Sermon Archive
The Open Circle of Faith
Sermon preached by John Armes at Holy Communion on 16 March 2003, in anticipation of Inter-faith Prayers in St John's Hall
Genesis 17.1-7, 5-16 ; Romans 4.13-25 ; Mark 8.31-38
'The only rule of this game,' said the leader, 'is that those outside the circle have to get into it.' There followed a determined defence of our human circle, linking arms against the energetic attempts of two 'outsiders' to get in. Then suddenly the truth dawned on some irritatingly perceptive person that the rule was for the outsiders to get in not for us to keep them out. Trying hard not to kick the wise guy we conceded his point and the game ended.
It's a game we all like playing. We are 'insiders' (the people who know, who belong, who have the right qualifications, social credentials, piece of paper, genetic inheritance) and it becomes our assumed responsibility and pleasure to keep others 'outside'. It's always unsettling for the outsiders, of course, but there are times when this game can have dire and frightening consequences - not least when the Christian Church has been involved. I don't mean the ease with which any community, church or not, can become cliquey. It is much more fundamental than that for it is to do with the way religious people think.
Ask yourself: is our faith described best as a closed or open circle?
If our beliefs contain everything we need to be self-sufficient in wisdom and knowledge then our faith is a closed circle. If we believe that in the end theology has nothing to learn from other faiths, or other disciplines or other aspects of human experience then it is a closed circle. If, on the other hand, we believe that the Christian faith can learn from and be shaped by the culture and learning of the world around it, and that at most theology offers us a penultimate and more often a highly provisional statement of truth, then it is an open circle.
The trouble is, as I have already suggested, closed circles are dangerous. In the case of the Church the danger is not simply that some Christians refuse to pray with other Christians, or that some Christians prefer to keep themselves locked away from the insights of science. It is rather that the closed circle mentality makes the Christian church, and indeed any religious faith, politically dangerous.
Remember the wilderness temptation story, how Jesus was shown all the kingdoms of the world if he would only bow down to Satan. Jesus refused it, but the Church through the ages has given way time after time. Combine political power with religious certainty and you get the worst kind of imperialism.
Today's gospel offers us an interesting perspective. St Mark highlights the vulnerability of Jesus and therefore of his followers. For 'the Son of Man must undergo great suffering' and his disciples must take up their cross too. Peter found this incredibly hard to grasp, it flew in the face of everything he had learned about religious authority and the ways of God. He remonstrates with Jesus and is called 'Satan' for his pains. Yet perhaps we, steeped as we are in the history of western Christendom, understand his reaction. Deep down we too find it hard to grasp what Jesus means when he asks, 'What does it profit if you gain the whole world and forfeit your life?' or when he tells us that 'those who want to save their lives will lose them'
Yet we are called to vulnerability. Part of this is the recognition that we don't possess the truth and that the truth cannot be imposed through power. More than this we are called to take up our cross and follow - a call to a life of journeying and pilgrimage. But although we have someone to follow, we do not know for sure where he is leading us.
This afternoon some of us will join in prayer for peace with Jews and Muslims. Interestingly each of the three faiths represented trace their roots back to Abraham, Jews by virtue of blood, Christians through their Saviour Jesus, Muslims through their great prophet Mohammed. Each one of us has claimed exclusive use of the Abrahamic promise at some point in our history; is it possible, I wonder, for us to be content merely with a share?
Certainly in our first reading we find the roots of generosity, the hint that ultimately God's providence is for all. Abraham and Sarah, it is said, are to be the ancestors 'of a multitude of nations.' In the second reading St Paul underlines this inclusiveness. The promise to Abraham arises from his faithful response to God's grace and is 'guaranteed to all his descendants [in spirit as well as in blood] not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham'.
This offers us an intriguing and uncomfortable possibility: that as we take up our cross and follow Christ we may find we are sharing our pilgrimage with other peoples of faith. And that what we have in common is that like our ancestor Abraham who left the security of his home in Haran in obedience to God, we are to venture forward not knowing exactly what our destination is to be.
This is why it's so important to ask that question about the circle of our faith; is it open or closed? For our answer has a bearing on what we think is going on in the hall this afternoon. Is it essentially an occasion of good manners and polite listening? Whilst all the time thinking: 'You're wrong and I'm right; I'm in and you're out'? A gesture with little substance, and indeed, a disquieting subtext. Or are we participating in an event which is not only a call for peace but which is itself an act of peacemaking? A statement that the three faiths involved in and complicit in the middle-eastern conflict can not merely coexist but can cooperate and find common ground.
In 1986 Pope John Paul II invited all the religious leaders of the world to meet in Assisi to pray for peace. They didn't all pray in the same building, but they prayed in their different ways at the same time in the same city. As the Pope said at the time, 'The challenge of peace transcends all religions.'
In our own way this afternoon we shall face this challenge. We shall struggle with the limitations of our own circle of faith and reach out, in our separate and very human ways to that awesome and beautiful mystery we dare to call God. And in straining towards a peace that is beyond all our imagining perhaps we shall understand for a moment how in God love and suffering conspire together.
The cross is something special to Christianity. So too is our extraordinary doctrine of God, the Trinity. Interestingly, iconographers commonly draw the Trinity as three figures seated around a table holding hands. But the circle is never complete. It is open not closed, for the community of God always invites another partner to join in conversation and communion around the table. Perhaps for God too the only rule is that those outside the circle are to get into it.
But to construct a circle of invitation makes us as it makes God intensely vulnerable. For we know that our communities, our conversations are changed by those who join us - changed unavoidably, undeniably. Are we willing to open our circle, give up what we have in order to gain something different? Remember what Jesus said, 'those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.'
I am of course only speaking here for myself not for my colleagues of other faiths this afternoon. On the face of it, all we shall be doing in our small way is to offer our separate prayers for peace. But I don't believe it is possible to pray for peace, to reflect together on God's peace, without also realising the terrifying and costly truth that when peace comes it must begin with me.
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