The Living Word
A sermon preached by the Revd Canon Dr Alison Joyce on Bible Sunday, 25th October 2009
In the name of the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In common with a number of other Christian denominations, the Church of England uses a ‘lectionary’: a programme of Biblical readings set for morning and evening prayer and for communion services, for every day of the year. The lectionary is a very important component within the common life that we share with other Church of England congregations, most of whom will have been listening this morning to the same biblical readings that we heard here a moment ago.
Indeed, even though when I say the daily office here every morning I do so alone, I am always very conscious of the fact that other Anglican clergy throughout the land will be reading and reflecting upon the same Bible passages that I am, at some point that morning. So, as members of the Church of England, ours is very much a corporate spiritual life, which extends well beyond the bounds of our own worshipping community, even when we happen to be alone.
And from the point of view of the preacher, the lectionary also brings with it an important discipline. Unlike most ‘free church’ ministers, I do not normally have the luxury of choosing the texts that I preach upon. And a jolly good thing, too. Because, amongst other things, it means that I cannot be tempted to choose texts that suit my particular prejudices, or avoid texts that I happen to find difficult or uncomfortable. And indeed, in my experience, it is almost invariably the case that the hardest and most challenging passages of scripture generate the best sermons. Because they require the preacher to do some work!
Up until 1871, the Church of England’s lectionary was very straightforward, in that it simply divided the Bible up into whole chapters, and you read a chapter at a time. Which might seem an obvious enough thing to do, except that unfortunately it did this regardless of where the chapter divisions actually fell. Which meant, ProfessorJohn Barton, the Old Testament scholar, once observed, that until the old lectionary was eventually revised in 1871, there were three occasions during the church’s year when the second lesson at Evensong from the Book of Acts ended as follows:
‘Paul … beckoned with his hand unto the people. And when there was made a great silence, he spake unto them in the Hebrew tongue, saying,’ ….. ‘Here endeth the second lesson.’ (Acts 21.40 AV).
The Common Worship lectionary that we use today avoids that particular elephant trap by at least endeavouring to finish its readings in sensible places, regardless of chapter divisions. But unfortunately, the flip-side of the modern lectionary’s otherwise commendable aim to assist the reader is that it occasionally falls prey to a different kind of problem altogether.
As those of you who read lessons for us here in church will probably be aware, occasionally, especially when there is a particularly long or difficult reading, the lectionary compilers, trying to be helpful, edit it, by leaving out the occasional block of verses. And unfortunately, very occasionally, a key part of the text is sometimes omitted as a result. This can, of course, give a misleading sense of the full meaning of a passage. But, for me, there is a still deeper problem. Because, where scripture is involved, I am a great believer that difficult texts need to be faced, not edited out or conveniently ignored. Far better to face a text it its entirety and own its difficulty, than try to forget altogether that the awkward bits are there.
Someone once sent me an email containing a wonderful collection of photographs taken in American of church sign boards (that is boards containing slogans that commonly stand outside church entrances in the States). Easily my favourite was the board that simply said: ‘Read the Bible – it’ll scare the hell out of you!’
Joking apart, the Bible isn’t – nor should it be – an easy or a comfortable read. Indeed, people often fail to recognise quite what a complex ragbag of stuff it actually is, containing as it does, history, mythology, love poetry, law codes, stories, and authentic letters, which themselves span a period of more than a millennium, and were generated by a society that was very far removed from our own, both historically and culturally. Of course there will be things within Scripture that seem alien or strange to us today, or even morally repugnant – such as its acceptance of slavery as a simple fact of life, to cite but one example. And yet, bizarrely; inexplicably, at a deeper level, the Bible continues to have a living voice that retains its astonishing power to transform lives. So having said, on the one hand, we need to be cautious about editing the biblical text to leave out the awkward and inexplicable, it is also true that sometimes we need to look for the deeper truths that exist below the surface level of the text.
At last Monday’s PCC meeting we were reflecting upon how we read the gospel during our main Sunday morning services. As you will, I’m sure, have noticed, it is our standard practice to have the first reading, which is either from the Old Testament, or from another part of the New Testament, read from that lectern over there. The gospel reading, however, we treat rather differently: it is traditionally read by the priest; we sing a response when it is announced, and it is usually read from a different part of the building. (Here we read from the pulpit, but in some churches it is read from the chancel step, or processed into the nave aisle to be amongst the people.)
So why is the gospel reading handled so differently in the communion service, from the rest of scripture? Well, if you think about it, the four gospels embody the story of the incarnation of Jesus the Christ; his ministry; his death and his resurrection. The core of the Christian revelation resides there within that story. And the other non-gospel texts, which we read from the lectern, all relate to that revelation: from the Christian perspective, the Old Testament points forward to it; and the rest of the New Testament, such as the letters of the St Paul, reflect back on it retrospectively. In other words, there is a sense in which the gospels ‘contain’ the living Christ in a sense that other parts of scripture, which merely point to it, do not.
Incidentally, it doesn’t matter a jot that chronologically the letters of Paul were written before the gospels themselves; or indeed, that the gospels themselves are the product of theological reflection upon the person of Christ. The point is about the nature of the revelation itself, rather than the dating of specific ancient texts. Or, to express it slightly differently, at the very heart of what we are about as Christians is a story, but a story with a difference: the story that the gospels contain for us, and communicate to us, is a living story; it is a story that has a reality that is past, present and future; and the gospels symbolise and embody that for us. The gospels present us with the living Christ.
And, of course, any story that is truly worth exploring, is a story that invites us to go on a journey; it is likely to be a story with enough rough edges for us to know that it is real; a story with the power to raise our spirits, to touch our hearts with compassion; to make us weep; and to know a joy and a hope that is beyond words. The Bible is a ragbag of stuff, precisely because real life is a ragbag of stuff. But the power of the life-changing story resides at its heart. And the point at which it comes to light is the point at which we recognise, perhaps for the first time, the truth of that.
In December 1986, following her release from a Soviet labour camp, the Russian dissident, poet, and Christian theologian, Irina Ratushinskaya, gave an interview to the Daily Telegraph, in which she said this:
I was twenty-three before I ever saw a Bible. But I had already known God for many years, and could talk to him. I found in the Bible what I had already discovered alone.
The point being that the Bible deals with profound truths about the nature of human beings and the nature of God, which transcend time and culture. Ratushinskaya found within it confirmation of what she had already discovered through her relationship with the living God. The Bible is a living word that has the power to transform us. But it does so precisely because it speaks to us of the things of God through, and out of, the mess of human experience, in all its complexity. And that is why it is an insult to the living word of God to treat the Bible as if it were some kind of celestial telephone directory, which delivers factual answers. I can assure you, it is far, far, more important than that.
Scripture has power precisely because it points to something greater than itself. As Jesus says in today’s gospel reading:
You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf. Yet you refuse to come to me to have life.’
Read scripture; hear the voice of the living God who inspired it; listen for the things that resonate with the deepest elements of your soul; open your hearts; experience the living Christ through God’s word. And know what it is to be truly loved, and truly free.
Amen.