Easter Vigil: Honest to God

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green

‘In my end is my beginning’ The inscription at the place where the poet TS Eliot is buried. It’s the final line from one of his poems, which some might think is a bit ‘showy’ but it’s his funeral – so to speak – and so we might just let it lie. In my end is my beginning. It sounds poetic, a little obtuse; And he was both of those things.

But it’s a way in to start thinking about resurrection. Chronologically, it’s straightforward – in my end is my beginning. The end of this life takes us to the next. This is our hope: that following death our eternal life with God begins. Even Jesus spoke little about what this will mean in practice, and then with metaphors – but we will be with our Father and Jesus will lead us there.

But there is also a play on words here. End can mean the last point, but it can also mean the purpose, the reason. As when we ask ‘to what end’ or ‘the end justifies the means’. The end is not just chronology but the result, the point.

So in our purpose, in the principles by which we live, our sense of meaning, is our beginning, where we start from. This is as true now as it will be in eternity. We live today, hopefully, according to the things we think matter. These last years have shone a spotlight on what matters to us. We probably know now better than ever what we really care about. Many have left London or looked for more space, more outside space; Some will have moved into Putney with all its green spaces. If we reassess what really matters, that can be a new beginning. We are so far from 2019 now – there’s no sense of recovery any more. But whatever it is we have learned about ourselves, our family, our work, our environment. Hopefully, it’s something to make a new beginning.

In the same way, when we talk about the end of a person’s life, we might mean two things. 
 We might be talking about the last moments.
 We might be talking about the overall meaning on which the life hangs; 
 the ultimate end of our life being the point, the purpose.
 Coming through Good Friday is a reckoning with both of those questions. Have we identified with Christ and reckoned with our own mortality. Have we made a decision about what it all means, whether it’s true – Now is the time to decide in 2022 on this in-between night; Do we stand with the scoffers – Jesus is just a man in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or do we dare to believe. This might be the Son of God?

The first line of that same poem, and also inscribed at Eliot’s place of rest, is the reverse of the last: ‘In my beginning is my end’. The service tonight began with the creation from Genesis – a reminder that we begin from the Imago Dei: ‘Let us make humankind in our image’ just as we will pass from ashes to ashes and dust to dust; from dust you were made; to dust you will return – But from that beginning, when God created humanity with all creation and called it ‘good’ – we know that we are created for a purpose; by God and for God. Though if we believe that it’s all chance and chemistry – that we are the product of genes and hormones brought together by coincidence – Then our beginning is without meaning or purpose. In our beginning is our end.

This weekend we have been considering honesty. On Maundy Thursday – whether we are honest in our friendships? Do we deny or betray? Do we just look for friends who are like us? Who confirm our prejudices and ask little from us? Do we love? Do we serve?

On Good Friday – are we an honest society? Are we a just society? Do we condone leaders who lie to protect themselves? Who wash their hands of responsibility? Who commit or allow acts of violence against innocents? Where is it Good Friday today every day? Do we have the energy to keep caring about this world?

Tonight, Christ rises from the tomb; As tradition has it, he harrows hell, unlocking the spirits from captivity; Let me ask the question – are we honest to God? Do we emerge on this Easter night, after plague and war and death, Do we emerge with faith? Are we rising with Christ?

Some of us have been baptised more than 80 years. Formed in the promises of loved ones long dead. Are we faithful to those promises, to a lifetime’s effort to find meaning and a way to live in the light of faith?

The cynic’s answer that seems mature: ‘things just happen’ ‘make the best of it’, forecloses the struggle that makes life noble; That gives purpose, That can say through grief – even this short life is infinite in value and not without meaning and hope; That can point and say this is beautiful, this is true, this is good – And not because it serves our desire, but because it speaks of something beyond us. Something infinite, something inscribed on something more even than stone, something like the palms of God.

Mostly we don’t have time to consider how honest we are about our faith; What we really think about God – and the terrible things that happen down here – What we really think about Jesus – and the hope of resurrection – The hope for some sort of redemption.

But tonight is one of those moments, where we might just whisper alleluia and mean it. Where we might put down the myriad woes and troubles, and practical questions that occupy five quarters of our deteriorating brains. And say – yes, perhaps this is what it’s all about. And where else would I be except here on this night. What could be more important than celebrating this hope, this gift, this promise: And perhaps, yes, even I can receive grace, perhaps I too am loved by God. Have this hope set before me. Share somehow in resurrection.

Can we be honest to God? Can we say yes to God? Yes to eternity “I have not given up on God and I know that God will not give up on me.” That this is not an idle tale, But a story of faith which has touched the lives of billions; That has shaken the walls that surround us here with 150 years of hymns and Easters celebrated. That has seen book after book of births registered, of faithful lives remembered. Whose bell has called us to worship, as it rings out with joy on every Easter Sunday, as it will toll for our passing.

In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning.