in the refrain with which the canticle at Morning Prayer during these 10 days is topped and tailed: ‘The Spirit of God fills the whole world. Alleluia.’ Not just the Church, note, but the whole world.

This shouldn’t actually strike as surprising. The first chapter of Genesis articulates an awareness of the presence of the Spirit from the beginning of creation, for we’re told that when everything was still a formless void, a wind from God, the Spirit of God, swept over the face of the waters. There’s never been a time when the Spirit hasn’t been present and active, forming and shaping the whole of creation out of the first tiny seeds of its hidden potential into that fullness of life, which is its goal, purpose and glory. What the Apostles realised on the Day of Pentecost was that Christ himself was indeed the very fulfilment of that potential and that the Spirit is present in all things and all people enabling them, as St Paul states, to attain their full stature, their maturity, in Christ. This is part of what the Church has to proclaim to the world, that individually and together, as created in the image and likeness of God, we have the capacity and potential to embody Christ wholly in our lives, to participate in the divine life to the full. Sometimes, though, it’s the world which has to remind the Church of what that might actually entail.

One such example would be in relation to the status of women. From a cultural perspective, the Church emerged in a patriarchal context, but Jesus seems to have elevated the status of women far beyond what was expected at the time. The Gospels portray women as the first witnesses to the resurrection, and there are hints that they played a prominent role in the life of the early Church. In his letter to the Galatians, St Paul even writes that in Christ there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, for all are one in Christ. Women tend to have been airbrushed out of the story over the centuries, and that’s probably an understatement. And there’s still resistance in some quarters.

But it wasn’t the Church in our time which built up the momentum for change. It was so-called secular society. Feminism became the driving force for change in the second half of the 20^th century, and it’s only recently that the Church of England has caught up. Indeed it’s only just over three years ago that Libby Lane was the first woman to be ordained as a bishop – proudly, we can say – here in York Minster. And now we rejoice with Viv, our Dean, in her nomination as the Bishop of Bristol. We can also wish her happy birthday! My point, though, is this: that although there’s by no means unanimity of mind about the role of women throughout the whole Church, those who, like me and many others, rejoice in how things have moved, attribute the change to the activity of the Spirit no less in the world at large as in the Church.

A less comfortable example is that of safeguarding. There’s scarcely an institution, organisation or network of family and friends that hasn’t been infected in some way by the reality of sexual abuse. The Church has an appalling record in this regard and many within and beyond, quite rightly, expect more of it. The pressure to deal with this, though, has for too long been ignored by the Church, and the incidence of abuse has been covered up and brushed under the carpet. It’s the expectations of society at large, though, which have forced the Church to get its act together, something it’s been slow to do. Even the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse hasn’t satisfied many survivors that the Church is really taking this matter seriously as it ought.

Some have drawn attention to inadequate theology as lying at the root of the problem. Professor Linda Woodhead, for example, an eminent sociologist of religion, has characterised the prevalent stance of the Church as seeing itself as ‘an oasis of truth and goodness in a sea of secular ungodliness’. She rejects that notion outright. Furthermore, she draws attention to a faulty approach to forgiveness, which bypasses the need to be accountable to God through one another. She’s called, therefore, for a radical change of direction in how we do theology in the light of sexual abuse:

‘After IICSA’, she writes, ‘the idea that doctrine is the possession of the Church, not an ongoing discussion with laity and society, ought to die for ever. It is bound up with a state of mind in which it is impossible to pursue living questions wherever they lead, or admit mistakes other than in the most generalised terms’.[1]

Isn’t part of the problem here that the Church has forgotten that the Spirit isn’t in the Church’s sole possession? The Spirit is at loose in the world, blowing where it wills, and sometimes it’s the church that attempts to stifle the Spirit’s breath.

It’s not all lost, though, and there’s no cause for despair, far from it. For what the Apostles learned on the Day of Pentecost wasn’t entirely new. They had to discover the supreme lesson that lay at the heart not just of the history of Israel but, indeed, of all history, that when life seems to collapse in disaster and failure, as was the case with the exiles to whom Ezekiel was speaking, and as was the case with the Apostles after the crucifixion, that there is at the heart not only of the Church, but of the world as a whole, a presence and power which we call the Spirit, ceaselessly shaping the whole creation towards fulfilment in Christ. More than this, it’s sheer grace, for it all begins and ends in God, and it’s this that the Church is called to proclaim, embody and live:

‘A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you, and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. You shall be my people, and I will be your God.’

[1] ‘The Fault is Theological’ in Church Times, 6 April 2018, p.11.

Godquake – The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

The Reverend Canon Michael Smith (Pastor)

Pentecost Sunday – Choral Eucharist 10am – 20May 2018

Acts 2.1-21 & John 15.26-27; 16,4b-15

I always smile when I see a Fire Exit sign in a church! It makes me think of the Day of Pentecost and the story we hear today detailing the strange events which happened to the disciples on that day. If our Health and Safety Officer, Steve Bielby, or one of his colleagues had been in the upper room with the disciples I wonder if the Church would have ever existed. The minute the ‘violent wind’ had raced through the room followed swiftly with the ‘tongues of fire’ resting on each disciple, the Health and Safety Officer would have calmly directed people out of the Fire Exits and the Day of Pentecost would have come to an early end. In the ‘Enquiry’ which would have followed the Officer would certainly have had something to say about the suspicion that the disciples had been drinking!

Of course this is silly because it seems fairly clear that Luke, who we think wrote this account of the Day of Pentecost, is using metaphors to try and explain dramatic and strange occurrences. He talks of hearing, ‘a sound like the blowing of a violent wind’, and then, ‘They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire …’ and about the allusion to the disciples being drunk, it is clearly a joke, he says, ‘some made fun of them and said ‘They have had too much wine’. So if we take all this into account we can dispense with any concerns about physical danger. Luke is using metaphors to describe a remarkable and unusual event. A Health and Safety Officer would not be perturbed by what happened. We can simply enjoy looking back at an important, mysterious and significant event in the emergence of the Church.  Pentecost is really all about the breaking down of barriers and the growing in confidence of the disciples, to pursue the ministry of Jesus and to build communities from which the Church, from which this church community, grew. Pentecost is about remembering that the Church was born in profound joy and mutual love in which earthly differences between people, like status, race and language, are totally irrelevant.

That is all well and good but we make a massive error if we think that what happened on the Day of Pentecost was not dangerous in some ways, because it was! What happened on the Day of Pentecost was a matter of life and death, to be more precise perhaps I should say that it was a matter of death and new life!

Many of the disciples who were touched, inspired, filled with the Holy Spirit on this day died as a direct result of what happened – just as the secular and religious authorities of the day had been suspicious of Jesus and eventually killed him, so they were suspicious of his followers. In the years to come many of the disciples were arrested and martyred for their faith and work. But their deaths led to new life, new life for them and new life for the Church because their sacrifices somehow helped to establish the communities they created, their sacrifices were the foundations on which the church grew. Many early church buildings were actually built over the graves of martyred saints.

The danger about what was happening on the Day of Pentecost would not have been noticed by a Health and Safety Officer – it was all far too deep and profound. What happened on the day of Pentecost may have looked to a casual onlooker like a great party, everyone full of joy, everyone talking and getting on, everyone acting as if they had had a few drinks, but what was actually happening was the shifting of creation’s tectonic plates. God’s Spirit was no longer focussed in one person, Jesus, and directed at one nation, Israel, no, God’s Spirit was filling many people (potentially all people) and was being directed at every nation. It wasn’t an Earthquake it was a ‘Godquake’. The way God was present and active in the world was changing and changing radically.

So what does all this have to say to us as we remember and celebrate the Feast of Pentecost? Perhaps the most important thing is to be reminded that the Holy Spirit is dangerous! Ironically the Church (capital ‘C’) and churches, like ours, have a reputation for not being good with change. We have the reputation for being conservative, keeping old services and old hymns because they are familiar and safe, we don’t like changing our buildings or our services or our music or even our service times. I still bear the scars of changing service times in a previous parish! But this is in stark contrast to what happened on the day of Pentecost which was all about change – it was all about God changing the way God was working in the world, it was all about people being changed from being a collection of individuals into being a community, a body, the body of Christ.

So what makes a good celebration of Pentecost? When we leave should we be reeling drunkenly with joy, talking animatedly to anyone and everyone, ready to heal and to teach and to prophecy? Should we be luminescent, alight with God’s love, with God’s life? Of course we should – but the likelihood is that that is not going to happen because we are too reserved, too ‘buttoned up’. If there was a strong wind and flames dancing on people’s heads and everyone talking different languages I wouldn’t need a Health and Safety Officer to show me to the Fire Exit – I’d find it myself very quickly – I am English after all!

What makes a good celebration for Pentecost for us is that we should be reminded of the enormity of what we are part of – we are part of that great tectonic shift in the way God works and the way the world should be, we are in the business of being different, not just building our own little kingdoms but building God’s Kingdom. We should be reminded that the Holy Spirit is not about keeping things the same it is always about change, transformation, the transformation of ourselves and of others through our love of them and of the world, through our striving for peace and justice.

The Holy Spirit is dangerous. Some of our sisters and brothers around the world who have been filled with the Holy Spirit face real persecution and real, physical danger every day. This is not the case for us, the danger we face by being filled with the Holy Spirit is that our equilibrium will be disturbed. What we like, what we are used to, what makes us feel safe and comfortable, may change – the Holy Spirit isn’t interested in the establishment of our own little kingdoms, the Holy Spirit is only interested in filling us with energy and courage to help establish God’s Kingdom where there are no barriers, no named seats, no personal preferences, just one community of love where all are equal.

Let’s finish with a prayer – a prayer in which the Holy Spirit isn’t mentioned but a prayer clearly infused by the Holy Spirit. It is a prayer written by John Donne,

Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity: in the habitations of thy majesty and glory, world without end. Amen

The Fall of Empires – The Reverend Catriona Cumming

The Reverend Catriona Cumming

Sunday 13 May 2018 – 11.30am Matins

Rev. 14. 1-13

Several years ago, I visited an old friend in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in the United States. It’s a pretty town, with lovely Georgian buildings, and plenty for tourists to do. One of the things you can do is go on a narrated harbour cruise, where a guide tells you about the historic coastal properties, lighthouse, and fort.

As the only British person in a group of Americans it was an odd experience. I was surrounded by citizens of the most powerful country in the world, viewing evidence of my own country’s colonization of another nation’s birth right. Within the history of that place is the displacement of people who had lived there for who knows how long, the enslavement of countless others, and a war fought to gain independence from a tiny island thousands of miles away. It was a strange experience, and I found myself helplessly, and haplessly apologising for what my country had set in motion when British explorers first made landfall in the early 17^th century.

This memory surfaced this week as I read of the fall of Babylon, and the fate of Rome – two great Empires – superpowers if you will – of the ancient world.

In John’s vision, the hour of judgement has come, and those who have chosen their sides must face the consequences. John is clear that what puts people in danger is Worshiping this superpower. It is, for some, a kind of madness, like being drunk.

‘Those who worship the beast and its image, and receive a mark on their foreheads or on their hands, they will also drink the wine of God’s wrath, poured unmixed into the cup of his anger, and they will be tormented with fire and sulphur in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment goes up for ever and ever. There is no rest day or night for those who worship the beast and its image and for anyone who receives the mark of its name.’

Rev 14.9-11

Which all makes me feel rather uncomfortable – for all sorts of reasons – but partly because the problem with worldly power is that it is incredibly seductive.

Seduced by that power, one can find oneself rationalising all sorts of behaviour, because we – the powerful – are bringing enlightenment, democracy, or religion, to these poor benighted souls. It is particularly difficult, when one is living in the midst of… well, life, to be objective. We grow up, and live in a particular context, and with a particular cultural bias.

So it might be tempting on hearing the apocalyptic reading this morning, to throw up our hands, or throw in the towel. How are we to step out of a cycle which goes back to ancient Babylon?

Discouraging as these reading might appear, there is definite good news in there. Even at the hour of judgement, an angel of the Lord still proclaims a message of hope – and not just to those who are marked out as belonging to the Lamb. Even at this late hour, God wants salvation for all peoples:

“Then I saw another angel flying in mid-heaven, with an eternal gospel to proclaim to those who live on the earth—to every nation and tribe and language and people. He said in a loud voice, ‘Fear God and give him glory, for the hour of his judgement has come; and worship him who made heaven and earth, the sea and the springs of water.’”

Rev. 14. 6-7

God does not give up on God’s creation – on any of us.

Our place in this world, the damage we do – even inadvertently to one another – is complex, and difficult to untangle, but let us be clear: God does not give up on us.

And nor should we give up on each other. Imperfect as we are, our worship, and our love, for God, and for God’s creation, is treasured in heaven. We can only direct our lives and worship towards the one whose kingdom is justice and peace, rather than ambition, and economic might: towards Jesus.

We will not do so perfectly, not this side of heaven. And we must still be wary of complacency, and of trying to convince ourselves and others that we have all the answers. We don’t, and neither do they. But if this scripture tells us nothing else, it tells us that God will not give up on this world. Thanks be to God.