Sermon preached at Evensong on the Fourth Sunday after Trinity 2024

Mercy is one of the great themes of the pontificate of Pope Francis. The motto on the Pope’s coat of arms is the phrase, ‘miserando atque eligendo’, from a commentary by St Bede on the calling of the Evangelist St Matthew. Jesus sees Matthew the tax collector, by having mercy upon him, and therefore calls him into discipleship. Jesus sees the world through the eyes of mercy.

This month, each Sunday at Evensong, the lectionary gives us readings from St Paul’s letter to the Romans. Romans is Paul’s final surviving letter, and contains masterful expositions of some of his key theological themes. It can be hard to dip in and out of this text, unless we know the context. Paul is writing to the Roman Christian community during the late 50s AD, probably from Corinth. Paul is not the founder of the Roman Church, nor does he claim any exclusive or particular care for it beyond his usual sense of apostleship. So the letter is almost certainly some kind of introduction – a theological ‘calling card’ – to this community in advance of his own travels to that capital of Empire. Presumably, he is also responding to particular questions raised by those Roman Christians, and in this section of the letter, he is wrestling with one of his most substantial issues: that is, the status of the Jewish people and their law in the age after the resurrection of Christ. How do the people of the Covenant, the Lord’s promise to Moses and the Twelve Tribes of Israel, relate to Gentiles (non-Jews) who have become Christians. How do Jews who have embraced faith in Jesus articulate their traditional faith and culture? Paul, himself formerly so proud of his own Jewish identity and heritage, has undergone the most drastic conversion to Christ, and in so doing, has discovered that the promises of God’s mercy are fully open to non Jews as well as Jews. This theological revolution – an earthquake, as I referred to it last week – has profound and transformative effects for everything that Paul thought he knew about God’s call and God’s love. And in these letters, we hear Paul beginning to try and make sense of this, wrestling with his own background and identity, metaphorically rubbing his eyes in wonder as he attempts to describe the effects of Jesus’s life, death and resurrection.

In today’s reading he explains what he refers to as a ‘mystery’ or ‘secret.’ We shouldn’t read this as being something spooky or peculiar, more of a kind of hidden intention, the unseen creative energy of love at work. A ‘hardening’ he says, has come upon some of the chosen people – the Jews – in order that the pagan gentiles can be saved, drawn into the promises once not open to them. Because of what Paul believes about God’s omnipotence – that is, that God is all powerful -  this must be the will of God, and he is quick to point out that God’s will in including the Gentiles cannot nullify what he has already decreed about the Jews. ‘All Israel will be saved’, he writes, not of course referring to the modern secular state, but instead to the Jewish people who were the first to encounter the Lord’s covenant of love. ‘The gifts and calling of God are irrevocable’, Paul declares, his words cascading down in judgement on centuries of Christian antisemitism. God cannot be untrue to Godself or break his own promises, or God would not be God. This is one of the features which marks out the Judaeo-Christian vision of God from the wider pagan context in the ancient world, where their many gods could be capricious, changeable or vindictive. Paul knows that this impossible, and towards the end of today’s reading finishes this section of his letter with rhapsodic wonder and praise, ‘O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God’, he exclaims. ‘For from him and through him and to him are all things.’ Any reflection on the nature of God should spring from and lead back to worship. Wonder is the correct tone when talking about God, especially when we start to run out of satisfactory words or concepts.

And right near the heart of Paul’s wonder is a profound sense of God’s mercy, itself the inner meaning of this ‘mystery’ or ‘secret.’ Mercy is ultimately one of the greatest characteristics of the God we see revealed in Jesus. Throughout the Gospel, in Christ’s teaching and healings, in how he deals with those accused or thought to be ritually unclean, he bestows mercy on those who might otherwise not encounter it. Particularly harsh words are reserved for those in positions of power or strength who fail to show mercy, imprisoning people rather than liberating them. If you wish to share in the abundant free gift of mercy, you must show mercy yourself. Blessed are the merciful, Jesus says in the Beatitudes, for they will be shown mercy. Jesus sees the world, St Bede tells us in his commentary on Matthew, through the eyes of mercy.

Too often, Christians are not always thought to be very merciful. This is a scandal, given that reconciliation is right at the heart of our faith. Which of us does not know our own need for mercy, for reconnection, for wholeness? Mercy is one of the gifts for which we Christians should most long to be known as we share the reconcilation we have been given. The poet and artist William Blake drew much of his inspiration from the Bible and other Christian sources; his own religion, a distinctive form of Christianity. But in his poem The Garden of Love he reflects mournfully on a chapel built on a green

‘the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door’

Blake writes. On turning to the Garden of Love in which the Chapel stands, he sees tombstones where the flowers should be, and priests in black gowns,

‘walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.’

What are Christians known for? Surely, so many of the caricatures are unfair, and as with so much of contemporary culture, people frequently don’t take much time to explore the depths. But there is a problem if we are known for ‘binding with briars’ rather than for mercy and a commitment to enlarging the circle. We are ambassadors for Christ, as St Paul teaches in another letter,[1] the Christ whose very wounded flesh has broken down the dividing wall between human beings. This is an image the Church needs to encounter daily to renew us in the priority of mercy. Of all the many gifts we pray will characterise the newly confirmed members of our own Abbey community today, let us encourage one another in becoming merciful. Agents of reconciliation at home, school, in work, in our friendship groups.

And of course, this priority reaches well beyond our concern for the Church’s own practices, structures and image, right across our public life. As we prepare for elections in this country next week, and think how we should use our vote responsibly, Christians might prioritise some exploration of how mercy cashes out in the many policies set before us.  Justice, mercy and truth, belonging together, at the heart of the mystery of Christ now revealed, as the true source of the world’s life and hope.

This is big picture stuff, yes. It relates to religions, societies, policies, frameworks. But at the end of every day, we might also remember that it’s also profoundly personal. Because if I do not minister mercy to others, I cannot know it myself.

[1] 2 Corinthians 5: 20