• Easter Sermon 2022

    https://youtu.be/738ChTRb61I?t=2104

    Years ago I remember going on holiday. It was my kind of travel – ferries and trains and buses and then a sailing trip with friends who used to take me despite and not because of my sailing abilities.

    And there was this one morning that I remember. Will always remember. I’d managed to get myself off the boat without much incident. And rowed ashore and went for a walk in the first light of the day.

    And on the walk I heard something. A tiny bird singing. And not just singing but singing its heart out. Trilling its way up and down in a way that even the best singers could only dream of.

    I caught sight of it. And I recognised it. I knew what it was immediately. It was a tiny little wren singing in the morning air.

    And it was one of those special, perfect holiday moments. The kind of thing you never forget.

    And I felt particularly blessed. It was so rare to see a wren and hear it sing. And it sang just for me.

    What a journey it had been to get to hear it. Travelling right across the country. Sailing and paddling my way across the sea. I had come a long way. And it was all worth it for the rare sound of the wren in the morning air.

    It felt like a very special moment.

    Fast forward a few years.

    And lockdown came along.

    And with the first lockdown the instruction to go out and walk every day for half an hour. And I did.

    The world was still. The roads silent. The traffic gone.

    And I got three hundred yards from my front door. Nearer to where I live than we are now.

    And I heard a sound. Familiar.

    Imagine that. I’d heard it once on holiday. So many miles away.

    Well what do you know, I said. Three hundred yards from my front door.

    And I listened and then went on. Another couple of hundred yards. And another tiny bird was singing.

    And then another and then from across the canal, another.

    The lockdowns were long. The pandemic has been long and it isn’t over yet. I think we’ve seen enormous generosity sometimes. And enormous selfishness at others.

    All of human life was changed, but all of human life was there, the best of life and the worst.

    For the last two Easters we have been telling one another the stories of Easter in ways that we never expected to have to do.

    And it was good to do so. But I longed, oh how I longed to be able to bring people together do tell them again in this place.

    For Holy Week matters to me.

    For the stories of Holy Week are our stories of today. Always. All human life is here.

    In Holy Week we encounter the worst of human behaviour.

    A week in which we hear of bitter betrayal by Jesus.

    Violence whipped up by unscrupulous leaders.

    Pilate literally washing his hands to try to pin the blame for the crucifixion on others.

    And a broken man buried with no ceremony, and no proper funeral whilst others celebrated a feast.

    We do not need to look far to see the passion played out in our midst.

    The violence being experienced by Ukraine at the hands of Putin is a real-life crucifixion story.

    The agony of those of us who experienced heart numbingly difficult funerals whilst others partied in Downing Street is a bitter passion tale.

    The suggestion that we should send those seeking refuge in this country on a one-way ticket to Rwanda is a bitter betrayal. A betrayal of this country’s international commitments. A betrayal of those in desperate need. Not one passion story but thousands of stories of people betrayed by those who should offer friendship, fairness and common decency.

    The government’s proposal to export the neediest and the most desperate to a land far away for “processing” is immoral, shameless and obscene.

    I say to the government today – You can’t outsource compassion. We are better than this.

    Seldom was resurrection hope, the message of Easter Day more needed than today.

    But Christians do not simply wring their hands on Easter Day.

    On Easter Day, we proclaim that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.

    And it isn’t just that if that is possible for Jesus then it could happen to us. The Christian believe is that if that happened to Jesus then it will happen for us.

    It isn’t just our believe that if Jesus gets new life then the world might get new life. It is our conviction that it will! And that it does.

    We believe that death and betrayal, corruption and selfishness, bitterness and anger, violence and destruction… these things will never have the last word.

    These are not things to live by.

    Jesus Christ is risen from the dead and with his rising comes the news that the world is changed.

    We have known love so many times by the pain it has caused us during the pandemic. The pain of separation. The pain of death. The pain of not being able to comfort one another.

    Love is deep within us. And sometimes it hurts.

    But love is the root of God’s mission to the world. Love that will not let us go.

    It was love that brought Jesus into the world. And it is love that reaches into the very depths of hell to haul him out and us with him.

    And it is love that causes us to encounter the world through the resurrection of Christ. Love that tells us to proclaim that new life has come; that death is not the end.

    It is love, love buried deep, deep, deep within us that tells us to hope for, work for and believe in a world where pain and suffering will be gone. Where the tears will be wiped away from every eye.

    Where we will encounter love and hope and joy in every human life so that everyone who lives and breathes on earth may be able to hear that every bird is singing.

    Something happens at Easter which breaks the pattern of sin and death for good.

    And I tell you that it has happened this day.

    For if Christ were not risen from the dead, we would not be gathered here.

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

    Media reports

    Priti Patel’s Rwanda plan ‘immoral, shameless and obscene’, says Glasgow cathedral provost – Scotsman

    Sending asylum seekers to Rwanda a bitter betrayal, says senior church leader – The Times

    Boris Johnson attacked by Glasgow priest over Rwanda scheme and partygate – The National

    Radio Scotland interview with Lucy Whyte – Good Morning Scotland 18 April 2022

9 responses to “Who we are”

  1. Susan Sheppard Hedges Avatar
    Susan Sheppard Hedges

    I have a question… What were the genders of these two persons?

    1. kelvin Avatar

      Person 1 was male. Person 2 was female.

  2. Suz Cate Avatar
    Suz Cate

    I arrived here in June, after graduating from the fine institution where you are visiting now and my subsequent ordination as transitional deacon. When I am ordained to the priesthood in December, I will be the first woman to serve as priest at St. James. I have sensed a growing excitement, especially among the women here, about the ministry of a woman priest–not unlike the the frisson expressed in the visitor’s statement: “Really? Wow! All this, and divorce and women priests.” We are figuring out together what difference it makes who we are, and on most days it is exciting!

  3. Calum Avatar
    Calum

    I think the exchange is completely adorable. But also bang-on accurate. The Piskies are indeed “the ones with woman priests” – it’s not a bad moniker to be known by, is it? Although progress is still to be made in certain parts, I think it’s positive that that might be how some people identify and distinguish Episcopalians.

  4. Tracey Avatar
    Tracey

    The first time I attended an Episcopal church (in California), and they invited me to a picnic afterward on the church grounds. I agreed to stay on, but was kind of dreading it… and then I saw the ice chests full of cans of lager. So yeah, I have to admit that it was at first beer and later, divorce (both of which had caused me to become ostracised from my family) and women priests (i’d been brought up in a fundamentalist church where women were to keep silent in church) that made me become really interested in finding my way into this wonderful, welcoming, non-judgemental, and inclusive group where hell-fire and brimstone and damnation and punishment were never a part of the lovely, uplifting and inspiring sermons.

  5. Nädine Daniel Avatar

    Well in one way, the lack of awareness is pretty depressing, but the willingness to give the Cathedral a try would be encouraging, where it not for the perception that divorce made a denomination more acceptable. Frankly I don’t care what brings someone into a Church, any Church; just so long as we make them want to stay and discover the love of Christ once they get there.

  6. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
    Rosemary Hannah

    I come to this from another angle – a liberal church background. It does not come to me as a surprise to hear women preach, teach and lead. I rejoice in it but the equality of women is no news to me

    Divorce – well, to me it is never more than an admission of failure. Not something to be celebrated and welcomed, but a sad admission that things which started so very happily and hopefully and with such love, have ended in heartbreak. That my sometime husband left me for another woman in the church came pretty close to breaking my heart, and was one of those knife-edge things. A thing where either there will be just damage and misery and loss, or one day a resurrection, and you do not know which. That for me the balance finally tipped to life does not mean that divorce is something I want to rejoice in as I do in the ministry of women.
    That God can turn evil to good is a blessing. It does not do however to continue in evil that He gets a better opportunity at such transformations. I would a jolly sight rather we were known for work for social justice, for respect for the environment, and for really positive things.

    Beauty however – whether sound or image or architecture or the spoken word – yes I love us to be known for that and I rejoice in it.

    1. kelvin Avatar

      I suspect that what we may really talking about here is not actually divorce, but the question of whether divorce and remarriage bars one from communion.

  7. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
    Rosemary Hannah

    Recently our Government had the stunning idea that ‘victims’ ought to be choosing the sentences of those who had offended against them. This is my idea of a utter nightmare – to have not merely the need to undertake one’s own recovery, for which one is of course responsible, but to then have to undertake some responsibility for the rehabilitation of those who have offended one strikes me as a bridge too far. I could never ask that somebody is turned away from communion because of an offence against me, and therefore I cannot ask that they are turned away because of a sin against others. I don’t really believe in that kind of God.

    Yet there is a problem. Of all the bad moments I had over the divorce, one of the very worst was the moment I walked alone into church and saw in a prominent pew my husband, who had left but from whom I was not yet legally separated, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his new partner. I ended in the nearest pew on my knees, helplessly sobbing, unable to hide my distress. That should not happen to anybody and it should not be up to the ‘victims’ (however much we espouse a doctrine of equal blame for marriage failure) to protect themselves from such a thing.

    I took communion every week with the lady with whom my husband now lived, and every week I had to forgive her anew in order to offer the Peace and forgive her. It was, to put it mildly, a big ask. That, to me, is the essential reality of divorce, and I really, really, really do have the right to say that we may have divorce and we may have to live with it, but the reality of it is pain and hard hard work. I find no ‘Wow!’ anywhere in it. It was hard and bitter punishment for all the stupid things I had managed to do in 30 years of marriage.

    There is always a cost to be borne for such things. We believe in forgiveness and fresh starts, and I must suppose the ‘Wow!’ is for that – but such things are costly. I believe they are always costly for God, and most usually they are costly for humans too. I don’t want humans judged, but – but where the joy of person A is bought at the price of the pain of person B we need to tread exceedingly circumspectly.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Previous Posts

  • Making Scotland’s Sex Trade Safer

    The recent death of Cynthia Payne provides a helpful reminder of the two-faced attitude to prostitution that we often hold. Ms Payne managed to cultivate a populist and almost comic Carry on Whoring image. She invited the great and the good to her home in Streatham and offered sandwiches and “services” merely in exchange for…

  • This ain’t persecution

    Getting a religious ad “banned” by a company that doesn’t show religious advertisements is evidence not of religious persecution but of the idiocy of the Church of England’s press office. We should be thanking God that religious (and political) ads are banned in cinemas.

  • Wars and rumours of wars

    The message coming from France is reasonably predicatable – France is at war. However, I am unconvinced that states can win a war against ideas. Although Isis is very much a real body of people intent on doing harm through wicked acts, Isis is not so much a group of people as a group of…

  • For Baghdad, for Beiruit, for Paris

    On the day of the 9/11 attacks, I was in Paris. At just about the time of the 9/11 attacks I was in the Louvre, looking at this icon. I had specifically flown there to see it on a very short overnight stay in the first madness of cheap Ryanair flights when you could just…