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As many of you know, I’ve been spending as good deal of time at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary in recent days. Its corridors are enlivened by a lot of interesting artwork, and I was particularly struck by a wooden panel into which are carved these words:

“History comes out of the walls”. 

It’s the work of an artist called Shauna McMullan, and she took her inspiration from the dining tables in the old Royal Infirmary buildings in Lauriston Place. Over the years some of the clinicians and scientists who worked there carved their names onto the tops of those tables. The most famous of them was the microbiologist Louis Pasteur who visited Edinburgh in 1884 to take part in the celebrations for the 300^th anniversary of Edinburgh University. The table-tops are now mounted on the wall opposite Shauna McMullan’s art work. 

Shauna McMullan’s intention was to bring some memories of the old Royal Infirmary into the new building, gathering fragments of the past and preserving them for the future. She wanted there to be a sense of continuity between past and future and that, of course, is precisely what remembrance is about. That great theologian St Augustine of Hippo argued that we are, in a very important sense, what we remember. In his autobiography, The Confessions, he posed the question:

“What then am I, O my God? What is my nature?”

and answered that question with these words:

“…behold the numberless fields and caves and caverns of memory, each immeasurably full of an innumerable variety of things.”

What is true of us as individuals can, and I believe should also be true of communities and nations. 

History comes out of the walls of the great majority of our churches from war memorials. The great majority of them, as here at the Good Shepherd, list those who died in two World Wars. There’s an important difference between the names carved on the tables of the old Royal Infirmary and the names on our war memorial. Those medics and scientists chose to record their names. The men recorded on our war memorial are not there by their choice. Some were volunteers, some conscripts but all went to war in the hope of returning to their loved ones. They died resisting aggression and in remembering them we not only honour them but sustain the shared memories of our nation and of the wider world and we resist the forgetfulness that is one of our greatest human weaknesses. 

St Augustine, in the quotation I used a moment ago, wrote of the fields, caves and caverns of memory. Fields are open to the view, we see what is on their surfaces. Caves and caverns can be places of concealment and, if we are not diligent in our remembrance, they become places that are forgotten. 

We are in danger of forgetting that those who fought and died in the Second World War were resisting regimes which taught that some races were superior to others, regimes which persecuted gay people, which denied millions their human rights, including the right to life itself. Those regimes believed that might is right and, in the case of National Socialist Germany, were supported by many Christians. 

A few weeks ago, Susan and I entertained a friend whose father, a German Lutheran pastor who later became a Methodist minister, was, in the early 1930s, curate to the Rev’d Martin Niemöller in a parish in the southern suburbs of Berlin. Before he was ordained, Niemöller served in the German navy in World War One as a U-boat officer and was highly-decorated. His politics were of the kind that we now call National Conservatism. He disliked the liberal, democratic republic that was established in Germany after the First World War. He voted for the Nazis in 1924, 1928 and 1933 and welcomed Adolf Hitler’s rise to power, seeing Hitler as the strong man who would make Germany great again. 

He soon began to criticise Hitler’s interference in church affairs, especially his policy of forbidding Christian clergy who, like our friend’s father, were ethnically Jewish from serving in parishes. In 1938 he was arrested and sent to Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. Imprisonment proved to be a school of repentance, and he emerged in 1945 to become an advocate for human rights and a pacifist. 

Niemöller’s story is one that we forget at our peril, for we live in an era when one form of national conservatism has taken power in the United States, with the enthusiastic support of many Christians, and another has taken root in Russia, with the backing of the Russian Orthodox Church. These are forms of politics which, because they are aggressive and divisive, misunderstand and misrepresent the very essence of Christianity, an essence foretold in our reading from the Prophet Micah, who offers a vision of peace:

“…and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore…”

and developed in our Gospel reading, the Benedictus, with its vision of a people liberated from fear and persecution and its promise that God will

“…guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Not only peace as the absence of conflict, though that is a desirable goal, but peace in the sense of harmonious relations between all sorts and conditions of human beings. That peace is only possible if we open ourselves to the Grace of God and this morning’s reading from Revelation is a vision of what God intends and promises, a reminder that God

“…will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

When he was released from captivity, Pastor Martin Niemöller wrote a short statement of repentance which, in various forms, has become very well-known. This is a translation of the version displayed at the Martin Niemöller Haus in Dahlem.

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I kept quiet; I wasn't a communist.
When they came for the trade unionists, I kept quiet;
I wasn't a trade unionist.
When they locked up the social democrats, I kept quiet;
I wasn't a social democrat.
When they locked up the Jews, I kept quiet;
I wasn't a Jew.
When they came for me, there was no one left to protest.

Remembrance is important. As St Augustine suggests, we are, both as individuals and as communities, what we remember. In recalling the sacrifice of those who died in battle we rightly honour them. In remembering the causes of the conflicts in which they fell we open ourselves to the possibility of eschewing the evils which led to their deaths.

In the early years of my ordained ministry one of the most popular poems requested at a funeral was; ‘Death is nothing at all’ by Professor Henry Scott Holland, Canon of St.Paul’s Cathedral London. It reads: 

Death is nothing at all.

It does not count.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.

I am I, and you are you,

and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was.

There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just round the corner.

All is well.

It was a poem that always annoyed me. I could see how it could bring comfort but its opening lines; ‘Death is nothing at all, it does not count’ always seemed to denigrate the impact that the death of a loved one could have upon the bereaved. I knew from my own experience of death, that it wasn’t ‘nothing at all’  and that it did count because it was something so overwhelming and physical that it left one reeling. 

As the poem progress it is a hopeful reminding us that our loved ones departed are not very far away from us and that we will one day (we hope) be reunited with them. Remembering those we have lost, speaking their name and about them are good things to do and Scott Holland’s phrase:

“Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?”

I believe is a very good question for us all to ponder. We should not forget our departed loved ones we should remember them, talk about them, laugh about them and get cross with them for leaving us. They should not be out of mind but their death is NOT nothing it is something immense.

This poem was never meant to be used as a poem. It was actually part of a sermon preached in St.Paul’s London by Scott Holland on the Sunday following Edward VII’s death and his lying in State prior to his funeral in 1910. 

In the sermon Scott Holland began by saying, ‘I suppose all of us hover between two ways of regarding death’. The famous ‘death is nothing at all’ was the second. The first approach was the exact opposite, to ‘recoil from it as embodying the supreme and irrevocable disaster’. In his sermon Scott Holland was trying to resolve the tension between these two views of death - the ultimate disaster or nothing at all and he does so brilliantly when he says:  

“Our task is to deny neither judgement, but to combine both… Only through their reconciliation can the fitness of our human experience be preserved in its entirety.”

and he is right. I wish I had discovered his sermon in my early years of ministry as it was only with the advent if the internet that I got the full context of the ‘poem’ that was never meant to be used as a poem. It was meant to be an illustration of one extreme approach to death, whereby we try to hide from death’s reality. Death is always going to be more than something trivial, even if we try to make it such. The reality of death is that it changes us and we never forget our loved ones and neither do we stop mourning them; we just get better at living with the emotions, pains and joys that bereavement brings upon us.

Scott Holland’s poem is usually ended with the phrase; ‘All is well.’ As you might expect with this piece of writing it is not actually the end of the poem and quite often the last couple of sentences are missed out. The poem actually ends:

“… All is well.

Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.

One brief moment and all will be as it was before.

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”

I can see why it gets amended. Nothing is lost from a relationship when someone dies for those of us who remain remember and we remember both the good and the bad. The sentiment of meeting again or losing nothing is good but I think that our Eucharistic prayer says it better:

“Help us, who are baptised into the fellowship of Christ’s Body to live and work to your praise and glory; may we grow together in unity and love until at last, in your new creation, we enter into our heritage in the company of the Virgin Mary, the apostles and prophets, and of all our brothers and sisters living and departed.”

When we gather at the altar and celebrate the Eucharist together we do so with all the living and departed as the prayer tells us. It is, I believe, a time when the distance between us and our loved ones departed is incredibly thin. It is one of those liminal places between Heaven and Earth and knowing this always brings me comfort when I am missing my loved ones. The first thing I knew I had to do after my sister died was to celebrate the Eucharist the following day, a Sunday; as I knew it would be an opportunity for me to give thanks for her life and to come close to her once again. 

Death is not nothing at all but neither should it be something that totally overwhelms us and as our funeral liturgy says; ‘isolates us from others’. Death is something we all have to face and to accept and learn to live with. In learning to live with death we do not allow it to control our lives or to destroy them. Rather, we continue to journey through life in the hope that we are reunited with those we love when we die.

“Blessed Lord, who caused all Holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: help us so to hear them, to read, mark, learn and inwardly digest them that, through patience, and the comfort of your holy word, we may embrace and for ever hold fast the hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ, who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.”

So read the words of the collect appointed for today, the day we call ‘Bible Sunday’. A Sunday when we give thanks to God for our Scriptures and the insights and truths they contain relating to our understanding of God and his Son, ’The Word made flesh’.

Have you ever pondered, however, how odd our Scriptures truly are? And I say ‘odd’ not in any derogatory way but in a positive and challenging way. What is ‘odd’ about our Scriptures is that, although bound as a single book, they are in fact a ‘library’ of texts from different times, contexts and situations. Some are allegorical stories, some histories and biographies, some letters, some records of visions and prophesy. All very diverse but together forming a ‘whole’ which to quote Anglican doctrine ‘contain enough truth for our salvation’. 

The priest, theologian and poet Rachel Mann writes of the Bible :

“ …  consider how we handle our Biblical texts. I wonder what our preaching and teaching might look like if we were to be properly honest about the Bible’s complexity and contradictions. What happens to the authority of St.Paul’s letters to Timothy, for example, when we accept that he didn’t write them?  …  As I am sure you know, that the very word means ‘Library’, and we must wrestle with the fact that is a library of wonder, terror, and hope and NOT an instruction manual with a univocal position.”

Mann is right to challenge our assumptions of Scripture, as for example she says only some of Paul’s epistles were actually written by Paul. Those not written by him but bearing is name do so as an act of respect for Paul by writers who followed him and were inspired by his teachings. For these epistles not to have been written by whom we might think wrote them does not discredit them. They do in fact show how Scripture continues to inspire and influence those who encounter it and are moved to put pen to paper in theological exploration. Something we continue to do today, except our musings and those of others since the compilation of the Bible into the book we have today - by St.Jerome in 400 CE. Books left out  don’t get to be part of the Bible but commentaries on it. It is not only Paul who didn’t write all ‘his’ epistles there are for another example at least three Isaiah’s and umpteen other authors involved in most of the books of the Bible, especially in the Old Testament.

What I think, this shows, is how Scripture, can as I have already said, inspire us to think and ponder on God, and for us Christians on the ways and person of Jesus. Scripture has always sought to encourage us to think about what is recorded and why, to pray about what we read and to interpret God’s Word in ways that speak to each of us in the times in which we live. 

Thinking of the ‘Bible’ as a ‘library’ is perhaps a way forward for all of us to think about Scripture anew. If we use it as a library, we can explore where the various books it contains come from and what the context they were written in was like at the time. Because we can’t simply impose 21st century ideas and values on writings some over five thousand years old and nor can we simply translate those old words directly into 21st century Scottish society. We have to use these words as starting points for thought, prayer and action - we have to live them out. If we can do this then we bring the Scriptures alive and make them relevant to the lives of people today. They are then not some dusty tome that is rarely read but something living, truly the Word made flesh. And, it is the ‘Living Word’ that is vitally important to us Christians.

We Christians are not people of a book of scriptures. No! We are a people who follow the fleshly embodiment of Scripture ‘The Word’ in the person of Jesus Christ. Jesus is always the ultimate interpretation of Scripture and his words and actions truly bring the Word of God alive. We are called to listen to what Jesus says and to try to follow his ways by continually challenging our own perceptions, prejudices and preferences. In doing so we make Scripture live and allow it grow within us. Scripture should be a living thing for us and not some half-forgotten book on a shelf.

We need to read, mark and learn by inwardly digesting what we hear Scripture telling us. We need to ponder, pray and interpret Scripture so that it nourishes us and becomes the living Word within us. 

Mann entitled her piece that I quoted from earlier; ‘We should embrace our oddness’ and it is a challenge we could do well to live up to. Our Bible, our faith is odd but that’s part of its glory and its ability to change lives. Jesus is the Word made flesh, a human being and at the same time divine embodiment of what we call Scripture and the essence of God. How odd is that? But, also how exciting and wonderful is it as well. 

The reading from Genesis where Jacob wrestles with God was always read at the beginning of each year that I was at Theological College in Chichester. Initially, I was rather foxed as to why two men wrestling was the ‘College Scripture’ until it suddenly in my final year it dawned upon me that it was a metaphor for my own wrestling with Scripture, doctrine and God throughout my three years at seminary. Having fallen down the chapel steps and sprained my ankle and put my hip out, I think the reading had more relevance to me when I heard it at the beginning of that final Michaelmas term. 

We all wrestle with God in some way as we try to understand the meaning behind our Scriptures and in our interactions with others when we perhaps glimpse the image of God in them and they in us. Faith is never a straight forward thing and certainty, understanding and questioning all jostle for dominance at anyone time. I realise now decades on way that reading was such a good one for my college and my own theological journey. I still wrestle with God and if you do too I hope you don’t get your hip put out of joint!

Luke 17:5-10

To be truthful I would rather have had just read verses five and six, rather than 5-10, as what those two verses say about increasing one’s faith I think is very good:

“The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’ The Lord replied, ‘If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea”, and it would obey you.”     Luke 17:5-6

Verses 7-10 rather annoy me:

“Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from ploughing or tending sheep in the field, “Come here at once and take your place at the table”? Would you not rather say to him, “Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink”? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, “We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!”                                                       Luke 17:7-10

I find the whole concept of slavery abhorrent and the fact that this reading would seem to encourage ‘rough treatment’ of slaves inhuman. I realise that, Jesus is speaking, in a different context to ours and that  what Luke is trying to do is to suggest that we have things that we just have to do; like praying and that we should just do it without complaint. But, the way Luke says it though does not sit well with our 21^st century sensibilities; ‘Slave come here, get my tea. Yes I know you have worked in the field all day but just do what I say you should do.’ We might like to think that we have moved on since then but many people today still live lives of slavery and bondage. Some due to human inhumanity and others due to marital or family pressures. A better image today might be to say that just as you work or care for your family so should you try to give time to God as well. Prayer to God should be as much a part of our lives as work or caring for the family are.

This is related to what Jesus has to say about increasing one’s faith and not giving up on it when things get tough. It can be all too easy not to give time to God so that our faith stagnates or solidifies; that it stops developing. In using the word faith I also take it to include the word doubt as well, for doubt is as much about faith and not it’s opposite. The opposite of faith is certainty and certainty does not enable anyone to increase their faith for if you are certain then what is there left to discover?