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I preached again since I last posted about it, on Christ the King, but I wasn't entirely happy with my sermon that time, so didn't share it here. Today we were expecting our Reader to preach, but he emailed yesterday morning to let me know he has a bad cold, so wouldn't be in today. I asked our covering priest whether she'd like me to preach, given the short notice for her to prepare a sermon, and she took me up on the offer. But our covering priest today was the Bishop, so y'know, no pressure!
I was quite pleased with how it went. The readings were Zephaniah 3.14-20, Isaiah 12.2-6 (in lieu of a psalm), Philippians 4.4-7, and Luke 3.7-18
We get quite the emotional curveball in this week’s readings, don’t we? The first two readings and the psalm are all song and rejoicing and celebration and delighted anticipation of the glories to come. And then we get to Luke’s gospel, which takes on an entirely different tone, as John remonstrates with his listeners, calling them a brood of vipers, and laying down strict injunctions about how they should behave.
This contrast feels particularly apt on the third Sunday of Advent, also called Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is Latin for rejoice, and is the first word of the traditional introit chant for today, based on the reading we just heard from Philippians – Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say rejoice! It falls in the middle of Advent, which like Lent, is a season of preparation; a season for penitence, fasting, prayer, charitable works, and most importantly of course, wearing purple. But today, as well as repenting, we also rejoice – we relax from our disciplines a little, we wear Rose – a slightly lighter, brighter shade than purple, and we look forward to the great Christmas feast which is coming.
And so the readings reflect this tension between repentance and rejoicing. Now it might be more straightforward if we could just pick one or the other and concentrate on that, rather than trying to hold both of them at the same time, but I think that the compilers of the lectionary knew perfectly well what they were doing. I think they know that to live as a Christian in a fallen world, we constantly have to wrestle with ideas and experiences that seem to be in conflict or tension.
For example, we are told by St Paul in his letter to the Romans (3.21-18) that we are saved by grace alone, a pure gift from Christ, which we do not and cannot truly deserve; that all we have to do to be a true follower of Christ is to accept that gift, and realise that we can never follow the law well enough not to need that gift. But then we are told by Jesus in Matthew’s gospel (5.48) that we are to “be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect”, and by St James (2.14-17) in his letter to the church that faith without works is dead. This tension, and the question of how to resolve or interpret it has been discussed and argued about by theologians throughout the centuries, playing a major part in the schism between the catholic and protestant churches in the reformation, and remaining a significant point of contention to this day.
Another example is theodicy, or the question of evil. That is, we know that God is perfectly good, and supremely powerful, and yet the world is full of suffering and evil. And we ask ourselves how a God who loves creation so much could permit so many bad things to happen, often to good and innocent people. Again, this has been wrestled with by theologians throughout the ages. The book of Job, written hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, shows us several Jewish responses to the question. Julian of Norwich, writing in the early 14th century, clearly spent decades wrestling with the question, eventually finding herself able to sekerly trust that whatever suffering we go through on Earth, God will somehow find a way to turn it into an even greater good than there could have been without it.
And one final example stems from John’s Gospel, which calls us to ask what it means as Christians disciples to be in the world, but not of the world. The Jewish shema prayer from Deuteronomy (6.5), quoted by Jesus in Matthew’s gospel as the greatest commandment (22.35 - also in Luke 10.27 and Mark 12.30) tells us to ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength’. And yet we are also told to love our neighbours as ourselves, to feed the hungry, to clothe the poor. How do we balance the two? How do we do the messy tiring work of making the world a better place for our fellow human beings, without getting so tied up in the minutiae of day to day life that we forget about the reason for doing the work, this omnipresent invisible God in whom we live and move and have our being.
These are big questions. Really big difficult questions. I’ve been wrestling with them for years, arguing with friends, reading the theologies of women and men far cleverer than me, and I’m not even close to having answers. But I think part of what John was telling us, when he says not to rely on having Abraham as a father, is that we need to keep wrestling. It’s not a coincidence that Abraham’s grandson Jacob was also given the name Israel, which means ‘wrestles with God’. We have to keep asking the questions. How can I be a better follower of Christ? What does that mean in my life?
One thing I found really interesting about today’s Gospel is that it ends with the words “So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.” Despite the challenges that he offers – telling people that they must stop taking more than they’re entitled to, and that if they have more than they need they should share with those who have less, he’s telling them these things to lead them to eternal life. And in the same way, when we hear the advent message, calling us to repent of our sins, to fast, to pray, and to give more generously, it may initially feel like an imposition, but at the heart of it is the same good news that John was sharing. We are called to do all of these things to prepare for the Incarnation of Christ.
And so yes, now as we live in this world of sin we must wrestle with ideas held in tension, seeing still through a glass darkly. But we do so waiting for Christ to come with “his winnowing fork in his hand, to clear his threshing floor” to burn away the chaff of our ignorance and misunderstandings with unquenchable fire and gather us in to the granary, the New Jerusalem where we can see God face to face, and join our song with Zephaniah, with Isaiah, with St Paul, and all the saints in eternal praise and thanksgiving.
Rejoice and exult with all your heart! (Zeph 3.14)
Sing and shout for joy, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel! (Isa 12.2)
Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I say, Rejoice! (Phil 4.4)
I was quite pleased with how it went. The readings were Zephaniah 3.14-20, Isaiah 12.2-6 (in lieu of a psalm), Philippians 4.4-7, and Luke 3.7-18
We get quite the emotional curveball in this week’s readings, don’t we? The first two readings and the psalm are all song and rejoicing and celebration and delighted anticipation of the glories to come. And then we get to Luke’s gospel, which takes on an entirely different tone, as John remonstrates with his listeners, calling them a brood of vipers, and laying down strict injunctions about how they should behave.
This contrast feels particularly apt on the third Sunday of Advent, also called Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is Latin for rejoice, and is the first word of the traditional introit chant for today, based on the reading we just heard from Philippians – Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say rejoice! It falls in the middle of Advent, which like Lent, is a season of preparation; a season for penitence, fasting, prayer, charitable works, and most importantly of course, wearing purple. But today, as well as repenting, we also rejoice – we relax from our disciplines a little, we wear Rose – a slightly lighter, brighter shade than purple, and we look forward to the great Christmas feast which is coming.
And so the readings reflect this tension between repentance and rejoicing. Now it might be more straightforward if we could just pick one or the other and concentrate on that, rather than trying to hold both of them at the same time, but I think that the compilers of the lectionary knew perfectly well what they were doing. I think they know that to live as a Christian in a fallen world, we constantly have to wrestle with ideas and experiences that seem to be in conflict or tension.
For example, we are told by St Paul in his letter to the Romans (3.21-18) that we are saved by grace alone, a pure gift from Christ, which we do not and cannot truly deserve; that all we have to do to be a true follower of Christ is to accept that gift, and realise that we can never follow the law well enough not to need that gift. But then we are told by Jesus in Matthew’s gospel (5.48) that we are to “be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect”, and by St James (2.14-17) in his letter to the church that faith without works is dead. This tension, and the question of how to resolve or interpret it has been discussed and argued about by theologians throughout the centuries, playing a major part in the schism between the catholic and protestant churches in the reformation, and remaining a significant point of contention to this day.
Another example is theodicy, or the question of evil. That is, we know that God is perfectly good, and supremely powerful, and yet the world is full of suffering and evil. And we ask ourselves how a God who loves creation so much could permit so many bad things to happen, often to good and innocent people. Again, this has been wrestled with by theologians throughout the ages. The book of Job, written hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, shows us several Jewish responses to the question. Julian of Norwich, writing in the early 14th century, clearly spent decades wrestling with the question, eventually finding herself able to sekerly trust that whatever suffering we go through on Earth, God will somehow find a way to turn it into an even greater good than there could have been without it.
And one final example stems from John’s Gospel, which calls us to ask what it means as Christians disciples to be in the world, but not of the world. The Jewish shema prayer from Deuteronomy (6.5), quoted by Jesus in Matthew’s gospel as the greatest commandment (22.35 - also in Luke 10.27 and Mark 12.30) tells us to ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength’. And yet we are also told to love our neighbours as ourselves, to feed the hungry, to clothe the poor. How do we balance the two? How do we do the messy tiring work of making the world a better place for our fellow human beings, without getting so tied up in the minutiae of day to day life that we forget about the reason for doing the work, this omnipresent invisible God in whom we live and move and have our being.
These are big questions. Really big difficult questions. I’ve been wrestling with them for years, arguing with friends, reading the theologies of women and men far cleverer than me, and I’m not even close to having answers. But I think part of what John was telling us, when he says not to rely on having Abraham as a father, is that we need to keep wrestling. It’s not a coincidence that Abraham’s grandson Jacob was also given the name Israel, which means ‘wrestles with God’. We have to keep asking the questions. How can I be a better follower of Christ? What does that mean in my life?
One thing I found really interesting about today’s Gospel is that it ends with the words “So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.” Despite the challenges that he offers – telling people that they must stop taking more than they’re entitled to, and that if they have more than they need they should share with those who have less, he’s telling them these things to lead them to eternal life. And in the same way, when we hear the advent message, calling us to repent of our sins, to fast, to pray, and to give more generously, it may initially feel like an imposition, but at the heart of it is the same good news that John was sharing. We are called to do all of these things to prepare for the Incarnation of Christ.
And so yes, now as we live in this world of sin we must wrestle with ideas held in tension, seeing still through a glass darkly. But we do so waiting for Christ to come with “his winnowing fork in his hand, to clear his threshing floor” to burn away the chaff of our ignorance and misunderstandings with unquenchable fire and gather us in to the granary, the New Jerusalem where we can see God face to face, and join our song with Zephaniah, with Isaiah, with St Paul, and all the saints in eternal praise and thanksgiving.
Rejoice and exult with all your heart! (Zeph 3.14)
Sing and shout for joy, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel! (Isa 12.2)
Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I say, Rejoice! (Phil 4.4)
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Date: 2021-12-12 06:34 pm (UTC)From:no subject
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