Maundy Thursday

The Rt Revd Andrew Burnham, Bishop of Ebbsfleet

'Faith, hope and love abide, these thee; but the greatest of these is love.'
1 Corinthians 13:13

FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY - nowadays ‘faith, hope and love’ – are often called the ‘theological virtues’. The ‘natural’ or ‘cardinal virtues’ – ‘prudence, temperance, fortitude and justice’ – which were noted by the pagan philosophers, Plato and Aristotle, can be practised by anyone, regardless of their religious belief. ‘Faith, hope and charity’, on the other hand, are very much ‘theological virtues’, springing from our faith in God, our hope for heaven and our love for one another, a love based on what Christ has done for us. What could be better than to look at the events of these three days – the Easter Triduum – through the eyes of faith, hope and charity? ‘For now’, says St Paul, ‘we see in a mirror dimly but then face to face’. Let’s peer into the mirror together tonight, tomorrow and at the Easter Vigil.

I am afraid to say that, until I began preparing for this group of homilies, I hadn’t realised that St Paul links ‘faith, hope and charity’ together no less than four times. I shall be using one or two of these other texts on Friday and Saturday. For now we shall stay with 1 Corinthians 13:13, the climax of St Paul’s teaching on love.

I want to suggest that ‘faith, hope and charity’ are like three different optical aids. Faith is the pair of spectacles we need for distance: we need them to see into the distance, to look at the road ahead. Human life is short-sighted – less than a hundred years for each of us, amidst eternity - and we need faith for a bit of long-sight.

If faith is an ordinary pairs of glasses, hope is a telescope. A telescope allows us to see things that have already happened – stars that have died but whose light still reaches us light years later. It also allows us to see into the future: we gain the perspective of eternity and of heavenly bodies not yet come into being. The bigger the telescope, the more we can see. The more we hope for, the closer we get to the vision of God.

Love is another ordinary pair of spectacles. I was tempted to go on to say that love is the pair of spectacles we need for close work: we certainly do need to be able to see things closely, to gain real insight into each other’s needs. But love’s spectacles are ‘varifocals’, those marvellous glasses that allow us to see everything, things in the distance and things close to. Love sees nearly everything there is to be seen and brings it all into a focus. Not only that, but love corrects our sight: it restores things to their proper shape, gets the contrast right, allows us to use our peripheral vision properly.

Looking at the events of Maundy Thursday with the optical aids of ‘faith, hope and charity’, we can see that the first of the virtues, faith, received a bit of a bashing. Faith must have been shaken by Jesus’ talk of leaving his disciples – his farewell discourses. It must have been shaken by Judas’ betrayal: at that point all the disciples forsook Jesus and fled. Fear drove out faith. Faith must have been shaken too by Peter’s denial. The one who confessed at Caesarea Philippi that Jesus was the Messiah was too frightened to own up to even knowing Jesus when the servant girl and one of the bystanders challenged him as he warmed himself in the courtyard of the high priest.

But faith has a strengthening part on Maundy Thursday too. It took faith – and it takes faith – to believe and trust in the most precious gift of all, Jesus’ parting gift of himself in the Holy Eucharist. ‘Do this in remembrance of me’, he says, and invites us to have faith in his Body and his Blood. As St Thomas Aquinas says in the hymn we shall be using for the transfer of the Blessed Sacrament,

'Faith, our outward sense befriending
Makes the inward vision clear.'

Faith allows us to see into the distance, to look at the road ahead. The Eucharist has always been a mystery, accessible only to those who have the eyes of faith. You will remember that, following Jesus’ teaching on the Eucharist in John 6:66, the evangelist records that 'After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him.' We have experienced that in the Church of England. Not so long ago people attended Matins and Evensong in great numbers. When the liturgical movement took hold and the Mass became principal service of the day, there was a falling away. It could indeed be said that 'After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him'.

Faith merges into hope as, in the far distance, we glimpse the marriage feast of heaven,

'O sacred banquet in which Christ is received, the memory of his passion is renewed, our lives are filled with grace, and a pledge of future glory is given!'

The disciples, amidst the seemingly tragic events of Maundy Thursday – the farewell supper, the betrayal, the arrest, the denial – could not believe in Jesus, could not keep watch, could not confess him or even stay with him. The Christian life gives us a different perspective – the perspective of hope - and we try to do better. We hope to share in the life of the resurrection even as we proclaim the Lord’s death in the Mass of the Lord’s Supper. We keep watch with him at the Altar of Repose. We tell others about the Christian hope and we base our lives on what we see through this telescope. As the Epistle to the Hebrews says (10:23)

'Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.'[1]

Nothing deflects us, not even the problems of evil and suffering. As St Augustine says, 'the passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ gives us the confidence of glory and lesson in the endurance of suffering.'[2]

As St Paul says, the greatest of the three theological virtues – and the last - is love. The eyes of love are needed to understand Jesus’ self-giving, his ‘departing out of this world to the Father’ (John 13:1). Without love, the washing of the disciples’ feet, recorded in tonight’s Gospel, makes no sense.

'Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.'

Or, as the Jerusalem Bible puts it, translating slightly freely

'He had always loved those who were his in the world, but now he showed how perfect his love was.'

In a way we need to read the three chapters, John 13-17 straight through. We are quite used to the long story of the Passion – John 18-19 – being read at one go but the meaning is clear only if we look at chapters 13-17. Part of the meaning is unlocked by today’s Gospel Acclamation

'I give you a new commandment: Love one another as I have loved you.' (John 13:34)

That is certainly one dimension of love – the love shown in the foot-washing: 'If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have do to you.'( John 13:14-15) But there is more to love than loving each other, as we shall see tomorrow.

In the meantime, suffice it to say that the Maundy ThursdayLiturgy fully explores not only the foot-washing – as a Gospel reading and a liturgical act – but also our commitment to others. There is a procession with gifts for the poor and the liturgy makes the link for us by moving the Ubi caritas antiphon from its old position at the foot-washing to the procession with gifts for the poor as the altar is prepared. Practical love in action: where charity and love are found, there is God. No wonder St Paul says: 'Faith, hope and love abide, these thee; but the greatest of these is love.'

+Andrew Ebbsfleet
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THE EASTER VIGIL

Sunday 29 June 2003

SS Peter and Paul

A Sermon preached by the Revd Brian Prichard on the first anniversary of the ordination of Fr Anthony Howe to the priesthood.

Matthew 16:13-19 

Jesus and his disciples have been travelling - from Tyre, through Sidon, and down to the Sea of Galilee. Mark's account says they went on to Bethsaida, where Jesus healed a blind man after he spat on the man's eyes. Both Mark and Matthew record the journey on to Caesarea Philippi, where Jesus asked his disciples "Who do people say the Son of Man is?" They told him what the people were saying - Elijah, John the Baptist, Jeremiah, a prophet. Then Jesus asked them "But what about you? Who do you say I am?" and Peter said "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God". Jesus' reply to Peter ended with the words "And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church". In either Greek or Aramaic there is a play on words - Peter is petros, and a rock is petra; in Aramaic, kephas means both 'Peter' and 'rock'. As soon as Peter had declared Jesus to be the Christ, Jesus tells him 'you are petros and on this petra I will build my church.' This is tremendous praise. To call anyone a rock was the greatest of compliments. In the Old Testament, again and again the word 'rock' is applied to God himself. 1 Sam 2:2 "There is no-one holy like the LORD; there is no-one besides you; there is no Rock like our God." Deut 32:4 "He is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he." What, then, did Jesus mean?

There are several possible explanations. One is that the rock on which the church is built may be Peter's inspired confession of faith in Jesus as the Messiah, the Christ, the Son of the Living God. Saint Augustine took the 'rock' to mean Jesus himself, as if Jesus was saying 'You are Peter, and on myself as rock I will found my church, and you, Peter, will be great in it'. A third explanation is that the rock is Peter's faith, and on the faith of Peter the whole church is founded. His faith was to kindle the faith of the world-wide church. Or the 'rock' may be Peter himself, but in a special sense. And this is the theme I want to develop. Peter is the first stone of the whole church. Peter was the first man on earth to declare - perhaps discover - who Jesus was - is. He was the first person to make the leap and see in Jesus the Son of the living God. In other words, Peter was the first member of the church and, in that sense, the whole church is built on him. It is as if Jesus said to Peter 'you are the first person to grasp who I am; you are therefore the first stone, the foundation stone, the very beginning of the church I am founding.' And down through the years, the centuries, everyone who makes the same discovery as Peter is another stone added to the Church of Christ.

The New Testament repeatedly uses the picture of a building to describe the church, but from different angles. Paul, writing to the Ephesians, indicates that the church is "built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone." Humanly speaking, the church depends on the integrity, the teaching, the fidelity, of the prophets and apostles, and Jesus is the chief cornerstone who holds the church together.

In 1 Pet 2:4-5 is that famous passage describing all Christians as living stones: "As you come to him, the living Stone-- rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him, you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood". In 1 Cor 3:11 Paul tells us "no-one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ." In that letter Paul goes on to tell the Corinthians - and therefore us - that we are God's Temple and that God's Spirit therefore lives in us. In these different pictures, these cameos, we are being built into the church of Christ; Jesus is the head of the church, its real foundation, the only one with the power to hold it all together, but the church began with Peter. In that sense, Peter is the foundation of the church, and no-one can take that honour from him. Yet even today we tend to think of the church as the building, the institution, with its Councils and Synods, its cathedrals and offices. In the Old Testament, the word used for what, today, we might think of as church meant the congregation - the congregation of Israel, the gathering of the people of the Lord. Today we might prefer the language of the Baptism service when we speak of the Fellowship of Faith. What Jesus was, I think, saying to Peter was that 'You, Peter, are the beginning of the new Israel, the new people of the Lord, the new fellowship of faith, the new fellowship of those who believe in my name.' Peter was the first of the fellowship of believers in Christ. What began with Peter was not a denomination, was not a church as we might interpret it today, but something much more exciting, much more dynamic: a fellowship of all believers in Jesus Christ, embracing all who love the Lord Jesus. Peter recognised Christ and over the years that remained to him on earth he pointed countless thousands to Christ - 3000 on the day of Pentecost alone. What Peter began is now the task of us all - we are the living stones, the body of Christ, the Fellowship of Faith, the new Congregation of Israel. Ours is the task to point people to our Lord Jesus Christ, ours is the responsibility to declare 'You are the Christ', to make him known. It is a task for the whole church, every single one of us. It is not something we can devolve or delegate or simply assume is the task of the ordained priest. As each stone in a building has its own purpose, each of us - living stones - has our own purpose within the body, the church.

But today, when we celebrate especially the anniversary of Father Anthony's ordination as a Priest, you might ask 'then what is the role of the priest if we are all in it together?' There is a special role, and part of that is seen in the tasks which are bestowed on the priest at his ordination, and I recall Fr Jeremy Sheehy speaking so powerfully and so eloquently about them from this pulpit a year ago. To call to repentance and to absolve; to baptise; to preside at the Holy Communion; to lead in prayer and worship, to intercede, to teach, to encourage. To minister to the sick, to prepare the dying for their death. The charge is awesome.

Or to give another cameo - to display, to enable, to involve. The Priest is to display in his whole person that total response to Christ to which we all - all the stones - are pledged. He is to be a beacon of the work of the church, and he is to enable that work - to see and seek out gifts in others, and to nurture them. And he is to involve; as the Priest - as it were - gets his hands dirty with his involvement in day-to-day life, so he brings the work of the church in that activity.

Archbishop Michael Ramsey said the priest is someone who is "to be with God with the people on your heart, and to be with the people in God's strength". I like that. Peter, in his declaration that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, is embodying that. On behalf of us all he declared who Jesus is. In effect, he stood with God with the people on his heart. Jesus, by declaring that 'on this rock I will build my church' is placing Peter with the people, in God's strength.

Today, as stones in the church of Christ, we recommit ourselves with Father Anthony in our response to God and to the Son of the Living God, Jesus Christ. We seek to enable, and to be enabled, in the work of the gospel of Christ. And we share in the involvement, in the dirt and pain, and joy and thanks, of making him known, of being part of his body, the church, of being involved in helping others to make the same discovery as did Peter - that Jesus is the Christ and, in that discovery, to become another stone added to the Church of Christ.

Brian Prichard

It is amazing to what people can hope to aspire, especially children. I remember that as a small boy, I wanted to do one of two things when I grew up. It is not very difficult to guess the first, since I have ended up doing it. The other, was rather grander, for when I tired of doing church on my makeshift altar in my bedroom and realised that my sister was not going to drink any more Ribena, I would resort, quite literally, to my other hat. You see, as a boy, I wanted almost more than anything else to be a King. I thought that it was just the job for me. I had a collection of cardboard crowns, some which had been liberated from various school productions and others which I had made by gluing together silver foil and pretty coloured sweet wrappers to imitate the precious metals. I did my research; I know the difference between St Edward’s and the Imperial State Crown. I even had a royal robe, a piece of red velvet curtain that mummy had kindly put together for the purpose, and which still exists somewhere.

But my kingly ambitions were not limited to dressing up. I had my subjects. There was my sister, of course, always ready to obey, or not as the case may be. Then there were the other children in the road who, more or less, fell into line, especially when we declared wars of conquest in the quest for territorial expansion. And we were rather good at it, since by the time I eventually came to hang up the crown the kingdom included half the village. At the eastern front I created the Maharajah of Bushey Close to administrate on my behalf; at the other a trusted General to keep the order. It was a state to rival Elizabethan Gloriana. But it was, like all empires, limited. We never got to the other side of the village – they weren’t interested in matters royal. Eventually the pressures of the world and school began to take their toil; the general lost interest and the Mahrajah rebelled. Gloriana had faded away. We hear a lot about royalty these days. The papers thrive on it; the Americans adore it. Throughout the ages, the leaders have sought crowns though battles and coups. No king has ever been safe; we only have to look back at the last century to see that. Wherever you get a king, you get treason. On the face of it, Jesus was being tried for treason. He had been handed over to Pilate on the charge that he claimed to be some sort of a King. That was the charge nailed to the cross; that is what the crowd shouted about. But Pilate was perplexed by it all, since this particular kingly pretender did not pretend to anything he recognised. Jesus did not seek political power or even liberation. He was not mounting any serious challenge to Ceasar which might have warranted action. He had, after all, even said that people should render unto Ceasar that which was Ceasar’s, hardly the talk of a revolutionary. But, for some reason, Jesus was there, and Pilate needed to get to the bottom of it. This is where we are in today’s gospel. But he was not getting very far, for whilst Jesus admits that he is a King, he does not seem to want to tell Pilate where he is King of. Pilate must have found this complete nonsense. If Jesus had posed a political threat, then he could have quite easily had him removed. Galilee was, at that time one of the most heavily militarised parts of the Roman empire, since it was always facing rebellions and uprisings. Had Jesus proved to be behind one of these, he would have been quashed. But the problem here was that Jesus was clearly not a threat. His claims did not appear to usurp the Roman political authority. Indeed, he did not appear to care less about it. Quite the opposite, he was saying that his Kingdom was not of this world. Pilate might have thought that Jesus might have been mad, but he was certainly no traitor. It is no wonder that Pilate wanted to let him go. To see what Pilate failed to see, we have to understand what Jesus meant when he talked of his Kingdom. He was not a king of any particular place; no, his kingdom is far greater than this. That is because Jesus’ kingdom is that of souls. He was the Messiah, the anointed one of God. And the Jews knew this and they did not like it. They had expected the Messiah to be a political hero who would liberate the land so that they could return to the glory days of David. That was their plan. But it was not God’s plan. When the messiah came, he proved not to be a threat to the occupiers, but rather to the very structures of Jewish society itself. He preached a gospel of salvation to all peoples, whether they were Jewish or not. No longer was God’s love to be restricted to one particular nation; it was now shown to be for all the people. This change was far more dangerous for the chief Priests than any political revolution. They could more or less live with the Romans since they still held the places of honour in the Synagogues. They might have hoped for more influence in a restored independent state. But they did not bank on becoming surplice to requirements, obsolete, and having no influence at all. That simply wouldn’t do. The man had to be stopped and only the Romans could stop him. Thus they trumped up the charge. The chief priests were right to be afraid, since the kingship that Christ claimed would do them out of business. A king fulfils two important functions: he leads and he unites. Kings from William the Conqueror to Charles the Martyr have led their troops into battles, to victories and defeats. Today Her Majesty the Queen is a focus of unity, since as well as being head of the Commonwealth she is also the Queen several nations including, of course, both England and Australia! Christ fulfils both of kingly these functions. He led the battle against death by going to death himself, and so won the Victory. The cross is not a cross of shame but a cross of glory. And by his death and resurrection, Christ also united the people, since it is through our sharing in his resurrection we are promised eternal life. He comes to each one of us and because we become one with him so we also become one with each other. We have a foretaste of this at Mass, since when each one of us receives the Blessed sacrament, we become one with Christ and as many become one body. That is what the church is about. Christ’s Kingdom, then, is not one of power and political influence, neither Gloriana nor the village in Suffolk. But whilst it may not be of this world, the Kingdom is not apart from it. We have yet to see it in its full glory, but we do know its law, the law of love. That is the King’s command, to love one another as he loves us. We know also its language; it is the language of prayer. Let us pray then, that God’s Kingdom will come, for ever.