Sermon for the 25th of February - Second Sunday of Lent
I remember having conversations with a young lady at Cambridge – she was at Margaret Beaufort House, the RC part of the Cambridge theological federation. I was at Ridley Hall, the more evangelical Anglican college. She was contemplating becoming a nun.
She was such a sociable, interesting and, if I’m allowed to say this, attractive young lady, deep down I felt, what a waste.
My reaction then revealed a lot. Under Henry VIII, of course, many of the monasteries were closed, there land and treasures confiscated. Thomas Cromwell being one of the key leaders of the dissolutions. Since then, the Church of England has had an ambivalent relationship with the monastic life. Although, if there is one particular order that reflects Anglican life, it’s the Benedictine tradition, with its emphasis on stability, place, and hospitality. That very much reflects the parish system we still have.
Since being ordained I have taken an annual retreat, always in RC places, from Worth Abbey to St Beuno’s in North Wales. And after a few days of sharing in silence and prayer, and a rhythm of life that is over a thousand of years old, I come away wondering way Anglicans lack a significant monastic presence today.
Patrick Fermor’s book, A Time to Keep Silence (2007), is a great introduction. A great travel writer, he has been described as “a cross between Indiana Jones, James Bond and Graham Greene.” But he goes deeper than simply travel writing and explores the inner geography of the human heart.
His journeys took him to four monasteries. He found it very challenging, and experienced intense loneliness, depression, and insomnia. But before long, the hospitality of the monks and the rhythm of their liturgical life made a profound impact on this self-described unbeliever. By the end of his memoir, the paradox was complete. Adapting to the monastic life was hard, he says, but returning to the vulgarity of the world was ‘ten times worse’.
In the gospel for this week, Jesus tells his disciples that he must suffer many things, be rejected by the religious establishment, and eventually be killed. Jesus describes the upside down logic or pattern of the gospel.
I don’t blame Peter for trying to dissuade Jesus from the way of suffering and death. Jesus’ harsh rebuked to Peter was meant to shock. Because Jesus embodied like no other person before or after him the mysterious truth that had shocked Fermor in his monastery visits: "Whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and the gospel will save it. What good is it for a person to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?"
If you try to save your life, you’ll lose it.
Like some of the Buddhists Koans and the Sufi poems, many of Jesus’ saying sound paradoxical, confusing, challenging. They don’t give simple, quick answers. But they push you to go deeper and explore your spiritual life.
This is the counter-intuitive way of the Gospel. And that’s the invitation in Lent.
We can explore, for example, how self-sacrifice gives life and how self-indulgence is destructive. Or we might meditate on the paradoxes of the Peace Prayer, that "it is in giving that we receive; It is in pardoning that we are pardoned; It is in self-forgetting that we find; And it is in dying to ourselves that we are born to eternal life."
Last week, Russian Opposition anti-corruption and pro-democracy activist, Alexei Navalny, was, somehow, murdered in prison. He showed incredible courage returning to Russia despite previous murder attempts.
When evil men hunger for power and domination, Christians are called to thirst for righteousness. Navalny’s response was to tell the truth, even to the point of being willing to lay down his life for others. Navalny's stance came directly from his Christian faith. Whilst previously a militant atheist, he affirmed his Christian faith during his during his show trial in 2021.
He claimed that he was especially motivated by the words of Jesus: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied”. A text that also inspired Martin Luther King.
Throughout the centuries, death is the tyrant’s ultimate weapon to terrorise, to force people into silence. But in the upside down world of the Gospel, the promise of resurrection means that God intends to undo whatever the tyrant does. Our Easter faith affirms that the worst of evil is no match for resurrection.
We still remember Rose Parks. And I believe that courageous acts like those taken by Navalny, will reverberate for years to come. Because we know that tyranny and death doesn’t have the last word.
What we need this Lent is courageous hearts that thirsts for righteousness. That’s not a pie in the sky dream or a distant hope. It is a promise we make good with prayers, protests, energy, and efforts to speak the truth, to build the kingdom of God, to prepare the earth for the day when tyrants, terror, and tears are no more.
Reference
What the Monks Know, Dan Clendenin
A Time to Keep Silence, Patrick Fermor