• Sermon preached on 9 December 2018 – People Look East!

    [Apologies for the poor audio in the video this week]

    “People Look East!” the prophet Baruch commanded in our first reading. And he wasn’t talking about Edinburgh.

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

    “Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
    look towards the east” says Baruch, echoed rather brilliantly in the Advent Carol that the choir will be singing at communion this morning.

    People look East. But what is so special about the East?

    The truth is, at different times and in different places, people seem to allow tradition to hang on various points of the compass.

    When I was a newly ordained priest, I worked in our cathedral in Perth and in those days, you proclaimed the gospel in a particular way.

    We make much of the fact that the gospel is proclaimed right amongst the people here. The idea is that the gospel book is brought right amongst people as we remember that Jesus himself came amongst us and shared our tears and laughter and humanity whilst sharing the stories and chatter and love of heaven with us.

    God’s coming amongst us is enacted ever time we raise the gospel book and carry it amongst the people and read it there.

    Oh, but not when  I was a curate in Perth. Yes, sure enough we processed the gospel to the middle of the church and everyone turned and looked at it. But whoever was reading it took a curious right turn when they got there and very definitely proclaimed it in a certain direction.

    The gospel in Perth was proclaimed to the North – a lingering liturgical tradition that was common in Scotland and the Nordic countries at some times. You proclaimed the gospel to the North because it was the North that needed it. The place where all the cold came from and in so many northern myths, where all the ghosts and Ghoulies came from.

    In some parts of Scandinavia they don’t have windows on the North side of a church in order to keep the cold and the Ghoulies firmly at bay.

    So every time I read the gospel in my curacy, I did that right turn, and proclaimed the gospel to the North.

    It was a rather picturesque liturgical tradition, even if it did seem to make is appear that the devil lived in Pitlochry.

    Just a few months before going to Perth, I found myself in the desert in Egypt, exploring the spirituality of the desert fathers – monks who still live there.

    (It is amazing the amount of effort and creativity Scottish ordinands at that time were putting into not being in Edinburgh where they were supposed to be training for ordination, but that’s another story).

    Anyway, I was in the desert and the most extraordinary storm blew up. A sandstorm you could see coming towards you right across the horizon.

    And it brought terror not only to those I was staying with in the Wadi Natrun monasteries but terror on the streets of Cairo. Was it the ferocity of the storm that caused the terror? Well, partly – it was the kind of storm you might wait 50 years for and hugely destructive.

    But the terror was caused by its direction. The tradition in that part of the world is that Armageddon, the war that ends all things will come from the South. And that storm came very much from the South.

    People look East, Baruch says.

    Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
    look towards the east,

    and see your children gathered from west and east
    at the word of the Holy One,
    rejoicing that God has remembered them.

    So who is Baruch and what’s this all about.

    My suspicion is that not that many people would be able to easily find the book of Baruch, never mind be able to say much about who Baruch was.

    Well, we know Baruch’s words already. He was Jeremiah’s scribe, disciple, devotee and some have even speculated bidie-in.

    He travelled with Jeremiah into exile and it was he who preserved the prophet’s words and popularised them.

    So the Book of Baruch – obviously his own prophetic writings, right?

    Well, not so fast. If only early religious writings worked like that.

    No – the book of Baruch is named after him. Someone not so much passing themselves off as him as taking up his tradition.

    So even though these words are not by Baruch himself, they are by someone wanting  us to remember him and Jeremiah being carted off into exile.

    Exile in Babylon.

    Yes, exile in the East.

    Whoever bids us to look to the east is reminding us of those who were carted off to Babylon.

    But is it the remembrance of lament? No.

    Is it the remembrance of bitterness? No.

    Is it the remembrance of hatred and despair? A thousand times no.

    Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
    look towards the east,
    and see your children gathered from west and east
    at the word of the Holy One,
    rejoicing that God has remembered them.
    For they went out from you on foot,
    led away by their enemies;
    but God will bring them back to you,
    carried in glory, as on a royal throne.

    People look East says the Book of Baruch – and see those of the East and of West united in joy.

    And in that joy, this new Baruch remembers all the prophesies of justice from Isaiah that a royal way be made by levelling the ground for all people. High places made plain, valleys lifted up and all the people of God treated as royalty.

    It is the same memory that the Baptist has in the gospel. The valleys being filled and the hills be made low and all flesh seeing salvation.

    The Baptist proposes a baptism of repentance surely necessary.

    Baruch proposes what seems like a baptism of joy. Also necessary.

    The baptism of repentance necessary because things are not right yet and we must commit to turn our lives around in order to turn this world back to rights.

    And being baptised by, drenched by, suffused by joy because the Lord will never forget his exiled people.

    No matter how far we feel from a place of justice and peace and integrity and honesty and goodness and plenty, the Lord calls us back to that place.

    And we return to that singing. And full of joy.

    For God will lead us with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness and love that come from him.

    From the north and from the south, from the east and from the west, we are called to abide together in the kingdom where love is the rule and love the ruler.

    Behold. Behold. In these advent days, know that the kingdom of justice and peace and love and joy is coming soon.

    With a human face.

    Amen.

9 responses to “Turning Up and Being Counted”

  1. Lesley-Ann craddock Avatar
    Lesley-Ann craddock

    Thank you Kelvin
    What a read, I really enjoyed it, all of it. You have touched on the 3 things that I too have been wrestling with.
    Liturgy , turning up to be counted, and being open and real with our peers and counterparts.
    Hmmm I wonder if those aspects of being church in this post pandemic implosion of society will somehow be a catalyst to become braver clergy and have proper discussions about what matters to Gods church in its own context. Can we be diverse and not divided, can we lock into our heritage and yet be able to change too. Can Branson pickle save us. X

  2. Christine McIntosh Avatar
    Christine McIntosh

    Great stuff, Kelvin!

  3. Robert MacDonald Avatar
    Robert MacDonald

    Good points well made. We find some church members, who organise a community lunch on a Wednesday, then regularly say ‘we won’t make it on Sunday’. Seems the wrong way round – attendance on a Sunday should come first.

  4. Peggy Brewer Avatar
    Peggy Brewer

    Reading this made my day and contributes to my celebration of the season! Thank you!

  5. Calum Wyllie Avatar
    Calum Wyllie

    Reading this, I feel like it could have been written about me. I couldn’t have been more deeply involved with my church (felt deeply rooted in the weekly liturgy, sat on the PCC, led on diversity and inclusion, set up online streaming for the first time during lockdown), yet I haven’t been back in two years. There is definitely an element of that link of continuity having been broken, and it’s up to me to make the effort to reforge it again. But the anger is also real, and hard to pin down. When somewhere no longer feels like home, when you feel excluded (even when that person was responsible for leading on inclusion!), how do you find the courage to return? When the link with spirituality feels more present in other places (even when I used to absolutely value liturgy, the Eucharist, the community), how do you find a way forward? Too much thinking, and not enough getting on and doing, perhaps…

  6. Meg Rosenfeld Avatar
    Meg Rosenfeld

    Wow–this article is not only thought-provoking, and, to someone who’s a church-goer, extremely easy to identify with, but also entertaining and therefore all the more memorable. As one whose parish church (in San Francisco’s notorious Haight Ashbury neighborhood) nowadays gets about 15 people in the congregation on a “good” day, I do often wonder whether we’re ever going to bounce back from this expletive-deleted pandemic. Personally, I have no choice: I am, on the aforementioned good day, 50% of the alto section, and on other days, 100% thereof. All you folks out there don’t know what you’re missing–except, of course, those of you who are watching on your home computers.

  7. Father Ron Smith Avatar

    Well said, Kelvin Perhaps we clergy don’t stress enough the fact that the Host at our worship is not the clergy, but the Incarnate Son of God; who empowers us to the extent that we are willing to be empowered for daily life and work. I still think of that lovely phrase “Turn towards HIM and be radiant”. What a thrill!

  8. Kennedy fraser Avatar
    Kennedy fraser

    Yes,I still wonder if we have counted all those spiritual communions

  9. John Davies Avatar
    John Davies

    My church (suburban, evangelical Anglican in Birmingham, UK) took a long time to really recover from the lockdown and subsequent fears, but seems to be close to its pre-shutdown numbers again. What my wife and I noticed was that for quite some time the congregation was largely made up of its elderly members – ie those who are not perhaps so nifty with the electronic gadgetry of our age and, also, those who most wanted company. Younger families took a lot longer to return, but are now coming out of the woodwork again.
    One interesting point is that my old church reported a big increase in deaf people watching their zoom or youtube services, because one of the congregation provided signage at the front. Their new found audience felt greatly enabled to join in when they may otherwise never have done so. Is this something worth thinking more about?

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