We have forgotten how to love: a sermon for a national crisis.

What a mess we’re in.

Like man of you, I watched the news last week with a growing unease. With all eyes on Westminster, it was clear that tensions were running high and deeply held frustration was beginning to over spill. I suspect the mood of the house reflected the mood of the country: confusion, disillusionment, anger, and sadness. We are mired, now, in perhaps the biggest national crisis that we have faced since the Second World War.

Many of us have an opinion about who is to blame, with most of our public ire being directed at the people of Westminster who have failed so spectacularly in their negotiations and leadership. However, I am unhappy about casting blame at the feet of politicians, who have always had the impossible task of pleasing everyone and no one. The problems that surround Brexit are, I believe, just symptoms of much bigger problems that we have been sitting on for a long time: ticking time bombs that, in recent months, have started to detonate.

In times of turmoil and grief it’s very normal to cast around for someone to blame. We blame “Remainers” for slowing the process down and not delivering the will of the people. We blame “Leavers” for triggering the whole thing in the first place. We blame those who didn’t vote, as well as those who did. We blame civil servants and academics and “the man on the street”. We blame Europe and we blame the wider international stage and we blame the media and journalists. On Wednesday we heard the Prime Minister, however misguided or mistaken she was, blame her own colleagues in the House.

And yet, as fallible as each of us is, I haven’t yet heard one commentator, or politician, or journalist, or member of the public – blame themselves. How refreshing might it be for some of our leaders to instead stand up and say: “we’re sorry – we’ve got this so very wrong. Let’s work together to put it right”.

And so it’s into this time of confusion and uncertainty that we hear again those ancient words of Isaiah:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
   nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. 
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
   so are my ways higher than your ways
   and my thoughts than your thoughts. 

Isaiah 55:8-9

As a largely secular society we have lost this bigger story of the Kingdom of God. We have lost this greater narrative on which to pin our hope and our expectation and our sense of justice and wellbeing. The Christian faith is not the only worldview to offer metanarratives that help to interpret the world: sense-making stories. But in our increasing secularism our letting go of these ancient outlooks and perspectives is great loss indeed.

If our nation can find again a bigger story – a bigger truth that gives us some context to our own lives – perhaps our perspective on the world begins to change a little. With the narrative of the Kingdom of God, values such as love, and generosity, and tolerance, and justice, become part of our way of life: a way of life founded in the self-giving love and the generous mercy of God. A sense of trust that we place into the arms of the God whose ways our not our ways.

Our faith sometimes acts as a mirror. Not only do we become aware of God’s work in the world, so we become aware of our own shortcomings and failings. This applies as much to communities and nations as it does to individuals. Without a Christian narrative, we as a nation have lost any sense of our own falling short. Perhaps we’ve dominated the international stage with our inflated ego for a long time, and we are about to have a fall from a great height. Perhaps we are a little like the fig tree of Luke’s Gospel. Perhaps we have ceased to bear fruit, caught up as we have been in our own sense of self-importance and self-righteousness.

Whether we voted to Leave or Remain, I hope we did so in fear and trembling: mindful that we need the nations around us, whatever that relationship looks like and whether or not it involves us being part of the European Union, much more than they need us. We would be wise to take heed of how we are speaking and behaving right now, as the rest of the world looks on.

The former Dean of Durham, Michael Sadgrove, wrote this week about how the Church of England might begin to formulate a response to Brexit. He argues that as a church, we must now be putting forward a much bigger narrative than that of Brexit alone. That is, we must be speaking of the hope and the good news that we find in Christ – and that this must widen our gaze well beyond the interests of our own nation. He says that “if our churches are not one hundred percent clear about the importance of loving our neighbour, who else is going to be?”

As I see it, the biggest problem that has come to the surface in recent weeks in the life of our nation is not lack of leadership, or a rise in populism, or poor negotiation, or lack of courage. The biggest problem, and the one that I have seen time and again in politicians and journalists and supermarket checkout queues and newspaper headlines, is that we have forgotten how to love one another.

How different disagreement looks when it’s done in love.
How different the outcome, when opposing points of view are laid down, and people come together to work for a greater good.
How refreshing, when those who disagree strongly are able to listen to and respect a different perspective without destroying a relationship.

And how rarely it happens.

You may have heard it said that when we blame another with a pointed finger, we have three fingers pointing back at us. Perhaps this is where the healing will start: with each of us realising that we have played our part in this national crisis. In our own failures to love and to hear and to respect and work with those who are different to us, we have all contributed to a culture of high blame and no responsibility.

I believe that through the local church, God can bring healing to our divided communities. It begins with you, and it begins with me. Perhaps this Lent, as the drama of Brexit around us continues to unfold, we might be committed in our own self-examination, our own repentance, and our own efforts to reach across these divides, and bring ourselves back to one another.

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Bridging the (generation) gap

Generalisations are as good as it gets!
Ann Morisy, in Borrowing from the Future (2011).

It’s been quite a day. The consequences and opportunities of today’s Brexit will not be clear for some time. Our politicians, civil servants and economists have a massive job ahead.

The rest of us need to start building some bridges. The best people, nay, the only people, up to this task are you and I. Where to start: Social class? Nationality? Politics?

How about age?

Lord Ashcroft Polls have shown that in the EU Referendum, the older the voter, the more likely they were to vote to leave the EU. Social media was quick in its condemnation: the youngest in society (many of whom were not allowed to vote) will pay the price (and arguably bear the brunt) of this decision, perhaps for the rest of their lives.

Baby Boomers have been pitched against Millenials (and before you read further, revisit Ann Morisy’s quote at the top of this post!).

Here’s the thing: I’m a Millennial. At times I feel undervalued, disenfranchised, hard done by, and misunderstood. I am frustrated that the Establishment doesn’t seem to hear or value my opinions, probably because fewer of my contemporaries vote than those of older generations. I feel sad that my generation and younger are often caricatured as lazy, uncaring and disengaged. I believe that for someone in their teens, 20s or early 30s life is tougher now than it was a generation or two ago.

But I spend a lot of time with Baby Boomers. I see how hard life can be for someone living on a state pension. I hear how uninspired, confused, and frightened many Boomers are by the pace of change that my generation seem to thrive and capitalise on. I know how painfully aware Boomers are that they may be ‘out of touch’ with younger generations. And, critically, I am yet to meet someone of my parent’s or grandparent’s generation who doesn’t care about the future of their children or grandchildren.

The problem seems complex, and yet it’s actually very simple. The problem is this: The world is changing so fast around us that we have lost the ability to talk to one another. The pace of change we are trying so desperately to keep up with affects not only our technology. It has an impact on our relationships, our behaviour, and our language. And it has hit our inter-generational relationships especially hard.

Maybe we have lost the ability to say and hear (Boomers to Millenials, and Millenials to Boomers):

I care about you.
I feel let down by you.
I want the best for you.
I am worried about you.
I’m confused.
I feel that life is hard for me.
I’d like you to challenge yourself.
Life isn’t like that for me.
It seems like you had/have things so easy.
I’m frightened about the future.
I don’t understand.
Please tell me about…
I love you.

We have bridges to build. So let’s talk. Let’s talk free of blame and guilt and anger.

Boomers, hear us when we say that life is so very different for us than it was for you. Some things are much easier. Other things are tougher – or different. Let us tell our stories of hardship without feeling that we are blaming you. Listen to our cries for help – our need for your wisdom of experience and your encouraging words of comfort that remind us of what is really important (and we know it’s not property, pensions or prosperity!).*

Millenials, know that Boomers care deeply about our future. Open your eyes to see that they carry a burden of guilt, bewilderment and responsibility about the fact that so few of them were able to sustain such a good quality of life for more than a generation or two. Hear their words of wisdom about life’s real priorities. Listen to stories of what has made their lives so wonderful (and know that it is not wages or wealth).

Perhaps, just perhaps, as we talk, and as we hear, we may come to a better understanding of one another. We are parents and children. Grandparents and grandchildren. We want to see each other happy and we love one another dearly.

Listening, really listening, is rarely comfortable. It will challenge and move us, sadden and gladden us. Hearing one another’s stories will ask us to acknowledge our own weaknesses and fallibilities.

And yet what bricks do we have for our bridge, but our stories and our questions and our ears? The rebuilding must start now, and it must happen quickly. Without this bridge, we will lose something precious and irretrievable. We will lose each other.


* And a personal note. Thank you to those Boomers – Ann Morisy and my parents and many, many others – friends and relatives and colleagues – who have noticed and drawn attention to the plight of Millenials. Thank you to every person who has already listened, and heard, and understood, and asked. You have taught me so much.

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