It’s our privilege at Durham
to be the home of Cuthbert’s shrine which is the spiritual heart of the
Cathedral. For many people it is one of
this island’s ‘thin’ places where the Spirit of God seems to be present in a
palpable way, like Iona, Lindisfarne and other Christian sites. Once I was asked to take an elderly blind
imam from Saudi Arabia round the Cathedral.
The shrine is not a place where we encourage much talking, so I did not
say anything as we climbed the steps into what we call the feretory where the
shrine is situated. But as we got to the
top, he said at once, ‘Ah! I sense the
presence of a holy man here, like our own shrines in Islam. Who is this and why is he here?’ So I explained that the Cathedral, indeed the
city of Durham itself, would not exist were it not for Cuthbert’s body and the
long journey his Saxon community made in the 9th and 10th
centuries to find a new home for their saint safe from the Viking raids that
were terrorising the coast of Northumbria.
We lingered for a while there: he was not in a hurry to leave. Afterwards,
he gave me a copy of the Holy Qur’an with all the passages that speak well of
Christians underlined. ‘What about those
that are hostile to Christians?’ I asked.
He replied: with your saint, you are people of the Book. We are all members of Abraham’s
community.’ And I want to say, here at
St Cuthbert’s, that all the places that have a connection either with Cuthbert in
his life time, as this ancient site perhaps has, or with the journey his coffin
made for over a century are linked by a common memory and sense of
belonging. Which is why I am so glad to
be here today.
What do we love so much in our
native northern saints: Aidan the gentle, Oswald the far-seeing, Hild the reconciler,
Bede the wise, Margaret the generous? The treasured memory of Cuthbert can
perhaps speak for them all. Here is one
of Bede’s stories about him. Cuthbert
had gone out on one of his long journeys to preach, taking with him a boy for
company. The day was long and the road
steep, and they were tired and hungry.
The boy grew worried. ‘Learn to
have constant faith and hope in the Lord’ said Cuthbert. ‘Whoever serves God shall never die of
hunger.’ They saw an eagle in the sky
and Cuthbert said: ‘God can send us food by that eagle.’ Soon, by the river bank, they saw it settling
on a rock. ‘There is the servant I was
telling you about. Run and see what God
has sent and bring it quickly.’ The boy
returned with a big fish that the bird had caught. ‘What?’ said Cuthbert: ‘Didn’t you give the
servant his own share? Cut it in two,
and give half to the bird.’ After a good
meal of cooked fish with villagers nearby, Cuthbert praised God for his
provision and said: ‘Happy the one whose hope is in the Lord’.
That little tale shows
something of what motivated Cuthbert.
His was an intensely devoted spirituality. For him, to be human was to live in utter
dependence on God, aware of his constant presence as something immediate and
inescapable. We could call it a true
simplicity, being pure in heart and poor in spirit. Perhaps only this can ever challenge what is
broken and wrong in the world and in our communities and relationships. And the beautiful detail of his care for the
eagle and his dinner speaks of a man profoundly connected to the natural world,
in tune with God’s creation. His
reverence for life and his intimacy with nature makes him peculiarly
attractive, in an age of environmental awareness, to all who want to treat all
things living with courteousness which, for Christians, should mean all of us.
Bede sums up his character:
‘like a good teacher he taught others to do only what he first practised
himself. Above all else he was afire
with heavenly love, unassumingly patient, devoted to unceasing prayer, and
kindly to all who came to him for comfort…. His self-discipline and fasting
were exceptional, and through the grace of contrition he was always intent on
the things of heaven.’ He also tells us
that ‘Cuthbert was so skilful a speaker, and had such a light in his angelic
face, and such a love for proclaiming his message… that all confessed their
sins to him’. Our readings today remind
us what being a disciple means. It is
not the fine phrases and rituals of religion, but the devotion to God that
begins in the heart and issues in a life of compassion and service to
humanity. For Cuthbert, perhaps the
image more than any other that inspired his extraordinary ministry was that of
the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. This familiar but striking picture no doubt
draws on the passages we heard today. In
Ezekiel, the context is the failure of human shepherds, the kings of Israel and
Judah, to care and provide for the flock entrusted to them as they should have
done. So God himself will take up that
mantle: ‘I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep;, and I will make them lie
down, and seek the lost, and bring back the strayed, and bind up the injured,
and strengthen the weak, and feed them with justice’. And this great promise is echoed in the gospel
where Jesus says that to search for the 100th sheep that is lost is
a mark of the shepherd who acts as God himself does, to whom every life is
infinitely precious and valued.
For Cuthbert and his
contemporaries, Christianity meant living in the spirit of those texts where
dying to ourselves becomes the price we pay for embracing the gospel and
surrendering our lives to God. The Book
of Revelation speaks of those ‘who loved not their lives even unto death’, the
martyrs who bore faithful witness to Christ.
What the Benedictine vow calls conversio
morum, the ‘conversion of life’ means a kind of
martyrdom, a way of dying in order to live, losing our own selves in order to
find them, laying down our lives like the Good Shepherd. This was how Cuthbert always was in his utter
dependence upon God. I called it true
simplicity just now, purity of heart: having only one thing as your goal and focus
and aspiration in life. Buddhists call this being ‘single-pointed’. Such people are blessed because they see
God. Bede puts it this way: he ‘was
afire with heavenly love, unassumingly patient, devoted to unceasing prayer,
and kindly to all who came to him for comfort…. always intent on the things of
heaven.’ What is ministry, what is Christianity,
what is true humanity if not that?
St Paul sums up
his own ministry and apostleship: ‘as having nothing, and yet possessing
everything’ is how describes the life of those who have surrendered all to
follow Jesus Christ and bear witness to him.
Let me come back to this church and the Friends of St Cuthbert’s. That name, ‘the Friends of St Cuthbert’s’ reminded
me of a sculpture by Fenwick Lawson that many of you will have seen in the
parish church on Lindisfarne. There is
also a bronze bust of it in Durham’s Millennium Square. It is called ‘The Journey’ and shows six
monks carrying Cuthbert’s body on the 120 year pilgrimage from Viking-threatened
Holy Island via southern Scotland, north Yorkshire and Chester-le-Street to
Durham where the saint’s body was finally laid to rest. Perhaps the Society of the Friends of St
Cuthbert’s are like those first Saxon friends who bore his name and his memory,
for whom their beloved saint’s spirit of simplicity, humility and holy love
inspired them to carry his body so long and so far. And if the Friends ‘carry’
him in this way, then so of course do our Christian communities dedicated to
him: this church in Edinburgh and ours in Durham. To live in his spirit is to live in the
spirit of Jesus himself, whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light.
For me, the gaunt
stark slab in Durham Cathedral with his name on it says it all. The simplicity and lowliness of the shrine tells
us in a place of power and majesty who and what is worth honouring. ‘Whoever would be great among you, let them
be your servant’. We know in our hearts
that it is not status or wealth or achievement that matter, but becoming among the
least by turning away from sin and being faithful to Christ. The call, which belongs to all of us through
baptism, is to give our lives to the project of purity and steadfastness, in
the spirit of the saints ‘willing one thing’, wanting more than anything else
the coming of God’s reign of justice, peace, truth and love. For when God’s kingdom comes it mends our
brokenness, gives us back our dignity, and makes life wholesome and beautiful
once more. Amen! Come Lord Jesus!
At St
Cuthbert’s, Edinburgh, 7 October 2012
Ezekiel
34.11-16, Matthew 18.12-14
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