The Remnant
1993 (Year B) 28 November / Lent 1
St Peter de Beauvoir Town
For my sins, it can’t be for any other reason; I’m in the middle of a five-week spell of supervision sessions for four Church Army Students. They’ve come down to London on placements and I have to see them once a week for two hours to get them to reflect on their experiences. They’re so enthusiastic it’s totally exhausting. In the first session one of them announced proudly, that before he’d got on the train in Sheffield to come here, he’d prayed that he would be given an opportunity to tell those he might sit with about the Lord Jesus. Honestly, it makes your toes curl up. I said that before I got on trains I prayed really hard that I wouldn’t sit next to somebody like him. I have to say he’s not quite forgiven me yet.
It’s a flip story, but there is a serious point. The faith we share, the gospel we try to live our lives by, has at its heart a mighty injunction to go out and proclaim the good news of Jesus. Matthew’s gospel ends with these words, ‘Go, therefore, make disciples of all nations; baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’
Go out and tell people everywhere. So why is it that the church remains a small and largely ignored group of people? A remnant doing strange things, often in private, on Sunday mornings which has little consequence for the vast majority. One problem is that it’s all so incredibly embarrassing. I could never, in a million years, do what that Church Army Student did. I would be frightened of rejection, of being made fun of, of appearing insensitive. I’m not alone and so the church hasn’t made a very good job of proclaiming the gospel. Christians, after 200 years, are still a minority, not able to speak clearly even to those closest to us of the truths we see and feel so clearly.
It’s one of the most puzzling and sometimes painful things Christians have had to face. Why is it that something so precious and fundamental to us as our relationship with God can’t be seen and shared by those we love, never mind comparative strangers. Why is that something which has such a profound influence on our lives and appears crystal clear to us can’t be seen and felt by others, even those who share our most intimate hopes and fears?
It’s nothing new. The early Christians were exercised by same the problem. Why was it that Jesus, who they knew to be God, was ignored by most people? They came up with novel answers. The gospel writers record Jesus saying that some people could hear and some could not. Some could see, others not. It was as simple as that. Well maybe that’s true. But they knew that couldn’t be the whole story. They needed something else so they suggested that it was Jesus himself who stopped some people hearing, ‘Then Jesus sternly warned them; ‘Take care that no one learns about this’. He said that after healing two blind men. ‘Mind you do not tell anyone about this,’ says Jesus, after he healed the leper. Two examples. There are many, many more
There are many reasons but ultimately it has to do with voices. The more I think: about it, the more I realise that the voice of love is a very soft and gentle voice speaking to me in the most hidden places of my being. It’s not a boisterous voice, forcing itself on me and demanding attention. It can be easily missed and overlooked. It’s a voice that can only be heard by those who allow themselves to be touched.
Sensing the touch of God’s blessing hands and hearing the voice calling us the Beloved are one and the same. This became clear to the prophet Elijah. Elijah was standing on the mountain ready to meet God. First there came the hurricane, but God was not in the hurricane. Then there came the earthquake, but God was not there. Then followed a fire, but God was not there either. Finally there came something very tender, called by some a soft breeze and by others a small voice. When Elijah sensed this, he covered his face because he knew God was present. In the tenderness of God, voice was touch and touch was voice.
But there are many other voices, voices that are loud, full of promises and very seductive. Surely God, if he’s anywhere, will be there. They’re strong like the earthquake, powerful like the hurricane, all-consuming like fire. These voices say ‘Go out and prove that you’re worth something’, ‘Be successful’, they say. ‘Don’t show weakness, you’ll be used.’ ‘Be popular, Be powerful’.
Jesus heard precisely those voices in the temptation story. They scream and clamour for attention. All of us hear them and are beguiled by them. Only a few hang on to the voice which comes from the Beloved. Calling us by name. Reminding us that we are wonderfully and fearfully made and loved unconditionally. But it is enough. In the few the whisper of God is cherished and hope is kept alive. The still small voice will be heard through all eternity. AMEN