Bishop Guli’s Christmas Day Sermon

25 December 2024

Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place (Luke 2. 15).

Let’s not beat around the bush - the Church of England is in deeply troubling times. Recent scandals of abuse have rocked the institution which is being attacked from without and devoured from within. At the forefront of our minds must, of course, be the victims and survivors  - people who have suffered abuse at the hands of those who should have been concerned for their care and safety; and people who have to relive traumatic memories every time new stories emerge and who have been hurt and abandoned by failures in church processes to deal appropriately with abusers.

The headlines continue to blaze, arguably with some justification but also with an inability (or unwillingness) to allow space for nuanced understanding of the complexity that often lies behind those headlines. None of this is to make excuses for our failures, we must own those and address them honestly, but it is to understand that notwithstanding appropriate criticism, the simple and surface analysis doesn’t always reveal the full picture.

Meanwhile, as the storms continue to rage, in thousands of churches and Cathedrals up and down the land, faithful clergy and lay people continue to do what they always do. Working hard to ensure our churches are safe places for all, they baptise, marry and bury, they offer pastoral and practical support to those in need, they forge relationships and collaborate with ecumenical, civic and other faith partners, they work with schools, they visit the sick and housebound, day care centres and homes for the elderly, they pray for their communities and, at this time of year, they welcome people into church for carol services and Christmas celebrations. And I want to take this opportunity to express my sincere thanks to all the churches and worshipping communities in the diocese of Chelmsford, small or large, for their tireless efforts and ceaseless commitment.

It is the church in its local manifestation, that continues to fan the flame of hope in a world that is full of despair and suffering. And we must never forget, that while diocesan and even national church structures may be needed, they are there only to serve and support the local parishes in their mission and ministry as they continue to make a positive difference in the everyday lives of ordinary people. And the flame of hope that is kept alive reminds us that whatever is going on around us, however chaotic and messy our church and, indeed our world, may be, Christmas still comes. Christmas breaks through our human fears and failures and its light dawns, no matter what our circumstances, bringing light and joy and peace.

So, together with the shepherds from our Gospel reading this morning, let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place. Let us turn our gaze once more to look upon the stable scene with Mary and Joseph and the child in a manger; a family far from home, soon to be refugees, reliant on the help of strangers for their safety. And what do we see? We see God incarnate in the form of a vulnerable, helpless babe. God who humbles himself to come among us not as a mighty king or powerful ruler but as a wriggling, defenceless scrap of humanity.

You see, at the heart of the stable scene there is divine humility embodied. God made flesh with all the weaknesses which that involves, inviting us, too, to be humble in our posture, our attitude and the way we live our lives. The Church as an institution has been truly humbled, humiliated even, and maybe recognising and accepting that is the place from which we can begin to find our way again, to emerge, and look with hope towards the future; not seeking to defend ourselves, to have the final say, to control the narratives that swirl around us, but simply to be a gentle, listening presence, embracing the humility, while remaining rooted and anchored in the faith we’ve proclaimed and the communities we’ve served for centuries, and all the while keeping our eyes on the Christ child.

But it is not sufficient simply to look upon the stable scene, passively observing the humility or cowering in its shadow until the worst has passed. Rather, we must be willing to see through the eyes of the child who was born in that stable, whose mother had sung of the proud being scattered, the mighty being cast down and the lowly lifted high, and who grew into the man who eschewed worldly power and success not only by siding with those who are victims of poverty, exploitation and abuse but by first becoming a victim himself through death on the cross, experiencing every kind of injustice and horror. Seeing through his eyes means seeing through the eyes of victims, those who are powerless and marginalised, strangers, outsiders, and yes, those who have experienced abuse at the hands of the church.

Such seeing demands that we be less concerned about the institution of the church and more concerned about those who have been harmed, who are children of God, loved and precious and made in his image. Whilst all of that is absolutely true, as so often in life, the truth in all its full richness, is more subtle and layered. For the church is not just a human institution but it is also the body of Christ – a gift of God to his people and a sign of the heavenly city, an icon of the new Jerusalem, which is to come. As such we are called to build up, not destroy; to preserve its unity, not break it apart.

So there is an intrinsic tension here which we must try to hold well, as we seek to navigate our way through these difficult times. Whether as the church or whether as individuals who experience all kinds of brokenness in our lives, as we contemplate the Christ child, and as we seek to see through his eyes, so we are invited to respond through our actions. That response requires repentance and acknowledgement of failures, where possible it requires reparation and reconciliation, and it requires commitment to work for a better future, recognising that the baby born all those years ago always holds before us the possibility of transformation.

That hope is expressed well in those familiar words from Isaiah in our first reading today, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.”

But I want to leave you with words from a more unlikely source, the singer song writer, Nick Cave, whose insights contain a profound intensity that plummet the depths of life and faith:

He writes, “…somewhere, amid the feasting and joyful human messiness - this beautiful, this happy, this sorrowful estate … I will remember … the energising principle around which [Christmas day] revolves that speaks so eloquently of rebirth and renewal, and the end to waiting - that of a mother bearing a child in a stable, revitalising the world for all eternity.”[1]

Christmas day 2024

Chelmsford Cathedral

Isaiah 9. 2-7

Luke 2. 1-14 [15-20]

 

[1] The Red Hand Files Issue #307, 19 December 2024.