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Anniversaries can be both joyful and poignant, reminding us of who we are, what we’ve promised, and the years we’ve lived through. They remind us of what we can celebrate, what been born from an intention once expressed. And they remind us of long-ago passions, intentions and commitments in ways that are tinged with regret or sorrow. I imagine that today, as we mark a fiftieth anniversary of a covenant between five church communities, there might be mixed feelings among us. The words of the covenant of 1975 move between recognition and intention. We recognise each other as church and we intend to learn from each other so that the gifts we each hold may be preserved for the united church which we seek. We recogniseeach other’s ministries and intend to seek an agreed pattern of ordained ministry which will serve the gospel in unity.
In fifty years we have done better in terms of mutual recognition. We have come to see in each other more fully the face of Christ. But some of those intentions of 1975 seem to be far from honoured. And that is a source of grief, or even shame, if we are honest. So, what might an anniversary offer us? A recognition that love is different 50 years on, but might be differently expressed? A revival of what has faded? Is the covenant fast, broken, or gasping for renewal?
Today happens to be, for me, another anniversary! 39 years ago to this very day, I was ordained as a minister of word and sacrament in the United Reformed Church, in the Manchester suburb from which the Gallagher brothers of OASIS came, in a church that is now closed, only a few years after the URC’s second union, with the Reformed Association of the Churches of Christ. It was 1986. It seemed then that the ordination of women in the Anglican churches I knew best was a long way off, but I cherished strong hopes for further union between our churches. At my ordination, in my stiff new clerical shirt, and after the two sermons common for an ordination service then, I made solemn promises. One question was this one:
Are zeal for the glory of God,
love for the Lord Jesus Christ,
obedience to the Holy Spirit
and a desire for the salvation of the world,
so far as you know your own heart,
the chief motives which lead you to enter this ministry?
They are.
I remember how we disliked this question as students. ‘Zeal’ seemed such an antique word, far removed from the gentle, thoughtful form of Christianity I had learned at Oxford. And we were sceptical about knowing our own hearts, all too aware of the complexities of the human psyche. Now, 39 years later, in the second half of life, I recognise that ‘zeal’ is indeed what is needed if I am to give myself to the life to which Christ calls us. There are now lots of things I no longer see as so important, but my faith becomes more and more the heart of me, more the consumer of my passion and my intentions.
And my own zeal for Christian unity has really been re-invigorated this year by reflecting on yet another anniversary, the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. My younger self would have been astonished by such a revelation. But I have found there a zeal for unity, for the unity of God, for the unity of humanity and divinity in Christ, for the unity of all humankind and even all creation, a zeal that names unity (oneness) as the heart of our faith. And it has made me passionate for an ecumenism that is not about ‘ecclesiastical joinery’, but about our truly being made into the body of Christ together.
People are quick to say that the council of Nicaea was called because the new sole Emperor wanted a united faith for his large, united empire. But the Christians then were convinced that the church, like the God they believed in, should be one, and nothing good could come of a broken and fragmented church. They may well have been delighted that persecution was ended, that they had the favour of the emperor, but their concerns for unity were more profoundly theological.
So, let me take you from Cardiff Bay for a moment, in imagination, to a place in the Roman empire in 325, to a woman waiting to hear the results of the unity talks at Nicaea…
***
My name is Berenice. I couldn’t go to Nicaea with my bishop, though I begged him to let me. He is a kind and deeply pastoral bishop, but I not so adept at theology. Whereas I learned it from the time when I was enslaved, having been taught reading and writing so that I could scribe for my master. I copied the letters of Paul and some of the Gospels, and, learned their verses well. I have suffered so much from the way things are in this world; a world of hierarchy, of masters and slaves, men and women, citizens and subjects. It was thrilling to discover a ‘kingdom’ in which servants become friends, where there is one body of people, and where God and human beings are close to one another, not afraid of one another, but united. I remember the day when I came to understand that our faith is about bringing together what has been broken, a day when even I, with my broken and abused body, began to feel whole again.
I want to make sure that the bishops don’t forget what the Gospel really is. Here in our small city, in this backwater of the empire, we’ve had our problems. You will be shocked to know that there are people here who, having disagreed with our bishop about some things, set up their own congregation, with a different leader. The issues themselves were small; like what position we should adopt for prayer, whether priests can lend money at interest, or what to do about those who sacrificed to Roman gods during the time of persecution. I can understand people have different views about such things, but I really can’t understand why you would want to set up a new church because of them. Whatever we disagree about, there is nothing that could possibly be solved by having two Christian churches in one town. As though a church is like a preferred cloth dyer or baker, or like choosing which hair dresser to go to, or theatre! It is a contradiction in terms to have more than one Christian gathering, and I hope it won’t be repeated in many other places …
Any creed that comes out of Nicaea must first say that ‘We believe in one God’. We are not like the Romans or the Greeks. We don’t have any number of temples dedicated to different gods. We have one temple, because we believe in one God. And …the god we believe in is one, has integrity and consistency. I know that some people think that Jesus is a kind of second god, created by the first one – so that we could have one church dedicated to the Creator and another to the Son. But Jesus is and has always been at one with God. He shows us what God, the eternal God from the beginning, has always been and will always be, a God who gives life and who reaches out to bring life, to all creation and, of course, to us human beings. The unity between the Father and the Son, this intense, loving and giving union, of giving and receiving, thisunion is what characterises the God we believe in and who reaches out to us. What we believe about God means that we should live and act in a way that mirrors that. So, how could we possibly have two gatherings, two churches, in the same city?!
Our episkopos isn’t really sure that it matters much, and I think in a way he’s actually happier with a smaller congregation, and one where people agree with him about most things. He sees the other so-called bishop once in a while for a glass of wine and they share news of church life, and he’s reconciled to that. But, I won’t rest until our two congregations have found a true common life, a unity that reflects the oneness of the God we worship, and the communion of Christ with the Father. Anything less is, frankly, anathema to me.
***
Imagine having that kind of passion, that kind of zeal, for unity! A passion that meant you would travel if you could, on foot if need be, over hundreds of miles to a place you had never been, to the palace of an emperor of whom you are justly afraid, to debate for weeks in the heat of summer with all the intellectual and spiritual strength you could muster. Imagine having that kind of zeal for unity here today in a world sometimes as broken and corrupted as the Roman empire was… What then might an unbreakable covenant look like? And how then might our intentions find their fulfilment?
I remember a time when I was to preach on that passage from John’s Gospel about the vine. I had a vine growing in a greenhouse at the Manse and on the Saturday I cut great swathes of vine branches and went to the church and decorated the pulpit with them as a visible sign for my sermon. But, by Sunday morning they had withered. I had not realised it would be so quick, that being connected to the vine mattered that much. It is not just pleasant when brothers and sisters are united, but our flourishing, our life, depends upon it. If Jurgen Moltmann was right that ‘reconciled diversity is the sleeping pill of the ecumenical movement’ then we need to find again, even with our last gasp, a passion and zeal for unity.
Bishop Gregory, at this moment in our covenant’s life, has written a stunning and prophetic paper about supplemental ordination for the covenanted churches, and has offered us an opportunity to reframe our hopes for a unity that is visible, organic, and more than vague and unfulfilled intentions. As I remember my ordination 39 years ago this day, I long for the day when that ordination might be renewed, alongside others. If Bishop Gregory has claimed the first place in the queue, then let me have the second! This could be a powerful step towards the kind of unity that will witness to a divided world that we believe in one God, a God who brings healing to the broken and wounded, through the one Holy Spirit. And Noel Davies, one of my ecumenical heroes, has also offered us some inspiring proposals for implementing the covenant goal a uniting church for Wales; in mission and service, in oversight and leadership, in our understanding of ordination and in shared patterns of worship.
I am impatient for more than a vague ‘spirit of ecumenism’, and I pray for a deep unity that is visible, that mends wounds, that creates something new and restored from the broken fragments of church history; ambitious, visionary, recklessly enthusiastic, zealous, strong enough to answer with an ‘Amen’ the prayer of Christ that ‘they may be one’. May it be so, Amen.
