Suddenly there was an earthquake, so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened.
The Acts
of the Apostles 16:26
‘Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world.’
Jesus,
The Gospel According to John 17:24
Every
life is built on foundations. That is, of course, a metaphor; but every life is
built on things we trust to be dependable, to bear the weight of living. And, I
would suggest, those metaphorical foundations are laid not in stone and mortar
but in story. Often those foundational stories are as invisible to us as are physical
foundations. There’s the narrative of science, often proclaimed as fact but
nonetheless presented as a story, or stories that will one day be woven
together into one grand unifying story. There are the tall tales of economics,
such as the great myth of the free market, which bestows ever-increasing wealth
on each successive generation, and to any given individual if they are prepared
to work hard and—myth of the lone hero—pull themselves up by their own
bootstraps. We see the myth of the free market shaken and exposed in our
reading from Acts, wealthy and powerful men exploiting a vulnerable
woman, stirring up mob violence, and exploiting the legal system to injustice. What
happened two thousand years ago still happens today. And, of course, there are
alternative economic stories, such as the end of history in the liberation of
the working classes. There are the stories of family, of blood being stronger
than water, except, of course, when family stabs us in the back. So many foundations,
so many events that shake them, from mortality to recession to betrayal. A life
built on faith in Jesus as our Lord and God, the one who shall return to judge
the living and the dead, is also built on a foundation laid down in story. The
question is not, what remains when all the stories we tell are taken away, but
which story will I build my life on? Which is the most compelling?
This
place, the Minster Church of St Michael & All Angels with St Benedict
Biscop, is a case in point. There has been a place of Christian worship on this
site, at the heart of Bishopwearmouth, since 930AD. The structure has been
taken apart and rebuilt many times, reimagined, come back from the dead. The
tower was set on fire by Vikings, rebuilt, set on fire by Scots, rebuilt again.
The Georgian church, that had partially replaced the Mediaeval one, was
sinking, its foundations undermined by excavating coal; the nave was reordered,
floating foundations under our feet, the stone pillars and timber roof you are
sitting within raised up towards the heavens in the years between the Great and
the Second twentieth-century Wars. Why? Because the stones are only an outward
expression of a story.
We might
tell the story like this [with debt to Samuel Wells]: that God is full,
unending, undiminishing relationship—the Three who are One; the One who is
Three—and of God’s own fullness desired to enjoy that same relationship with
us. That creation is the expression of this desire that is God’s by nature, the
groundwork for God entering the world to be with us in Jesus, the one who was God
and with God in the beginning and who came to us, sharing the divine glory with
those who did not turn away in fear but welcomed him as their own. That glory
is the visible manifestation of love, the love of the Father for the Son, from
before the foundation of the world. Indeed, that love is the foundation on
which the world was created, into which the Son was sent—for God so loved the
world. This foundation, alone of all foundations, cannot be shaken by anything
within all creation, for it exists before and beyond all that is limited by
time and space. And Jesus’ desire is to be with the Father, and that his
disciples be with him, with the Father. Not removed from the world, but in it,
within time and space as well as beyond time and space.
So,
we might encounter the love that is God’s glory in this place, and in the lives
of the people whom God has given Jesus in this place, who are both the body and
the bride of Christ.
Every
other foundation will experience its earthquake, the birth-contractions of a
new reality. So, the Philippian gaoler comes into being with God, and with
Jesus’ friends Paul and Silas, when his life is shaken to the core, to the
extent that he prepares suicide before Paul holds out hope. Paul himself, of
course, has had his foundations—the Law, and Jewish heritage—shaken to the core
on the road to Damascus, some years earlier. And when foundations are shaken,
chains are broken, and we are set free by love, to love. To be with God and with
our neighbour. At the Minster, where the people have reimagined the building
over and over, we are open to every foundation that can be shaken, being shaken,
in order that the foundation that cannot be shaken be revealed. That will
inevitably include things that are very dear to us, and stories we have built
on as self-evident that, increasingly, look shaky. That is why our mission
statement is ‘Open to God, Open to All.’
Immediately
after this service, we will be holding our Annual Church Parochial Meeting.
There are many people to thank for their service, built on the sure foundation
of the love that was before there was anything else. They have built well, and with
the precious material of God-given gifts, things that will last. They have also
built provisionally, in temporary measures, things that are for a season. Inevitably,
they have also built with some materials that won’t survive the earthquake: our
motives are always mixed, and our insecurities will be shaken, so that the
familiar cells and chains that hold us might be unlocked and unfastened.
Along
with people to thank, there are also challenges to be faced, building on that
same sure foundation, perhaps dismantling certain things to create space for the
new things God is doing, safe in the knowledge that the foundations will hold.
As we emerge from the rubble left by the earthquakes of Brexit and Covid and
the present war in Ukraine, may we see the glory of the risen, ascended Lord
Jesus, and may we respond with generous hearts, serving Christ encountered in
the most vulnerable.
Here,
then, are some questions our readings from Acts and John might
cause us to ponder:
Is this
a compelling story? And, if so, how will you/we build your/our life on it?
Is this
a disturbing story? And, if so, what foundations does it shake?
Where
have you/we known love unlock doors and unfasten chains that have kept you/us bound?
What
does Jesus’ glory look like? How is it manifest in your/our world?
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