Same Sex Marriage?

Gay Marriage (Readings Ephesians 5.25-33; Matthew19.1-12)

Introduction

Our parish’s Lent course this year followed the Church of England’s Living in Love and Faith course as we accepted the Church’s invitation to join in the (yet further!) discussion around issues of sexuality, gender and so on. Our vicar was a bit disappointed at the relatively low (but still healthy, I maintain) attendance. Some, she suggested, felt no need to be involved because they were already sure of their opinion. Maybe so.

 

As the course drew to its close, I was asked to preach a sermon addressing the issue of same sex marriage. Does the idea make sense? Is it theological nonsense, even if we are accepting of same sex relationships? I ended up preaching (almost) the same sermon at our two churches, and for those who may be interested, here is a sort of conflation of the two.

 

I don’t claim there is any new insight or argument here, but it may of of interest to whoever stumbles across it….

 

Tom (N.T.) Wright, noted New Testament scholar, told a story once (well, to be honest, probably quite a few times, but I only heard it once) about an encounter in a London cab.

 

Driver: Purple shirt? The means you’re a bishop, right? You’ve got a lot on with all this discussion about gay sex and stuff.

Tom: Well, it’s a bit complicated…

Driver: What I don’t understand is that if God raised Jesus Christ from the dead, the rest is all rock and roll, innit?

 

It’s a fair point. In this season of Easter, when we celebrate God’s new creation inaugurated in the resurrection, should we be not be open to the possibility that God continues to lead us to encounter new things?

 

We certainly live in a time of new things. Over the years, I have been privileged to preach at the funerals of many old people. I’ve got into the habit of reflecting on the changes they will have seen. My wife’s grandmother, for instance, born when a passing motor car would attract a furiously excited comet tail of small children and dogs, and dying having seen the advent of television, antibiotics, the moon landings and the rise of the digital age.

 

One area of change has been in the area of attitudes to sex, sexual orientation and gender identity. The very fact we can openly discuss such matters is itself a sea change. I learnt about homosexuality in the school yard, with jokes and insults about “queers.” Formal sex education was after my time.

 

The legalising of gay sex had happened when I was in primary school, removing the legal obstacle to sexual expression for gay men in line with most other sexual moral questions, such as adultery. Even if we think it’s wrong (except in our own particular case!) we probably don’t think it should be a criminal offence. So most would agree this is a good move. We are, of course, talking about males, here – lesbian activity was never illegal. The widely told story is that Queen Victoria would not sign into law a bill which suggested that ladies would ever do such awful things! If true, the tale is a good example of being inadvertently in line with the Bible. While there are 5 texts in scripture which condemn some sort of male/male sex, there is only one which may, but probably doesn’t, condemn female same sex activity.

 

Very recently came civil partnerships, giving legal protection and recognition to same sex partnerships and then marriage was extended to same sex partners.

 

This huge shift in law and public attitudes has posed a big question to the church, which. Like most organisations, is inherently conservative. Do we hold the line of tradition, or do we revisit our assumptions, our scriptures and theology and ask new questions?

 

This does happen. One good example would be usury – lending money at interest, which is condemned as a sin in the Bible, and was against church teaching for 1500 years. But the reformer Jean Calvin argued that the modern mechanism of interest was not the same as what the Bible condemns. So nowadays I can confess to having officiated at the weddings of actual practising accountants, and no one bats an eyelid!

 

As things stand, the CofE has official issues with, if not the decriminalising of gay sex, then with the arrival of legal partnerships. Civil partnerships are held to be just about OK for lay people, and for clergy – as long as the clergy promise to be celibate (!!!!).

 

But recognising marriage is a step too far presumably because, among other things, it is assumed necessarily to involve sex – and the Bible seems hot against gay sex. And certainly Christian tradition has been, and still is in many places. Around the world, we see church support for anti gay laws (as in Uganda) and the Anglican Communion is already divided over the issue.

 

So I’ve been asked help us to consider the possibility of same sex marriage. Is it even a meaningful term – for surely marriage is necessarily between persons of opposite genders?

 

And, of course, considering same gender marriage assumes that gay sex is in fact OK in principle, in certain circumstances, just as is straight sex. I’m not going to argue that here in detail. There isn’t time in one sermon, but buy me a pint anytime for further discussion! Or check out the many online resources, such as Jonathan Tallon’s site here, which illustrates the fact that the traditional view is based on 5 or 6 biblical texts whose interpretation is contested.

 

It’s important to be aware that the biblical texts are also about acts, while Jesus seems to have been more interested in attitudes. For instance, conservatives make much of the two prohibitions in Lev 18 and 20, but the NT tells us that Christians are not bound by the OT law, but instead look to Jesus’ overarching command to love one another. It is likely that the other, New Testament, texts are dealing with specific understandings of same sex activity which are a far cry from what we understand.

 

So that Rom 1 may be about the mother goddess cults in Rome, 1 Cor 6 and 1 Tim 1 about pederasty (which was certainly the most popularly recognised same-sex activity. Scholarly arguments continue, with no sign of a real consensus emerging. What that means is that it is dangerous, and indeed impossible, to simply read an answer for our questions straight out of the Bible.

 

So I would argue that the biblical answer is to be found in the question of love, rather than laws against some unspecified activity, which in turn are set against a background of sexual behaviour and attitudes which are alien to us. We, today, are discussing consenting relationships between adults of equal status – which the few biblical texts almost certainly are not.

 

Bible – Our texts today both refer to Gen 2.24, and this is often taken both as the foundation text for a biblical understanding of marriage, and as an argument against gay relationships – the former with more justification than the latter!

 

When God pulls the first woman out of the first man, the man describes her as “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” This is an Old Testament term referring to kinship/covenant relationships. For instance, when Jacob meets his uncle Laban, Laban declares, ‘Surely you are my bone and my flesh!’ (Genesis 29:14). (Compare Judges 9:2, 2 Samuel 5:1, 2 Samuel 19:12, 2 Samuel 19:13, 1 Chronicles 11:1).

 

Gen 2.24, then, is about forming a new kinship group; hence a man leaves his father and mother to form a new group/tribe etc. It is not primarily about whom one may have sex with.

 

It is quite likely that this is what Jesus has in mind – the breaking of that sort of relationship is a serious matter

 

Paul in 1 Cor 6.16 probably has same thing in view – becoming one flesh with a prostitute is nonsense, for it is inconsistent to perform the physical act of kinship formation without the corresponding commitment of kinship and covenant and is incompatible with the kinship one has with Christ.

 

So, while Gen 2.24 can fairly be seen as the biblical foundation for the understanding of marriage, it is not primarily talking about sex, but about the commitment and responsibilities of kinship – of family formation.

 

This makes sense in the original context, because God is not seeking a sexual partner for the adam, but a companion and helper. And this is how it seems to have been understood by Jesus.

 

Marriage, then is not primarily about a sexual relationship (though it usually entails that) but about forming a kinship group – a covenant, in fact.

Marriage

 

So what is marriage?

 

The Church of England is pretty clear about what it is for. The Book of Common prayer explains that it is for procreation, legitimate sex and mutual help and support. The modern service puts these the other way round, but agrees. Historically, there have been a good number of other functions for marriage: maintaining a line of inheritance, cementing treaties, combining the wealth of families or nations, providing a degree of certainty of parentage, and exercising control over women as the vehicles for the next generation of the family line and its wealth.

 

I think it is fair to say that the functions listed in the Prayer Book are good, and place the focus on much more commendable qualities than some of the other uses of marriage.

 

But even they are not really what marriage is. They are what it does, rather than its essence.

 

In the Prayer Book the first given reason for marriage is the bearing of children. Bit is procreation of the essence of marriage? I’m pretty sure that’s not stated in the Bible, though children are generally assumed to be the result. Childless couples may be pitied, but they are not therefore seen to be in some sense not married. And we would agree. One of the most joyful weddings I have presided over was between a couple who were in their late 70s. Despite the precedent of Abraham and Sarah, no one thought children were likely, but that did not prevent the marriage from being valid and worth celebrating.

 

The second reason is the proper exercise of desire, and that is no doubt a good thing. but again, sex is surely not of the essence of marriage either. There are couples for whom it is not possible, but who still enter into marriage, and whose marriages are regarded as perfectly valid.

 

The third reason, of mutual help and support comes much closer – and it is what seems to be in view in our Ephesians passage where it is paralleled with the covenant relationship of Christ and the church.

 

It is that word, covenant, which brings us closest to a statement of what marriage is. Both the Prayer Book and Common Worship services describe it in this way, though the term doesn’t occupy a major place in the liturgies. A covenant is a relationship of mutual obligation and commitment, witnessed by God, who holds each partner to account for keeping the terms of the agreement.

 

When I used to prepare people for marriage (not that you can, other than saying, “Be prepared to be constantly surprised!”) I explained it as saying that the partner’s faithfulness to the covenant is not an excuse for your unfaithfulness. In a covenant, each is held responsible for their faithfulness to their promises.

 

This reflects the relationship between Christ and the church (and indeed the whole biblical story of God’s relationship to his people). A new kinship group has been formed in which God in Christ is faithful even when we are not!

 

Hence the writer of Ephesians stresses the Christ-likeness of the husband’s responsibilities to his wife - commitment, sacrifice, caring and respect etc.

 

This parallel has led much of the church to characterise marriage as a sacrament – a means of grace, a physical expression through which God gives of himself to the participants. (Officially, the CofE denies this, but the words of the modern marriage service suggest otherwise!)

 

So, is such a relationship possible between persons of the same gender?

 

If marriage is a means of grace in some sense (and I’m sure it is, at least to the extent that it fosters the virtues to which God calls us) presumably such is open to persons of the same gender? After all, the ability to make covenant promises is not gender-specific.

 

The Living in Love and Faith discussion material suggests this would necessitate a change in CofE doctrine, presumably referring to the marriage services’ assumption that we are speaking of the union of a man and a woman. But I’m not sure that the doctrine as such (covenant commitment before God) would change. All that would change would be the historic cultural assumption that we are necessarily speaking of a covenant union between male and female.

 

The answer, then, seems to me to be yes, the essence of marriage is not altered by a change in assumptions about the gender of those making the covenant commitment under God. Or to put it another way, in this season of new things, if God raised Jesus Christ from the dead, the rest is all rock and roll, innit?

 

The death of John the Baptist

Nothing special here, but I was asked to record a short talk for next Sunday, and decided to speak about the gospel reading. In case anyone is interested, here it is...

 

Have you ever known that you should do something that's right, but not done it anyway?

I thought we'd have a look at our gospel reading from Mark 6.14-29 It's a well known story, the death of John the Baptist, but it repays a bit of study. So here are some thoughts on the bible text, the history behind it, and what it says to me - and hopefully to us all - here and now.

Who is Jesus? It's a question that runs through Mark's gospel. Speculation is rife, and wild - though as it turns out, not nearly wild enough! Among the wonderers is Herod Antipas, who sees in Jesus a re-run of John the Baptist.

When big bad king Herod the Great died, his kingdom was split between three of his sons, who became not kings, but tetrachs - a lower rank in the Roman empire - sort of provincial governors.

The one we meet in the gospels is Herod Antipas, tetrach of Galilee, though he was no doubt locally called the king, as in Mark's gospel.

The trouble that led to John's death began when Herod married his half-niece, Herodias, the ex-wife of his half-brother, also called Herod. According to the first centry Jewish historian, Josephus, it was actually her daughter, Salome, who married another half-brother, Philip, but if Mark is a bit confused, or reflects popular understanding which was also confused, it's hardly surprising. The Herod family was a great sprawling affair of incestuous relationships, literal back-stabbings and deceit.

It would seem that Herodias, a Roman citizen, had divorced her husband using Roman law, but by Jewish law remained married, since among Jews, only men could initiate divorce. So in John's eyes, and those of the common people, she was still married to her first husband. To make matters worse, by Jewish law, a man could not marry his brother's wife, even if the brother was dead, so Herod and Herodias's marriage was wrong on two counts.

Since John was not someone to mince his words, and was a popular preacher, this would mean that Herod was held in pretty low esteem by the public - which would in itself raise the risk of rebellion in a population which was already notorious for its anti-Roman, and therefore anti-Roman puppet-ruler sentiments.

So when Josephus says that John was executed for fear that he might foment rebellion, it's not as far as it might seem from Mark's version of the story; his preaching can only undermine Herod's rule.

As for Herodias, she's none too chuffed to be labelled an adulterer and bigamist. She hates John with a vengeance.

And that, you might think, would spell the end of the prophet.

Except... Herod is fascinated by him. He knows, deep down, that John is right. He recognises that here is someone in tune with God, and speaking truth even in the face of huge power.

He can't not listen, but he can't bring himself to repent - he knows what is right, but he can't do it.

We can hear echoes of the conflict between Elijah and king Ahab and his queen Jezebel. There, Ahab had a grudging respect for the prophet, but Jezebel wanted Elijah dead. And surely Mark expects us to pick that up. Later in the gospel Jesus will describe John as the long-awaited return, at least in spirit, of Elijah, the forerunner of the Messiah.

And in John's death there is a foreshadowing of Jesus' own death - the political ruler who recognises his innocence, but who gives way to fear and expediency rather than stand firm for what is right.

And so it hangs in the balance until Herodias seizes her chance at Herod's birthday party. He was well known for extravagant parties, and here he is, surrounded by his political supporters, his clients and dependents who help to secure his power base, and he makes an extravagant offer to the young princess who dances for him.

(A quick aside - NRSV says it was "his daughter Herodias" becasue that is the reading of the best old manuscripts, but it doesn't really make sense, so the usual "daughter of Herodias" is the better choice, so we'll stick with that.)

Up to half my kingdom is a bit of traditional storytelling by either Mark or Herod - no authority to do that anyway, as Roman client - but it marks out the generosity which Herod wants to display - the kind of generosity which shows him to be a powerful patron, one to command respect. And it's that desire to be seen in a commendable light that backs him into a corner.

He can't say no, or his pretence to power and authority are blown away like straw in the wind. Half a kingdom is acceptable exaggeration. The head of a rabble rouser is not. 

 

So back to my opening question. Have you ever known something to be right, and chosen not to do it? Of course you have. We all have. It could be averting our eyes from a collecting tin because it's just too much trouble to dig out a coin from our pocket. It could be putting too high a figure in a box on an expenses form or two low a one on a tax return. It could be passing laws to enforce wearing masks and keeping your distance, and not doing it yourself. Or much worse things.

And have you ever worried about how people see you? I know I have. I certainly don't want to appear as I really am! What would I be prepared to do to maintain the public face? How much shame could bear? What sort of lies might I tell to keep up appearances? HopefullyI wouldn't kill someone but...

On reflection, I wonder whether John the Baptist is the true victim of this tragic story. It's a tale of an honest and upright person being sacrificed on the altar of a powerful person's pride and ambition; a story that has its parallels throughout history, and certainly in our own time.

But perhaps in the end, the one who suffers is Herod himself. He has been brought face to face with his failures and sins. He has been fascinated by the light it has cast on his own transgressions and weakness. But in the end he has done nothing, and has cast away the chance of repentence. Perhaps of salvation itself.

Jn 3.19 tells us that in Christ, "light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil."

Do we, like Herod, squander the chance of repentence when it is offered to us? When the light suddenly shines on the darker parts of our life, do we too scurry away? Or do we seize the moment and turn to the light, to find hope, healing and renewal, painful though that turning may be?

 

Doctrines Bearing Fruit

A former member of my (pre-retirement) church would sometimes write a lengthy critique of a sermon or parish magazine article and send it to me for comment. It was rather gratifying to realise that at least one person had actually listened to what I said, so I would do my best to respond, and over the years an irregular correspondence built up.

 

In the final couple of years before my retirement the topic was almost invariably around issues of sexuality and gender. I found this rather depressing, and still do. The Church of England has recently published (another) resource for discussion, Living in Love and Faith, the result of several years of wrestling with a topic which for most people is pretty much settled. From outside, the church seems obsessed with sex, and claiming the authority to regulate it for its members. We have to wait and see what will come of LLF but I hold out no great hope. Positions are entrenched. The Bishop of Blackburn, for instance, seems to think it’s a great idea as long as it results in affirmation of his conservative position. I doubt that many holders of a liberal stance feel more flexible.

 

My friend’s other, and related, issue was about what in evangelical circles is known as “male headship” - in short, the notion that leadership in church and marriage belongs essentially to the male partner (though partner is, obviously, not quite the right word).

 

These issues have become such a touchstone of orthodoxy in some circles that I find I’m writing as a former evangelical. I would prefer to say, “As an evangelical,” but that’s difficult to do. More than one evangelical friend has informed me that my notion of my brand of Christianity is outdated. I still cling to the idea that concepts like the primacy of grace, justification by faith and the authority of scripture are what matters. However, I find that evangelicalism is now about with whom it is OK to have sex, and whether I subscribe to the correct tradition of interpretation of a few short passages of the Bible - a tradition that I find has little to commend it.

 

Anyway, in the course of our correspondence, I suggested that Jesus’ statement that false prophets can be known by their fruit might well be a good way of judging the rightness of doctrines. I was immediately misunderstood, and it was pointed out that no doubt LGBTQI+ people (and women) could well be blessed in their ministry, but that did not mean their lifestyle, orientation or whatever was other than sinful. After all, God sends his rain on the just and the unjust. And indeed, if I had been arguing that, say, gay priests are fine because many do a good job (which is true, by the way) I would have been on a sticky wicket. Success, however one may measure it, is not necessarily an indicator either of doctrinal soundness or moral rectitude.

 

On the other hand, Jesus presumably meant something by his saying. Look at the passage, from Matthew 7.15-20.

 

15 ‘Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. 16 You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? 17 In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit. 18 A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Thus you will know them by their fruits. (New Revised Standard Version. See also Luke 6.43-45)

 

Jesus seems to be saying here that what the false prophets produce is undesirable. He doesn’t say what it is, whether actions or teaching, but the result is apparently something harmful. The false prophets are apparently out for what they can get – like wolves looking for prey. The product of this behaviour is bad fruit, or “evil” fruit as the Greek would have it. What these people teach, what they offer to the church, has bad results.

 

The Didache, a handbook for Christian faith and living which probably comes from around the same time and place as Matthew’s gospel, says that prophets should be judged on whether they do indeed seek to profit from their ministry (Didache 11.7-12). In the New Testament, there’s a similar standard of judgement in the parallel passage from Luke 6.45.

 

Elsewhere, it is the doctrinal content which gives the game away: St. Paul tells the Corinthians that the acid test of true prophecy is whether it acknowledges that Jesus is Lord (1 Corinthians 12.1-3) while the writer of 1 John 4.2 sees acceptance of the incarnation as vital.

 

It seems to me, then, that it might be quite reasonable to put these two ideas together. Perhaps the test of a good (we evangelical types used to say “sound”) teaching is what it results in. For instance, in Genesis 9.25, Noah curses Canaan, the son of Ham, for Ham’s impropriety, and condemns him/his descendants to be the slaves of his uncle Shem (and/or his descendants). From this it has been argued that the curse on one child of Ham applies to all his children, who might be interpreted as including the ancestors of Africans. It follows that Africans are condemned by God himself to be fit for slavery, and it becomes OK to kidnap them and transport them in vast numbers to be slaves in New World colonies. This, I would argue, is a poor outcome from a doctrine, and casts a question over whether the doctrine has got it right. Most Christians today would agree with that, I think.

 

Or again, the Bible is quite (well, Matthew’s gospel is) clear that the crowd which brought Jesus to Pilate were happy to take responsibility for the saviour’s death, and to pass that guilt on to their descendants (Matthew 27.25). This led to the doctrine that Jews as a whole were guilty of the sin of "deicide" and were worthy of some sort of continual punishment – at least until its repudiation in the twentieth century.

 

I do not claim that the African slave trade depended on the doctrine of Noah’s curse – but the doctrine certainly provided a convenient pretext, and perhaps impetus, to a financially lucrative aspect of imperialism which brought misery to millions. Meanwhile, the collective guilt of the Jews provided an excuse and impetus for the persecution and exploitation of Jews which found its culmination in the horrors of Nazism.

 

So, in dialogue with my friend from church, I suggested, and still suggest, that it is worth looking at the outcome of our doctrines in other areas, such as issues of gender and identity.

 

In the wake of the dreadful murder of Sarah Everard, the societal gulf between men and women in the UK (and, of course, world-wide) has once again been highlighted. Men are still better paid, more likely to rise in their professions, and to see public spaces and other places of gathering as fundamentally male possessions. Women continue to experience a day to day low level harassment which is damaging to self-esteem and mental health. Against this background, many Christians still promote a theology of so-called “complementarity” which majors on a perceived difference of calling and function between men and women. At its core lies an issue of authority. Men have it. Women, not so much.

 

I do not purely blame Christian doctrines of wifely submission, male headship, or innate female weakness for millennia of patriarchy. Those doctrines grew out of the prevailing patriarchal culture, but at the same time, as Christianity gained influence, they helped to reinforce it. And centuries of oppression of women, domestic and societal abuse and disempowering of women are have surely been reinforced by it.

 

I submit that this doctrinal approach ultimately leads to suffering, injustice, inequality, oppression and death. Ergo, it is not good theology.

 

For LGBTQI+ people the case is even clearer. In our culture there is a long history of persecution, oppression and denigration of gay people. I am of a generation which learnt about homosexuality through school playground jokes and whispers about “queers” while the skinheads of my youth entertained themselves with gaybashing. Transgender and intersex people were essentially unheard of.

 

Our society has moved a long way since my schooldays, with the decriminalising of gay sex and the eventual acceptance of marriage for people of the same gender, though it seems that we are currently seeing a widespread attack on trans people. 

 

The church, however, has hardly moved at all. There are still many who, armed with half a dozen contested passages of scripture, oppose gay sex, deny the right of people to express their conviction of their own nature, and claim thereby that they are being faithful to scripture and the Christian tradition. So what has come of that tradition? Where does that doctrine lead us? It seems to me that it leads to persecution, murder, imprisonment and suicide. At its very best it leads to enforced celibacy for those who have no particular charisma for it.

 

There are gay Christians who are convinced of the rightness of this doctrinal stance and who accept celibacy or heterosexual marriage as a corollary of their desire for faithful discipleship. That’s fine with me, and they have my admiration. They are not, however, a proof of the truth of their doctrine. Their experience is far outweighed by the sense of rejection, frustration and suffering of many other LGBTQI+ people. And that, I think means it is bad theology.

 

Don’t misunderstand me. I am not suggesting that all doctine must result in happiness and good cheer. It doesn’t. But when it results in near universal misery, I cannot help but think that there is a problem.

 

So that’s my notion. You will know good doctrine by its fruits, just as you will know good people by theirs.

 

A sort of sermon on the rebuke of Peter

 Well. I got this blog up and running again, and had every intention of regularly updating it. We all know the path that good intentions build. So at least, I thought I'd better put something here so that my reader has an item to look at! This is my sermon for tomorrow. It's really only half a sermon, but it's long enough as it is. 

It's also rather late to be of any use to someone preaching tomorrow, but then, other people's sermons are rarely useful for preaching...

Mark 8.31-38

31Jesus began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, 'Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.'
34He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, 'If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. 36For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.'

Former President Donald Trump is a man who is widely regarded as compulsively narcissistic, of very lax personal morals and whose relationship to the truth is only on a hearsay basis. None of this, you might think, would endear him to Christians, whose Lord has told them that truth is fundamental to salvation, that personal holiness is an unachievable but nonetheless vital aspiration, and that one should care at least as much for others as for oneself.
Yet, even after his rather narrow election defeat, Trump remains a darling of many, probably most, evangelical Christians in the United States. Prominent evangelical leaders proclaimed him as God's chosen one, declared that he had not sinned since taking office, and saw him as the saviour of their nation's Christian heritage.

If there is anyone here who shares that view, see me after the service.

Christians, of course, hold a huge diversity of opinions on all sorts of issues, moral, theological and political. There is very little on which there is a definitive Christian position. I remember a very devout and good Christian woman telling me (long ago, in the Thatcher era) that she could not understand how anyone could be a Christian and not vote Conservative. Since I tended (and still tend) towards the view that socialism of some sort or another meshes almost intrinsically with Christian values, we decided to agree to differ.

At present, the CofE is locked in debate over issues of sexuality and gender, and a new set of discussion resources has been launched, commended to every parish, as we continue to look at what it means to live in love and faith with one another. Whether this will ultimately make much difference to the various entrenched views is questionable - the Bishop of Blackburn, for instance, has declared that the discussion is a good thing, as long as it results in a consensus which agrees with his conservative position....

So, yes, there is room for a good degree of debate about what, if anything, is the Christian view of x, for a given value of x.

But we can't just leave it at that, can we, or you'd complain that you're not getting your money's worth out of the sermon (though, come to think, of it, the sermon is free...)
Pundits who have discussed Mr Trump's popularity with a certain brand of Christian suggest that ultimately, he is popular because he promised power to a group which sees itself as increasingly on the margins. The majority are white, and are threatened by the increasing numbers of not quite so white hispanic americans. They speak english and are threatened by the projection that Spanish will soon become the majority language in the USA. They have been a major force in politics and have seen that shift to the urban, and urbane, cities of the east and west coasts. They have strong views on abortion, sexuality and gender (none of which are mentioned by Jesus, or indeed the Bible in general) and have been promised that these will once again be made majority views through legislation and education. Which is sirely what God wants.

He is God's chosen because he promises God's people what they want. And that is surely something that God wants too. Pretty much by definition, no?
A similar case could be made for my other couple of examples. My Thatcherite friend ultimatly saw the Conservative government of the day as defending traditional "British values" and upholding the Protestant work ethic.  Work or starve seemed (with some softening) a good Biblical principle. And Biblical principles matter. And those in the church who seek to uphold traditional views of sexuality etc. see themselves as preserving a set of values which has worked well (as long as you're not gay or trans) for a Christian country, and long to see that Christian country return. As it may, they argue, if only we hold fast to what we've always held. As long as we are faithful to Biblical teaching.

OK, that's all rather sweeping, and it doesn't apply to lots of people who find themselves in any of these camps. But then, this is a sermon, not a PhD thesis. If you don't like the examples, that's fine, but bear with me anyway.

Because what I'm suggesting, even if you don't like the details, is that in many cases, Christians - real, devout Christians - espouse somewhat questionable positions because they offer what they want. Of course, they see that as being very much in line with God's will. It's there in the Bible, and in their tradition, and needs to be defended.

(Does that apply to me as well? Of course it does. It's an almost universal temptation, this desire to get what we want, and to colour it with God. I'm sure God is a liberal, all embracing good guy, because that's what I want. And I'm sure it's in the Bible....)

So let's look at our gospel reading. We have to go back to the bit before our selection, in order to understand what is going on.
Jesus takes his disciples away from Galilee into the Gentile area near Caesarea Philippi. And he asks what people are saying about him - "Some say you're Elijah come back, or a prophet, or John the Baptist brought back to life!"
"And what do you say," he asks. And Peter takes the plunge: "You'e the Messiah, God's chosen one!"
And he tells them to keep quiet about it.
Then he goes on to say, "The Messiah must suffer and die."
"No way," says Peter - and earns Jesus' strongest rebuke: Peter is Satan! 

Why is Peter so upset? It's not just because Jesus thinks he will come to a bad end, upsetting though that might be. It's because the Messiah - which he's admitted to being - doesn't do that. The chosen one of God is going to give power to the people of God. He is going to make them the top nation, he is going to affirm the values of the Law of Moses and show them to the whole world. He is going to chuck out the oppressors and bring freedom. Everyone will sit under their own fig tree and the Gentiles will flock to the people of God, and say, "Show me your God." It's all there in the Bible. Jesus has lost the plot for a moment and needs reminding.

And this is why Peter speaks for Satan - he is setting out the temptation Matthew and Luke describe in their accounts of the forty days in the wilderness- to be a Messiah of bread and circuses, of conquest and war. But Jesus is redefining Messiah. That's why he doesn't want the disciples to use the term in public. Everyone, including Peter, knows what Messiah means. But it doesn't. It doesn't mean the conquering King, the giver of a new Law, the purifier of the Temple's worship - all things that crowded around the term Messiah- and clouded the minds of those who knew so well what the Bible said. No, Jesus is not the Messiah in those terms. Rather, the Messiah is Jesus. Do you want to know what it is to be God's anointed, his chosen? Then look at Jesus and see the suffering servant.

Peter is trying to fit Jesus into the mental box he has prepared with the label, Messiah. And Jesus won't fit.

I think we tend to do the same. In some cases that can lead to odd results - like Donald Trump in the White House. 

The trick is to let Jesus speak. To let God, as the theologians say, be God. He is the one in charge. He is the one who sets the agenda. It's up to us to listen, in prayer and reflection, to hear the voice which teaches us what God is actually up to. That that can be pretty surprising.

Of course, you will say (I hope!) that if we can't trust what the Bible says (Peter, after all, knew what the Bible said) then how can we ever hear anything other than our own dreams and desires?
The answer, I think, is not that the scriptures are wrong, but that the way we read them needs to be questioned. Jesus was entirely in line with the Bible. He just read it rather differently. In Jesus, God was doing a new thing., and Peter needed to be able to recognise it. So do we.

Do you remember that refrain from the Old Testment : "Sing to the Lord a new song"? Why was a new song needed? Because God had done a new thing, and the old songs didn't do it justice.

We too need to be able to recognise God doing something unexpected, to to be prepared to sing a new song, even if it celebrates something that moves us from where we are comfortable, even - perhaps especially- if it opens up new and challenging possibilities.

It is not enough simply to say, "You are the Messiah." We need to be able to see what it is that the Messiah does - and demands.

Action at a distance

Reflecting on the importance of space, as in my last post, leads quite neatly into another church debate which has taken off on social media. Or at least on Twitter, which is the one I tend to look at. In these times of isolation, with worship being done at a distance, via live streaming, conference software, and so on, can we do Holy Communion at a distance? Is it OK for each of us to eat bread and sip wine in our own home, and in doing so partake of the eucharist?

The predominant answer seems to be no. A quite resounding no, in fact. Writing a few weeks ago in the Church Times, Angela Tilby referred to the bishop of Western Louisiana, who had initially given permission for this form of communion, but had withdrawn it, partly, apparently, because it did not fit with the Episcopalian/Anglican eucharistic theology.

This came as a bit of a surprise to me. It’s not that there is no Anglican theology of the eucharist, so much as that there are so many Anglican theologies. I’m sure an Anglican understanding of Communion could somewhere be found which would allow such a practice. Of course, the Book of Common Prayer is officially the gold standard of Anglican theology, and therein should lie the definitive theology of the eucharist for all good members of the Church of England, at least.

However, I seem dimly to recall from long ago lectures that the said theology of the BCP was debated at its first publication, and the length and volume of contradictory scholarly treatments has only grown in the succeeding centuries.

On the other hand, all is not lost. I don’t think that most theological issues really matter here. Is communion possible without a priest? Does a substantive change take place in the bread and wine? Is consecration effected by the priest alone as celebrant, or the whole congregation? Does it occur at certain words in the eucharistic prayer, or is it a process with a beginning and end, but no fixed point between? Is it a re-enactment of the sacrifice of Christ, a simple mnemonic, a bringing of the eternal act of atonement to bear on the discrete celebration of each eucharist or summat else?

Does any of this mean anything to the average worshipper?

Never mind. I’m sure it’s irrelevant to the question in hand, which is, I am convinced, primarily about space.

A eucharist takes place when Christians gather together to share bread and wine in memory of Christ. (With whatever embellishments our church tradition deems necessary.) What do we mean, though, by “together”? I suspect that in some sense, it means sharing a space. Here we need to be careful. Communion in one’s living room, and communion in Britain’s biggest cathedral (just over the river from my house) may each be seen as obvious examples of a space which can be shared for worship. The same might apply to a mass in St. Peter’s square or one of those huge gatherings in parks for papal visits etc. These are simple and obvious shared spaces.

What about spaces which exist, essentially, only in the mind? I have sat in a church hall, joining in a service which took place a good many metres away. I watched the service on a TV, joined in the hymns (probably a bit out of phase with the main body of worshippers, but who was to know?) and received communion as part of the one service, despite the barrier of walls and a car park.

There are certainly plenty of churches where the kids and their carers are hived off into another room, but who are linked by loudspeakers, or even actually isolated in “children’s church” but who are welcome back to communion as part of the gathered body. In a sense, they are, like those of us in the church hall, seen as occupying the same worship space, the same event.

The thing is, our concept of space is not about purely physical phenomena. It is about the perception of presence, of belonging. In daily life we frequently extend our sense of personal space beyond our bodies – to encompass our car, for instance, or our shopping trolley. And, of course, online, we think and speak in spatial terms which are more than simple metaphors. We “visit” websites, “enter chat rooms” (are they still a thing?) And when I join in the act of worship at my old church, via Zoom, I think of myself as being present in a real way.

So, if we can share in worship in an internet “virtual” space, why not share in communion, which binds the body of Christ together, existing as it does not in a physical space, but wherever Christ is acknowledged?

One answer might be about bread and wine. Surely the elements have to be in the same place to be blessed, and perhaps touched, and to be physically broken, Surely it is the sharing in one bread which carries much significance? Well, I don’t think so.

Some friends who trained for ordination at Mirfield, that bastion of anglo-catholic rectitude, recounted how surprised they were to find that the principal, presiding at a small eucharist in his study, sat at the opposite side of the room from the bead and wine. The words were spoken, bread was eventually broken, but the action seemed to take place at a thoroughly unseemly distance. Then again, think of those mass masses, where huge baskets of bread are blessed without being present on the communion table, or even of the many modest parish churches where individual communion wafers are blessed and distributed.

Is there a sort of spatial limit beyond which consecration cannot take place? I suspect there is not. What matters is surely the intention—that bread and wine brought to the worship space (virtual or otherwise) should be the means of grace in this sacrament.

So, in summary, if we can join for worship, prayer and even hymnody, by Wi-Fi, it seems to me logical to say that we also can share in the sacrament of holy communion.

And if that’s not heretical enough, I think one could make a similar case for doing the same with a recorded service. If we can do it with spatial separation, perhaps a temporal barrier might also be no obstacle. If it is intended that those who join in, separated by space and time are none the less included as they are included in Christ himself, it seems likely that the grace of God could still be operational! But I won’t push that suggestion further, as this post is already too long.

One final thought. On one level, this sort of debate is an in-house issue, a minor spat between churchgoing types. On another, though, it is about how open the body of Christ is. As unprecedented numbers log on to acts of worship in our present predicament, do they see a church which is fully functional and fully inclusive, or one which draws the line between the worshipper and the heart of worship? If the eucharist is indeed a converting ordinance, should it not be allowed to convert? Even the converted probably stand in need of further conversion.

(Disclaimer - the illustration arrived on a social media stream. If it is copyright, I am happy to remove it!)

Space

Life in lockdown has caused me to reflect about space. Confined mostly to our homes, and outside them still restricted in travel and work, we have, I think, become aware of the bounds of our world in a new and pressing way. Life has come to have very clearly defined borders—the home, the trip to work or shop, an hour or so’s walk or bike ride. This has now been partially relaxed (perhaps not wisely, given our country’s lamentable death and infection rates) but spacial restrictions still apply, in some ways more obtrusively. We can go out, chat at a safe distance, but not visit those who mean the most to us.

These restrictions encourage us to find new ways to use space, for reflection, hobby, home improvement, entertainment, deepening relationships and finding tolerance and understanding.

They also has their downside, in frustration, a sense of imprisonment, worry about finances and survival itself. Mental health issues have multiplied. And tragically restricted movement has brought a new freedom to abusers of adults and children, locked away from scrutiny, and has vastly diminished their victims’ chances of escape.

It has raised issues of space for the church, as well, particularly the Church of England. Congregations can no longer meet for worship and fellowship, and in the case of the CofE, even clergy have until recently been strictly forbidden to enter their churches to pray. They could go in to check the building for insurance purposes etc., but definitely not to pray, nor to record or live stream acts of worship. Let us not ask cynical questions about priorities here....

At present, this too is being relaxed, as the bishops back-pedal and recast their dubiously legal instructions as “guidance” and now allow (sorry, advise) limited access for the purposes that the government legislation allowed all along.

We (mostly) all agree that the church is the people, not the place, and that the presence of God is what sanctifies a place. Those who have decried the retreat of the CofE “into the kitchen” (a reference to Justin Welby's broadcast worship from Lambeth Palace’s kitchen, rather than its chapel) are castigated for denigrating the domestic, and “gendering” the debate.

But this seems to miss the main point at issue. Spaces matter. Our bodies delimit us in space, and in many ways govern the way we can act in the world. We share spaces with others, in home and workplaces. Spaces define our communities, and the local areas in which we are comfortable, and those in which we are uneasy, as strangers or lost. We recognise safe p laces and danger zones.

The incarnation involves the Word of God coming into the space of his body, the space of Nazareth, of Galilee and so on. Into the danger zone of the world.

How we use spaces therefore matters. Whether we make them places of safety or danger, welcome or exclusion and above all whether we recognise them as the spaces in which we live out our discipleship. To be a follower of Christ is not about what goes on in our heads but also in the space we occupy, and the actions that we perform there.

Our homes are of course, spaces where discipleship is carried out. Prayer and worship are offered there, service is offered to members of our household (where they exist) and to neighbours, even in these spatially constrained times.

Yet the way we use wider spaces matters too. For a very long time, church buildings have occupied a place in the public space of our communities. They have been a statement that the people of Christ are active in the midst of our shared space. We belong, and have much to offer to the other inhabitants of our local space.

Certainly the danger of infection and disease transmission means that gathering for worship in our historic places of worship is a very bad idea. But to withdraw entirely, to forbid the broadcast of prayer and worship from the space that has long lain at the heart of the local community seems a backward step, a retreat into privacy, that “privatised religion” of which we have long been warned.

So I for one welcome the news that we can now be seen and heard (where bells may safely be chimed) to still be in business in the local space in which we are called to discipleship.

Of course, the church continues to be involved as disciples of Jesus in the public space. Church based food banks (tragically more necessary than ever) continue to operate. Church members, both individually and in an organised way, deliver food packages and offer support and contact to the frail or lonely. This is hugely important. And yet, for the church’s spiritual life to be seen also as part of that public, communal space surely matters more than ever.

Our local church bell chimes each evening at 7.00 p.m. with the message that prayer is being offered, there at the heart of the community, and that prayer undergirds the efforts of many local Christians to live out their faith in love and support for their neighbours.