Sermon Archive
Salvation Sandwich
Sermon preached by John Armes at Holy Communion on 24 February 2008, at the service prior to the Congregational Extraordinary General meeting to discuss the building plans for the church
Exodus 17.1-7 ; Romans 5.1-11 ; John 4.5-42
There’s a story of a theology professor noted for his questioning approach to faith. One day he was approached by a zealous young student after a lecture.
‘You ask many questions, professor, but surely the only one that matters is “Are you saved?”’
‘That’s very interesting,’ replied the professor, ‘do you mean have I been saved, am I being saved or shall I be saved?’
The story of our relationship with God has three reference points – you could almost say that it’s lived in three places at once. This is illustrated in the story of the exodus of the people of Israel away from slavery in Egypt towards the Promised Land. They’ve been liberated, yet as we heard in the first reading, this freedom is not easy to bear and they begin to wish they could return to captivity. But it’s important to see their wilderness experience not as a tiresome transition, something that has to be got over so that they can enjoy the real benefits of a land flowing with milk and honey, but rather as a time of testing, a time of learning and self-discovery, an opportunity to grasp what responsible living might mean.
For St Paul, as a Jew, this story of liberation from Egypt was an instinctive part of his life so it’s not surprising to find it reflected in his threefold picture of liberation in Christ, clearly there in our second reading. Our liberation is lived out first of all at the foot of the cross and in the garden of the resurrection. It’s lived out finally in a time yet to come, when God will bring all things once again into a right relationship with Him. And sandwiched between these two our salvation is worked out now, in the lives we live as we learn to become what, in another sense, we already are. Our lives now, in other words, are the filling in a salvation sandwich. The bread’s important, of course, but it’s the filling (our life now) that adds the flavour and makes it a proper meal.
Most of the time, for most of us, our conscious moments are lived in the middle of this sandwich. We know we’re part of a process of change and becoming, in a world that tests us often with experiences to be endured rather than enjoyed. We have been saved, we shall be saved, but whilst we’re being saved in the here and now we’re absorbed with many practical and perfectly proper things such as food and clothing and housing.
So, grumbling to Moses that there’s no water to drink is not unreasonable. And anyone who’s had to carry water any distance at all will understand the Samaritan woman’s scepticism perfectly when she says, in effect, that ‘it’s all very well talking about living water but unless it means I’ll be saved a journey to the well then it’s not much use to me.’
The point Jesus is making to the woman, is that if our aspirations are limited to clean water then we’re missing the fact that our lives, in all their mundane ordinariness are, nevertheless, gathered up into, illuminated by the saving action of God. You don’t just need water, you need living water. When all is done and all our appetites are satisfied we still thirst for something more. And this refreshment isn’t to be found in some dusty dispute about whose ancestors worshipped on which mountain, but in whether you’ve learned to worship in spirit and in truth, even if you have had five husbands, and now have a live-in lover.
Later this morning we’ll be talking about buildings and, in a way, what I’ve just said is relevant to this. To worship in spirit and in truth, to live lives for God does not require buildings. Church buildings are the practical response to living in the middle time. I think we can probably say that our buildings are more than a merely practical response – their design and location point us beyond the merely practical to the truth that we can’t live by bread alone. Thus far, these buildings have spoken of the things of God to many people. But the fact remains that they’re secondary matters; if they ever get in the way of the gospel, if they ever prevent us living the gospel then we must either change them or go elsewhere.
A couple of weeks ago I heard a representative of Historic Scotland speaking about the future of Princes Street. He pointed out that Historic Scotland is not against change per se. ‘Change,’ he said, ‘is important because Edinburgh is a historic city not despite; it.’ In other words, when people we’ve never met built the New Town, the heritage they left us was not primarily a work of art but a place to live in – a place intended to offer a quality of life. How foolish we’d be to throw all this away! But how equally foolish we’d be if we were so determined not to change anything that our heritage actually began to inhibit our quality of life now.
The same goes for our church buildings: ‘Change is important because St John’s is a historic church not despite; it.’ When people we’ve never met built this church the heritage they left us was not primarily a work of art but a place intended to enhance the quality of our Christian living. How foolish we’d be to destroy what we’ve been given! But how equally foolish, and indeed, unfaithful we would be if we were so determined not to change anything that our heritage began to inhibit our Christian discipleship.
What I’m not saying is that therefore you must vote for the plans or somehow you’re being unfaithful. What I am saying is that, whatever our view of the present plans, we’re all faced with the call of God to be faithful in this time as our forerunners were faithful in theirs. This means accepting responsibility for present decisions knowing that they may be enjoyed (or endured) by people we shall never meet; decisions to allow our buildings to enhance our mission.
And our mission is to be a church in the middle – in the middle of the salvation sandwich, in the middle of the city. Not with all the answers, but with a commitment to walk with others in a common search for meaning and hope. A church prepared to ignore social taboos, prepared to be a nuisance occasionally so as to get a greater message across. A community of believers which listens to voices crying for justice and tries to do something to answer them. A community which believes that God’s love does not disappoint us; that the promise of reconciliation and peace which is ours, in hope, is for all people to share. A community that drinks from the living waters of faith so that others, some yet to be born, may drink one day from the same well.
We can see love for God expressed all around us here in this worship space. But worshipping God in spirit and in truth is not just about what we do on a Sunday, it’s also about how we love our neighbour – each one made in God’s image – seven days a week. What we’re looking to do, therefore, is not simply to provide better toilets but spaces and facilities that become a way of us saying to people, ‘you are valuable, your comfort matters’. This is true whether those people are members of the congregation or employees, terrace businesses, or interest, campaigning or support groups – whether they have come for encounter or conversation, whether they come in dire need or merely out of curiosity. To provide access, welcome and safety to all is a way of saying that who they are and what they do, as they make their own journey towards the Promised Land, matters to us and, above all, matters to God.
There will be a time when all this is past, when we shall inhabit a greater building not made with human hands, eternal and in the heavens. But until then our buildings are made with bricks and mortar, concrete and steel, glass and wood and they’re built by the toil of our hands, the sweat of our brows, the faithfulness of our vision and our trust in God.