2 Timothy 2.3-13
Share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No one serving in the army gets entangled in everyday affairs; the soldier’s aim is to please the enlisting officer. And in the case of an athlete, no one is crowned without competing according to the rules. It is the farmer who does the work who ought to have the first share of the crops. Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in all things.
Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David – that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained. Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. The saying is sure:
If we have died with him, we will also live with him;
if we endure, we will also reign with him;
if we deny him, he will also deny us;
if we are faithless, he remains faithful –
for he cannot deny himself.
John 15.18-21
Jesus said to his disciples: ‘If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world – therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you, “Servants are not greater than their master.” If they persecuted me, they will persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also. But they will do all these things to you on account of my name, because they do not know him who sent me.’
Sermon:-
Walking around lately I have noticed, as I'm sure you have too, by a huge number of flags on car aerials, Red cross on a white background. And in the window of a card shop I was encouraged to buy, and presumably send, a St George's Day card. All very odd. . Because I'm sure if you asked even a handful of English men and women when their patron saint's day was they wouldn't have a clue. But then the advertising industry are ever mindful of opportunities to sell us stuff, as we've seen with the commercialisation of Christmas, and now even Easter, though that in the popular mind I suspect that has more to do with chocolate than the Resurrection.
Compare this with St Patrick, St David, and St Andrew. I think such universal ignorance would not be matched in Ireland, Wales, or Scotland. We only have to think of the huge St Patrick's Day parades in New York, or the wearing of daffodils or leeks in the button hole on St David's day, to realise that England’s patron saint is, well, shall we say a little less popular.
Which is a shame. I suspect one of the reasons is that not much is known about him, and his links to England at least date only from the period after the Crusades. He is greatly venerated by the Orthodox and Oriental Orthodox churches, and though demoted by the Roman Catholic calendar of saints in 1963 to optional veneration, you will be happy to know that he was reinstated in 2000. He is the patron saint of - wait for it - Aragon, Canada, Catalonia, China - that was a surprise -, Ethiopia, Georgia, Greece, Montenegro, Palestine, Portugal, Russia, and Serbia, so we can scarcely lay exclusive claim to him. He is also patron saint of many cities as diverse as Moscow, Beirut and Genoa, and the patron saint of everything from soldiers (with Saint Martin) and scouts to helping those suffering from leprosy and plague. He obviously has universal appeal. But what can he say to us today?
Well, as far as being patron saint of England, in our increasingly diverse society a Greek-speaking Christian Turk who lived in Palestine and joined the Roman army and was beheaded for refusing to persecute Christians, who as a group would have come from all over the Mediterranean and therefore contained many nationalities - well, as a patron saint of multi-cultural and multi-lingual England he seems peculiarly appropriate. He is not only representative of what it means to stand up for Christian beliefs, and pay the ultimate price, but also of the diversity and inclusiveness of the kind of Christianity which sees all fellow Christian men and women as brothers and sisters, wherever they hail from. Ironic considering the current neo-fascist connotation the flag of Saint George has gained through the BNP and the National Front still irony often comes out of ignorance!
Now cast your mind back to that long list of countries of which George is patron. How many of those would we feel safe in being a Christian? China has only recently relaxed its views on Christianity and the promotion of the Gospel, as has Russia; Serbia we all know about; and times are still tough for Christians in Palestine. Persecution of Christians continues all round the world. What we in England take for granted, toleration, is not a given in many, many parts of the world.
As we approach the Eucharist, it is as well for us to remind ourselves on St George's Day of what it means to be able to participate so freely in this country in this most intimate and personal encounter with our risen Lord. However sketchy are the precise details of George's life, what he stands for is in a sense far more important. Dragons and maidens and the rescuing of maidens from dragons has everything to do with myth but nothing to do with martyrdom. George refused to persecute Christians, and for that he lost his life. He joined a long line of martyrs which stretched behind him, and which stretch forward to us today, and to whose number many will be added in the future. He would not compromise, and he did what was right. Which is why, even though I count myself as Welsh, I for one am proud to call him the patron saint of England.
Amen
Thursday 23 April 2009
Sunday 12 April 2009
I Have Seen the Lord!
I Have Seen the Lord!
The Light has burst through the darkness. The long night is over. The poet John Masefield cries with us,
Oh glory of the lighted mind.How dead I’d been, how dumb, how blind!
We have walked in sorrow since Thursday night. We were lost. Now light breaks forth and joy visits our minds. We are no longer lost. We blink at the Light, but we are suspicious of sudden joy. After so much sadness, after the loss of hope, joy is a surprise beyond imagining. We blink again, not believing the evidence of our eyes, thinking, We must be dreaming.
Imagine for a moment what it is to be a child like Dylan again. You look around for your parents and fear grips you. You start crying and someone asks: Why are you weeping?
You answer: I am weeping because I have lost my mother and my father. I have lost my anchor. I have lost everything that held me firm on the earth. But there is your mother stretching out her hand to take yours as she says, Come with me, my child You are safe now. And then you hear your father saying, Do not be afraid.
This is what this sudden joy after so much sorrow feels like. Still we are not persuaded.
We had accepted the end. Now our eyes tell us that it was not the end, something else was happening. Is somebody interfering with our reality? We hear the cry, Don’t give me any false hopes! and recognize our own voice crying.
As we contemplate resurrection, different voices and answers come at us from all directions. They usually begin like this: “The scholars tell us …” for the current trend is to offer explanation and analysis. The sceptics agree: No one can return from death; no one has returned from death. What you see is a vision. The longing of the heart is so great that the mind sees what it wants to see. On and on come the explanations. “The scholars tell us …”
But here comes Mary of Magdala. Let us listen to her words on the resurrection; she was an eye-witness after all. We imagine her answers:
“This is what I too thought at first. That he was the gardener. That he was a vision. That my wounded, orphaned heart was making my eyes see what the heart longed for. But then I remembered that I had given up all hope. My tears were enough testament that I had accepted his death. My grief was as real as that dead body I had watched Joseph wrap in the clean linen. I had seen him being laid in the tomb. This, this is not what I expected. So don’t tell me it was a vision. Still, when I saw the empty tomb, everything inside me asked: Is it possible? Can it be possible?
“In the early morning stillness, a familiar, beloved voice calls my name and all doubts vanish. He knows my name as he knows me. I know his voice. I know that only he calls my name in this manner -- with agape, with knowledge, with assurance, as if calling me back from death, recalling me to life as he had done long ago when he dispelled the demons. ‘Mary!’ I turn to look at him and I cry out, ‘Rabbouni!’ Beloved teacher -- as I used to do. I know who he is. This is not a vision, this is my beloved teacher and friend. My saviour.”
And we who have also been called by name believe her. We may not know him as well as Mary knew him, but we are known by him. For the moment we respond exactly the way she did. We don’t want to lose him again because that will plunge us into darkness. And now that we have seen the light, we don’t want to be left in the dark, ever again. We join the psalmist as he asserts:
I shall not die but I shall live.He will swallow up death forever.
It is the most hopeful thought. We prostrate ourselves before him and grasp at his robe, at his feet, to keep him near us. Do we hear him chuckle? “Don’t hold on to me now. When I go to my Father, I will be available to all of you.”
Mary understands immediately. She trusts him afte
r death as she did before his death. She runs to the other disciples. “I have seen the Lord.”
A wonderfully simple statement. “I have seen the Lord.” She doesn’t describe him, she doesn’t defend her sight of him, she doesn’t analyze her feelings. “I have seen the Lord, and this is what he said to me.”
Ah, if we could only learn to do the same. Peter did learn it. When he preached to a diverse group assembled by Cornelius, the heart of his message was this: “We are witnesses. . . [he appeared] to us who were chosen by God as witnesses and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.” Maybe he was remembering Mary’s words to him on that first Easter morning: “I have seen the Lord.”
Paul also heard the same words and repeated them in his own way, crying out: “Have I not seen the Lord?” and then, after reciting a litany of appearances, he affirms: “Last of all, he appeared also to me.”
What about us? This morning we have listened again to the resurrection story. We have sung glorious affirmations of the Day of Resurrection. We will partake of Holy Communion and will affirm our faith. We will see Dylan be baptised. Let us pray the longing of our hearts. Let us ask to feel, to know the Presence. So we too can say with Mary, “I have seen the Lord.”
Amen.
The Light has burst through the darkness. The long night is over. The poet John Masefield cries with us,
Oh glory of the lighted mind.How dead I’d been, how dumb, how blind!
We have walked in sorrow since Thursday night. We were lost. Now light breaks forth and joy visits our minds. We are no longer lost. We blink at the Light, but we are suspicious of sudden joy. After so much sadness, after the loss of hope, joy is a surprise beyond imagining. We blink again, not believing the evidence of our eyes, thinking, We must be dreaming.
Imagine for a moment what it is to be a child like Dylan again. You look around for your parents and fear grips you. You start crying and someone asks: Why are you weeping?
You answer: I am weeping because I have lost my mother and my father. I have lost my anchor. I have lost everything that held me firm on the earth. But there is your mother stretching out her hand to take yours as she says, Come with me, my child You are safe now. And then you hear your father saying, Do not be afraid.
This is what this sudden joy after so much sorrow feels like. Still we are not persuaded.
We had accepted the end. Now our eyes tell us that it was not the end, something else was happening. Is somebody interfering with our reality? We hear the cry, Don’t give me any false hopes! and recognize our own voice crying.
As we contemplate resurrection, different voices and answers come at us from all directions. They usually begin like this: “The scholars tell us …” for the current trend is to offer explanation and analysis. The sceptics agree: No one can return from death; no one has returned from death. What you see is a vision. The longing of the heart is so great that the mind sees what it wants to see. On and on come the explanations. “The scholars tell us …”
But here comes Mary of Magdala. Let us listen to her words on the resurrection; she was an eye-witness after all. We imagine her answers:
“This is what I too thought at first. That he was the gardener. That he was a vision. That my wounded, orphaned heart was making my eyes see what the heart longed for. But then I remembered that I had given up all hope. My tears were enough testament that I had accepted his death. My grief was as real as that dead body I had watched Joseph wrap in the clean linen. I had seen him being laid in the tomb. This, this is not what I expected. So don’t tell me it was a vision. Still, when I saw the empty tomb, everything inside me asked: Is it possible? Can it be possible?
“In the early morning stillness, a familiar, beloved voice calls my name and all doubts vanish. He knows my name as he knows me. I know his voice. I know that only he calls my name in this manner -- with agape, with knowledge, with assurance, as if calling me back from death, recalling me to life as he had done long ago when he dispelled the demons. ‘Mary!’ I turn to look at him and I cry out, ‘Rabbouni!’ Beloved teacher -- as I used to do. I know who he is. This is not a vision, this is my beloved teacher and friend. My saviour.”
And we who have also been called by name believe her. We may not know him as well as Mary knew him, but we are known by him. For the moment we respond exactly the way she did. We don’t want to lose him again because that will plunge us into darkness. And now that we have seen the light, we don’t want to be left in the dark, ever again. We join the psalmist as he asserts:
I shall not die but I shall live.He will swallow up death forever.
It is the most hopeful thought. We prostrate ourselves before him and grasp at his robe, at his feet, to keep him near us. Do we hear him chuckle? “Don’t hold on to me now. When I go to my Father, I will be available to all of you.”
Mary understands immediately. She trusts him afte
r death as she did before his death. She runs to the other disciples. “I have seen the Lord.”
A wonderfully simple statement. “I have seen the Lord.” She doesn’t describe him, she doesn’t defend her sight of him, she doesn’t analyze her feelings. “I have seen the Lord, and this is what he said to me.”
Ah, if we could only learn to do the same. Peter did learn it. When he preached to a diverse group assembled by Cornelius, the heart of his message was this: “We are witnesses. . . [he appeared] to us who were chosen by God as witnesses and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.” Maybe he was remembering Mary’s words to him on that first Easter morning: “I have seen the Lord.”
Paul also heard the same words and repeated them in his own way, crying out: “Have I not seen the Lord?” and then, after reciting a litany of appearances, he affirms: “Last of all, he appeared also to me.”
What about us? This morning we have listened again to the resurrection story. We have sung glorious affirmations of the Day of Resurrection. We will partake of Holy Communion and will affirm our faith. We will see Dylan be baptised. Let us pray the longing of our hearts. Let us ask to feel, to know the Presence. So we too can say with Mary, “I have seen the Lord.”
Amen.
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