My sermon for the 1st Sunday after Christmas is available in video format this week, and can be accessed at https://youtu.be/lxx9DcO-IMI
It is based on Colossians 3:12-17 and Matthew 2:41-52
26 December 2021
25 December 2021
Christmas Greetings
Dear Friends
A blessed and joyous Christmas to you all as we end another difficult and trying year. On a positive note, we have at least “just” had to handle more of what 2020 threw at us, and we have become that much more proficient at holding unexpected change and all the heartache and hardship Covid-19 continues to cause in our world. I am thankful for the strength and resilience of each one of you, and for God’s healing and life-giving presence in our midst.
My personal thanks to our Churchwardens, Debbie and Janine, and to our Parish Secretary, Bev, for their ongoing selfless dedication and commitment to us all at St Andrew’s; and to Stephen, Bishop Geoff, Elizabeth (Confirmation) and Penny and Diane (Children’s Church), along with the Layministers and Parish Council as we have adjusted to a hybrid world of both online and in-person worship and gatherings during the course of this year.
May we all experience God’s deep peace in Jesus as we enter the New Year, one that we know will still demand much of us, but also one in which we seek to throw off the shackles of isolation that Covid-19 has cloaked us in, and learn to live afresh, with greater confidence as we embrace the reality of this time.
“Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones.” (Isaiah 49:13)
With our love, Mark and Dawn
Sermon: Midnight Mass
Sermon: Christmas Eve
24 December 2021 –
Archdeacon Mark Long
Isaiah 62:6-12, Psalm 97, and Luke 2:1-20; NRSV
Tonight’s Gospel reading begins with a reminder of the power of secular Government: “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered[,]”[1] a decree that in Luke’s account disrupts the lives of people throughout an entire Empire, and has a peasant population in Galilee and Judea (and doubtless elsewhere in the Roman Empire) needing to use scarce resources to travel to their home region to register. You and I meet online tonight for Midnight Mass because of a Government decree that requires we close any gathering by 11pm in order to ensure the midnight curfew is fully observed, a decree that for a second year running disrupts our worship life as a Parish. There is something particularly beautiful, and again missed, about gathering in-person late at night to welcome the Christ-child as one day ends and a new day begins.
The disruption to our lives tonight is minor in comparison to the disruption taking place in Joseph and Mary’s life and many of their compatriots in Luke’s narrative, but the broader disruption of the Covid-19 pandemic globally and the variety of National regulations that have governed our lives since March 2020 are perhaps comparative. Such disruption creates uncertainty, even fear, for what this may mean for the future, and what economic impact it will have on our resources. Joseph and Mary would have been in no doubt that the only meaningful impact of the census would be an increased tax burden on their already scarce resources, and we know that Nazareth – their actual home – was a small, struggling village reliant on subsistence farming for any income.[2] It is not difficult to imagine the uncertainty, even fear, and the growing anger of Joseph and Mary’s broader social context.
We join the narrative tonight as Joseph and Mary reach Bethlehem, not out of choice, but because it is required. It is a costly inconvenience and doubtless also a health risk for a young woman reaching the end of her pregnancy. Luke mentions no donkey,[3] despite the tradition, and it is likely a heavily pregnant Mary has walked the 150km distance. It is no surprise that the Christ-child is born the evening of their arrival.
While Luke introduces the birth narrative in the context of Rome’s power over the people of a distant land on the edge of the Empire, he also weaves into in another story, a more ancient story, and we hear that, “Joseph … went … to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David.”[4] Luke began to weave this story in at the annunciation, the Angel Gabriel informing Mary that the child she will bear, “… will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.”[5] We discover that “God’s story [is] interwoven with Caesar’s power right from the start”[6] and Zechariah, the husband of Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth, confirms this when he prophesies after John’s birth and before Jesus is born that “[God] has raised up a mighty saviour for us in the house of his servant David.”[7] “From the might of Caesar to command the whole world, to the swaddling of a newborn in a room shared with the household’s animals, Luke leads us into a world, our world, where we discern God’s power at work to keep all the promises cherished by Mary (Luke 1:46-55) and Zechariah (Luke 1:67-79),”[8] promises as we have heard reflect hope in the midst of uncertainty, and joy in the midst of growing social discontent. In the midst of the harsh reality of life and Empire two children are born: John to Elizabeth and Zachariah, Jesus to Mary and Joseph; John, the prophet of hope; Jesus the Saviour of the world.[9]
As we continue in Luke’s narrative this hope is reflected in the visit of the angels to the shepherds and the shepherds’ joy in finding the child and discovering the message they have been given is true. I have been quite harsh in my portrait of the shepherds in previous years, indicating that they were considered social outcasts, but in fact more recent scholarship[10] indicates “They were indeed among the “lowly” (1:52), but in their diligent work modeled the way of God with God’s people.”[11] Luke informs us that the “The shepherds put things together well enough to become jubilant. They’re promised a baby, they see a baby, and they recognise that the rest of what they have been told is true.”[12] The shepherds return to their fields and responsibilities, and by implication they return to their social reality, to the uncertainty, the fear, the growing anger among the Galilean and Judaen peasants, with a transformed outlook; they “… returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.”[13]
Our faith calls us to ongoing transformation through our faith in God and our trust in Jesus, the Christ. The temptation is always to spiritualise this journey, to disconnect it from daily reality in order to ease the discomfort of the change it demands of us. The Christmas Gospel, the Christmas Good News reminds us that our faith and daily life are intricately intertwined, and that while a relationship with God includes a deep personal aspect, God is concerned with the fullness of life. Luke’s introduction this evening to Jesus’ birth reminds us that the secular and the sacred are interwoven, and that God is always concerned with the daily nature of life and the human condition. Luke reminds us that despite the disruptive power of the secular, the sacred continues to undergird our lives and gives us a concrete hope for salvation.
How does this speak to us, to you, in the context of life as we experience it today? What are the anxieties and fears that disrupt and constrict our daily experience? What is the nature of the hope and salvation we require in this moment? How do you see this reflected in the lives of people around you? Are we awake (perhaps not an ideal question close to midnight) to the hope and salvation God may be offering? And even more than this, are we like the shepherds willing to make the effort to look at the salvation we are offered, are we sufficiently courageous to share what we are hearing, and does it fill us with jubilation?
That’s a lot of questions, and doubtless our answers are varied and even conflicting; and that is ok. Luke reminds us that, “… Mary treasured these words and pondered them in her heart.”[14] We, too, need time to reflect, and allow what God is asking of us and calling us to to grow in us. Jesus was nurtured in Mary’s womb for a period, and then forcefully ejected into the reality of human life. While we ponder and nurture God’s word in us, a time will come when it is also ejected into the world and into the reality of daily life. This Christmas marks those birth pangs, and 2022 will see its birth. You and I, like Zachariah and Elizabeth, Joseph and Mary, bear God’s purpose; and like John we are called to be prophets of hope in our world, and like Jesus we are called to be the source of God’s salvation to others.
Let us draw strength from Luke’s narrative this evening, let us trust that God always prepares the road ahead of us, that the angels are close, and that God’s Spirt is present.
A closing prayer by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Irish Poet and Theologian. Let us pray,
God of fear,
God of the night,
God of the expectation,
You visited shepherds in the
night
with songs and sights of joy.
In all our nights, turn us
towards hope, because
hope might just
keep us alive.
Amen.[15]
[1] Luke 2:1; NRSV
[2] Reza Aslan, Zealot: the Life and
Times of Jesus of Nazareth
[3] Sarah Henrich, Commentary on Luke
2:1-14 [15-20], https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christmas-eve-nativity-of-our-lord/commentary-on-luke-21-14-15-20-20
[4] Luke 2:4; NRSV
[5] Luke 1:32; NRSV
[6] Sarah Henrich, Ibid.
[7] Luke 1:69; NRSV
[8] Sarah Henrich, Ibid.
[9] Pray as You Go, Friday: 4th
Week in Advent – A Real Hope
[10] Joel Green, The Gospel of Luke
[11] Sarah Henrich, Ibid.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Luke 2:20; NRSV
[14] Luke 2:19; NRSV
[15] Pádraig Ó Tuama, Daily Prayer
with the Corrymeela Community (Day 1)
19 December 2021
Sermon: 4th Sunday in Advent
Sermon: 4th Sunday in Advent
19 December 2021 –
Archdeacon Mark Long
Micah 5:2-5a, Luke 1:46-55 (in place of the Psalm), and Luke 1:39-45; NRSV
Today we begin the fourth week of our Advent journey, and accompanied by Luke’s Gospel we are reminded that the Advent journey is a prophetic one in which we move progressively from a broad vision of the future towards a more specific focus on Jesus’ birth, which we will celebrate in our Christmas services at the end of this week.
We began our Advent journey with Jesus’ prophetic words of his second coming, encouraged to be awake to the signs of God’s presence in our world, to be expectant and – despite the overwhelming nature of these signs – to be hopeful. The past two weeks have focused on John the Baptist as the one who both prepares the way for what God is doing and who calls God’s people to turn from disobedience to lives of loving service.[1]
Today we are presented with Elizabeth and Mary, an encounter marked by Elizabeth’s joyful affirmation of the special blessing of God’s presence with Mary and the child she carries. It is an encounter that elicits a prophetic song of praise from Mary, which we know as the Magnificat and which has taken the place of the Psalm in today’s lection. Mary’s song of praise is intriguing in terms of our understanding of prophesy, which we often expect to be about what God is going to do, as Mary actually reflects on what God has already done, activity that Jesus’ birth and subsequent ministry will affirm. Mary’s song is prophetic in that it asserts God’s nature, and does so in a way that is likely to leave us discomforted when we look carefully at what Mary proclaims. It is not a comforting message for those who are privileged and resourced, “… the Mighty One has … scattered the proud … brought down the powerful … and sent the rich away empty.”[2] The Good News is reserved for the lowly and hungry, and we hear that “…the Mighty One has … lifted up the lowly … filled the hungry with good things …”[3]
Mary’s song is, however, more than just a comment on privilege and poverty as it also embraces faithfulness: our faithfulness to God and God’s faithfulness to us and to his promises. We hear that God’s “… mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation”[4] and that God “… has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever”[5]. For me this is an important and critical point of connection, and I find myself asking, “What does this mean for me as a person of faith, as a person who seeks to be faithful and yet is privileged and resourced?” I ask it also for us as a community, and you may have asked this question at some point, too? I am aware that I all too easily mould an answer to deflect my unease, and I do wonder how much of our theology avoids this question?
What Mary’s song does do is solidly root the injustices of the day in the awareness of God and calls the faithful to ensure that their experience of God’s mercy is lived out in just action. Stephen[6] reminded us in his sermon last week that comfort, joy, hope, and peace are what we share as we wait together for the coming of Christ, and we need to reflect on what these gifts look like in the context of the Magnificat, in the context of what God has already done and in the context of what God has affirmed in the birth and ministry of Jesus. For you and me it is the need to reflect on how we translate our privilege and resources into just action in lifting up the lowly, in filling the hungry with good things, in ensuring that these gifts of comfort, joy, hope, and peace are equitably shared in our world and contain meaning beyond our own desire for freedom from constraint.
None of this is easy, and perhaps that is the first necessary step: acknowledging that it is difficult to be vulnerable, difficult to step away from our desire to protect our privilege and resources, difficult to truly acknowledge the needs of others in such a manner that their need is justly addressed. John’s baptism required honesty from God’s people, a willingness to move from being self-serving and thoughtless towards others to being loving and caring in service of others and of God. Can you and I find the courage for such honesty? And beyond such honesty, what is the depth of our desire to see our world healed? The gift of the pandemic has been the manner in which it has highlighted so clearly the rifts in our global society, and we cannot claim in any form or manner to be unaware of these fissures in our social fabric; as Elizabeth and Mary would not have been unaware of those of their own time. Today the Gospel of Luke invites us to join with Mary and Elizabeth in acknowledging and celebrating that God looks on us with favour, and calls us to build a more just and merciful society where comfort, joy, hope, and peace actually mean something because they are supported by the just actions of faithful people.
In closing, a brief anecdote and challenge from my personal guru, Irish Poet and Theologian, Pádraig Ó Tuama:
There’s an old anecdote that an order of nuns were expelled from a certain country because their morning recitation of the Magnificat was deemed to be a challenge to a dictatorial government. It’s probably not entirely true, but I think there’s truth in it nonetheless. Many orders of religious women have spoken truth to power and have found their home in the Magnificat, a prayer they pray by heart every morning. Recite the Magnificat and consider how it’s a psalm of challenge, of resistance and of hope for a changed order.[7]
And likewise, a closing prayer by Pádraig. Let us pray,
God of the ground,
in Mary’s words
we hear a vision that could
change the world
and through Mary’s life you
changed, too.
Give us the imagination to
believe
that even though we are not
mighty
you can raise up songs from
the dust
that change powers for good.
Because you did this
through the yes of one woman.
Amen.[8]
[1] The Anglican Church of Southern
Africa, Lectionary: Advent 2021 to December 2022, Year C, page 8-9
[2] Luke 1:49-53; NRSV
[3] Ibid.
[4] Luke 1:50; NRSV
[5] Luke 1:54-55; NRSV
[6] Stephen Middelkoop, 20211212
advent joy SM
[7] Pádraig Ó Tuama, Forth Sunday of Advent,
https://www.spiritualityofconflict.com/pdfs/readings/341_fourth-sunday-of-advent.pdf
[8] Ibid.
28 November 2021
Sermon: Advent Sunday
Sermon: Advent Sunday
28 November 2021 –
Archdeacon Mark Long
Jeremiah 33:14-16,
Psalm 25:1-10, and Luke 21:25-36; NRSV
Welcome to Advent Sunday, always a multifaceted celebration at St Andrew’s: today we welcome in our new Liturgical year, which will be felt most perhaps in a shift from a focus on Mark’s Gospel to that of Luke; we begin our four week journey of expectation and hope towards the coming of Christ, which we will celebrate at Christmas; and we celebrate our patron Saint, St Andrew, with a seemly more mundane focus on our financial commitments to the life of the Parish in the coming year.
We meet in a particular context today, for me most clearly marked by the advent of a new COVID-19 variant that again has our world running scared while our scientists race to discern its potential impact on our health while governments around the world secure their borders once more and we await possible additional curbs to our own freedoms in South Africa. Our growing complacency over the past few months towards the virus, along with our hopes for a return to greater freedom of association and what we mostly still define as ‘normal’, is suddenly under threat once again. I recognise in my own personal response to this a heightened emotional and physical reactivity that says ‘I can’t anymore’, yet an awareness on the edge of that response which says, ‘In God I can and I will.’ I am deeply thankful in times like this for the gift of faith and a sustaining relationship with God, and for all those who have helped nurture this gift within me over the years.
As we acknowledge a difficult context that will hold varied experiences for us all, we need to be asking , ‘Where is God in all of this?’ As I have said before, this is not to suggest we have lost God in all of this, or that God is missing in action, but it is rather a question of awareness, a question designed to wake us up to what God is asking of us in this moment. For Elijah, having faced down the prophets of Baal, in Elijah’s exhaustion God was not in the fire and thunder, not in the noise, but in the silence; and it took Elijah some time to awaken to this awareness.[1] We have today’s Scripture readings that may prove helpful, or there may be other more mundane aspects of our lives, of our relationships, which God needs us to explore in asking this question.
In the Jeremiah reading this morning we are reminded that God has made promises that contain hope, that the Advent journey is about embracing these promises and celebrating their outcome, specifically that in Jesus there is justice and righteousness, in Jesus there is salvation and safety. We are reminded these outcomes exist and are a reality, and that we as people of God are called to look them out, hold them up, and implement them in our lives and communities. Like Elijah, we may find that a tough ask, but we will be sustained and fed by angels in the desert of our experience, and we will hear the voice of God again in the occasional silences of our lives calling us back into the fray.[2]
In today’s Gospel reading we are reminded that the events that seemingly overwhelm us, even terrify us, are just signs … they are not to be feared. They point to something greater, the imminence of God in our world. Jesus reminds his disciples that as daunting as the signs of the times can be, we have the ability to interpret them, the ability to awaken to what God is doing, and the strength and resilience to be party to the implementation of God’s reign in our lives and our world, and in the enormity of Creation itself. Jesus uses the simplest of examples: when we see a tree budding new leaves we all know Summer is coming; the coming of God into our world is no more difficult to see and the signs no more difficult to interpret than this. However, we do need to be awake and that is often our obstacle. To ask the question, ‘Where is God in all of this?’ is our wake up call, and Luke’s Gospel will affirm over and over again in the next few weeks of our Advent journey that we have the resources within our relationship with God, within ourselves, to respond.
There are three words, highlighted for me during a Bible Study interaction at our Diocesan Synod this last week: hope, authenticity, and generosity. These words speak to me of what it is to be Church, to be God’s people, in our time. They are a call to counter-cultural living, and they are definitive of what it is to be a person of faith, and what it is to be a community of faith; and they are words easily applied to the life and ministry of Jesus. People in the Gospels are drawn to Jesus precisely because they saw these principles of relationship alive in him. I am drawn to Jesus because these principles visible in his life and ministry inspire me, stretch me, and keep me coming back for more; keep me wanting more of Jesus, of God, in my life; they keep me connected, keep me inspired, keep me serving.
Expectation and hope are key aspects of the Advent journey we embark on again today. However, expectation and hope – hope especially – only come alive when they are lived with authenticity and generosity; and these are practised in the mundane aspects of daily life and commitment. Some of you may be guessing where I am going with this … and you may be right! As we also celebrate being St Andrew’s today, and the 126th anniversary of becoming a Parish in our own right, how are we as a Christian community demonstrating our hope, our authenticity, our generosity? I am suggesting that this may be in taking a few minutes to fill in the online financial commitment form for 2022, which in all honesty really does seem rather mundane, but it is a starting point: it speaks to our authentic desire to see this Church thrive despite the challenges of the times, and our generosity in helping Parish Council base a budget on specific financial commitments for next year helps put in place a foundation from which we can be about the work of God in our community and beyond, and to go about it with hope, and to do so authentically, and to be generous in ways far beyond just money. I am not in anyway wanting to say we are not hopeful, authentic and generous, because our history is testimony that we are all of this and more. However, we are in unprecedented times and our stability as a community is in ensuring we do the small things well in order that we can do the big things with confidence. We have seen some big dips in giving over the past two years, and I appreciate that Covid-19 has made life for many of us a whole lot more difficult, and remain deeply thankful for the generosity and faithfulness of many at St Andrew’s that has enabled ministry to continue confidently despite a pandemic that has ravaged our National economy and left many people’s lives devastated in its wake.
And so holding all the above, I do wish us all a blessed Advent journey here at St Andrew’s as we embrace again the Christian hope of the Coming of Christ. In closing I leave you with a quote by Bernard of Clairvaux (d. 1153), who summarised the theology of the Advent season as the three comings of Christ, past, present, and future. He says, “In the first, Christ was our redemption; in the last he will appear as our life; in this middle coming, he is our rest and our consolation.”[3] My sincere prayer for us all is that we we find rest and consolation in the weeks ahead.
I close with a prayer of blessing for our financial commitments and our St Andrew’s day collect. Let us pray,
Dear Lord,
we thank you for
your continual blessing of our finances in this Parish,
for the generosity of
our people,
and your ongoing provision of us
in these difficult and trying
economic times.
May you bless the commitments we have made
towards the financial
health of the Parish in 2022,
to enable ministry and mission
to ourselves and
to our world.
Amen
Lord God,
by your grace the Apostle
Saint Andrew
obeyed the call of your Son Jesus Christ
and followed him without
delay:
grant that we may offer
ourselves to you
in joyful obedience;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen[4]
21 November 2021
Sermon: Christ the King
Sermon: Christ the King
St Saviour's, Claremont | Licensing of Layministers
21 November 2021 – Archdeacon Mark Long
2 Samuel 23:1-7, Psalm 132, Revelation 1:4b-8, and John 18:33-37; NRSV
I am here today on behalf of the Bishop of Table Bay, Bishop Joshua Louw, to license new Layministers of this Parish, and as Archdeacon to admit them to their Office; and today marks the beginning of a new journey in faith for them, but also for you all as a Parish community. Licensed lay ministry is specific to the liturgical and pastoral needs of the Parish, and those called into this service are nominated by the Rector and Parish Council who attest to their faithfulness, integrity and knowledge. Your Layministers are, therefore, women and men whom you can trust. We are all called through Baptism to share in the ministry of Christ and in Christ’s mission to the world; and it is within this broader call that your Layministers are licensed with the Church’s authority to engage with specific responsibilities in the areas of worship and care.
There are a number of key words that I have used: faithfulness, integrity, knowledge; service, authority, responsibility. These are all words that speak into the nature of leadership, specific today in the context of your faith community, but relevant, too, to our broader social context. The challenge for those of you who are being licensed today is to hold these words, to give them content and context for the ministry and mission of Christ here at St Saviour’s, remembering always that our mission as God’s people lies beyond the walls of this building: it is resident in our families, our social networks, our workspaces, and the broader world in which we live.
As God’s people seeking to live out the ministry and mission of Christ we are called to live differently, specifically we are called to live in opposition to generally accepted social norms particularly when it comes to the use of power. The reality of this call is initially formed in us through our worship and pastoral care, which makes the role you as Layministers will play alongside your Rector in these areas of responsibility so crucial. But what is power? In essence it is the ability to act, a human ability we all have. The important question is are we using this ability creatively or destructively? Are our actions life-giving or life-threatening? And how is power being used both in our community of faith and also in the political and economic structures we participate in daily? How are we learning to use power justly in our times of worship together and in our pastoral care of one another? How is this learning translating into our mission to the world, in ensuring power is used justly in our social, political, and economic environment? And where power is misused or abused, what is our responsibility as God’s people? The answers to these questions are what we grapple with as we engage in liturgy, with Scripture, as we immerse ourselves in the Sacraments, and gather for fellowship. We live out these answers as we reach out to one another and the world with caring and love. And this is why it is so important that those who are licensed to serve with the Church’s authority in these areas of responsibility are people of faithfulness, integrity, and knowledge.
If power is to be used justly, what is justice? In today’s reading from John’s Gospel Jesus speaks about justice in terms of truth: “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”[1] The context in which Jesus makes this comment is important: the powerful is questioning the powerless, and Pilate’s seemingly innocent question to Jesus is, “So you are a king?”[2] There is nothing innocent about Pilate’s question, he is purposefully needling Jesus; and while I suspect we are tempted to see Jesus responding here with divine authority, actually Jesus is just responding “… with honesty based on his experience as a marginalized individual.”[3] Jesus’ response, “You say that I am a king”[4] and his subsequent focus on truth serves to highlight Pilate’s prejudice, and (that Pilate is playing along with the lies and corruption of his constituents[5] who in this case are the Jewish leadership who have chosen to collaborate with the oppressor of the day, Rome, and have handed Jesus over because everything that he is highlights their betrayal of justice, their betrayal of truth; and they would rather have Jesus crucified than face the truth of their choices. This is a hugely intriguing interaction because Jesus does not exert his divine authority in order to counter the powerplay by Pilate but manages to hold his ground and use the interaction to point to the source of divine authority, to the source of justice: to truth; and we see this in his comment that his “… kingdom is not from this world. … is not from here.”[6] Jesus is not providing a geography lesson here, but rather a lesson in values: “Jesus is saying that the values of his kingdom are different from those of the current system”[7] that has him up on trial for his life. Jesus’ kingdom is not about control, is not about exerting the power of kingship from a worldly or secular perspective; it is about service, it is about entering Jerusalem on the back of a donkey and not on a warhorse, it is about getting down on his knees and washing the feet of those who follow him. Jesus refuses here to play Pilate’s game; if he had Pilate may have set him free instead of Barabbas. What we see here is justice in action, which is not about evading the consequences of injustice, but showing injustice up for what it is. The Jewish leadership in collaboration with Rome, Pilate as the agent of Rome, were all seeking to misuse their power to remove Jesus’ agency, which in essence is what the powerful do all the time. It is the nature of Empire to remove the agency of those conquered, to demand assimilation into the new order, and to crush anyone who seeks to question that order. Jesus amazingly maintains his agency although he will lose his life; in pointing to the truth he ensures that in resurrection justice will ultimately triumph.
My challenge to those of you being licensed today is to explore, together with your Rector, what agency looks like in the context of Worship and Pastoral Care at St Saviour’s, and to be courageous in creating spaces that allow people to discover their power, to use that power justly; to care for people in such a way that the truth of their agency and humanity is not diminished, but increased. Begin by exploring what this means for you as individuals and as the liturgical and pastoral team here at St Saviour’s, what it is to wash one another’s feet. Be cautious of exercising your authority in any manner that may diminish people’s humanity or limit God’s power to act in and through you and in and through others, but avoid false modesty. Embrace your fear, and be the example to others that God is calling you to be, and which the Church affirms through the licenses you receive today.
Hold close the following words by Marianne Williamson (incorrectly attributed to Nelson Mandela),
Our deepest fear is not that
we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we
are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our
darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves:
Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to
be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not
serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened
about shrinking so that other people
won't feel insecure around
you.
We are all meant to shine, as
children do.
We were born to make manifest
the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us;
it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light
shine,
we unconsciously give other
people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our
own fear,
our presence automatically
liberates others.[8]
In closing, a prayer by Irish Theologian and Poet, Pádraig Ó
Tuama:
Let us pray,
Uncovered Jesus,
You washed
the feet of your friends
with your hands.
We do not know what to do
with this kind of love
or this kind of power
so we repeat it once a year.
May we repeat it more often:
every month; every day; every
hour; every encounter.
Because this is how you chose
to show
love and power
to your friends.
Amen.[9]
[1] John 18:37b; NRSV
[2] John 18:37a;NRSV
[3] Samuel Cruz, Commentary on John
18:33-37, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christ-the-king-2/commentary-on-john-1833-37-5
[4] John 18:37a; NRSV
[5] Samuel Cruz, Ibid.
[6] John 18:36; NRSV
[7] Samuel Cruz, Ibid.
[8]
Marianne Williamson, A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of a
Course in Miracles
[9] Pádraig Ó Tuama, Daily Prayer
with the Corrymeela Community.
14 November 2021
Sermon: Remembrance Sunday
Sermon: 25th Sunday after Pentecost
14 November 2021 –
Archdeacon Mark Long
Remembrance Sunday
Daniel 12:1-3,
Psalm 16, and Mark 13:1-8; NRSV
As you may be aware, today is Remembrance Sunday. At the end of my sermon we will have an opportunity to remember before God all who have died in war, reflect in silence, and listen again to the Last Post. As we begin this time together, though, let us pray,
Grant, O Lord, for the sake of those whose lives were lost in war, and for the sake of generations to come, that the nations of the world may learn your way of peace; and that all people may have a chance to enjoy the life you have given them, free from war, tyranny and oppression. Amen
Human conflict is nothing new, and while the roots of Remembrance Sunday lie in the First and Second World Wars of the last century, militarised conflict remains a very real experience on this continent and in other parts of the world; and despite the devastating casualties of those two wars, violent conflict remains an ongoing source of destruction, and sadly violence is all too often humanity’s go-to option as a means of resolving ethnic, gender, political, and even theological divides. We don’t have to look far – and certainly not as far as the international stage – because we experience these conflicts in our homes, congregations, and communities: they are an ongoing source of anguish in our world.[1] The Covid-19 pandemic, gender-based violence, gangsterism, corruption, patriarchy, and the residual impact of Colonialism visible in institutionalised racism, and the general breakdown of relationships are the overwhelming factors as we struggle for social and emotional health, as we seek to deal with death, disease, and disillusionment in our own context and time. In this broad area of need a key question for us as people of faith is how do we practice hospitality in the face of hostility?[2]
Today’s Scripture readings, ancient as they are, also grapple with similar issues of disillusionment. The book of Daniel was most likely written after the death of Alexander the Great, during the struggle for power over his kingdom between the Ptolemies and the Seleucids, more specifically around the persecution of the Jews in Judah in 167 BCE that precipitated the Jewish revolt described in the books of 1 and 2 Maccabees.[3] This persecution is described in today’s reading as “… a time of anguish greater than any since nations first came into existence.”[4] At such a time, as you and I experience all too often in our own time and context, God’s justice appears to be absent in the course of human history. In our seeking to understand this from a faith perspective we, like Daniel, find a theological solution in resurrection and an afterlife judgement,[5] and this is evident in the reading from Daniel this morning: “Many of those whose bodies lie dead and buried will rise up, some to everlasting life and some to shame and everlasting disgrace.”[6] We are tempted to think that the substantial and overwhelming wrongs of community life can only be rectified outside of human history.[7] Today’s Psalm, however, reminds us that God remains active even in times when we find ourselves deeply disillusioned and in great anguish: “For you will not abandon me to the grave, … you will show me the path of life.”[8] The Psalmist calls us to take refuge in God, to trust God, even when justice is absent and the brokenness of our world seeks to overwhelm us.
Today’s Gospel also grapples with the impact of disaster on our human experience, speaking of nation rising against nation, kingdom against kingdom, earthquakes and famine.[9] Commentators are unsure as to whether this passage anticipates the Jewish-Roman War of 66-70 CE that saw the destruction of the Temple to which Jesus refers,[10] or if this passage responds to it, but certainly that event would be experienced as an end by those who watched it unfold.[11] While the book of Daniel takes refuge in a theology of justice being administered outside of human history, Jesus instead says to his disciples, “When you hear of wars and rumours of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come.”[12] Jesus is encouraging his disciples to recognise the presence of God, God active in the world, despite the seeming absence of justice or consolation, and encourages them not to be taken in by those offering false hope; that all of this points to a time when justice will be reborn.[13]
The power of today’s reading from the book of Daniel is the promise of God’s justice being restored even if this has to happen outside of human history. The point is that it will happen! In Mark’s Gospel we are offered the hope that justice will be restored within the context of human history, even if we have to wait for it. Perhaps the point of it all is that our perception that justice is absent doesn’t mean that justice does not exist, just that our disillusion and our anguish masks it; and that if we can find the courage to awaken to the presence of God and see through the false offerings of hope to true hope – which God offers us in the person of Jesus – we will begin to see the glimmers of justice and begin to embrace moments where justice may be enacted and realised. It is about embracing our ability to act with justice no matter how small the opportunities for us to do so may be; it is about reclaiming our agency as human beings, as people of faith, as children of God.
I come back to my earlier question, “How do we practice hospitality in the face of hostility?” We do so by not allowing hostility to be an obstacle. Hostility seeks to destroy the agency of another; hospitality restores that agency. Over the last year we have travelled with Mark’s Gospel, a Gospel that has reminded us that God’s call is never easy, often discomforting, always stretching: to offer hospitality in the midst of – in the face of – hostility is perhaps the most discomforting, most difficult, most stretching act that we may ever contemplate. To offer hospitality is not to renounce or disown our position, but it is to lay it aside for a time that we may listen and seek to understand another’s position, and in so doing offer a space for engagement rather than conflict; and perhaps find healing. Hospitality is the only space in which we can have our assumptions challenged, where we can become attentive to the real concerns of others[14], and where a just peace may be forged.
To offer meaningful hospitality we need to embrace the words of the Psalmist and genuinely take our refuge in God; and in so doing we become peacemakers and agents for justice in our world.
As an act of hospitality we take time now to pray, and to silently reflect:
Let us pray,
We pray for all who suffer as
a result of war, for the injured and disabled, and the mentally distressed, for
the homeless and refugees, and those who have lost their livelihood, for those
who mourn, and especially those who have no hope.
Almighty and eternal God, from
whose life in Christ we cannot be parted by life or death, hear our prayers for
all whom we remember this day: give grace to the living; to the departed, rest,
and to the people of every nation grant peace and concord.
Amen.[15]
[Two minute silence]
[The Last Post]
[1] Joy J Moore, Dear Working
Preacher: Find Refuge in the Face of Hostility; November 8, 2021 https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/find-refuge-in-the-face-of-hostility
[2] Ibid.
[3] Christopher B Hays, Commentary on
Daniel 12:1-3, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-33-2/commentary-on-daniel-121-3-5
[4] Daniel 12:1; NLTse
[5] Christopher B Hays, Ibid.
[6] Daniel 12:2; NLTse
[7] Christopher B Hays, Ibid.
[8] Psalm
16:10a, 11a; Order of St
Helena
[9] Mark 13:8; NRSV
[10] Mark 13:2; NRSV
[11] Amanda Brobst-Renaud, Commentary
on Mark 13:1-8, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-33-2/commentary-on-mark-131-8-5
[12] Mark 13:7; NRSV
[13] Mark 13:6; NRSV
[14] Joy J Moore, Ibid.
[15] The Anglican Church of Southern
Africa, Lectionary: Advent 2020 – December 2021 Year B (adapted from Michael
Counsell, More Prayers for Sunday’s, pp 204-5), page 90
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