• 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.

9 responses to “Biobank – an ethical question”

  1. Rev Ruth Avatar

    I’ve been asked too. And I got so excited – you know how I love all things medical. My mind had already raced off into the realms of them finding that I had some mysterious disease… But now that you put it like that, I guess I’d better give it some more thought.

  2. Raspberry Rabbit Avatar

    I haven’t been asked. Radical foreign clerics must not be on the list.

    I’d be hesitant to do it anyway. Too much information is being stored about us in anticipation of the day when it might prove useful. Best to keep your head down.

    RR

  3. Tim Avatar

    Eeek. I saw the phrase “Do you want to do something good today? Not just for yourself, but for our children and our children’s children?” near the top of the page and instantly the thought occurred, “what’s the potential cost? Where are the privacy controls?” Not as though anyone’s asked me anyway, but that sort of thing worries me from the outset too.

    A little more investigation shows http://www.ukbiobank.ac.uk/faqs/confidentiality.php , particularly #5 etc; it seems too vague, just a gloss to placate the masses. I don’t want `computers unconnected to the internet’; I’d want a guarantee that they never will be, that no floppy disks or other methods will result in data coming off them, and that they’re well secured in a bunker somewhere.

  4. chris Avatar

    We’re involved. My sister-in-law first; she asked my husband; we discussed it and decided the potential for knowledge and research into – for example – the hereditary factor in clinical depression – made it something we wanted to do. Our sons have also expressed a willingness to participate. I personally don’t care about what happens to my DNA (other than its continuation in my family!) and if some good can come out of it then that’s just fine. I trust scientists every bit as much (or as little) as I trust anyone else.

  5. asphodeline Avatar
    asphodeline

    Have you seen Heroes???? Sounds like a sneaky plot to find more 🙂

  6. kelvin Avatar
    kelvin

    I have not seen Heroes. Is it about eugenics?

  7. asphodeline Avatar
    asphodeline

    Ah. It has a hint of eugenics. Part of the plotline involves some form of research into the DNA of people with supernatural powers!

  8. kelvin Avatar
    kelvin

    Ah, I see why you associated it with me.

  9. Andrew Avatar
    Andrew

    My wife I also each received one of the so called invitations today, my first reaction was anger over the wording of the invitation which by telling me I have a “provisional appointment” assuming I am gullible enough to fall for the use of false authority syndrome.

    I am really concerned a lot of less literate people will not fully understand the “invitation” and assume it something they have to do.

    What really makes my blood boil is the that even if you don’t want to take part you have to reply to get your name removed from the records, this raises real civil liberties issues.

    The thing is if I had been asked to participate in I a nice way I would have been very keen to do so, however the whole tone of the letter stinks of authoritarianism and reminds me of the kind of thing the Nazis were doing in the mid 1930s.

    If you get one of these invitation say no and tell them why — or better still rip it up.

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