Silence. Absence of speech. Heads bowed. Time transcended. Two minutes of eternity. Strangers' names sounded aloud. Anchor still holding. Lighthouse in the storm. Death faced. Or not.

Our acts of remembrance are presented in many different ways. But not all are helpful. This sermon explores the real point of remembrance.

In the depths of our inner being exists, in each of us, a part that no one else ever sees. Its the place where sometimes even we are too afraid to go. Its where our deepest secrets lie, the things we are too terrified to let others know about us; where the disappointments that have crushed us are buried; where memories of being rejected, or humiliated, or bullied, when we have been so badly hurt it feels like a sword has run through us, are shut away in the dark because otherwise they would overwhelm and drown us. Where we know how we have sometimes treated others, said and done unthinkably unkind and cruel acts of which we are so ashamed we can't bear to admit them. And it leaves us with this deep sense of isolation and utter alone-ness.

Most of us bury this part of our soul, sensing that no-one would want anything to do with us if they really knew what we were like. So we try to compensate, perhaps by presenting an image of ourselves to the world by which we would like to be known. We choose our clothes, the way we look, our manner with others, to convey a particular impression, a mask behind which to hide, carefully cultivated in front of a mirror. Mirrors. Those silvered surfaces that reflect back the superficial us we want others to see. Where would we be without mirrors and photographs, and the rise of the ubiquitous 'selfie'?

But this hidden part is the 'real' us - the rest is all facade. And it is this hidden part that God calls to. In the story of the Fall in Genesis 3, after Adam and Eve have eaten the apple, they realise they are 'naked', exposed to each other. They both feel this incredible shame and guilt, and so they hide from each other and from God. Its exactly the same with each of us. The story of Adam and Eve is the story of Everyman - we hide ourselves, alone and out of sight, as George Herbert so precisely puts it, 'guilty of dust and sin'. But in the cool of the day, God walks in the garden and calls out to them 'where are you?'

'Where are you?'

That's the question God asks of each of us.

Its arguably the most profound question in the Bible. 'Where are you?'

Dare we answer?

'But what if...?'

The rub is, of course, that he already knows exactly where we are, why we are hiding, and, most frighteningly, what we are hiding. And yet his love for each of us remains infinitely deeper than our worst fear. This is the Mystery of God: how is it possible for God to know what we are really like and still love us?

The question, then, is whether we are willing to be found...

The Bewcastle Benefice sermon for the 12th Sunday after Trinity 2024

Poem: 'The Raven' by Norman Nicholson

OT: 1 Kings 2:10-12, 3:3-14

NT: Eph 5:15-20

Gospel: John 6:51-58

She was incredibly beautiful. Lithe, graceful, shapely, bronze-skinned with full and dark flowing hair, nubile. Who could resist her? It all started with a glance out the window that turned into a lingering gaze. Did she know he might see her, bathing out there on the roof in the evening sun? She was so…tantalising. He was mesmerised.

It is the simplest of things. But at what point did he cross a threshold? Was it the glance? No, that was impulsive, accidental coincidence and he was shocked. Was it when he became transfixed, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away? Surely not – such beauty is created to be beheld, and how he appreciated such delectable beauty. Perhaps it was when he couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind as he lay on his bed that night? No, he hadn’t done anything wrong, it couldn’t have been then. But of course, everything starts in the imagination…

Years later, David’s heir was to say ‘If anyone looks at a woman lustfully he has already committed adultery with her in his heart…’

But just now, he had absolutely no idea how that lingering gaze was to lead to the destruction, not only of his family, but of the entire kingdom of Israel. No one did.

The nature of sin is that it reaches out in unexpected ways to enmesh, suck in, cling to, like tentacles that drag us down to the deep. It feeds on darkness and deception, jealousy and self-interest, fear and guilt. It destroys trust, faithfulness, honesty and kindness, generosity and love. How do we identify sin? Easy. It always has ‘I’ at the centre: s-I-n.

The trouble is, we don’t even see this as an issue any more. The new Olympian mantra repeated over and over is ‘I’m really proud of myself.’ At other times we say ‘I deserve it’, or ‘I’m worth it,’ as we desperately try to suppress the niggling doubt that we're not. Others tells us ‘you need to forgive yourself’ as if we have the right or the power, or to ‘love yourself’, but love means laying down your life for another, so how does that work?

All of these point to a reversal of the true nature of love, a dependence and centring on the self instead of God and others; a distortion and corruption of the source of life into an imploding, self-destructive force that ultimately leads to the annihilation, not only of ourselves, or of our communities, or even society, but of entire species, ecosystems, and the climate. In a word, death.

And so the Bread of life enters our deep, dark, tentacled world to bring us back up to the surface, where we can gulp the Spirit, and breathe at last in the light…

The Bewcastle Benefice sermon for the 9th Sunday after Trinity, 2024 (Year B)

Poem: 'The Bright Field' by RS Thomas

OT: 2 Sam 11:1-15

NT: Eph 3:14-end

Gospel: Jn 6:1-21