Sermon preached for the Patronal Festival of St Gabriel’s Church, Heaton - 24/09/2023

Today’s readings focus a lot on angels - ascending, descending, fighting heavenly war. This makes sense, seeing as it's the feast of the Archangels, but I will confess, I don’t actually tend to think a lot about Angels, aside from the ones you find in Cathedral gift shops; But there’s one thing that’s associated with Angels, (aside from general Christian gift shop tat), and with Gabriel, quite specifically, and it’s the phrase “Be not afraid”.

Do you know how scary something would have to be, for it to announce itself, not with “hi”, but with “be not afraid”?

And I know you’re thinking: but Gabriel has the form of a human, he’s not the objectively terrifying flaming wheels covered in eyeballs that Ezekiel describes angels as being. But this also kind of proves my point.

The first time the angel Gabriel appears in the Bible it is to interpret Daniel’s visions, and Daniel records this appearance thusly: “Then someone appeared standing before me, having the appearance of a man”

“Having the appearance of a man”.

Do you know how terrifying it must be, to have a being appear before you, that looks like a man, but… you know they’re not? There’s something off. Some divine radiance, some great holy wrongness.

There’s a scientific phenomenon in robotics and such called “the uncanny valley”, which goes something like this: the closer a robot gets to perfectly imitating a human, the more it unnerves people. Because your eyes, they see ‘human’, but your gut, your primal instinct, it picks up a million signals you don’t even know you’re registering, and they are screaming “there is something wrong here. This is not a human”.

I think Angels, they live in the uncanny valley. They rock up, they say, “be not afraid”, and all the hairs on your body are already standing on end. And honestly, they should be. Angels should be terrifying. They represent a great glaring rip in the fabric of what we see as reality. Their visits are what happens when the utterly incomprehensible otherness which God inhabits bursts into our mortal world and says “hi”, or, “be not afraid”.
When God themselves decided to rock up on earth, They did not come “in the appearance of a man”, They came as a man, with all the implications therein. Jesus was born. Jesus lived. Jesus died. Jesus existed on this earth as fully mortal, as well as fully God. Jesus never had to introduce Himself with “be not afraid” But angels? well, there’s nothing even vaguely mortal about them, and it seems like the people who meet them know that.

I must say, though I keep describing Angels as terrifying, I do think that these rips they create in this mortal reality are important.

You see, it is so easy to get fixated on our earthly lives, our earthly needs, and our earthly problems, that we forget to look beyond. We will never know what earthly issues were occupying Mary’s mind before Gabriel turned up, and gave her the good news which changed the entire world, but we certainly know what holy thing occupied her for the rest of her life. Because one of those things was, I dare say, more important than the other.

In our mortal lives we cannot truly transcend this reality; Prayer, meditation, contemplation, study of the scriptures, all of these things can help us move closer to God, to see more of what the angels see, but they are imperfect. But there is one thing, one thing, we can do, and that is what we are doing today, right now. Partaking in the eucharist. There is a good reason that, in almost every eucharistic liturgy, the Sanctus is said or sung. We join with the angels in praising God: “Holy holy holy, lord God of hosts”

One of the many astounding things about the Eucharist is the way it exists within God’s conception of time, not ours. The way it, like Angels, transcends mortal conceptions of time and space, while simultaneously colliding, unbelievably, with it. This transcendence of time and space is sometimes called "the collapse of time in the Eucharist" And I know that sounds like a lot of heavy theology to be doing at this time in the morning, but bear with me.

As with much theology, this idea, of the the collapse of time in the Eucharist, has many strands, and has caused many theological arguments over the centuries, but at its most broad and basic it posits that every eucharist ever happened, happens, and will happen, at the exact same moment, outside of time, because the eucharist is where we meet, bodily, with God, and God, themselves, is outside of time.

The idea is that we receive together - all of us - communally, as a community, in this one great communion. That it transcends the most basic mortal conceptions of reality, and stretches out beyond the trappings of things such as time and space, connecting each of us in one great Christian community. 

So, in this way, this communion in which we participate today is the same as the one the Apostles participated in, is the same as the one the great ancient saints and theologians participated in, is the same as the builders of this church participated in, is the same as our lost loved ones participated in, is the same as our not-yet-born relatives will participate in. It utterly transcends mortal understandings of reality, opening up a gap, just like Angels do, through which we are blessed to reach beyond.

This wondrous gift from God binds us all together, in one great community, outside of time and space. And yet, at the same time, when it is held, like it is today, in a place in which the Eucharist has been celebrated so many countless times, it can also connect us with this place, and the people who have gone before us here. Those we know, and have known, and those we have no conception of.

On this, your patronal festival, it feels right to consider your community, those who have gone before, and those who are yet to come. It feels right to consider who you are, who you have been, and who you wish to become, not just as individuals, but as a church community. And, seeing as he’s your patron saint, I suggest, perhaps, you look to St Gabriel for those answers.

You see, one of my many roles in life, is that of Churchwarden, of a little church, dedicated to St Nicholas. And at St Nicks we see our patronage as a model by which to shape our ministry. We tell the stories of St Nicholas, how he gave generously, especially to those in danger of losing their freedom. Of how he protected the innocent. Of how he held fast to God during a time of persecution. And we try to found our ministry around that example, directing what resources we have to the work we can do, because no church can be all things, to all people. You, by contrast, have St Gabriel, who is not a man, or woman, but an angel, as your patron saint. Your role model. That is, in many ways, much harder to live up to. But what does Gabriel do? Aside from destroying comfortable conceptions of reality through his unannounced visits?

Well, he’s a messenger, so he speaks. He announces. He explains He becomes a voice, speaking words from God in the world. Gabriel visits Daniel, and interprets his visions. He appears to Zacharias, to Mary. He speaks of what God is doing now. What God has done in the past. And what God will do in the future.

As someone who, just a few years ago, found answers in this church, at a time when I was desperately seeking them, I think you’re doing fairly well at that.

I first found myself here back in 2020, in between lockdowns. I was visiting from Leicester, a city still full of death, and locked churches, and I was so grateful to find an open church in which to pray. Later that evening, passing Father Jonathan on his bicycle on the street outside, I, for some unknown reason, decided to yell at him.

“OI!” I shouted, across the street. “THIS YOUR CHURCH?” He nearly fell off his bike, and I realised, in that moment, how fundamentally weird it is to yell at a random priest at, like, 5pm on a dark winter evening.

He said “I’m the vicar here at St Gabriels.”

I, desperate for this spontaneous interaction to be over, and aware the traffic lights could change any moment, thanked him for the fact the church was open, rounded the corner, and disappeared.

A few days later, I walked in to pray again. Right in the middle of a service. It was way too awkward to leave. At the end, Jonathan came up to me, and asked: “Was it you? In the street?” I said yeah, and he asked if I wanted to talk. We talked about theology. Baptism. Sin. Redemption. I haven’t lived the most spotless life, you see. But God doesn’t care about who you have been, but about who you grow to become.

In that moment of need, this place spoke, not just through Jonathan, but through the entire community, past and present, from the people who built this place, to all of those who enabled it to be open, even in such difficult times.

There is one other thing I want to point out, before leaving this story, and that is what Jonathan said, when accosted by a random guy in the street and asked, “this your church?” Because he did not say “yes” he said: “I am the vicar here, at St Gabriels”

That is an important distinction. He did not claim ownership, because, you see, this church does not belong to him. No church does. They don’t belong to any individual. They belong to communities, to beliefs, and to ideals. They belong to the Kindgom of God, and act as beacons of that kingdom, which lead anyone, and everyone, closer to God. Beacons that even lead small, stressed men, on evening walks, exactly where they need to be, in order to hear God speak through a stranger. And that wonderful work is enabled by all of you.
This church has long acted prophetically, supporting and sponsoring female priests at a time when such a thing was unfortunately contentious, and, through your work in the community, both within and without the walls of this building, you act as a sign and signifier of the Kingdom of God in the midst of the world.

I come today as a visiting preacher, but also as someone to whom this place has been, and continues to be, very significant. A place of great help, as I worked out what faith means to me, and how to find my place, as someone who doesn’t seem to fit in the stereotypical and often stifling world of the Church of England, and I simply want to encourage you.

I want you to know that I think you do live up to the ideals of your patron saint, and I want to encourage you to continue in your work.

To quote Jacob, in our first reading:

“‘How awesome is this place!

This is none other than the house of God,

and this is the gate of heaven.’”

So as we draw closer to that gate through this service, I pray that you draw closer, too, to your community, past, present, and future, knowing that as you meet God here, at this altar, you also meet one another - that’s kind of the point of the peace - and I pray that your bonds of community grow ever stronger in your love for God, as you welcome in friend and stranger alike, and, just as St Gabriel often did, continue to show them a glimpse, just a glimpse, of God’s Kingdom, right here, on earth.