Homily for Ascensiontide_11

“Parting”, Shakespeare’s Juliet famously says,
“is such sweet sorrow”.

And it’s that oxymoron around leaving
that we share with the disciples this morning.

Jesus, conqueror of death and darkness,
takes his friends outside Jerusalem’s walls
forty days after that first bright Easter morning,
having repeatedly appeared to them
and spoken about his Kingdom,
- and there, instead of establishing a theocratic state,
as some of his disciples still seem to have expected,
he blesses them and leaves,
promising the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus’ Ascension is about his returning
to the God from whom he came,
about his physical being no longer being on earth,
in Palestine,
in time
and with all the limitations of human existence
– ethnicity, gender, language…
In fact, all those accounts
about disciples not recognising the Risen Christ
point us clearly to the realisation
that Christ is now not limited,
not contained, not entombed
by any one culture or ethnicity or family.
Nor in the Ascension
to any one time or region or language.

Jesus is taken into heaven,
whatever we understand that story to be telling us,

Jesus expands, the fullness of him who fills all in all,
to be present in and to the Church
beyond then and beyond now.

Jesus ascends, that we and those first Christians
might be freed from the limitations of his humanity,
his time and space,
that we might be his witnesses in every age,
in every language, every culture,
that we might be made ready to receive the Holy Spirit
which overcomes all those barriers of our expectation.
That sends us out “like sparks to set the world on fire”.

So, the Ascension is not about leaving, really.
Not about parting, but presence.
Not about absence, but
“the fullness of him who fills all in all”.

Hear again those wonderful words of St Paul,
his prayer for the Church,
for you and I:
I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of glory,
may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation
as you come to know him,
so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened,
you may know what is the hope
to which he has called you,
what are the riches
of his glorious inheritance among the saints,
and what is the immeasurable greatness
of his power for us who believe…

[God] has put all things under his feet
and has made him the head over all things
for the church, which is his body,
the fullness of him who fills all in all.

hat does that evocative phrase mean, do you think?
“The fullness of him who fills all in all”.

The Archbishop of Canterbury has suggested that,
as in the Ascension
Jesus carries our humanity into God’s very self,
we can understand
Jesus’ humanity taking into it
all the difficult, resistant, unpleasant bits of our humanity,
taking them into the heart of love
where alone they can be healed and transfigured.

Paul talks about the Church as Christ’s Body,
his humanity,
a humanity that is affirmed in the Ascension,
but that is also still being transformed and redeemed
by our proclamation,
by our loving service,
by our giving voice to the voiceless,
by our prayer, and in the power of the Holy Spirit.
By our being the Body of Christ.

Homily for Easter 6A

The wide-eyed tourist has long been a figure of fun,
whether stereotyped with a big camera and bad English,
or the North American drawl and few ideas about how
we manage to live here on the edge of the world,
or the freedom-camping free-loader,
most often from Europe,
who has a comical accent for good measure.

St Paul is this morning a tourist,
something of an innocent abroad.
He wanders, wide-eyed, we might imagine,
around one of the greatest cities of his age.

The people of ancient Athens
were amongst the most civilised and sophisticated
people of their era.

Athens was the centre for a culture,
for much of the philosophy that underlies
even our world today,
a “great city”
and centre of intellectual, cultural
and religious prestige and influence.
Athenians were famous for being open
to theological and philosophical development,
or to put it slightly less kindly,
they were always on the lookout for a novelty..

They had a whole pantheon of gods on offer,
their own, and no doubt a few of the regional specialities
of outlying areas and powerful neighbours.
To keep all bases covered,
they also evidently had an altar
to any divinities they didn’t have knowledge of,
but whose good humour they sought to maintain.
Hence the altar to an unknown god.

Paul,
disturbed by the sheer number of idols on offer in Athens,
does see the glimmer of hope in this openness
to an unknown, unnamed God, the God
whom Paul declares is actually the only one true God,
maker of heaven and earth.

He goes on to talk about the difference
between his God and the idols he sees.
The latter are shaped and waited on by humans,
as if to be placated and managed
by what people wanted and hoped for.

The unknown universal God does not work that way.
God is not to be managed or manipulated
or served token offerings of food and drink.
The God who is, is to be honoured and worshiped
in the whole of one’s existence,
and in awe at the bounty of creation,
because this God is the source
and the sustaining force permeating all things.

Paul even quotes one of the Greek poets, Epimenidies:
‘In him we live and move and have our being’.

And so we come to our gathering,
our week-by-week focus for community and faith.
Holy Communion.  A token offering of food and drink?

Of course the theology of what’s going on
is quite different,
we ourselves being nourished by the bread and wine,
blessed and made different, as we are through it,
but do we allow this Sacrament
to stand in place sometimes
of a real, living relationship with the real, living God?

Holy Communion, the Eucharist
has at its heart an intimate, incarnational mystery,
but do we ever move beyond this encounter
with the “unknown God”?

As St Paul tells those who will listen to him,
the one true God is not far off from each one of us,
has in fact created us to search after Godself,
and in Christ Jesus has known our flesh and blood,
that we might know God.
The God “in whom we live and move an have our being”.

Seven days a week, not just on a Sunday morning.
Every time we break bread with another,
not just in the Sacrament of Holy Communion.
As we pray, and read Scripture, and give thanks,
not just as consumers on a Sunday,
but as part of God’s creative work in the world,
each and every moment of our living.

We are coming towards the end of this Easter season,
and we might carry with us
the metaphor of a life un-entombed.
Of a God in Christ unable to be contained by mere rock and rational expectation of death’s dominance.
A God, not able to be managed,
not enshrined, not reserved for special occasions.
But “in whom we live and move an have our being”.

Joy Cowley writes,
Everything here is holy in its being
Every fern, tree, rock, drop of sea,
exists as a prayer of thanksgiving,
and together they speak a chapter
in the gospel of wonder
which is laid upon our lives.

We are called to recognise God in our lives and our world,
to grow and to ourselves bear fruit,
fruit that will nourish us and others,
that will bring life and strength, justice and joy to the world
and all its people.  Amen.

Homily for Evensong Easter 5 2011

Evensong, Easter 5A                  Zechariah4:1-10                  Revelation 21:1-14

Well, we’re still here.
You may have noticed
that the Rapture did not happen yesterday at 6pm, here or in any time zone.

The certain prediction of a US evangelist that it would
is just one of many that have come and gone over twenty centuries.
Harold Camping’s date was determined by his reading of biblical numerology – numbers and their use in the Bible.

Now, it’s not completely mad: numbers are very significant in Scripture.
Providentially, we have some significant numbers in our readings tonight,
which we can explore.

But of course there is a world of difference
between the symbolism of biblical numbers,
and thinking we can gain secret knowledge through them.

One is about the richness of the many layers of biblical meaning and poetry;
the other is almost a form of gnosticism, the idea that a chosen individual or few
have special, hidden, almost magical insight into the mind and will of God.
One is thoroughly in consonance with orthodox Christianity and biblical study;
the other very much a fringe cul-de-sac.

First, though, let’s just remind ourselves of,
and put in some sort of context, our readings.

Our passage from Zechariah
is a vision concerning the rebuilding of the Temple,
at a time when only some of the exiles had returned to Jerusalem.
The figure of Zerubbabel mentioned was of Judah’s kingly line,
a descendent of King David and ancestor of Jesus.
It was he who was to take the leading role in rebuilding the Temple,
clearing away the “great mountain” of rubble from the first Temple’s destruction,
and from “small things” building again the House of the Lord.

The prophet Zechariah’s vision is evocative of a restored Temple Sanctuary,
with its menorah, its lampstands, and even two olive trees to give fresh oil,
symbolising the restoration in Jerusalem
of both priestly and royal service.

The Book of Revelation has another vision, once again of Jerusalem.
Almost certainly written
after the destruction of Zerubbabel’s rebuilt Temple in the year 70AD,
this is a vision of a world remade, heaven and earth,
symbolised by Jerusalem, the holy city, coming down from heaven,
of the fulfilment of the Incarnation when God dwells fully with humanity.

In this vision, there is – if you read on – no need for a Temple, or for lampstands,
because the throne of God and the Lamb – the Risen Christ – are at its heart.

The Church, the bride of the Lamb, the spiritual new and forever holy Jerusalem,
is seen as a city beyond beauty and imagination, glinting like a jewel.

And in both these visions we have numbers.
Specifically sevens and twelves:
Seven lamps, seven wicks (or lips), seven eyes…
Seven angels, seven bowls, seven plagues…
Twelve gates, twelve angels, twelve tribes, twelve foundations, twelve names, twelve apostles…

Clearly there is something to the numbers the Bible uses.
But what?

Seven is the number of days of Creation,
it represents completeness, wholeness, universality, the sabbath.
The Jewish menorah, lampstand, has seven candles to symbolise this,
to bring to mind enlightenment and the promise of God.

Twelve is the number of those God chooses, the people of God,
the twelve tribes of Israel, the twelve Apostles.

Other numbers are also significant:
The Lord your God is one God.

 Three symbolises the Trinity,
but also in a number of places in Scripture, the day on which God acts.
This is demonstrated no more clearly than in the Resurrection,
when on the third day Christ rises from the dead.

40 is an important number, signifying as a round number a generation
or a period of time between “a few” and “a great many”.

More than this, both Hebrew and Greek gave letters numerical values,
A B C – aleph, beth, gimel, – alpha, beta, gamma
corresponding to 1, 2, 3  and so on.

In this way we get symbolic values, most famously 666,
the Book of Revelation’s “number of the beast”,
probably from adding together the value of letters from the Hebrew title of Nero,
first Emperor to persecute the Church,
and thus shorthand for every latter persecution.

So, numbers in the Bible are important, are meaningful,
but need not be limited to the literal.
They give us insight, often, into what is being evoked or intended.

I think I would want to suggest to those disappointed
by the non-appearance of the Rapture
that both, as Jesus tells us, “no-one knows the day or the hour”,
but also that Scripture’s inspired authors
were more often allegorical proclaimers, prophets, poets,
than – with the greatest of professional respect – accountants or quantity surveyors
(or, in Mr Camping’s case, civil engineers).

God give us eyes to see, ears to hear and wisdom to discern
the richness of the gift of Scripture.
And humility to let God speak.