Explain Yourself

The title of my sermon is ‘Explain yourself.’ I’ll begin with the most famous work from Pulitzer Prize winning American poet, Mary Oliver. Many of you will know it well. 

It’s called Wild Geese.

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

If I asked you to score your life out of 10 as to what you’ve made of it so far – what number would you give yourself? 

For much of our life we exist under the weight of needing to be good, of getting it right. Often, it’s a subtle and unspoken pressure, especially in this city, to exude excellence, success, and to make our mark. The expectations – internal or external - of who we think we must be in this world can force us to walk on our knees when we get things wrong, or when we feel we don’t live up to the criteria or critique of others.  It’s like a repetitive internal voice: ‘explain yourself, explain yourself.’

Our talents and our titles help to evidence our legitimacy or signal our worth. And all of this is fun, important and nourishing. Until it’s not. Until we reach those moments where we are exhausted having to communicate the value we bring to this world, justifying our decisions, or having to design a future that’s always bigger and better than now.

A couple of years ago I went through a period of thinking “I’m tired of having to be wonderful.” Let me qualify that in case you think I’ve risen above my station. I went over in my mind a rapid life CV summary to see if I could put some kind of score or assessment to how I’ve faired so far. It went something like this: “I’ve got 3 degrees and other qualifications, I’ve travelled the world, I’ve been married, divorced straight, gay, Irish, British. I’ve done urban living, country living, costal living. I’m a priest, communications professional, designer, artist, etc, etc, blah and blah and the summary went on.

I have rebranded more times than Starbucks or the Church of England put together. A lot of this has not been linear – I tend to zig zag. I’m a masterclass in doing things in the wrong order, but it’s absolutely the right order for me. I would say my experience thus far has been rich, wild and very busy. 

But in those moments of reflection in 2023 I thought – ‘OK, have I done enough now? Would anyone mind awfully if I embark on a new phase of just being an epic loser?’ How would it be if I had little or nothing to show for the next few decades of my life? Would that be ok? Could I leave others to do their fabulous thing in the world and I can just quietly retreat. 

There was nothing depressive about these thoughts or feeling. It was more like a deep sigh and a growing weariness of having to explain myself, along with the desire for a future that was free of the usual social requirements. 

For those who may be long retired where there is more distance between life now and those days of busy careers, families or personal rebrands. Who are you when lots of stuff melts away with time? What remains at the core? When asked to define or clarify oneself, what to say now?

Throughout his life, Jesus was constantly being asked to explain himself. Why are you doing this? Why are you doing that? Who do you think you are?

In our gospel today, he hangs on the cross at the end of his life and still his identity, decisions, and motives are being questioned and attacked. ‘He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!.... ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself’ ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ 

In tossing around these titles, the rulers, soldiers and criminal think they know what the titles mean, and they judge Jesus by those meanings. They believe the magic power that he seemed to once have, has run out. Now he’s a fraud and a loser. However, the other criminal demands no explanation and uses no titles. He understands the deeper reality and he simply says Jesus. ‘Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom.’

Jesus never really needed to explain himself because he does not fit into pre-existing categories. Throughout scripture his kingship, which we celebrate today, is expressed in poetic terms because it is much more than just a different type of power or divine activity. The concept of kings and kingdoms, even with spiritual language, can so quickly - and unhelpfully - take us into ‘my dad is bigger than your dad’ territory. But Christ’s kingship is rooted in his ontology, the essence of who he is as God, the son inextricably connected to the Father. 

Theologian Katherine Sonderegger gives us a little window into why Jesus didn’t need to explain himself. This is what she says about who God is, and therefore the same divine nature shared by Jesus:

‘Almighty God, (the I AM) is life, vitality, fire, actually hidden in the dynamism in this world, poured out into the creaturely realm as its own power, objective, humble; yet never the creature, never contained and confined, always explosive, holy, personal. God does not have borders, is not an individual or a character. God does not occupy a particular region of space, does not possess local presence. God’s nature is something like, yet infinitely more than, energy or fire: it does not act with power but simply is power….

He is the One who surpasses all thought, beyond all category and form…

He cannot lie, because he is truth; he cannot but create, because he is life; he cannot but radiate his light and blessing because he is goodness itself; he cannot but save as he is holy humility and love…’[1]

This is a level of the majestic beyond any concept we could ever have of kings or kingdoms. If God’s nature is love, then it makes sense that the one supreme identity given to Jesus, his son speaks to that nature. This is the announcement that comes from the heavens at the baptism of Christ.

You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased. To be called the Beloved…I mean that is a strong 10. You can’t top it. It is the inspiration and energy for everything Jesus does – the superpower hidden from those at the cross demanding an explanation.

Today we are delighted to be baptising Toby. And in the face of it, a baptism looks like a beginning as it involves a small child. But in fact, it’s more like an ending, a conclusion from which a life is lived backwards. Baptism is a declaration, an announcement that we also, like Jesus, are the beloved, that we are enveloped into that same identity and eternal reality. That is the very core of our lives. It is a Full stop. End of. No further commentary required. 

But, of course, we think it can’t be that easy. We need to get involved and add extra layers. For as the years go by, we succumb quickly to the expectations laden on us by ourselves and others to become a certain thing, to look a certain way, to acquire certain things. But when we realise that’s a mug’s game that we can never win, we are always invited to return to that fundamental truth and pleasure of who we are.

If Toby ever watches this service on YouTube, I will say this directly to you Toby: “Your one main job is to live out the life of the Beloved. Turn that noun into an imperative. Be loved. Let that fuel everything you do and become. And when you’re asked to explain your story or justify your worth, whether it’s the playground, university or office – tell them that. Tell them that on a November morning an announcement was made of Jesus claiming you as his own. That’s all that really matters.”

For the rest of us, if you have come in here this morning with a burden of expectation around your life, or a feeling that you’d score it a fairly low number. If you are uncertain of where you belong or fit, may you return to that centre of gravity. May you find courage, value and purpose flowing from your Beloved-ness. You are starting from a 10. You have already won. Let those wild geese in the clean blue air, the whole natural world, and the voice of Christ announce your place in the family of things.