SERMON PREACHED IN AN UPPER ROOM
TO A COMPUTER AND AN INTERNET
LENT 5 (March 29th) 2020
READINGS:
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John
11:1-45
These
are strange times. Apocalyptic even … not in the sense that “the end is nigh”,
but in the sense that has been the sense of every apocalypse, that “an end is
here,” that so much that we took for granted is no longer, and that, nevertheless,
as a people of God we seek to find divine footprints to navigate our way
through. So I share these thoughts as a sermon, as I always have on my sermon
blog, not necessarily knowing who you are or where, how you are, even, but
hoping and praying that there may be here a case of le mot juste or
even un mot approximatif for you on this day in
this changing world.
Ezekiel’s vision of a valley of lifeless desiccation has
inspired artists and poets through hundreds of centuries. The vision can – and should
– be writ large, speaking to society’s desiccations. The vision can – and should
– be writ small, speaking to the desiccations of our own lives. Can we be
agents of new life?
For three years at least we have seen the world
reeling as it encounters the Orwellian US leadership that calls truth lies and
lies truth – perfect truth no less. There is a sense in which we have received
what we deserve. Western society, in particular but not exclusively, has
deified greed, deified capital, pushed golden towers to the sky and mocked
ancient fables about a tower of Babel that an invisible god destroyed in an
ancient tale. Trump’s careless focus on reopening economic markets against epidemiological
advice demonstrates the degree to which Mammon can usurp the place of good
sense, let alone the place of God. The Western world has the leader it deserves,
and may yet pay more dearly even than it is today.
There remain of course many who celebrate Donald Trump
as a chosen servant of God. Perhaps they are right – but not in the way they
think they are. They are right, because we have what we deserve: disregard for
planet earth, disregard for the wretched of the earth, admiration for corporate
greed, adoration of the dollar as the measure of meaning, sclerosis of compassion towards those who fall
by the wayside. We, not as individuals (though we all participate in corporate
sin), but we as western humanity have received what we sought. We have a valley
and the bones therein are desiccated.
Of course many of us know this story. God comes a
long, puffs a bit of gas into the bones, and all is well again. It’s a cosy
story of hope. Except if we read it with an eye on its happy ending then we
read it as cheats. We have not recognized how dry these bones are. We pay lip
service to the greatness of the God but also to the deadness of death. In these
apocalyptic times we are reminded that death is a vast and cruel pronouncement
on the vulnerability of humankind. Tales especially from Spain of the many
elderly who are dying inaccessible to their loved ones, many only be
foreshadowment of the harsh road ahead.
Christians have too often wallowed in a sense – indeed
variations of a sense, that we are an entitled people. The various forms of
Christianity have their own demons. Anglican Christianity, at its worst, has
relied on status and privilege to inoculate itself against reality. Pentecostal
Christianity has emphasized the spectacular and sensational, and focused on individual
happy times with God. Many forms of Christianity have confused civic, human
kingdoms with the Reign of God: “I vow to thee, my country.” We all have our
shibboleths, false gods that replicate as if they too were viruses, blinding us
to the simple demands of the gospel. Love God with heart, mind, strength. Love generously,
recklessly, expansively. Judge not, that you be not …
History has had many apocalypses. This may not be the
last, and certainly is not the first. Wars, plagues, natural disasters; they
are brutal in their lack of discrimination. They have inspired greatness, and
we are seeing it again today: medical and first response coal face workers, trying
to bring hope to the dying, and healing to those not dying. The likes of Dr
Fauci in the USA, trying to breathe sanity into Trump’s Orwellian world. The
likes of our own Prime Minister, striving to bring both discipline and comfort
in the surrealistic chaos of our every day. The anonymous sparkers of light:
fetching groceries for the housebound, creating music across interwebs, checking
on the well-being of friends and strangers. The image of God in humanity is not
dead. The stirring breath that revivified Ezekiel’s dry valley still stirs. The
onus is on us is to aid and abet that stirring: how can we be bearers of Christlight,
as Richard Gillard expresses it in his Servant Song, how can we hold our hand
out in the nighttime of human fear?
The answer for those of us who name Jesus as Lord begins
and ends with prayer. Not prayer that we and ours should be saved from this
apocalypse, though we might be, but, as Jesus put it, that we may have strength
to withstand the time of trial. Jesus does not operate as a magician, airily
waving away the harsh realities that surround us. Simon Magus, in Acts 8,
reminds us that attitudes that exploit human vulnerability by offering false
hope are utterly evil, utterly anti-Christ. Far too many are committed in the
name of the God of the Cross. One US pastor who airily claimed that coronavirus
was a Democrat lie designed to bring down God’s chosen servant Trump has paid
with his life. In his arrogance he may have spread the virus that killed him to
many other vulnerable human beings. Such is not the Way of the Cross.
To play games with the gospel in this way is to use
the Lord’s name in vain. The God of Jesus Christ challenges us, and by God’s Spirit
assists us, to cooperate with common sense, to cooperate with agencies that
offer hope and healing, to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world around
us.
Amidst the shock we are seeing – and as this pandemic
hits the camps of the world’s most vulnerable it will, if I can put it this
way, exhibit even more exponential horror than it has already – we are seeing good
news, seeing remarkable acts of hope and compassion. We as bearers of the Good
News of Jesus Christ are challenged to be amongst the perpetrators of hope as best
we can with the gifts God gives. Beginning and ending in prayer we are called
to offer ourselves and our gifts in any way that shines Christlight. Above all
we are called to pray, like the psalmist, engaging in that strangest of all
Christian (and other faith) disciplines. We are called to make our lives
available as the answer to our prayers, though our prayer will often be all
that we have. We are called to surrender the false gods and shibboleths that
have often been the trademark of Christian existence.
For as we genuinely join others in throwing our lives
back in the service of goodness, and as Christians, in the service of the Good
News that transcends evil and suffering, we may yet be the revivified bones of
Ezekiel’s stark valley.
May God be with us and through us, Emmanuel, in this valley of dry
bones.
No comments:
Post a Comment