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A sermon preached on Sunday 18 July 2010 by Canon Jeremy Davies, Precentor
"LEARNING TO DANCE"
A conversation in the vestry last week before Evensong:
“Perichoresis” said Michael.
“I beg your pardon”
“Perichoresis”
“Very painful” say I wittily. “I should go and see a doctor”, wondering whether perichoresis was a life-threatening illness or a new liturgical greeting to which the answer might be: “And also with you”.
“Perichoresis is what I have to write my next essay on”, says Michael, who is assiduously continuing his studies at Ripon College, Cuddesdon. I still look blank so Michael patiently unfolds a little more of his latest foray into the upper reaches of modern theology.
“It’s all to do with the doctrine of the Trinity, and the dance – or perichoresis – which the holy Trinity are continually engaged in.” And he goes on in a soft American burr to talk about the Protestant theologian Jurgen Moltmann, who most recently recovered the idea of ‘perichoresis’ to expound the nature of the Trinity.
As it happens, this morning’s Old Testament lesson, set for this Eucharist, which we have not heard
read but with which you will be familiar, is from Genesis 18 and tells of the visit of the three
angelic strangers who stop at the tents of Abraham and Sarah at Mamre. It is there, you will remember that the ancient patriarch welcomes the strangers and entertains them. And they in return prophesy that Abraham and his sceptical wife (who laughs at the thought behind the curtain) will be the parents of a great nation; through whom all the nations of the earth will be blessed.
The visit of the three strangers to Abraham has been read by Christian tradition as an insight into the doctrine of the Trinity, and has been immortalised in the famous Rublev ikon which shows the three angels sitting at table. It is a striking image which suggests another world – for the strangers have wings – but they are seated at a table where food is served. But there is also space for others at table, suggesting that the person gazing at the ikon is not simply an onlooker, but a participant and, more than that, an honoured guest:
“You must sit down, says love
And taste my meat
So I did sit and eat.”
Sitting and eating does not sound much like dancing: but dancing, like singing, is as much about a state of mind as an activity. It is the elevation of body, mind and spirit onto another plane, where we are drawn out of our individual stations and become a community making harmony together, joining hands and circling the heavenly table in a cosmic dance.
Michael Mayne, beloved of us here in Salisbury and such an influential spiritual teacher for many people, wrote a book called ‘Learning to Dance’, in which, as you might imagine, dance is the prevailing metaphor. He writes in his chapter ‘The Dance of Love’ that “the Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) needs to be seen as movement in a constant dance ….. The classic Greek notion of the static being of God is replaced in the Church Fathers with an altogether more dynamic one, engendered by the interchange of love, one who is still engaged in the unfolding process of creation. By the middle ages, some theologians were using the image of the divine dance to describe the relationship of love within God as a kind of eternal round danced by the triune God …… and angels are envisaged in a never-ending circling dance round the throne of God.”
Maybe that image of the dance, in which we are participants, allows us to link hands with God and his creation. As we move to the rhythm of the universe, we find that we are drawn more deeply into the mystery of God and more deeply into the mystery of what it means to be human.
I wanted to begin with the three strangers from Genesis in the story that wasn’t read earlier, because it is a theme picked up in the other readings that we have heard this morning. The gospel tells us of Mary, Martha and Jesus: another holy Trinity. This time set in the sisters’ house in first century Palestine. Another dance in which it seems that the participants are out of step with each other. Or two of the participants are listening to Radio 3 and the hardworking sister in the kitchen has got her headphones on and is singing along to Radio 1. I don’t suppose I am the only one who has quite a lot of sympathy for Martha in this story. After all, it is she who welcomes Jesus into their home; it is she who busies herself seeing to his needs, making him comfortable, providing him with a home. After all, it was Jesus himself who said: “It is better to give than to receive”: and Martha is the image of the giver. So Jesus’ rebuke to her about worrying and fretting about so many things seems a tad unjust.
Actually I don’t think Jesus is so other-worldly as to dismiss the practicalities of daily living. He is himself a curious mix of the other-worldly and the this-worldly. He knows about juggling priorities and about the pressures of the rat race. I’m sure Jesus loved Martha as much as Mary and enjoyed the supper she had prepared and helped her with the washing up. But he had something more precious to give her than a helping hand. He had a vision for her. More than that, he had a life to give her, a new dance to teach her, a new rhythm for her to move to, a new life - fulfilling, radiant, full of joy and peace and love. A demanding life, it’s true, a life that didn’t seek to avoid the pain and grief of human living but a life nevertheless that had meaning and purpose beyond the daily round and the common task. This life was on offer for Martha as much as it was for Mary – if only Martha would stop dusting for a moment!
And then we have a third holy Trinity. Not only the angelic strangers who came to sit and eat with Abraham: not just the trio at Bethany of Jesus and the two sisters but a rather grander picture of the cosmic dance offered by Paul as he writes a letter to the Christians at Colossae. We are no longer in Abraham’s tent with the old man killing the fatted calf for his unexpected guests; we are no longer in Bethany with Jesus relaxing with friends. The picture has changed: the dance has changed its tempo: the simple song of a Palestinian girl has become a Hallelujah Chorus with full orchestra. St Paul writes of the itinerant Rabbi of Judea these amazing words:
“He is the image of the invisible God: the first born of all creation: for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible: all things have been created through him and for him.”
Can we approach such a God? Is this the same Jesus who has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows? Is this the same one who dwelt among us and gave us the intimate word ‘Father’ with which to address God?
Paul answers that question from his own experience, for he, Paul who was once (in his words) estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, has been reconciled to God through the blood of the cross of Jesus. And says Paul: “I became a servant of this gospel to make the word of God fully known”.
The dance of the Holy Trinity – the intimate dynamic relationship of Father, Son and Holy Spirit – is a dance of inclusiveness, of gathering in, of reaching out, of raising up and bending down. The dance of the Holy Trinity includes St Paul, whose life has been utterly transformed by his Damascus Road experience. So we have Christ, who is the image of the invisible God; we have Paul who has become the mouthpiece of the unheard God. Is there a third player to make up yet another Holy Trinity? Is there someone who will be the hands and feet and heart of God today? Well, yes, says St Paul, there is: it’s you and me. “Christ in you, the hope of glory”, as he writes in the Epistle to the Colossians. If our world today is to know the one who is flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone and is at the same time the image of the invisible God, it is through us that he will be known. We are the third member of the Holy Trinity. Amazingly, we who worry and fret about so many things are to be the instruments of God’s peace, the agents of his grace and the ambassadors of his love.
In a moment or so we will be continuing the dance – for this Cathedral is really a dance-hall and we meet week by week for Strictly Come Dancing. And we help each other to learn new steps. This morning, Celina, Hannah and Emily are going to take their first steps in the Christian dance and it will feel like an untidy conga as we move to the font and find that we all have a place on the dance floor. Here we discover that we are not alone, that we are members one of another. Here we learn that there is only one law, the law of love. And here we discover how we can best put that law into practice in our lives day by day. And though we will find that we are all failures as God’s lovers, we will come back time without number so that we may learn again the steps of his dance.
Thank you, Michael: I think I now know what perichoresis means!
Amen
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“Perichoresis” said Michael.
“I beg your pardon”
“Perichoresis”
“Very painful” say I wittily. “I should go and see a doctor”, wondering whether perichoresis was a life-threatening illness or a new liturgical greeting to which the answer might be: “And also with you”.
“Perichoresis is what I have to write my next essay on”, says Michael, who is assiduously continuing his studies at Ripon College, Cuddesdon. I still look blank so Michael patiently unfolds a little more of his latest foray into the upper reaches of modern theology.
“It’s all to do with the doctrine of the Trinity, and the dance – or perichoresis – which the holy Trinity are continually engaged in.” And he goes on in a soft American burr to talk about the Protestant theologian Jurgen Moltmann, who most recently recovered the idea of ‘perichoresis’ to expound the nature of the Trinity.
As it happens, this morning’s Old Testament lesson, set for this Eucharist, which we have not heard
read but with which you will be familiar, is from Genesis 18 and tells of the visit of the three
angelic strangers who stop at the tents of Abraham and Sarah at Mamre. It is there, you will remember that the ancient patriarch welcomes the strangers and entertains them. And they in return prophesy that Abraham and his sceptical wife (who laughs at the thought behind the curtain) will be the parents of a great nation; through whom all the nations of the earth will be blessed.
The visit of the three strangers to Abraham has been read by Christian tradition as an insight into the doctrine of the Trinity, and has been immortalised in the famous Rublev ikon which shows the three angels sitting at table. It is a striking image which suggests another world – for the strangers have wings – but they are seated at a table where food is served. But there is also space for others at table, suggesting that the person gazing at the ikon is not simply an onlooker, but a participant and, more than that, an honoured guest:
“You must sit down, says love
And taste my meat
So I did sit and eat.”
Sitting and eating does not sound much like dancing: but dancing, like singing, is as much about a state of mind as an activity. It is the elevation of body, mind and spirit onto another plane, where we are drawn out of our individual stations and become a community making harmony together, joining hands and circling the heavenly table in a cosmic dance.
Michael Mayne, beloved of us here in Salisbury and such an influential spiritual teacher for many people, wrote a book called ‘Learning to Dance’, in which, as you might imagine, dance is the prevailing metaphor. He writes in his chapter ‘The Dance of Love’ that “the Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) needs to be seen as movement in a constant dance ….. The classic Greek notion of the static being of God is replaced in the Church Fathers with an altogether more dynamic one, engendered by the interchange of love, one who is still engaged in the unfolding process of creation. By the middle ages, some theologians were using the image of the divine dance to describe the relationship of love within God as a kind of eternal round danced by the triune God …… and angels are envisaged in a never-ending circling dance round the throne of God.”
Maybe that image of the dance, in which we are participants, allows us to link hands with God and his creation. As we move to the rhythm of the universe, we find that we are drawn more deeply into the mystery of God and more deeply into the mystery of what it means to be human.
I wanted to begin with the three strangers from Genesis in the story that wasn’t read earlier, because it is a theme picked up in the other readings that we have heard this morning. The gospel tells us of Mary, Martha and Jesus: another holy Trinity. This time set in the sisters’ house in first century Palestine. Another dance in which it seems that the participants are out of step with each other. Or two of the participants are listening to Radio 3 and the hardworking sister in the kitchen has got her headphones on and is singing along to Radio 1. I don’t suppose I am the only one who has quite a lot of sympathy for Martha in this story. After all, it is she who welcomes Jesus into their home; it is she who busies herself seeing to his needs, making him comfortable, providing him with a home. After all, it was Jesus himself who said: “It is better to give than to receive”: and Martha is the image of the giver. So Jesus’ rebuke to her about worrying and fretting about so many things seems a tad unjust.
Actually I don’t think Jesus is so other-worldly as to dismiss the practicalities of daily living. He is himself a curious mix of the other-worldly and the this-worldly. He knows about juggling priorities and about the pressures of the rat race. I’m sure Jesus loved Martha as much as Mary and enjoyed the supper she had prepared and helped her with the washing up. But he had something more precious to give her than a helping hand. He had a vision for her. More than that, he had a life to give her, a new dance to teach her, a new rhythm for her to move to, a new life - fulfilling, radiant, full of joy and peace and love. A demanding life, it’s true, a life that didn’t seek to avoid the pain and grief of human living but a life nevertheless that had meaning and purpose beyond the daily round and the common task. This life was on offer for Martha as much as it was for Mary – if only Martha would stop dusting for a moment!
And then we have a third holy Trinity. Not only the angelic strangers who came to sit and eat with Abraham: not just the trio at Bethany of Jesus and the two sisters but a rather grander picture of the cosmic dance offered by Paul as he writes a letter to the Christians at Colossae. We are no longer in Abraham’s tent with the old man killing the fatted calf for his unexpected guests; we are no longer in Bethany with Jesus relaxing with friends. The picture has changed: the dance has changed its tempo: the simple song of a Palestinian girl has become a Hallelujah Chorus with full orchestra. St Paul writes of the itinerant Rabbi of Judea these amazing words:
“He is the image of the invisible God: the first born of all creation: for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible: all things have been created through him and for him.”
Can we approach such a God? Is this the same Jesus who has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows? Is this the same one who dwelt among us and gave us the intimate word ‘Father’ with which to address God?
Paul answers that question from his own experience, for he, Paul who was once (in his words) estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, has been reconciled to God through the blood of the cross of Jesus. And says Paul: “I became a servant of this gospel to make the word of God fully known”.
The dance of the Holy Trinity – the intimate dynamic relationship of Father, Son and Holy Spirit – is a dance of inclusiveness, of gathering in, of reaching out, of raising up and bending down. The dance of the Holy Trinity includes St Paul, whose life has been utterly transformed by his Damascus Road experience. So we have Christ, who is the image of the invisible God; we have Paul who has become the mouthpiece of the unheard God. Is there a third player to make up yet another Holy Trinity? Is there someone who will be the hands and feet and heart of God today? Well, yes, says St Paul, there is: it’s you and me. “Christ in you, the hope of glory”, as he writes in the Epistle to the Colossians. If our world today is to know the one who is flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone and is at the same time the image of the invisible God, it is through us that he will be known. We are the third member of the Holy Trinity. Amazingly, we who worry and fret about so many things are to be the instruments of God’s peace, the agents of his grace and the ambassadors of his love.
In a moment or so we will be continuing the dance – for this Cathedral is really a dance-hall and we meet week by week for Strictly Come Dancing. And we help each other to learn new steps. This morning, Celina, Hannah and Emily are going to take their first steps in the Christian dance and it will feel like an untidy conga as we move to the font and find that we all have a place on the dance floor. Here we discover that we are not alone, that we are members one of another. Here we learn that there is only one law, the law of love. And here we discover how we can best put that law into practice in our lives day by day. And though we will find that we are all failures as God’s lovers, we will come back time without number so that we may learn again the steps of his dance.
Thank you, Michael: I think I now know what perichoresis means!
Amen