All Saints' Day 2021

 

Lectionary readings: Isaiah 25:6-9 and John 11:32-44

From the Introduction to the Season of All Saints to Advent, from Common Worship: Times and Seasons:

‘No Christian is solitary. Through baptism we become members one of another in Christ, members of a company of saints whose mutual belonging transcends death…

‘All Saints’ Day and the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed on All Soul’s Day both celebrate this mutual belonging. All Saints’ Day celebrates men and women in whose lives the Church as a whole has seen the grace of God powerfully at work. It is an opportunity to give thanks for that grace, and for the wonderful ends to which it shapes a human life; it is a time to be encouraged by the example of the saints and to recall that sanctity may grow in the ordinary circumstances, as well as the extraordinary crises, of human living. The Commemoration of the Faithful Departed celebrates the saints in a more local and intimate key. It allows us to remember with thanksgiving before God those who we have known more directly: those who gave us life, or who nurtured us in faith…’

(Times and Seasons, p 537)

On All Saint’s Day, we give thanks for the grace of God, and the wonderful ends to which it shapes a human life. And as we do so, our Gospel reading (John 11:32-44) is the account of the raising of Lazarus.

Lazarus’ story is remarkable, and not simply because he is raised from the dead. Here is an adult man who lives with his adult sisters, Martha and Mary, three of Jesus’ dearest friends. And yet, Lazarus never once speaks. Moreover, it is Martha who is the head of the family. This has led some commentators to ponder whether Lazarus might have had some physical and learning disability, causing him to be dependent on his sisters, and this, in turn, negatively impacting upon their own marriage eligibility. In a society where women were far more dependent on men than in our own, theirs truly is a remarkable family arrangement.

In addition, some commentators wonder if Lazarus might be the un-named disciple John refers to as ‘the disciple whom Jesus loved,’ (traditionally taken to be John’s way of referring to himself) whom Peter communicates with by use of a simple form of sign-language at the Last Supper, and who asks Jesus a simple, three-word, question; one who, perhaps, is more able to understand what is going on than able to express themselves conventionally. This is, of course, more speculative. Either way, the case for Lazarus having some form of disability is much stronger.

Yet in the lives of Martha and Mary and Lazarus, in the all too ordinary challenges of daily living and the extraordinary crisis of Lazarus’ short illness and untimely death, they experience—and we witness—God’s grace, and the wonderful ways in which it shapes a human life, even lives held in suspicion by others.

I reflect on this story, which culminates in Jesus calling Lazarus, alive, from the tomb, and, taking command of the situation, ordering those standing by to ‘unbind him, and let him go’ in no small part as the father of two (out of three) children on the Autism Spectrum. As the father of a son who will not get up and go to school; a father who, along with his mother, is regularly found in meetings with school staff and a host of other support agencies, some of whom are more helpful than others, all of whom are over-stretched, because the society we live in is not as enabling as it might be. So many tightly bound strips of cloth binding him, binding us.

And yet, the grace of God. The grace of God, and the wonderful ends to which it shapes a human life.

With Martha and Mary, there are times, present moments in the process, where I cry, Lord, if only you had been there, if only you had got here earlier, before it came to this, or if only you would at least raise the dead now, today, not in six months’ time from now.

And yet the grace of God powerfully at work.

And I know that, in the words of Jesus in a vision given the anchoress Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,” but for now, Jesus simply asks to watch over him where he is laid, and to weep, with me.

And that is why I need the Season of All Saints to Advent, this year, as every year. To remember, and give thanks, and be encouraged.

 

Twentieth Sunday after Trinity 2021

 

Lectionary readings: Job 38:1-7 and Hebrews 5:1-10 and Mark 10:35-45

There’s a story concerning Abraham, our father in faith. Abraham, or Abram as he was still known at the time, had left his homeland on the Persian Gulf and migrated northwest following the Tigris and Euphrates until he reached the mountains between modern day Iraq and Turkey, then turning south down through the corridor of land that lies between the Mediterranean Sea and the northernmost end of the Great Rift Valley that runs all the way down through Africa. He travels as a nomad, herding his flocks, and making alliances with more settled communities. He has undertaken this migration with his nephew, Lot; but the place where he has found some degree of rest is unable to support both men’s flocks and servants, and so they part company, Abraham giving Lot first choice on where to settle. And Lot chooses the fertile floor of the Rift Valley.

Now the Rift Valley itself, and the rolling hills rising to its east, are populated with settlements, each with its own king, or chieftain. And these chieftains form alliances, to secure trade and a measure of peace. The most powerful of these was Chedorlaomer, who lorded over eight other vassal kings. Now, after twelve years of this, five of the kings formed an alliance and rebelled, including the king of Sodom, under whose patronage Lot lived. After a stand-off of over a year, Chedorlaomer and three kings who kept faith with him went to war, four kings against five, and they prevailed over the rebels, carrying off goods and people, including the household and goods of Lot.

When Abram heard of this, he gathered his own trained men, and those of three allies, and set off to bring Lot home. He defeated Chedorlaomer and his allies, liberating Lot and bringing back the goods belonging to the king of Sodom. And as he returns, another king enters the story: Melchizedek, king of Salem, later Jerusalem. ‘Melchizedek, king of Salem’ means ‘King of Righteousness, King of Peace.’ This king is also a priest, priest of God Most High. Not of the later line of Aaron, a priesthood that made sacrifices for sin, but a priest whose ministry existed completely outside of such systems. And what Melchizedek does is to serve Abram. Literally, to serve a meal. Melchizedek brings out bread and wine and sets them before Abraham, saying: “Blessed be Abram by God Most High, maker of heaven and earth; and blessed be God Most High, who has delivered your enemies into your hand!” It is, in other words, a Eucharist, a thanksgiving. An act of service that enables Abram to see and respond to God’s act of salvation, even if Abram lives with unanswered questions, even if Abram still lives with the unanswered prayer for an heir to inherit all that God has blessed him with, and to carry on the alliance between them.

This is what we might call a foundational story. Foundational to the world that God has ordered, and foundational to the identity of Jesus the Son, and foundational therefore to the vocation of the Church, the Melchizedekian priesthood of all believers.

What Melchizedek does for Abram, as he serves him, is create the conditions for righteousness and peace to flourish. Peace is not merely the cessation of hostility—which Abram has already accomplished—but the transformation of relationships, enemies becoming friends over food, the establishing of right relationship, of righteousness. And this transformation is as fundamental and profound as the transformation of grain into bread and grapes into wine. And of course, such transformation is irreversible: bread cannot become grain, nor wine be turned into grapes; though bread can go moldy, and wine turn to vinegar, if they are left, if the meal, the commitment to serve one another, is abandoned.

Abram is active in his faith, stepping out to bring Lot home. But he must also learn to be attentively passive, to receive the gift of Melchizedek’s service and to encounter God in it. Likewise, Jesus learned through his suffering—that is, through those things done to him by others, for good as well as for ill—to hear and respond to his heavenly Father. Not least, Jesus learned how to serve by reflecting on his experience of being served, both lovingly and lacking love. For ultimately, he comes to serve, to offer up his life that others may more fully live; but he can only do what he sees the Father doing, only give what he has first received.

Because of Jesus, our high priest in the order of Melchizedek, we are called to this vocation: to be those who through our lives and our service promote righteousness and peace. That being so, come to the table, on which is set out bread and wine, and with it, receive the life of Christ afresh. May it bring clarity to your days and empower you to praise God’s holy name.

Come, those who have migrated to this place and met hostility as well as welcome.

Come, those who have put their hope in God, only to carry the pain of unanswered prayer.

Come, those who want to do great things for God, and those who believe you never could.

Come, those who have been trodden underfoot, and those confessing their own tyranny.

The table is set.

Come, let us eat together.