Shalom!

As I explained in my introduction, today is Peace Sunday; if you have a copy of the Plan, you will have seen that this month is also designated the Season of Creation. The two are very far from mutually exclusive, of course. The word “Shalom” does mean peace, but it’s not just peace in the sense of the absence of war. The easiest way to describe it is to quote an American theologian called Cornelius Plantinga, who writes: “The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfilment, and delight is what the Hebrew prophets call shalom. We call it peace but it means far more than mere peace of mind or a cease-fire between enemies. In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight – a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Saviour opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.”

“Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.”

The way things ought to be. Wholeness. Reconciliation, not just within families, within the church, between denominations, between nations, but reconciliation between people, God and nature. Wholeness. And it’s the wholeness of creation, the wholeness of ourselves within it. You know what, when we wish each other God’s peace on Communion Sundays, that’s what we wish each other. We say, rather muttering it, “Peace be with you”, but we are really wishing each other all of God’s wholeness and reconciliation. Even though “Shalom” is a common greeting in Hebrew, it is still what people are, consciously or not, wishing one another.

But we know our world is not whole, however much we wish it were. There is always war somewhere; the whole situation in Afghanistan just now is very unclear, but will probably lead to yet more war there. The war in Syria has been going on for several years now, and hasn’t stopped just because the pandemic and Afghanistan have moved it off the front pages. You know what? I looked up a “list of ongoing conflicts” on Wikipedia when preparing for this sermon, and honestly, it’s frightening just how little peace there is in the world.

And of course, our planet is broken. We are in a period of rapid climate change, arguably exacerbated by human activity. We have seen all sorts of extreme weather conditions this summer, from monsoon rains to extreme heat waves. And very strong hurricanes causing damage that takes weeks, if not months, to repair.

The powers that be tell us that it is All Our Fault, although natural climate change is also a thing. Nevertheless, two hundred years of industry really haven’t helped!

You can’t watch a nature documentary these days without being told that it is All Your Fault that certain species are declining due to habitat loss, or a documentary about the planets without being told that climate change is All Your Fault. It gets old, very fast, I find.

Of course, we can all do our very small bit towards lowering our carbon footprint, and arguably we should – trying not to use single-use plastic bottles, for instance, reusing things like ice-cream boxes or take-away containers. Reusing shopping bags, rather than buying a new one every time you go to the supermarket, and using public transport where possible – and perhaps taking the train instead of flying when you are going somewhere, if that is at all feasible.

But really, it is the big corporations that will make the most difference to carbon dioxide emissions, and to be fair, some of them are already trying to. Not all, but some! If only because government legislation – often rather aspirational rather than practicable, I think – if they are going to be fined for not trying to lower their carbon emissions, then they will try harder!

In many ways, the idealised wife that we read about in Proverbs, summarises “Shalom”. She isn’t a real person, of course – if we had read the whole chapter, we would have seen that this is the mother of King Lemuel talking to her son. Lemuel may or may not be code for Solomon, but the point is, it is Mum giving good advice to one who is, or who will be, King. You don’t go spending good money on loose women, nor do you get drunk – you don’t need wines and spirits, so give them to the hospitals and hospices for those who do need them. And look for a wife like this…. And then the description of the ideal woman, who is more valuable than rubies. Not surprising – she is probably rarer than rubies, too!

So she is a model rather than a template. We don’t have to imitate her – we couldn’t, anyway – we who live in Lambeth don’t exactly have access to fields and vineyards to buy and rent out for profit, nor do we have access to flax for spinning, although you can buy unspun wool from some wool shops. But the thing about the idealised woman is that she is whole. All parts of her life are in balance. She isn’t trying to juggle work and childcare. She isn’t fretting because she has no paid work but must stay home with her children. She makes the best of what she has, and, I imagine, when she focuses on one thing, she isn’t constantly looking round to wonder what else she ought to be doing, but that child, or her husband, or the piece of work she is focussing on, take her full attention. Being mindful, I think is what they call it.

Mindfulness is no bad thing. It is the beginning of shalom. When we are fully in the moment, we can’t be worrying ourselves ragged about everything else. I used to ice skate, and I always found that skating was far and away the best thing to do when you were worrying about something, as you simply had to concentrate so much that you couldn’t fret.

Our New Testament reading takes up this theme. St James reminds us that “the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.” That sounds like shalom to me, doesn’t it to you? Wisdom that comes from heaven, pure, peace-loving, considerate, submissive and so on.

And do note that it comes from heaven! It is not something we can manufacture within ourselves, any more than we can manufacture any of the other fruits of the spirit that St Paul describes. Jesus reminded us that he is the vine, and we are the branches, and if we abide in him, we will bear much fruit. And definitely shalom will be one of those fruits.

St James goes on to point out that our fractiousness comes from not being whole, from wanting this and that and seeing no way to get it, so quarreling and being generally unpleasant. And, as he says, we need to ask God for what we want, but to be quite clear, God isn’t Santa Claus – we aren’t necessarily going to be given loads of toys to maintain an unsustainable lifestyle.

Having said that, of course, God is nothing if not generous. Do you remember how, when the prophet Nathan confronted David after he had committed adultery with Bathsheba, God said through him, more or less, “Look at all I have given you. And if you’d wanted more, I’d gladly have given you twice as much! But no, you had to have that which belonged to someone else!” The bit where he says “If you’d wanted more, I’d gladly have given you twice as much” always jumps out at me whenever I read this passage, as I am apt to forget just how loving and generous God is. All that wine at Cana? All those basketsful of leftovers after he’d fed the five thousand? Is God ever anything but generous?

But, of course, we want to be part of what God is doing, not outside it, so we don’t – or shouldn’t – ask for our own selfish ends. At least we do, and often God will give us some of what we ask for, if it will not harm us and our loved ones, because God is love. But in an ideal world, we will be so reconciled with God, attuned to God, aligned with God, that our prayers will reflect that.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus reminds us, again, that if you want to be great, you must first become the servant of all, and that when you welcome children, you are welcoming God. And think how many children are still anxious and miserable, having missed so much school these past two years, and worried about Covid-19 and people dying from it. And many have picked up a bit about climate change, and are worried. And the far too many children who are refugees, terrified and confused by a situation not of their making.

How can we welcome the Father by helping these children, by listening to their concerns, and maybe changing things? How can we be peacemakers in this noisy world?

As we allow God more and more into our lives, as we become more and more attuned to God, more and more aligned with God, more and more the person God designed us to be, so we will experience more and more shalom, peace, wholeness, in our lives, and be more and more able to spread it round our communities, and perhaps further. Shalom: the way things ought to be.

After all, you don’t have to be very big or very important to make a difference – think of Greta Thunberg or Malala Yousafzai, both of whom were only children when they started to remind us, respectively, of our need to live more sustainably and of women’s and girls’ right to an education. They had no idea, when they started, that what they said and did would make such a difference. But they followed the promptings of their consciences, and look what happened!

Now, that probably won’t happen if you or I start to follow the promptings of what we believe God may be asking us to say or do, whether that is to live a more sustainable lifestyle, or to be arbitrators for peace in our families, our churches, our circuits. We may only make a very minor difference – but sometimes, that, too, can set the world alight. For now, though, we need to seek God’s peace, God’s wholeness, God’s shalom. Remember that Jesus is our peace, and it’s not something we can manufacture for ourselves. Mindfulness helps, but it’s only part of it. For the rest, we need to receive God’s good gifts, and then maybe we will see things beginning to be the way they ought to be. Maybe we will experience the wonder and delight that is shalom. Amen.

Who do you think you are?

I first made friends with her in 1958. She and I were at primary school together, and then at secondary school, and although we grew apart and have led very different lives, we have remained in touch, and have lunch together every six months or so. And last time we had lunch together, we agreed that where our primary school had fallen down was in teaching mathematics. We were very badly taught. “And,” said my friend, who remembers everything, “We were told to ask if we didn't understand, but if we asked, we were told we hadn't been listening properly!” And it wasn't until I started to try to teach my daughter the rudiments of numbers that I discovered that, despite a quite good maths O level, I was fundamentally innumerate, and hadn't much idea of how numbers worked.

But the point is, when we were told off for asking, despite how often we were told to ask, we became afraid to ask. And in our Gospel reading today, we see Jesus teaching his disciples, privately, away from the crowds. And they, too, reacted with fear, and were afraid to ask him what he meant. We then see them fighting among themselves, and, finally, learning something of what it means to be first.

Fear

So first of all, Jesus tries to tell his disciples about his forthcoming death and resurrection, but apparently the didn't understand and were afraid to ask. Afraid to ask? I wonder why they were afraid. Do you suppose they thought Jesus might be annoyed with them for asking?

I don't think he would have been. I think if the disciples had said, “Look here, what are you talking about?” he would have tried to explain more clearly. And this might have avoided some unpleasant misunderstandings, like when Peter says, “No, no, I won't let that happen!” which was so totally not what Jesus wanted or needed to hear at that moment that it felt as though the evil one was tempting him.

So why do you think they were afraid to ask? I wonder if it wasn't that they were afraid of appearing total pillocks in front of the others. Everybody was thinking, “Well, I don't know what he's on about, but everybody else obviously does, so I'm not going to be the one to make a fool of myself by asking!” I have a feeling we may all have been there and done that at times – I know I have! You really don't know what the other person is talking about, but you don't like to ask for fear of appearing an idiot.

I don't know where that particular fear comes from – it may be down to early experiences at school, like mine in the maths class. If you ask, you are told off for not having listened properly; if you don't ask, you are assumed to have understood even if you hadn't. And when nobody else asks for clarification, you think you must be the only one who didn't understand!

But in a way, this is a form of pride, isn't it? We are too proud to ask; we're afraid of looking silly in front of other people.

Fighting

So the disciples reacted with fear, and then they started fighting among themselves, arguing about who was the greatest. Well, we know that Jesus was very unimpressed by this, and so, of course, it's not something we ever do.

Is it?

Are you sure?

The thing is, we might not argue about who is the greatest, as we know that's not what Christianity is all about, so what we then do is pride ourselves on how humble we are, what good Christians we are, how we don't ever put ourselves forwards.... Or maybe we boast about our children. Some years ago, you may remember, there was that excellent comedy sketch series called “Goodness Gracious Me”, with Meera Syal and Sanjeev Bhaskar – you know, the famous “Going for an English” sketch. But that wasn't the one I'm remembering here, but the two mothers who keep making ludicrously exaggerated claims about how well their sons are doing. Competitive mothering – or competitive grandmothering – is very definitely a thing! I even find myself doing it with my own daughter: “Well, of course, dear, you were potty-trained before you were two!”

And we have probably all met the sort of Christian who just mentions in passing that they are fasting for Syria, or have donated twenty toothbrushes and six blankets to the collection point in Venn Street – do it, please do do it, but don't talk about it! Or so Jesus said. He pointed out, do you remember, that the people who made a great show of being holy, or of giving alms, already had their reward. “But your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you openly!”

It's all about pride. Again. In fact, this whole passage is about pride. It was pride which kept the disciples from asking Jesus what on earth he was talking about. And it was pride that caused them to argue and fight about who was the greatest – and you will notice that they didn't answer when Jesus asked them what they had been talking about! But he knew. And he began to teach them what it meant to be first.

Being First

‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’

‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’

This, then, was Jesus' teaching about being first and greatest. Again, this doesn't seem to say much to us – we know all this, don't we? We've heard these teachings since we were in Sunday School. Of course we try to be last of all and servant of all. We're the ones you find arguing in the kitchen that of course we'll do all the washing up, all by ourselves, and then we'll sweep the floor and everybody else should go home.... and if people take us up on it, we grumble loudly that we're the only person who every does anything around here, and go around in a delightful glow of martyrish self-pity.

It's pride, all the way. C. S. Lewis said that pride was the central sin of humankind, and that the prouder we are, the more we dislike pride in others. I quote: “In fact, if you want to find out how proud you are the easiest way is to ask yourself, 'How much do I dislike it when other people snub me, or refuse to take any notice of me, or shove their oar in, or patronise me, or show off?' The point is that each person's pride is in competition with every one else's pride. It is because I wanted to be the big noise at the party that I am so annoyed at someone else being the big noise.”

And Lewis goes on to point out that it is pride that comes between us and God: “In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. Unless you know God as that – and, therefore, know yourself as nothing in comparison – you do not know God at all. As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.”

St James, in our first reading, said something very similar: “But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth. Such wisdom does not come down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish. For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.” And he goes on in that vein: “And you covet something and cannot obtain it; so you engage in disputes and conflicts. You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures.”

Again, pride. It seems to be at the root of all human evil. The disciples were too proud to ask Jesus what he was talking about. They claimed to have been afraid to ask, but it was probably a fear born of pride. Then they started bickering about who was the greatest, like small children. And then Jesus taught them that they must be the servant of all, and welcome small children in His name. But that, too, so easily goes wrong and becomes a matter of pride.

So what can we do about it? I suppose the first thing is to admit it, to confess it, if you like. But it's the most difficult sin to confess, because it's the one we are most unaware of. And if we do become aware of it, we start being proud of that awareness. You remember Jesus' story of the pharisee and the tax collector, how the Pharisee spent his prayer-time thanking God for how much better he was than other people, and especially than that tax-collector? Well, I read a story about a Sunday-school teacher who taught that story to her class, and said, “Now, children, let us thank God that we are not like that Pharisee!”. Which was all very well until I found myself thanking God that I was not like that Sunday-School teacher....

And it was, we are told, the tax-collector, who contented himself with praying: “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner!” who went away right with God.

Pride is a horrible vice, and I am inclined to agree with Lewis that it is the antithesis of Christianity. It is often the basis of all other vices. Of course we can, must, and should rejoice in our achievements – but having succeeded in whatever it was we set out to do doesn't make us a great person!

We are all sinners, saved by grace. And that is the thing, isn't it – saved by grace! No matter how proud we are, no matter how much we secretly – or openly – want to be the greatest, no matter how much we dislike looking foolish, the moment we turn to God, the moment we stop looking at ourselves and start to look at God, in that moment we are forgiven. And with God's help, and only with God's help, we can overcome our pride. It's not a matter of behaviour – it never is. It's about allowing God to change us, to re-create us, to help us grow into the person we were designed to be. After all, as Aslan said to one of the Kings of Narnia, being human “is both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the head of the greatest emperor on earth.” Amen.