Solemn High Mass (St Patrick's Day) - Reality & Ideals
Readings: Genesis 15.1–12,17–18; Philippians 3.17 – 4.1; Luke 13.31–35
You can listen to this sermon here.
“our citizenship, is in heaven.” (Phil 3.20)
Lent can sometimes be quite disappointing for us if we have been too ambitious in setting our disciplines of denial – what we’re going to give up; or engagement – what extra we’re going to give or do.
Those of us who know ourselves, know it is better to set modest goals that give us at least a little success; rather than to set goals which end in spectacular failure very early on in the 40 days.
It reminds me of the new priest in the village who started going into the pub opposite his church every evening after Evensong. He would order two Gin and Tonics, drink them both and then order another two.
After a few weeks of this the barman asked him why he always bought his drinks in pairs.
“Well its quite simple really” he said, “when my twin brother moved to work in Australia, we decided whenever we were having a drink we would always order two, as a reminder of each other.”
After a few months the priest came in and ordered just the one gin and tonic. The barman feared the worst about his twin brother.
“Is everything alright with your brother?” he asked.
“O yes” said the priest “it’s just that it’s lent, and personally I’ve given up alcohol but my brother hasn’t.”
So aim for modest success in lent.
Our three readings today, deal with this disappointment, this tension, between how things are in reality; and what we would like them to be; and the pain and sorrow which that can often cause.
The reading from Genesis tells us of Abram, who has just had a wonderful spiritual experience being blessed by the mysterious Melchizedek, King of Salem (the city that would become Jerusalem).
Yet here in his old age, no blessing or wealth could undo the reality that he and Sarai were childless and desperately unhappy and did not feel blessed.
Even in his vision he complains to God. “The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, ‘Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.’ But Abram said, ‘O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless…”
The reality was far from the longed- for ideal.
Then in today’s Epistle we saw how St Paul wanted the churches he had established, like the one in Philippi, to be Christlike in their love for one another and their compassion for those around.
He laments: “Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears.”
The reality was far from the longed-for ideal.
In the Gospel, Jesus rails at the self-serving and self-righteous political and religious leaders in Jerusalem. He cries out in disappointment: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”
Luke later records how Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday: “And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it.”
The reality of Jerusalem was far from the longed-for ideal.
Well this is a common enough experience for all of us.
We know what we should be, what we can be, what our church should be, what our country should be, what our world should be – but the reality is far from the longed-for ideal.
And it is in this context that Paul reminds the Philippians - who were not members of the EU, for Philippi had been a Roman Colony for nearly 400 years, named after Philip II of Macedon – no, like Paul, they were Roman citizens with all those privileges - but Paul reminded them that “our citizenship is in heaven.”
And for Christians this is the perspective from which we view the dissonance between what is and what should be.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven” – our homeland.
There is always forgiveness, hope, trust in God and one another, new beginnings, and over all, and in all, sacrificial love.
We rejoice with our Welsh friends today on their great rugby victory yesterday. I am always fascinated but bewildered when I hear our Welsh-speaking parishioners chatting together. It is a wonderful and nuanced language.
The word hiraeth is not easy to translate into English.
It is a kind of homesickness, longing, nostalgia – a yearning for a home that you cannot return to, or perhaps no longer exists, or maybe never did exist.
It may include an element of grief or sadness for who or what you have lost, what you have become, losses which make your “home” not the same as the one you strive to remember.
It was something of this Welsh word hiraeth that perhaps inspired the Irish writer CS Lewis who wrote much about our heavenly homeland: “All the things that have deeply possessed your soul have been hints of it [he writes] – tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ears. It is the secret signature of each soul, the thing we desired before we met our wives, made our friends or chose our work, and which we still desire on our deathbeds.” (The Problem of Pain, edited paraphrase.)
This was the vision of the saints like Patrick, of the hymn writers like John Mason – we shall sing his hymn of heavenly perspective as we come to the end of the service. (How shall I sing that Majesty - listen here.)
And this is what can help carry us through all the circumstances of life - from disappointment and tears, to an unexpected hope and belief that all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. (Mother Julian of Norwich)
For “our citizenship, is in heaven.” (Phil 3.20)
