The Ladder of Ascent

The Revd Dr William Lamb
The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity

10.30am

Hebrews 13.1-8,15-16  Luke 14.1,7-14

The gospel reading today always reminds me of a rather bizarre ceremony which I attended some years ago. A friend of mine was being installed as the Archdeacon of Stow and Lindsey in Lincoln Cathedral. Jane Sinclair, who sadly died recently, was a person of great modesty. And as she took on this role, she was first installed as the Prebend of Abingdon, and sat in the stall of the prebendary. She was then installed as the Archdeacon of Lindsey, before being placed in the stall of the Archdeacon of Stow. On each occasion, interspersed with the requisite polyphony of the Anglican Choral tradition, the Dean said to her in an echo of today’s gospel reading, ‘Friend, move up higher’.

The whole thing felt slightly absurd. Of course, good liturgy always has an element of drama about it, and we find the scripts of that drama in the Christian scriptures. Not only the words which we use, and the hymns that we sing, but so much of our ritual draws on the language and imagery of scripture – the processions remind us of our earthly pilgrimage, the people of God journeying towards the promised land. The gospel procession when the book of the gospels is brought into the midst of us not only imitates the liturgy of the Jewish synagogue when the scrolls are brought out of the ark and processed around the congregation, it also recall the words of St John when he says that the Word ‘dwelt among us.’ And the Eucharist draws us into the drama of the last supper, ‘on the night he was betrayed, he took bread and gave you thanks’.

But that day in Lincoln Cathedral? It sort of missed the mark. I once worked in a Cathedral and the joke used to go that the rudest thing you could say to a colleague as a procession was forming up was ‘after you’. Because ‘the first shall be last, and the last shall be first’, the lowliest always came first. Of course, the intricacies of Cathedral ceremonial were probably not uppermost in the mind of Jesus when observing the rather competitive elbows seeking the places of honour in the house of this anonymous leader of the Pharisees.  ‘For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.’ ‘After you’ becomes a form of exaltation.

The gospel today draws our attention to the virtue of humility. And its perhaps worth paying attention to this virtue. And the first thing to say about humility is that it is not about humiliation. I was reading a book recently by Bishop Andrew Rumsey, called English Grounds. It’s a beautiful elegiac portrait of England. He stumbles across an old sign dating from the cholera epidemic of 1849 in the Yorkshire town of Ripon. Addressed to its inhabitants, the local mayor calls for the closing of shops and places of business for a day of ‘Humiliation and Prayer’. As the mayor of Ripon invited the people to turn in repentance to God in the face of a national health emergency, Rumsey reflects that humiliation was already familiar to many people in the poverty of that threadbare sanctuary: ‘Those who possess the land are all too susceptible to an ancient and endemic lie (the correction of which underwrites the entire Old Testament), seducing them into thinking they are instruments, rather than objects, of God’s judgment’. As we wrestle with the threat of fuel poverty this winter, no-one needs to be reminded of their impending humiliation. This is not what humility is about at all. We should not substitute the warped practice of humiliations for the idea of humility. And we should not confuse humility with a complete lack of self-esteem. That said, as we listen to the strident, if petulant, voices of a political class seeking to offer us leadership in a time of national emergency, how can we see beyond the myopic vision of a future distorted by pride, vanity and ambition?

So where shall wisdom be found? The Christian tradition offers many rich seams for us to mine here – and one of the most helpful discussions of the virtue of humility can be found in The Rule of St Benedict. Benedict begins his discussion by quoting the words of Jesus, ‘‘For whoever exalt themselves will be humbled, and whoever humble themselves will be exalted.’ Living in the Roman Empire at a time when the economy was deteriorating, when the helpless were being destroyed by forces beyond their control, when the powerful few made decisions that profited the powerful few but plunged the powerless many into continual chaos, Benedict of Nursia established a community and drafted a rule of life, which sought to cultivate the virtue of humility. And like Jacob’s ladder in the Book of Genesis, in which Jacob in a dream saw ‘angels descending and ascending’ on a ladder between heaven and earth, Benedict identifies twelve steps of humility.

And Benedict’s whole understanding of humility is about inviting us to discover our place in the universe, to grow in self-awareness, to come to a proper sense of self, to recognise first that we must keep ‘the reverence of God always before our eyes’. That doesn’t mean pretending to be pious. It does mean recognising that if we leave no space for God in our lives, we can so easily fall prey to the temptation to make ourselves into Gods. And as one commentator puts it, ‘When we make ourselves God, no one in the world is safe in our presence.’ So God is God. Recognising that is the first rung on the ladder. The second is to recognise that our flourishing consists in doing the will of God. The third is about being accountable to others. The fourth is about recognising that we find this difficult, particularly when that accountability is not reciprocated or when our trust is betrayed. The fifth is about being real about our struggles and difficulties and not dissembling about them. The sixth is about recognising that it may all end in failure so there is no point in being seduced by the blandishments of success. The seventh is about being kind, particularly when others fail. The eighth is about learning from the example of others. The ninth is about recognising that it is a noble thing to be a Christian without being a jerk. The tenth is about not taking any delight in the misfortunes of others. The eleventh is about being hospitable to others, with all their foibles and sometimes their eccentricities, treating others with tenderness and attending to their needs. The twelfth is about recognising that true humility lies not in pretending to be humble, but in embracing the perfect love which casts out all fear.

This is the wisdom that Benedict offers us. ‘Friend, move up higher’. Benedict shows us the ladder of ascent. And just as the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews suggests that in showing hospitality to strangers, some have entertained angels without knowing it, remember that Jacob’s ladder is populated with angels ascending and descending. These angels are the agents of grace. And this reminds us that Benedict’s ladder of ascent is not simply some kind of programme for self-realisation, twelve steps for moral improvement as we work out our own salvation. The ladder is simply a way of opening our hearts to the riches of God’s mercy and the promise of God’s grace.

Now to the one who is able to keep you from falling, and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, power, and authority, before all ages, now and forever. Amen.