Sermon: Cathedral Eucharist Trinity 3

Preacher:

Date:

Sunday 16th June 2013

Service:

Cathedral Eucharist

Readings:

Luke 7: 36-end

The one to whom little is forgiven, loves little
Luke 7.47b

If you are wise…you will show yourself as a tank, and not a pipe. For a pipe pours out as fast as it takes in; but a tank waits till it is full before it overflows, and so communicates its surplus without loss to itself. We have all too few such tanks in the Church at present, though we have pipes in plenty. (St Bernard On the Song of Songs. (1952) London: Mowbray. p. 45)

It may surprise you to learn that those are the words not of a contemporary analysis of the state of the Church, but of St Bernard of Clairvaux in his Commentary on the Song of Songs written in the year 1135. It comes as part of a beautiful passage on the twofold operation of the Holy Spirit who gives us gifts for our own wellbeing and salvation and gifts for the good of others. The person who is a pipe will always be in debt, nothing is retained, everything is spent. The person who is a tank is replenished, filled full, and ready to give out of her abundance. Forgiven much; she loved much. The point is that the woman of the Gospel was forgiven and she was able to pour out in the most profligate way an abundance of love, sensual devotion and service to Jesus: she does that with water, her tears, with kisses and oil.

The water, the kiss and the oil: these three things are emblems of a healed and forgiven person. The woman of the Gospel is a person who is ready to express her devotion to Jesus personally yet publicly, setting aside the possibility of scandal. She knows the forgiveness of God and, in Bernard’s image, can communicate her surplus without loss to herself. Her actions become a conduit of the Holy Spirit’s ministry of renewal, intimacy and healing. As the hymn Veni Creator Spiritus puts it, ‘anoint and cheer our wounded face, with the abundance of thy grace.’

Water is the stuff of life. Our physical birth was a moment heralded by breaking waters before being delivered into the vivid light of this world. Our spiritual birth in baptism is about deliverance from death, with the baptismal waters swirling around us as we come to new life in Christ, and in company with one another.

In the rather buttoned up northern climes of Europe, and, let’s face it, especially amongst the British, a kiss is something that is only to be shared between two people who know each other very well. Other parts of the world are less starchy and the kiss is at the same time intimate and public. St Paul says ‘greet one another with a holy kiss’. A holy kiss is a kiss that shows that as human beings we can be in a relationship that is not based solely on physical attraction or desire but on a gracious acknowledgement of the gift of the other person as a created in God’s image.

Oil is deeply soothing and healing: we use it to anoint the sick. I haven’t gone all New Age because the Church knew about oils some time ago. The psalms speak of the ‘oil of gladness’ (Psalm 45.7; Isaiah 61.3; Hebrews 1.9), ‘you have anointed my head with oil and my cup shall be full’ (Psalm 23.5). Just imagine a patch of dry skin, how it is uncomfortable and itchy. One source of respite is the punishing action of scratching; a better relief is the soothing of oil.

Simon, sadly, had not drunk from the wells of salvation. He had nothing to give. His life was dried up, gnarled and cracked, it was water pipe that poured out all the time and he only recourse was to fancy dinners and public show, to condemnation and judgement. He knew no soothing relief, just painful scratching. He didn’t even greet Jesus with a kiss: a mirror of Judas, he betrayed his guest by not kissing him.

But there is always hope even for the Simons of us. If you Google the phrase ‘rain in death valley’ you will see an illustration of what had happened to the woman of the Gospel, and could yet happen to Simon, to you, to me. Death Valley is famously hot, barren desert. It rarely rains there, but when it does it is a riot of colour of flowers and greenery. As Isaiah put it, talking about the Judean wilderness, ‘the desert shall blossom and burst into song’. This is an image of the forgiven life.

Our Eucharist began by acknowledging our sin to God and one another. Soon we come to dine with the One who washes away our sin, and calls us to sit and eat with him. This is a feast of forgiveness. The woman of the Gospel has drunk deeply from the wells of salvation, a like a water tank is ready to give back to Jesus that which he has given to her. She knows the great dignity of being called a ‘sinner’. It is only people who think they are beyond forgiveness who reject the word. It is a title of dignity, to be called a ‘sinner’ acknowledges two things: first, that I am in need of God’s forgiveness, and, second, that he will give it to me. Couldn’t we just do with a few more forgiven sinners in the Church today?