ALL SAINTS MARGARET STREET
Sermon preached by the Fr. Gerald Beauchamp at High Mass on the Third Sunday of the Epiphany, 20th January 2008
Readings: Isaiah 49. 1-7; 1 Corinthians 1. 1-9; John 1. 29-42
In 1971, just before my sixteenth birthday, I left school. I didn't like school so I got a job in a bank and had as much hedonism as I could manage on £15 a week. But it didn't last (probably just as well!) and I began to sense there was more to life. The Church and a growing sense of vocation became more important. So I went to night school. I got some A levels and thought about university. To go to university meant I had to quit my job. No one at work knew of my plans until the day I resigned.
I remember the day well. I worked in a large open-plan office. I went to see my manager. I gave him my letter of resignation and told him why I was leaving. 'I want to be a priest', I said. There was a strange thudding noise as his jaw hit the ground. He recovered himself and after a brief conversation I returned to my desk. Shortly afterwards his secretary's phone went. They too had a brief conversation after which she gave me a very quizzical look. Not long after she just had to have a word with the chief clerk who in turn glanced across at me over his glasses. It wasn't long before he was whispering to the senior cashier. And so it went all round the office until someone told Annie.
Annie was the filing clerk. Annie was a singer in her gospel choir and had the loudest voice of anyone I have ever known. 'What! Gerald, be a vicar?' she shouted from the back of the office 'but he sins too much!' There were no flies on Annie! But she had done something that we all do. She had projected something on to me. She thought that she knew about vicars and she certainly knew me. For her, the two didn't fit.
Deep within us we all have our own agendas. We have expectations, our hopes and desires. We construct our worlds. There are things that we want out of life and we expect others to supply them. And so we project. We have an idea of how people ought to be. When we first meet someone we usually ask 'What do you do?' Instantly, we've pigeon-holed them. When we know what someone does we can make all sorts of assumptions.
In today's gospel titles are being ascribed to Jesus like crazy. He is 'the Lamb of God.' He is 'the Son of God.' He is a Rabbi (teacher).' He is 'the Messiah' (the Anointed One). But Jesus is not someone who can be defined by titles however exalted they may be. As we read the gospels we find that he both takes them on but breaks the mould as well.
Yes, as he goes to the cross he is like a sheep lead to the slaughter. He is the Lamb of God. But there aren't many sheep which cleanse the temple first driving out the money-changers with whips and cords.
He is the Son of God but no one expected such a Son to be so human - weeping at the tomb of Lazarus, furious at the stupidity of his followers.
He is a Rabbi but not like the scribes and Pharisees. He isn't just repeating the old orthodoxies. Jesus teaches as one who has authority i.e. he practices what he preaches. He tells stories and parables. He enables people to learn their own lessons.
He is the Messiah - that rich combination of prophet, priest and king. But how many prophets do you know who are sometimes mute? How many priests are themselves the sacrificial victim? How many kings wear a crown of thorns?
When it comes to the titles ascribed to Jesus there is a sort of 'Yes, I am/no, I'm not' quality about them. This is in stark contrast to the other characters in today's gospel. We simply have their names and their relationships: John, Andrew (Simon Peter's brother), Simon son of John.
What is sacred to all of us is our names. We may not especially like the names that our parents chose for us but they identify us; they sum us up.
One of my first jobs as a bank clerk was to send out letters to customers telling them of their account numbers. In the early 'seventies banks were going over to computers. Customers would be known now not just by their name but by a number. One day an irate customer came in to me waving my letter. In broken English she exploded that only tyrants give human beings numbers. She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a number tattooed on her arm. She was a survivor of Auschwitz.
It's the name of Jesus that's more important than the titles. Remember the haunting words we've heard from Isaiah this morning: 'while I was in my mother's womb he named me.' Because Jesus was profoundly true to himself he could ride out other people's projections. He was able to pinpoint the truth in others and ... laugh. When Andrew brings Simon to him Jesus says 'You are to be called Cephas (Peter). In Aramaic the word for 'rock' is kepha; in Greek it's petra.
There is a rock-like quality to Peter. He was a fisherman so we can imagine that he was physically strong. He finally went to the cross for his faith. He was a martyr. But what sort of rock earns Jesus' wrath with 'Get thee behind me, Satan?' What kind of rock promises three times to stand by Jesus in his hour of need yet finally denies his Lord three times? What sort of rock runs away when the going gets tough?
Jesus knew Simon. Jesus knew himself and his divine vocation. By holy wisdom he knew human frailty. So he gives Simon a new name - a joke name but more than a joke name: a vocation name - a name that calls to the better half of him; a name that calls on courage when he is faced with failure; a name that calls on the part of him that knows the power of repentance; a name that calls him to live and die by faith.
Faith: that's the rock and that's the bedrock of the church. As Paul says, writing for the first time to 'the church of God that is in Corinth, called to be saints, together with all those who in every place (that includes us) ... together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.' As we call on the name of Jesus Christ so he calls us by name. He has known us in the womb. He sees through our projections. He calls forth from us the best of who we are.