Sermon preached at the Sung Eucharist on the Seventh Sunday of Easter 2024

Is this a good use of our time...? Just think of all we could get done if we were not here doing this. My to-do list is groaning, and the emails seemingly endless. I spend much of my time feeling guilty about what I have not managed to do (despite doing all that I can in the hours available). Maybe it is the same for you. So, is this a good use of our time I wonder...? I’ll leave you to think about that.

Last weekend I was rather inefficient—spending some hours in the company of a small group of Oblates of Westminster Abbey. Traditionally, an oblate is an individual associated with a Benedictine monastic community, connected through following a pattern of life and prayer that reflects the character and some of the discipline of the community. Oblates are rooted in the stability and identity of place as much as its habits—yet very much living in the world.

Last weekend we were thinking about how to live prayerfully and faithfully in relationship with the Abbey as it is today; no longer a Benedictine community, and without a resident monastic community for well over 450 years. We wondered what shapes the identity of this place, and we began by tracing the history of Westminster Abbey through a selection of documents and artifacts in our museum and library. A journey through the sacred and the everyday.

We started with a gilded thirteenth-century screen depicting our patron St Peter, and an illuminated Missal; both items made for and used at the High Altar of Henry III’s Abbey in the late 1200s—a point of significant renewal; and we reflected on how through all the many changes we have always been first and foremost a place of prayer and worship.

We viewed a chart recording the names of members of the monastic community (from a century later) recording their clothing allowance, and an order for new boots; and we recognised that from the earliest times the community ran on solid admin and process, and served basic human needs.

We viewed the Charter of Queen Elizabeth I from 1560 marking the point of significant and lasting change—the beginning of our life as a Collegiate Church under the continued patronage of St Peter.

And, as we gazed upon an 800-year-old letter written on vellum and fixed with seven wax seals, we heard it read in translation—recording how the Abbey’s authority was seriously challenged in 1222, and that the Abbey held its ground (figuratively and literally), winning its claim and confirming its particular and ‘peculiar’ status of being in London but not under the jurisdiction of London[1].

Having viewed these treasures, we returned from the museum (up there in the galleries) to the floor of the Abbey, thronging with visitors before Evensong, where the singing of psalmody and canticles in Quire would mark the continuity once again.

A community of prayer and worship, administered from the earliest days with clear process, and a community having to guard against the attempts of others to claim authority over it, and its particular way of life. A story of continuity, renewal, and change.

Our Gospel reading is in quite another register—no forms or proofs here, but prayer: Jesus praying to the Father—at the end of his temporal work—his earthly mission. His last prayer, before his arrest, passion and death. It takes the form of reflection, petition and confirmation: this is what I have done—Father, confirm my work and protect my flock.

Jesus has just given his disciples the image of himself as the Vine, and they as the branches—one with Christ. He has given them the commandment to love one another as he has loved them; and he has warned them that his way is not the way of the world—and to be ready for that; and to have confidence that the coming Spirit will lead them into ‘all truth’.

Our reading forms the central section of a longer prayer which began with Jesus saying “Father, glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people...” and ending with, “I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them”. Divine authority and divine love are to guard and guide Christ’s flock—in the world.

“Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth.”

By contrast, our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, takes us from the lofty heights of divine contemplation back down to the observation of a community held by prayer and administered by process: St Peter oversees the election and elevation of a member of the community of faithful followers of Christ to the position of Apostle—replacing Judas and making the ‘twelve’ complete.

Having put forward two candidates—Matthias and Joseph—the community prays “Lord you know everyone’s heart... Show us which one you have chosen...”

Names and records—telling us the story of the first Christian community—and revealing that the church has been, from the beginning, a place of continuity, renewal, and change.

In John[2], we have the glorious vision of the vine and its branches—and have faith in the divine love that binds us to one another in Christ... but contemplation will not support the practical needs of a community or a family... (if Martha had not swept the floor—then perhaps Mary would not have so readily sat on it...  at the feet of Jesus).

It takes ‘process’—a practical administration to be in the world: income, maintenance, clothing, housing... bills—the necessary works that support and enable temporal existence... the fact that we can see this in the earliest of records is both encouraging and a little disappointing—there is not, it would seem, a perfect, holy existence that is immune from these things. So the Abbey centuries ago—the Abbey today—you and me—all of us need to engage with the process required for living ‘in the world’.

But the pattern—the balance—the priorities and the authority (named and defended) are what reveal the identity and integrity of each of us and our communities. We belong to Christ, he is our authority, and teaches a way of life to follow. But if we look at our lives—can we trace that truth? Is it clear to us and apparent to others? The ways of the world creep in—they demand dominion over us—they insist on being the only way.

We must be vigilant and not be drawn in to the ways of the world that suggest efficiency is more important than relationship and community; status more important than responsibility exercised with compassion and humility; profit and growth are more important than nurture and continuity. We must not let process diminish our Spirit or determine our character! This is not the Gospel nor is it the best of the wisdom and tradition we have inherited.

I began by asking if this is time well spent? Whether my hours with the Oblates was time well spent...? inefficient as it was.

Our steadfast commitment to a life of corporate prayer and worship, and the sacraments, and our insistence on its fruits; and to live in light of these—is our witness to the world... our entering into the relationship of the Son with the Father. Here we tell our story and confirm our identity.

We are called to live in this world—but to witness to a better way.

What our reading from Acts shows us is that prayer should be at the heart of process, to underpin all that we do. When we act in the world we find that, set against our ideals, compromises have to be made—but we, like the Abbey in that letter of 1222, should be clear where the boundaries lie (and be prepared to defend them).

And if we were to commission our own vellum document to prove where true authority lies for us (in our hearts), it should have only one name and one title on it—that of Jesus, the Christ, and one seal– that of the Spirit. Then we can be confident of our identity and purpose—our place in the world. Our faith and hope; and our joy shall be complete.

[1] The challenge was from the then Bishop of London.

[2] The Gospel according to St John.