A Space in Aldersgate Street

An illustrated sermon preached by Ray Anglesea
at Sedgefield Methodist Church and St Andrew’s Dawson Street, Crook
Aldersgate Sunday 20^th May 2012

In a career spanning nearly 40 years, Antony Gormley has made sculptures that explore the relationship of the human body to space. His work attempts to treat the body not as an object but as a place; almost all his work takes the human body as its subject, with his own body used in many works as the basis for metal casts.  His large-scale installations are well know to us, the Angel of the North made from 200 tonnes of steel rises 20 meters from a former Gateshead colliery pithead baths, it dominates the skyline, dwarfing all those who come to see it. Another Place, consists of 100 cast-iron, life-size figures spread out along three kilometers of the foreshore at Crosby Beach, Liverpool, Tranport is another work of art  suspended above the site of the most venerated shrine in all Anglicanism, the first tomb of Archbishop Thomas Becket, murdered at Canterbury cathedral in 1170. It is made up of old iron nails taken from the repaired roof of the Kent Cathedral.

It was in 2009 that Gormley conceived another space for body sculptures. “One and Other” was the title for a design installation for the empty fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. Every hour, 24 hours a day, for 100 days, different people would make the fourth plinth their own - what Gormely called a living, breathing art experience. Instead of the 4^th plinth being reserved for sculptures of generals and kings or contemporary works of art, people themselves would become the living image on the plinth........ the performer, the funny, the sad, the mad and simply bemused, bored or bizarre,… and true to form a retired girl guide leader and friend of the family, Gwyneth, had her turn. 3am on a very wet morning Gwyneth was hoisted up onto the plinth in her wheelchair and when secured, performed, with flags, semaphore signs;  a semaphore being a nineteenth century system for conveying information at a distance by means of visual signals with hand-held flags. As I said Gwyneth, 83 from Oxford and a retired school teacher, a guiding colleague of my twin sister is a one -off, lovable but quite bizarre, eccentric and well – whacky, not quite as whacky as my loveable twin sister who is to pay me and St Andrew’s a visit 1^st weekend in June!  As well as Gwyneth some 2,400 people took part in this living art experience, they were witnesses to who and what they are in that space, they celebrated their uniqueness as well as exposing their vulnerability. As Gormely said, they collectively were a ‘portrait’ of Britain.

Over the course of time, Methodists, which number some 75 million worldwide, have erected in their own countries statues of their founder, John Wesley, often on plinths, or on horseback, or a museum like that of High House, the Weardale Museum. Statues erected in thankfulness for his ministry. His ministry was to transform the lives of millions of people. Wesley remained orthodox in his theology*, but during the political turmoil and changes of the 18^th century his life had been changed by knowing the reality of the living God in his life, his love and grace, his forgiveness and peace. And because of his experience Wesley was determined to bring the gospel to the unchurched and the poor.  Wesley in all his weakness and vulnerability was to be a semaphore, a sign, a witness to the love and grace of God, a living image of Christ.

As we come to the last few days of the Easter season we find ourselves with the disciples as they prepare to stand as witnesses, living signs – in those pregnant days following the Ascension – waiting to be equipped by God’s Spirit and called forward into that place that Jesus has created - in all their vulnerability - to speak and act and live in their own unique way – the message of the Gospel – witnessing to the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus. They were in Gormley’s words to become the living portrait not of themselves but of Jesus Christ. Through the specific calling of Matthias that we hear of today, we hear again the call upon each individual to be a witness to his resurrection in our own way. Familiar words form John Wesley’s hymn which we sang earlier in our service

Jesus, confirm my heart's desire,

To work, and speak, and think for thee

Still let me guard the holy fire,

And still stir up thy gift in me –

To work and speak and live for thee in my own space whether that be my home, my place of work, the factory floor, the council chamber, nursing home, my community, in my own space, whatever plinth space we find ourselves on.

It is rather appropriate that our readings today contain references to some of John Wesley’s biblical principles, namely the life of holiness and unity of the spirit.   In Psalm 1 the righteous person is praised and revealed to be one who bears fruit and who is truly blessed. In John’s letter, the holy person is shown to be one who receives God’s testimony about Jesus and who receives life from Jesus. In Jesus’ prayer in John’s gospel, Jesus asks that God would keep his disciples safe and would make them holy through God’s truth in God’s word. The second major theme of John Wesley’s life, that of unity with God and with one another, flows out of the call to love which we have read in our lectionary readings at the end of these last couple of Sundays of Easter. In Acts, the unity of the apostles is extended to include the new appointment of Matthias. In Psalm 1, the righteous person is one who rejects the company of the wicked but who, unlike the wicked, finds a place among the company of the righteous. In Jesus’ prayer in John 17, Jesus prays for the unity of the disciples with one another even as he is one with God. In the end, these two themes merge and become one, because it is in our union with God and one another that true holiness is expressed and lived. Holiness, which John Wesley defined as perfect love, unites and joins and creates community.

The English poet, Roman Catholic convert and Jesuit priest, Gerard Manley Hopkins poem As Kingfishers catch fire, reminds us of the full potential of each person, uniquely called, as we come to know ourselves through our lifetime as loved by God; each…

“Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—

Christ—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father, through the features of men’s faces.”

 That full potential in each person is what St Paul refers to when he says “It is not I but Christ who lives in me,” Christ reflected in each flawed human being, the Christ who is reflected and “plays in ten thousand places, through the features of men’s faces,” and which John Wesley saw in the poor and destitute of the 18^th century, the living portraits of the men and women who stood and occupied a space on an empty plinth perhaps? Timothy Radcliffe writing in The Times Credo column last week tells the story of a young Aids sufferer he met during a mass and who came to him for the kiss of peace. “When I hugged him,” writes Father Timothy, “I thought this is the body of Christ. And Christ in him hugged me. In Christ God came and touched us.” One of the things that constantly overwhelms me and is so easy to forget in the sea of faces I see daily whether working in the bookshop, the former planning office, Market day in Crook, the folk I visit in West Lodge, the mourners by a graveside is the love of Christ reflected in these people, some of whom are the most unlikely of people, like those on the plinth, the bored, the bemused and the bizarre.

 But what is this place that we are called to inhabit? The Welsh priest poet R S Thomas sums up the present state of his own church which was often "full only of the silent congregation of shadows" and that "the bell fetches no people to the brittle miracle of bread."To be more upbeat I have just finished reading a book entitled Praying for England, which tries to re-imagine the place of the Church, our church, in today’s ‘secularized’ and global culture, and what a church’s presence in that place, that culture might mean.

We have discussed some of these issues at our Church council meetings, how we welcome and cope with baptismal families, the stranger, children and their parents who come to mum’s and toddler groups, those who are not like us, not one of us, and how the church might offer support and help to families in places of economic hardship. Messy Church and Fresh Expressions (of worship) are just some of the initiatives we have taken on board, as well as regular all age worship services which are programmed to start in the Autumn. We are trying in our own way to seek to inhabit and hold open to others the place where Jesus is.

John Wesley travelled far and wide to bear witness to God’s forgiving presence. He ignored distance, tiredness and frustration because he rejected any thought that human institutions could domesticate the love of God. John Wesley met the needs of his generation with compassion and courtesy and personal concern which stemmed from his deep awareness of God’s gracious presence with him, with all people and with all creation. Pray God that we to may emulate our founder to welcome people into that place where Jesus is, remembering that we are there at God’s initiative and invitation. Occupying that place, witnessing to the truth of Jesus Christ, exposes us and makes us vulnerable. It means witnessing to Christ’s truth in difficult places and ordinary life and so finding them holy.

Ten years ago Mark Wallinger's Ecce Homo:Behold the Man, was the first sculpture to occupy the Fourth Plinth. It portrayed Christ at the moment he was handed over to the crowds by Pontius Pilate. Vulnerable, truthful… because he came and stood in that place. We too are called there; vulnerable and exposed but at the same time (like the disciples) surrounded by the love and protection of God.

As the Easter season draws to a close, it may well be time for us to reconsider the space we occupy as we try to engage with issues of ministry and evangelism in these challenging times, so that following Jesus Christ as John Wesley did, we may bring healing and hope, God’s’ amazing love to the vulnerable, exposed, waiting and wounded in our community and the world at large.

*Methodist Theology; Kenneth Wilson, Continuum Press 2011

Acts 1.15-17; 21-end; John 17.6-19

Ray Anglesea is a self supporting minister working in St Andrew’s Dawson Street LEP, Crook and in the wider West Durham Methodist Circuit

JC: LOL

A sermon preached by Ray Anglesea at St Andrew’s Dawson Street, Crook and Byers Green Methodist Chapels, 13^th May 2012

My attic is full of stuff; I venture up there two or three times a year to have a clear out. Sixth form essays, sport science text books, Christmas decorations, two tents and a camping stove, sleeping bags, bags of teenage clothes, football boots, African masks and wooden giraffes as well as my late parents china tea sets and dinner services, photographs, brassware. My attic is full of stuff; there are too many boxes of memories and accumulated stuff. But what do you do with it all? What do you do for example with boxes of letters from friends and family? I had intended clearing them out but very soon I found myself reading them: rediscovering stages and experiences I had almost forgotten and bringing them alive again. And then, as I was doing this rewinding, I suddenly saw the handwriting of one of my best friends from the days I worked in Kenya as a planning officer, he was an architect working with me for Mombasa Municipal Council, and my heart leapt. At the time it had seemed like a normal letter, telling news, expressing friendship and the hope we would meet together again, but now as I re-read this letter I hung on every word. For my friend had since died, I did the eulogy for his funeral, age 51. He seemed to be speaking beyond a time and particular context. I was filling those words with the knowledge of his death and his words had a new significance and meaning. They seemed precious – words from beyond death, as if from eternity. They filled me not with grief but with a sense of hope and courage that somehow our friendship continued beyond death and I wanted to read his words again each time discovering something new. Gosh! did we really dream we really were going to build a new world; new buildings and towns in those idealistic, swinging days at the beginning of our profession. The hopes we had were much too high; way out of reach, but we have to try. The game will never be over; because we're keeping the dream alive. The game will never be over, because we're keeping the dream alive, so sang Freiheit, a German rock band in 1988.


Our Gospel for this week is like that letter but even more so. It is Jesus’ farewell words to his disciples before his crucifixion and death, when the atmosphere was threatening, time was short and every word counted. For almost four chapters from John 14-17 he speaks to them, he chose his words carefully, what to say and what to leave unsaid; Jesus’ words spiral round and round, returning again and again to themes of love and parting - his relationship with God, his relationship with these his friends and disciples and through them us. Eternal words. His longings for them, his hopes, fears and the desire that those he most loved will not be lost. Those words of love that would later hold and sustain the disciples through the tumultuous life of the early church, as they were appointed and bore fruit that has lasted through the centuries.

As is my habit I read Christ’s words through from today’s gospel several weeks ago with that initial panic of not knowing what I would speak about. But as often happens with scripture, if you give it space, if you give it time, it’s not really about what you will say but about what it says to you and how these words speak across 2000 years, speak across a terrible death upon a cross and through the knowledge of resurrection. For Christ’s words are waiting for each one of us to complete them in our own lives and the more we think about them, the more they open up for us.

And the words which kept returning to me again and again throughout the last few weeks of this most joyous Easter season were these: As the Father has loved me so I have loved you. Abide in my love. And I found myself holding on to those words “abide in my love,” as I stepped out of the car to do some visits at West Lodge, as I prepared Pentecost material for the C club/Messy Church, as I looked forward and planned surprises for my wife’s birthday - live in that love, stay with that love, hold onto it, don’t abandon it, it is why you are here.


Abide is such an old fashioned word. I can’t remember the last time I heard it used outside church circles and crossword puzzles. My grandmother used to occasionally say that she “couldn’t abide” something but she’s been gone a very long time now and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone else use it in conversation.


It’s a complex word—abide. What does it mean to abide in Jesus’ love? To me, to abide in Jesus’ love is to live in it; to surround ourselves with it; to bask and revel in it; to have the opportunity to be both gently wrapped in it and to dance in it with rejoicing. To abide in Jesus’ love is to let it be our armour and our security blanket. To abide in Jesus’ love is to let it be where we seek rest and peace as well as refreshment and renewal. To abide in Jesus’ love is to know it as the solid and unchanging base of our lives in a very transitory and changing world.


To abide in Jesus’ love is to live mindfully, always aware that we are loved by Jesus’ as much as he is loved by God the Father. Think how loved that is. God could not love Jesus anymore than he does—and Jesus loves us just as much. To abide in Jesus’ love is to remind ourselves over and over and over again, as many times a day as necessary, that Jesus loves us—always and forever. I think that old children’s song Jesus loves me gets it right: Jesus loves me when I’m good, when I do the things I should; Jesus loves me when I’m bad, though it makes him very sad. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes Jesus loves me. Yes Jesus loves me, the Bible tells me so. Yes, Jesus loves us. To abide in his love is to know that love, always. Dr. Karl Barth, Swiss theologian and one of the most brilliant and complex intellectuals of the twentieth century wrote volume after massive volume on the meaning of life and faith. A reporter once asked Dr. Barth if he could summarize what he had said in all those volumes. Dr. Barth thought for a moment and then said: "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible  tells me so." 


To abide really means staying with, it implies notions of reassurance, permanence, stability. But our lives are often anything but stable, permanent, things in my/your life change - like moving, like changing jobs, like learning a new set of skills, like leaving behind people you care about, like leaving a church you have worshipped in, people you have loved and enjoyed, like a parting, a death: humbling experiences, that remind us of our vulnerability and the impermanence of our lives, yes experiences all of us at times will face - and yet beneath that changing surface, beneath the confusions and the anxieties, the unease and disquiet, Christ’s words to his disciples are “Abide in my love.” It is like a call to deeper level of belonging, to be in the right place, a deeper connectedness. Of course all that is around us seems to demand our attention and our time, and often seems to consume us.


Now that my neighbouring university students are back for the summer term, one thing which has struck me is how busy Durham is! Longer than normal queues at Tesco’s, in banks, coffee shops, bars and restaurants. One night last week I lay awake listening to shouts and voices, partying students, drunks and sirens, and later street cleaning lorries, dustbins and reversing delivery trucks. But of course it is not just Durham which is busy it is our lives too: lives more driven than ever before as we rush to fit in everything that is expected of us. Instant communication requires instant answers with no space for a turn around; then rushing to get the children to school; to fit in the planned activities, to arrange the logistics of the day, evening and weekends; to answer the e-mails and facebook messages, the answer phone and the mobile text messages; to down-load more information, more films, more music, more channels, more news on the hour than ever before; the workouts, the weight training, the twenty four hour supermarkets and consumer parks replacing a simple walk in the park. And amongst all this frenetic activity Jesus says “Abide in my love.” Stay with me.

Christ is calling us not to abandon the world but to find at the very centre of our lives his presence and his love. And this requires a conscious decision on our part during each day to make a place and a space for Christ. W B Yeats writes that “When the falcon cannot hear the falconer things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.”


Our lives need that centre, that still point where we are grounded, where we can listen for and discern truth. The late Brother Roger of the Taize Community in France, over and over again uses the image that our faith in Christ is like “a wellspring in the desert” and that it is from this well spring of Christ’s presence that we receive the water that will give life and meaning to everything we do. And this spring is pure gift.

Most morning at the cathedral I join in Morning Prayer. It’s a special time … quiet … a sacred time. The light floods through the east window above the altar and a simple prayer is offered. Abbot Jamison, (who is the abbot of Worth Abbey who some of you may remember from the television programme The Monastery a couple of years ago) calls this space for God “sanctuary” derived from the word sanctus meaning holy, holy space, sacred time. Sanctuary also means a place of refuge, a place of safe-keeping. That refuge is not an escape from the world but Christ’s gift to us at the very heart of the world. Jesus says: If you keep my commandments you will abide in my love… This is my commandment that you love one another as I have loved you.” The love of Christ for us is the source of our love for the world. God’s salvation through his Spirit is for all the world – not just for our own corner of it. Love involves reaching out to people we don’t know and will never meet, and working for the good of the whole world. We shall demonstrate this love and commandment in our collections and activities this week in our support for Christian Aid.


When we hear the word commandment we tend to think about rules and burdens; about demands and requirements but this commandment of Jesus is not a burdensome one, but is rather a joyous opportunity. Love demanded or required is not true love; only love that is generously shared is real love, the love that Jesus gives and asks for.


And that is how we abide in his love, by joyously sharing the love that he has already given us with our neighbours and friends. It’s not drudgery—it is a privilege. And just as Jesus loves us all the time, so we love one another all the time. It’s a process, a way of life, not a quantifiable result. As we abide in Jesus’ love by wrapping ourselves in it, we also share it with others, and that’s how we manage to live in our sometimes painful and often difficult world. Christ’s love, received and shared, is what gets us through; it is what makes sense of most things and lets us live with what doesn’t make sense. The love of Christ, received and shared, makes life not just bearable but joyful; not just manageable but exhilarating, not just alright, but extraordinary.


In the middle of our busy lives, in thanksgiving, in humility and in awe we seek again the sanctuary of Christ and abide in his love. Pope Benedict XVl took love as the theme of his first encyclical letter. He ends that letter with this prayer: “Show us Jesus. Lead us to him. Teach us to know and love him, So that we too can become capable of true love. And be the fountains of living water in the midst of a thirsting world.”


Have no doubt that Jesus’ loves you. As he said to his first disciples, so he says to us: You did not choose me but I chose you. We are his chosen—we’re the ones he picked; we’re the ones he wants, whether we choose him back or not. Jesus chose us to love and to share that love with others. He chose us to abide in his love, with all that that means. “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you,” he says. “Abide in my love.”


Amen


1 John 5 v1-6; John 15. 9-17


Ray Anglesea is a self supporting minister working in St Andrew’s Dawson Street LEP, Crook and in the wider West Durham Methodist Circuit