Third Sunday of Epiphany 2019

Isaiah 62:1-5 and I Corinthians 12:1-11 and John 2:1-11

‘You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; but you shall be called My Delight Is In Her, and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married.’

‘To each one is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.’

‘When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.”’

At the end of the service last Sunday a couple approached me with a request. After thirty-three years of marriage, a ring had been lost, and replaced, and they came asking that the new ring be blessed before it was put on. And, of course, I was glad to do so, there and then, standing in front of the altar in the presence of God. There is, of course, nothing magical about either a ring or a blessing: the original ring was not lost because the blessing invoked upon the couple on their wedding day had worn off, or been broken. But rings are given and received as a sign of the marriage; and God’s blessing is invoked that they “may be a symbol of unending love and faithfulness, to remind them [the couple] of the vow and covenant which they have made this [or, on that] day through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Wedding rings, then, are first a sign of God’s unending love and faithfulness, we are invited into, to experience for ourselves.

And wedding rings are a symbol of unending love and faithfulness not only to the finger on which it is placed, or the body of which that finger is a part, or the hand of the other body that placed the ring on the finger—two bodies now joined-together as one—but a symbol of unending love and faithfulness to the whole body of Christ, the church; and to the wider community. Not everyone marries; but every life is touched by marriages, and is meant to be blessed by the encounter.

The average cost of a wedding in the UK in 2018 was £30,355 (when my wife and I married, twenty-two years ago, we bought our first home for £30,500). That’s just on the day itself, with two-thirds of couples going over their budget or not having one. Here in the north east, the average is closer to £17.5K, but then, we are one of the poorest regions in the country, with the lowest wages.

In addition to the wedding, increasingly, couples are having stag and hen years, a series of weekend events, local, national, and somewhere on the continent, in which their friends are expected to take part, at their own expense; and then those friends are asked to contribute to the cost of a honeymoon. Moreover, this is a reciprocal social indebtedness—those invited to your stag/hen do must invite you to theirs.

And while it has long been tradition that the parents of the bride make a significant contribution to the cost of the wedding, that is now likely to involve re-mortgaging their own home, at a point where they might have expected to be mortgage-free and looking to focus their savings on their own retirement needs.

This has a massive financial impact, and debt significantly compromises our capacity to cope with other challenges, including those challenges that are common to life. But alongside this, contemporary weddings have an enormous emotional impact. The wedding becomes the focus of energy, of planning, the thing that gives purpose, for at least two years (often more) in pursuit of the perfect fairy tale. This places huge strain on relationships: I often note that the first casualty of a wedding is the friendship between the bride and the chief bridesmaid. And when the Big Day passes, it has a long tail, a period of emotional exhaustion that mirrors the anticipation (that is, if the wedding was two years in the planning, the emotional aftermath of reality biting lasts two years). I’ve known marriages not make it through that aftermath.

Marriage, according to the Church, ‘enriches society and strengthens community’ (from the Preface to the Marriage Service). But current wedding custom does the exact opposite, dragging couples, their friends and families into debt, and diminishing their resilience. I am committed to marriage. Weddings make me cry.

All this needs to be set against the backdrop of the rise in people in work needing to access food banks; and the economic impact of exiting the EU, which even the most ardent Brexiteers—who believe the cost worthwhile in the long run—recognise will have a negative economic impact in the short-to-medium term.

And yet, people still believe in marriage; and I still believe that marriage ‘is a gift of God in creation through which husband and wife may know the grace of God’ (the Preface, again). I’m not judging people for how they choose to go about getting married; but I grieve that they have been aggressively, consistently marketed lies, things they don’t need, that won’t make them happy. And I believe there is a better way.

If ever there were Isaiah days, a people termed Forsaken and a land termed Desolate, that God longs to transform so that those people are called My Delight Is In Her, and their land Married, we are living in them. If ever there were Cana days, sisters and brothers, we are living in them.

Weddings are still moments where God’s glory might be revealed, as God’s children step up to bless their neighbours. Up and down the country, there are congregations exploring how they might join in. Some have discovered among themselves the necessary gifts to offer couples a wedding package that is cut-price without being poor quality. Then again, other congregations have discovered among themselves the experience and gift to be able to offer debt advice in their community. Both could be seen as examples of identifying jars of water to hand, and changing them to the very best wine. I’m not suggesting that we do this, or that, here—they might not be quite what God has gifted us for and is calling us to do. I am suggesting that we prayerfully consider what our response might be to the word of God spoken through Isaiah and Paul and John, not only in their day but to us in ours.

But the starting-point, and sustaining principle, is not what we do at all. For sooner or later, our resources run out, again and again. Unless we are regularly encountering the living God, the person of Jesus who, by his Spirit, is in our midst as we come together to worship, then the time comes for us to make our excuses and drift away home. Jesus is here. But, like the steward, are we oblivious? Or, like the servants, are we attentive? And, like the first disciples, is our belief enlivened by his glory?

Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity 2018

Genesis 2:18-24 and Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12 and Mark 10:2-16

You wait ages for a bus to come along, and then two come along at once. Today’s lectionary readings feel like that, big passages conveying big ideas. I want to focus on Genesis 2 and Mark 10, and their related thoughts on marriage and divorce. I need to say from the outset that both passages have been badly translated and interpreted in the English language (among others), resulting in a lot of damage. We will need to do some digging to unearth them and understand them.

First, then, Genesis 2. This is the second of the two ‘creation stories’ with which the Bible opens. And in our English translations, it reads like this: the male human being is alone, and this is not good. He needs an assistant. Principally, he needs an assistant in the work of being fruitful and multiplying (see chapter 1), someone to have babies, and then raise them, while the man does something more, manly. God puts him to sleep and removes a rib, a small and non-essential part, and from it makes the female human being. She’ll do nicely.

But the Hebrew reads somewhat differently. It does not begin with a male human being at all, but with an undifferentiated creature made from the earth, or earthling. God recognises that something is missing, and God’s conclusion is that the earthling needs an ezer kenegedu. The word ezer, usually translated ‘helper’ in English, is a word most often used about God, in relation to the people of Israel. It carries the sense of being a warrior, one who comes to our aid, who delivers us from our enemies. It carries the sense of surrounding and cherishing and fighting for another. And here, God pairs ezer with kenegedu, a word that carries the sense of ‘corresponding’, of standing side-by-side, like the two banks of a river, or, sometimes, of stepping forward in front of another. In other words, what the earthling needs is a corresponding warrior, who will fight by its side against the elemental chaos that seeks to overwhelm God’s creation; someone who will step forward for us, and us for them.

And so, God rocks the earthling to sleep; takes it; breaks it in two; and in this moment, in this action, male and female are created. This breaking in two results in difference, and in recognition: recognising ourselves in someone different-and-yet-the-same. There is a radical equality between the two corresponding warriors, between the male and the female; and they each share in the likeness of the ezer God (something restored to men and women in Jesus, who restores our place as the reflection of God’s glory and the imprint of God’s very being).

And for this reason, we are told, a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh. Breaking, and uniting. It is a paradox we affirm, a mystery we experience, in every Eucharist, at that moment when the priest breaks the bread, saying, ‘We break this bread to share in the body of Christ’ and we all respond, ‘Though we are many, we are one body, because we all share in one bread’.

With these things in mind, let us turn to Mark 10. And the first thing that I want to say is that this isn’t about divorce. It is about a group of people trying to trap Jesus, and Jesus getting the better of them. Divorce is permitted throughout the Bible, under particular conditions, relating to failure to uphold marriage vows (see Exodus 21:10-11 and Deuteronomy 24:1-4 and 1 Corinthians 7). Jewish couples promised to feed, clothe, share conjugal love, and be faithful to each other. The man agreed to provide food and cloth. The woman agreed to cook and sew. They both agreed to share conjugal love. Either the man or the woman could divorce the other for breaking these vows — which, as principle, or case law, cover abuse or neglect — but only the injured party could enact divorce. The injured party could choose to forgive, or divorce: they held the power to attempt to save the marriage or to release both parties from it. And with the certificate of divorce came the right to remarry.

The fourth grounds for divorce was failure to be faithful, or adultery. Because polygamy was accepted by the ancient Israelites (albeit with legal protection for the wives), only a husband and not a wife could enact divorce on the grounds of adultery. But, as with the other grounds for divorce, he could only do so if he were the wronged party. However, by the time of Jesus, things had changed.

Around a generation before Jesus, there were two famous rabbis, rivals to each other, named Hillel and Shammai. Hillel claimed a linguistic loophole in Deuteronomy 24:1. The text speaks of divorce on the grounds of finding, after taking a wife, erwat dabar ‘anything [dabar] of, or any cause of, sexual immorality’ in her [or, in the Greek translation of the Old Testament, άσχήμον πραγμα, an ‘unpresentable matter, thing, or deed’]. Hillel argued that if this simply meant ‘sexual immorality’ then the ‘any cause of’ [or the Greek ‘pragma’] was superfluous, and so it should be interpreted as referring to two grounds for divorce: adultery, and a catch-all ‘any other grounds’. Shammai disagreed: however worded, the intent was plainly and simply ‘adultery’. End of.

By the time of Jesus, men divorcing their wives for any (i.e. spurious) reason was massively on the rise, with a corresponding fall in women being able to access divorce on legitimate biblical grounds. The justice of divorce had been eroded.

So that is the background. Some Pharisees came to trap Jesus and demanded an unguarded comment from him. They asked, ‘is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’ Well, yes: it is there in the law of Moses, and so by definition it is lawful. The law cannot be unlawful. Clearly, they are asking about Deuteronomy 24:1, the one grounds for divorce that only a man could enact, and not a wronged wife. Matthew’s account of the same incident is even clearer recording the question as, ‘is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for any cause?’ (Matthew 19:3). This is one of the biggest and most divisive arguments of Jesus’ day. Like speaking out for Remain or Brexit in the UK today, they are confident that however Jesus answers this question, at best he will lose half of his support base. It is a trap. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jesus sidesteps the trap and lets them get caught in their own snare. He takes them back to our first reading, to Genesis 2, where two become one flesh. And he adds, ‘therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate’. Not, it cannot be separated; but, it ought not to be separated. But nonetheless Jesus’ words are odd. He walks them into the story of God breaking the man and the woman apart, and says, what God has joined together, let no one separate. It is a paradox. It is an unresolvable matter.

Jesus goes on to affirm the principle that divorce on the grounds of Deuteronomy 24:1 should (as with those grounds cited in Exodus 21:10-11) be available to wives and not just to husbands; and that women who abuse Deuteronomy 24:1 by enacting it when they are not the wronged party are as liable before God as the men who were abusing it. Radical equality.

Marriage and divorce are matters of debate as much in our day as in Jesus’ day, and both inside and beyond the Church. Jesus, and later Paul, both affirm marriage; but also affirm a vision of community where you do not have to be married in order to be whole, to be cherished and fought for. Jesus, and later Paul, both uphold divorce, as a necessary mechanism for justice for those who are wronged; while taking a stand against the damage caused by easy, self-centred divorce. However necessary, divorce is always a tragedy and never the first resort. In the Old Testament, God even describes himself as a husband who, having taken-back his serially-unfaithful wife, Israel, many times has finally written-out a certificate of divorce, releasing her; and, therefore, cannot take her back. For this reason, God ‘hates divorce’, not because it is categorically wrong but because of the pain that relationship-breakdown causes.

We speak of holy things. Of human beings and our longing not to be alone. Of radical equality between the sexes, not always recognised, not always affirmed. Of our need to be broken open, not by the harsh realities of the world but by an ezer God who breaks us out of ourselves in order that we might flourish. Not long after challenging the Pharisees for their hardness of heart, Jesus had to challenge his disciples for their own sternness. He did so by taking little children up in his arms, girls and boys who would grow up to be women and men; and blessing them, before they spilt back out, to populate the kingdom of God.

So, come to the table, you who are married and you who are unmarried; you who long to be married and you who long to be released from marriage; you who are divorced, re-married, widowed, never-been-married. You who are separated from your wife or husband by geography and global politics. You who have been hurt and you who, having caused hurt, have repented. You who are brothers and sisters of Jesus, children of God being brought through suffering to glory. You, the Church, who are both the body of Christ and the bride of Christ. Come and experience again the mystery of being broken and being made one. And what God has joined together, let no one separate.