Gathering Stones

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green
Readings: Malachi 4:1-2a, 2Thessalonians 3:6-13, Luke 21:5-19

Recently, there have been some appealing coincidences. This week marks a year since I began here at St Margaret’s. By coincidence, tomorrow the PCC will vote on whether to upgrade me from priest-in-charge to vicar, or whether to advertise for someone new. Please speak to a churchwarden if you have strong opinions. In another coincidence, our Old Testament lesson today is the basis for the collect of the Parachute Regiment, where I served shortly before arriving here. It’s one of those odd army/church connections that every regiment has a collect, a prayer, and it just so happens that the PARAs, who love all references to ‘wings’, chose that line: that the ‘sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings’ to build their prayer around.

And this week gone I was making preparations for a talk at the Wandsworth deanery meeting this Tuesday on the theology of mission. I wanted to use some quotations from my phd thesis only to find I’d lost it. I’ve lent all 3 hard copies to people and not had any of them back –I can’t remember who either – And with various computer shenanigans no longer have it electronically. Fortunately, I had an old hard drive from 2007; and here is a salutary lesson. Like many people I have a box of wires. Kept in the roof. I don’t know what they connect to, But they have been carefully accrued throughout the years. One member of our family is very keen that they be gotten rid of. It’s not Zz. But by the grace of God I still have them and was able to connect this antique hard drive to my computer and recover my thesis. So be careful when throwing out wires. But at the same time I found lots of old files including the first sermon I ever gave in 2005 in Exeter University chapel.

I know what you’re thinking. That’s 14 years ago. He must have been a mere slip of a boy, listening to S Club 7 and playing football in the street in short trousers – what was he doing giving a sermon? But God does call some very young. Just think of the prophet Samuel and Daniel Radcliffe.

 And again, in an odd coincidence, that first sermon was written for this Sunday, the 2nd before Advent. I remember feeling overwhelmed with nerves at the thought of expounding the Word of God for the first time. Taking up the apocalyptic theme, I talked about the Millennium and Twin Towers – Still in the early noughties a turning-point for reflection. On an aside, it’s shocking to me that someone celebrating their 18th birthday today was born after that event which had such a far-reaching impact on the world. I suppose that today’s children will feel about it the way my generation felt when people talked about ‘where were you when John Lennon or JFK was shot?’ But at the time it still came immediately to mind at a Gospel like today’s: ‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.’

 Jesus is referring here to the Temple, newly finished, the pride of the Jewish people. Forty years later it would be thrown down and all that was left is the Western Wall, sometimes called the ‘Wailing Wall’. He is speaking also of all the works of our hands. And, as with any reference to the Temple, he is speaking of his own body. But the over-riding theme, prevalent throughout Jesus’ teaching, is that a time of destruction is at hand. A hard-rain is coming. The zombie-apocalypse is nearly upon us.

 Now, I had several reasons for leaving the army, the most insistent having the same voice as the one trying to throw out my boxes of wires. But vocationally I had an increasing sense of a call to build something.

 In chaplaincy you’re always doing patch work. 18 month postings. Your work is all personal with the men and women who cross your path, trying to help them on their way morally, spiritually and pastorally. Trying to curb the enthusiasm of soldiers a little. Sometimes I had to address the system or culture, where I found racism, neglect or over-efficiency. But moving so quickly, and with long periods away, there was no chance to build, to see a congregation develop, to gather a community. 

But here, we are building something. Churches measure time not in years but in decades and centuries. I’m not about to take down the board at the back on the left and pretend I’m the first incumbent. But I think in this last year we’ve begun an exciting new moment in the life of St Margaret’s.It certainly is for me and Oberon. It’s more than the building – though that has been consuming a lot of time and money; and it’s more than the gardens which now demand our attention. But the community, the events, the shelter and hospitality we offer, the music, children’s activities, getting more people passing through church and more people in church. 

We are not, as individuals, as families, as a community, just coming together each week. We are building something. Some of it may not seem immediately relevant to faith, to church. But it is. Because what we are building is the kingdom of God. And its borders are wider than at present we know.

There’s a lot of change at the moment. There has been in Putney, in the churches here. There is in the nation. This is a time to build.

 Our Gospel today, though, is concerned with the throwing down of stones. As Ecclesiastes says: There is a time to gather stones together; and a time to throw away stones. This should be a reminder of our limitations; our finitude; this mortal coil we have not yet shuffled off.

To begin with we must acknowledge that when we come together as a church, when we put things on, when we work together to get things done we are engaging in mission. But it’s not our mission. It’s not the church’s mission. It’s God’s mission. We come together as a church to participate in God’s mission. Mission comes from the word Missa – meaning ‘sent’. The church is sent by God. We will accomplish nothing if it’s not a participation in God.

And for all our power, our efforts of persuasion, our wealth, our energy; eventually we will be left with not one stone upon another. Yes now, our friends may be saying ‘what beautiful stones, and gifts dedicated to God’ But we will all face our own apocalypse. We will not know the time. And it will not be just.  In the end we will have to let go of the work of building, and see again the stones scattered. 

This may seem quite a dark message for today. But it’s also liberating. There are always hot-headed people who talk about crises and revivals. ‘Do not go after them’. The kingdom of God flows on like the ebb and flow of the sea. It will outlast us. But it’s our joy and pleasure to have this moment of participation. When the kingdom of God is at hand and we can be part of it. And when our day arrives burning like an oven and we are left with neither root nor branch, we will remember this work and our part in it, and see the sun of righteousness rise with healing in its wings. 

This week finishes with a chance for us on Saturday to look forward to the next phase in the life of St Margaret’s. It marks the end of my first year with you; last night’s Messiah, for those who came, was quite an inspirational moment. And tonight’s opening of our doors to guests for food and shelter creates a new opportunity of Christian service and connection with the wider community. And it has been overwhelming the generosity and compassion we have seen step forward for this project, from the church and the wider community. It is a time to gather stones together; a time to build. It’s a time to be excited about what we can achieve here together; as a Christian presence in Putney.

And while the future is full of uncertainty, and doubtless the prophets of doom will be haranguing us for some time about the various apocalypse that await our every decision; It’s a time to have faith; to gather stones, to see the arrogant and evil turn to stubble; and to believe that we will see the sun rise with healing in its wings. Amen.

Pentecost 13: leap of faith

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green
Readings: Deuteronomy 30:15-20, Philemon 1-21, Luke 14:25-33

People often assume that soldiers in the Parachute Regiment love to jump out of planes. Talking to them I’d say, for the main, the opposite is true. This is because the whole process is deeply boring and uncomfortable. In general, you’re waiting around usually for six or seven hours while the RAF decide whether it’s safe to fly. Then you have to stagger on to the plane carrying 75kg of equipment, more than your own body weight, before shuffling down the plane, while it does low flying manoeuvres, by which point you’re only too delighted to throw yourself out.

Only of course there’re risks. Just before I joined the regiment a boy had shattered his back during an air steal, where another parachute get too close, causing him to plummet to the ground. One soldier confessed to me that every time he jumped the whole way down the plane, he’d sing “Glory, glory what a helluva way to die” to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

But of course there are also refusals. Usually boys who are overthinking, or perhaps whom life has taught not to trust others.

I can’t say I ever looked forward to it. Even after you land you’ve usually got weeks trudging about, sleeping in the open in Winter without a sleeping bag – and that’s if you’re lucky enough to have time to sleep. And every time I was told to jump – and it’s never a question – I’d think – is it worth it? The risk, death or permanent injury, and for what?

What does merit facing death? For what would you take up your cross?

The church likes to think it’s inclusive. We are a church of sinners. And Christianity has always spoken to the outsider; it’s the tax collectors, women, slaves who are its first followers.  

And the Church of England is the most forgiving. It’s as though Church is permanently on special offer. Perhaps it’s because we have some slightly embarrassing characters in our past: Old Henry number eight was not a model husband and perhaps more ready to put people on crosses than take up his own; but we are not inclined to judge those who join us: Elizabeth the first set the mantra that we will not ‘open windows into men’s souls’, and, as a church, we tend to be rather grateful that someone might come along. We’re the golden retriever of churches, friendly, tail-wagging, a little bit needy and over-enthusiastic; a strange cross between a social club, a support group, and an amateur dramatics society.

So some of the more fierce readings can come as a bit of a surprise. Old Deuteronomy, a cat who’s lived a long time, tells us today: See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. It’s a strong message and I look forward to seeing what Sunday School have done with it; but because of this ambivalence, this fear of being thought judgemental, of being intrusive, we don’t ask questions. I’ll bet there’s dozens of people you’ve met here for years and have never once spoken to about faith. Which when you think about it, in a church, is kind of extraordinary.

But, as all the reports show, the most important thing is that churches are welcoming and friendly, and this will lead to growth. Only then we have a Gospel like today – where we’re told that to be Christian we must take up our cross; put our families, our own lives even, after Jesus.

You can imagine Dominic Cummings writing it off as dreamed up on the back of a cigarette packet: ‘Take Back our Congregation’, he insists: Do talk about tea and coffee, Do talk about church schools Do talk about culture and community. Don’t talk about taking up your cross.

And it also stands completely at odds with Deuteronomy. That has a much better selling line:
obey the commandments and you shall live and be blessed in the land. go astray and perish.Promise and reward. That could get anyone to church. In the line made famous by Trainspotting: Choose Life.

But Jesus did not choose life. He chose something else.

And to be a disciple is to follow. So, if Jesus obeyed and faced death and adversity, so should we. 

Now the history of Christianity is littered with examples of self-sacrifice. Jesus was immediately followed by most of the disciples, Paul in today’s epistle ‘a prisoner of Christ’, in discovering the most gruesome forms of execution. Right up to the Second World War when to name just two, Maximilian Kolbe in Auschwitz and Dietrich Bonhoeffer in Flossenberg, give two examples of extraordinary men dying horribly for their faith. And today it’s still estimated that thousands of Christians are killed each year, very often with their faith being a primary issue.

That is not at least an immediate threat for us, though I sometimes wonder if the impulse within Christianity to immoderate positions: refusing to allow gay couples in your B&B or bake them a wedding cake, resisting female priests, is partly fuelled by a desire to stand against the current, even to feel a righteous sense of persecution. It would be very British to be martyred on the grounds of refusing to bake a cake.

And it’s interesting that around the time Christians stopped getting persecuted, they started taking themselves off to live in the desert. It’s as if with the lack of challenge a spiritual vacuum appears that has to be filled. So the Desert Fathers, as they’re known, found their cross in the unforgiving hardship of the wild places.

You can see this switch even within the Gospels. So today’s Gospel reads: ‘Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple’ echoed in Matthew 16 and Mark 8, but in Luke 9, we have a slightly different wording where Jesus says: ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’ So while Jesus and the early church may have been describing the brutality of the life of faith that awaits many disciples, in this wording, we are also concerned not with a grisly end, but with a life of renunciation.

Renunciation I know about. My current wife has deemed September a waste free month so we’re trying to fit all our household rubbish within a large jam jar. We’ve just switched to toothpaste that comes in a pill that you chew, but tastes of chalk, and went yesterday to an over-priced farmers’ market. But we’ve also been trying to be a little more frugal and to give more to charity. And then there’s the daily running, which meant we had to run to a gin party last night. Some heavy sacrifices.

As I said, there’s a spirituality that comes in seeking martyrdom, seeking crucifixion; a desire to find challenges in life that stretch us personally. For some it’s bound up with financial or enivornmental concerns. For some it’s the person they chose to marry.

But being a disciple means being ready to change your life, to take up the challenges, that God calls us to. Being a disciple means offering to God the unknown and unpredictable future. We can all here make the commitment to give up a morning to be here together. But will our faith stretch to when we get a bad prognosis. Or a friend does? Will our commitment see us through the worst of days – And will we stand by it when our cross is standing before us. 

Bonhoeffer, one of those martyrs, wrote: ‘When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.’ That isn’t the easy grace that trades on God’s kindness; that presumes if God is God, then I can expect him to do everything, meet my every need; the God that is grateful that I’ve come to church, and makes it as easy as possible to join. The promise of God that we see in Jesus’s crucifixion is that he will be faithful even to death. The question today’s Gospel asks of us is will we? And will we find the strength in the hour of difficulty to turn to him and ask for forgiveness and grace. When we’re stood, loaded down, in the plane door is our commitment strong enough to believe it’s worth jumping out?