22nd July: Proper 11

Three hundred and fifty years ago, passages of scripture such as the ones we have heard were at the heart of political and religious controversy. This year marks the anniversary of profound and significant events, which culminated in the expulsion of about 2000 ministers from their churches.

It happened on St Bartholomew’s Day, 24^th August, 1662; so at this time of year, during the summer months, furious efforts were still being made to bring about reconciliation, or confirm entrenched positions – on both sides of the debate.

Following the time of Oliver Cromwell and the Commonwealth – England’s only realistic attempt at republican government, the monarchy was restored in 1660, and the nation began to redefine itself again. Religion, largely embodied in the State Church, was very much at the heart of the debate. The question was, what kind of Church and what kind of State.

The Bible was used freely on both sides. Some argued that the great covenant with King David, in our reading from the Old Testament, showed God as the supporter of monarchy. Passages like this were applied directly to the ruling monarch, seen as appointed and anointed directly by God. Others interpreted the covenant in the light of its fulfilment in the new covenant brought about through Jesus.

The letter to the Ephesians, with its strong reconciling message was interpreted by some as a divine call to unity, to One Church. By others it was seen as a recognition of diversity: that we are united in Christ, but can approach him in different ways and have different gifts to offer.

When it all fell apart, there was great sadness. One minister, Richard Fairclough, left his Somerset congregation with the words, ‘farewel this house; and farewel this Seat forever: and (within a little while) farewel your discourse, and your faces’. ¹ Richard Baxter wrote a long poem, lamenting the loss of people he had regarded as his friends. A few of its verses are still in some of our hymnbooks – where it is sometimes sung at times of mourning, though it is also a hymn of hope. It starts, ‘He wants (or lacks) not friends that hath thy love’, and includes the words:

As for my Friends, they are not lost.

the several vessels of thy fleet

though parted now, by tempests tost

shall safely in the haven meet. ²

This period in our history is often portrayed as a time of bigotry and division. But during that long summer there were open-hearted people on both sides, seeking an open and tolerant Church, at the heart of a just and prosperous State.

It was also a pivotal time. Europe was poised on the verge of exploration and expansion that would take these ideas right around the world. Through colonial expansion and missionary endeavour, for good or (very often) ill, the ways of thinking that were forged in the debates of seventeenth century Europe went on to shape the world we live in today.

This means that the same questions are still alive and pressing. How do we define ourselves as a nation, or a community of nations? What place has religion, or God (which may be two different questions) in the world we are trying to build?

Responses to these questions are just as passionate in our own time. The debates about Britain’s place in Europe, or the future of Afghanistan, the way wealth is created and shared in our communities, or how we live with religious and cultural diversity, are value-laden. They go to the heart of how we think, and what it is to be human.

We could ask ourselves what it is about the world we live in that makes us angry or sad – what is the nature of the tempests that threaten to drive us apart, as the religious and political divisions of Baxter’s time did? And what can we do about it? What is the peace or the justice that we long for?

The letter to the church in Ephesus holds out a message of peace. The passage we heard is full of Paul’s great longing for reconciliation between the new Christianity, to which he had been converted so dramatically, and the Judaism of his upbringing. The language he uses is full of passion. The reconciliation of former enemies is very close to Paul’s heart, as we know from other letters.

He is true to his Christian faith, but calls Christ, ‘the peace between us’ (v 13), who has ‘broken down the barrier . . . by destroying in his own person the hostility.’ (v 14). For many, of course, Christ is part of the problem, and religious bigotry one of the greatest causes of hostility and division. As Christians, we have to own our share in that. Religion continues to inspire people to hatred and to the most desperate acts of violence.

But what would it be like if we took the language of this letter to heart? It is full of longing for reconciliation, a unity that recognises difference; building up the bond of peace and recognising God in each other.

The chapter we read ends with an amazing mosaic of images. Far from being aliens, we are fellow citizens. More than that, we are members of God’s household. More than that, we are the house itself, built on the foundations of the apostles and prophets. And more than that, we are being built into a temple knit together and growing into the dwelling place of God.

Alienated and hostile, we shatter God’s image. Reconciled, we house God, we become God’s dwelling place, a place where others may encounter God’s love and peace, and find salvation.

350 years ago, our nation was redefining itself. There was bigotry and arrogance, then as now, but there were also, as there are now, serious and passionate attempts to build a tolerant and open society, based on Christ as peace to be shared, not property to be fought over, and his people as a focus of reconciliation, a place where people can encounter the God of love.