Magic FM in the Chilterns

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green
Readings: Isaiah 49:1-7, 1Corinthians 1:1-9, John 1:29-42

People in all walks of life, from all backgrounds, of all faiths and none, still today talk about ‘having a calling’. In the vernacular, it refers to anything you do that’s not firstly for material gain. So people often think: ‘no one would be a teacher, a carer, a nurse, a vicar, for the money – it must be a calling’.

But it’s not just about your career. Perhaps you’re an accountant who’s also a jeweller, A nurse who’s an artist, A plumber who’s a pianist – Sometimes we have a vocation, but also have to pay the bills. But notice I didn’t say ‘a nurse who paints, a plumber who plays piano.’ A vocation is not something we do but something we are. How we identify.

 And callings can be broad, across life; I love asking open questions in school assemblies and one of the best questions you can ask children is what they want to be when you grow up. Once I asked this, and after the usual fireman, singer, footballer, vet, answers, a little 5 year old boy put up a chubby hand, saying: ‘I want to be a daddy’. 

So the first thing to note, is that callings are about who we are. I play the cello, from time to time. I’m not a cellist. If I never play again, I would not feel that something was missing, that my life was diminished. I am a runner though. And I struggle when I can’t run, even though now it’s mostly with an enormous clumsy dog and a pram crashing about; it is part of how I understand myself, part of my routine. Even more so I am a priest. If it were taken away, if I couldn’t take services, I would be a different person. My identity would change. I wouldn’t know who I was anymore.

So we might make hundreds of thousands of pounds working for some company, but it might mean nothing to us, not related to how we see ourselves; we might spend 12 hours a day in a dull, dead-end job that’s simply a means-to-an-end; time and money don’t necessarily tell our calling;we might get bored when people ask us what we do,  but come alive when talking about wine or cricket, music or our family.

 Our calling is who we understand ourselves to be; and so it’s what gives our life purpose, meaning; What gets us up in the morning and keeps us ploughing on through middle-age. Despite leaking roofs, terrible toddlers, sleepless nights, stress and anxiety, our calling is the strength to keep on.

 Today’s readings are about calling. We hear how Isaiah was called, and how this calling was from before he was born. ‘while I was in my mother’s womb’, A foetal attraction; This matters. Because the point is here that his call as a prophet isn’t because he’s good, faithful or talented. It’s been chosen before he was born. It’s simply a part of who he is.

 Then we heard about St Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ by the will of God, which was despite him persecuting Christians. Our calling can survive our wayward and ambivalent character, as well as our poor decisions. Colluding in murder is generally a poor decision.

Finally, we heard of the call of the disciples. The disciples are looking for the Messiah; they’ve been with John the Baptist and now they’ve found Jesus. When they ask where he’s staying, Jesus responds ‘Come and See.’ The calling is met by an invitation. But it requires openness to change. Because our calling is part of who we are, our identity, it will require us to change. Callings are not static – it’s following the voice. You don’t become a musician without it changing you; I spent less than five years in the army, but even in that time I did really change. Any calling places conditions on us that form us. Simon here is renamed Peter, meaning ‘stone’ the foundation on which the church will be built. 

So our calling is part of who we are. It’s what gives our life a sense of purpose. It’s something that grows with us. It means change. It means following the call. 

Our faith is a calling. We may hear more or less well like Magic FM in the Chilterns as a former long-forgotten prime minister once said. There will be times when the call of faith is ringing loudly in our ears; Often times of trial and celebration; If you’ve made it here this morning it’s most likely because somehow that still small voice, has pulled you here. Which may or not be a child who really enjoys Sunday School.

 The Greek word for church is ecclesia from ‘ek-kaleo’ to ‘call out’. So church is somewhere that we’re called. If a church is healthy it will be a place of formation and encouragement,  We will be calling each other to lead better lives, to know God more, to connect more, to make time to reflect, to grow; Oscar Wilde complained that he couldn’t be a socialist because it would take up too many evenings. I’m guessing he never joined a PCC.

 But has faith become part of your calling? Part of who you are? Does your faith give you a sense of purpose and meaning? Is it growing? Has it changed you?

 The Christian writer who has meant the most to me over the years is a Spanish chap called St John of the Cross, or San Juan de la Cruz. He wrote an important work a mere four hundred years ago called the Ascent of Mount Carmel. It was a spiritual manual for growing in faith – reaching the mountain top. The follow up, the difficult second album, became more famous, The Dark Night of the Soul.

 The phrase is still in common use, and can mean whatever you want. St John uses it in a specific way. Because faith has its blessings. It rejoices in the high points of life, its energy, its vigour, it blesses families, celebrates children, inspires beauty, builds community, may even grant visions. The saints write about this and we can be inspired by how our faith has shaped the world, and shaped lives.

 But St John found that it is when the world is stripped away that he perceived his closeness to God. That it’s under the conditions of loss that we understand our calling from God. The Dark Night of the Soul describes the conditions under which, like Job, everything is taken from us. At that point we know our calling, and we will find whether we are still praising God. When I am dead to all the world, and all the world is dead to me.

 We have lost friends this winter at St Margaret’s and seen others in distress and grief. Much of our life and culture today focuses on the moment. ‘You are exactly where you need to be’ Mindfulness and yoga, alongside the pursuit of eternal youth. Our faith is a calling – a journey. Even with our children we will talk each year about Good Friday, that we are following a man whose journey took him to the cross. This is also our calling. We look through it in hope to the resurrection. We look back through the history of faith, and the faithful from whom we have inherited it, and we support one another in love. But we know, and through Lent rehearse, the journey our calling takes us on is through the cross and our own Dark Night of the Soul. 

So today let us pause and consider. What is our calling? Is it tied to our faith? Where is our sense of purpose, the values that give our life meaning? And how are we changing? Are we ready for the Dark Night of the Soul? I finish with Newman’s prayer which reminds us that whatever our condition, whatever our situation, we still have a calling:

‘God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain.  He knows what He is about.  He may take away my friends.  He may throw me among strangers.  He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me.  Still, He knows what He is about. Amen.’