A saint for our day

From Wellington Cathedral of St Paul

A Saint for our day: 16th October 2011: pm: The Very Revd Frank Nelson

• Psalm 142
• Proverbs 4: 1 - 18
• 1 John 3: 16 – 4: 6

Last weekend a little man with an enormous heart celebrated his 80th birthday. These days 80th birthdays are no big deal really. But this one hit the world headlines, not only because of the ‘birthday boy’ but because one of his guests was unable to attend the party. I am talking about Archbishop Desmond Tutu – former Archbishop of Cape Town, Nobel Peace Prize Winner, close friend of the Dalai Lama (the guest who missed out on the party when the South African government chose not to grant him a visa). There are any number of websites where you can read about the Archbishop’s life and achievements. He has been covered in honours from across the world. He has spoken out, and continues to speak out, on a wide range of topics - his vociferous campaign against Apartheid, the championing of the rights of women, undergoing an HIV/Aids test, calling for President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe to step down. He also reads the Bible daily, and probably still celebrates Mass daily in the quietness of the chapel in his home. He is one of those colossus figures in the latter part of the 20th century who, in due course, is quite likely to be remembered in Anglican church calendars as a saint.

Is it right to think of him as a saint? This week our Anglican Lectionary invites us remember St Ignatius of Antioch, one of the second generation of Christians. On Tuesday we give thanks for St Luke – evangelist and patron saint of doctors. Wednesday is set aside for Tarore of Waharoa, the young Maori girl behind the story of the conversion of great chiefs such as Te Rauparaha. On Thursday we give thanks for Henry Martyn, missionary to India in the early 1800s, who translated the New Testament into Urdu before dying of the plague. And so it goes. Come the 1st of November and we have the lovely Feast of All Saints – that great catch-all festival which reminds us that all the baptised are, in some sense or another, saints. What is remarkable about the people we remember is that none of them set out to become saints. They were and are all normal everyday people who happened to respond in their way and their time to God’s call.

So yes, I believe it is quite legitimate for us to give thanks for the long life and incredibly varied ministry of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a saint of our time – and what better time than on his 80th birthday?

I said earlier that you can read about him in a good number of places, including the very interesting biography written by his good friend John Allen: ‘Rabble Rouser for Peace’. But tonight I want to give my perspective, a very personal one, on Desmond Tutu. For I have had the privilege of meeting him on several occasions, and am fortunate to have my own stories about him. Desmond tells the story of his mother, a working class woman who did washing for people, being greeted politely by a white man. The simple action of a white man doffing of his hat to a black woman blew the young Desmond away. It simply did not happen in Apartheid South Africa. That simple action set Desmond on the path to ordination and his life as priest, dean, bishop and archbishop. He never forgot the disciplined life of prayer, Bible reading and Holy Communion in which he was formed. Perhaps that is what kept him down to earth, a real people’s person, even when he was being courted by the world’s greatest. Friends of mine, newly ordained priests, who found themselves on his staff as chaplains, tell of their exhaustion in trying to keep up with Desmond. He was well known for getting up very early in the morning, going for a jog, and then into a time of silent meditation, prayer and Eucharist – all before breakfast.

My first encounter with Desmond was in July 1977 in Maseru, the capital of the tiny mountainous and land-locked Kingdom of Lesotho. A student at theological college at the time, I was on the organising committee of the annual conference for the national Anglican Students Federation. The bishop of Lesotho welcomed us students into his home, poured tea and shared that infectious laugh and twinkling eyes. I still treasure a photograph of him at that conference – clad in green chasuble, arms outstretched as he celebrated the Eucharist.

In July 1987 Christine met Archbishop Desmond for the first time. We were at a cocktail reception for him as he passed through our town, en route home from one of his overseas trips. Clearly exhausted he nonetheless had kind words to say to each person in the room. At the time Christine was heavily pregnant. This was just the sort of break Desmond revelled in, a chance to get away from religion and politics and be a concerned father. His own daughter was in a similar condition and the two of them compared notes. Some weeks later I bumped into the Archbishop at an airport and he asked, by name, about Christine. No – the baby had not yet been born. A few months later my father met him for the first time. “Derek Nelson,” said the Arch, “how’s your new grand-daughter?” Yes, Desmond is a man who made connections, remembered names and conversations, and made you feel special. The story was told that after his election as Archbishop of Cape Town he made a point of finding out who his fiercest opponents were, and something about them. When he met them, he immediately won them over by his real concern for them as people. It was said at the time that there were those who know and love Desmond Tutu, and those who have never met him.

A year later, in July 1988, I found myself kneeling at the altar rail in Southwark Cathedral. The Lambeth Conference was on and Desmond was celebrating a service to which any South Africans who happened to be in London at the time were invited. One of many anonymous worshippers, I held out my hands to receive the sacrament from him, and then did a double take when he said, “Frank, the Body of Christ.” Two of us were there attending an RSCM Summer School. My colleague was a young organist from one of the most politically conservative, anti-black, families in the country. She begged me to introduce her to Desmond Tutu. He was delighted that such a meeting, impossible in our home country, should happen in London and insisted we use her camera to take their picture together. Later I asked her how she had explained to her father-in-law the picture of a young white woman being hugged by a smiling, but very black skinned, Desmond Tutu. “Oh,” she said, “I told him it was taken at the waxwork museum of Madame Tussauds!”

Desmond Tutu is remembered for the way in which he calmed a very large and angry crowd of mourners at the funeral of Chris Hani in 1993. Leader of the Communist Party, Hani had been assassinated. His death could very easily have plunged the country into a blood bath. Desmond was able to take control of the situation and turn the crowd into believing there was a better way than further bloodshed and revenge. I myself had, some years earlier, seen him do this sort of thing at the funeral of Bishop Simeon Nkwane. Every weekend saw funerals for those shot by police or executed by mobs of ‘comrades’ by the horrific necklace method. As things began to get ugly, Desmond took hold of the microphone and talked to the young people. Don’t let them dehumanise you, believe in yourself, you are better than this. His message got through.

In December 2004, shortly after I became Dean and at the time of the 25th anniversary of my priesting, Archbishop Desmond wrote to me: “I am sure you have not had an easy journey, pulling up roots is a painful business but you have transplanted well and are bearing fruit, and that is what God requires of us.” It is that gift of making the individual feel so special that I will remember – along with the man of God who continues to live true to his conviction and his calling as a priest and prophet.

Desmond Tutu, a saint for our day – happy birthday.