A time to love.

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green
Readings: Acts 2.14a, 36-41; psalm 116:1-3, 10-17;cLuke 24.13-35

We are one month into the present darkness. Already the former things seem a distant memory. Already the director of music, Nicky’s 30th birthday party, a Ceilidh held on the thin-ice days before lockdown with some uncertain partner swapping – seems either ill-judged, or the perfect last hurrah of a pre-lapsarian world. No tanks have rolled in. This is neither 1956 Hungary, nor 1968 Czechoslovakia; But I wonder if now some of the wartime-spirit, the solidarity, galvanising the country is feeling thin. A friend of mine reported feeling choked at watching people on television in coffee shops and bars; The gloomy death toll is read each day, a numbed reminder of the real harm underlying, but with little reality to us: We might feel cheered that only 600 people died in hospital, not 800, as it sounds like things are getting better. If your exercise has taken you to Wimbledon Common you might have seen the palatial temporary morgue, twice the size of St Margaret’s, Yani, a local funeral director, reported to me a 400% increase in deaths. I will be taking another four services this week. 

A common reading at funerals is Ecclesiastes 3, popularised in the 60s by the Byrds: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance’

Now is a time to mourn. I don’t mean to wear black, or stare into the middle distance, still less to become self-absorbed. We may know people who have died and mourning is fiercely difficult; it is disenfranchised; unresolved, incomplete. There will be a time for this, but now it is deferred and that is damaging. But, for everyone, this is a time of loss. Loss of freedom, Loss of space, Loss of the anticipated future, Loss of friendship, and so many things that bring joy, Loss of peace of mind. It is a time of grief, a time of loss.

And it may be, that we’ve been so proactive, so busy, so concerned for others, so anxious, so busy on social media, That we’ve not fully registered this loss. Neither examined nor allowed for this new poverty in our lives. The difficulty is not equal, not even, but no one is unaffected.  So take a moment to accept that for all your efforts to keep the ship running, to be a working home-schooling dad, to chivvy morale, to engage with your street whatsapp, to help old Doris, to volunteer, Life is more difficult and less interesting. Has anyone else noticed that there is no news? People will soon be staging Zoom Brexit debates just to talk about something else. ‘oh’ they’ll say, ‘remember 2019, the good old days?’

The disciples today are treading the road to Emmaus. They’re grieving. Their friend has been taken from them in the most violent manner. Their dreams, their future, has been taken from them. They are anxious, fearful. perhaps they are considering giving up. Matthew 26:31, quoting Zechariah: “I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.” The flock will be scattered, isolated.

I’m reminded of a scene early in the film Gladiator. Russell Crowe is with a ragtag bunch of criminals sentenced to death in the Arena, and normally this type are picked off easily by the pros in chariots with better weapons. They’re strangers but Russell pulls them together in tight formation.  In this square they’re able to defend one another, keep each others’ backs. And as they hold their line and pick off the enemy, what is it that Russell Crowe keeps shouting? “As one” Isolated they’re picked off. As one – they overcome the enemy.

The disciples are treading this road to Emmaus. But there is a stranger with them. In the last month I have met many strangers. Strangers who live among us. Many have stepped forward as volunteers. Many have phoned asking for assistance. I feel like we have a second church woven around us, drawn in by our shared trouble and our shared humanity. There is the one, fallen, treading this road, There is the Good Samaritan, Bound by need and compassion; Has Christ ever been so amongst us? It is as if we’re in a flood and now staying in cabins on the ark waiting for the waters to drop – only we have some extra guests, staying with us on this journey.

So the disciples tread this road together, in their grief; In their shared loss, With this stranger. And they’re asking what does it mean? Why has this happened? And the stranger explains that this is who God is. This is the love God has for the world. And as the stranger goes on suddenly they look back on those difficult three days; They look back on that period of loss and grief; And the scales fall from their eyes. And they experience the joy of resurrection. And it’s not that the loss is taken away. Christ was still executed; he has disappeared; they carry with them failure, and pain; betrayal and grief. Where is the redemption of Israel now? But this experience makes them see differently. The scales fall from their eyes. ‘their eyes were opened’ ‘were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road.’ So amid the loss, the grief, is there a stranger opening your eyes? Who is making your heart burn within you?

Now, I want you to understand something difficult. Scripture says ‘God is love’, The ancient hymn, ‘where there is love and charity, there is God.’ And we say, isn’t that nice. Isn’t it a nice metaphor. Accessible, inclusive, liberal. No.  It’s not a metaphor. No more than saying Jesus is Lord. God is love. God is not some bloke above us, She is not some great woman-spirit occupying the earth. When you know love, when you give love, when you receive love, That is divine. That is the reason we exist, That is the revelation that Jesus brought. That is the meaning of the world, not 42, but love. That is what the Bible says, That is what the cross conveys. It’s simple really. We are most of us too holed up on the idea of a person watching over us to see the reality that God is all around us. Or we’re too frightened or intimidated by the world to look for it, Or we’ve had too many knocks to accept it. But that is the Gospel, and when we finally accept that we’re loved,  And loved infinitely, when our hearts burn within us, Then we will find an infinite source of love to bring to the world.

So yes, that girl in the pretty summer dress leaving cake on your doorstep, was God; Yes, when you left that food for a neighbour, you were doing it for love, You were doing it for God; That is God within you; that soup, that cake, was a sacrament. ‘he took bread, blessed and broke it and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognised Jesus.’ 

People always say in difficult times, quoting unknowingly the psalms: Where is now your God? I look at my spreadsheet. The volunteers. Those in need. I hear how people in church are doing – people keeping in touch; Helping one another; There is my God; love in a time of COVID-19; Treading the road to Emmaus with me; A stranger and a friend.

This could have been very different. If people had been a lot more scared, they might have retreated. Protected their own. Stockpiled and bought a shotgun. That has not happened, And this may be a warm up for next time. But what I think, is that there’s a lot more love in Putney now than a month ago. And that means there’s a lot more God. Now is a time to love. Amen.