• Easter Sermon 2021

    Lent has been long enough.

    This Lent particularly has been long enough.

    Just over a year ago we locked down in the middle of Lent. And it feels as though that existence has been going on in one form or another ever since.

    Most people have embraced the need for the lockdown lives that we have been living. And this itself is a miracle that we should not ignore.

    Collective altruistic action on such a mass scale to protect life and human flourishing is a miracle of no small stature.

    But Lent has still been long enough.

    We have known discipline in our lives from last year’s Lent to this year’s Lent like never before.

    And Lent has been long enough.

    One of the ways that I’ve learned to keep holy week is to look for resonances of the Passion stories around me in life today.

    Back on the streets of Jerusalem, one of the stories of holy week that always troubles me is that it is the same crowd that cries hosanna in the streets that goes on to cry crucify.

    This year it is the same society that clapped for carers in the streets that has been unable to agree decent pay and conditions for those whom they once applauded.

    Lent has been long enough.

    Back in Jerusalem it is an out of town African – Simon of Cyrene who carries the weight of the cross on Good Friday and then disappears from view.

    In our own times, black and ethnic minority people in our land have carried the weight of the corona pandemic in far more disproportionate numbers than they should have done. And that fact seems to be disappearing from view.

    It is no help for a government report to claim there is no structural racism in society when black and ethnic minority folk have been dying in greater numbers than everyone else.

    Indeed, that kind of claim is what structural racism looks like and sounds like.

    Lent has been long enough.

    Back in a garden close to Calvary a stone is rolled in front of a tomb by a group far too small to have been the only mourners at Jesus’s funeral.

    And dear God, have we known the tomb this year? And how we have known the pain of being banished from the sides of those whom we love, as they have lived, and died and been buried.

    Lent has been long enough.

    But Lent, in our tradition, doesn’t go on forever.

    It comes to an abrupt end with startling news – that Jesus Christ is risen from the grave. Death is not the end. All that we ever assumed is turned on its head.

    Jesus is alive. And with us. And nothing will ever be the same again.

    The discovery of the resurrection on that first Easter day was hard to comprehend. It is hard to comprehend now.

    Yet for two thousand years, Christians have proclaimed that death does not have the last word, that all that rots the human Spirit is defeated, that new life is our heritage and our hope.

    New life is the new normal.

    The Easter proclamation means – and has always meant, that the old normal wasn’t working. Something new – so very new is here.

    And yes, you can feel and know that it is real it in our own times too.

    The resurrection is proclaimed in the kindness of strangers – and there has been much of that this year.

    The resurrection is proclaimed in those searching for a new and sustainable way of living on this earth.

    The resurrection is proclaimed when those fighting for justice taste its sweetness.

    The new normal is faith and hope and joy and love.

    And it is all, yes all that we need in our lives today.

    I see it when the flowers bloom from an earth that was frozen and hard and cold.

    I hear it in the song of the robin and the wren.

    I feel it as love, wherever love is found.

    Jesus is risen from the grave. The old has passed. Lent has been long enough.

    New life – the new normal is here.

    A year ago, I thought that as a congregation we were in serious trouble. How could we survive being locked down and closed?

    As a congregation we thrive on meeting new people every year and sharing with them the open, inclusive, welcoming love of God that we proclaim in this place.

    I thought we would be facing serious decline because no-one would be turning up in lockdown.

    In fact, people have continued to turn up – online for some, in person for others.

    And there are people worshipping both online and in church this Easter who simply were not around last year.

    This is what I want to say to anyone who is discovering Jesus for the first time.

    Christians don’t always get things right. We bumble along, just like the first disciples, misunderstanding God, betraying the new life that we hope to live into and make a mess of all kinds of things.

    But we have met, in Jesus Christ, someone who has changed us and whose message matters so much more than that.

    God loved us enough to want to join in with all the mess and dirt of our world. In the person of Jesus, we get to know God with a human face.

    He shared all our sufferings and sorrows whilst he was with us on earth.

    All the reality of human struggle and human pain.

    And he is risen from the grave.

    From beyond the tomb, he calls us to live as new people. People for whom life is the new normal, love is the new normal. Joy, goodness and peace are the new normal.

    And nothing will ever be the same again.

    You want to know whether all this is true?

    Well, if Christ were not risen from the grave, we would not be gathered here.

    Especially this year.

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

    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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