Sermon preached at the Sung Eucharist on the Feast of the Translation of St Edward the Confessor 2024

The main source used by later historians for St Edward’s life was the Vita Edwardi, probably written very soon after the Saint’s death in 1066. Some seventy years later, a monk of Westminster called Osbert of Clare wrote a more hagiographical life, discussing miracles and other features of Edward’s virtue. Two decades later, the great St Aelred of Rievaulx who preached at the translation of St Edward’s relics here in 1163, wrote a new Life which swiftly became the official account, and from which was drawn inspiration for the scripture readings appointed to be read on and around St Edward’s feast.

This account tells us that St Edward was renowned for his powers of healing, during his lifetime as well as after it, and in particular was famed for his ability to restore sight. One of the miracles portrayed in the damaged but beautiful Shrine Screen behind the High Altar where the body of St Edward still rests, is that of a group of blind men washing in the king's water and subsequently receiving their sight. At least in a rather mundane way, the washing is wonderfully resonant of baptism, any transformation perhaps linked subconsciously to the fundamental new creation of new life in Christ. The gift of sight is allied to the deep vision of faith, the one interpreting the other; physical healing an incredible thing, whilst also symbolic of a deeper discernment of God’s purposes and call.

In another story given to us by Aelred, six blind men were led to St Edward’s tomb by one who was himself partially sighted – not only a mass healing, but another kind of miracle, too; truly, the blind leading the blind to the righteous and pious king, whose personal holiness and wise stewardship of the realm made him an iconic figure, especially for those who shared the solidarity of distress.

St Aelred’s account gives us further insight into Edward’s character and merits. Although Edward stands (Aelred writes) in a succession of holy monarchs, unlike some of his predecessors, he did not gain the crown of martyrdom, nor was he exiled from his own realm for the sake of Christ. Edward’s was certainly not the most heroic story of Christian kingship judged either by metrics of personal success or the prowess of the martyr. Rather, he was the Rex Justus – the righteous king – who “reigned with justice and holiness and strove to be [his] people’s servant more than lord.” Aelred concludes doxologically and poetically, “…that brilliant luminary the glorious King Edward shone like the morning star in a cloudy sky.” Amidst all the jostling for position which took place during and around St Edward’s reign, early tradition and later chronicles record how Edward consciously saw himself in relationship with others. The images behind the high altar display gatherings: as well as the healing of the blind, we see Edward’s coronation, his visions, his prophesy of the future of the realm, his presence at the dedication of the Abbey, and his vision of Christ at Mass. King Edward is not portrayed as an isolated figure, but always positioned in different kinds of relationship.

Aelred’s account tells us that St Edward strove to be his people’s servant rather than their lord. He served them in three ways which interweave each other; physical healing, the sight of faith, and the wise vision required for good governance and social harmony. That’s quite a trio to set before our society today. Many of course still seek physical healing, and very many more will be aware of mental and emotional fragility. How our churches need to re-learn a confidence in the ministry of healing, and in the sacrament of reconciliation to re-energise the sight of faith. In terms of good governance and social harmony, after a general election, and during a time of disintegration in geopolitics, we are challenged to appreciate that any shared direction of travel as a nation, a culture, a human family, will need much more than any political promises can offer. The Church sets before us a vision of holiness, a vision which looks tragedy and injustice in the eye, and which insistently summons human beings to reconciliation rather than revenge, in which we are called to participate, and to which we must invite others. Today’s Gospel gives us a Christian critique of the power of might. If our greatness is dependent upon the extent to which we serve one another, it follows that all expressions of power should build people up, have attention to their healing, resisting the narratives of dominance and control which treat humans and the wider creation as disposable. Today’s Gospel is an encouragement to see differently, to perceive reality with the eye of the heart, and to think again about how service of one another teaches us a deeper discipleship, a more faithful following of Christ.

Our Christian faith and Christian proclamation should recall our leaders and our governments to that clear long-term vision of justice and mercy found in the prophets but which seems frequently so elusive. The demands of instant decision-making chase our heels, populist narratives can obscure deeper problems and more demanding questions, and we may rightly rage that patterns of revengeful and callous violence wound some of the weakest in our global community. But the sight of faith begins within us. Our own discipleship needs the refreshment that comes from Christ, so that there is coherence between how we see ourselves in relation to God, and in how we see others and the world around. The sight of faith is truly corporate – we call it the Church – but also deeply personal. We Christians need to attend to the eyes of our heart, in other words to daily prayer and contemplation. That will help us see others and our broader societal situation in a wider, richer context. The sight of faith is not escapism, it opens our eyes, makes us more aware of our connectedness, and more aware of our own vulnerability – conscious that amidst it all, God’s providence is one which calls us, which justifies us, and which will lead us to glory. This is the faith which sustained St Edward, and it is the same faith we celebrate as we offer the Eucharist today.

In Osbert of Clare’s life of St Edward, a tale is told of how the King attempted to fulfil the vow he had made to go to Rome. When he announced this intention to his barons, they were horrified at the thought of Edward's absence. Their fear was triggered by the belief that if Edward left England, the kingdom would descend into chaos. Edward is still here – worshipping with us in this Eucharist, and his body remains right at the heart of the Kingdom. Not like a Royal Raven at the Tower of London, mythically symbolising our security – or not. But a real person, who still has a real life in Christ, known for his gifts of foresight, healing, and unity, whom we ask to pray for us especially when our vision is clouded and when our world is fractured.

So today in this Eucharist we seek St Edward’s prayerful solidarity in Christ for the physical healing of the sick, for greater, braver and better discipleship, and for the renewal of vision and service in a dangerously febrile world. Edward is still here, prompting us to see and prompting us to serve. Holy Edward, pray for us.