In fear and in hope
Ordinary Sunday 15: 10th July, 2005
Fr John Davis, Vicar of St Peter's, Eastern Hill
Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Rom 8:24)
There has got to be something better than this! That is the message of Paul. Paul the apostle had his share of experiences. He was ultimately to die the death of a martyr. Nothing that happened to Paul was easy. But in this part of the letter to the Romans that is our epistle this morning he is just firing! Listen to it: 'I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.' There is this amazing vision of something new and wonderful coming to birth, even though everything seems to be denying it. He can speak of 'the whole creation groaning in labour pains...' So the apostle heading for imprisonment and martyrdom writes to a community heading for persecution, martyrdom and dispersal, of that ultimate 'hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.' There is something for us to hear in that.
Several weeks ago, our gospel lesson was about fear. For Matthew's community facing possible murder and catastrophe, there was something nicely defiant about the message: 'Do not fear those who kill the body, but cannot kill the soul.' (Mtt 10: 28) 'Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.' (v. 29) Yesterday that lesson was back as the gospel reading for the Saturday mass. It was actually helpful, having just looked at the front pages of the major papers, so full of horrible photos and stories, with the promise of more to come, to hear that message again and to consider it again. God with us in the midst of tragedy, but not stopping it or eliminating it. The obvious fact of present pain and death and evil, yet still in the care and concern of a God who loves us. That is a real issue.
And here we are on the first Sunday after this major calamity. We come to mass at times like this looking for guidance and signs of yet continuing hope. We need ways to help us through, sometimes through events and situations we cannot understand but that at the very least we need to be placing into a broader context. Today we have had that stirring encouragement of Paul's vision outlined in Romans 8 of that 'whole creation groaning', even as we are asked to consider the possible application of the well-known parable of the sower and the seed to our own life and our own community of faith. Is the challenge just too much? Are the cares and worries of this world going to choke out our response in faith to the events of these times, just like the weeds and thorns of the parable choked out the growing seeds of the parable?
The possibility of violent death, a sense of the overwhelming bigness of the issues that surround us – certainly absolutely beyond our control – that is not a bad description, not just of the first century but of how we see our own situation. Which one of us has not had this conversation a dozen times this week? Ever since September 11th there has been a background cloud, especially for those of us living or working in the middle of large cities. What if it happened to us? Is this all part of an increasingly clear pattern of violence breeding violence? What must be done to break this cycle? What sort of people are we actually dealing with? What sort of people must they think we are? Where and how do we look for God in this? How do we remember in our very natural anxiety, that a religion with a prime symbol of a suffering Lord on a cross, does indeed have much to say and much to offer about this confrontation with evil and fear and death.
The attacks on the London transport system last Thursday, July 7th, have sickened and frightened us. London is much more familiar to many of us than what we have seen nightly for so long from the poor suffering city of Baghdad. Many commentators also do speak of the likelihood of similar attacks eventually occurring in our own cities. Later this month I will be involved in training sessions for just such an eventuality here in central Melbourne, and a further team of parishioners have indicated that they are wanting to get involved as well in such civil defence preparations. This is chilling, yet it is necessary. Look at the admirable way the London emergency services have responded this week. Consider the training that has gone into that.
The Archbishop of Canterbury happened to be at a multi faith gathering in Yorkshire at the time of the bombings. People of faith across the major religious traditions now living side by side in the U.K. were able to offer an immediate, strong and joint response. This is of course a matter of acute sensitivity, given the likelihood of the religious affiliation of those found to be responsible for these atrocities becoming a significant factor. Angry and frightened people can look for scapegoats far away from those actually responsible, especially in areas of social deprivation. There is a real and present danger that that scapegoat seeking will then feed into the already existing chain of event and reprisal. Then individuals are able to be seen in categories. It is much easier to hate a whole category.
How sad it is to be reflecting in this way in a week that should have been bringing good news of further world concern for the poor of Africa, further ways of moving away from corruption and greed, further ways of addressing the challenges of preventable disease or climate change or bringing the world together either by international sport or international concerts. It could have been that sort of week. But it was not. In fact we know that even now they are still bringing bodies out of that deep tube station at Russell Square and we all know in our heart of hearts that this is not going to be the end. That is very hard to come to terms with.
In that sort of context what happens to our faith? A real question is how does our faith, our sense of the continuing presence of God, our belief in the love of God as we have seen it in Jesus Christ and experienced it from time to time in others; how does this sense of a continuing connectedness with God stand up to such blows?
It may not be something on the news from far away that is upsetting. It could be a devastating medical diagnosis. It could be the sudden awareness that we have got old. It could be some personal failure or profound disappointment. But a religious world view, a personal spiritual commitment and value system, and we would want to say specifically a Christian faith and indeed an Anglo Catholic Christian faith, has to be a faith for bad times as well as for good. It has to have something significant to offer when things are falling apart, not just to be a chaplaincy for prosperity and easy going.
This can take time. We know from the gospels that the formation of disciples did not happen overnight. We have heard again only a couple of weeks ago about the frailty of our own patron saint. We know too that that makes him more accessible and even more of a saint for us in our own frailties and uncertainties. But day-by-day, week-by-week, we have the opportunity to become more than we have been. So where might we find these reserves, this inner strength, this continuing deeper hope?
The Christian story that we share and tell, in turn has the capacity to shape us and our response to whatever comes our way. The shape of the liturgical year – those great festivals of Christmas and Easter and Pentecost, are they not in fact great festivals of the life cycle: of birth and growth and death and life and gift and community? Over the years this realisation and this experience in turn has the power to shape and prepare us, individually and together. With that shaping, reinforced year after year, we will not be the same as we otherwise would have been. The daily and weekly offering and sharing in worship and prayer around a table that is both sacrifice and sustaining meal, invites the response of reflection and grateful thanksgiving. Lives are shaped by this. Action follows. Forgiveness, acts of care and service, doing unto others as we would have them do unto us, working hard for a more just society and a better appreciation of God's good creation – all of these we know.
But when a world falls apart or something truly terrible happens that is close by, that can shake all this. In this church, the sheer prominence of the crucifix on the wall behind me or the obvious centrality of the placement of the reserved sacrament in that tabernacle at the centre of the prominent High Altar, means that we have the clearest of invitations to bring not only the good times but also the very bad, right to the foot of the cross, right to the presence of the Lord. And the good news preached in this place, in season and out of season, always remains, God with us, God beside us as we are, who we are, where we are; in strength and in weakness, in life and in death, in fear and in hope.
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