• Sermon preached on 9 December 2018 – People Look East!

    [Apologies for the poor audio in the video this week]

    “People Look East!” the prophet Baruch commanded in our first reading. And he wasn’t talking about Edinburgh.

    In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

    “Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
    look towards the east” says Baruch, echoed rather brilliantly in the Advent Carol that the choir will be singing at communion this morning.

    People look East. But what is so special about the East?

    The truth is, at different times and in different places, people seem to allow tradition to hang on various points of the compass.

    When I was a newly ordained priest, I worked in our cathedral in Perth and in those days, you proclaimed the gospel in a particular way.

    We make much of the fact that the gospel is proclaimed right amongst the people here. The idea is that the gospel book is brought right amongst people as we remember that Jesus himself came amongst us and shared our tears and laughter and humanity whilst sharing the stories and chatter and love of heaven with us.

    God’s coming amongst us is enacted ever time we raise the gospel book and carry it amongst the people and read it there.

    Oh, but not when  I was a curate in Perth. Yes, sure enough we processed the gospel to the middle of the church and everyone turned and looked at it. But whoever was reading it took a curious right turn when they got there and very definitely proclaimed it in a certain direction.

    The gospel in Perth was proclaimed to the North – a lingering liturgical tradition that was common in Scotland and the Nordic countries at some times. You proclaimed the gospel to the North because it was the North that needed it. The place where all the cold came from and in so many northern myths, where all the ghosts and Ghoulies came from.

    In some parts of Scandinavia they don’t have windows on the North side of a church in order to keep the cold and the Ghoulies firmly at bay.

    So every time I read the gospel in my curacy, I did that right turn, and proclaimed the gospel to the North.

    It was a rather picturesque liturgical tradition, even if it did seem to make is appear that the devil lived in Pitlochry.

    Just a few months before going to Perth, I found myself in the desert in Egypt, exploring the spirituality of the desert fathers – monks who still live there.

    (It is amazing the amount of effort and creativity Scottish ordinands at that time were putting into not being in Edinburgh where they were supposed to be training for ordination, but that’s another story).

    Anyway, I was in the desert and the most extraordinary storm blew up. A sandstorm you could see coming towards you right across the horizon.

    And it brought terror not only to those I was staying with in the Wadi Natrun monasteries but terror on the streets of Cairo. Was it the ferocity of the storm that caused the terror? Well, partly – it was the kind of storm you might wait 50 years for and hugely destructive.

    But the terror was caused by its direction. The tradition in that part of the world is that Armageddon, the war that ends all things will come from the South. And that storm came very much from the South.

    People look East, Baruch says.

    Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
    look towards the east,

    and see your children gathered from west and east
    at the word of the Holy One,
    rejoicing that God has remembered them.

    So who is Baruch and what’s this all about.

    My suspicion is that not that many people would be able to easily find the book of Baruch, never mind be able to say much about who Baruch was.

    Well, we know Baruch’s words already. He was Jeremiah’s scribe, disciple, devotee and some have even speculated bidie-in.

    He travelled with Jeremiah into exile and it was he who preserved the prophet’s words and popularised them.

    So the Book of Baruch – obviously his own prophetic writings, right?

    Well, not so fast. If only early religious writings worked like that.

    No – the book of Baruch is named after him. Someone not so much passing themselves off as him as taking up his tradition.

    So even though these words are not by Baruch himself, they are by someone wanting  us to remember him and Jeremiah being carted off into exile.

    Exile in Babylon.

    Yes, exile in the East.

    Whoever bids us to look to the east is reminding us of those who were carted off to Babylon.

    But is it the remembrance of lament? No.

    Is it the remembrance of bitterness? No.

    Is it the remembrance of hatred and despair? A thousand times no.

    Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
    look towards the east,
    and see your children gathered from west and east
    at the word of the Holy One,
    rejoicing that God has remembered them.
    For they went out from you on foot,
    led away by their enemies;
    but God will bring them back to you,
    carried in glory, as on a royal throne.

    People look East says the Book of Baruch – and see those of the East and of West united in joy.

    And in that joy, this new Baruch remembers all the prophesies of justice from Isaiah that a royal way be made by levelling the ground for all people. High places made plain, valleys lifted up and all the people of God treated as royalty.

    It is the same memory that the Baptist has in the gospel. The valleys being filled and the hills be made low and all flesh seeing salvation.

    The Baptist proposes a baptism of repentance surely necessary.

    Baruch proposes what seems like a baptism of joy. Also necessary.

    The baptism of repentance necessary because things are not right yet and we must commit to turn our lives around in order to turn this world back to rights.

    And being baptised by, drenched by, suffused by joy because the Lord will never forget his exiled people.

    No matter how far we feel from a place of justice and peace and integrity and honesty and goodness and plenty, the Lord calls us back to that place.

    And we return to that singing. And full of joy.

    For God will lead us with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness and love that come from him.

    From the north and from the south, from the east and from the west, we are called to abide together in the kingdom where love is the rule and love the ruler.

    Behold. Behold. In these advent days, know that the kingdom of justice and peace and love and joy is coming soon.

    With a human face.

    Amen.

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

  1. kimberly Avatar

    ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

    you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

  2. kimberly Avatar

    the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

  3. kelvin Avatar

    Its not just me though, and not just fours.

  4. Aaron Orear Avatar

    I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

  5. Erp Avatar
    Erp

    I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

    Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

  6. RosemaryHannah Avatar
    RosemaryHannah

    Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

    I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

    And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

  7. Elizabeth Avatar
    Elizabeth

    Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

  8. Ritualist Robert Avatar
    Ritualist Robert

    Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

  9. Steve Avatar
    Steve

    I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

    There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

    Yet still from Eden springs the root
    As clean as on the starting day.
    Time takes the foliage and the fruit
    And burns the archetypal leaf
    To shapes of terror and of grief
    Scattered along the winter way.
    But famished field and blackened tree
    Bear flowers in Eden never known.

    Blossoms of grief and charity
    Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
    What had Eden ever to say
    Of hope and faith and pity and love
    Until was buried all its day
    And memory found its treasure trove?
    Strange blessings never in Paradise
    Fall from these beclouded skies.

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