Sermon: The Great Beauty

Preacher:

Date:

Sunday 22nd September 2013

Service:

Choral Evensong

Readings:

Ezra 1

John 7: 14-36

Listen:

Download Recording (MP3, 16.1M)

Paulo Sorrentino’s film The Great Beauty opens with a scene of tourists taking in the breathtaking panoramic views of Rome; before a gut wrenching scream catapults us into a delirious montage of gyrating disco divas, botox-ed socialites and frenetic electro pop.  The eternal city becomes the decadent carnival city.

The closing sequence is as understated and melancholic as the opening is hedonistic. The camera pans along the Tiber, picking out the majestic architecture and those enjoying an early evening stroll or run; the birds twitter, the pale skies fade into twilight and darkness.

Over the course of the intervening two hours, Sorrentino sets before us a kaleidoscope: the cash poor aristocrats, the mysterious neighbour, the struggling playwright, an aging stripper, performance artists, the bored elite awash with wealth and time, the ebb and flow of tourists and nuns.  The dizzy frenzy of life and a looming shadow of death.

Immersed in this whirlpool of the highlife is Jep Gambardella.  He is a journalist, a connoisseur of society’s delights, an old hand aware of its hazards.  As a young man he wrote a great novel; now he is famous for his rooftop parties. He is our guide and the protagonist.  He makes cynical observations, delivered with a languid ease and detachment. 

However he finds himself confronted with mortality’s shade: a 65^th birthday, the death of his first love, the funeral of a young man, the unexpected tenderness of a friend’s daughter, glimpsing vulnerability beneath pretention and opinion.  These events and his response are in different ways unexpected; they uncover a passion for all he’s loved and lost and wasted.  He has been consumed by the vanity and seductive nature of human wishes.

He begins to question; familiar faces, interactions and landscapes take on a different hew. There’s a spiritual void.  He ponders:  Hidden underneath the blah blah blah, buried under the chatter and noise, silence and emotion, emotion and fear – the tiny sporadic flashes of beauty.

Perhaps he needs to leave the immemorial beauty of Rome behind; leaving behind too the dangerous currents of corruption, addiction and hedonism.  Jep seeks out spiritual illumination. 

He approaches a well known prelate – at a wedding, over a meal and as is about to be chauffeured away.  On each occasion he receives neither spiritual challenge nor consolation; rather he is offered cooking tips.  

He encounters a aged nun – at a meal, asleep on the floor of his room and on his roof terrace. She says little; she is at one with herself, attentive to what’s going on around her, yet also with a deep longing to rest in the God she loves. When she does speak it is to say of her frugal diet: I eat only roots, because roots are important.

The Great Beauty sets before us the vanities of life that still have the power to captivate us or destroy us.  Guildford is not the eternal city; yet within our town men and women and young people wrestle with addition and find themselves driven by ambition or expectation. Pounds will be spent on fabulous meals just a few minutes’ drive away from our nearest food bank.  We live among the asset rich and cash poor; those who are bored by inactivity or unemployment; the opinion shapers and the disposed.  We are presented with images of beauty, sex, lifestyle and success. 

There is chatter, noise, silence, emotion and fear. And what is going on underneath the blah blah blah?  And what role do we play; does this Cathedral Church play; in offering sporadic flashes of beauty or expressing right judgement?

In the beauty of worship and fellowship and in being shaped by God’s love for us, we are called to do more than offer whatever our equivalent might be of the prelate’s culinary tips.  How can we demonstrate both the importance of being rooted and the commitment to a vision of God’s Kingdom embodied by the elderly nun?

Our first lesson reminds us of how much roots matter – the places we call home, where we belong and where we forge identities and commitments.  The people of God had been in captivity in Babylon; and suddenly they receive the message that they are to return home.  Their time of exile has come to an end.  Ezra speaks of the return of the exiles; but the vision for returning to their roots comes from an unexpected place.

It is Cyrus the Persian King who not only gives permission for the return, but who also finds himself receiving a personal charge to bring about the rebuilding of the Temple. God uses him to articulate a vision of hope and rebuilding; he becomes a conduit of grace.  Permission is given, exiles return to their place of residence, and they will be assisted in material and physical terms.  Everyone whose spirit God has stirred got ready to go up and rebuild the house of the Lord in Jerusalem.

Like the Temple, this Cathedral Church is a place set apart for worship.  This building’s dedication to the Holy Spirit is full of hope, energy and transformation.  We who worship here are rooted in this place in fellowship with one another.  Our journeys’ of faith to date will have shaped by biblical stories, glimpses of glory and moments of understanding; by struggles with what puzzles us; by disappointments and delights.  We are also rooted in the world in which we live and work. 

As we look towards the future development of this Cathedral Church – the building, our worship, the activities, the opportunities to learn and debate – we too might find encouragement and vision from the unexpected places.  We will be called to work with those whose spirit God has stirred. People who brought bricks or who come here to celebrate or renew commitment as councillors, schools and charities; people with whom we share not only a site, but also a vision for human flourishing and the pursuit of wisdom – in the university, hospital and research park.

The November lectures on compassion and care – from the point of faith, community and nursing is a step towards this work; so too are the study days on Islam.  Our engagement with Chris Gollon’s exhibition on Mary and women in the Bible from January onwards will also enable us to grown in understanding and engagement with difference.

We are rooted in God; we are rooted in the world. We are stirred by the spirit to look at the kaleidoscopic range of activity; we are stirred by the spirit to offer space to engage with those challenges and offer a vision rooted in and shaped by a generous God.

In the scriptures, and in the life of the church, rebuilding and maintaining places of worship is not enough.  We are located in a particular place and time, and we to be wise and discerning in the way in which we engage and respond.  In John’s Gospel we are given a glimpse into who Jesus is that is rich in its imagery – holding together mystery and glory, wisdom and compassion.  In our second lesson we are brought up short by the direct challenge of who he is in terms of his identity and his authority.

He has astonished the crowds with his teaching; by not deferring to rabbinic traditions of teaching and learned scholars.  In response he locates his authority in who he is; this confuses the crowds because they think they know him. In fact they knew his home town, his parents and siblings.  That human rootedness is important, but it is only part of the story; part of his identity. For he is the Son of God, the Word made flesh; Emmanuel, God with us and alongside us.  The one who abided in intimacy at the Father’s heart abides equally intimately amidst the kaleidoscopic reality of the world.

When he is challenged by those who question his authority, Jesus draws them further into contemplation of the will of God.  He also invites us not to judge my appearances, but to give a deeper attention to the truth.  He invites us to express that attentiveness in concern for those on the margins; to begin to live out the truth of God, in order for that truth to become clearer to them. He invites us to take steps towards justice, mercy and compassion; to seek  bring healing to the whole person.

In Jep’s journey the truth begins to dawn on him when he doesn’t see the stripper as a sexual object but as a woman seeking healing and dignity; when he sees the widower not as a romantic rival but as someone who has loved and lost; when he sees in a friend his own vanity and brittleness and in exposing her vulnerability embraces his own; when he sees in the aged nun, a fellow human being whose heart rests in God and whose love brings glimpses of beauty on the margins.

Jesus’s naming of his own authority and identity is challenging and provocative. The hour of glory has not yet come; the hour of his suffering, death and risen life. Yet in this little while longer he generates a response. Some plot and scheme; some believe and accept.  Hidden underneath the blah blah blah, there are flashes of beauty and forgiveness; moments when we can lay aside our vanity and selfishness; moments when we can expand our horizons. 

How easy it is to miss God’s “little while”.  We like Jep seek after a great beauty.  It is here in our rootedness in place and the beauty of worship we are called to attend for a little while; shaped by the vision of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis, and the musical interpretation of those words. May that attention equip us to engage in our world with right judgment this time tomorrow and throughout the week.