Sermon at Parish Mass Lent 5 2021

 

Jeremiah 31:31-34

Hebrews 5:7-9

John 12:20-33

This week will mark exactly a year since the first UK lockdown. For many people part of the experience, in this strange and troubling year, has been isolation and separation, as we have locked down in our own homes. We have longed to be with one another, but so often that has not been possible.

So it is encouraging to note that half of the UK’s adult population have now received their first vaccination. An achievement that has resulted from so many people coming together, NHS workers, pharmacists, volunteers, and indeed the whole population co-operating with the vaccination programme.

Human beings long for unity, for togetherness. Sometimes we seem to achieve it, sometimes it seems out of our reach. Faith, however, gives us the assurance that unity is something for which human beings are made. A unity that comes from recognising our common humanity. We are all children of God. That brings with it a call to live together in harmony, justice and peace.

But human beings, it seems, fail in this as often as they succeed. History is a long sorry tale of separation, opposition and violence, whether within communities or between nations.

So what happens in today’s Gospel reading is really important. Some Greeks in Jerusalem say that they want to see Jesus. And Jesus in response says that the hour of his glory has come, and when he is lifted up he will draw all people to himself. All people will be drawn into unity by Jesus. The fragmentation and violence of our history will be overcome at last.

But the scene today is Jerusalem, just before the Passover when Jesus will be betrayed and crucified. The “hour” of Jesus, in John’s Gospel, is his crucifixion. The shadow of violence and death hangs over this scene. Because there is another kind of unity, a false unity founded on violence and rejection: the unity of the mob against its victim. A unity that defines itself over against other people. You are not like us; we cast you out; this is what unites us. This can be powerful and frightening. Think of the rise of Nazism in the 1930s.

On Good Friday, just a few days after this scene, the crowd will be united against Jesus. The religious people will incite them against him, calling for his death. He is not like us, cast him out! Unity will be restored when the troublemaker is removed!

But the “hour” of Jesus, his crucifixion, is also his glory. Where the crowd seeks the false unity of violence, Jesus restores the true unity of humanity as children of God, drawing all people to himself when he is lifted up. Where the crowd bring hatred and rejection, Jesus reveals love.

The cross, as we reflected last week in the encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus, shows us both our human sickness and its cure. It shows us how human beings constantly turn away from the God of life, and seek their unity and security where it cannot be found, in creating victims.

But the cross also shows us God turned towards us, in the place of our victim. The cross shows us our sin, turned around, and offered to us as healing. True life, eternal life, the life of God, is offered to all. In the death and resurrection of Jesus a new and living way to God is opened for all. The truth of ourselves, that we had forgotten, is restored: we are children of God, heirs of eternal life.

This is how transformative God’s love is, how amazing our salvation. As the Franciscan Richard Rohr has said, salvation is not sin avoided, it is sin turned around and used in our favour. This is what the cross shows us. It is Jesus, the victim of our sin, drawing all people to himself.

For the Jewish people, here is the fulfilment of the Law and the Prophets. And Greeks find what they have long sought, the meaning of the universe. Sinners and lost sheep, all the scattered children of God, drawn together in unity, restored in Jesus, the new Adam, the new beginning for humanity.

This is the hour of Jesus, and his glory. The cross and resurrection are two sides of the same reality, the mystery by which humanity is redeemed and made new. It is both the judgement of this world, and the gathering of all things into one in Christ.

Jesus says, “when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself”. He did not say “some”, but “all”. In humanity restored in Jesus there is no longer any distinction of race, or nation, or gender, or age, or sexuality, or class. The force of fragmentation and division is overcome. The ruler of this world is driven out. All things will be gathered into unity in Jesus. His power of attraction reaches out to the whole creation.

The light, the glory, of God shines forth from the man on the cross, and all peoples are drawn to that light. In place of fragmentation, unity. In place of violence, love. In him, humanity begins again, gathered into unity, becoming indeed the new body of which Jesus is the Head.

That movement of gathering into unity continues in the Church until the end of time. In two thousand years the Church of Jesus has been planted in every nation, and day by day more and more people are drawn to him, united with him through baptism, celebrating the Eucharist together, the sacrament of unity, by which we become what we receive, the Body of Christ. It is Jesus himself who does this, the risen Lord still drawing all people to himself.

Here, even the last and greatest fragmentation of death is overcome. As the risen Christ makes himself known in the breaking of the bread the veils of time and space are stripped away. We worship him, lifted up into the heavens to draw all to himself, united with the great communion of saints, with “angels and archangels and the whole company of heaven”.

Jesus is the one in whom all nations, all peoples, will be gathered into unity. The Church is present in every nation and every culture to bear witness to him, united by the sacraments he has given us to extend his saving work to the end of time. So we are here, we do this as he commanded, not only for ourselves, but for all the world that longs to find its lost unity in him.

 What Bites You, Cures You

Sermon at Parish Mass Lent 4 2021

 

Numbers 21.4-9

Ephesians 2.1-10

John 3.14-21

What bites you, cures you. In many ancient cultures this was a kind of medical principle: what bites you, cures you. Treat an illness with a substance that produces similar symptoms, in the hope that the medicine and the sickness would somehow balance each other out. This isn’t just ancient superstition. When I had the COVID vaccination a few weeks ago a similar thing happened: a dose of something harmless that, to the immune system, looks like Coronavirus, helps give you protection against the real thing.

Today, in the Book of Numbers, the Israelites are bitten by poisonous serpents, but they look at an image of a serpent on a staff and live. This symbol is not confined to ancient Israel. The serpent raised up on a staff is very ancient, and found in many cultures. It is the badge of the Greek god of healing, Aesculapius, and can be seen, for example, on the flag of the World Health Organisation. Snake bite can kill you, but there is something powerfully curative in it as well. It is a holistic symbol: opposites are at war within, but reconciling them brings harmony.

In today’s reading, too, contradictions are resolved. God sends poisonous serpents, but then provides the means for curing their bite. It seems as though God is acting in opposite ways, but we are to see beyond the contradiction. The Israelites have turned away from God in rebellion: the bite of the serpents is meant to correct, bringing them back to God. What is really wrong with them is their alienation from God, of which the serpents are a sign. And God provides the means of overcoming their alienation, in the form of a serpent. What bites you, cures you.

It’s significant, then, that Jesus chooses this episode to illustrate himself. Jesus said to Nicodemus, ‘Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life’. Jesus is the cure for the bite of the poisonous serpent who brings death.

What is this serpent? It is the culture of death that, in one way or another, puts people on crosses. Jesus, we need to remind oursleves, was killed by religious people, the powers that be, who thought that he threatened them. He became a scapegoat, an expendable person, as summed up by the High Priest Caiaphas, in John Chapter 11: “it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed”.

That’s how human beings tend to function. But we’ve got it all wrong. The fundamental human sickness is that we turn away from the God of life towards death. This is what we call sin. At the root of it is our disordered desire, as we saw last week when we reflected on the ten commandments. Instead of desiring God, who gives us life without limit, we worship other things that cannot give us life. Instead of desiring other people’s good, we desire other people’s goods, and our rivalry carries us away from the common good that should order our life together. This is the snake that bites us, the sickness that torments us. One way or another, all sin comes down to this: failing to believe that God really gives life without limit.

God gives, that’s the key. We don’t have to take. We can’t. This is what Paul means in Ephesians today when he says “by grace you have been saved”. Grace is gift, freely given, not earned, not merited. Just because that is what God is like. God gives. “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

God gives us himself, showing us his love. God gives us the man on the cross, who shows us what we are, what we have been. This is the snake that bites you, this putting people on crosses, and all that it represents. But this is also what cures you, because it is God’s love in the very place where we seek death. We have turned away from God to cast out the scapegoat, only to find that the scapegoat is God, turned towards us. Loving us. Desiring us. Offering us redemption, salvation, the cure of sin, the gift of eternal life.

This is grace, gift, freely given. To receive it, we simply have to turn to Jesus and believe in him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; they will do what is true, and come to the light.

Grace is so simple. And yet it seems so difficult! It seems too good to be true! Even Christians struggle to believe it. Does God really just give us all we need, even God’s own life, eternal life? Just because that’s what God is like?

Yes, God does. But we try to resist. We want to bargain. Our old human nature keeps telling us that there has got to be a catch. Yes, grace, but. But we’ve still got to earn God’s favour somehow. God can’t really be that good.

For instance. “I don’t receive communion, I’m not good enough.” “I must try harder, I don’t want to let God down.” “Maybe if I say more prayers God will notice me.” All these things have been said, to me, by Christians. And there can so easily be something similar whispering such things inside of us, too. It takes a lifetime to get used to the fact that God really means what God says.

God, as St Paul says today, “loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, [and] made us alive together with Christ”. Now it’s obvious that dead people can’t earn anything, least of all their own resurrection. That is what grace is. As freely given as resurrection given to the dead. Why do we suppose that grace is some kind of bargain, as if God could possibly need anything from us in return? We don’t need to buy God’s favour or make God notice us. Look at the cross. God has noticed us.

What bites you, cures you. Opposites are at war within us: sin and death; God and life. The poisonous bite of sin should make us look to Jesus, who shows us both our sickness and its cure.

God loves us. Because that is what God is like. Intrinsically, eternally, unalterably. God raised us to life when we were dead in our sins, utterly helpless. As sheer gift. It is Jesus, lifted up on the cross, who shows us this. It is Jesus who cures us. That is the heart of the Gospel. Believe in Jesus, accept the free gift of grace, and live. And, as we tend to pinch ourselves, and ask “where’s the catch”, and think that it can’t really be that gloriously true, it does no harm to hear and proclaim that message again, and again.