Sermon - Standing at the Threshold

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.