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SERMONS Sean Gilbert — 21/3/08 I’m reasonably confident a good number of you saw or heard about the documentary, “The Abbey,” screened on Compass late last year. If not, it tells the story of 5 women of different ages, backgrounds and beliefs, who, for 33 days, willingly become an integral part of a cloistered Benedictine Monastery in the fertile Jamberoo hills, south of Sydney. Reality TV at its very (sympathetic) best, I would suggest, and now available on DVD at your nearest ABC Shop! Upon arrival at the Abbey, most of the women are still unsure about their decision to come; an anxiety heightened when they meet the Sister’s in their quite private and prayerful environment. They’re too good and holy for us, quickly becomes the common sentiment; “we feel totally intimidated, if not unworthy of being here.” Of course, the genius of the film (and that of the community) is that it meets this caricature of all things religious head on. Indeed, in one of her first sessions with the group, Sister Hilda, a wonderfully warm and wise leader, seeks to put them totally at rest. Questioned as to whether or not they should be permitted to bring who they really are – right now - into the Abbey, Hilda replies, “Not only is it permitted, it is welcome.” It occurs to me on a day like this, and before such a raw and difficult symbol as this, it’s a good and timely reminder that we are not only permitted to be human, but made welcome here, in our most raw, even complex expressions of humanity. For if this sign and symbol communicates anything across the aeons, it is where the love of God is most powerfully demonstrated and experienced; within human brokenness, at large within our uncertainty and failures; in the ordinariness, yet the nobility of who we truly are. A love, therefore, that does not stand in judgment over us, demanding perfection. No, rather a love and presence yearning for our wholeness, so that we might embrace the gift that is our worth and beauty; which is nothing less than the permission and courage to go and be. Ah, the permission to be! The freedom to grow and change, motivated not by fear, not by manipulation and shame, but by a self-giving and ennobling love. This is the great gift of Good Friday; the paradox that death’s finality, is still somehow the very seed bed of renewed life. A love, then, that will not and cannot die, that even from the grave calls us to rise up and to follow in its costly, yet authentic paths. In the very same episode of ‘The Abbey’ I’ve referred to, Hilda meets with the group of 5 in the guest house, bringing with her a carry bag; broken zips, frayed edges and faded in appearance. In short, it’s just plain weary of travel. She likens the bag to each of their lives (hers included), then opens it to reveal some rocks and stones she has collected; each symbolic of the difficult human experiences we all tend to face, then carry along on life’s journey. The gift and purpose of faith, she suggests, is not necessarily to be totally rid of such things, but to make friends or peace, to some degree, with their sharpness and weight And so friends, this sacramental moment, this invitation to come and symbolically place the hard and sharp thing of life at the foot of the cross, is not magical or supernatural in its intent or scope. By way of great contrast, it simply means to be consciously human, reaching out for meaning, forgiveness and grace. For at the foot of the cross – at the very heart of Christ’s cross - lies a permission-giving and welcoming Love whose total desire is to give birth to renewed hope, compassion and good grace for the living. We come in gratitude, therefore. We come because we may. Who we are, what we are, is both permitted and welcome here. Thanks be to God, in Christ and through the Holy Spirit.
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