Sermons
14th October 2007 - Trinity 19
In the midst of celebrating all things English after yesterday’s sporting triumphs I’d like to say a little about the English character and religion, particularly about the English characteristic of restraint or diffidence when it comes to religion, which is in such contrast to the unrestrained rejoicings of sporting success. This attitude of diffidence or concern about appearing religious is exemplified by the answer a lady gave some years ago on being interviewed on the television and responding to the question ‘Excuse me madam, can you tell me, are you religious?’, to which she answered ‘Religious? oh no dear, we’re Church of England’.
Now like most things thoroughly English (and of supposed antiquity), this diffidence or restraint may well be quite a recent invention, but there is a deep mistrust of enthusiasm that runs through much English religious writing , a mistrust which has, however, failed to transfer itself to the liturgical practices of the evangelical wing of the church. English fear of enthusiasm is perhaps really a fear of embarrassment, a fear of having exhibited undue emotion or a slightly Mediterranean fervour.
We do not, though, feel this restraint when it comes to sport, wild encouragement and celebration accompany English success and in the pubs and at home fans are full of enthusiasm: their enthusiasm bubbles over, it is infectious. So is there any chance that we could be as infectiously enthusiastic about what brings us out on a Sunday morning, as about what brings us out on a Saturday afternoon?
We might take a lesson from the Samaritan in today’s gospel who, when he was healed by Jesus, ‘came back, praising God in a loud voice’. This story is unique to Luke and it has two themes that are among his favourite topics – thankfulness and Jesus’ positive discrimination in favour of the outcasts of society. Lepers in Jewish society were of course outcasts, they had to live outside the camp, they were ritually unclean so contact with them would cause defilement, and they even had to shout to alert people to their presence lest a ritually clean person might unwittingly stumble upon them. And of the ten lepers in today’s story (all of whom are healed), the most untouchable of all is the Samaritan, not only stigmatised for his illness but also for his place of birth, he is quite literally a ‘dirty foreigner’. So while all ten are healed and the nine go their way to have their cure certified by the priest so that they can regain their place in religiously polite society, it is the Samaritan leper who shows up his Jewish fellow sufferers by returning to Jesus with great thanksgiving, ‘he came back, praising God in a loud voice’. He is like that other Lucan outcast the Gerasene demoniac who when cured by Jesus ‘proclaimed throughout the city all that Jesus had done for him’.
The thankfulness of both these characters has a natural joy that is akin to the rejoicing rugby or rugby football players in victory but also to that of children opening presents. It must really be one of the greatest joys to watch the glow of absolute delight on children’s faces when they unwrap their presents and their natural instinct is unrestrained glee, and then the desire to show everybody what they have received, ‘look, look at this’ they say.
One of the most important tasks facing English Christianity today is the recovery of a sense of joy in religion, of something so utterly liberating and free, of a gift so undeserved and yet so indescribably fulfilling that our first desire is to share, to show to others, like the child with the new toy or like those restored to health through the healing touch of Jesus in the gospels; and this Christianity that we are about together has to be something that we can recommend as easily and with as much joy as sporting triumph.
And it is partly to do with finding a vocabulary. The lady who said ‘Oh no dear, we’re Church of England’ didn’t have the vocabulary, she didn’t have the verbal permissions to enable her positively to recommend her religion. So we don’t think twice about saying ‘are you coming on Saturday?’ or ‘did you see the game’, but could we begin to say ‘hey, you should have been in church’, or ‘you’ll never guess what we’re up to at church’ or ‘you should come and see, you’d like it’. Because as I have said before from this pulpit, if we don’t tell people, nobody else will. So how many of your friends can you recommend church to, how many people at work, in the pub, in your street might just be looking for a positive word about what goes on here. We might not end up having to walk the streets proclaiming all that Jesus has done for us, we might have to find ways of dealing with that developed sense of reserve, but it is our duty to brave a little embarrassment, to brave a little danger of being thought enthusiastic if we are to be truly attractive Christians.