Holocaust Memorial Day

A reflection shared by Ray Anglesea
with the congregation of St Andrew's Dawson Street, Crook

Holocaust Memorial Day takes place on 27 January each year. It’s a time to pause, to remember the millions of people who were murdered or whose lives were changed beyond recognition during the Nazi Persecution and in subsequent genocides in Cambodia, Rwanda, Bosnia and Darfur. 27 January marks the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest Nazi death camp. By chance I was in Ripon Cathedral a couple of years ago and came across a moving and powerful art installation to commemorate the Holocaust. 6 million +, Every person counts, an artwork of 6 million buttons, each one representing someone killed in the Holocaust.  The buttons were spread across the north aisle of the Cathedral both on the floor and in symbolic glass funnels. The Exhibition was created by the Leeds based artist Antonia Stowe. It was a powerful and moving experience.

The holocaust together with natural disasters represents one of the greatest practical problems for belief in God, the fact of suffering. An American Rabbi, Irving Greenberg after reading the transcript of one of the Nuremberg trials relating to Auschwitz subsequently reported “Evidently at one stage the decision was taken by the Nazi authorities not to put young Jewish children into the gas chambers, but to throw them alive into the crematoria, and the screams were heard throughout the camp.” Greenberg was later to comment ‘No statement, theological or otherwise, should be made that could not be made with credibility in the presence of the burning children.’ Much suffering is truly terrible, and in the face of such suffering any believer in God must pause.

In the case of the Holocaust there were other human beings who could, and have been,  held responsible. We know, all too terribly, that we human beings have been given free will, and some have abused that free will most dreadfully. It was Edmund Burke who once said ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ It is a salutary warning that we would all do well to reflect upon.

But then there are other disasters that were not the responsibility of human beings, and where freewill cannot be used as an explanation, still less an excuse. The tsunami of Boxing Day 2004 resulted in a quarter of a million people killed and well over a million people displaced; and the final death toll of the recent typhoon Haiyan which devastated the Philippines in November last year is yet to be finally calculated. These horrific disasters raise the question of ‘Where was God?’ That was a question that was similarly asked in 1755 after the tragedy of the Lisbon earthquake that may have killed up to 100,000 people. The immediate response of most at the time was to view it as a sign of God’s anger against sinful humanity and to call for public acts of contrition and repentance. A more sober and reasonable answer was given by the Oxford theologian Austin Farrer, who said that God was there allowing the earth’s crust to behave according to its nature. Much the same answer on the movement of tectonic plates could be given about the tsunami, typhoons and earthquakes, and although very tough I suppose that answer is essentially true. The universe is as it is, and I am not sure that we can wish God had made it otherwise. Perhaps we need a world with the possibilities of challenge and tragedy if strong character is ever to be formed. If everything was just easy and there was no possibility of disaster maybe that would produce only easy and complacent character.

Reflections like that show that it is very difficult to sustain any notion of God being a sort of master-puppeteer, pulling the strings of the world to make things happen. Of course some Christians do believe that, and some have had the temerity to suggest that natural disasters are somehow a punishment on people for some wickedness. What any of the young children who died can have done to deserve that is, I confess, completely beyond me, and I find such expressions by some Christians frankly offensive. If God is a master puppeteer like that it seems to me he is nothing other than a monster, and certainly does not deserve our love or our respect.

But maybe God is not like that. God is not all powerful in the way some would suggest, because any act of creation carries with it an element of risk. As a grandfather of who has lost a grandchild of late, I know only to clearly. Once something is created, whether it be a universe or a grandchild, it then has a life of its own and cannot be simply manipulated. In the case of our world, both because of the nature of the physical world and the nature of human beings there is always the possibility of terrible tragedy and even disaster, and the question about God is what will God-fearing people do in response to it. The answer seems to be, thank God, in many cases they strive to overcome the consequences and to re-build, learning the lessons of whatever disaster it was. I find a far more compelling notion of where God was in an event like a natural disaster is to see him in the practical love and compassion of those individuals and agencies who bring help and relief to those who are traumatised by the disaster, and to see him in the resilience, courage and determination shown by some of the victims who strive to live authentically even in the midst of tragedy, and who, if they survive, then seek to put their lives and the lives of their communities back together again afterwards. God may have been there in creating the world as it is, but he is also there in the victims, who are also part of his creation, creating the world as it will be.

But there is also a Christian dimension and perspective. The Christian Church has always believed that in some way the person of Jesus Christ shows us what God is like. It is not that Jesus is God-like, but that God is Jesus-like. And in the crucifixion we see Jesus fully participating in human suffering. Some theologians say that we should not speak of God suffering because that makes him subject to his creation, and it stops him being God. Well, maybe; but the cross of Christ surely shows us that there is the knowledge of suffering experienced in a deeply personal way in the Godhead. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer a German Lutheran pastor, theologian, dissident anti-Nazi, and founding member of the Confessing Church stated “Only a suffering God will do.”

I do not think it is fanciful in that sense to speak of God suffering. Many will know the story told by Ellie Wiesel, a survivor of the Holocaust, who witnessed in a Nazi concentration camp some men being hung, among whom was a young boy, who took some time to die because his body was light and therefore he did not die quickly. As the boy writhed on the rope Wiesel heard someone ask ‘Where is God now?’ and he found himself answering ‘In that boy.’

God is there in the suffering victims of this world’s disasters. He was there in the Holocaust, he was there in the tsunami, in the Philippines and in Syria, as I understand it he was there in the victims who suffered, just as he was not there in Pilate and in Herod, but in the victim on the cross at Golgotha. That is where we can find God, and that is where we can choose now to follow him, in seeking to ensure that nothing like the Holocaust can ever happen again, and in ensuring that our world is managed in such a way that there are realistic warning systems for tsunamis and typhoons, and that buildings in earthquake areas can be built to resist possible tremors. We cannot push all the blame on God, even though in the Cross we can see him accepting some of it; the responsibility for managing the world as it is lies with us.

To behold

Sermon preached by Ray Anglesea at Wolsingham Methodist Church Covenant Service

Sunday 19^th January 2014

The Calling of Saints Peter and Andrew: Matthew 4 v18-20

                       Caravagio (1603 -1606) 

One of the joys of working in the circuit is the beautiful scenic car drive from Brancepeth village along Stockley Lane to the B6299 through the former pit villages of Stanley along the ridge at Billy Row, to Sunniside then on to Tow Law and the B6297 down Redgate Bank passing the John Duckett Martyrs Memorial Cross to Wolsingham. Whatever the season, Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall as Carole King’s song goes the view of Weardale from along this route is spectacular, with farmland, dry stone walls, sheep, stunning views of rich green agricultural land, redundant limestone quarries, small historic villages, significant buildings, footpaths and a train service. I often stop the car at the War Memorial at the top of Billy Row bank to drink in the sheer beauty of this striking valley; the valley certainly has what my children would call the “Wow” factor.

I wonder what your wow factors might be, sunsets at the beach perhaps, a beautiful meal with friends, a graduation ceremony, sitting by a cascading waterfall, an international holiday, reading a poem, standing in front of a masterpiece, holding a grandchild, standing by Seaham Harbour lighthouse at the waves crash over the stone pier? Some friends of mine recently celebrated a significant birthday drinking champagne in the Grand Canyon, Arizona; they flew into the striking and awesome Colorado River Canyon by helicopter from Las Vegas. They have never stopped talking about it since. It was a wonderful and memorable holiday indeed. Wow!

In our gospel reading this morning we hear of a “Wow” moment. John the Baptist sees Jesus coming, and in the translation offered by the King James Bible says, “The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him and saith “Behold, the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.”

The word I love most in this reading this morning is the word Behold – John says “Behold , the lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.” Behold. Not a word we use too much these days, rather old fashioned you might say, but the bible is full of beholds – “Behold, A virgin shall conceive and bear a son,” “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy” – you can almost hear the tunes of The Messiah ringing through the acclamations. And that notion of beholding - that’s what I feel like when I drive into Weardale, to “Behold Weardale in all its beauty,” a breathtaking momentary experience. I wonder whether Prince William had a wow moment when he beheld Kate Middelton, his bride at his wedding in Westminster Abbey. A couple of seasons ago I sung with my Newcastle choir Vaughan William’s Sea Symphony; the chorus starts with a majestic and stately opening “Behold the Sea - itself,” the majestic fanfare of an introduction of Walt Whitman’s poem. It is music to arrest your attention, to make you listen. At Crook last Advent the chapel community looked at a number of Advent poems, one of which was Edwin Muir’s poem The Annuniciation. The 19^th century Orkadian poet too has a wow moment; he asks the reader to focus and gaze intently at the moment of the annunciation. He addresses the stillness and the holiness of the moment when an angel brings the news that heaven and earth are to be united in the body of an ordinary woman. He uses words like “bliss,” limbs and “trembling” which hint at the importance of this religious moment as he focuses on the two faces of Mary and the Angel, their mutual gaze and the sense that they increasingly reflect each other. Next Sunday we shall look at the call of the disciples from Matthew 4, the calling of Andrew and Peter, James and John. The early seventeenth century Italian painter Caravaggio painted the scene in 1603 or there abouts; the painting was purchased by Charles 1 – an avid art collector – in 1637. Sold during the Commonwealth it was re-acquired by Charles II after the Restoration. It has since remained in royal possession, and is today owned by The Queen. Kept in Hampton Court Palace it was long believed to be a virtually worthless copy of a lost original, but after six years of restoration and examination the Royal Collection declared on 10 November 2006, that this was, in fact, an authentic Caravaggio. The verdict has been corroborated by external experts, and the painting is now probably worth more than £50 million. A Wow moment indeed 

The words that John ‘seeth Jesus coming unto him’ makes me imagine the way they are viewing each other, eyeing each other up, holding each other in their gaze, not just a walking towards, but with a look that says it all - John is the one seen and chosen by Jesus. To behold then is to see with complete attention, to see the remarkable. To “behold the lamb of God.” Here is a phrase so rich in meaning. ‘Lamb of God’ – for the Jews, here is a word with a whole history of powerful symbolic meaning.

The sacrificial lamb, the unblemished lamb whose blood was smeared on the two doorposts and the lintels of the Jewish household as a sign of God’s liberating saving power, a covenant sign that God had chosen to enter into their history. The Jews believed no one could see the face of God and live. But now John the Baptist calls us to behold – to behold the one who becomes our liberator, the saviour, the friend of sinners. We are called to look on the face of God.

We will be called later in this covenant service to behold with all our attention the sacrament of Holy Communion  - for some Holy Communion is the living presence of God shown forth in bread and wine, for others it may be a picture or representation of God in bread and wine, which is of itself a wow moment.  ‘Beholding the lamb of God’ at Holy Communion is to look into the presence of God. It is being filled by it. It is to see salvation.

John the Baptist in our Gospel today makes space for the one he beholds. He does not try to convince or explain. In fact as soon as he sees Christ, he gets out of the way himself: “Behold the lamb that taketh away the sin of the world.” John opens himself to the one who comes. He really sees. He is suddenly aware of the blessing of God breaking into the world. He sees the heavens opened and sees the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove. He knows the Son of God is here with us.

There is a brave humility in this recognition. John does not cling onto this blessing or attempt to possess it, or to seize it for himself as a mark of his own authority or power. There is no attempt to control or manipulate or possess. Here is an example to each one of us and to the Church at the start of his New Year. This blessing of God is for all to behold; it is not the possession of the institution to dispense. It is the love of God like sunlight falling on each one of us. How then must we respond? John lets go. He opens his hands. He responds to Christ with a generosity which mirrors the grace of God. He tells his disciples to “behold the lamb of God” – he points towards Christ and allows them to follow. “Where are you staying?” they ask Jesus. “Come and see,” Jesus replies. And over a meal and drinks which lasted at least till four o'clock in the afternoon; there appears another wow moment for Andrew – he experiences a new calling, a new walk with God. His first response was to find his brother, and, with extraordinary certainty asserts that he had found the Messiah. And so Andrew and his friends answer the call and offer their lives for renewal, without knowing the outcome.

As Andrew and Peter were different people who were called by Jesus, it is worth remembering at the start of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity God does not call any one type. God calls all types. The gifts are not competitive, but rather complementary. The gifts are bestowed from grace, so all may be of benefit. The unity of the Church flows from diversity, not uniformity. From the very beginnings of the Gospels, the story about vocations is a testimony to the extraordinary range of people that God uses to share in the work of the Kingdom, it is about a God who uses our weaknesses – the foolish and base things of the world to bring about change. Which is why he says to each and every one of us today, as he did to the fisherman at the beginning of the Gospel today – Come and see.

Perhaps that is the best New Year’s resolution any of us could make: to behold Christ in one another, and to behold Christ’s presence in our own lives; a beholding which means becoming aware of blessing, to “behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.”

Amen

Isaiah 49.1-7; 1 Corinthians 1.1-9; John 1.29-42

MP 728 We have a gospel to proclaim

MP 65 Brightest and Best (tune: Epiphany Hymn)

MP 67 Breathe on me breath of God

MP 755 When I survey the wondrous cross

MP 501 O Jesus I have promised

A Call to Unity

A reflection by Ray Anglesea for St Andrew's Dawson Street, Crook:

Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, Jan 18-25 2014

One of the highlights of my ministerial training was a visit to the Holy Land. I remember being driven by the Sea of Galilee and walking in the hills above, in the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali as mentioned in the Old and New Testaments. It is a particularly beautiful part of the world. Being in Israel of course reveals the contrast between the New Testament land of the mind and the New Testament land of physical reality. To walk in the synagogue at Capernaum, a later building than the one Jesus would have known but on the same site, and from there just to stroll a few yards to the Galilee shore where he met and called Peter and Andrew, James and John is to make the New Testament feel very close in the town that Jesus made his home.

But there were unpleasant memories of that pilgrimage too. Swimming in the Dead Sea was not an agreeable or pleasurable experience. The other disturbing recollection was when a small group of ordinands, myself included, took an early Sunday walk to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the possible site of the crucifixion and burial of Jesus. We heard a Greek Orthodox Service clashing with an Armenian one, and with other Christian groups each with some stake in different chapels in the church holding their own services. Christian Unity was not obviously evident. But then has it ever been?

In the 16^th century the Christian church in Western Europe was torn apart. The events are well known. Rome’s slothful response to allegations of its corruption and failures provoked vigorous reaction. The need for reform seemed overwhelming. The Augustinian friar Martin Luther nailed his Ninety-five Theses to the door of the church in Wittenburg, Ulrich Zwingli’s influences had soon swept through Zurich, and in due course John Calvin controlled Geneva. King Henry VIII was at first an ally of the Pope but, frustrated by the failure to have his marriage to Catherine of Aragon annulled, he severed the English Church’s bond with Rome and had himself proclaimed head. The Roman Catholic Church’s reaction to these initiatives led to the summoning of the Council of Trent. It met for three extended periods between 1545 and 1563 and renewed the Church’s teaching, spirituality and discipline. It articulated the stand of the Counter-Reformation. Positions became fixed. Controversy flourished and persecution became common. People were put to death. Everyone of whatever persuasion could appeal to martyrs. The outlook was bleak.

There was more to come. As a result of the Act of Uniformity in 1662 priests in the Church of England sought freedom to live and worship outside the bounds of the established English Church; the concept of non-conformity was borne and the Presbyterian and Congregational churches later came into being. In the 18^th century the Methodist Movement/Church was founded by John Wesley; it became a highly successful evangelical movement in Britain and later in the United States. Wesley’s work also helped lead to the development of the Holiness Movement and Pentecostalism. The search for unity amongst the Anglican, Reformed and Methodist traditions continues to this day with some, albeit small, progress.

At his Last Supper, Jesus had prayed to his Father that all those who believe in Him “may become completely one.” This prayer has a purpose. Jesus longed for the unity of believers “so that the world may know that You have sent Me and have loved them even as you have loved me” (John 17 v23). The unity of Christians was to be a sign to the whole human race of God’s love for everyone.

When I am tempted to get despondent by the state of the church today and reflect on its history as briefly outlined above I just sit down and read the epistles of Paul to the Corinthians. I realise the search for unity in the church is as old as the hills. Against the fractious background of the early churches Paul’s plea that they should be of the same mind and the same judgement is paramount. The epistle shows just how complicated the idea of Unity had become. All those in the church of Corinth no doubt felt they were following Christ, they had responded each in their own way to his call, but we also discover from Paul’s letter that, nonetheless, even then the church was fractious and divided, with various factions competing for pre-eminence. 

And so ever since Paul’s time different churches have gone their own way. But then perhaps it was inevitable, especially if you do not think that unity implies uniformity. Each of the churches represented down the ages of history has had its own history, its life moulded by events often outside its own control, the debates and discussions that have taken place over the years among its members, each making its contribution to their life today. We should not be surprised that 2000 years of diverse experiences and debates and temperaments have produced diverse churches with different emphases. And even within our own local churches in Crook there are assorted traditions and practices; high and low churches, Evangelical and Catholic, conservative and liberal, social activists and those more quietist in their approach; we all rub up against one another with much of our history in common.

But I do not believe that diversity matters as long as we all recognise what unites us. We have in our respective traditions heard a call to follow Christ. A clue to our unity therefore might be found in our Gospel reading appointed for the Sunday after the week of Prayer for Christian Unity, when we bring to mind the calling, by the Sea of Galilee, of Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John (in the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali). We are not simply hearing a story of something that happened two thousand years ago in a part of the world far distant from Crook, that same Jesus addresses each of us now (in the present tense) as he did to Simon and Andrew, James and John by the Sea of Galilee, and he says to us now as he said to them then: ‘Follow me’.

Follow me implies in our traditions seeking to see the world not though our own so often self-centred eyes, but try to see the world through God’s eyes, and to see what it means to live in a universe that has a loving God at its centre and running through it all, giving it, and us, life. Jesus says follow me, in putting that truth above all others in determining the priorities of our lives. He says follow me in putting the needs of others, including the needs of the poor, the disposed, the infirm and the persecuted at the very least on a par with our own needs and wishes. And above all he says follow me, if necessary even in the path of self-sacrifice, because it is in giving our lives for the sake of others that we find our own true life. It is a compelling but demanding call that Jesus addresses to each of us now, but then, as the writer of the epistle to the Hebrews wrote, “it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.”

That is the glue that holds us together, for all our diversity. Inevitably it will mean different things for different people in different circumstances, but the core remains the same, a response to the call to follow Christ.