Sermon: 3rd Sunday after Pentecost

Sermon: 3rd Sunday after Pentecost

21 June 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Genesis 21:8-21 and Matthew 10:24-39; NRSV

Greetings, once again, as we continue to navigate an extending and difficult journey, one that all too easily magnifies fear and undermines courage.

I would be interested to know which journey came to mind as I said those words?

Dawn once worked for a boss who would often ask the question whenever an employ entered his office, “So what is this I hear?” It was a magic question that elicited the most amazing amount of information about what was going on in the life of the individual and the business. He of course had never heard anything, but ultimately heard everything.

So what journey came to mind, and what emotion is attached to that journey? 

What fears or anxieties are magnified? How much of this were you aware of before I asked the question? 

And what are you going to do with this knowledge now that you are becoming conscious of it? Do you have the courage to face it? There’s the rub.

We’re all on a journey with Lockdown, some of us staying obediently at home, others of us rationalising a less than strict adherence to the regulations, and others of us ignoring the dangers of the virus with reckless abandon. Note how people wear – or don’t wear – their masks in public: it’s a dead giveaway to how seriously they take the virus’s threat.

Systemic and institutionalised racism is another global journey shouting for our attention: a few of us feel its direct affect on our lives; others of us are looking to distract its attention on us by saying “But what about …?”; some of us are facing it, as disconcerting as that may be.

Femicide – the systemic murder of women – is also a global stain on society and another journey, highlighted again this week by no less than President Ramaphosa;  and it’s global ramifications spotlighted by CNN and other media.

There are other journeys, too: having to accept a discounted salary, retrenchment, and worse; illness, be it Covid-19, cancer, or something a little less serious; death, the ultimate impact.

That is all a little depressing, and I’m sure like me you’re longing for a little hope, a little joy, and you’re doubtless thinking right now that I’m not helping you find it. 

It is precisely at this point that the importance of our faith kicks in: life is tough at the moment, and we need a resource beyond ourselves; that resource is God. More specifically it is an awareness of God, of God with us; of a presence that embraces our fear and anxiety, our anger and rage, our depression and despair; and transforms it into an energy that renews and restores us, that heals and enlivens us, that connects us to a very deep source of creative joy. This is the invitation of Pentecost, and the nature of the post-Pentecost journey. It is about making sense of our life-struggles in the light of God’s presence and the call upon us all to deepen our faith, and to strengthen our spiritual journey while having this experience of being human for a while. It is a journey into relationship, and a journey into integrity.

Today’s Psalm (86) reminds us that we do trust in God to watch over us, to be merciful towards us, to gladden our souls, to attend to our prayers; and in our time of trouble to answer our cry for help. Let us trust that anew and afresh right now, whatever journey is the focus of our present attention. This is affirmed in today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 10, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows” (29-31). There is something comforting about being reminded of the extent of our value to God, especially in a time in which we may be questioning our value to the world in which we live.

In celebrating and accepting our value, we need to do so with integrity. Integrity from a faith perspective necessitates living out our faith in such a manner that all with whom we interact are also able to embrace their value, and that who we are does not limit this for others. This is more difficult, because it requires us to step back from all the value add-ons we have attached to our lives in terms of culture and tradition, and see ourselves and others at our zero base. For me this is best described by one of Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu’s most endearing qualities: his ability to see himself primarily as a human being, and others in the same light. He is firstly a human being, and then an African, a Christian, a Bishop … it is precisely this integrity to who he is as formostly a human being created in the image of God that has made him such a profound example of reconciliation in this country and the world. Systemic racism and gender-based violence are precisely at odds with this perspective, and thus requires us to do some intense and consistent introspection around our own attitudes and behaviours that may foster such brokenness in our society. This takes courage, because when it comes down to it we are all quite wedded to the perspectives we hold on the world, and are not easily shifted from what we believe to be true, even if it undermines the humanity of others. The more put-out, upset, or even angry I become at such an assertion suggests the degree to which I am complicit with the heresies of my time.

Again, today’s reading from Matthew is instructive, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; … For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; … and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me” (10:34-38). The conflict reflected in these verses points to the disagreement that will ensue even within the strongest of family relationships over what is required of us by the Gospel. It is not about personal piety which all too often unthinkingly embraces conventional reverences, but it is about social justice, which we know only too well often brings us into conflict with those we know and love most.

I would love to sugar-coat this for us all, as much for myself as for you. I suspect you haven’t found my sermon today – or last week – an easy pill to swallow. Know that I struggle to speak my words perhaps as much, if not more than you struggle to hear them. However, for me the gift of faith and a personal relationship with God is of little value if it doesn’t transform and heal the world for others. Whatever your personal journey right now, I invite you to join me in what is a tough and difficult road to both personal and communal restoration, yet one that in the letting go we are able to find renewed life in and for the sake of Christ.

I again close with a prayer by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Irish poet and theologian, from his book Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community:

Jesus of the sheathed sword, 

in your name, many swords have been used 

and many people have perished. 

Speak to us, teach us, again and again, 

that violence begets violence. 

Teach us. Again and again. 

Over and over. 

Because we keep forgetting, 

and we need to keep 

remembering.

Over and over. 

Amen.

Winter Newsletter 2020: Article

Dear Friends

Who could have imagined six months ago the changes we have been confronted with in the last while? The National Lockdown in March, mirrored across the world, has changed our lives in almost every way. I certainly entered the initial 21 days with a naïve expectation that we’d be back to life as usual by the end of April and continue merrily on our way. This was not to be, and the initial extension made it clear life was on a new path. Much of my emotional rollercoaster over the last while has been a mix of coming to terms with the death of “normal” and dealing with the anxiety associated with transitioning to something different as it begins to emerge.

From a faith perspective, I have found that having this Lockdown period run parallel to a very different celebration of Holy Week and Easter, the journey of Eastertide, and now an embrace of life post-Pentecost, helpful in navigating our journey into a “new normal”. My devotional reading for today centred on Lazarus being brought back to life by Jesus, and what strikes me is that as Lazarus dies to life and is returned to life, on one level life itself didn’t change. However, his experience of life must have changed fundamentally. It would be so interesting to hear from him how this impacted on his perceptions, expectations, and attitudes; what renewed life was like?

For you and me, as we reengage again with life as the National Lockdown begins to ease, perhaps it is time to bury past expectations, and acknowledge these last weeks as a time of mourning for all that we have needed to let go of. We also need to take time to reflect on what we are clinging to that may be obstacles to reengaging with a renewed life, one in which Covid-19 will remain an active participant?

As we step back out into the streets life looks familiar. Are we tempted to live as we always have, with relative disregard? Probably, but the virus does not allow us that luxury! As other generations have managed in centuries past, we need to find the courage to brave a new world, a renewed world. This virus has reminded us on a global scale that we are not immortal, and that we can no longer live without reference to the needs of others and without reference to the needs of the earth. It is no surprise that within this context several social diseases are also spotlighted. Racism and gender-based violence are two global social pandemics presently requiring attention: CNN reports that violence against women in the UK, Spain and other parts of Europe has increased, that in Mexico 11 women a day are killed by partners, and in Iran honour killings are up; and in our own country Cape Talk reports that 21 women have been murdered since we moved to Alert Level 3. There are other social problems endemic to our own context, including the ongoing murder of farmers to which there seem to be no answers, the gang-violence in many of our Cape Town suburbs, and random acts of violent crime. The loss of life is never acceptable, and this Covid-19 pandemic is a broader wake-up call for our world. As we hear the alarm bell going off, how do we react? Are we turning off the alarm, and getting up to act; or have we snoozed it?

The challenges are great, but not insurmountable. Our faith teaches us that even when the situation appears most dire, there is always hope. Job 4:6 (NRSV) reminds us that our confidence comes through meaningful relationship with God, and our hope is built on the integrity of our lives:

Is not your fear of God your confidence,
and the integrity of your ways your hope?

As we journey into winter, keep warm and keep healthy! Maintain social and physical distancing, wash your hands regularly, sanitise, and wear your mask in public (properly over your nose and mouth, and not as a chin or neck decoration!!). See you on ZOOM!

Blessings

Mark

Sermon: 2nd Sunday after Pentecost

Sermon: 2nd Sunday after Pentecost

14 June 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Romans 5:1-8 and Matthew 9:35-1:8; NRSV

 

Good morning to you all! Today marks 80 days since we went into Lockdown in South Africa, and despite the fact that the Alert has been downgraded to Level 3 the pandemic is still ramping up, and the Western Cape Health Department estimates we can expect in the region of an additional 8,000 deaths in the Western Cape in the next six to ten weeks (nine times the deaths over the last ten weeks): so please, while we do need to reengage with life in the real world, I do plead that we continue to be extremely careful. Of the just under 1,000 deaths from the virus so far in the Western Cape the majority have been in the 55 to 70 year-old age-group. Please stay home if you can, wash your hands regularly and sanitize, wear a mask properly, and maintain social and physical distancing (including resisting the temptation to pop in to see a family member or catch up with a friend). The reading from Romans today encourages endurance in the face of suffering, and this ongoing pandemic is certainly testing us in this regard. Please be careful, and remember that it is not primarily about protecting yourself, but protecting others. The greatest threat we face is that many are asymptomatic, yet infected; and that could define any one of us right now.

 

The gospel reading today offers us some important insights into both the heart of God and into the call on our own lives. We hear that when Jesus saw the crowds he had compassion on them, an insight into the empathy God has for the downtrodden and hurting in our world. The crowds are drawn to Jesus because, in a world dominated by the harsh circumstances of Roman rule in Palestine at the time, the people are searching for hope and longing for any opportunity to regain some form of control over their lives and circumstances. Jesus’ teaching and ministry can never be disconnected from the tough political, economic, and social realities of his day. The evil, the disease, the sickness that Jesus refers to (10:1) all has its roots in the tough realities of living in a colony on the outskirts of the Empire. You and I read, or hear, passages of Scripture like this one from Matthew’s Gospel through our privileged and largely comfortable lives, causing us to misread and mishear what God is saying to us, leading to an interpretation that too often disconnects Scripture from the realities of our day, causing us to be discomforted by any implication that the political and economic and social issues and discontent of our own time may in fact be the context of ministry and mission to which we as God’s people are called to be present. Right at the moment we are devastated by any suggestion that our churches, our schools, our communities are curators of systemic and institutionalised racism. If my Facebook newsfeed is anything to go by, we respond with superficial judgement of violent protest by people of colour around the Western world and in our own Nation, and fail to see the depth of grief this violence points too[1]. We fail in the test of our empathy.

 

Jesus response in seeing the harassed and helpless crowds, is to note that the harvest is plentiful; and he invites those with him to also see the opportunity this offers, and encourages them to ask “The Lord of the Harvest” for the resources to meet the overwhelming need visible before them (9:36-38). Jesus goes a step further, and from the larger group of disciples calls out the Twelve – and we must not miss the reference to the tribes of Israel in this number – and gives them responsibility for this task. This is not a mission to the ends of the earth, this is a mission to God’s people (10:5-6), and to the hurt and helplessness that God’s people are experiencing. James Alison[2], Roman Catholic Priest and Theologian, makes the important point that Twelve are chosen to underscore the point that this is about God’s people, and that while we subsequently may have attributed great prominence to these twelve disciples there was nothing particularly significant about them at this point in the Gospel narrative, except that they are representative of the diversity of political and economic outlook and social layering in Palestine at that time. Jesus’ choice of the Twelve speaks to the inclusive nature of God’s love for God’s people, and their commissioning to “Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons” (10:8) is a profound indication that God’s desire for God’s people is for their healing and their wholeness. Additionally, these disciples are sent to walk alongside the crowds, to be part of crowd’s experience and hardship and to be a healing and life-giving presence in their midst. It’s an overwhelming task, which we see in Jesus comment that the “… labourers are few” (1:37). However, the Twelve – and again we need to note the reference to the Tribes of Israel – are resourced, and more broadly God’s people (Israel) are resourced by being given “… authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness.” There is a purpose to this, which is to announce to God’s people that God has not forgotten or abandoned them, no matter the harsh daily reality of life in a colony on the outskirts of the Roman Empire, that the “The kingdom of heaven has come near” (10:7) and is accessible. The reference to the Tribes of Israel by implication means that not only are God’s people to experience God’s presence in strengthening them to cope with the daily challenges of life in Palestine, but that God’s people (Israel) become that healing and life giving presence in the wider world, and we see this begin to be lived out in the life of the early Church subsequent to Pentecost. While the mission of the Twelve is “… to the lost sheep of the house of Israel”, we know from the book of Isaiah that the mission of the house of Israel is to the Nations; and in the context of today’s reading, to be a source of healing and hope in the wider world.

 

You and I are part of that greater world, and are privileged to be part of God’s people in today’s world. As the Twelve were given an opportunity to be a resource for healing and hope to Israel, and Israel to the wider world, so we carry a similar authority. We do, however, need to remember that with authority comes responsibility, and we remain fully accountable for the authority we have been given and the manner in which we choose to exercise that authority. You and I, just like the Twelve, are ordinary people. However, unlike the Twelve we are predominantly privileged members of our society – visible in our ability to meet online this morning – which means that we find it that much more difficult, perhaps even impossible, to truly relate to the depth of struggle that the majority of humanity experiences daily. It is not surprising that we are reactive – and sometimes violently so (even if only in language rather than action) – to much of the grief that is poured out, be it #feesmustfall, #metoo, #blacklivesmatter or other prominent movements of our day, because our privilege buffers us from the the pain these protests express, and too often we have the resources to respond without having to get too personally involved. My experience of visiting a number of the projects we support through our Ministry to The Needy Outreach programme, is that actually being on the ground, having conversations with those we support and help, makes such a difference in my ability to relate to the realities on the ground. So this is not to say that we trivialise the importance of these movements, or that we don’t care, and that our generosity in sharing our resources with those less fortunate than ourselves isn’t given with genuine concern; but it is to acknowledge that we are discomforted by anything that challenges our privilege and security, and that we automatically react in order to protect ourselves from any perceived threat to it. These are natural human responses, but ones we may not wish to acknowledge or own up to, in fear that we may be proved hypocrites or liars. The pandemic and ongoing effects of lockdown have leveled the playing fields globally, and many who have been assured of employment and income suddenly face the unexpected challenges of unemployment and possible homelessness on a scale unprecedented since the World Wars and the Great Depression a century ago, and this adds other levels of fear to our already anxious lives.

 

These are times in which we need to hold firmly to our heritage of faith, a heritage that all the way back in the book of Genesis declares that God created humankind and declared this creation to be not just good, but very good (1:31). As human beings we are all inherently good, and we need to trust that fully. However, we need to recognise that inherent goodness does not obviate brokenness, and both our goodness and brokenness need to be held in tension; and we need to own both. When our goodness is challenged, we need to find the courage to be vulnerable and take the time to listen – a form of reverse confession[3] – to those who experience the effects of our brokenness; and once we have heard to then find the courage to transform that which is broken in our lives, trusting that God is with us to heal and rebuild hope; and through listening to become instruments ourselves of healing and hope for others in our world. These are extraordinary times, which call for an extraordinary response. Change on the scale demanded is difficult and unprecedented for most of us, and seemingly beyond our experience in so many ways. We need to trust as never before that the reign of God is near, that God is present, and that we are resourced by the Holy Spirit to live life in all its fulness.

 

I close again with a prayer by Pádraig Ó Tuama from Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community[4]:

 

God of Yesterday, 

we knew you then: 

your promises; your words; 

your walking among us. 

But yesterday is gone. 

And so, today, we are in need of change. 

Change 

and change us. 

Help us see life now 

not through yesterday’s stories 

but through today’s. 

Amen.

---

[1] https://cac.org/contemplating-anger-2020-06-09/#gsc.tab=0

[2] http://prayingeucharistically.com/6-the-gospel-of-the-day/

[3] https://cac.org/unlearning-racism-2020-06-10/#gsc.tab=0

[4] https://www.amazon.co.uk/Daily-Prayer-Corrymeela-Community-Padraig-ebook/dp/B074XCYJZ5/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Sermon: 7th Sunday of Easter

Sermon: 7th Sunday of Easter

24 May 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Acts 1:6-14 and John 17:1-11; NRSV

 

A virtual good morning, once again! Today we mark the 7^th Sunday after Easter alongside the 59^th Day of formal National lockdown in South Africa. Our celebration of Ascension Day this last Thursday is a reminder that the season of Eastertide – a season of encounter with the risen Christ – is drawing to an end as Pentecost approaches. I find myself longing for the end of lockdown, too, and wish I could be as sure of that as I am of our Pentecost celebration next Sunday! In the disciples’ question to Jesus in our Acts Reading this morning, "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" (1:6) I hear echoes of our National question to the President as we expect the introduction of Alert Level 3, “May we replenish our drinks cupboard, please?” Both the disciples’ question and ours are asked (different as they are), I suspect, with a similar level of intensity and frustration. For the Jewish Nation, after centuries of occupation, their desire for independence is echoed in our desire for personal freedom as the world continues to seek ways to resist the pandemic that has disrupted life so devastatingly and so completely.

 

Like me, you may be discovering that waiting is a difficult game, especially when there is no certainty as to how long we must do so. As you and I journey with this pandemic lockdown, we know how frustrating it is to have no clear answers or a clear plan, and to have leaders who are clearly working it out as they go along. While on one level we understand, on other levels our frustrations, fears, loss of income and loss of opportunity leave us listless, angry, anxious and uncertain. The disciples, after the ascension, as they wait for the promised Spirit must have experienced a similar roller-coaster of emotion. You and I hear today’s passage from Acts with a certain amount of familiarity, and with the gift of hindsight knowing how it all worked out. However, for those early disciples living through the experience was very different. Their opening question to Jesus about the restoration of Israel shows their ongoing confusion, or at least their struggle to comprehend, what Jesus was meaning and what God was doing in their lives and in their world. We find them staring up into the sky, a bit like we did for the first three weeks of lockdown – and  I relate to my own naivety – expecting life to return immediately to normal, or at least to what we all previously thought of as normal. It took an angelic presence to awaken the disciples to the reality that life may have changed, but still needed to be lived. And yet the waiting continued, as it does for us. For people of faith over the millennia there has always been one activity that fills the endless space of waiting: we hear that the disciples, both men and women, devoted themselves to prayer (1:14).

 

What does prayer look like for you in this time? 

 

In our reading from John’s Gospel today we find Jesus in prayer; and we are privileged to be made privy to his prayer. Mostly in the Gospels we hear of Jesus taking time out to pray; rarely do we hear the content of these times of intimacy with the Father. This particular prayer is called Jesus’ High Priestly prayer, and draws to mind the image of the High Priest entering the Holy of Holies in the Temple in Jerusalem, a place so holy that it was curtained off and the High Priest entered only annually (I have an image a very dusty place, though doubtless those who often remain invisible in most societies throughout the centuries, the servants, would have had access to clean). So while we have access to this particular prayer, and it’s implied intimacy, it also reflects a liturgical encounter of a more formal public nature: we are meant to participate in this prayer, to be included, to participate, to hear.

 

What do we hear?

 

We hear Jesus praying for himself; and there is no petulance in it, no self-absorption (as sadly so often creeps into my own prayers). It’s a prayer of acknowledgement, and a summarising by Jesus of his life, ministry and purpose. There is an acknowledgment that the hour has come for both Jesus, and the Father (the Source of all Being) to be glorified, a journey which you and I know will embrace the worst of human experience: arrest, an illegal trial, torture, and crucifixion. But we also know – as we prepare for Pentecost – that it also embraced resurrection, and with resurrection, renewed hope. This is not a vague hope, but one based in purpose, which in John’s Gospel is clearly identified in Jesus’ words as, “… you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (17:2-3).

 

My prayer today is that we find comfort in this gift of eternal life. It is an experience of life that is limitless on every level, filled with creative potential; and amazingly God’s gift to us within the limits of our experience of life on a daily basis. As paradoxical as this is, it is the space we enter into in prayer, and makes possible the experience of hope even in the midst of the most desperate of human conditions. It is what draws us inwards into relationship with God, and is also what propels us outward into the service of our world and humanity as a whole. It is a gift opened to us by the Ascension: Joan Chittister in her book In Search of Belief says, “… I learned that to say “I believe in Jesus Christ…who ascended into heaven” is to say “I believe in the mystical dimension of life….”” (2006). It is this mystical dimension of life that gives definition to eternity, and definition to the limitless nature of eternal life. It is experienced in prayer, and in the practical outworking of our prayers in daily life.

 

What else do we hear?

 

We hear Jesus praying for us. At the core of this prayer are Jesus’ words, “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one” (17:11b). This period between the Ascension and Pentecost is globally a time of prayer for Christian unity, but I’m not sure we really understand the nature of the unity Jesus is praying for here, and I’m unsure that our prayer in this regard is of much use. Too often in Christian history unity has become a demand for orthodoxy, a demand that you believe what I believe, a demand for conformity and an exclusion of diversity. I don’t believe that any of that is envisaged in Jesus’ prayer for us.

 

The heart of unity is defined in the relationship Jesus shares with the Father (the Source of all Being), and relationship is key to understanding Jesus’ prayer for us. I suspect Jesus is referring primarily to the unity of purpose that has been forged in his relationship with the Father, and in this passage from John’s Gospel that purpose is embedded in the concept of eternity, but at the same time it is expressed within the context of the world, of our human experience of life, and in the business of daily living. Eternal life is not about life after death (although it does incorporate it); it is about life after resurrection. The purpose of Eastertide has been to give us the opportunity to encounter the resurrected Christ, to explore and embrace this gift of life in which sin and the fear of death have been overcome; to take note of the nature of resurrected life and to begin to live it ourselves. In the words of Pádraig Ó Tuama, we resolve to live life in its fullness.

 

Lockdown has created an unusual setting for Easter and Eastertide this year, one which has hopefully jolted us out of our usual and largely unconscious journey through our Church seasons, and enabled us to encounter Christ and the purposes of God afresh in this extraordinary time of devastation. My prayer is that our faith journey over these last 59 days has given us tools to cope, and even thrive, under present limitations, and will continue to do so as we enter the season of Pentecost.

 

I again close my sermon with a prayer by Pádraig Ó Tuama from his book, Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community:

 

Jesus,

our dead and living friend,

We walk the ways of death and life 

holding fear in one hand

and courage in the other.

Come find us when we are locked away.

Come enliven us.

Come bless us with your peace.

Because you are the first day of creation

And all days of creation.

Amen.

Sermon: 6th Sunday of Easter

Sermon: 6th Sunday of Easter

17 May 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

1 Peter 3:13-22 and John 14:15-21; NRSV

 

We gather today, apart yet together, as we have done every Sunday since lockdown began at the end of March. Communicating virtually is hard work, different and difficult when it consumes the bulk of our day. Like me, I’m sure you long for life to return to normal – and by normal I mean what life was rather than what life will be. This pandemic has fundamentally changed our lives and our future, and we live with the uncertainty of what that future will look like, and the frustration of having no control over what that future may be. Our uncertainty embraces many fears, and is underlined by the fact that we have no control over the present moment either. There are a variety of emotional responses that arise in us as we either embrace or avoid the realities of the moment, and speaking for myself this can be an inconsistent rollercoaster of emotion and feeling.

 

Scripture is a daily touchstone in the sea of my uncertainty. Journeying with the Eastertide weekday lections from Acts and John’s Gospel are a daily source of comfort, and also of hope. Today’s readings, too, are of similar comfort.

 

1 Peter is written to communities that find themselves dispersed, pilgrims not confined to homes as we are, but driven from them. Peter addresses them as, “… exiles of the Dispersion” (1:1), communities like you and I needing to mourn the certainties of the past and embrace the uncertainties of the future. What intrigues me in today’s passage, in the midst of the hardship, suffering, and difficulties that these communities endure, Peter encourages them to, “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you” (3:15b). That word “hope” catches my attention: hope is an important mark of people of faith particularly in times of difficulty. It is not based on any surety of our daily reality – because there is none – but is based on the reality of our relationship with God and faith in God. Psalm 100 encourages us to “Know that the LORD is God. It is he that has made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture”(Psalm 100:3).

 

What is your account of the hope that is in you? Put perhaps more simply, what comfort do you find in a relationship with God? It’s quite possible that you’ve never really thought about it, but right now it is important that you do.

 

On my pre-ordination retreat in preparation for being made a Deacon I was given an exercise by my Spiritual Director that you may find helpful in exploring the nature of your relationship: simply put, it was to write an account of my awareness of God throughout my life. I remember initially being quite intimidated by the assignment, but subsequently surprised by the moments that came to mind, and at a point when I wasn’t sure I believed in infant baptism, realising that my baptism as a baby (as unaware of it as I had been at the time) had initiated my journey of faith in a very tangible way, and began a thread that I could trace through – at that point – the 24 years that defined my life. That sense of God’s presence that I discovered in a morning of writing has defined the foundation of my hope, and the 31 years since that defining insight have built on the foundation of awareness that it provided; and for which I am prepared to give account.

 

An awareness of God’s presence is so critical in difficult times: Jesus knew this, and in today’s reading from John’s Gospel, we experience him preparing the disciples for a time, soon to be upon them, when they will perceive that presence to be missing. In John’s Gospel Jesus speaks of the Spirit as “Advocate”, a term that may take your mind – as it does mine – along a legal path, perhaps seeing the Spirit as the one who will plead our case before God in the hope of a merciful judgement. I am amazed at how easily my mind takes me down that path in the context of a section of John’s Gospel where God’s love is emphasised so strongly? I am loved by God, as are you: there is no need to fear judgement.

 

So what then is the nature of the Spirit’s advocacy? Jesus speaks of “… another Advocate” (14:16) suggesting that Jesus himself has been our advocate, not in the legal sense but rather as the one who makes the case to us for God’s love, a love to be given without restraint through Jesus’ death and resurrection: a love that creates genuine life. The role of the Spirit is to convince us of the truth of this love and the life it engenders, to give us assurance of God’s presence in our lives for no other reason, perhaps, than that God loves us: deeply, fully, completely. Jesus says, “On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you” (14:20).

 

So what does it mean to hope from a faith perspective? Sometimes it comes across as false-optimism, especially when people – whose only reference is material reality – demand we account for our hope, and especially if we haven’t fully thought through our own experience. Do the exercise I encouraged earlier: I am happy to chat through it with you once you have (virtually, of course).

 

What we hopefully begin to see in light of today’s readings from 1 Peter and John’s Gospel is that while we are tempted to seek our security and hope in our material reality and world, faith calls us to seek out our security and hope in the reality of relationship: “… I am in my father, and you in me, and I in you” (14:20b). From a faith perspective relationship defines us, not material reality. That’s not to say material reality doesn’t impact on us, often in harsh and chaotic ways – for it does – and we know that. However, it is in relationship with God that we are truly defined and formed, that our essence is affirmed and strengthened.

 

Human relationships can be difficult, sometimes even breaking, but also good and life-giving. Relationships do define us in ways the material world never truly can, and when we experience deep and caring relationships with other human beings we find the struggles of everyday life and survival so much easier to navigate. I have struggled increasingly over the past 25 years with a sense of growing isolation as my and Dawn’s close family have progressively left these African shores, but one of the gifts of an effective global lockdown has been that family events have been celebrated via Zoom, and Dawn and I have been able to participate in a couple of family birthday celebrations in the UK, and we sat down to drinks with Dawn’s sister and her husband in Canada a couple of weeks back: for us these have been the gift of Lockdown. Not that any of this was not possible before, but in lockdown it is a common and uniting experience.

 

What today’s Scriptures remind us is that just as our human relationships are defining, even more defining is our spirituality (or lack of it). The call of faith is to a divine relationship that undergirds and strengthens all that we are, and that as we learn to increasingly embrace God and love God with all that we are, so we are empowered to love our neighbour as we ourselves are loved: deeply, fully, completely. This is our hope: to this we give account!

 

I once again close with a prayer from Padráig Ó Tuama’s wonderful book Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community:

 

Jesus, you shared peace

around a table of anxiety, 

peace with the bread, peace with the wine, 

peace in the face of the uncertain, 

peace in the place of pain. 

May we share tables of peace 

in places of pain, 

sharing food and friendship 

and words and life. 

Because you came to a fearful world 

and found your place 

around those tables. 

Amen.

Sermon: 3rd Sunday of Easter

Sermon: 3rd Sunday of Easter

26 April 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Acts 2:14a, 36-41 and Luke 24:13-35

 

Good morning to you all on this 3^rd Sunday of Easter and 31^st day of our National lockdown. Our Scripture readings today draw us into Luke’s account of the resurrection, a little different from our journey with John’s Gospel last week. For most of us the Gospel accounts all merge into a single story and we are hard pressed to remember the unique story of each Gospel. Luke’ story is significant in that Jesus’ first appearance is to two disciples previously unknown to us – Cleopas and his companion – on the dusty road to the little village of Emmaus; a village sufficiently insignificant that today we have no idea whether it was East, West, North or South of Jerusalem. More important than the village, is the encounter that takes place between these two disciples and Jesus.

 

The season of Eastertide is all about encounter with the risen Jesus, and this shared journey to Emmaus in which the two disciples eventually recognise Jesus is important to Luke; journey is important to Luke. Journeys lead to a recognition of what God is up to in Luke’s world, and there are a variety of journey narratives in both of Luke’s books (the Gospel and Acts). Significant events take place both during and at the end of journeys, beginning with Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem after a journey from Nazareth, to a shared supper in Emmaus, and beyond in a multitude of journeys in the book of Acts, all of which have significant impact on people’s lives and the spread of the Gospel in the 1^st century. Luke’s focus on journey is a reminder that God’s people are a pilgrim people, journeying in response to God’s prompting, from Adam and Eve being driven from the Garden of Eden, to Abram responding to God’s instruction to go to a land God promised to show him, to an enslaved Israelite nation escaping Egypt to find a promised land, to Jesus journey to Jerusalem and crucifixion, to this Emmaus road encounter, and beyond through history to the present journey of lockdown that God’s people experience together with communities around our world.

 

Today’s Collect reminds us of those important words of Jesus that we focused on last week, “Peace be with you”, which gave the disciples a modicum if comfort in their fear and confusion. In meeting Cleopas and his companion we are reminded of other emotions and feelings that the disciples were experiencing, and the Collect focuses us on their feelings of uncertainty. I don’t know about you, but I must admit that I have always wondered why it took these two disciples so long to recognise Jesus, but of course they weren’t expecting to, and so didn’t. They are caught up in trying to make sense of everything, and as Jesus meets them on the road, he meets them in their confusion and uncertainty, gives them the time and space to tell their story. I shouldn’t be, but I am often amazed at how often talking through my own confusions and uncertainties with someone else, things begin to make sense; having things go round and round and round in my mind rarely gets me anywhere, but sometimes even a brief conversation with another person clarifies; perhaps it’s that in sharing the story the mind is focused and what hasn’t made any sense gains some order and new understandings arise. That certainly seems to be the experience of Cleopas and his companion: they tell Jesus the story of the week’s events, he mirrors the events back to them in the light of Scripture, and after some good exercise, a good chat, and an opportunity to sit down to a meal to restore their strength, at that point suddenly it clicks together for them; they recognise Jesus.

 

Movement is so important for settling the soul. Yesterday, during my time of reflection at midday in the Church, I found myself circling the altar as I worked through my own anxiety of what more time in lockdown will mean for me and for us, conscious of the Church building’s emptiness and anxious in my realization that gatherings will continue to be prohibited as we work our way from the hard lockdown of level 5 to an almost normal environment of level 1, and the reality that we will only able to gather as we have in the past when lockdown is completely lifted. But like the two on the road to Emmaus, I had Jesus circling that altar with me, and the Eucharistic Scriptures for the day, and it was Jesus’ words to the disciples on an earlier journey – one over water – when Jesus met them in their exhaustion, in their fear, and said, “It is I, do not be afraid” (more accurately in the Greek “I am, …”; John 6:16-21). I can’t claim that my anxiety lifted completely, but I was able to recognise God in the “I am”, and trust again in God’s presence on this lockdown journey, and that whatever lies before us, God is and will be our provision.

 

An important aspect of the journey to Emmaus is that the two disciples have an opportunity to lament, to rehearse again the events of the past week, and to express their unhappiness, to mourn the loss of their hopes and dreams, “… we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” As the impact of the Covid-19 pandemic and its impact on our social, economic, and body-politic becomes clearer to us, we also need to lament all that we have lost. We need to find time to do this, and allow lament to be the pressure-release for our anxiety and fears, to have the courage to bare our souls and our lives to God. We’ve lost the art of lamenting, but really it’s just expressing our pain to God; being real in allowing our emotion to overflow into our prayer in all its raggedness and rawness; and trusting that God already knows it all and is infinitely capable of receiving and enfolding our anger with all its chaos. I really do encourage you to find time this week to lament, and allow it to be physical and noisy; allow it to be real. But also, don’t rush it: lament takes time, and sometimes – although not always – it is a journey that leads to recognition and new life. I had a Spiritual Director while I was an Ordinand who encouraged me, when I was struggling with a deep anger, to go into the Chapel and quite literally to shout at the Cross, to give God a good piece of my mind. I should own up to not finding the courage to actually shout verbally at the Cross, but I did sit there and quietly give God a good piece of my mind about whatever it was I was struggling with at that time. I’m alive to give testimony to the fact that lightening didn’t strike me down!

 

The journey to Emmaus for Cleopas and his friend ends with recognition, an awareness of encountering the risen Jesus, and a renewed resilience. What caused the recognition? The conversation during the journey had prepared them. They’d had the opportunity to lament, to be admonished for their foolishness, to reflect on their experience in the light of Scripture, and to recognise a greater purpose to all they had been through. And so, as Jesus “… took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them”, they were immediately taken back to an evening meal shared only a few short days before, and – boom – they recognise Jesus. 

 

The journey to Emmaus has strong Eucharistic overtones, from lament and absolution to immersion in Scripture and prayer (conversation), and a shared meal in which Christ is recognised. Every time you and I celebrate the Eucharist together we experience our own Emmaus journey. The context in which we share the Eucharist under lockdown – in our homes either alone or with family, yet together despite our separation – we likely experience more profoundly the Eucharist as a shared meal, something more normal to our home experience, and something we can apply to every meal. There is something profound for me in this: it is more the experience of Cleopas and his friend than we would normally experience in the building-bound Church ritual (as wonderful as that ritual can be). We experience the resurrected Christ in the context of our homes, within all the goodness and pain of relationship in lockdown. In the midst of all the uncertainty brought about by the pandemic – in the midst of our personal and communal fears for the impact of  a tanked economy on our own and others lives – of broken dreams and plans put on hold, we are reminded that this Emmaus journey is our journey. Draw courage from today’s Gospel: God walks with us – quite possibly unrecognized much of the time, but present none-the-less – in it all. Be open to the possibility of encounter, to the reality of encounter, in the everyday experience of life and relationship. Know this encounter as a source of resilience, of hope; a reminder that God is present. And may God’s presence be sufficient for the moment, for today, for our journey of lockdown, and for our future.

 

I close with a prayer from Padráig Ó Tuama’s wonderful book Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community:

 

Hidden Jesus, 

Wandering along the way like a stranger, 

hidden along the way in many stories and many faces. 

May we listen to our hearts when they burn with life 

knowing that you are speaking to us. 

Because you are with us along the way 

in the faces of many strangers. 

Amen.

Sermon: 2nd Sunday of Easter

Sermon: 2^nd Sunday of Easter

19 April 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Acts 2:14b, 22-32 and John 20:19-31

 

I greet you with the words of Jesus to the disciples in today’s Gospel reading, “Peace be with you” on this 2^nd Sunday of Easter as we ourselves are invited to encounter the resurrected Jesus, and – as our Collect today reminds us – we are called to give testimony of these encounters to others in such a manner that they, too, come to believe. We do this in 2020 in a context much more closely attuned to the experience of the early disciples than we may have yet experienced in our lifetime: they feared the Jewish leadership, the possibility of arrest, even the possibility of death; we fear the Covid-19 virus, a possibility of  death, but perhaps even more than death, the possibility of loss of income and the life-resources this income provides us with as we ride out our lockdown and consider our futures. Our context is different, but the emotions that we are experiencing are likely very similar.

 

In the narrative provided by John’s Gospel this morning we find the disciples self-isolating, locked-in rather than locked-down, fear a real emotion holding them in its thrall and exacerbated by the perplexing news from Mary Magdalene that she has seen the Lord – she has seen Jesus – whom they knew without doubt to be dead. We can imagine that as the evening moved into nightfall that they needed to hear those words from Jesus, “Peace be with you!” They had had most of the day to reflect on Mary’s words, to ponder their truth and their meaning, to talk amongst themselves; and we can imagine the discussion, the confusion, the perplexity of their conversations, even their disbelief. And suddenly to have Jesus in their midst, despite locked doors, would have been a heart stopping moment! They needed peace on a multitude of levels, and in generous proportions.

 

Now what is the nature of this peace, this gift that Jesus gives them? The peace Jesus offers is peace in the midst of their fear, in the midst of their perplexity, in the midst of their disbelief; it is not a peace that delivers them from their fear and from the other emotions that encompass them in this moment. Jesus’ gift of peace is not a magic wand that suddenly returns them back to the life they knew just a few days previously; to what they had considered to be “normal”.

 

The gift is more than just the words, “Peace be with you”; it is having Jesus there, the encounter – as disturbing as it doubtless was to have Jesus appear among them when they knew the doors to the house were locked. John’s Gospel highlights the importance of encounter: here in chapter 20 early in the morning Mary encounters the risen Christ, that evening a larger group of disciples has this encounter, a week later (also in chapter 20) we are told that they have a similar encounter when Thomas is present, and thereafter (in chapter 21) another encounter on the beach when they return for a time to doing what they know, what gives some sense of a their previous normality: fishing. Each encounter takes them a step forward, offers them an opportunity to grapple with their doubts and fears, and builds their trust in a new normal where death isn’t what death was, where all that has confused them over many months gains some clarity; where the temptation to flee, to deny, to fear begins to transform.

 

In John’s Gospel this first evening encounter – on the day of resurrection – is also the moment of Pentecost: having offered the gift of peace a second time, Jesus breathes on the disciples. Breath for the ancients [I explored something of this in my sermon three weeks ago] was the sign of life, the ultimate gift of God, the gift not just of life, but of divine life; and Jesus makes this connection as he breathes on them, saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Receive that which gives not only life, but divinity, too. The transformation is not immediate, more incremental. The disciples – in going fishing – return briefly to what made sense of life before they ever encountered Jesus. The encounter on the beach is John’s version of the great commission, one in which the disciples (Peter in particular) are encouraged by Jesus to “Feed my Sheep”.

 

We then pick up the narrative with Luke in the book of Acts, and in today’s reading we see the courage and confidence that is developing out of these encounters with Jesus, and we get to hear the life-changing sermon that Peter preaches after what we more traditionally consider to be the Pentecost experience. The disciples are transformed from fearful, overwhelmed, perplexed learners (because that is what disciples are; not necessarily perplexed, but learners) into leaders who speak with the same confidence Jesus had addressed the crowds with during his ministry. It is a courage that calls people to repentance and faith, that lets go of the past and embraces a whole new perspective on life’s purpose.

 

As we rehearse the Gospel story, as we remind ourselves of our history as people of Faith, as we immerse ourselves in the resurrection accounts, so we have the opportunity to encounter the resurrected Jesus in this story. We have an opportunity to reflect on our own encounters with God in the light of our faith-history, and are given the opportunity to reflect and embrace our own experiences of fear, of feeling and even being overwhelmed, of confusion and doubt and faithlessness, and yet knowing not deliverance but God present in it all; God with us.

 

We stepped into lockdown just over three weeks ago, not sure what this experience was actually going to be like. For myself, I did so with a deep sense of relief as physical distancing – as we practiced it briefly before lockdown – didn’t seem to be sufficient in the light of our growing awareness of the dangers of Covid-19, and I saw our Worship gatherings as death traps for those considered especially vulnerable. Three weeks in, with an extension in place, and I realize that I embraced lockdown with a certain amount of naivety; perhaps we all did? My growing awareness of the economic implications of lockdown leaves me fearful for the future, deeply concerned for those who have already lost jobs and income, and for the many who still will. I awaken sometimes from a night’s sleep unrested, fretful, stressed. I awaken knowing that the world has changed, that I don’t really comprehend to what extent, but knowing that the world I stepped out of will not be the world we will all step back into. I pray, knowing God will not deliver us, but that God is with us; that God still breathes on and into Creation, and that I am – we are – part of Creation. The gift Jesus gave those early disciples is our gift, too; as Jesus encountered them, God also encounters us: in our context, in our crisis, in our time. We can trust that we, too, will experience an incremental shift from fear to confidence, from being overwhelmed and perplexed to a greater place of clarity and vision.

 

As we look forward we do so trusting that God is with us, that the divine breath – the Holy Spirit – is our spirit, and that the gifts of the divine spirit are available to us. Paul, in his 1^st letter to the Corinthians, encourages us to “… earnestly desire the most helpful gifts” (1 Corinthians 12:31), and goes on to name these as “… faith, hope, and love …” (1 Corinthians 13:13). These three gifts, along with empathy, are critical to embracing the new normal that will have levels of suffering, struggle, and challenges beyond what many of us have had to face in our relatively privileged and well-resourced lives. We will discover that this pandemic is a great leveler, and that in the midst of personal and community hardship there is room for a new way of living and relating. It is going to take courage and vision to embrace the opportunities that will present themselves in a manner that is good for all and not just for me or for us. It will require our deep commitment – founded in our faith, nurtured with love, envisioned with hope – to step back into our world, to embrace our neighbours and even strangers with empathy and compassion, and in so doing give testimony to our encounters with the risen Christ, and witness to the purposes of God in our world. Amen

Sermon: 5th Sunday in Lent

Sermon: 5^th Sunday in Lent

29 March 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Ezekiel 37:1-14 and John 11:1-45

 

Our collect for today speaks of God as the God of all consolation and hope. It never ceases to amaze me how apt both the weekly collect and the readings are for the context of our lives: a wonderful reminder that God knows our need well before we are aware enough to put words to it all.

 

Today we need consolation, and we need hope. Our lives have been turned upside down in these last days: what was normal – shaking hands, hugging, kissing, gathering together – is now dangerous and potentially life threatening for ourselves and for others. In preparation for lockdown I found myself uncertain, anxious, my attention scattered as we prepared to isolate ourselves physically from each other; and I am sure this is your experience, too. Now that we are in lockdown we at least have this new reality to centre us, and I am hugely thankful for our digital world, for email, WhatsApp, and social media; and I am learning about Zoom and other ways for us to gather in isolation, so important, especially for those who are alone in their homes. Disturbingly, I am aware of my privilege, of having the space to isolate myself from others while so many of my compatriots are living in high-density environments where creating social distancing is all but impossible.

 

As a global community we find ourselves in the valley of death described by Ezekiel, or at Lazarus’ graveside with Martha and Mary. We experience the anxious desolation of uncertainty, even fear, of the havoc this new virus is wreaking. We listen to the news, take in the data, and wonder what it all means for our future: how different will the world be when our isolation, this lockdown, eventually ends? We see, but struggle to really comprehend, not only the threat to life, but also the major economic hardships that will ensue. In a world in which we thought we had control, we are vulnerable, exposed, and our resources evaporating before our eyes. Ezekiel’s valley of desolation, a battle lost, an army cut down, lifeless bones scattered in every direction, threatens to become our future reality.

 

As Ezekiel surveys the valley, as Martha and Mary stand with their community before Lazarus’ grave, there is seemingly no real help. They, like us, know that death is irrevocable. And yet God is present: Ezekiel is commanded to prophesy to the dry bones, and God’s word brings new life; Jesus commands Lazarus to come for the from the grave, and new life is engendered; where there was only desolation now there is the surprise of life where no life should be, but there it is! 

 

The reading from Ezekiel 37 reflects on a destroyed Nation, a reminder that humanity is but dust. But it is more, it is a reminder that God created and that God can re-create, and that no matter how seemingly irrevocable a situation may be, when the word of God is spoken it is the breath that imparts life to humanity, and hope is possible. The Nation is rebuilt, and repurposed, and the dry bones of Nationalism and political intrigue become the enfleshed body of community given life by the Spirit, by the breath of God, and the community is called to hope; not just hope, but to faith and love, too. And we are seeing this amongst South Africans as we hold to the lockdown, as we seek to protect one another from this disease, as we converse together in our WhatsApp groups and other online forums, as we seek to hold each other accountable.

 

The reading from John 11 we find Mary and Martha, and their community, gathered without any expectation of Lazarus being restored to life – except perhaps in the end times, on the “last day”. There is no belief in the possibility of life. However, Jesus is now present, and we see that it is the presence and activity of God – not human belief or lack of belief – that is the source of life and hope. Mary and Martha are angry, or if not angry they are deeply disappointed, that Jesus was not there in Lazarus’ hour of need to heal and restore him, and they hold no expectation; even the community is dived, some seeing Jesus’ clear love for Lazarus in the tears he sheds, others sneering. As Jesus calls Lazarus to rise from the sleep of death, there is no expectation, no hope, no belief in those around him; and yet Lazarus comes forth from the tomb. It is the presence and power of God, the Word of God, the breath (Spirit) of God that imparts life.

 

This is our hope as we face the devastating rampage of Covid-19 through the ranks of humanity, Nation upon Nation, upon Nation. Our hope is not in medical intervention – although we are deeply thankful for the gifts of medical science, for health care, and for those who work tirelessly and often at their own peril to understand the disease and thwart its advance – but as people of Faith our hope is in God who is present, in God who’s Word reconnects bones and enfleshes them, whose breath (Spirit) enlivens and raises to new opportunity and potential.

 

The baptism creed calls us to believe and trust in God who creates and re-creates, who redeems and restores, who gives life and sustains that life. In today’s collect we entreated God to pour out the Spirit – to breath – on us. Why? That we may face despair and death in the hope of resurrection! Or in simpler words, that we might not see this novel Caronavirus as an ultimate enemy, but as a tool that awakens us again to our true humanity, to what it means to truly be in community with God, with our world, and with each other; what it means to truly hold to faith, hope, and love.

 

Let us keep the faith. In the words of Hebrews 10:23 (NRSV), “Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.”

 

And in these days of lockdown, of being a Church scattered to our homes, let’s remember that our worship of God is not limited to a building (as beautiful as many are) or to a space. God is present wherever, and however, the Church (the people) of God find themselves.