Sermon Archive
Reading the Small Print: The Challenge facing Rowan Williams
Sermon preached by John Armes at Holy Communion on 28 July 2002
Genesis 29 15-28; Romans 8 26-39; Matthew 13 31-33, 44-52
It was a very large box of Corn Flakes But it was offering one free ticket for Alton Towers. So, on 17 July we set off clutching our voucher. We arrived in good time, took the monorail to the ticket office only to discover a large notice that read, 'Kellogg's offer not valid between 8 and 23 July'. I had failed to read the small print on the side of the packet!
More seriously, there was a radio programme this week that described what it's like to work on the minimum wage. We heard how some workers we charged by their employers for essential protective equipment like rubber gloves, boots and overalls; how some were even charged a fee to have their wages paid direct to a bank account. Never mind a free lunch, they didn't even get paid for their coffee break. There always seems to be a catch.
Jacob should have read the small print. In all those seven years working to win his bride it never seemed to occur to him that there was a catch in his agreement with Laban. Was there something wrong with Leah's eyes? Was she the ugly one, or was it simply that Jacob was smitten with love for Rachel? Either way, Laban was concerned that his elder daughter should not be left on the shelf. It was dark but Jacob, all naïve trust and enthusiasm, welcomes his bride and, 'When morning came it was Leah!'
I can just imagine Laban sitting outside his tent stirring the early morning porridge waiting for the volcano to erupt. Suddenly loud expostulations are heard. 'Hey up, the lad's awake then!' and Jacob bursts on the scene.
We have good reason to suppose that Rowan Williams, Archbishop-elect of Canterbury, is a rather wiser man than Jacob. He is someone well-equipped for his new role. Like those scribes of the kingdom Jesus mentions in the gospel reading, he is capable of bringing out of his treasure what is new and what is old - a respect for tradition, if you like, as well as the astute realisation that that tradition is alive and must be continually reinterpreted and rediscovered in a rapidly changing world.
He is, as we know from his writings and public statements, a man familiar with the small print. He knows that he is expected to lead a church, both nationally and worldwide, that is bubbling with internal conflict over whether women should be bishops, whether homosexuals may be ordained or have their partnerships blessed, whether and in what sense the creeds may be questioned and our understanding of God and Christ be reinterpreted. He will be expected to hold the Anglican communion together when already these issues mean that more and more congregations are refusing to accept the authority of their own bishops and asking for oversight from other countries, even other continents.
He also knows that internal issues like this are never only internal - the Christian church sits in the world, and the world looks on, with a mixture of bemusement, derision and hope at what the church may decide. And because the church sits in the world, and because the Christian faith has always been a public faith dealing with all the perplexities of human life it faces major external issues too. What do we mean when we speak today of nationhood? How are other cultures and other religions to be properly affirmed? What place should the Church of England occupy in parliament and the state? How are we to educate our young people? As well as difficult international questions about war and peace, terrorism and state oppression, world trade, poverty, debt and ecological destruction.
I don't think that Rowan Williams will be easily caught out. But we do not inhabit a static world; we are surrounded by spontaneity, self-interest, catastrophe and crisis. And besides, there are plenty of Laban's around ready to tell him, 'We don't do things that way around here.' So, this is a long-winded way of suggesting that the new Archbishop needs our prayers as well as his own prayers - even if at times we are unsure what we are praying for and have to leave it to the Spirit to interpret with sighs too deep for words. But more than this, we must not allow euphoria at his appointment to cloud the fact that he is only one, fallible human being. He may set the mood for our communion but he cannot single-handedly reverse the decline of Christianity in Britain or pull together a church intent on being divided. The task remains our task not just his and our shoulders must share the burden with his.
I don't mean this to sound negative. But we are responsible for making our world, and must live with our decisions. And we know that even small decisions can have enormous consequences. Take the story of Jacob and Laban. Laban's fatherly concern for Leah means that Jacob ends up with two wives, one whom he loves, the other who he never wanted. This leads to the favouritism that singles out Joseph (Rachel's child) against his brothers (Leah's children). This, in turn, causes the jealousy that sends Joseph, as a slave, to Egypt. Egypt, exodus, Promised Land and so on - we know the story.
It is curious to reflect that much of the Old Testament is a record of how God picks up the pieces after his chosen ones make a mess of things. Indeed, how that very mess can end up being complicit in God's activity. So, if Laban hadn't tricked Jacob there would never have been an exodus. This is partly what Paul means, I suppose, when he says, 'all things work together for good for those who love God.'
The point is that it is very easy for someone to do wrong whilst intending to do good. And that even the smallest mistake can have huge consequences - the more powerful you are the greater the consequences. But there is some reassurance in our readings, nevertheless, for the new Archbishop, for they speak of grace. But grace that rarely works spectacularly or even visibly. So, Jesus says, God's kingdom comes like a tiny mustard seed that eventually grows, large enough even to shelter birds. Or like leaven, invisible, indivisible from the dough, yet all too evident in the nature of the bread itself. Of course, we cannot always know how it will work out. Last week we had the parable of the weeds growing alongside the wheat, this week it is the fish gathered in one net and only then sorted into good and bad. God's timescale is a long one.
This whole idea is shot through with paradox. For what does it mean to speak of God's providence in a world that so often needs yet lacks good will? It's meaningless to imagine that God would intervene directly at every given moment. It would constantly overrule human freedom and choice. And yet ours is a hopeful faith.
Somehow, we believe, the underlying principle of the universe, the way things are arranged is such that in the end all shall be well; that nothing in all creation, however dreadful, can separate us from the goodness, the love of God. And more than this, that we discover this in our own lives when we seek to do what God wants. This, after all, is what God's Kingdom means, it is where God's will is done.
Earlier this week Rowan Williams expressed the hope 'that years to come may see Christianity in this country able again to capture the imagination of our culture.' This is a challenge not just for him but for us all. It is the challenge to show that God's Kingdom, the things of God, are of such value that like the field with hidden treasure or the pearl of great value they are worth all that we have and more. So to speak of God, the intimate and infinite mystery that is the source and at the heart of all life and truth, goodness and beauty, God who is love, that others are captivated, excited, reassured and inspired to set God and God's values at the core of their lives.
Or, to put it another way, to learn for ourselves and help others to see that unlike the catches inherent in working on the minimum wage, or hidden on the side of a Corn Flakes packet, the small print of the gospel actually offers us more, infinitely more than we could ever expect.