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Diocese

The great eighteenth century lexicographer, Samuel Johnson, wrote, as well as dictionaries, a short novel. It is about, and usually called, Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia. Tiring of court existence, Rasselas and his sister set off in the companionship of a philosopher named Imlac to find the ideal human life. But the more closely each life is examined , the more Rasselas discovers that outer reputation does not match inner reality. In response to the prince’s incredulity that this should be, Imlac points out that: “Inconsistencies cannot both be right; but, imputed to man, they may both be true.”

Inconsistencies cannot both be right; but, imputed to humanity, they may both be true. And so we come to today’s gospel, and to Jesus telling the people of his day that they are like children in the market place crying to one another, “we played the flute for you and you did not dance; we wailed and you did not mourn.” Whatever you said you wanted, we gave you and you would not receive it. Whatever you were, you certainly weren’t consistent.

Well, not only to Jesus’ generation can that be said. To all of us now, today, the same charge can be levelled: we played the flute for you and you did not dance; we wailed and you did not mourn. Perhaps no one more eloquently than Paul sums up the agony with which internal contradictions bring: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want but I do the very thing I hate.” Even to one who knows as surely and as profoundly the salvific power of Christ as St Paul, still there is this pull, this resistance.

And it is not only St Paul. We can all point to inconsistencies in our own lives. We pray for world peace – but do we never, any one of us, in however small a way, act in a way which mitigates against peace in our own communities, homes, or workplaces? We pray for justice – but if we look at our own hearts, are we not rather in need of mercy? So I think it is, and so it seems to me that this question of inconsistency raises further questions of value and questions of sincerity – that is to say, of honesty of intention.

The people to whom and of whom Jesus spoke were astonishingly privileged. They were born at a time and in a place where messianic expectations were high. They were, for the most part, Jewish, living under a rule which, although there were far worse, was Gentile and not their own. They wanted, they sought a Messiah. Or, did they? For they were not only privileged to live in a time of messianic expectation: they lived in the time and in the place in which the Messiah walked the earth. Everything for which they would have said they looked came to pass in their very sight. And?

And perhaps it wasn’t quite what they expected after all. Perhaps it was so different that they could not see Jesus for who he was. Perhaps they did not want the Messiah whom God sent, but rather the one they had imagined. Who can tell? But one thing we can hear this passage saying, loudly and clearly to we ourselves is this – in Jesus’ words from another passage: ‘it shall not be so with you.’

And it seems to me that this is all too topical just now. We don’t like the look of the Anglican Communion? We don’t like the look of decisions made? We weren’t expecting the Church to be like this, its clergy or its people to do these things? Well, what were we expecting? We played the flute and you did not dance: many good things are done daily in God’s church, many prayers said, sacraments celebrated and administered, souls cared for over which we do not dance in thanksgiving as we might. We wailed, and you did not mourn: many clergy and laity do many silly things which do the church and themselves no credit at all. They are sinners; we are sinners – what else should we expect but mistakes? Do we mourn? Perhaps. But all too often, we also write emails or fume to our friends or simply slip away from that which we do not like.

What would we do, if we met Jesus? Or even John the Baptist? Would we dislike their lifestyle, their message, their friends? I think it is quite possible that we would – and so it seems to me that this passage from today’s gospel presents those of us whose life and ministry is modelled on Jesus, with a troubling mirror. And in the days and weeks to come, as the General Synod debates decisions which will, undoubtedly, have an impact on the future of our church (which, after all, isn’t something one can always say), as the Lambeth Conference begins and the world watches for catches to be dropped, we should look into that mirror. We – you and me, we are ambassadors for this Cathedral, for the Church of England and for Christ; more than that, we are the body of Christ and it behoves us, whose faith is held in the context of so much beauty and friendship, to spread that beauty and love to others. Let it not be said of us, “we played the flute for you and you did not dance; we wailed and you did not mourn.” Rather, of us let it be said – and if of us then of the Church too – Wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.
 

Amen.

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