Saints…making God possible for others. A sermon for Adel Parish Church, All Saints Day 2022.

Today we celebrate All Saints’ Day…which can seem a bit like the day to remember those saints not quite important enough to get their own special day!

Our prayer book – Common Worship – says it’s a celebration of ‘men and women in whose lives the church as a whole has seen the grace of God powerfully at work.’

Mark Oakley, in his book ‘By way of the heart’, puts it slightly differently, suggesting saints are those who ‘have kept the rumour of God alive on the face of this earth.’ I rather like that definition…there are so many competing voices in our modern world that making God possible for people as a source of love and life is a real challenge.

Women and men have done this in difficult circumstances through the ages, but Oakley goes on to give the example of Desmond Tutu, who died almost a year ago, as a saint for our times.

He cites Tutu’s faith, courage and humour as what made him a saint. Faith in a loving God who particularly seeks out the lost, the poor and the oppressed. But also faith that God’s love can transform any life whatever evils it has contained.

Tutu’s courage we know about. Courage to speak out against apartheid even when this led to prison. But also courage to call for truth and reconciliation rather than vengeance when apartheid eventually fell. And courage since then to oppose those within the church who would exclude people because of their sexuality.

For those who met him – his humour and joy are perhaps most memorable. David and Jill Dilks, who once attended a service he led, said they found themselves uncharacteristically dancing and clapping…not quite sure how, just sucked in by that infectious joy.

Few of us are lucky enough to meet someone like Desmond Tutu – but if we’re here today it’s probably because someone made God possible for us…someone kept the rumour of God alive.

I’d like to tell you about two such ‘saints’ in my life.

One you may’ve met, the Reverend Bob Shaw who presided and preached here on Trinity Sunday. He was my vicar when our children were small. He was kind, faith filled and thoughtful.

At the time I found it easier to relate to God as Father, than to Jesus. Bob led some discussions using this resource…’The Christ we Share’. It’s a collection of images from around the world…images of a white, black and Asian Christ; a happy and sad Christ; Christ through tribal eyes; a female Christ; a tortured Christ. Seeing Christ as others see him somehow helped me move from an intellectual understanding to a relationship with Christ. He made Christ as friend and saviour real for me.

Bob also used the phrase, quite often it seemed, ‘we are an Easter people’. That’s what makes God possible for me. We’re not stuck in the guilt, shame and horror of Good Friday. How ever bad things seem, we have hope that love will always have the final word.

My other saint is Jenny, elderly then, long gone to be with her God. Before I had children, I played in the church music group. When the children were babies there was a queue of people ready to hold them in church so I could play my flute. Once they were toddlers the job was less sought after…

But every parade service, there was Jenny, with a book, some crayons, and a smile that suggested she could imagine nothing better than entertaining a wriggly toddler through a church service. Jenny made worshipping God possible for me in a very practical way.

Bob and Jenny, definitely people who kept the rumour of God alive on this earth.

I wonder who have been the saints in your life? Who, by words or actions helped you begin a journey of faith; deepened your faith; held on to you when you felt faith impossible?

Who showed you the difference God’s love could make in your life? Who helped you chip away at obstacles to believing? Who gave you a lift, helped with the children…who’s made God possible for you?

When you’ve answered that question – if they’re still around, you might like to tell them. Most saints don’t recognise themselves as such! And if they’re no longer with us – don’t worry. The other thing we recognise at All Saints is that as Christians we’re all members of a company of Saints stretching backwards and forwards in time…so in a way you’re still worshipping with them.

Of course, if we’re all members of that company of saints, then we’re all called to ‘keep the rumour of God alive on this earth’. So when we’ve worked out how people made God possible for us…we need to work out how we can make God possible for others.

Everyone’s route to Christ is unique, but there will be common features. If you can’t imagine where to start – what helped you may well help others.

For the rumour of God to kept alive, God’s name, Christ’s name, need to be on our lips. If a friend is going through difficulties, I trust you would pray for them…but how about going a step further and asking if they’d like prayer? People rarely refuse.

If friends ask about your weekend – tell them you came to church. Tell them why…they’re probably more interested than you think.

If you find daily prayer, discussion groups…any of the things that happen in church help your faith…ask someone else along. They can say no, but they might just need someone to go with.

Our readings today show a developing understanding of the community of saints. In Daniel’s vision the beasts represent threats and persecution against God’s chosen people. In the letter to the Ephesians it’s clear that any follower of Christ is numbered amongst the saints. In our gospel, we’re told that community includes everyone, even our enemies, if only we can find a way to make God possible for them.

 

Not just a story about manners…thanksgiving and the Eucharist. A sermon for Adel Parish Church, Trinity 17, 2022

Luke 17: 11 -19

Holy Communion, the Eucharist, Mass, the Lord’s Supper, bread and wine…which is your preferred name for what we meet to do this morning?

I usually choose ‘Eucharist’, partly because it’s what I grew up with, but partly because Eucharist means ‘thanksgiving’.

Today we had a story about thanksgiving…perhaps a deceptively simple story.

As a child – I thought it was a story about 9 people who hadn’t been taught any manners, and one who had! I grew up in a house where ‘Thank you’ was important…one of the ‘magic words’ we learned as toddlers…when collected from parties, however tired or shy we were, we were expected to thank our hosts…‘thank you letters’ were a less exciting but routine part of birthdays and Christmas.

I’m glad of that; I grew to see the difference a ‘thank you’ can make. Such a simple way of valuing other people and what they offer…making make people feel noticed, appreciated, worthy.

But in our story, it’s Jesus who’s thanked. I suspect Jesus didn’t need the thanks of others quite like we do…and with all that healing he probably had a pretty good haul of ‘thank you letters’!

This strange little story seems to show how thanksgiving changes the thanker. Jesus healed 10 lepers, but the one who thanked was told, ‘your faith has made you well.’ That ‘thankyou’ seems to have brought something even greater than being rid of a terrible disease.

In a way we know this. We know people whose natural response to life is gratitude. They say how lucky they are to have a home, holidays, good neighbours; and even in difficult times, mention how others are worse off, and count their blessings. We know these people – and how they’re often happier and in better mental health because of their outlook.

Today we meet to share in the meal Jesus gave us…the Eucharist. It’s the heart of our faith. It’s our family table, a table where all are welcome. It’s the place where, in a mystery I can’t explain, Jesus is present with us. It’s a reminder that God wants a relationship with each of us.

What a gift! Fitting then, that the Eucharistic prayers at the heart of this meal begin with thanksgiving. The priest gives the invitation, ‘Let us give thanks to the Lord our God’, we respond…hopefully with conviction…’it is right to give thanks and praise.’

The prayer we use at All Age services helpfully adds the question…’Why is it right to give thanks and praise?’ ‘Listen and we will hear’, we’re told, a useful reminder that the prayer begins with an outpouring of thanks to God.

Our prayer book has 8 Eucharistic prayers, each stressing different aspects of God’s saving love:

• that God created us…just because…created us in love for a relationship with him.
• that God loves us so much, he came as Jesus to live amongst us.
• that God’s love overcame even the hatred leading to the cross…answering it with resurrection.

Perhaps, like me, you’re better at thanking God for the one offs: a difficult day going better than expected; recovery from illness; a beautiful view…than making thanksgiving part of life. What God has done and continues to do for us is both so big, and so much part of everyday life that it’s strangely easy to forget. Our Eucharistic prayers offer a weekly reminder.

Last week I talked of lament, of exile…not an obvious place of thanksgiving. But this week Jeremiah told those exiles that even in the midst of lament, they should look at what God had given them. In ‘getting on’ with life as exiles they were in a way giving thanks in the darkest days that God was still their God, and still loved them. I guess those who followed Jeremiah’s advice found a measure of ‘wellness’ even in their distress.

Some of the Eucharistic prayers have space for a beginning which varies with the seasons. We give thanks:

During Advent, ‘for when Christ humbled himself to come among us in human flesh, he fulfilled God’s plan and opened for us the way of salvation.’

At Christmas, that ‘in Christ we see our God made visible, and are caught up in the love of the God we cannot see.’

At Epiphany because, ‘in the incarnation of the Word, a new light has dawned upon the world.’

During Lent, ‘for in these forty days, he leads us in the desert of repentance’.

On Maundy Thursday, because ‘on the night before he suffered, he instituted these holy mysteries that we, redeemed by his death and restored to life by his resurrection, might be partakers of his divine nature.’

At Easter because, ‘by the mystery of his passion, Jesus Christ, God’s risen Son has conquered the powers of death and hell and restored in us the image of God’s glory.’

…I love these. We give thanks in the wondering of Advent, the dark days of Lent, on the eve of crucifixion, as well as in the joy of Christmas and Easter. We’re led through Jesus’ story in an attitude of thanks…opening our lives to the events we recall.

Today’s gospel gives a glimpse of how giving thanks to God changes lives. The one who thanked was not just clean…but truly well. Thanksgiving opens us to God, giving God’s healing power access to the whole of us. One of my children’s bibles ends this story, ‘Jesus smiled at the Samaritan, but he looked into the distance at the other nine men.’ In the illustration he looks sad rather than angry…I imagine him thinking of all that’s still missing from their lives…even now they’re healed…because they aren’t open to God in gratitude.

Perhaps the leper who said thank you might prompt us to listen to our Eucharistic prayers with fresh ears. Perhaps, if we’re not already in the habit, we might try each day to note something different for which to thank God…and in the thanking let his love flood our lives.

Lament…the church’s gift to the world? A sermon for Adel Parish Church, Trinity 16, 2022

Lamentations 1: 1 – 6

I recently attended our diocesan clergy conference. At Wednesday evening prayer, the reading was from the prophet Habbakuk: a lament for a destroyed land. It was read by Jon Swales; an active campaigner on environmental issues…read not in a safe Church of England vicar voice…but as a cry of desolation.

It shook me, and reminded me how rarely we hear this way of speaking; though it’s a voice running all through the Old Testament. Today is the only time in the church’s 3 year cycle that we hear the book of Lamentations…so I thought I’d better take up the challenge and preach on it!

Jerusalem has been besieged and overrun. Its Temple lies in ruins, its people killed or carried off into exile. Lamentations consists of poems written in response. A cheery subject for a Sunday morning…

But I think the language of lament is a gift we forget in our haste to put on a cheerful front. In Hebrew, Lamentations is called simply, ‘How?’. The inconceivable has happened: God’s dwelling, the Temple, is destroyed, his people are in exile. How could God allow this? How can God still be worshipped? How can God’s people live?

It’s a disaster almost too big to contemplate. Lamentations offers this picture of Jerusalem as a widow…weeping for her husband, abandoned by her friends. Insufficient, but it gives shape to impossible grief…words to cry out…or just the permission to shout in despair.

If we go back 200 years, especially in Scotland and Ireland, funeral processions were accompanied by women ‘keening’…a mixture of crying, singing, and sounds beyond words. The idea of paying people (they were often professionals) to make a wild display of grief over a stranger now seems very odd. But it was a community recognising someone’s grief, showing empathy…saying ‘It’s ok to be desolate.’

It still happens in some countries…but we aren’t good with public displays of emotion. When I do funeral visits, people apologise even for a few tears…as if grief should be private. And I think there’s a feeling people should leave their grief and ‘get on with life’ as soon as possible.

The book of Lamentations recognises that grief can be overwhelming, and long lasting…that giving way to it occasionally can be part of moving on…that having people lament with us can help.

Last Thursday I took home communion to one of our older members. It came up in conversation that it was the anniversary of my Mum’s death. She immediately prayed with me, for me. After 17 years my grief no longer overwhelms me…but having someone recognise that it’s still there was powerful and helpful.

Next week is Baby Loss Awareness week…a recognition that miscarriages, still births, deaths in early infancy cause profound grief. We’ve realised that not only do parents need a funeral, a chance to say goodbye; but they may need space for lament for years to come. This is even more true I think when disasters befall whole communities.

After the first World War, men were condemned to shell shock, or decades of nightmares; expected to keep their grief to themselves, move on.

Things have improved, but we’re still rediscovering the power public lament has for telling people their grief is valid, is heard, and we’re willing to stand in it with them.

It’s this validation, this recognition where I think lament can be a real gift to others. Sometimes we do it…we lament with Ukraine; we observe Holocaust Memorial Day. We say – your grief is real; we try to share it.

We’re not quite so good at lamenting for our planet, for the victims of climate change…perhaps because we know we bear some responsibility for their plight?

Perhaps it’s the same with the legacy of empire and slavery.

There is a Slavery Remembrance Day; interestingly its full title is International Day for the Remembrance of the Slave Trade and its abolition…we’re better at celebrating those who worked for the freedom of slaves than lamenting the unimaginable horrors their people endured.

The continuing effects of slavery and Empire, the question of blame and reparations, are complex and difficult. But perhaps one tiny step in dealing with the hurt, might be to acknowledge the desolation and grief by simply lamenting, with those who still hurt…by standing together before the horror…and simply crying – ‘Why?’

Of course, where injustice still exists, lament needs to be followed by action. But lament has value of its own in the dignity and recognition it gives to the sufferer.

But even more than that, it’s worth doing because lament is not abandoning ourselves to despair…it’s crying out in trust that God hears us. In the middle of Lamentations, the poet states, ‘But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.’

It’s not a glib dismissal of grief and horror, rather it says we can cry in desolation, without abandoning the possibility of faith and hope for the future…we can cry in desolation trusting that God hears us and recognises our grief.

Lamentations was written by someone who could only hope for the restoration of God’s people. As Christians we know God’s answer to the desolation of Good Friday is love, resurrection and new life. But between the two comes Holy Saturday, a pause to lament, to recognise the horror of the cross.

So as Christians, as a church, we have this gift of lament to offer. We should perhaps be more familiar with this book of Lamentations, with the psalms of lament…ready to share them with those who need them.

We needn’t be afraid of sitting with individuals in their grief; of lamenting with those who fear or are suffering from climate change; of lamenting with those still overshadowed by the horrors of slavery. Because as Christians we can lament in the faith that Holy Saturday is eventually followed by Easter Sunday – that God can make all things new.