• Sermon preached on 15 July 2018 (Pride Weekend)


    Is this the word of the Lord?

    Is this the gospel?

    “What should I ask for” said Herodias.

    “The head of the Baptist” said her mother.

    And it was so.

    And where is the good news in any of that?

    It is one of the worst, most barbaric and miserable stories in all of scripture.

    Herodias whom we know by the name of Salome in popular culture danced before the tyrant and demanded the head of the one who had stood up to Herod as he rode roughshod over the law.

    (David on the other hand, danced through the streets for joy in the first reading and distributed food for everyone – but we’ll get to him later).

    What about Salome? Why do we read this sorry and sordid tale?

    This is not some saucy burlesque after all but a dance of death.

    Where is the good news to be found?

    This story comes around quite a lot – we get rather a lot about the Baptist in the lectionary. We get this story on this Sunday and we also get it for the day we remember John the Baptist’s death too.

    This is not a story which ends with all the boys being brought safely from the dark and frightening cave. It is the story that ends with John’s state sponsored arbitrary execution.

    Every time I read it, someone asks why.

    If I’m honest, I sometimes feel the same when I am reading it too.

    People will know that I rather like the theatre.

    Going to the theatre is what I do when I have time off.

    I am apt to get myself to places where there are lots of shows on and just book things that I fancy on the off chance that they might be that great night out that you will remember forever.

    (Which is how I once booked myself tickets for the Tempest and spent the first few lines thinking that I didn’t remember the sailors in the storm being Russian sailors and got a full five minutes into what is, to say the least a long and complex night out before realising that the whole thing was going to be in Russian).

    And I did the same with a production by a famous theatre producer of a play by the famously witty Oscar Wilde and glued to my seat in horror when I realised that Salome, the title of the play was not the story of some saucy socialite but just a retelling of the horror story that I’ve just read from the bible.

    To put it bluntly – there are no jokes here.

    But when people ask why we read it in church my answer is always the same.

    We read it because it is true. We read it because brothers and sisters are suffering. We read it because John the Baptists who stand up to power still end up in prison cells. We read it because conniving plotters like Herodias and her ma still send good people to needless and pointless deaths. We read it because people still suffer under Herods.

    We read it in short because tyrants still exist. And it is fear of similar tyranny that brought people out onto George Square in protest on Friday evening.

    We stories like this it because notwithstanding the good news that Jesus came to share, he came to share good news so that we could share it with those who need it most.

    We read it because it is true. And we’ll keep on reading it until it is true no more.

    For standing up to abuses of power is surely a part of who we are and what we do.

    Yesterday, I stood for hours, literally hours, in Kelvingrove Park listening to people talk about their experiences of faith and of the church.

    It is a shock for people to see someone in a dog collar at a Pride celebration (or an anti-Trump protest come to that) and dozens of people wanted to chat.

    And I spoke to people who wanted to change the world like John the Baptist and speak truth to power – not least yesterday, those leading the campaign for Inclusive Education in Scotland – their time has come.

    Scotland’s children need them to win what they asking for.

    And over the last 28 hours, I’ve spoken to people who were dressed a little differently to most of you here this morning. People who, like John the Baptist like to dress in things that wouldn’t look so respectable in Byers Road. There were not so many hair shirts on display yesterday but there were one of two leather girdles a bit like John used to wear.

    But my predominant memory is of speaking to one John the Baptist after another who are trapped in caves of despair. And who think that the church is the evil empire and that Herod is in fact one of us – for people who look like me look all too much like the oppressor to them.

    A particular memory of yesterday is of speaking to dozens of heart-broken Roman Catholics who feel lost and abandoned by their faith.

    We never talk about that kind of thing in ecumenical conversations, which is why so many ecumenical conversations are so utterly futile and why the ecumenical age is all but over.

    There will be no new ecumenical spring until we can talk about the difficult things like heartbroken Roman Catholics at Pride and about the way our streets in the summer are taken over by those claiming to be protestants banging drums of hatred.

    There was different drumming on our streets yesterday.

    The Scottish Episcopalians at Pride were just in front of the Co-Op brass band who encouraged us around town and up Blythswood Hill to a small selection of well-known disco hits.

    As the road became steep they broke out into Abba songs of years ago.

    “Do I look like a Dancing Queen?” I wondered as they blasted it out behind us before deciding that I probably did and that the only way to keep going was to shimmy.

    Which brings us to David dancing for joy before the Ark of the Covenant.

    The murder of the Baptist by Herod with the connivance of Herodias and her wicked mother is one of my least favourite readings in the bible. But we read it because it is true.

    The story of David dancing through the city in a linen kilt to the scandal of those who thought they knew better including his wife, is one of my absolute favourites.

    We read that story because it is true too.

    We dance when we’re in love.

    We dance because we are happy and full of joy.

    And we dance because God is good.

    David dances as though no-one is watching, even when he knows they are.

    And if ever there was an example from scripture to emulate, I want to dance like David before the Lord.

    The things we read in scripture are true – all of them. The horrors as well as the loves.

    The Lord gives us choices.

    To walk the way of the tyrant. Or to protest and shout for justice from the earth.

    To dance the dance of death with Herodias. Or to dance the dance of life with David.

    Choose life – and all the earth will be fed.

    Choose life – and dance through the streets for joy like no-one is watching.

    Choose life – for what other choice is worth making.

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

18 responses to “Whither the Chrism Mass?”

  1. Fr Keith Avatar
    Fr Keith

    I attended at St Paul ‘s Cathedral, London yesterday, after a gap of three years (when I’d been serving for Holy Week in the Diocese of Argyll and The Isles) – it was a moving service, though I’m now wondering whether that was as much for the opportunity to catch up with colleagues and worship with such a huge number of fellow clergy as for anything else. In Argyll and The Isles we do indeed celebrate the Chrism Mass in the context of the diocesan synod (as we did last month) – in fact, it’s at that Mass that the synod is constituted. It would be hugely impractical to get folk together on Maundy Thursday (easier and quicker for me to get to Oban from London than from Stornoway), and it does make more sense, it seems to me, to do such things (the blessing of oils, the re-commitment to one’s ministry) when gathered together with one’s bishop in synod.

  2. Andrew Dotchin Avatar
    Andrew Dotchin

    Suffolk unites Oils and Renewal of Commitment Ministry and includes prayer for healing with anointing and the Laying on of hands. Very powerful as we corporately recognise our vulnerability. Maundg Thursday works for us (for me) as it means we do not somehow fall into the Evening Service having run around doing the usual business of funerals and pastoral work. The year we had the Royal Maundy the Chrisma Mass was moved to Tuesday and it just did I not fit. A meal afterwards is also very important. The cathedral now offers a free bag meal to everyone but many do wander off to a local pub. For me it is the day when I, the only paid cleric in a team of six pay for the meal as my personal thanks for their service. Spouses and partners are also an important part of our way of doing things as their is a strong recognition that vocations are shared and supported within our own families

  3. Peter Avatar
    Peter

    Okay it’s hard for me to assume you are either Catholic or Anglican. I’ll assume you’re the former, like myself. I just returned from Chrism mass. It’ll be my last. Apart from the bishop facing the people ( which I detest as I believe unequivocally in ad orientem worship at mass) the crowds at this mass seem to give this liturgy a theatre like star studded atmosphere as they peer and talk among themselves about the identity of over 400 priests to choose from all straining and trying to verbally identify. Because priests are huddled in our cathedral in the center of the church, people who aren’t liturgically literate begin to recite those parts of the mass strictly reserved for priest e.g the consecration because the huge concelebration throws them off and they are following along in huge special programs. Then there is the “ communion pandemonium “ with clergy trying to speed things up by disrupting the flow of communion by suddenly giving it out at the rear of the church! And the overall sense of “ celebration” vs “ worship” due to so many addresses and welcomings that people feel free to simply talk rather than prayerfully follow along. Add to this the uncharitable crowds that jostle for a seat and squeeze an already packed pew beyond its capacity. Heaven help you if you need a washroom break and find out your seat was taken by one of these hustlers! ( as happened to me). If I had it my way, the old 1962 Latin liturgy would be restored. The one positive thing was that here in Canada tge chrism mass is not in Holy Thursday but either the Monday or Tuesday of Holy Week.

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      Many thanks for illustrating my point so clearly.

  4. Malcolm Avatar
    Malcolm

    Out of curiosity, what liturgy is used for the Chrism Mass in the SEC? I don’t see an appropriate liturgy in Lent, Holy Week and Easter 2024, do cathedrals/dioceses just make the service up on the spot or am I missing something?

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      There is no authorised liturgy for a Chrism Mass in Scotland.

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