Immortal Longings, All Saints 2005

Immortal Longings – All Saints

“‘Who are these, robed in white…?’ ‘These are they… who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’” (Rev 7.13f)

‘And what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Every child gets used to that question.

My earliest longings were to be a cowboy - too much Roy Rogers and Lone Ranger!

Then I discovered music and wanted to be a conductor or a famous pianist - and then when I saw it on TV, to be a pianist who conducts from the piano!

And then I longed to be a missionary - my religious phase; and then to be a professor of mathematics - my precocious period.

And the result of all those boyhood dreams? - a Church of England Curate - some might say a combination of all those longings!

It is a part of the human condition to be absorbed by longings and desires. And as we move from childhood to middle age, we fulfil some of those longings, and realise that others are never going to be acjieved.

I know now that I shall never be a bishop by 30.

But we begin also to realise that behind all our desires and longings, there is a deeper longing; at once both inescapable, and unquenchable.

Fergus Kerr, the Regent of Blackfriars, Oxford, has written a fine book with the intriguing title: Immortal Longings (SPCK, 1997).

It looks at the philosophy of Martha Nussbaum, Martin Heidegger, Iris Murdoch... and others, through Barthian spectacles. You will be glad to know that we don’t have time to discuss it this morning.

Suffice it to say, that he examines the various ways in which philosophy has struggled with this universal human longing for transcendence - for the ‘there must be more to life than this’.

In everyday terms, we see it in the realm of beauty and mystery: art, music and the glories of the natural world. There is an inner longing to comprehend their magnificence, which is at times almost painful.

We see it in the realm of love and human intimacy - that too is an immortal longing.

Today’s readings emphasise, in our Lord’s words in the Gospel, that it is the pure in heart who will see God, whose longings will be satisfied. Now this mustn’t be confused on this All Saints day with ‘being good’, never doing anything wrong.

Our texts today makes clear that our robes are dirty – they are made white and clean by the Blood of the Lamb. The Saints are not those who have led blameless lives. They are those who have a pure heart; an attitude of godliness; or as Archbishop Temple put it ‘a passionate aspiration towards the holiness of God’.

Jesus was always concerned with the direction of the heart, the object of our longings. Do we long for God or for self-satisfaction? The Scriptures make clear that everything which stifles immortal longings and turns beauty, mystery, love and sex into objects of their own end, fosters ugliness, bitterness, hatred and violence – and the eclipse of our true selves.

Adam and Eve grasp the object of desire that they might become like gods. Their longing is not for God himself, but to usurp his power. As St Paul describes this human reversal of immortal longings: “claiming to be wise, they became fools and exchanged the glory of the immortal God... and worshipped and served created things rather than the Creator...” (Romans 1.21-25)

Or as Shakespeare puts it in the words of Cleopatra – for Shakespeare struggled with the ambiguity of his own longings: “Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have Immortal longings in me.” (Antony & Cleopatra, V/ii/283)

And all the Saints, known and unknown have had immortal longings.

It was Pope Gregory III (731-741) who consecrated a chapel in the Basilica of St. Peter to all the saints and fixed the anniversary for 1 November. Until then, only martyrs were regarded as worthy of a place in heaven with the Saints. Gregory IV, a century later, (827-844) extended the celebration on 1 November to the entire Church, although the orthodox still keep it on the first Sunday after Pentecost.

And today we keep it, anticipated from Tuesday, to rejoice with all those with a pure heart who now see God – the object of their life’s deepest desire.

But in the question posed at the beginning of our text today: ‘Who are these, robed in white…?’

Well, the theological world has moved on since Gregory IV and we live, we hope, in a more generous Christian church. The Feast of All Souls which we will keep on Wednesday, was instituted to pray for all those Christian ‘commoners’ who hovered in purgatory, never receiving the Beatific vision of the pure in heart, until we, the church militant, had prayed enough for them; given enough alms; and most important, said enough masses.

But if we answer the question, ‘Who are these, robed in white…?’ in a post-reformation and more biblical way, then there is encouragement for us all.

There is Noah, who found favour in the sight of the Lord, and who shortly after landing the ark, was found naked, drunk and unconscious by his children.

There is Rahab the prostitute who helped the Israeli spies in Jericho, and who finds her way into the genealogy of King David and so of Christ.

There is King David himself, who killed 100 philistines to gain one of his wives; who committed adultery and had the woman’s husband killed; who lied and feigned madness to escape from king Abimelech, and who wrote a Psalm about it which we sang today.
The Old and the New Testament record God’s verdict: “This is a man after my own heart.”

There is the common thief who was crucified next to Christ – “today you will be with me in paradise!”

And seeing some of our friends from St Mary’s Bourne Street here today, there is Mildred Steele – a dear companion whose loss we are mourning.

Any of you who have visited St Mary’s would remember her: the 5 foot Hollywood actress with a ten foot personality; married three times – forty years to her last husband; with many Hollywood adventures recorded in the obituaries last week which recalled her MGM sobriquet, 'the pocket Venus'.

But Mildred had a pure heart, and a deep devotion to Christ, and now her colourful clothes, hardly spotless after 94 years, have been washed in the blood of the Lamb. She has joined the great army of saints triumphant, worshipping the Lamb that was slain, who yet lives.

And so let all our immortal longings, our pure hearts, our singleminded devotion, lead us to the immortal God and his overwhelming love and care for us. Then we will join with All the Saints, as we do this day around this table, and rejoice in the Lamb.

“‘Who are these, robed in white…?’ ‘These are they… who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’” (Rev 7.13f)

Thanks - Harvest

Thanks – Harvest

“Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Eph 5.19, 20

Some people are chronically grateful; which can be infuriating for the rest of us. It sometimes makes you want to scream. Ogden Nash points it up beautifully in the last few lines of his poem about a moaning wife with an ever-grateful husband: “The Outcome of Mr MacLeod’s Gratitude”.

So she tired of her husband’s cheery note
And she stuffed a tea tray down his throat.
He remarked from the floor where they found him reclining
“I’m just a MacLeod with a silver lining.”

Harvest Thanksgiving is a day in the Church calendar when we try to regain a proper sense of gratitude to God. Fortunately, we live in a part of the world where we are no longer dependent on good harvests, rain in due season and all the other vicissitudes of nature, ‘cruel in tooth and claw’.

But this gives us an even greater, and in some ways harder responsibility to acknowledge our ultimate dependence upon God for life and breath and, in the words of our text, everything. And from this right sense of gratitude flows praise to God and compassion for others – another traditional theme of harvest-tide.

It is perhaps a symptom of living surrounded by plenty that we rarely say grace before meals these days. It is not only right to give thanks to God, to ask for his blessing, but also, in the words of our Bishop, ‘to enlarge our sympathies and make us mindful of the needs of others.”

Even George Herbert, writing in the 17th Century, in an age vastly more uncomfortable than our own, realises that complacency is setting in. So in his poem 'Gratefulnesse' from The Temple, written in his fortieth and final year:

Thou that hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more--a grateful heart:
Not thankful when it pleaseth me,
As if thy blessings had spare days,
But such a heart whose Pulse may be
Thy Praise.

Why do we find it so difficult to live with that proper Christian attitude of thanks, praise and compassion?

Let’s speculate for a moment on today’s well-known Gospel story: the ten lepers.

You are part of a band of complete outcasts from society, facing an unpleasant death within a short time. Then one day you meet a healer called Jesus. You all shout; you can’t get near, it wouldn’t be allowed. You are told to go and show the Priest you’re better; how ridiculous, how embarrassing – but it’s worth a try, and as you traipse off, expecting nothing, you begin to notice signs of genuine healing. It’s a miracle!

So why did only one come back to say thank-you? What happened to the other nine? A lack of gratitude usually signifies a problem in attitude. So let’s do some guesswork, based on our own observation of humankind.

The first person was the nervous fearful sort; he was scared, completely confused and terrified, not knowing what was going on – he hid.

The second person was offended. She wanted to do something difficult for her healing. God helps them that that help themselves. The simplicity of the miracle offended her.

The third person realised, after the fact, that he did not want to be healed. He’d forgotten how to live, who he was without his leprosy. He’d allowed it to define him. Jesus took away his identity and he wasn’t grateful.

The fourth person, well, here is an easier one to identify with. She forgot. That’s it, nothing more, in all the excitement and joy she just forgot.

The fifth leper was unable to say thank you anymore to anyone. For years he had been shunned by family and friends and forced to beg. By living in constant need, he lost the ability to be grateful, for anything.

The sixth person, had contracted her Leprosy eleven years ago, when her children were toddlers. She had to leave her precious family. So when she was healed, she ran, like a bullet from a gun – she had to see them, she had to know how they were.

The seventh, well the seventh did not believe there was anything to be thankful for. It was entirely a coincidence. There had to be some logical explanation. Perhaps the water in that place. It was nothing to do with Jesus, why say thank you?

The eighth person was quite the opposite. She knew it was Jesus, she’d heard all about him and now she had experienced his healing touch. She couldn’t wait to tell as many people as possible that this really was the Messiah.

The ninth – what of the ninth? I don’t know. There could be so many reasons. Some are a mystery, beyond our imagination. He didn’t, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he forgot, he meant to but got distracted…

There are lots of reasons for not living a life of gratitude to God and others. But as we focus on the tenth leper, we begin to see that it is the transforming love of Jesus which is at the heart of our gratitude; the pulse of our praise.

The tenth was a Samaritan, despised by the Jews. His religion was a version of Judaism but ‘not pure’. So he had been an outcast from Israel long before he contracted leprosy.

Of course we are used to thinking of the Good Samaritan, but Jesus only told that parable to highlight the contradiction to his Jewish hearers – the good Samaritan. We can think of parallel attitudes as we listen to some of the rhetoric in the Middle East today.

Among lepers, among the ten, other outcasts, the Samaritan had found a community of Jews to belong to. He had been rejected, and then in his illness found acceptance.

In sending him back home, his healing robbed him of his community.

So why did he say thank you?

Perhaps this Samaritan recognized something deeper in Christ than the immediate benefit of being free from leprosy. He had been healed with Jews; he had not been excluded from that.

In the middle of the confusion of what to do with himself after his healing, he had realised one thing. Jesus had not rejected him: Jesus, a Jew, a healthy Jew.

Perhaps he was beginning to see the heart of the Gospel which still we find so hard to grasp, sometimes even in the church. The healing love of God in Christ reaches out to all; the sick and the well, the Jews and the non-Jews; the people we like and the people we don’t like… We are all valuable to God. The same sun shines on the just and the unjust. Earthquakes and hurricanes strike where they will.

So however others respond, our response should be one of thankfulness, in all the changing scenes of life. From this springs all else. As Cicero said: “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.”

As we come to this Eucharist, this giving of thanks over broken bread and outpoured wine, the liturgy encourages us to ‘…feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.’

Carry this with you into each moment of your week and of your lives.

Thou that hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more - a grateful heart:

“Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Eph 5.19, 20