Saint Peter and Saint Paul: Vocation
Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green
Readings: Acts 12:1-11, Psalm 125, 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 17-18, Matthew 16:13-19
God is calling you. But to what purpose? And are you listening?
When I was 17 I chose to do theology at university. I didn’t believe in God at the time so it was an odd choice. I had an excellent Religious Studies teacher; They also didn’t offer philosophy at Olchfa Comprehensive; so for a boy interested in the big questions, theology was more straightforward. Plus, I knew I’d get to study texts, languages, history and more. I’ve always been a generalist. Or perhaps just indecisive.
Theology at Exeter University was fairly split between Christians – mostly evangelical – and atheists, so discussions were lively. The main point I took from my first year was the discovery that it was actually reasonable to believe in God. Philosophy of Religion was my favourite subject, and I was surprised to find that my adolescent reasons for rejecting belief in God as silly, superstitious and outdated – the problem of evil, the problem of suffering, the problem of different religions – All had reasonable defences refined over centuries; And that the concept I had thought impossible – the intelligent Christian, was in fact a possibility.
This matters because at all points in our lives we shut off certain possibilities as impossible or incompatible. No one lives in perpetual uncertainty. At some point we decide on things we deem trustable: The today programme; Scientists; The Queen; Roger Federa. And those things not trustable: Piers Morgan, Anti-vaxers, Emails from Nigerian Billionaires offering to share their wealth with you; England on penalties.
When we’ve closed the door to something, nothing gets through.Except German penalties. A staunch atheist could easily see the approach of the four horsemen of the apocalypse and put it down to a freak astronomical occurrence, a psychological episode or aneurysm. Once you close the door to the spiritual world; once the wardrobe has been shut; you’ll always be able to find another explanation, however unlikely.
In my second year of university a girl convinced me to go to church with her. I think I thought it might end up as a date, but as St Paul reminds us, the Lord often uses the things of the world for our spiritual benefit. It was a traditional evangelistic service. An attractive band playing worship songs that sounded like Oasis; Donuts and coffee in the middle. Then a sermon asking the question if you feel the call of God on your life. Do you want the glorious liberty of the people of God, Freedom from sin and confusion; Are you ready to meet Christ? To give your life to him? At that moment – though I hadn’t known it half an hour earlier – I was. And I stepped forward for prayer, utterly surprised and convicted by the presence of God. It could have been a psychological episode, and what is an encounter with God if not a psychological episode – psyche – Greek for Soul – But that moment determined the course of my life. But not in just one moment. For the next few years I felt the presence of God alongside me on more or less a daily basis. The call is always a beginning, never an end.
My call to the priesthood was less dramatic. There were key moments. As with many people, it probably started with someone suggesting I might be called to it, or good at it. I felt dissatisfied with the idea of life in a university which was my original direction. I’d started working for a chaplaincy team; I’d started saying morning prayer regularly. Things gradually came together and one conversation led to another, which then became the endless, infuriating, interminable process by which you’re accepted to theological college. And if you can get through all those interviews packed with invasive questions stretched out interminably over a year, yes you probably have a calling, Or at least the patience to put up with Anglican bureaucracy.
One of the strongest senses of calling I’ve had though was to return to parish ministry. I enjoyed my time in the British Army. It had no shortage of challenges and rewards: Theological college does not prepare you for marching 50 miles carrying full kit across the North Downs in less than a day. I’ve never come across the Church of England liturgy “prayers before parachuting” But after four years I felt an intense frustration at the constant moving, just when you’d felt you’d established some relationships. At one of my churches when I arrived in Germany there was only one person at the Christmas Day service. By the time we left there were up to twenty each week. That community will once again be dispersed now. The majority of a chaplain’s work is pastoral, looking after soldiers. So you’re sorting people’s problems; giving support; and in the churn of people everyone moves on. The call I felt was that God wanted me to build something. And it was those words – build my church – that stuck in my head, as I made the famous seven clicks to leave the army and come to Putney. Of course, that was a close-run thing and if one of the Churchwardens hadn’t felt God speaking to them on that day this church would be a quite different place today.
God speaks to us in different ways at different times. If we can approach him with an open heart and open hands we may experience that most intimate and reassuring sense of God’s Word spoken to us. Of course, as with Paul, it may be forced upon us, even as we have murder in our hearts. But, equally, we may also be able to discern the movements of God on our life, only as we look back. Seeing now the reason for an experience that seemed perplexing, unimportant or distressing at the time. As TS Eliot put it: “we had the experience but missed the meaning.” The use of our reason and study may direct our paths to truth. We may feel in our bones a conviction for a course of action. The words of others may guide us on the way; We may carry a truth within us and, when the opportunity arises, know it as the path ordained for us.
The saints Peter and Paul are perfect examples for us. Perfect in their imperfections. Peter misunderstands the messiahship and denies Christ. Paul holds the coats of killers. Our vocation must always be open to the truth that we might have got it wrong. The road of our vocation will always be winding. Peter is nudged along the path gently. After his failures he must be nurtured back to health. St Paul make a 180 degree turn around. Sometimes God is very clear. But both put the service of Christ and the Church at the centre of their lives. And through it find both the pain of the cross and the joy of resurrection, in meeting and serving God.
The rabbis tell a famous story, whereby the soul is not able to ascend to heaven until it hears its name being called by the angel. It may be left indefinitely waiting until it’s quiet enough to hear and recognise the voice calling its true name. The point of the story is that all of us have our unique name – our calling, our place in this world. But it may take our whole lives, or after, to learn it. The noise of this life, the cares of the world, the clamour of people around us may all block out the voice of that calling. St Peter was lucky enough to have the voice alongside him, training him for the role he was to take. St Paul got knocked off his horse by that voice.
With everything shuddering to a stop in the last year; with the skies empty of planes, we’ve had a sudden break in noise. Life now is itching to resume. The Wimbledon ball boys will be running up and down. England will be practising penalties. But things that should never have been lost will be forgotten. What have we heard of that voice to carry with us? And in the moments of quiet today, let us ask ourselves: what is God calling us to now? Are we hearing our name being called? Are we listening for it? Amen.