Sermon: One among you

From Wellington Cathedral of St Paul

One among you: 18 April 2010: am: The Very Revd Frank Nelson

• Psalm 30
• Acts 9: 1 - 6
• Revelation 5: 11 - 14
• John 21: 1 - 19

In a Cathedral dedicated to St Paul we should pay special attention to any readings about him. This morning’s first reading is a taster of the long story telling of the conversion of Saul, persecutor of Christians, to Paul, champion of Christ. While it all seems to happen in a literal flash of blinding light, reading further in Acts chapter 9 shows that Paul’s conversion was not completed until the brave man Ananias had visited him and laid his hands on him in prayer. A question I have, which I hope you might ask too, is why could Saul not ‘see’ who Jesus was?

The same question can be asked about the disciples following the all night fishing trip mentioned in the Gospel of John. A common feature of the post-Easter appearances of Jesus is that people did not recognize him at first. Mary Magdalene mistook Jesus for the gardener. Two people walked all the way to Emmaus with Jesus, talking and listening, but not recognizing him until he took bread and prayed a prayer of blessing.

In the book of Revelation John is at pains to make sure his readers understand exactly who he is writing about. The few verses we heard this morning engage the image of myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, singing with full voice the praises of the Lamb. The Lamb is Jesus the Christ, the Messiah. The vast numbers of heavenly beings are singing his praises.

Seeing that all three of this morning’s readings share a common theme that Christ may not be always immediately identifiable, his true identity not always obvious, might we take it further and ask why this is so? Why do people not immediately recognize Jesus? Why do some, even when given the chance to be with him, to see and know all about him, simply not acknowledge him? Is there something blocking their understanding?

The story of Saul’s conversion suggests the very certainty that he was right and others wrong was the reason. I’ve often preached on the passage from Acts pointing out the violence of his conversion – God had to knock Saul off his horse before he would see sense. Today’s long Gospel reading contains a less violent incident, though quite as profound – as Simon Peter finds himself the subject of a three-fold inquisition. “Simon son of John, do you love me?” We can feel the increasing tension and frustration in Simon Peter as he responds to this questioning: You know that I love you. And even after this incident on the beach, the Book of Acts tells of several occasions when Peter clearly did not remember, or simply did not understand, who and what Jesus was all about.

One of my concerns about the sort of nationalism expressed by much of the music associated with, and enjoyed at, a St George’s Day service, is the way it can blind us to some pretty important underlying issues. The wonderfully stirring music of Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance March Number 1, which the Band will play at the end of this service, includes the words beloved of every Last Night at the Proms audience.

Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free, How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee? Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set; God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet.

At the end of the Anglo Boer War, which resulted in lands in South Africa containing vast mineral wealth being added to the British Empire, Cecil John Rhodes, immensely wealthy entrepreneur and empire builder, bequeathed his fortune to ‘the extension of British rule throughout the world’. While a few lucky ones, including New Zealanders, still benefit from education opportunities through the Rhodes Scholarships, it can be argued that many of Africa’s present problems are a legacy of the arrogance of an imperialism gone mad. In this context then Land of Hope and Glory becomes little short of idolatry, blinding people to the truth of what was being done in the name of the devotees of St George and the King! That doesn’t need to stop us enjoying the music, bobbing up and down as prommers, or waving the odd Union Jack. But it doesn’t really help us in recognizing and understanding Jesus Christ, his call to discipleship, and the establishment of what is called the Kingdom of God – as opposed to the extension of the realm!

I want to tell you a little story, and then ask you to do a simple exercise.

Once upon a time there was a monastery where all the monks were old, tired and waiting to die. They had long since lost their fire for the Lord and had long since ceased to really care about their fellow brothers. Although they shared the same living space, prayed together, ate together and worked together, each monk lived in his own world with heart and mind turned inward.

No one came to the monastery. There were no visitors, no new brothers. The buildings were sadly in need of repair but the monks didn’t care. They felt it wasn’t long until there’d be no monastery at all. Everything would turn to dust.

Then one day a holy man visited them. He was a monk himself. For a time he lived with the old brothers, prayed with them, talked with them, worked, ate and slept with them. He was wise. The brothers turned their hearts and minds outward and listened to him.

When the time came for him to leave, this holy man stood before the brothers who were bidding him farewell and wished them God’s peace. Some of the monks shook their heads sadly; there’s nothing here for us now that you’re going, they thought. But the visitor’s last words to them were, “There is one among you who is Christ.” And he walked away.

Well, the brothers were quite astonished. They looked at one another with surprise. Surely not Brother William, who never arrives at the Chapel on time and never does his work either, for that matter. Surely not brother Mark, who annoyingly slurps his soup. Surely not the Abbot, who’s always gruff with everyone. Christ wouldn’t be late for chapel, or neglect his work, or slurp soup or be gruff. Yet their visitor was a holy and reliable man who had spoken the truth to them the whole time he was in their company. This too must be true. One among them must be Christ.

So each of the monks began to treat the other as if he were Christ, for they didn’t know who it was. They looked for ways to serve one another and were kind to one another and shared with one another. Each did his work as the Christ who was among them. Each honoured his fellow monk by listening with full attention and respect. They began to overlook little things that annoyed them about one another and began, instead, to see the good that was in every person.

Life began to flow back into the dying community. A vitality and joy was reborn that had been lost for many years. The people of the town nearby learned that something had changed at the monastery. In curiosity they came and in love they were received. Each was graciously welcomed and made to feel at home. Every effort was taken to care for their needs and each monk accepted visitors as they were. Men, women and children came to be refreshed and renewed. The brotherhood grew as men came even from far away to join the community.

All the visitors and the new brothers were treated as if they were Christ, for the wise monk had said, “One among you is Christ.”

Now – please stand up and take a good look at those in the Cathedral this morning. Thank you. Please sit, and keep two minutes of silence as we think about the words of the visitor: One among you is Christ.