• 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.

24 responses to “Good Vicar, Bad Vicar”

  1. Josh Avatar

    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.

  2. Josh Avatar

    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.

  3. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
    Rosemary Hannah

    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.

  4. Paul Waddington Avatar
    Paul Waddington

    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.

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      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.

  5. Pam Avatar
    Pam

    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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