We'll Meet Again

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green
Readings: Acts 7:55-end, Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16, John 14: 1-14

There’s a line, which I’ve probably shared with you before, that has become a fixed idea — a command even — lodged in my brain. A fall back position in seeing the world, when things are hard. I first came across it reading a writer called Gillian Rose. She’s the most difficult philosopher I’ve ever had to read, which is probably why this line in its simplicity stood out: The words came from a monk at Mount Athos, Staretz Silouan, writing down Christ’s voice in an answer to prayer: ‘keep your mind in hell and despair not.’

It doesn’t sound positive. But for me it’s reassurance; It builds my resilience in difficulty. The words of Christ answering one man’s prayer: ‘keep your mind in hell and despair not.’

In today’s Gospel we had this typical conversation, where the disciples are stressing their eagerness to follow Jesus, to accept the risk of the Gospel. But doubtful Thomas says — ‘Lord we do not know the way’. Philip — ‘Lord, show us the Father’. Remember James and John — ‘let us sit at your right and left in your glory’. It’s Peter who shows the reality of our best intentions: fear, insecurity and self-preservation will keep us from the point of danger.

We step back from the cross. We will do almost anything to avoid hell.

And yet, Jesus says today there are those who will do greater works than his. And while Philip asks to Jesus’ incredulity and frustration: ‘only show us the Father and we will be satisfied’; St Stephen in our other reading, the first Christian martyr, looks to heaven and sees the glory of God with Jesus at God’s right hand. Stephen, unlike Philip, has found the place from which to see God; but it’s a very costly place.

Now there’re plenty of places where being Christian puts your life in danger. There are fewer posts where this is true, though, in the Church of England. The Church Times rarely states: ‘excellent opportunities for persecution, with great potential for martyrdom.’ We tend to be more ‘sherry before evensong’ types.

Christian Aid, for which we’re raising money this week, does step into those places. This appeal will go to combat the Corona Virus but in Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean, educating, bringing health facilities and training, food and protection for victims of domestic violence. More than most charities, Christian Aid will struggle this year; We have always stepped up to support it and I hope we will this year.

But the Gospel demands all Christians put themselves at risk. There are though different kinds of risk.Many of us have spent some time with homeless people in the last six months. It brings out an edginess in people. What if this person asks too much of me?  What if I have nothing to say to them, will they think I’m an idiot, that I don’t deserve what I have?  Will they think I despise them, will I say the wrong thing? It’s a risk to spend time with anyone you feel different to. And part of what’s uncomfortable is that in a personal meeting, we not only confront the difficult facts of their life; We also see what we look like from another person’s viewpoint, which might be more critical than our Facebook friends, Or our fellow sherry-drinking worshippers at evensong. And what if they share some intimate detail. Some threat they’re living with, some trauma in the past;  What if they tell you how they’re really doing? To force yourself to be involved with someone when they disclose what’s on their heart is risky, because it demands something from us. We become morally complicit if we hear of suffering and do nothing. It’s a hell we’d mostly rather avoid.

In our present darkness, there are a great many hells which are coming to light. Suddenly the risk of knowing our neighbours, the risk of coming to those in truly dire straits one block away has become necessary. When we’re through the worst the temptation will be to celebrate, to move on, to open the shops and forget the various hells come to light: To let the risk go. To abandon those in hell.

Of late the army has been on my mind, mainly for digging out some high waisted Khaki trousers to wear accompanying Putney’s Sweetheart singing “We’ll Meet Again.”  As an army chaplain, there was a varying degree of risk. There is though some understanding that padres may not quite fit into the usual army expectations, and actually we get away with quite a lot. In my final exercise at Sandhurst we were advancing up a gully in preparation for an attack. The Company Sergeant Major asked for someone to pass him a smoke grenade. Remembering that I had one in my pouches, I reached in and began to throw it towards him when I realised that I had selected the wrong pouch and inadvertently pulled out a thermos. More tea Sergeant Major? I bet he loves to tell that story now.

Training with the Parachute Regiment I was co-opted into five and a half weeks of running up and down hills in Yorkshire with no organ music to sustain me. Part of the charm of it was that, as chaplains don’t carry weapons, I carried a rifle-sized iron cross on my back instead. This was particularly appropriate since it was Lent; each day I literally took up my cross. That probably was among the worst experiences of my life. This isn’t the sort of risk I’m talking about though.

But on Monday mornings at 2PARA I’d walk into a staff meeting, literally, a room full of trained killers. The conversation usually revolved around closing in and killing the Queen’s enemies. In an emergency we were on six hours notice to move anywhere in the world. The average age of the men — and it is men — is 17 to 23. Not the usual CofE demographic. In the middle of that is a priest.Not always a comfortable place to be. As a chaplain you are there as a guide: pastorally, morally, spiritually. And you have to love them, help them, and stand by them without losing yourself or the Gospel.

Here is a risk. Risk that you go native — become just another officer. A yes man — a holder of coats. Or risk that you refuse and say there are places where the presence of God can’t be found. Either is to abandon the difficult situation. Philip refused. ‘Only show us the Father.’ Even Peter was unable to follow. But Jesus will risk hell for others. Stephen’s last thought is for the absolution of his murderers. There are those risks we take for self-aggrandizement, to be noticed by others. There may have been some unnecessary risk-taking this weekend. But then there are the risks we take on behalf of others.

Some people object to the idea of military chaplains. Are we sanctioning, blessing, justifying violence? It’s part of the genius of the Anglican Church though to put chaplains in every part of public life. There’re even shopping centre chaplains — But isn’t the presence of God everywhere? And isn’t it actually more necessary, the darker the place? Perhaps it’s only in hell that Christ can truly be found.

The quote I began with, as I said, is the most important spiritual advice I’ve taken on: Keep your mind in hell and despair not. It embodies what’s known in the military as the Stockdale paradox. Stockdale, an American pilot, was a prisoner of war in Vietnam for seven years. He noticed that the prisoners who broke the quickest were the ones who believed that they were going to be rescued any day. The optimists, who refused to believe in hell. But those who gave up hope didn’t last either; The despairers. So his paradox was that you had to be brutally realistic about your situation without losing hope, losing the belief that you would sustain. In other words, keep your mind in hell and despair not. Don’t ignore or remove yourself from the difficulty you find. Don’t give up believing it can be made better.

The disciples couldn’t anticipate the crucifixion, despite Jesus’ telling them. They couldn’t be realistic about the situation. So even at the end they were asking to be shown the way, to be shown the Father. It’s Stephen who first looks up and sees the glory of God. It’s Stephen in imitation of Christ who risks everything for the love of others.

You’re probably aware that today’s Gospel is the most common Gospel for funerals. I heard it read just days ago. Which reminds us that it’s our job, as Christians, to show to people whose minds are in hell: hope. And to help people, who’ve made their beds in hell, see the glory of God. 

Last week Mark and I put up John Marston’s cross outside church.  The Easter garden is slowly growing. On VE Day I put up a sign “We’ll Meet Again.” It’s nostalgic. But it encompasses a longing felt across our nation today. In divided families, between friends. And more than that — is it not the message of the crucifixion? Hope? Despite this present hell, Despite what separates us; Despite everything that lies ahead. Despite denial, despair and death; We’ll meet again. Amen.