When you meet God, what do you say?
Sermon preached on the Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity at Saint Deiniol’s Cathedral in Bangor
Isaiah 35:4–7; Psalm:146; Mark 7:24–37
When you meet God, what do you say?
Some of us here will be old enough to remember Viscount Hailsham — Home Secretary in Edward Heath’s government, a forceful personality, and eventually Lord Chancellor under Margaret Thatcher, in which capacity he acted as the presiding officer of the House of Lords, clad on ceremonial occasions in robes of state — a vast black gown laden with heavy gold embroidery, buckled patent slippers, and a full-bottomed wig.
The story’s told of Neil Kinnock taking a party of constituents on a tour of the Houses of Parliament. Neil Kinnock’s gang round a corner and bump into Lord Hailsham in his full regalia, and the Lord Chancellor, greeting the Labour leader, shouts “Neil!”, at which point the party of constituents fall to their knees in hushed wonder, hearing not “Neil” with an “n”, but a command from on high with a “k”.
When you meet God, what do you say?
A life of faith, hope and love means a life of encounter with God, of encounter with Being itself, of encounter in the depths with our ultimate concern.
We understand our prayers, above all, as a time and occasion when we encounter God, when we meet God. And the tradition of the Church has spoken of four types of prayer — four registers in which we might speak to God in prayer. They are: awe, thanksgiving, confession and intercession.
We speak to God with awe in encounters of beauty and holiness. A prayer of awe might be on our lips as we make our Communion, encountering the very Body of Christ broken for us. A prayer of awe will be on our lips when we can sing hymns again, when we feel overwhelmed by God amidst the beauty of creation, when we feel near to God in a time of absolute stillness, when we’re bowled over by God in a poem or a picture, in a new birth, in a vivid memory of a loved one.
We speak to God with thanksgiving when we count our blessings, when we name those things that give us life. Do you take time at the end of the day to walk through it thankfully in God’s holy company, holding before God in thanksgiving all that you did, all that you accomplished, the sights you saw, the people you met, the love you received, the love you gave?
We speak prayers of confession when we dare to acknowledge our hurts, our anger, our weaknesses and our vices, our selfishness, our sin, seeking forgiveness in healing, comfort and wisdom. How boldly do you speak your confession to God — boldly enough to speak it in front of another? I know I’m not courageous enough to do that often enough. Speak to one of the Canons or to me when you are ready to do so.
And we speak prayers of intercession when we place on our hearts those in need, when we commit ourselves to being alongside those who suffer — in silence, in compassion, and in action. Do you speak to God of those who need your prayer — those whom you know who are in need? Do you speak to God of those for whom you should pray — your family and friends, and your enemies, those who annoy you, those from whom you’re estranged, those you’ve sinned against?
When we meet God, we ought to say words of awe, thanksgiving, confession and intercession. And if we do not say these things daily, weekly — if we are not people of awesome, thankful, confessional, intercessory prayer — if we do not say these things, weekly, daily to God, our souls will be parched, our relationship will be stunted, our Church will not grow, and the spirit of God will be silent within us.
When you meet God, what do you say?
Two people meet Jesus, meet God, in the Holy Gospel we hear today. You will have noticed that they don’t speak words of awe and thanksgiving, nor do they pray prayers of confession or intercession.
At sharp, acute points in their lives, dazed by the worst that life can throw at them, they are forced into a difference register.
A mother, wanting healing for her daughter, interceding for her, hears from Jesus words about the fullness of time, about patience, about enduring — and, hearing them, she is lit up by a righteous fury. At that moment, she is standing in that gap where we will all find ourselves at some point in our lives — the gap between the perfection of God’s Being and painful, fateful, aching work of living and suffering, and, what’s worse, of watching another’s, a loved one’s agony. And, standing in that gap, at that moment, all we can say, all we can do, is wail and lament, and dare to shout at God, “how dare you.”
A man is brought to Jesus, unable to hear and hardly able to speak, beyond all wailing and lamenting. And Jesus takes him to him, and spits on his finger, and touches his tongue, and sighs to heaven a sigh that contains the wailing and lamenting of the world, and whispers “Ephphatha, be opened.” And we speak again.
When you meet God, what do you say?
With the turning of the seasons, with “back to school” in the air, it’s a good time to look at ourselves, at our life of prayer, at how we meet God, at what we say. For words, for time, for honesty, for courage, let us pray to God in Christ, who astounds us beyond measure, who has done everything well, who opens our hearts, who makes even our mute souls to speak.
