Let No One’s Heart Fail
A sermon by Revd Dr Alastair McKay
Readings for this service: 1 Samuel 17 v32-49
Goodbyes can be hard. As a young man, I recall having to leave Australia after a seven-month sojourn which had changed my life. The family which had hosted me, came to see me off from the airport. They’d loved me deeply, and I’d returned their love. Theirs was a love and acceptance that I’d barely known before. So I found it hard to leave them. And I can still recall sobbing my heart out as we said goodbye. Decades later, I still don’t find goodbyes easy.
I want to reflect with you this morning on some of what I’ll treasure about St Martin’s. I want to do so by connecting with the story of David and Goliath. For like David, in the fight to slay the Goliaths of this world, St Martin’s has some well-honed tools: five smooth stones, a pouch and a sling. Let’s reflect on these St Martin’s treasures.
The first of the smooth stones I want to take out of the pouch is the choral music of St Martin’s. Now I have a confession to make: before coming to St Martin’s I must admit that I wasn’t a big fan of choral music. You may well gasp. In part this was through lack of exposure, having worshipped with different musical traditions. My three years at St Martin’s have given me an immersive education in more traditional choral music. And what a gift it’s been. Such music reaches the parts that others can’t. When our choir of St Martin-in-the-Fields sing the anthem on Sunday mornings I’ve often found that’s the moment when we’re transported into the heavenly realms, into God’s very presence. On Monday lunchtimes this year, when I’ve been with our Choral Scholars at Walbrook, I’ve noticed how their sublime singing offers deep nourishment for the soul – whether it be through Thomas Tallis or Moses Hogan. And I was struck by the gift of choral music at last year’s Greenbelt festival at the Great Sacred Music sessions led by Andrew Earis with St Martin’s Voices: their singing became a place of tender sanctuary and delight which transcended the tumult of the festival.
The second smooth stone coming out of the pouch is St Martin’s ministry with the homeless. This ministry is part of slaying the Goliaths of loneliness and deprivation in our society. One of the impressive features of St Martin’s work in this area is how it’s done in collaboration with those being served. This is epitomised by the Sunday International Group where it can sometimes be hard to distinguish who’s a helper and who is being helped. And part of the genius of the Charity is in collaborating with frontline workers to harness their ideas, energy and experience, so that they’re empowered to have a bigger impact than they could do on their own.
Reaching into St Martin’s pouch a third and fourth time brings out a couple more, well-polished stones: the rich programme of classical concerts, and the delights of the café and shop. Unlike in some churches, ‘commercial’ is not a dirty word at St Martin’s. Here, being commercial provides a way of offering musical excellence, and St Martin’s candlelit concerts can live long in the memory. I have two friends to whom I gave tickets to one of our Vivaldi Gloria concerts: and, whenever I see them, they thank me for a beautiful and memorable evening. Then there’s the café, which provides the perfect meeting place: I’ve held countless meetings downstairs with people who’ve travelled in to central London. They all comment on how much they like coming here.
I’m spoilt for choice in picking out the treasures of St Martin’s from the pouch. But for my fifth smooth stone I’m selecting our open-ended learning opportunities. These are typified by the Theology Group and by Inspired to Follow. OK, so I’m biased, having helped to birth Inspired to Follow, which engages with artwork from the National Gallery. But in my experience of church life, these are rare jewels. Theology Group and Inspired to Follow both offer a way for participants to feel welcomed and to make friends; and – just as importantly – to grow in their understanding of God, without having particular answers forced upon them. Such programmes help to slay the Goliaths of loneliness and theological ignorance in a way that’s not easy to pull off: doing it provocatively and intelligently – but in a gentle, respectful and relational way.
These smooth stones are housed in a comfortable pouch, just as David’s were. And that pouch is the set of stunning buildings that comprise St Martin’s. Across the way is No 5 St Martin’s Place, where our offices are located. One morning I was going up the steps and a homeless man walking past said to me: ‘I see you’re living very comfortably.’ – to which I nodded. And then he added: ‘Not like in the days of Jesus, eh?’ It was a barbed comment. But perhaps not entirely fair. As one of those who opens up the church in the mornings, I know that some of our homeless neighbours are among the most frequent users of our church – especially on cold or wet winter days. This wide welcome that St Martin’s offers is something to rejoice in: that our beautiful building provides shelter for people off the street, but also a glorious setting for Londoners and tourists to enjoy our concerts; and an unparalleled space for the many worship services held here. Having a beautiful church building therefore isn’t something to be embarrassed about. Faithful discipleship doesn’t mean we all need to wear sandals and dress in sackcloth. For God is beautiful, and heaven is beautiful, and it’s right that we find ways to embody beauty through all that St Martin’s offers.
Now what St Martin’s has come to realise is that her rich treasures are not just for you and me to enjoy, but are for sharing more widely. And for the precious stones to be shared around, a sling is needed. One way of picturing that sling is as the initiative that’s come to birth during my time at St Martin’s: the HeartEdge network. HeartEdge is St Martin’s way of saying to the wider Church: ‘We’re not going to keep our treasures to ourselves. We’re happy to share.’ And it’s also a way of saying, ‘We don’t think we’ve got it all sussed: we’re ready to learn from you. Let’s learn together.’ There’s a humility in this, which I think David would endorse.
These treasures of St Martin’s are all to be celebrated. But there is a temptation. That temptation is to want to become Goliath. There are churches which have struggled to resist this temptation. And sadly it was a temptation to which David later succumbed: over the course of his long reign as king, he became an over-bearing, acquisitive, and merciless powerbroker. Sad to say, David became Goliath. And with our prominent location on Trafalgar Square, it’s possible for others to look at St Martin’s, and think of us as a giant, a Goliath. I think St Martin’s influence is set to grow: through our public presence on the BBC, through the resources made available on our much-visited website, and through HeartEdge, our expanding international network. As our influence grows, my prayer is that St Martin’s will resist the temptation to become Goliath. Instead I hope we’ll remain faithful to the David of our story: David who knows that it’s in serving others that one becomes great; David who knows that success and impact come from God, and that it’s only God who can give them into one’s hand; David who knows that identity and life only have meaning because one’s been chosen by God.
Well, it’s nearly time to say goodbye. As emotional farewells go, it’s hard to beat the 1982 classic film ‘ET’. The film tells the story of a young boy called Elliott who befriends a creature from outer space, an Extra-Terrestrial, whom he nicknames ET. As the film reaches its climax, Elliott and his friends help ET to escape the clutches of the state’s suspicious security forces – the Goliath in the film. The young friends go to the location from which ET’s mother spaceship will take him home again. Then comes the farewell scene where Elliott and ET say goodbye. Elliott wants ET to stay with him on earth. ET wants Elliott to come with him into space. Deep down, both know that neither really belongs in the other’s world. It’s then that ET rests his long, bony finger on Elliott’s temple and says: ‘I’ll be right here.’ [points to temple] They both know that they’re facing physical separation, probably forever. However, ET realises that although they’ll be separated, they’ll long remember one other in their respective memories – because they’ve loved each other deeply. Hence, they’ll be right here [points to temple].
As the time draws near for me to leave St Martin’s, I know that I’ll miss you. Over the last three years, I’ve come to know you and to love you. So although we may not see one another for who knows how long, I also know that you’ll be right here [points to temple]. Because of all we’ve shared together, because of all we’ve known of Christ’s love and agony, you’ll be right here [points to temple again]. And even if our paths don’t cross again, I hope that you’ll be able to say the same.
It was through his adventures as a shepherd that David learnt about God’s true nature. What he learnt gave him an enormous confidence in God. A confidence that meant David could boldly tell the king, ‘Let no one’s heart fail because of Goliath; I, your servant, will go and fight this giant.’ As an apprentice shepherd at St Martin’s I’ve also been learning about what God’s like. And if there’s one thing that will remain with me indelibly from my time at St Martin’s it’s the discovery that God is gentler and kinder than I’d ever realised. That’s what you’ve all taught me: God’s not like Goliath. God’s like David, in all the ways that David is like Jesus. And this doesn’t mean being shy and bashful. It means being brave and bold enough to take on the Goliaths of this world, trusting in God’s good provision.
So may our hearts not fail because of the frightening giants that face us. For there is a God in Israel, there is a God in England, there is a God in London. And at St Martin’s you’ve found precious ways of making this kind and gentle God known. Thank you. That’s something I’ll always treasure, and never forget.
