• Easter Sermon 2022

    https://youtu.be/738ChTRb61I?t=2104

    Years ago I remember going on holiday. It was my kind of travel – ferries and trains and buses and then a sailing trip with friends who used to take me despite and not because of my sailing abilities.

    And there was this one morning that I remember. Will always remember. I’d managed to get myself off the boat without much incident. And rowed ashore and went for a walk in the first light of the day.

    And on the walk I heard something. A tiny bird singing. And not just singing but singing its heart out. Trilling its way up and down in a way that even the best singers could only dream of.

    I caught sight of it. And I recognised it. I knew what it was immediately. It was a tiny little wren singing in the morning air.

    And it was one of those special, perfect holiday moments. The kind of thing you never forget.

    And I felt particularly blessed. It was so rare to see a wren and hear it sing. And it sang just for me.

    What a journey it had been to get to hear it. Travelling right across the country. Sailing and paddling my way across the sea. I had come a long way. And it was all worth it for the rare sound of the wren in the morning air.

    It felt like a very special moment.

    Fast forward a few years.

    And lockdown came along.

    And with the first lockdown the instruction to go out and walk every day for half an hour. And I did.

    The world was still. The roads silent. The traffic gone.

    And I got three hundred yards from my front door. Nearer to where I live than we are now.

    And I heard a sound. Familiar.

    Imagine that. I’d heard it once on holiday. So many miles away.

    Well what do you know, I said. Three hundred yards from my front door.

    And I listened and then went on. Another couple of hundred yards. And another tiny bird was singing.

    And then another and then from across the canal, another.

    The lockdowns were long. The pandemic has been long and it isn’t over yet. I think we’ve seen enormous generosity sometimes. And enormous selfishness at others.

    All of human life was changed, but all of human life was there, the best of life and the worst.

    For the last two Easters we have been telling one another the stories of Easter in ways that we never expected to have to do.

    And it was good to do so. But I longed, oh how I longed to be able to bring people together do tell them again in this place.

    For Holy Week matters to me.

    For the stories of Holy Week are our stories of today. Always. All human life is here.

    In Holy Week we encounter the worst of human behaviour.

    A week in which we hear of bitter betrayal by Jesus.

    Violence whipped up by unscrupulous leaders.

    Pilate literally washing his hands to try to pin the blame for the crucifixion on others.

    And a broken man buried with no ceremony, and no proper funeral whilst others celebrated a feast.

    We do not need to look far to see the passion played out in our midst.

    The violence being experienced by Ukraine at the hands of Putin is a real-life crucifixion story.

    The agony of those of us who experienced heart numbingly difficult funerals whilst others partied in Downing Street is a bitter passion tale.

    The suggestion that we should send those seeking refuge in this country on a one-way ticket to Rwanda is a bitter betrayal. A betrayal of this country’s international commitments. A betrayal of those in desperate need. Not one passion story but thousands of stories of people betrayed by those who should offer friendship, fairness and common decency.

    The government’s proposal to export the neediest and the most desperate to a land far away for “processing” is immoral, shameless and obscene.

    I say to the government today – You can’t outsource compassion. We are better than this.

    Seldom was resurrection hope, the message of Easter Day more needed than today.

    But Christians do not simply wring their hands on Easter Day.

    On Easter Day, we proclaim that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.

    And it isn’t just that if that is possible for Jesus then it could happen to us. The Christian believe is that if that happened to Jesus then it will happen for us.

    It isn’t just our believe that if Jesus gets new life then the world might get new life. It is our conviction that it will! And that it does.

    We believe that death and betrayal, corruption and selfishness, bitterness and anger, violence and destruction… these things will never have the last word.

    These are not things to live by.

    Jesus Christ is risen from the dead and with his rising comes the news that the world is changed.

    We have known love so many times by the pain it has caused us during the pandemic. The pain of separation. The pain of death. The pain of not being able to comfort one another.

    Love is deep within us. And sometimes it hurts.

    But love is the root of God’s mission to the world. Love that will not let us go.

    It was love that brought Jesus into the world. And it is love that reaches into the very depths of hell to haul him out and us with him.

    And it is love that causes us to encounter the world through the resurrection of Christ. Love that tells us to proclaim that new life has come; that death is not the end.

    It is love, love buried deep, deep, deep within us that tells us to hope for, work for and believe in a world where pain and suffering will be gone. Where the tears will be wiped away from every eye.

    Where we will encounter love and hope and joy in every human life so that everyone who lives and breathes on earth may be able to hear that every bird is singing.

    Something happens at Easter which breaks the pattern of sin and death for good.

    And I tell you that it has happened this day.

    For if Christ were not risen from the dead, we would not be gathered here.

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

    Media reports

    Priti Patel’s Rwanda plan ‘immoral, shameless and obscene’, says Glasgow cathedral provost – Scotsman

    Sending asylum seekers to Rwanda a bitter betrayal, says senior church leader – The Times

    Boris Johnson attacked by Glasgow priest over Rwanda scheme and partygate – The National

    Radio Scotland interview with Lucy Whyte – Good Morning Scotland 18 April 2022

18 responses to “To the synod office”

  1. Robin Avatar
    Robin

    > Would it be out of the question, Robin, for Ms Goldie to become the new Bishop of Glasgow and Galloway?

    As far as I know, it would be OK, since she’s baptised and over 30! And Glasgow & Galloway has had a Bishop Goldie before, so there’s precedent!

  2. kelvin Avatar

    Robin – we are in the process of removing the 30 year lower age limit for bishops this year. If Ms Goldie turns out to be younger than we think, she is still in with a shout.

    David – thanks for your post. It is similar to what’s been said to me in synod. To be honest, as someone whose formative years were mainly in a part of the country where the dominant industry was coal, the idea that the farming/rural economy has been particularly ill treated by either European or national government thinking has always seemed very puzzling.

    There are many things which bring town and country together. Clergy complain of the same degrees of isolation in town and country, for example. People also often complain about the ability of young people in the country to find affordable housing locally. However, to someone who has lived succesively in Perth, Bridge of Allan and the West End of Glasgow, that complaint again seems to unite rather than divide us.

    As for field sports, I feel less strongly about the sports themselves than I did when I was younger. However, I feel more strongly than ever that all of us, whatever sector of society we live in can only muddle along by a common respect for the law and it has sometimes been difficult for someone like me to perceive such a respect in those advocating certain field sports.

    I don’t think field sports are a human rights issue. And I don’t think that civil disobedience (ie lawbreaking) is an appropriate or proportionate response to the banning of hunting with hounds.

  3. Robin Avatar
    Robin

    > Robin – we are in the process of removing the 30 year lower age limit for bishops this year.

    Is this to remedy the understandable confusion potentially caused among electors by your being eminently ‘episcopabile’ while you still look as if you’re well under 30?

  4. kelvin Avatar

    I’m ridiculously flattered on all counts. But no – I’m 42.

    Lower age limits are being removed from ordination canons because of the risk of it being seen as age discrimination.

    (Well, actually, because it was clear age discrimination).

  5. Robin Avatar
    Robin

    > But no – I’m 42.

    So you *are* the answer to the riddle of the Universe!

    I’d have imagined there would have been an exemption for such things. An 18yo Bishop would be a bit ridiculous, to say nothing of the risk of being stuck with her/him if she/he proved a bad choice. However, I don’t expect it will make any practical difference. Even under the existing Canon, did we ever have a Bishop as young as 30? The youngest I can think of was my own mentor, Bishop George Sessford, who was 42 when he was consecrated . . .

  6. Robin Avatar
    Robin

    I meant to write,

    “being stuck with her/him for half a century if….”

  7. David Bayne Avatar
    David Bayne

    “Annabelle, our Bishop” has a certain something, don’t you think?

    The age restrictions on Ordination that we are in process of removing did have a point. They were introduced across most post-Reformation denominations (I’m not sure about the RCC) to prevent beardless youths being presented to (with!) prosperous and influential livings by well-connected parents. My favourite Scottish example is Alexander Stewart, the illegitimate son of James IV who was made Archbishop of St. Andrews in 1504 at the age of 14 – or, possibly, 11. The archdiocese didn’t have to cope with a half-century episcopate, though: he died fighting beside his father at Flodden.

    Being of a slightly earlier vintage than The Provost, it’s the moving of the upper limit that has me exercised. Combined with the hole in the pension fund, it hints at a return to “ad vitam aut culpam” By the time people are worried about me having done 50 years in CD, I’ll be 97………..

  8. Andrew Avatar
    Andrew

    I think that it is nearer to the mark to describe ‘The Scottish Field’ (or was when we lived in Bromley and it was the most exciting post of the month) as ‘Unionist’
    The Editor in the 1950’s lived about 2 miles away in South London so The Scottish Field kept us in touch with Jimmy Shand, John Buchan, The Edinburgh Tattoo and The Fortingall Yew Tree. And those sherry party photographs to commemorate Law Firm anniversaries. We couldn’t recognise anyone but they looked nicer than the people who came to our own parties. So we grew in ignorance monthly as we happily anticipated another 3 weeks in Pitlochry.
    However in 2009, Old SF’s appearing in Room 1 must herald the employment of a dentist in Forbes House, or a gentle reminder of ‘The Homecoming’. I believe they provide the ‘Peoples Friend’ at 121 George Street, but I could be wrong.

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