What is in Kelvin's Head?

Midnight Mass 2014 Sermon for Glasgow

25/12/2014

Where does the light of Christ most need to shine?

A long time ago on the first holiday that I went on with a friend rather than my parents, I travelled partly by train, partly by boat and partly hitchhiking, to the Orkney Isles. And one of my strongest memories of being there was crawling through the narrow entrance of the great Neolithic Maeshowe cairn. Built probably nearly 5000 years ago, my friend and I sat in the gloom of the interior hearing that the whole edifice was aligned so that the light of the winter solstice sunset would shine down the narrow passageway and perfectly illuminate a stone in the interior.

And of course, it still works. Nowadays people try to capture the same effect and spread it around the world using webcams.

But what were those who built the cairn trying to say?

The truth is, we don’t know. Was the sun itself the focus of what they were doing at midwinter or was the sunlight being caused to shine onto something stuck in some way on that stone?

What did they want the light to shine on?

Sometimes you see guidebooks of Manhattan with pictures taken of the sun setting perfectly behind the skyscrapers as though they had been built for that very purpose.

And Great Western Road itself, outside this cathedral, aligned as it is, works just as well as any stone cairn at predicting the rise and fall of the sun.

Will archaeologists in 5000 years wonder at our devotion in laying out the West End of this city to align with sunrise and sunset?

Will they presume that what we built was aligned to the light?

Will they wonder where we wanted the light to shine?

Where do you want the light to shine this year?

Once again we come to Christmas with a very public tragedy in our minds. Things hard to think about. Things difficult to contemplate.

People do ask me whether it is hard to speak of the love of God when difficult things happen.

Well, it is sometimes hard to find the right word but the truth is, the love of God coming to illuminate the darkest of times is what we always celebrate at Christmas no matter what year we are in and no matter what has happened. The light comes into the world. That is the truth we gather here to proclaim right at the darkest time of year.

It is the truth which made the angels sing. It is the truth which made the heavens ring.

God is come into the world and the fact that we celebrate that at night has always meant a lot to me.

We gather at night to remind ourselves that the light shines in the darkness and that the song of the angels matters – for they sing of peace on earth.

We gather at night to remind ourselves that God’s coming makes a difference and the peace-prayer of the angels is a song we can dare to sing for ourselves.

We gather at night to remind ourselves that nothing is impossible with God, and the song of the angels is the song the world needs to hear.

The song is “peace to God’s people on earth” and it is as catchy as Charpentier’s Noels that we are enjoying tonight.

Where does the light need to shine this year. Do you know?

I know that you do.

You know the hearts and the places and the situations where peace on earth is needed most.

And in gathering here in the night-time, the story of the light coming into the world, the song of peace on earth becomes our story, becomes our song.

That’s why we do this.

God came to Bethlehem to become someone who would weep with those who suffered and walk alongside them in their troubles.

God came to Bethlehem.

God comes to Glasgow.

We know where the light needs to shine. We know places and people who need God’s peace.

Don’t forget that Bethlehem and Glasgow are twin cities.

Tonight as we remember the light of the world arriving in Bethlehem, ask yourself where you want the light of Christ to shine. Who needs to know God’s presence. Who needs to hear the angel’s song of peace.

Whoever it is, remember them in this holy place tonight.

Our gospel reading tonight reminds us that our first sight of Jesus, the babe in the manger was hardly the first time God cared about the world. What began there had a greater beginning – for in the beginning itself was the Word.

God has always loved us. In the stories and songs of Christmas we get to retell and replay in our minds a narrative that also tells us that God already loves us.

Go from this place tonight knowing that God loves you.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

And God came. Light shines. Love is real. And a peaceful world is a birthright and a destiny and a manifesto for everyone who draws breath.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

We know all about darkness. But the light has come. Love is here and love is real. For where there is human life there is love. And where there is love there is God.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. Did not overcome it in Bethlehem. Will not overcome it in Glasgow. Will not overcome it in any place at all. Amen

24 responses to “Good Vicar, Bad Vicar”

Josh

02/01/2014

Being a good vicar to stony, unreceptive hearts might require a pickaxe to reveal gemstones within. It must be tough to minister to jerks and meanies, no? We lose faith in people easily – I certainly do. But a good vicar – a loving parent – doesn’t give on up one’s children.

A good vicar might depend on the eye of the beholder. Whether you believe vicars and congregations are intrinsically good or evil might get you called a Pelagian or an Augustinian depending on who you ask. Faith in the work of a vicar or the reception of the congregation depends on good faith and co-operation – what then do we place our faith in? Hardly Protestant thinking, when faith is dependent on work, manifestation, and epiphany. A bad vicar might be sent to good people. A good vicar might be sent to bad people. Whether a vicar or congregation is subjectively or objectively good is a difficult question to answer.

It is then that I prefer to see both the vicar and congregation not as “good” or “bad” but rather as equally “beloved”. However large the congregation, or even the vicar’s skill shouldn’t matter then. But that raises the question: Who then do we love if we are so beloved by God? Perhaps love might be the answer. A vicar and congregation who sees and knows themselves as equally and lavishly beloved of God will love each other. Love makes congregations meaningful and precious, no matter how small they might be.

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Josh

02/01/2014

And if I might add to my previous comment – And love also makes vicars meaningful and precious, no matter how small the congregation might be.

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Rosemary Hannah

02/01/2014

Yes – things which make the practicalities of small congregations include:
the laity in most senior positions find it hard to see the inclusive love of God and to see the value of prayer and spiritual exercises, a shortage of laity with administrative abilities, a tiny handful of parishioners prepared to insist on unhelpful things all the time (the oldest liturgies every week, the kind of behaviour small children cannot sustain all service long, particular dress in those at church on Sunday to name but a tiny selection). In a larger church these things can be contained (one nasty comment for lady x outweighed by five or six lovely ones or simply finding somebody to be treasurer who can cope with the job). In a small church, however good the vicar, the nasty comment carries more weight, and the sorting out of the finances may take days of clergy effort. It is always hard to get from a tiny congregation to a large one.

That said, I have sat through sermons so mind-numbingly boring and inappropriate that I have actually moved to another church.

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Paul Waddington

04/01/2014

If one looks at the larger picture, the Archbishop’s optimism seems misplaced.

According to the 1851 census, about five million people attended a Church of England service on the census day (a Sunday). The population of England and Wales at the time was about 17 million. These are round figures and I know that there were difficulties with the religious census, but they are good enough to demonstrate my point. Roughly speaking, about 30% of the population attended a CofE that Sunday.

Recently published figures estimate average Sunday attendance at CofE churches at about 900,000. That is about 2% of the population of England. Wales is now excluded.

So taking the long view, the trend is rather depressing for the CofE. Compared with 1851, fourteen out of fifteen no longer attend church regularly.

As an aside, the 1851 census indicated a church attendance for Catholics of about 350,000. That is about 2% of the population. I understand that the current figure is very similar for Mass attendance is also around 900,000 or 2% of the population.

Other recent research has indicated that the age range of CofE congregations is skewed towards the upper end. Certainly in my local parish, it is unusual to see anyone under the age of 60. I do wonder how many there will be in, say, 15 years time.

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1. Kelvin
  
  04/01/2014
  
  Thanks Paul – I find that bishops generally tend to accentuate the positive when it comes to thinking about numbers in church. Whether that is because they only go to events that are comparatively well attended or whether it is actually because it is their job to be upbeat about possibilities is not clear to me.
  
  Reply
Pam

04/01/2014

It is complicated – ‘good’ and ‘bad’ – poor adjectives. The rector is the leader of the congregation and needs support and trust. But, I think, no longer is the vicar held in such esteem as not to have to earn that support and trust. A good thing, mostly. Churches grow for all sorts of reasons – the level of involvement with non-believers, a prominent noticeboard and outstanding bikke and slice-makers all help.

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