Lent 1

Lent 1: hospitality and dignity - the art of listening

this is the first in our Lent 2016 series on hospitality

Deuteronomy 6:1-12 and Acts 9:32-43 and Luke 5:27-32

Spoken, at least, the word ‘hear’/’here’ has two meanings: ‘hear,’ [cups ear] to listen; and ‘here,’ [points to the ground] to be present. If this is coincidence, it is a happy one: for it is not possible to hear unless we are here; or, more significantly, it is not possible to be here unless we hear.* We can probably all relate to the familiar phrase, ‘Have you heard a word that I said?’ and its common response ‘Sorry, I was miles away…’

[*By the way, that is why I print out a copy of my sermon for Rita, so that she can ‘hear’ too, so that she is valued ‘here’; and if that would help anyone else, let me know – I’d be happy to print off other copies.]

This Lent, we are going to journey together on an exploration of hospitality; of what it might look and sound and taste and smell and feel like to share with Jesus who is both our welcome/unwelcome guest and our comforting/discomforting host. We caught a glimpse of this in our Gospel reading, and see it over and over in the Gospels. And if we are to rediscover Christian hospitality, our starting-point must be to listen attentively; for to ‘Hear, O Israel’ is the first and necessary impulse for loving God and, by extension, our neighbour.

In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles we see something of how complex and vulnerable and beautiful and healing true hospitality is. The women welcome Peter into their lives, sharing with him what they have shared together, what they have done and what they have lost. And in turn, Peter gives them the gift of attentiveness, taking time to listen to their stories. If the raising of Tabitha from the dead is a rare miracle, the attentive listening that comes first is no less so – and is at the heart of the restoration that takes place. Hospitality does not always result in visible transformation, but it certainly makes such transformation possible.

So I’d like to tell you about my experience of listening in this place over recent days, and to invite you into that experience.

Approach with a smile the man who takes time to sit in this space whenever he comes shopping in town. Acknowledge his visits as a gift to us; enquire of his general well-being; allow him to take the conversation onward.

Listen to the swing of the door, the footsteps crossing the floor to the candle-stand; two women come in to light a candle and pray – for a child in hospital? It might be their first time; suddenly shy, they ask for permission, to come forward: please, go ahead.

Listen to the art students scattered around the space – the nave, the chapel, the galleries – sketchbooks on laps, making tentative pencil marks and rubbing them out again. What do they make of this space, quite alien to them?

Listen to the asylum-seeker, who has worshipped with us for a year now – was baptised in this place – come seeking a letter of support because the Home Office has decided that those in the midst of this process should be moved from city to city to prevent them from finding stable community.

Hear the woman who suffers from anxiety, bright lipstick presenting a brave face, braver than she feels inside, speak of how she feels peace in this place; of how the peace that rests here calms her inner storm.

Accidentally over-hear, through the toilet cubicle door, the man living rough, grunting, wheezing, doubled-up with discomfort. Taking a hospitable stance is at times uncomfortable. Can we offer anything more than privacy, without exposing our guest to shame? [I loitered outside at a discreet distance to make sure he was alright; and afterwards, cleaned up behind him.]

And what might God want to say to any of the above? What words of healing, what call to repentance, might the Holy Spirit want to speak (to, and) through us, as through Jesus?

This is a living, breathing space, stone brought to life by the Spirit of God, people called to hear [cups ear], here [points to the ground].

Over Lent we are once again setting aside two hours each weekday, from 12.00-2.00pm, as protected listening space, where people can come in; and sit; and listen for the still, small voice of God; and be listened to.

As before, the clergy team are covering those times between us, but listening is a gift of the Body of Christ, and who is to say that the clergy alone are the ears? Indeed, we are not! But we are called out to help the whole Body grow in exercising our various gifts. So we want to encourage those who have a heart for listening, who are good listeners – or would like to be better listeners – to listen along with us. Here is an opportunity to ‘give it a go’, perhaps a couple of times, or even one day each week, between now and Easter.

If that sounds like something you might be able to offer, I’d love to hear [cups ear] from you, here [points to the ground], today.