Sermon, Sixth Sunday of Easter: 'Are You Sitting Comfortably?'

Are you sitting comfortably? I do hope…not, because our Bible readings do not invite an easy ride. “Do you want to be made well?” The question Jesus posed to the invalid at the Pool of Bethzatha. “Are you ready to leave immediately?”, as was St Paul when he received the call from Macedonia? There is something about the work of God that does not allow us to be too comfortable in our lives. Yes, of course he comforts the disturbed – and that is a beautiful and freely available gift from the one who is the Sovereign yet Servant of all. Indeed the reading from Revelation offers a glorious picture of the final consummation of a new heaven and the new earth, with nothing accursed, no falsehood, no darkness but only the light of God. The leaves of the tree of life are for the healing of the nations – that’s the text around our M-E olive tree in the cloister. There is much to be comforted about.

Yet…God also disturbs the comforted. Why does he do this? Well, it’s integral to his nature and purpose – and he wants us to join in. The Gospel of St John is dedicated to revealing the identity and mission of Jesus. The healing of the invalid is one of a series of encounters that challenge cherished patterns of religious thought and behaviour in order to provoke faith in the one who is the giver of life. The gospel builds up to the commissioning of the disciples in the upper room following the resurrection of Jesus, an event which is both comforting – “Peace be with you” – yet also disturbing, as he breathes his Holy Spirit on his followers and says: “As the father sent me so I send you!”

So we should not sit too comfortably! There is new life to receive; there are new opportunities to share it with others. As we prepare to celebrate the Ascension of Jesus, it is important to consider whether as individuals and as a church, we are ready to receive the baton that comes with his commission. I remember a diocesan Bishop preaching on the Calming of the Storm as he arrived in his diocese. Jesus came to calm the storm, he said, as people sat back to hear the reassuring message. But first, he quickly added, there had to be a storm!

There was a lot at stake in the two stories that we heard. Jesus provoked the wrath of the authorities by healing on the Sabbath, the invalid had to weigh up his response to the question of Jesus, Paul had to consider the vision to spread the Christian message to a different continent, Lydia had the option of welcoming Paul into her home, so we should recognise the comforting yet disturbing consequences of walking with Jesus.

“Do you want to be made well?” I’ve encountered enough people in pastoral counselling to know that this is not a simple question. The invalid had been unwell for 38 years. John unusually gives that level of detail: the man had been part of the Bethzatha community for a very long time; it might have been risky to get well. He stood to lose his livelihood and his community of fellow sufferers. Some people cling to their troubles and sadly allow themselves to be defined by them. The greater the difficulty, the more challenging it can be to move on, if that is within our gift. I’ve met many who have found it very difficult to lay aside their ‘mat’ and walk free. We may all sympathise with the invalid, who dodged the question: “There is no-one to help me get into the water; someone always gets ahead of me”. This was a standard form of response as people encountered the clarity of Jesus’ offer. Think of the Samaritan woman, who was cagey of revealing her full self, or Nicodemus who came at night and tried to keep things on an academic level, or Peter who found it excruciating when Jesus came to wash his feet. Consider the teachers of the law who had been ready to stone the adulterous woman until Jesus questioned their own righteousness, or Pilate who fudged the question about truth. The questioning of Jesus is like no other. His glance shines light in the shadows; truth and love can be hard to receive.

I was once handed a piece of prose by a military officer, a recovering member of Alcoholic Anonymous, entitled: ‘Please hear what I’m not saying’. I used it for a few years whilst offering courses on pastoral listening: ‘Don’t be fooled by me’, it begins, ‘don’t be fooled by the face I wear. For I wear a mask, a thousand masks and none of them is me. Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, but please don’t be fooled…I panic at the thought of being exposed, that’s why I frantically create a mask, a nonchalant sophisticated charade to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows – but such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only salvation, and I know it – that is, if it’s followed by acceptance, if it’s followed by love. It’s the only thing that will assure me of what I cannot assure myself – that I’m really worth something.”

Our Gospel reading teaches us to shed the mask, to allow divine truth and love to transform our frail humanity. “Get up; pick up your mat and walk!” I encourage you, if necessary, to take this risk. A rhythm of daily prayer will help, where one feeds off the scriptures and learns more of God’s compassionate heart. But we are created to live in community and it may be that one or two of us need a willingness to let others minister his grace to us, as it were to carry us to the waters.

Then consider our second reading, as Paul responded immediately to the vision of a man calling him from Macedonia. A man who had himself been surprised at the personal call of Jesus, he was determined to share that message further afield. He had wanted to travel to modern-day northern Turkey but instead took a leap of faith across the Bosphorus! As members of the church in Europe, we have cause to be thankful for his courage and obedience and that of Lydia, presumably the first convert in Europe. 

So for us today, how much are we prepared to listen to God’s voice, to change our plans and to align our ambitions with his own? Yesterday we commemorated the lives of John and Charles Wesley, the founders of Methodism. They were students in ChCh and were ordained in this cathedral, John 200 years ago this September. Their passion for sharing the truth and love of Jesus took them locally to Oxford Gaol and then to develop a Church without Walls, breaking new ground in the manner of St Paul. A recent report by The Bible Society in association with YouGuv, entitled The Quiet Revival, has revealed an upturn in spiritual searching especially amongst young people and men in particular, and with greater diversity of background. I’ve been hearing accounts almost weekly of congregations growing. As the Lord opened Lydia’s heart in Philippi, so he is opening hearts today. The causes may be various, and more research is needed, but as a cathedral and as a national and diocesan church we need to align our priorities, our processes and even our funding in order to meet this interest. There is an urgency about this call, as the waters are stirring, the river is flowing. As Paul went outside the city to the river at Philippi, so we need to be light of foot and attuned to hear the voice of God. Just don’t sit too comfortably on the bank of the river!