Sitting anonymously, Nicodemus-like, in a rear pew of Dunblane Cathedral, as is my wont, I listen to these ancient stories born out of alien cultures in the Middle East, of strange customs and usage; tales of infanticide, and dangerous crossings out of Israel into Egypt, presumably via Rafah; of a wrathful and vengeful God who doesn’t come across very well, and is decidedly not simpatico, and of his people who ululate with strange cries. Alleluia! Hosanna! And I think to myself, what on earth are you doing here?
Yesterday the minister preached on the Pharisees, who were great sticklers for the rules. Jesus’ disciples were wandering through the corn fields on Sunday (strictly speaking Saturday, but Sunday in our culture), helping themselves to the crop. And then Jesus healed somebody’s withered hand, again on the Sabbath, which was just not done. The Pharisees asked him what he was playing at. He in turn asked them if it was better to do good, or evil, on Sunday. They didn’t have an answer to that, so instead, started plotting to kill him. These stories are narrated in Mark chapters 2 And 3, so Jesus was on a sticky wicket almost from the start.
The Pharisees are not alien to our culture. Currently we are awash with Pharisees. They are very unforgiving. They cancel people.
The minister sought a modern Pharisaic equivalent, of people who stick to the rules for rules’ sake, and talked of somebody on the A9 – the A9 being a surrogate marker for foul-ups and frustration – who adheres to the speed limit and drives at 57 mph. I confess I winced. So afterwards I said to the minister, “I am one of these people who adheres – one might say religiously – to the speed limit.” He laughed and said, “So am I, but I needed something for the sermon. Probably not a very good analogy.” I said, “Far be it from me to criticise!” I expect ministers get this sort of thing all the time. After a young minister preached his first sermon, a member of the congregation said to him, “Son, was it your own idea to go into the ministry, or were you just badly advised?”
Funnily enough, I had a conversation with a gentleman who also didn’t know why he was there. He stopped attending when the church gave the nod to same-sex relationships. But here he was, back in the cathedral. Yet he didn’t know why. We had a chat about a mutual acquaintance. We had had a fire drill in the cathedral and our mutual friend said to me, “It’s health and safety gone mad!” Just like speed limits, I suppose.
Lots of people don’t really know why they find themselves in church. People attend choral evensong apparently without a scrap of religious faith. They love the music, and the ritual, and the atmosphere, and the sense of spirituality. They even adhere to the church’s teachings, or a lot of them. Sometimes I think they are drawing a distinction that does not really exist. We see through a glass darkly.
For myself, I’ve come to rely on the architecture of a typical Church of Scotland service. There is the organ, the choir, the music, the communal singing. The first prayer is an expression of gratitude, and of abject apology for the cock-ups of the previous week. There follows a short homily that used to be a children’s address, but is now dubbed “an address for all ages” because fewer children attend. The grey-haired demographic is becoming white-haired. Churches are shrinking, amalgamating, closing. It is quite conceivable that within a generation they will cease to exist.
Then follows an Old Testament lesson which is quite likely to be highly repugnant. Think of Abraham and Isaac, as recounted by Wilfred Owen. The minister is liable to say, “I confess I struggle with this.”
Anthem.
New Testament Lesson, also quite likely to be incomprehensible. Jesus curses a fig tree. Maybe he was just having a bad day.
Sermon.
Prayers of intercession. For the lame, the halt, and the blind, the destitute, those caught up in war, and famine, the sick at heart, the poor in spirit… When you are young, it’s all a bit academic. Then intercession becomes the heart of the service. Finally, you realise that the person being prayed for is yourself.
Intimations, closing hymn, and lastly the Benediction. I greatly value the Benediction. It fortifies me for the week ahead.
Organ postlude. I always stay for it. And yesterday, having some time on my hands, I stayed behind for coffee. I’d been warned off the coffee, but it was surprisingly good. I was also surprised that people knew my name. Maybe I’m not as anonymous as I’d thought.
jamescalumcampbell 