Sermon preached at Evensong on the Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity 2024

This month, my colleague Dr Jamie Hawkey is leading us on a virtual pilgrimage to some of the holy places of Britain: Iona, Walsingham, Little Gidding, and finally the great cathedral of Canterbury.

Since this is my last official Sunday, he has generously given me the opportunity to speak with you today—and I would like to share thoughts inspired by another great holy place of Britain; this very Abbey.

Westminster Abbey is, without question, a hugely significant place, and like many such distinctive places, as Andrew Rumsey notes, it is in character both spiritual and secular, just as life is.

Look around you at the architecture and the many monuments. This place points both to the grandeur of human aspiration and endeavour and to the glory of God.

Its founder was Edward, both king and saint.

The Abbey has witnessed weddings, funerals, and coronations which trace the shape and life of our nation and commonwealth.

Here, events national and global have been commemorated.

Here, many are honoured who have shaped and transformed our world and our understanding, who have given life to our lives: poets, writers, musicians, scientists, engineers, politicians, theologians, and more.

But this place is different to, say, the Royal Albert Hall, the Royal Geographical Society, the National Gallery, and the Science Museum; all of which do showcase the fruit of human skill and talent.

Here, those poets, scientists, and others are gathered within a place of pilgrimage, a sanctuary of prayer, and a fitting setting for worship.

Which means that this place requires a gentle warning.

For this Abbey, with all its memorials to the good and the great, could be very dangerous. It might suggest that such public achievement and recognition ought to be our primary aim and that success is to be defined in a limited range of ways.

As we consider all the people memorialised here, renowned as they are or have been, we do well to remember that we humans are both great, made in the image of God, and inherently finite. Few, if any of these people made it alone.

The story of Moses, which we just heard, that great leader of the Jewish people, reminded us that even the greatest cannot healthily bear the burden alone.

And whilst many here are rightly publicly celebrated for their public achievements, greatness is not so simply measured. I wonder to whom you would attribute the title ‘great’? and how you would balance that with the title ‘good’?

Which of these are here and celebrated today? and which may be missing?

The truth is the people whom we publicly recognise may say as much about the interests and limitations of those who do the choosing, as about those who are chosen—evidenced by the fact there are so few women and yet fewer people of colour honoured here.

So, this holy place asks serious questions about how we define greatness and evaluate the less visible acts of service. It draws our attention to the people celebrated publicly and those whose names may never be known or remembered ere long, who nonetheless changed the course of our lives and, cumulatively, of the world.

Amongst them here today would be many members of the volunteers, staff, and the communities which make up the Abbey, who bring it to life and reveal God’s presence here.

They and each of you, who by your presence here today, have become part of the Abbey’s story, making me glad that there is in my imagination a direct line running down the backbone of this place.  An imaginary line connecting two tombs: Saint and soldier.

The shrine of Edward the Confessor is at the heart of the Abbey and close to the high altar. Once richly decorated it remains a fitting place of pilgrimage and prayer, as it has been for centuries. There Edward lies surrounded by a pantheon of his royal peers who each wanted to crowd close to their saintly predecessor.

At the other end of this imagined line, close to where you probably entered, is another tomb on which is written:

BENEATH THIS STONE RESTS THE BODY
OF A BRITISH WARRIOR
UNKNOWN BY NAME OR RANK
BROUGHT FROM FRANCE TO LIE AMONG
THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS OF THE LAND
AND BURIED HERE ON ARMISTICE DAY
11 NOV: 1920.

Acclaimed royal saint and unknown soldier: secular and sacred.

Both find their place here, their service valued, their souls entrusted to God.

This Abbey draws us in, not merely because of its grandeur, but because of its ability to connect us to one another and most importantly to One who stands beyond ourselves.

The towering arches, the vaulted roof, the stained-glass windows, and the echo of ancient prayer and songs remind us of the enduring encounter with God which so many find here.

We are reminded that known or unknown to our peers and to the generations to come, we are part of a greater story, which has been unfolding for millennia and will continue long after we have departed.

It is the Abbey’s place within this continuity; the reach through time and geography of the divine narrative which makes it so significant.

My prayer is that it would reach yet further into that narrative in order to reflect the rich diversity of the life of God and all God’s people.

Each of us has a place within that narrative, long or short. Then there comes a time for each to move on, a time to say goodbye. For me, this is it.

And that word ‘goodbye’ carries a depth of meaning which we often overlook in everyday use. Originating from the phrase ‘God be with ye’, it is a reminder that as we part from one another we are entrusting each other into God’s enduring care. God who sees us with equal tenderness, saint or soldier.

Saying goodbye is one more of life’s transitions which fill our time from birth to death, and I believe beyond even that. This place of the millennia, steadfast as it has been, reveals only a fraction of the greater constancy of God.

It is to this enduring love I entrust you and pray that you too may entrust me.

Which brings me in closing to a hymn which has accompanied many farewells. It encapsulates the hope and assurance that, though for a while our ways may diverge, God remains—guiding, protecting, and keeping us in his grace until we meet once more, whether that be in this life or the next.

God be with you till we meet again.
By his counsels guide, uphold you;
In his loving arms enfold you.
God be with you till we meet again.