Citizenship In Heaven

March 17, 2019

Second Sunday in Lent

Our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior.

This morning, I had wanted to talk to you about a pair of monsters. Monsters I think I first discovered when I was seven or eight years old, but about whom I had rather forgotten – although, in truth, I – and you – know them all too well. Reflecting a number of questions that that have been asked of me in recent days, I was going to begin this sermon with a reference to the truly unprecedented and utterly confusing series of debates and votes in the British Parliament this last week, as Prime Minister May has desperately attempted to navigate a bizarrely chaotic path towards the exit of my mother country from the European Union.

And in that context, I was going to mention to you how it was that, not very far away, were the Triple Demons of Compromise—one tall and thin, one short and fat, and the third exactly like the other two. This monstrous trio – as you may be aware, or you may recall – move in ominous circles, for if one said "here," the other said "there," and the third agreed perfectly with both of them. And, since they always settled their differences by doing what none of them really wanted, they rarely got anywhere at all—and neither did anyone they met.

The Triple Demons of Compromise, manifestly, are alive and well in the corridors of Westminster, to the dismay of everyone in Britain – remainers and leavers – none of whom are getting what they wanted. And – because every British person now knows that we should never have put ourselves into such a bizarre, unmanageable political stalemate – I was going also to acknowledge that with the Triple Demons of Compromise was running another monster:

Jumping clumsily from boulder to boulder and catching hold with his cruel, curving claws was the Horrible Hopping Hindsight, a most unpleasant fellow whose eyes were in the rear and whose rear was out in front. He invariably leaped before he looked and never cared where he was going as long as he knew why he shouldn't have gone to where he'd been.

For, as I say, with the benefit of hindsight, just about every detail of the Brexit fiasco could have been avoided. And so, in the earlier part of this week, as a prelude to talking about the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it, as an introduction to talking about the deep and terrifying darkness which descended on Abram, as the warm-up to talking about those who live as enemies of the cross of Christ, I was going to make a gentle joke at the expense of Theresa May and just about every British politician, as I read to you the descriptions of those two monsters who thrive on compromise and hindsight – monsters we all know and recognize, whether or not we ever read the classic children’s story The Phantom Tollbooth, penned so brilliantly by Norton Juster in 1961. 

I read the The Phantom Tollbooth when I was seven or eight, and was utterly delighted by the wonderful story of the bored child Milo, who passes through the Phantom Tollbooth to find a dystopian and dysfunctional world, where Dictionopolis (the kingdom of letters, ruled by King Azaz) and Digitopolis (the numerical equivalent, ruled over by the Mathemagician) exist in a gently simmering cold war, surrounded by a wonderful collection of whimsically portrayed monsters whose various evils hold sway in this imaginary world – because the princesses of Rhyme and of Reason have been banished and imprisoned in a Castle in the Air.

The story continues – deservedly – to be a classic, and as the narrative unfolds, the brave but bewildered Milo, aided by the faithful dog Tock and the nervous Humbug, realize that it must fall to them to rescue Rhyme and Reason, without whom there can be no hope for the world. And so, the other night I was reading the penultimate chapter to Linus, set as the story reaches its climax, and our heroes have freed the vitally needed princesses and are making their escape – only to be pursued by the Triple Demons of Compromise, and the Horrible Hopping Hindsight. And there – I thought – was the start of my sermon. 

But then it was Friday. And the hapless political fiasco of Brexit was eclipsed by the horrific news from Christ Church, New Zealand, to which we awoke that morning. And I realized that I would have to read for you the very next paragraph from The Phantom Tollbooth - because after the horrors of compromise and hindsight have scared Milo, Tock and the Humbug, as they continue to make their escape, things get worse, when, to their dismay, they see:

…most terrifying of all, directly behind, inching along like giant soft-shelled snails, with blazing eyes and wet anxious mouths, came the Gorgons of Hate and Malice, leaving a trail of slime behind them and moving much more quickly than you'd think.

And it is true. Too horribly true. The Gorgons do, indeed, move so much more quickly than you would think. For we saw these Gorgons on August 12^th, 2017, when, in the context of a white supremacist rally, the 20-year old James Alex Fields Jr drove his car into a crowd of peaceful protestors in Charlottesville, Virginia, murdering 32-year old Heather Heyer.

And we had barely blinked, before the Gorgons had moved to the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, when on October 27^th last year, 46-year old Robert Gregory Bowers murdered eleven Jews who had gathered for Shabbat worship that morning.

And then on Friday, effortlessly leaping continents, the Gorgons reappeared on the other side of the world, when Brenton Harrison Tarrant gunned down 49 Muslims in two mosques, live-streaming the attack from a body camera attached to his clothing.

Paul was not wrong when he wrote to the Philippians, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears.

For it is plain – horribly plain – that not only are the Gorgons of Hate and Malice alive and well, leaving the slimy trail of division, discord and violence in their wake for all to see, but that it has ever been thus – despite the fact that God – the one God whom we worship this morning, and who is worshipped in the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, and who is worshipped in the Al Noor and the Linwood mosques in Christ Church – despite the fact that the one God can and has done things for us of impossible wonder and love.

For, to the nonagenarian Abram, and his octogenarian wife Sarai, God fulfils a promise of blessing by giving them heirs ‘of their very own issue’ – promising them a family of descendants more numerous than the stars in the heavens. A family brought into being by Sarah – as she will become – as well as her handmaid Hagar – a family of which you and I are a part even today, along with our Jewish and Muslim sisters and brothers. And – given the age of Abram and Sarai when this extraordinary promise is made – it is clearly an impossibility. You do not need me to tell you that women who have turned eighty do not and cannot bear children, and the history books are not exactly over-flowing with men who have become fathers in their nineties.

But for God, the God of love, impossibility is possibility, indeed impossibility is opportunity – although such possibility has to be set in a real and very scary world. A world in which the righteous and faithful Abram nevertheless sleeps in a deep and terrifying darkness – a similar deep and terrifying darkness that embraced the world yet again in the mosques of Christ Church just over 48 hours ago.

For, as Paul said, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ – and he is clear that, for these people, their end is destruction – a fact which needs repeating so often it has driven the great apostle to tears. For in a world which cannot escape the Gorgons of Hate and Malice, it was and continue to be ever thus:

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! – thus cries Jesus, who not only knew that it was ever thus, but could, I fear, see all too clearly that it would continue ever to be thus. And there is no doubt that the Jerusalem of today is iconic of the division, of the hatred, of the evil that is constantly wrought between the children of Abraham, in Charlottesville, in Pittsburgh, in Christ Church, and day by day in so many contexts, sometimes making news headlines of chilling horror, and sometimes just ingrained in the hearts and minds of otherwise ‘ordinary’ people – even people that can sometimes look suspiciously like me and like you.

Which is why Paul has to see beyond anything that is possible on this earth, and he has to direct the gaze of the Philippians to a bigger picture, when he tells them that our citizenship is in heaven. And that it is from there that we are expecting a Savior – a savior who will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.

And that power – very simply – is the power of love. And with true love, and only with true love, in all its costly, sacrificial agony, can come true peace and joy. Only with true love can come any release from the awful horrors wrought in this world by the Gorgons of Hate and Malice.

I do not know what Brenton Harrison Tarrant is feeling, as he bides his time in a New Zealand police cell awaiting his trial for multiple counts of murder. Sadly, I doubt that he feels any sense of regret for his actions. I suspect he may feel pride, and that might well be mixed with anger. I very much doubt he has feelings of peace or joy, and to my grief, I feel all too certain he does not know the power of love. Because I am not sure that it is possible properly to love and to gundown 50 people on a Friday lunchtime – or 11 people on a Saturday morning. Just as I suspect you cannot love properly when you condemn a sinless and innocent man to death, or when you hammer sharp nails into his hands and his feet.

Indeed, it is always hard to love if you fall prey to the Gorgons of Hate and Malice, as they move so quickly around the world, leaving their trail of toxic slime behind them. And the results of their work are awful – as we heard in all our readings just now:

Abram sleeps in a terrifying darkness; Jesus strides to an inevitable death in the city that should have known better; Paul weeps at the enemies of the cross of Christ. And the sun continues to rise and fall on too many days which bring tales of violence and evil as the children of Abraham deface his faithfulness and righteousness, and harm each other with so many acts of division and hatred, while (to quote Chicago’s own Otis Moss), Sarah and Hagar are holding each other crying, asking when will it stop.

Which is why, in amongst the hatred and the violence – and in amongst the divisive squabblings about Brexit, and other immigration-related politics of division – we must remember that our citizenship – your citizenship and my citizenship - is in heaven. Because that is the only thing that can make a difference to the horrors of the earthly Jerusalem that kills the prophets, let alone the earthly Christ Church, and the earthly Pittsburgh, and the earthly Charlottesville, and the earthly Chicago. 

Just at the point when our heroes Milo, Tock and the Humbug think they can go no further, and as all the terrible monsters of ignorance close in on them and defeat looms, the newly unified armies of wisdom appear on the horizon, and these demons are finally vanquished. And as the dust settles, and rhyme and reason are restored into a land where peace has finally broken out, King Azaz and the Mathemagician have a final conversation with the heroic Milo:

"there was one very important thing about your quest that we couldn't discuss until you returned."
"I remember," said Milo eagerly. "Tell me now."
"It was impossible," said the king, looking at the Mathemagician.
"Completely impossible," said the Mathemagician, looking at the king.
"Do you mean—" stammered the bug, who suddenly felt a bit faint.
"Yes, indeed," they repeated together; "but if we'd told you then, you might not have gone—and, as you've discovered, so many things are possible just as long as you don't know they're impossible."

Because terrifying darknesses don’t just happen at night. The rays of the sun were extinguished on a Friday afternoon in Jerusalem 2000 years ago, and it felt like they were extinguished again this last Friday in New Zealand. And when this happens, it feels impossible that love can ever triumph. But Jesus, whom we are privileged to know as the Christ, Jesus did not know it was impossible for love to triumph over death and darkness – and before the sun rose on a Sunday morning, an empty tomb proved the truth of the words of Norton Juster’s children’s story centuries before he would ever write them.

You’ve probably seen the meme that has been reposted by a lot of folk on social media in the wake of Friday’s horrific events in Christ Church: A Muslim, a Jew, a Christian, a Pagan and an Atheist all walk into a coffee shop… and they talk, laugh, drink coffee and become good friends. It’s not a joke. It’s what happens when you’re not an asshole. It’s not impossible to like, let alone to love, those who are different from us. And it is not impossible for that love to break down the culture of tribal supremacy that is dividing up our world and inviting in the Gorgons of Hate and Malice so easily and readily.

Just remember the wisdom of the Phantom Tollbooth, and never let them tell you that love is impossible. Because it is your job and mine – it is the work of the Body of Christ to champion this not-impossible truth, and to show the world around us a different and better way. Because, as Paul told the Philippians, Christ will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory. And we are that body – that’s what the church is.

So when you leave this building this morning, make sure that the people you meet know that your citizenship is in heaven – because that is the only place from which a Savior will come. And if we act as if we believe this, then the impossible becomes possible, and this fragile body which is the church will start to shine with Christ’s glory, and banish the deep and terrifying darkness in which Abram and so many of his children have slept.

And then we will see what life can be like in the heavenly Jerusalem, where the prophets are not killed, for there will be no more death or hatred and despair – and we can even start to build that kingdom of heaven here on earth, piece by glorious piece, through the power of love which ultimately, as Paul said, will make all things subject to Christ.

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love… stand firm in the Lord in this way. Amen.