This is the text of my sermon (delivered in English and Spanish) at St Aldhelm’s Church on Sunday 27th October 2020. The readings were Philippians 2, 1-13 and Matthew 21, 23-32.
The Christian life is a process rather than a fixed state. It is a journey: with a destination, yes, but not one at which we can finally arrive in this world. The life of a Christian is a pilgrimage, we are on the way with Jesus.
Two weeks ago three adults here were confirmed by the Bishop of Sherborne, the first confirmations in our diocese since before the lockdown. All three candidates had and have many questions and this pleases me. May they never lose that capacity to question and thus grow deeper in their faith. In today’s Gospel reading there are two sons, one of whom tells his father, ‘yes, I’m going!’ and he doesn’t go. The other says, ‘No, I’m not going!’, and he does. What matters is not so much our words but our deeds.
We are on the way with Jesus because our God is always on the way towards us:
As we heard in the first reading: Christ Jesus, ‘who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.‘
Our Lord is the good shepherd who leaves his house amid the storm in order to reach us and save us, no matter where we wander, nor into what deep hole we have fallen.
When we ring the Angelus bell twice each day we proclaim that ‘the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.’ When we celebrate the Eucharist we remember all that Jesus did for us and we declare that he does all this here and now. The church should point towards the God who seeks us through all the lonely byways of this world.
During this past week I was on holiday on Exmoor, a remote region about 100 miles away. One evening I went to the village pub and read. Because of Covid precautions, most customers were outside. One such person entered in order to use the toilet. Afterwards she had to ask the barmaid directions how to exit, as requested, by another door. I couldn’t see her but I felt sure I knew the voice as that of a friend from Fordingbridge, although it seemed very unlikely. Nonetheless I followed as best I could and went to look about the garden and suddenly from the shadows she called out ‘Pip, what the hell you doing here?’
Such an unexpected meeting always seems a gift of grace. In truth, we live in the mystery of such grace all the time. You may travel to the limits of the world. You may lie concealed in the deepest pit, or suffer in the thick darkness of depression or loneliness, you may go even unto hell itself. It matters not. God through Jesus reaches out to you and awaits you there and greets you by name and will bring you home.
Because of this we can and we must search for others too, for the unfortunate, the poor, the sinners. God has come to us from the heavens in order to find us and so we have to have patience and persistence in prayer and forgiveness.
I will read the poem that has been included in this week’s newsletter. Its author experienced homelessness and hopelessness and it expresses much better than I can this movement of God towards us. It is by Francis Thompson in the 1880s. He struggled with problems that dragged him into the poverty and despair of the London homeless of those times and yet he also had an acute sense of God’s nearness exactly there…
O world invisible, we view thee,
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumbed conceiving soars!—
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.
The angels keep their ancient places—
Turn but a stone and start a wing!
’Tis ye, ’tis your estrangèd faces,
That miss the many-splendored thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.
Let us pray: In a moment of silence and imagination let us hear our own name… You know us Lord by our name and never can you forget us. Help us in the journey of this life, take us by the hand through all our difficulties and draw us more and more towards yourself, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
La vida cristiana, más que un estado, es un proceso. Un viaje con destino, sí, pero nunca llegamos allí finalmente en este mundo. La vida cristiana es un peregrinaje, estamos en camino con Jesús.
Hace dos semanas tres adultos recibieron confirmación por las manos del obispa de Sherborne, los primeros confirmaciones en el diócesis desde antes del confinamiento. Ellos tenían muchas preguntas y esto me gusta – que nunca pierden su capacidad de preguntar y entonces crecer en su fe. En el evangelio de hoy hay dos hijos, uno que dice a su padre ‘¡sí, voy!’ Y no va. El otro dice, ‘¡no voy!’ y va. Lo que importa no es nuestras palabras pero nuestros acontecimientos.
Estamos en camino hacia Dios porque nuestro Dios siempre ha sido en camino hasta nosotros:
Cristo, siendo Dios
no consideró que debía aferrarse
a las prerrogativas de su condición divina,
sino que, por el contrario, se anonadó a sí mismo,
tomando la condición de siervo,
y se hizo semejante a los hombres.
Así, hecho uno de ellos, se humilló a sí mismo
y por obediencia aceptó incluso la muerte,
y una muerte de cruz.
Nuestro Señor es el pastor que sale de su casa en la tormenta para que nos alcance y nos salve, no importa donde hemos vagado, no importa en qué hoyo hemos caído.
Cuando tocamos la campana del Angelus cada día se proclama que ‘el Verbo se hizo carne, y habitó entre nosotros.’ Cuando celebramos la Misa recordamos todo lo que Jesús hizo para nosotros y declaramos que lo hice aquí y ahora. La iglesia debe señalar al Dios que nos busca por todos los caminos poco frecuentados del mundo.
Durante la semana pasada estaba yo en vacaciones en Exmoor, un área remoto y salvaje, hace ciento milas desde aquí. Una noche fui al bar del pueblecito y leía. A causa de la crisis de covid muchos clientes estaban fuera. Una persona entra para utilizar el baño. Después, tuvo que preguntar a la camarera como salir por otra puerta. No podía verla pero reconocí la voz de una amiga desde Fordingbridge. Se pareció poco posible. Pero la seguí por los pasillos estrechos y en el jardín cuando lo exploré una voz me exclamó desde la sombra, ‘¡Pip!’
Tal encuentro inesperado se parece como un don de gracia. De verdad, vivimos en el misterio de tal gracia siempre. Vaya a los límites del mundo. Se esconda en el huyo lo más profundo. Sufra en la niebla gruesa de depresión y soledad. Huya aún al infierno. No importa. Dios por Jesús está aquí. Cada momento su voz le llama como un amigo de verdad, un amigo de siempre.
Por eso, podemos y debemos buscar para los otros, para los desafortunados, los pobres, los pecadores. Dios ha venido desde los cielos para buscarnos y entonces tenemos que tener paciencia y perseverancia en oración y perdón.
Oremos: En un momentito de silencio e imaginación oímos nuestro propio nombre. Nos conoces, Señor, por nuestro nombre y nunca puedes olvidarnos. Asístenos en el camino de este mundo, agárranos por la mano por todas las dificultades y llévanos más y más a tú mismo, por Jesús nuestro amigo y salvador. Amen.
Pip the Vic 