Sermon by Canon Adrian Ling CMP, Sunday 18th April Readings: Acts 3:13-15,17-19; 1 John 2:1-5; Luke 24:35-48 In the series The Essay on Radio 3 a couple of weeks ago, the historian Diarmaid McCulloch reflected on his love of church-crawling, which he defines as like a pub crawl but without the beer and with churches instead of pubs. In one foray, into East Anglia in between lockdowns, he managed to visit some 35 churches in 36 hours. There was an air of reminiscence as he visited churches last seen when he was a teenager; among them were remote Illington in Norfolk and Wetherden in Suffolk where his father had been Rector. He reflected on how these return visits can help place the passage of one’s life in perspective. One cannot help but compare one’s situation now with how it was some twenty, thirty or forty years ago.
It is sometimes only in retrospect that we can make sense of the events of life, that we can see how far we have progressed, regressed or remained stationary. That was certainly the case for the disciples of Christ, especially after the eventful last days of Jesus in Jerusalem. It had all been too tumultuous for them to make sense of it. The risen Christ points to the scriptures to help them understand it, just as he had done with two disciples on the road to Emmaus when their hearts burned within them as he explained the scriptures to them. He teaches them how the scriptures have all been pointing to the suffering and death of the Messiah, but also to his resurrection. Looking back over their time with Jesus, they now understand what his teaching meant and they preached about it and recorded it in the gospels. The risen Christ shows them the tragic inevitability of his passion and death. In the Acts of the Apostles St Peter does not hold back when he lays the blame for the death of Jesus on the people and their leaders. But he does not condemn them for it, because they did not really know what they were doing, as Jesus had said on the cross when he asked that they be forgiven by God. However they could not carry on pursuing this hate-filled course of killing those whom God sent to bring them his message of love and mercy to all; they had to repent. We have passed through an intense time that we cannot yet properly comprehend. As we now start to do more things, we are reminded of what we have been missing. We will perhaps wonder when we were last in a certain place and what is the difference in us now compared to then; how have we changed? As we begin to return to some sense of normality, we should not underestimate what we have passed through. We will not all be able to just switch back straight away. Even if we have not lost anyone personally, there are aspects of bereavement about our collective experience. We have lived through over a year of deprivation and loss. And as with any time of loss there is bereavement and grief, and this may be trapped or suppressed, but it may manifest itself without warning. And so it remains important that we treat one another kindly and tenderly. For we may not know what toll this experience has taken on ourselves and on others. In the course of time, looking back, we will be better able to understand our experience. The pandemic has made church-crawling rather difficult, as churches have become fortresses with ‘keep out’ signs on the porch, as it were. I visited one church in Yorkshire while on holiday in September, where the vicar padlocked himself in lest I have the temerity to try to visit the church. However the smaller, little used churches that Diarmaid McCulloch extolled are more likely to be open now, ( the ruined ones are an even safer bet) and they are tranquil places, conducive to prayerful reflection; and we are blessed in Norfolk with an abundance of them. Our ancient churches are a reminder of the continuum of history. Alan Bennett in The History boys wrote that ‘History is just one ******* thing after another.’ Our churches are places that have weathered centuries of history, and that history has left its traces like patina on brass. It can be exciting and reassuring to be in a place which has been a silent witness to all that, and still be there, able to hold us and our present preoccupations and help us to see that, as the comedian Kenneth Williams wrote in his diary, “our troubles are only scratches on the great periphery of cosmology.” When in the midst of troubles it can all seem so intense, impenetrable and insoluble. It can create a maelstrom that churns away preventing us from making make sense of it all, but if we put ourselves in a position to admit the risen Christ through prayer, he can give us his peace, that peace which the world cannot give, that peace which passes all understanding. By looking back in his blessed company he broadens our vision and enlightens our understanding.
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Sermon by Canon Adrian Ling CMP, Sunday 11th April Gospel: John 20:19-31 The Duke of Edinburgh may well be remembered as one of those people who we did not appreciate until after their death. In these last few days we have been reminded of his steadfast qualities: how he was ‘the strength and stay’ of the Queen; his sense of duty and public service was as rock-solid as that of the Queen; he had a progressive outlook helping to modernize the monarchy and make it move with the times; he was an early champion of conservation and the protection of endangered species; and he did so much to inspire the aspirations of young people through his award scheme.
His approach was no-nonsense, and his speech direct which was at times challenging. When asked by a journalist if he was disappointed by the behaviour of some of his children, he replied, ‘what did you expect us to do, strangle them at birth? However his humorous light touches could also help to put people at ease. We should, I think, be thankful for people who speak their mind, who ask the awkward questions that others dare not ask, people who refuse to be drawn into ‘groupthink.’ In that, the duke had something in common with St Thomas who, absent from the upper room when the risen Lord appeared to the other apostles, refused to be drawn into what must have seemed like hysteria, saying ‘unless I see the holes in his hands and put my finger in the wound in his side I refused to believe.’ He wanted proof. Earlier in St John’s gospel Jesus had told his disciples that he was going to prepare a place for them and that they knew the way to the place where he was going. They must all have been baffled by this statement but it was Thomas who spoke up with the obvious question, ‘Lord we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ The Duke of Edinburgh, frequently got into trouble because of his humorous quips, which were misinterpreted. When he told an English chap in Hungary, ‘don’t stay too long or you’ll get a pot belly’, the media took it to mean he was saying that Hungarians were fat, but what he was actually referring to was the lavish hospitality with great quantities of food that had been provided during the state visit. The media does like to manufacture controversy, to stir up more public interest. However fear of what the press might write did not silence the duke. We are renowned as a nation for our ironic sense of humour. Satire plays a role in cutting the important down to size, and giving us an alternative perspective helping us to see things as they really are. Freedom of speech in this country, and around the world is being curtailed, where we have the ‘cancel culture’ imposed on writers like JK Rowling because their views offend a certain group. Was it racist of the Duke to say to the president of Nigeria wearing traditional dress, ‘you look like you’re ready for bed.’? The man in question certainly didn’t think so, he found it highly amusing. A public figure would not get away with that now, it would be a resigning matter. The question of Thomas, ‘how can we know the way?’ prompted Jesus to say, ‘I am the way, the truth and the life.’ Jesus himself spoke directly and uncompromisingly. The Letter to the Hebrews states that “ the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” The truth is obscured if we are all over-careful about what we say, if we only say what we think we are supposed to say. The risen Lord leads us into the fullness of truth through the Holy Spirit. For, as St John tells us, ‘The Spirit is the truth.’ And we must speak the truth in love. Jesus declared to Thomas, ‘how blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.’ Prince Philip, like the Queen, was a man of steadfast faith and was also well-versed in theology. He has fought the good fight, he has run the long race set before him. Let us give thanks for his life of service to this country and the Queen. May he now receive his eternal reward. Sermon by Fr. Joshua Bell SSC, Sunday 4th April Readings: Acts 10:34,37-43; 1 Corinthians 5:6-8; John 20:1-18 Happy Easter! It’s such a joy to say that today, this year, after a long forty days of Lent, and an even longer spiritual Lent – part of me has felt like it’s still Lent last year.
I think there’s a strange symbolism over the past year. Lent last year was the time that Coronavirus’s grip on our planet really began to take hold, and so of course our Easter celebrations were all held in our homes, on our screens, instead of being together like we are today. In the first weeks of the first lockdown, I remember watching on TV as the Pope led the world in prayer: not accompanied by the usual crowds in Rome, instead he led prayer from St. Peter’s Basilica, almost entirely empty, before taking the Blessed Sacrament into a deserted St. Peter’s Square, dark and rainy, and offering Christ’s blessing to the whole world. It was a promise: God will not leave us. Mary Magdalene is one person who prayed that Jesus would not leave her. Mary, we heard on Monday, is somebody who has much to be grateful for, to be thankful for – and her gratitude is matched by her love for him. She is one of the three people who stay with Jesus through the crucifixion; she goes in secret – as early as 3AM – to anoint his body, since there had not been time to do so before his burial. And when she find the stone rolled away, she assumes the worst – that it has been taken away – and it is a heartbreak for her – it is as though she has lost him all over again. So I think it is fitting that she, Mary, is the one who first witnesses the truth of the resurrection. On Tuesday we hear how Mary is the first person to see Jesus after the resurrection, and here she is the first to see the empty tomb. She who cast her whole self on Jesus is rewarded with this privilege. In the empty tomb, we can see the whole defeat of sin and death that takes place in this Triduum – on these three Great Days, the old order has passed away, giving way to the eternal life brought by the death of Jesus. Last year, in Lent, our first lockdown began. I think that there is a poetic quality to the hope that, if all continues to go well, this Eastertide will mark the lifting of many of the restrictions on our daily life – just as Jesus has freed us from sin and death, so too, I hope, we will be freed from this pandemic. Of course, amidst the cost to our liberties and enjoyment of life, which we have all shared, there has, of course, been a great cost in the lives lost to Coronavirus. This Thursday will be the first anniversary of the death of Maurice Kerrison, who many of us knew – and I would invite you to come to Mass on Thursday evening when we will offer the Holy Sacrifice for the repose of his soul. He died in Chester Hospital from Coronavirus last April. Maurice was a faithful Christian – he came to Mass when he was able, and before that, I was privileged to take him Holy Communion each month. He died on the Wednesday of Holy Week last year, and I think that he – who for so many years looked to Jesus – would have appreciated the date of his passing: as we waited for the sacrifice of Christ that reconciles us to the Father, Maurice received the fruits of that sacrifice as he went to the Father’s arms – and this year, we will pray for his soul in the new light of Easter. Because the events of Easter remind us that amidst the tragic loss of life this past year, there is the promise, the assurance, of the resurrection: death does not have the last word; the grave will not remain full for ever; those who have died, and those who mourn, need not do so without hope. Last night at the vigil we heard of the creation of Adam, our first parent. As in Adam, St. Paul says, all die; even so in Christ – the new Adam – shall all be made alive. Because of these three days: because of the death and resurrection of Jesus: the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised. As St. John Paul II said: we are the Easter People, and Hallelujah is our song! Sermon by Canon Adrian Ling CMP, Saturday 3rd April 2021 Gospel: Mark 16:1-8 Peck peck peck
on the warm brown egg Out comes a neck Out comes a leg How does a chick Who’s not been about Discover the trick Of how to get out? Instinct is a wonderful thing. There they are in the dark until they bash the sides with their beaks and shatter the shell to emerge into the world. The chick bursting from the egg is a symbol of the risen Christ emerging from the tomb. Indeed now Easter is now more widely known for Easter eggs rather than the resurrection of Jesus. In the gospel tonight, it as though we find an empty shell. We are with the 3 Marys who go to the tomb sometime before dawn and find it empty. Tonight we are at the sepulchre with the mysterious man in white, a messenger, an angel, who reassures them and tells them of the rising of Jesus. On Easter Day we will hear the report proved true as the risen Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene. But tonight the empty tomb is our focus, cause of bewilderment and fear but also a sign of hope. What we have experienced in the last 12 months has been like one long Lent and the last lockdown might also be compared to an entombment. For many the third lockdown has been the hardest, with the short winter days, and long hours of darkness and without the respite of a sunny garden. But now we are beginning to emerge from this tomb. It is good timing that the easing of restrictions coincides with Easter, the time when hope is restored by the rising of Jesus. Many people are as determined as the chick bursting from the egg to get out and about and be active once again. However for some of us it will be a more difficult prospect, because we are nervous and afraid, because we have lost our confidence, we have got out of the habit of socialising, we may have grown indolent. Misanthropes and curmudgeons will have quite enjoyed the time of solitude and be reluctant to have to interact with the rest of the human race once again. Perhaps we will emerge from the lockdown sepulchre, slowly and cautiously. The past 12 months have shown the futility of making plans, only for them to be frustrated. Do we still have hopes and aspirations? Have we stored them up? One experience of the past 12 months is that it teaches us to do what we can while we have the opportunity, because we never know how long it will last. Now is the time to renew our hopes and priorities. Our initial aspirations may just be small ones: a coffee with a friend; a visit from family or friends; a pint in the pub, a haircut even. The messenger instructs the women to tell Peter and the disciples to search for Jesus in Galilee the place of life, not to look for him in the place of his death. At the empty tomb we begin to celebrate the great renaissance, the renewal of life. Let us give thanks for this restoration of hope. Taking the risen Jesus as our inspiration, let us help each other out of our entombment. We need not be afraid. Let us learn once again to celebrate, be joyful and love life. Alleluia! Christ is risen! Sermon by Canon Adrian Ling CMP, 2nd April 2021 Readings: Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Hebrews 4:14-16,5:7-9; John 18:1-19:42 In the Cathedral of Jaén in Andalucia, Spain, in times past they used to cover the whole of the great reredos, the altar piece, which filled the east wall, with a great piece of material. And during the Good Friday Liturgy it was rent in twain. How they managed it, I do not know, but it must have been a chilling sound as it reverberated round the vaults of the cathedral.
The act recreated the tearing of the temple veil from top to bottom as recorded by Matthew, Mark and Luke at the death of Jesus. The veil covered the entrance to the Holy of Holies at the heart of the temple. Only the High Priest could enter the Holy of Holies just once year on the Day of Atonement when, dressed in plain white linen garments, he would offer incense and sprinkle the blood of a sacrificed goat to atone for the sins of the people. The Letter to the Hebrews describes how Jesus has entered the Holy of Holies. The rending of the veil at the death of Jesus removes the need for this act of annual atonement because Jesus has offered himself in sacrifice once and for all upon the cross. As High Priest he offers the sacrifice, as the spotless lamb of God, he is the sacrifice. And the writer says that because of this ultimate act of atonement we can enter with confidence into the inner presence of God in the blood of Jesus. Jesus has gone through the heavens, so we can ‘approach the throne of grace with confidence and receive mercy and grace to help us in our time of need.’ Whereas the high priests of old could be weak and fallible men, though Jesus was tempted he remained without sin; by taking our human nature, he could sympathise with us in our weakness. He knew fear and asked that the cup of suffering be taken from him, but through his suffering he learned obedience. St Paul, in his Letter to the Romans, described how suffering can produce perseverance which strengthens character and gives rise to hope. Hebrews reminds us that following Jesus means being obedient to God: as we recognise our debilities, our pride is punctured and deflated and we realise our dependence on the grace of God. Whoever would be Christ’s disciple must take up their cross and follow him. Through emulating our master in our suffering we too learn obedience. The Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD, a catastrophe for the Jewish people. The Day of Atonement remains the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, however atonement is now to be carried out in the temple of the heart of every believer. It is a day of fasting and prayer that concludes at nightfall with the blowing of the shofar, the ram’s horn, and the exclamation, ‘Next year in Jerusalem!’ Although Jesus atoned for our sins, sin has not been eradicated. The prevalence of sin, evident in the damage it causes, continues to be unearthed: the tragedy of the murder of Sarah Everard revealed how women continue to be subjected to sexual harassment; we heard this week of a rape culture in secondary schools; the church has been shaken to its foundations by cases of abuse which it subsequently tried to conceal. All such revelations are unpleasant and disturbing and shatter our complacency that these sorts of things surely do not happen in a fine country like ours. In this inter-connected age we are aware of these happenings, and yet unless they occur to us, or to people connected to us, they may wash over us. We live cocooned lives and can easily tend to think that other people’s lives are just the same as ours. Yet Jesus knows human suffering from the inside. When we look at the crucifix, we look at one who knows us, and what it is to suffer. The rending of the temple removes the barrier between God and man. When God appeared to Moses at Mount Sinai the people were petrified and pleaded with him to speak with God on their behalf. ‘Do not have God speak to us, or we will die,’ they said. The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was. Through the death of Jesus and the rending of the temple veil, we are brought close to God. Through Jesus, our High Priest, we can confidently yet humbly approach the throne of grace, we need not be afraid. No more veil! God bids me enter By the new and living way. Not in trembling hope I venture; Boldly I His call obey. There with Him, my God I meet-- God upon the mercy seat! In the robes of spotless whiteness, With the blood of priceless worth, He has gone into that brightness, Christ rejected from the earth– Christ accepted there on high, And in Him do I draw nigh. Frances Emma Bevan |