Trinity 22 (30th
Week, Year C) 27th October 2013
I stand in a family tradition of plain speaking counting among my forbears the Craven Dialect poet Tom Twisleton, my first cousin twice removed who lived from 1845 to 1917 and whose poems are still read in my native Settle. Some of the locals there are working with me on publishing a comprehensive edition of Tom’s poems so they’re rather fresh in my mind. I thought one of them – ‘Church ‘gangin’ was a spot on commentary on today’s scripture.
I stand in a family tradition of plain speaking counting among my forbears the Craven Dialect poet Tom Twisleton, my first cousin twice removed who lived from 1845 to 1917 and whose poems are still read in my native Settle. Some of the locals there are working with me on publishing a comprehensive edition of Tom’s poems so they’re rather fresh in my mind. I thought one of them – ‘Church ‘gangin’ was a spot on commentary on today’s scripture.
Here it is
– the main part of it - and though in Craven dialect I’ll read it more as a
Sussex Downs man than a Yorkshire Dalesman translating the dialect to make it
more intelligible in our situation.
One Sabbath day, in summer time, when leaves
were green and flowers smelt prime, and lile birds raised a din. I chanced to
pass a house of prayer, that reared its steeple in the air, and folks were
going in.
Both young and old, and rich and poor, in making
for the open door, all in a throng did mix. Some strode in pride, like king or
queen, some tripped like fairies o’er the green, some tottered in on sticks.
I stood and watched ‘em walking in, to hear of
future woe for sin, and bliss for t’ just and wise; and while I gazed with
vacant stare, and watched ‘em enter t’ house of prayer, strange thoughts began
to rise.
I asked myself, ‘what is it brings yon mingled
group of human things, that from their houses come! Do they come here to sing
and pray and to the priest attention pray?. Answer says, ‘nought but some’.
There’s yon smart Miss in gay attire who hopes
to make them all admire, he very best she’ll don; and one sits near whose
wandering eye is peeping up and down to see what such a one has on.
And one comes in with haughty stride, his heart
puffed up with empty pride, he thinks none like himself; he hasn’t come in here
this day to join his voice with them that pray, but just to cut a swell.
And some bent down as if in prayer, o’er top of
t’ pew, with careless stare, do nowt but squint and scan; to words of truth
they pay no heed, they feel as if from prison freed, when t’ clerk says t’ last
Amen.
And then again there’s some who gang, with
solemn looks and faces long, to sing the song of praise; who wear religion as a
cloak to hide from unsuspecting folk, their cunning roguish ways.
All service through with pious looks, they hang
their faces o’er their books, they act the saint right well; on holy things
they seem intent, while all the time to save a cent, they’d cheat their own old
man.
There’s some no doubt, but ah, a few, who come
with hearts sincere and true to worship heaven’s high King; who humbly kneel
before the throne, and in return for mercies shown, their heartfelt praises
sing.
Tom
Twisleton’s poem ‘Church going’ - which picks up on our Gospel reading where
Our Lord has a story we might call ‘Temple going’.
Jesus also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they
were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the
temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. The Pharisee,
standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like
other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I
fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax-collector,
standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast
and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down
to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will
be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’
Where do we as this morning’s church goers see
ourselves in this?
Don’t we rather like being
exalted? To receive the satisfaction of a job well done or a duty fulfilled. To
believe things we do, even for Church, really make us a bit better than those
who fail where we succeed. No, no, no says
the parable – to believe that make you prisoner of small time righteousness. I
am looking forward to my red buttoned Canon’s cassock, of course! Bad as the
rest…
Or – how about the inward
assumption that, because of our failings, we don’t measure up to the standards
of the Pharisee in ourselves, so we’re secretly stained beyond
redemption. I find this a quite familiar condition in our high achieving
culture and wouldn’t be surprised to hear something of it next weekend during
Confession-time before All Saints Feast.
Where’s the good news? It’s, as I said last week about the Jesus Prayer, that the prayer of the tax collector is available to all of us. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.
Where’s the good news? It’s, as I said last week about the Jesus Prayer, that the prayer of the tax collector is available to all of us. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.
For you and I are all sinners
and yet sisters and brothers of the Son of God, children of a merciful Father.
The parable of the Pharisee and Publican is an invitation to break away from
the tyranny of self-righteousness, of judging ourselves by ourselves, and enter
the glorious liberty of the children of God – which is to recognise you and I
are on the bottom step of the ladder but
that God loves us all the same.
A visitor to a psychiatric
hospital found one of the inmates rocking back and forth in a chair cooing
repeatedly in a soft contented manner, ‘Lulu, Lulu…’.
‘What’s this man’s problem?’ he
asked the doctor.
‘Lulu. She was the woman who
jilted him,’ was the doctor’s reply.
As they proceeded on the tour,
they came to a padded cell whose occupant was banging his head repeatedly
against the wall and moaning, ‘Lulu, Lulu…’
‘Is Lulu this man’s problem to?’
the visitor asked.
‘Yes,’ said the doctor. ‘He’s
the one Lulu finally married.’
We all have our ‘Lulus’ be they
in families or in Churches – I would be more merciful than my cousin Tom to fellow
church members though I’m grateful for his poem.
I guess I am most likely someone
else’s ‘Lulu’!
We are all sinners – full of
shortcomings – but we’re loved by almighty and unending love, and is there any
better good news than that?
The tax-collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven,
but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I
tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for
all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be
exalted.’
