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| Woman Standing in a Doorway, Edvard Munch, 1906 |
Sermon preached at the Sung Eucharist at
St George’s Bloomsbury on Sunday 19th February 2023 (Year A, Next
before Lent) based on readings from Exodus 24.12-end, 2 Peter 1.16-end and Matthew
17.1-9-end.
You can watch a recording of the sermon (cropped and clipped from the church private facebook group) below:
Now I’m sure none of you will have noticed this before - because you are always paying complete attention to what’s happening in the service, listening intently for the pearls of wisdom that (occasionally) drop from this very lectern. But, when I sit over there, at the right hand of David, I have direct line of sight to the front door. And quite often during a service, it is very hard not to notice when people finally conquer the steps and mosey up to the church, but before reaching for the door knob, they press their faces to the glass and peer in.
Physically,
this is to do with optics. Even on an overcast day, the sunlight outside will
be far brighter than any of the artificial lights inside the church. And, since
our eyes see brighter things better, it is easy for us to see out - but hard
for them to see in. At night, this relative brightness is reversed.
Now, some of
these curious souls will be discombobulated tourists squinting through the
glass, dismayed to discover that this is not, in fact, the British Museum. I
know that there’ll be others who’ll take a peek, think “crikey it’s him
preaching”, turn on their heels and jog on to the eleven o’clock at Margaret
Street!
Whatever the
reason for their reluctance to step inside, what fascinates me is the power of
the threshold! The knowledge that, if crossed, this boundary will have a
transformative effect.
Something
happens when we step across a threshold. We are touched by different senses.
Our eyes adjust, sounds and smells change. But - beyond the physical - there is
an unconscious projection of memories and meaning as we occupy the new space
and the space settles in us. The experience is both immanent and
transcendent.
It’s not
just something that happens when we enter impressive buildings like this church.
Consider the experience of returning home. Walking through your front door. How
does it make you feel? We don’t often spend much time thinking about it, but
this simple act affects us in a profound way.
Crossing
that line is the most important moment in building design. Good architects
spend a lot of time thinking about thresholds. A famous one once said “God is
in the details!” It is from the Latin for threshold - limen - that we derive
our word sublime. Sublimis means exalted space. The sublime is the immanent and
transcendent experience of exhalting - of passing beyond - a boundary, into a
new space.
46,000
people are now known to have died as their homes collapsed on top of them in
the dead of night. Ten days after the earthquake that struck South Eastern
Turkey near the border with Syria, the death
toll continues to rise. Millions have been injured and left homeless. Years of
recovery and rebuilding lie ahead.
Sitting in
the freezing cold amongst the stench of decay in what remains of a city close
to the epicentre, a picture of man in a bright orange jacket has become one of
the defining images of the disaster.
Speaking
quietly, so as not to disturb the rescue teams
struggling to listen for the faint cries of survivors, the photographer
discovered that the man’s name was Mesut Hancer and the hand that he was
holding, sticking out of a canvas bag, was that of his fifteen year old
daughter Irmak, who had been crushed under a girder and died instantly.
Here, at the
ultimate boundary of life and death - amidst the physical and emotional
destruction - a touch.
A touch
which transforms the relative brightness of the scene.
A touch of
undimmable love.
At the
Transfiguration, the doorway between heaven and earth was opened and, for a
brief moment, Peter, James and John had a glimpse of what was beyond.
This sublime
experience takes place six days after Peter's declaration that Jesus is the
Messiah and after Jesus foretells his death and resurrection; a death which
Peter refuses to accept.
Since our
eyes see brighter things better, perhaps it’s not surprising that after seeing
Jesus as “the Christ, the Son of the living God” at Caesarea Philippi, Peter
finds it hard to see how the Lord could ever suffer and die.
And, you may
recall, this earns a stern rebuke from Jesus: "Get behind me Satan!...you
are setting your mind not on divine things but human things."
Here on the
mountaintop, Peter is ticked off again - this time by God the Father - after
offering to build houses for Moses, Elijah and Jesus. Again, Peter is
captivated by the bright lights - Jesus’ face shining like the sun, his clothes
dazzling white.
God tells
Peter in no uncertain terms that Jesus is to be the full object of his
attention - using all his senses. “Listen to him” he says!
The
disciples fall to the ground, overcome by fear.
Jesus comes
near and, before saying a word, he touches them.
A touch
which takes away their fear.
A touch
which transforms the relative brightness of the scene. When they look up, they
see no one except Jesus himself, alone.
Later on,
even after they question him on their way down; the disciples still don’t seem
to understand the suffering which Jesus must endure - on another mountain -
until his glory is fully revealed. The path to the cross which we are all
called to follow, in spite of our fears, if we are to experience the fullness
of true life.
In baptism
we were touched by the Spirit. In that sublime encounter we crossed the
boundary from darkness into the exhalted space of new life in Christ. We
continue to be transformed as we live this new life and this new life lives in
us.
But perhaps,
like the disciples, sometimes it seems as though we find ourselves back on the
edge of that threshold, peering in; our eyes blinded by the bright lights of
fame and fortune and all the other shiny things that tempt us.
On Ash
Wednesday, we will be marked with the sign of the cross. The symbol of the
fearful journey we are called to take. We won’t see it - unless we look in a
mirror. But as it is applied we will listen to words that remind us of the true
source and object of our glory - that we were made by our Creator and to him we
are destined to return.
Here, at the
threshold of the forty days and forty nights of Lent - a touch.
A touch of
undimmable love.
A touch
which transforms the relative brightness of our lives.
A touch we
feel in our hands and on our lips every time we receive the sacrament.
A touch by
which we know that whatever our fear, death cannot determine the threshold of
God’s love;
a doorway
that is never closed.
Amen.
Prayers of Intercession
God of
grace,
who lifts us
up to see the truth of our past and glimpse the glory of our future,
transform
this, your Church.
Help us to
listen to your living Word
and follow
His ways,
growing in
faith by the light of others and, enflamed by your Spirit, reflecting your
brightness in all we think, say and do.
Lord in your
mercy
Hear our
prayer
God of
peace,
whose image
glows in the face of all people,
transform
this, your world.
May those
occupying lofty positions of authority and influence see through
the clouds of pride and self-interest.
We pray for
an end to violence in Ukraine, East Africa, Afghanistan and Iraq and that
displaced people everywhere might find sanctuary and support.
Help us all
to radiate your love wherever we encounter discord and division in our
lives.
Lord in your
mercy
Hear our
prayer
God of
hope,
who raises
up the lowly and comforts the sick and suffering,
transform
all who feel powerless and weighed down by terror.
Reawaken in
them knowledge of your eternal presence.
We pray for
all who have been affected by natural disasters and in our own community for Fr
Ronald, Sue, David, Diana, Glenn, Michael and Angela.
Lord in your
mercy
Hear our
prayer
God of
glory,
who raised
up your Son to reveal that we are not made for this life alone,
transform
us, your people,
so that each
day we may know more truly the greatness of your love for us.
Bless all
who have died, including all those who perished in the earthquake in Turkey and
Syria.
As we strive
to follow in your footsteps,
embolden us
by the promise of perfect peace at our journey’s end.
Merciful
Father,
accept these
prayers
for the sake
of thy Son,
our Saviour,
Jesus Christ.
Amen.
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