harbour

 

I did not preach on current affairs this morning. There is a time and a place to speak out against the inhumanity of empires, and that time and place may sometimes even be in sermons, not least in a week when the UK Parliament has voted, by a very small majority, to press ahead with an Assisted Dying Bill that even many of those who support it in principle say is not fit for purpose, and on a morning when 47 crowed about bombing Iran. But there is also a time to pass judgement on the folly of empires with silence.

Instead, I spoke of stories, of how stories carry us, carry out deepest longings and our deepest learning. Of the Odyssey and the Gospel According to Luke. Of homecoming — through many dangers, toils and snares — and of hospitality held out to strangers to heal weary bones and restore their dignity.

And then we shared Communion together. These who journey through this world on their way home to God, with Jesus their captain; who arrived at a table on the coast of a remote island off the western edge of the world, some with tales to warm the heart but most battered and bruised by whatever they have passed through since they were last here, gathered around this table. Battered, and tested, and yet kept by divine grace; carried to this harbour by the Spirit, restored by the Spirit. Welcomed by and with and in Jesus, who is host and guest and food, all three.

I wove stories — their lives woven into something greater; some visiting the church of their childhood for the first time in a long time; some receiving Communion for the first time — and then gave them bread and wine, and anointed as many as asked with oil for healing and wholeness. It is all I have. It is enough. It is what was needed this day, and on many days.

Thanks be to God.