“Then Jesus turned”

In the senescence of the year comes Christ the King, striding across the barren fields of our humanity to gather us into his everlasting love (with apologies to T.S. Eliot). What is that coming? It is his Advent, his coming to us as beginning and end and so this Sunday with its wonderful collocation of prepositions – next and before – marks an ending and a beginning, a time of transition which concentrates for us the deeper theological meaning of Christ’s Advent. It is now and always.

T.S. Eliot captures something of this in his poem East Coker of the Four Quartets. It begins with “in my beginning is my end” and ends with “in my end is my beginning.” Such is a kind of circling around and into the mystery of God in the Advent of Christ.

There is the gathering together of all of the scattered and broken pieces of our lives to their wholeness and end in Christ and there is our beginning again to embark upon the pageant of Christ’s Advent towards us in Word and in flesh, in judgement and mercy, in grace and glory, that accomplishes the redemption of humanity. The challenge for us is to enter once into the radical meaning of God coming and being with us.

For centuries upon centuries, the Gospel for this Sunday, which was always the Sunday Next Before Advent regardless of the number of Sundays that preceded it, was John’s account of the feeding of the multitude in the wilderness, a reading also used on the Fourth Sunday in Lent. There the emphasis was on the theme of refreshment and of God’s Providence in providing for our humanity in the pilgrimage journey of our lives. “Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.” What was gathered up were twelve baskets filled with the fragments from the wilderness banquet, a basket for each of the twelve tribes of Israel, on the one hand, and for each of the Apostles of the Apostolic Church, on the other hand. But here, read on this Sunday, it marks the greater theme of the gathering of all things to their unity and truth in God; in short, the end and purpose of our humanity as found in God, “that nothing be lost.”

That theme of the gathering in the wilderness complements the equally ancient reading from Jeremiah which looks back to the Exodus journey where the Lord through Moses brought up the children of Israel out of Egypt and to the Davidic kingship in which the tribes of Israel were united but both moments now seen by Jeremiah in the impending Babylonian captivity as the hope and promise of the return of Israel. Yet in the Christian understanding, “rais[ing] unto David a righteous Branch” echoes Isaiah’s prophecy about the Messiah, an allusion or prophecy about Christ, “the Lord our Righteousness”; in short, a judgement and restoration theme.

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“Shouldest thou not also have had compassion on thy fellow-servant,
even as I had pity on thee?”

The Church year runs out in the themes of judgment and mercy. Next Sunday is The Sunday Next Before Advent, signalling the end of the Trinity Season at the same time as catapulting us into the mystery of Advent, the beginning of a new Christian year. The Trinity and Epiphany Seasons vary in length according to the date of Easter but regardless there is a pattern and movement of thought in the latter Sundays of the Trinity Season whether shorter or longer, whether twenty-three or twenty-seven Sundays. There is a logic, a way of thinking theologically, centered in the eucharistic lectionary that remains in the classical Prayer Books of the Anglican tradition.

What is that pattern and movement of ideas? It is the interplay between judgement and mercy in a kind of dialectical relation: there is judgement in mercy and mercy in judgement. Both are concentrated for us in today’s lessons, especially in the Gospel. The year runs out, it is not too much to say, on a profoundly ethical note about good and evil, about right and wrong, in our hearts and our lives. Sanctification is the overarching theological theme of the Trinity Season – the pageant of Christ in us – but that presupposes and constantly returns us to the theological theme of Justification – the pageant of Christ for us in his redemptive acts. The two are intertwined and are further informed and amplified by the cycle of the Saints in glory; in short, Glorification. These themes reach a crescendo of expression in the parable of the unforgiving servant precisely in his not doing to another what had been done to him, namely showing mercy, the mercy in which we find our good and our blessedness. “Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy,” the Beatitude which is at the centre of the Beatitudes.

But doesn’t all this confront us with our contemporary dilemma about the very idea of the ethical? In the culture of moral nihilism there is no ethical, no real meaning to good and evil, to right and wrong. There is only the empty relativism of ‘your truth’ and ‘my truth’; in short, solipsism, a kind of gnosticism, where there is no truth that holds us accountable to one another as human persons; and not just bots in the machinery of technocratic culture. What is good for me may not be good at all, let alone good for you. But isn’t it only just what you can get away with? What’s missing? God? Well, yes, but other things too.

In the culture of moral nihilism, the ethical is simply negated: not just relativized, which leaves the door open, perhaps, to a conversation upon what relativism ultimately depends, but denied and quickly reduced to the pragmatism that whatever you can get away with is fine. – for you and who cares about anyone else? There is ‘no ought from an is,’ David Hume argued in the 18th century, the legacy of which, it seems, is that the ethical is seen as arbitrary and unintelligible, and the assumption, common in our age, that natural science, naturalism or scientism, explains everything; a kind of material determinism which negates human freedom and dignity.

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