EASTER DAY 2008 - ILKLEY
A family had twin girls who in appearance were identical. However, in every other way they were opposites. If one of them felt too hot, the other thought it was too cold. If one thought the TV was too loud the other would argue the volume needed turning up. Opposite in every way, one was an eternal optimist, the other a doom and gloom pessimist.
Their father decided to conduct a little experiment. On the twin’s birthday he loaded the room of his pessimist daughter with every imaginable toy and game. His optimist daughter’s room he filled with a pile horse manure.
That night the father passed by the rooms of his two daughters. He came first to the pessimist’s room and found his daughter sitting amongst all her new toys crying bitterly. “Why are you crying?” he asked gently. She replied “because all my friends are going to be jealous of me, I’m going to have read all these instructions before I can play with any of this stuff, and eventually they are all going to break anyway”.
In his exasperation he went to the room of his optimist daughter and found her dancing for joy in the pile of manure. “What are you so happy about?” he asked. The optimist daughter replied “There’s got to be a pony in here somewhere!”
This reminded me of the joke about the pessimist who made God laugh: you see the pessimist told God his plans for the future. You have to think about that one!
On the first Easter morning the women went to the tomb and they found it empty. Despite having warned them that it would be empty there is clearly still a great deal of uncertainty for them about what this empty tomb means. We are told that they were afraid, not sure what to think or say. In the passage following we are then told that the early church had to refute the claim that he had not risen at all but that the disciples’ had come and stolen the body. You see the pessimists and moaners were soon doing their work. We are still faced with the same challenge of faith today. Yes, the tomb was empty, yes he is present with us now, but only to those who are prepared to have faith and believe. If not, it seems like an idle tale which, of course, the pessimists are much more comfortable with.
But what is truly remarkable in the Easter story is the transformation of a group of fleeing and denying disciples, a group of men cowered and hiding in a room, to an apostolic missionary band in a very short space of time. They had seen and believed in the risen Christ and it changed had them, and the history of our world, for ever. But we are still faced today with the challenge of the Easter faith and to the pessimist the empty tomb can, if we allow, still only speak of emptiness. It is possible to never move on if we really want to keep looking backwards or inwards.
Day after day in ministry one comes across people for whom the Easter faith has become real because they have been changed, they have been given a new start, God in Christ has given them new life from whatever held them in death. On the world stage we have seen some remarkable examples of this too, and none more so than that unbelievable image of Gerry Adams and Ian Paisley sat on the same stage with each other shaking hands, laughing and joking. After the long passion of Northern Ireland who could deny that this is anything other than a resurrection? The moaners and pessimists have been telling us that religion has been at the heart of that provinces long struggle, but, where are they now? From the paralysis and death of a divided community, bound by the self-concern at the heart of men, has risen, through the beginnings of the mercy and forgiveness which only comes to us from the risen Christ, a new beginning.
But if situations, lives, are to be transformed, raised from death to life, there has to be hope, Easter hope. Without this hope nothing is possible, with this hope everything is possible both in this life and in the world to come.
At the time most of the world took little notice of the resurrection of Jesus. It passed most people by because it was a humble, hidden event. Jesus did not appear triumphantly in the midst of the Jerusalem temple looking to humiliate those who had humiliated him. No, he appeared simply to those who he called by name, and with those with whom he could break bread and speak his words of peace. Even they, like us, struggled to believe what had happened. But it was this hidden event that transfigured hope for humanity for ever.
Jesus rose from death. God entered our world as a full human being and experienced the full bitterness of our death. In this he becomes our brother and our saviour. The road of his suffering and death points us and leads us to our salvation. Therefore at Easter our pain remains. Our concerns for our friends who suffer remain. The suffering is not removed but rather it is transfigured with the new light of Easter hope. We have hope because Jesus is alive and he speaks to us too his words of peace.
And what is true for each of us as individuals is even truer for us as His Church. Christ is risen! He gives us a new beginning, a fresh start. No longer do we need to look back. No more should we look in on ourselves. We have Good News to share with all those who live around us and the pessimists’ better get out of our way!
LENT 2008 - ILKLEY
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
Friends are very important to us all. They bring us love, support, companionship. They are people with whom we feel comfortable. We can confide in them. We can rely on them. Other than the twelve we are given very few windows in the Gospels into who Jesus knew as his friends. In today’s gospel we are given one of those very rare glimpses of Jesus’ friendships with Mary, Martha and Lazarus. When there was much opposition to Our Lord the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus remained a place where the welcome mat was always out to greet Jesus.
It was natural, then, when Lazarus became sick that the two sisters immediately sought the help of Jesus. They sent an urgent message to him: “Lord, the man you love is ill”. They were making it very clear that they wanted Jesus to drop whatever he was doing and come straight away.
But he does not abandon what he is doing and rush to the bedside. It is another two complete days before he arrives, and we are not told the reason why. Mary and Martha must have felt very perplexed by this, possibly even very let down. In front of their eyes Lazarus’ life ebbs away from them and the one person that they believed could save him simply didn’t arrive despite their pleadings. You can almost hear the perplexity and anguish in Martha’s voice when Jesus does arrive finally two days later “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died”, but amazingly her faith is undiminished “but even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him”.
The Gospel then portrays the desolation that the death brings to Mary and Martha. In that desolation they were clearly wrestling with why Jesus had not come to save Lazarus. Mary and Martha react in very different ways. Martha, as soon as she hears word of Jesus is out travelling a significant distance to meet Jesus. She copes with her grief by doing things. Mary, however, remains firmly indoors. She will not even come out of the house. She needs space and quiet to grieve. All of us grieve in different ways and we need space to do so in our way. And like Mary and Martha it is natural for us to wrestle with the question of why God has not come to save the one we loved. We can feel abandoned by God too and very alone.
But Martha in the Gospel can also be an example for us. For when she meets Jesus, in the hour of her grief, she pours out to him what she is thinking and feeling, and in the midst of it she continues to make a wonderful confession of faith.
Jesus then also shows a remarkable vulnerability. Surrounded by the grief of his friends he too shows his grief and sheds tears. Some in our culture may want to tell us that this is a sign of weakness. But how can our true and natural tears of grief be anything other than right and healthy? This is not some mere sentimentality. No such vulnerability, such reality, makes Jesus, and thereby each of us, far more attractive and real to others. Grief is one of the strongest emotions any of us can feel. How can it be right or healthy in any way to suppress our grief? Such a view can easily dehumanise or suppress others. In ministry it breeds a detachedness which is inhuman.
In our grief the example of Jesus and Martha is given to us, to turn to God in honesty – yes, to go on praying, and seeking, and, if we can, believing. Our faith gives us no protection from grief or tragedy but our faith can make all the difference in offering all that we feel and experience to God and seeking His abounded care.
It is natural to feel in such situations that God is absent. He has forgotten us, but our faith shows us that He is our hope in adversity and our strength in all our weaknesses.
Faith can help us to truly face our own mortality. There are huge dangers for people who live in a culture where death is largely banished from our daily experience. Our priorities can become distorted and perspectives limited. We must rather truly face the reality of our own and one another’s deaths, for in this integration of the reality of death we are opened to the possibility of true eternal life by living each in the knowledge that our destiny is to be with God.
In this story Jesus comes as the faithful friend, and even in death He leads his friends to new life. At the height of their grief, Jesus shared their sorrows and showed the new life he brings to Lazarus, a new life he brings also to us and for all our friends for whom we mourn. And as we shall celebrate in these two weeks to come, this act of new life is the prelude and catalyst to the very death that Jesus must undergo to overcome death itself and provide us with the gift and hope of eternal life with Him.
ADVENT SUNDAY – Ilkley 2007
May the words that I speak, and the words that you hear, be in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
A few years ago I had the once in a lifetime opportunity of visiting Hong Kong. Sue’s parents were out there working. So our little family, including Anthony who was then 5 and Rebecca who was then 1 undertook the fourteen-hour flight to the other side of the world.
My wife’s parents were staying in a beautiful apartment on the 29th floor of a sky-scraping block of flats over looking Repulse Bay on the south of Hong Kong Island. One day, returning from a trip out all six of us got into the lift to ascend to the 29th floor. All was well until we landed just before the 29th floor. We pressed the button to open the door….nothing, we were stuck. So after a few moments we pressed the emergency bell. Fortunately, the man who answered did speak a little English. “The mechanic lives on Kowloon, sir, it will take him at least half an hour to get here.” Well what do you do when there are six of you couped up in tiny lift, including a five year old, and a one year old. By some miracle, never in the whole time we waited did either of the children issue the dreaded words; “Mummy, I want to go to the toilet”. But the fascinating part was the way in which we all reacted to this situation of forced waiting.
My Father-in-law was fearful. It was he who wanted to press the bell frequently to find out what was happening. The Chinese man on the other end was very courteous but all he could say was, “Sir, he’s coming”. Both my mother-in-law and I went relatively quiet, and just waited, though in reality probably unsure of our emotions. Sue focussed wholly on the children and went through her whole repertoire of nursery rhymes and action songs. In the end all we could do was wait, together, but in our very different ways. The only voice we heard every now and again was the courteous “Sir, he’s coming”.
Advent is the Church’s time of waiting, but waiting with the scriptural voices announcing “he is coming”. Yes, the Christ who comes at Christmas, but Advent also has its more traditional themes, of waiting for the end time, for the Christ who we shall surely meet again. In the waiting, with the Advent voices reminding us that he is coming, we are challenged to consider how we wait for our encounter with the living God. We are bidden, as the haunting Advent Collect reminds us: “to cast away the works of darkness and to put on the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life.”
There was one for whom Advent was a special time of waiting more than any other. It may be that by reflection on the Advent experience of Mary, the Mother of God, we may be able to mark this important season of waiting, despite all the contrary signs and signals of our modern culture.
Mary, the mother of Christ, was the one who had to wait, and to prepare, more than any other. She is the one who in Advent waits silently cherishing within her the unborn child she carries. The coming birth could not be rushed. For her child had to pass through its embryonic stage and develop. Yet the waiting for Mary must have been a very special time, silently nourishing the word of God, feeling him grow, gradually moving and responding. If we but allow it Advent can be equally special for us, silently nourishing the word of God within us, allowing him to grow and we to respond to him.
In Advent we too can wait with Mary, expectantly, for in the darkness of winter that surrounds us we do know that life is there, life that is sure but unseen. We can wait for the Advent of Christ trustfully, faithfully, for we know that his coming to be with us brings us hope and joy not fear.
Mary gave herself over to the will of God wholly. In her were all the hopes of humanity embodied. She was a little like that single Advent candle that burns today as we begin this season of waiting. By Christmas morning the light shines in the darkness, a light that darkness never overcomes, and yet at the beginning here today that light and hope is kindled in the faithful soul of Mary.
If we leave a candle to burn it remains alight, shining until it completely consumes itself. But if instead we keep extinguishing the candle and then lighting it again for a short while, then the candle only burns around the wick. The excess wax needs paring away or eventually the light is stifled and drowned.
Mary allowed herself to be wholly consumed by her heavenly Father. Her heart and mind shone, burnt with her love and attentiveness to the holy. She became the burning bush, the holy ground, in which God could find his feet. There was no on/off switch, and if we try to live our faith this way, the light of our faith is so easily drowned. Faith cannot be occasional, it cannot just be “when the Spirit moves me”, no, it is for always and we must be complete in our readiness.
The moving example of this faith is the expectant Mary, the waiting Mary, Through the light of her faith, her life, Mary conceived, nourished and bore the First great coming of the Love of God. Her devotion is our inspiration.
We may think that the shining of this single candle in the midst of consuming darkness gives off very little light, but it can give all of itself for as long as it can. And it was through the single burning light of holiness in the life of our Blessed Mother Mary that the light of God was brought to the whole of our world.
MIDNIGHT MASS: Ilkley 2007
And the word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.
There was once a parish that had a beautiful Christmas Crib. The parishioners who went to the Church were nearly all white, and on the whole, pretty well off. They were very proud of their crib scene and would look forward to getting out each year.
Mary was a beautiful young maiden whose hands and facial complexion was snow-white. Joseph was a strong young man whose expression was one of serenity. The child in the crib smiled with the face of an angel. The shepherds who visited were dressed as gentlemen. The background to the crib consisted of lowly hills. A star-filled sky completed the idyllic picture.
A new parish priest was appointed to the parish and they looked forward to sharing their first Christmas with him. But one of the first things he did was to change the crib. New figures were introduced. Mary, Joseph, Jesus and the shepherds were all coloured. The backdrop was now a shantytown. The whole scene screamed poverty. The faithful parishioners took an instant dislike to this innovation. They wanted their old crib back.
And the word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.
Most of the Christmas Cribs we see are so orderly, peaceful, pretty. The child doesn’t cry. The donkey doesn’t smell. The straw is pure and clean. The lighting often makes it surreal. With our inward ear we hear the singing of angels, with our inward eye was see the Kings following the bright star in the sky.
We may want to believe that Christmas is like this. But if we pinch ourselves for more than moment we know that this is not real. This is a false picture. It is not true to the first Christmas. It is not true to the world we live in. Everything was not neat and tidy and pretty like that. The first Christmas involved hurries and worries, stress, uncertainty, disappointment, fear, and even a whiff of scandal. It was certainly no picnic for Mary and Joseph. Who was this child’s father? When they finally arrived in Bethlehem they were unknown, poor and homeless. At the birth there were no doctors or midwives standing by. It is easy to get away from the biblical story and create a fantasy of our own making.
And the word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.
The problem with the fantasy is that we empty the Christmas story of its power by divorcing it from all reality. Yes, God came down at Christmas and lived among. He came to a homeless, refugee family. He was born in the poverty and awfulness of a stable full of animals. The birth was a huge risk. In many ways God was born into a real mess, and soon this little family would be forced to seek asylum in Egypt.
Jesus was born into a messy Bethlehem. Bethlehem tonight is also equally messy – a war-torn divided Holy Land needs this infant King as much now as it ever did.
For many these days running up to Christmas can be a time of hurry, rush, even stress. Yet it was much the same for the Holy Family, and into that whirlwind God entered through the baby in the manger.
And the word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.
The first ever Christmas Crib was assembled by St Francis of Assisi in a cave on an Italian hillside in the year 1223. He wanted to make the Christmas story come alive for the local people. He wanted the people to know how close God was to them in their lives.
It seems that St Francis succeeded. On that Christmas Eve the brothers of Assisi and the local people gathered in candlelight around the crib. Francis spoke to the local people, who were mostly farmers and shepherds, about how God’s Son comes amongst us to show us that we too are children of God, loved by him, and that our destiny is with Him. God is with us in all things, at all times. Faith is a matter of being opened up day by day to this life changing truth. It can transform everything we are and everything we do.
Those shepherds and farmers went home having seen and heard the message. Through that simple and ordinary crib the extraordinary truth had come alive: God was with simple and ordinary folk like you and me and he has time and love for us, often despite who we are. They returned to their homes changed people, joyful, peaceful, close to their creator, close to one another. God is with us, and once we discover this truth we begin to see our world and our lives in a new way.