Curate’s sermon. Christian Unity Service: Isaiah 58.6-11, John 12.31-36

10 years ago, all Russian state news reports were full of praise for a new film, called ‘Viking’. I am going to tell you straight away: do not watch it, it is a very bad film. But the reason it was on all state TV channels and supported by the Russian Church was that it told the story of Prince Vladimir the Great, who in the 10th century brought Christianity to the territories of modern-day central and eastern Ukraine and the European part of Russia. In reality, Vadimir sent his envoys to travel around foreign lands searching for a new religion to replace the pagan pantheon of Slavic gods. Having considered Latin Christianity, Islam and Judaism, Vladimir settled on the Eastern, Orthodox, branch of Christian Church. But at this point, I also ought to mention that a political union with Byzantium was very beneficial to Vladimir at the time and may have also played a role in his choice. It might also be good to mention that, once the choice was made, in many cases Christianity was brutally enforced upon the people of Vladimir’s lands.
I’m afraid the film ignores all of this and shows Orthodoxy as the only available option, which, moreover, is gladly accepted by everyone. The scene of a mass baptism of new believers in Kyiv is bright and glorious. In fact, once Vladimir himself is baptised, the colours in the film change from dark and cold to warm; the sun comes out and shines on all who welcome Christ.
Putting aside outrageous historic inaccuracies throughout the film, it could have been a beautiful metaphor to show the arrival of the light of Christ into the darkness of a pagan world that does not yet know Him. But the film is not about Christ – it is about Vladimir, who, according to the promotional materials, apparently ‘taught us all what is good’ and the Russian Orthodox Church, which endorsed the film at the stages of production and in recent years has been perhaps more keen than ever to demonstrate its own authority and legitimacy as the one true Church. It is the Church that shines that light on the newly baptised, not Christ.
I am using the example of Russian Orthodoxy, but I think every denomination, at some point in time and on some level, is guilty of promoting itself as the only mouthpiece of the truth and the one supreme source of light. No Christian organisation is immune from the disease of perceived moral and spiritual superiority. Since the time when bishops were fighting each other at the council of Nicaea, admittedly in good faith trying to defend what they believed to be true, the position of ‘I am right and you are not’, I am sure, is quite familiar to different branches of the Church.
The Universal Church, in its holiness, has been instituted by Christ, but the holiness of the humans who do their best to run it is very aspirational and frequently questionable. Putting aside historic debates about the relationship between Church and power, the nature and the rightful place of temporal and divine authority, I am inclined to think that the Church, although, in its heart, not of this world, belongs to this world, with its faults, its sins and all its brokenness. If the Church is to follow Christ, it simply has no right to segregate itself from the flaws and the needs of the world, to shut its doors from the people whom Christ himself welcomed and loved. The price the Church pays for this ministry is being entangled with the worldly matters and falling for the same temptations everyone else does. Medieval debates about Christ’s poverty surely took place because the tempted Church wanted to hold on to its wealth. The just war theory surely emerged because the church could not afford to stay away from politics and power. The repercussions of recent safeguarding scandals are felt widely because the Church decided to protect its clergy at the expense of its flock.
Natural human brokenness, as we have seen over the course of 2,000 years, has led to fractures in the Church. All of us here, from different denominations, are an illustration of that. But if we are to minister to the broken world, so let us be broken too. ‘A broken heart God will not despise’ and a broken Church still carries the light of Christ. But one thing we must remember is that it is indeed the light of Christ that we carry, not our own. On a good day, we may be able to reflect it, but we are never the source of it.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus said, ‘While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.’ Christ is the light, not the Church, and we are His children and His servants, not the Church’s. And we must never put the Church above Christ.
And if we disagree on theology – so be it; if our liturgies look different – so what, we will be richer for it. It is ok that we are not in complete unity as long as we see our purpose as being one in Christ. It takes love not to sing ‘anathema’ to a regional Church that has gone its own way, and it takes patience not to curse ‘the other side’ of the Anglican Communion because they are more conservative or more liberal. It takes incredible self-control to agree to disagree. But aren’t love, patience and self-control fruits of the Spirit that Christ has also given us at Pentecost? And doesn’t Isaiah tell us to stop pointing the finger, to stop speaking of evil, to feed the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, and then the light will shine in the darkness? This is our task: to grow the good fruit, to help others and to stop pointing fingers. This is the task of the Church, of every Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran, Anglican, Methodist, Baptist, Anabaptist, Presbyterian, Independent – any Church. In a moment, all of us will receive a candle (I have to say, a very lovely candle from the Armenian Orthodox church that Fr Thomas got for us). And as those candles are lit, remember whose light they shine. Amen.