Eucharist for the Feast of the Baptism of Christ and the Renewal of the Covenant, 9th January 2011 (Photograph: St Thomas', New York Sept 2010)
Some words from T S Eliot’s poem Burnt Norton – the first section of his Four Quartets which some of you will have heard me quote before:
At the still point of the turning world.
Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards;
at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.
And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered.
Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline.
Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance,
and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been:
but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long,
for that is to place it in time.
Eliot’s poetry is crammed full of mystical paradoxes. Things set in tension, pulling in opposite directions and leaving space in the gaps for glimmers of discernment and apprehension. For me it’s a good example of how words can demand that you love them without fully comprehending them - and of course that’s exactly why some people can’t stand T S Eliot’s poetry! But in that short passage he explores the tension between movement and stillness. Between being fixed and moving on. And that tells us something about God. And it should also tell us a lot about us, God’s people.
Today we gather together as two congregations but one Church. We gather with a two-fold purpose: to mark the Baptism of Christ (one of the three gospel events which have made up the Church’s celebration of the Feast of the Epiphany since earliest times) and to Renew the Covenant - a devotion established by John Wesley in 1755 which has become a foundational event in Methodist worship, and for the last 20 or so years has been incorporated into Anglican worship and adapted by other denominations. Like T S Eliot’s paradoxical verse, they both speak of something which is a fixed point, a ‘given’, but aslo have a sense of direction and movement. The closing verse of the reading from Isaiah sums it up well:
“See, the former things have come to pass,
And new things I now declare;
Before they spring forth, I tell you of them”
For Jesus, his baptism was clearly a major milestone as he returned from the desert and began his public ministry – and of course for the earliest Christian communities that was where the story of Jesus began. No stories of the shepherds and the angels, the stable and the manger. The story began with the proclamation of the Kingdom, and the baptism of Jesus by John. As he is baptised, the heavens open and the dove descends, and a voice is heard saying “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased”. It is no coincidence that later, when Jesus’ ministry reaches a pivotal point as he prepares to go to Jerusalem, when he takes Peter, James and John to the mountain top – and as he is transfigured, again the voice from heaven echoes the affirmation at his baptism and says “This is my son, listen to him”. If you keep those two events in mind – baptism and transfiguration, and the affirmation of who Jesus is and God's closeness to him – how much more devastating is the desolation of Calvary when the skies are dark and silent, and the only voice heard belongs to the Crucified asking why God has abandoned him?
The challenge for us this morning is to understand our baptism into Christ, our incorporation into the People of God, as something which is not a static event of the past – but instead something which is active now, living and growing and changing and drawing us ever onwards. But at the same time we mustn’t be naïve and ignore where it might lead us. As individuals and as a community of faith, the more we become Christ-like, the more our discipleship will become cross-shaped.
John Wesley, of course, recognised that instinctively. Although the precise form of Covenant Prayer we use this morning doesn’t go back as far as 1755 it is rooted in the spirituality which through Methodism brought renewal to the Church. It is not an easy prayer – at least not if it is prayed with honesty and conviction. In a few moments you will be invited to say:
Put me to what you will,
rank me with whom you will;
put me to doing, put me to suffering;
let me be employed for you or laid aside for you,
exalted for you or brought low for you;
let me be full, let me be empty,
let me have all things, let me have nothing….
I find it acutely embarrassing when Christians in this country claim to be persecuted or under attack. It’s particularly embarrassing when comments are made by retired senior Anglican clergy – although its not just them. If we are talking about whether or not an individual can wear a cross around their neck or a lapel badge at work, for me that is facile in comparison with what our brothers and sisters in (for example) Iran and Egypt face day by day – as recent news bulletins have reminded us. As we renew the Covenant this morning, we invite God to put us to doing, put us to suffering. None of us would sensibly invite suffering or persecution, but what the prayer asks of us is to simply acknowledge that surrendering to God’s will may in deed and in reality, bring that upon us. Things are OK today – but that cannot be taken for granted without belittling the experience of the wider Church of which we are a part, and the seriousness of God’s call to follow Christ in all things.
At the still point of the turning world.
Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards;
at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.
And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered.
Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline.
Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance,
and there is only the dance.
Celebrating the Baptism of Christ (and by doing so celebrating our own baptism) and Renewing the Covenant are both deliberate ways of anchoring ourselves when all else is changing – when the Church is changing, as well as the world around us. But its not an act of rigid defiance, the liturgical equivalent of holding up a placard and singing ‘We shall not be moved'. we hold on to the fundamentals of our relationship with God through baptism into Christ so that everything else CAN change – and, by God’s grace, us with it. Buildings may rise and fall, clergy may come and go, projects may begin and end, styles of worship may wax and wane (and thank God some of the music wont last five minutes!) – God calls us to hang on to none of these. We are called instead to be rooted and grounded in God’s covenant love, which we can neither earn or ever deserve. And with that as our fixed point, our ‘given’, may we be renewed in moving forward as the people of God – the God who declares: See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare.
Amen
