In such a jolly and friendly-looking congregation as this, it’s entirely possible that some of you already know the story of Mr and Mrs Smith. Mr Smith, sadly, is reaching the end of this mortal life, and his wife calls the local priest to come and visit. This he does, and sits gently and quietly by the man’s bedside. “Mr Smith,” says the priest, “it’s Father John.” There is no answer. A little louder, the priest says again, “Mr Smith, it’s Father John.” Nothing. The priest turns to Mrs Smith and says, “I am so sorry, but I think we’ve lost your husband.” Mr Smith sits bolt upright in bed. “No, you haven’t!” he retorts. “Hush dear,” replies his wife. “The vicar knows best.”
One of the extraordinary things about being a priest, even in this post-secular world of ours, is the retained assumption that we might, in fact, know best. It’s deeply humbling to inhabit a role where people seek your opinion, your counsel, your perspective – especially in the most difficult times of their lives. Of course, this is not restricted to the clergy. There may be, among us today, nurses and counsellors, teachers and coaches, or simply excellent friends and wise companions, who will know this feeling. And it is, of course, a very pleasant feeling. We all like, on occasion, to be the person who knows best.
But there is a disjoint, I fear, between the experience of the local church on the ground – in splendid cathedrals like this, or wonderful parishes like the one I’ve left at home – and the perception of the national Church. Sadly, I think we’ve lost some sense in which the public at large considers the Church of England to “know best”. Some would argue this is because we have become too bureaucratic, too corporate; others would say it’s because we are not as theologically rich as we once were; others still might suggest it’s because of successive scandals. All of these arguments have their merits, and without doubt have a degree of truth in them. My own take, for what it’s worth, is that there’s a feeling the Church of England has lost the moral high ground for a very simple reason: because we no longer practice, within our own institution, the unconditional love of neighbour which we preach.
To my mind, this failure has reached its zenith with the long-lasting debate we’ve labelled “Living in Love and Faith”, and which the House of Bishops has this week concluded. By the Bishops’ own admission, the process has failed. For some, the mere suggestion of clergy in same-sex marriages, or able to conduct such marriages in their churches, is a step too far – for others, those changes which have come round go nowhere near far enough. Many of us here today will have our views, possibly very strong ones, on this important issue. But of equal concern, to me at least, is the way in which the debate has been conducted, and the way that has made the Church appear to those outside it. When our own debates, vital though they undoubtedly are, descend into chaos and one-up-man-ship – when we are so sure that we “know best” that we fail to consider that others might have valid contributions too – when we speak of those others in a way which seems exclusionary or dismissive – we have lost any ability to “know best” at all, and any expectation that people might think we do.
At Clergy Support Trust, the charity which I’m privileged to lead as Chief Executive, we provide grants, services and resources to clergy and their households, across the UK and Europe. In recent years, the number of people coming to us has increased dramatically, and we now help more than a fifth of all Church of England priests in any given year. For many, the presenting issues are financial, but often there are deeper concerns, and there is little question that the tenor of recent debate on same-sex marriage and other issues has contributed negatively to clergy wellbeing, as well as to congregational cohesion and growth.
But at Clergy Support Trust, we take no position on any such debate – not because we think they are unimportant, but because of the paramount importance we place on helping all those who reach out to us. This week, we will have given grants to female priests, and to people who do not believe those women are priests. We will have given grants to clergy of all backgrounds and political views and sexual orientations and ages. We exist purely to show the love of God to those who, in their parishes and chaplaincies and cathedrals, show the love of God to everybody else.
In today’s Gospel, the pointers for us as Christians are, I believe, pretty clear. In these opening verses, St John lays out both the essence of the Incarnate God about whom he is writing, and what we might call the “headline messages” of that same Incarnate God’s ministry. In particular, today’s reading offers great riches in describing Jesus’ encounter with the early disciples – the forerunners of us sitting here today, the modern-day disciples of Christ who are similarly tasked with bringing others to him. And, to my mind at least, and I am just one Christian amongst many millions of others, those headlines are quite straightforward.
Firstly, the power of positive, joyful testimony cannot be underrated. It is John who declares Jesus to be the Lamb of God, who tells others about this amazing person, and who convinces and energizes those around him. So, is that us? Is our faith a joyful thing, and does that joy shine out from us in every conversation we have, even when – like Mrs Smith before us – times are hard? Secondly, the power of focusing on Jesus himself. In these verses and those that follow, St John gives us multiple titles for Jesus – Lamb of God, Son of God, Rabbi, Messiah. Very clearly, all roads point to him, and in the midst of the trials and tribulations of daily life, turning our gaze unrelenting to Jesus is the only certain hope. Again – is that us? Are our lives fully focused on the one who made us and knows us and loves us, and does that focus show itself in how we handle each moment, especially those of disagreement and disunity?
And finally, we can pause for a moment on the leap of faith which the disciples take. With almost no preamble, with little information about this teacher they’ve met, they follow him. What could have made them do this, so unquestioningly? It can only be what they saw in that extraordinary man – which, as St John makes clear later on, was absolute, abundant love. Only the most unconditional and unrestricted love would enable a person to down tools, stop what they were doing, and immediately turn to Jesus. As we shall sing together at the end of this service, “The love of God is broader than the measure of man’s mind, and the heart of the eternal is most wonderfully kind.” So, a third time – is that us? Does the love of God, the love which we profess here today and every week, seep out of our every pore, spill over into every encounter, and make itself known to every person we meet, whether of our viewpoint or not? And if the answer is “no”, as it doubtless can sometimes be for me, can we perhaps re-commit ourselves, at the start of a new year and as the Church once again struggles to affirm that universal love itself, to doing so as Our Lord’s disciples – to doing so in the name of the one who, when all is said and done, really does “know best”.
Amen.