In the name of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I was at a clergy conference some years ago down in England. At the end of the evening meal one evening, someone suddenly said, “what is the most stupid prayer you ever heard”.
And I have to say that there then followed a very funny half hour as the various clergy from all different kinds of churches put their bids in for the most stupid prayer that they had ever heard.
The winner was – “And Lord, we pray for Beirut… which is in the Lebanon”
And perhaps inevitably, and perhaps more uncomfortably for clergy, the evening went on to a further discussion when someone asked – what is the most stupid sermon you ever heard?
I wonder how you would answer.
I can think of a number of contenders. Very high on my list is a sermon that I heard whilst on holiday some years ago when the preacher began with the words, “In this sermon, I want to explore the question of whether there is resurrection on the moon”.
It didn’t get better than that. The preacher argued amongst himself about whether or not there was resurrection on the moon. And then ended with the words, “…there is of course so much to say that it is impossible to answer this in one sermon, so think of this as part 1. I’ll come back with a definitive answer next week. Amen”.
I never heard the second sermon.
I still don’t know the answer.
I still don’t know whether there will be resurrection on the moon.
And I never really knew what that question meant in the first place.
Which maybe brings us to the Sadducees and the story they brought to Jesus.
Now, one of the extraordinary things about Jesus is the stories that he told.
In just a few lines of text, he left behind him stories which still have resonance with the world today. Some stories which seem perplexing, many which are enlightening. The parables. The prodigal child. The good Samaritan.
They are phenomenal stories which still have the capacity to stop us in our tracks.
And a lot of the gospel readings that we get in church are Jesus telling a story and sometimes we get to hear of those around him talking about the story.
In this Sunday’s story, that dynamic is turned on its head.
Other people tell Jesus a story and ask him to interpret it.
The Sadducees spun him a yarn and asked him to interpret it as a bit of a test.
I’m not sure that we know that much about the Sadducees other than that they were a religious group that didn’t accept that resurrection happened. And in telling their story they are setting Jesus a test. Was he one of them or one of their enemies?
There was this woman who married her man and then he died before they’d had children.
So his brother married her. And he died.
And the next brother married her. And he died.
And his brother married her. And he died.
And the next brother married her. And he died.
And his brother married her. And he died.
And the last brother married her. And he died.
And then she died.
Presumably exhausted.
Whose wife will she be in the resurrection they say.
(They were being sarcastic remember – they didn’t believe in the resurrection anyway).
How would you answer them.
You might have something to say about this woman being treated as the property of a bunch of men.
Patriarchy is strong in this one!
I think if I’d been Jesus I’d have been tempted to roll my eyes and just say, “Well they are all deid anyway. What does it matter.”
And in a way, he does kind of say that. But he does affirm that he believes in a resurrection – but seems pretty clear that his view was that human ordinances are for our earthly existence. And that our being with God will so dominate our heavenly existence that such questions simply die away.
It is a bit like asking whether there is resurrection on the moon.
The idea of resurrection isn’t about sorting out who is whose husband. We have this life to do that – if that is what we are looking for. Some of us doing rather better at it than others.
It is the case that now as then, there are religious people who manage to worship together who have different views about what will happen when we die.
Right at the focal point of this building is a piece of art which clearly addresses what some people were feeling. The reredos behind the High Altar is our Second World War memorial. And the painting on it puts three women at the tomb looking for a body and an angel with rainbow wings is very clearly saying – he is not here he is risen.
It isn’t difficult to see why those who had experienced war at first hand and who were themselves mourning those who never came back wanted to place such an image centre stage in a church such as this one.
They had been to hell and back.
An experience that is not confined to war.
The reading from the second letter to the Thessalonians that we have this morning is the first of several that we get as we approach the end of the church year in a couple of weeks time.
The world for the author of 2 Thessalonians is falling apart. Lawlessness is rife and deception is all around. If feels as though the end times are just around the corner.
I’ve often thought that this world view felt far away. But not so much at the moment.
The author tells their audience to continue to give thanks, stand firm to the traditions they have learned and feel the real comfort of God’s love and grace.
That comfort is not described as being transitory, nor even long lasting. It is described as being eternal.
As all seems to be falling apart the author says, the God who loves us gives us grace and good hope.
Not a stupid sermon.
The only sermon worth hearing.
Grace. Love. Hope.
For ever.
23 responses to “What if this is the end of the Eucharist?”
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Just noticing here that DGD (of happy memory) seems to have left out of his catalogue of joyous, sad, perilous, and solemn occasions any instance of celebrating during a plague or pestilence. I’m not worried about the mass. The eucharist need not be celebrated as though it were a car battery, as if not offering it now would somehow allow the power to run down. It is not at risk, we are, which I think is your point. The questions asked are worth asking, of course.
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Mo Nicholson. This is an intriguing discussion and what I would like to add to it is the observation that I have had to learn the hard way that participation in the Eucharist being made impossible in no way diminishes an individual’s ability to worship God or be in fellowship with other believers. I am barred from receiving Holy Communion in the Catholic church because allergies make this impossible for me. The pain induced by this has little to do with feeling separation from God, in fact nothing at all as I do not feel that. It comes from feeling excluded from the community, different sections if which regard it as desirable or tolerable that a member of the community should be excluded in this way. This experience has made me understand as never before that if we place prime value on liturgical celebrations, ir indeed anything else, above charity, compassion, welcome and inclusivity, in other words love, then we have become the sounding gong which St Paul warned against. If we truly believe that God is love, as I do, then it is obvious that it is love for one another which makes us true children of God our Father, and in light of this we could begin to look at these present challenging circumstances as simply an opportunity to love more, to reach out to one another in whatever way possible in the knowledge that this is what actually matters and always did. Only perhaps we were tempted to almost make a fetish of our rituals, sacraments and so on. And perhaps this can show us a better way more adapted to the world we are supposed to serve.
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You and your conversation with Dave Roberts prompted me to write this. Does it resonate for you?
https://astonishing.community/2020/05/06/conversations-in-coronatide/
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Thanks Lynsay – yes, it does resonate with me very much.
I’ve shared it on facebook. I think it is really helpful.
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Thanks again for such a thoughtful piece. With the Eucharist central to much of, at least Anglican/Episcopalian, worship in recent generations, we perhaps forget that the Church in these islands was, between the Reformation and the liturgical revivals of the 19th and 20th centuries, sustained by Mattins and Evensong as the regular diet of worship on Sundays. I’m not advocating a return to such times, but there is, as you suggest, work to be done on non-Eucharistic worship (though not defining it as a negative). Thanks again.
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For the record, I’m not in favour of lay presidency at the Eucharist. I believe, for better or worse, in an ordered church.
Why are you concerned about lay Presidency?
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May I say respectfully, lighten up. Many Anglicans/Episcopalians lived on the edges of civilization in the nascent U.S. and various elements of the British Empire. Priests to celebrate the Holy Eucharist and to baptize were seldom seen, at most twice a year in many areas. (Bishops, only every several years.) The Church carried on in this manner decade after decade. If circumstances require, the Church will carry on again despite our profound sense of loss.
I should add, to those who grew up under threat or reality of war, persecution, oppression, famine, other disease, etc, the present difficulty is not unfamiliar in many respects.
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Thank you! It is wonderful to read these serious, personal thoughts about the Eucharist. My feeling is that it has become celebrated to the point of boredom. Church, and what we do in it, is in danger of becoming simply a habit. It could just as well be crackerjack for a fast-asleep congregation. My heresy is that the direction Jesus gave is to “do this in remembrance of me”, and that means everything we eat at any time, whether alone or with others, in thanksgiving. If that is seriously done, it has vastly more meaning. It really gets ones attention and requires preparation. Would not become popular or usual, I predict!
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