Trinity 13

The Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity

3 September 2023

St Bene’t’s, Cambridge

The Reverend Olga Fabrikant-Burke

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Jesus has a penchant for challenging, demanding, and even disturbing words. I was certainly hoping that on my last Sunday at St Bene’t’s Jesus would, for once, keep things light and tell us something easy and breezy.

It would have been so much more convenient, so much more straightforward, and so much easier, had Jesus said something along the lines of, “If you want to become my follower, come to church every Sunday.” Or “read the Bible diligently and pray regularly.” Or “be a good person and do lots of good works.” But, alas, that is not the message Jesus has for us this morning.

“Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.” These are the difficult marching orders Jesus gives each and every one of us today. I think it is fair to say in the last few months we have all felt the power and the force of these words. Take up your cross. Jesus really did mean it.

You don’t need me to tell you that the cost of discipleship is great. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German Lutheran theologian and pastor who staunchly resisted the Nazi dictatorship and was executed in 1945, a month before the end of the war, famously said that “when Christ calls us, he bids us to come and die. … The cross is laid on every Christian.” The cost of discipleship is great.

It is not only that the road we tread as disciples is rough, stony, twisting, and uneven. Nor is the problem that the load we carry is heavy, so much so that we often bend over beneath its weight. The main challenge is that the costly path of discipleship does not even take us where we want to go.

This is what is going on in our Gospel this morning. On any fair reading, Peter, I think, was more than willing to give up his life. Having already made sacrifice after sacrifice, he was no coward. But what Peter was not willing to give up was his idea, his master plan, for what the Messiah should and should not do. Peter had a bold vision for the future, and he would not put up with any deviation from his grand plan. Peter was more than happy to fight, even if it cost him his life. He was happy to take the rough and winding way—but only provided that in so doing, he could still get his own way.

But Jesus was honest with his disciples about the way things were actually going to end—spoiler alert, not the way they hoped. Jesus was not about to overthrow the imperial powers of Rome. Instead, he was about to suffer and die a shameful death on the cross. And Peter was emphatically not okay with that prospect. That cannot be the way things go.

What Peter was about to learn is that to embark upon the way of discipleship is to surrender ourselves to Christ and to choose his way over our ways, his master plan over ours. Go where I lead you, says Jesus. Follow me. Come to the coalface of life. Go where the cross beckons. That is the true cost of discipleship. And it is great.

For most of us, living as we are in a western democracy in the 21st century, the call to discipleship entails neither violence nor death—perhaps some taunts or insults or raised eyebrows. And yet, the cross ought to shape our lives today too. Have we died to self in order to live to God? What drives our lives? Is it a quest for happiness and comfort? Or is it the cross? To take up one’s cross is not about acquiring a deeper and more rewarding spiritual insight—a sort of cherry on top of our well-oiled lives. To take up one’s cross is to come to Christ, to surrender all to him, to be willing to pay any price in his service, and to let go of life in the hope of the resurrection. To come to Christ is to come to the end of self.

But therein lies the good news. To come to the end of self is to find oneself. It is to be faithful to all that God created us to be. The cross sets us free and shapes us into who we are meant to be—it makes us most fully ourselves. Paradoxically, it is in the cross that we see a different, richer way of life and a true vision of human flourishing. To come to the end of self is to be held within the mystery and joy of God’s transforming and never-ending love.

I cannot remember what my master plan was when I began my curacy. Whatever it was, it flew very quickly out of the window when the pandemic struck and, lately, with Anna’s tragic death. And I wish I could stand before you as a spiritual giant and tell you that throughout it all, I have always known myself to be held in God’s loving purposes. Truth be told, I have not always felt that to be the case. It has been hard year. And this is normal. Discipleship is hard. There are moments when the joy of God’s love and the delight of his words will flood our hearts and minds. There are times when we will have to navigate, with Peter, the stormy seas of disillusionment and fear.

But what I can tell you is that throughout it all, in all these seasons of turbulence and disturbance, as well as stability and prosperity, I have always felt myself to be held in your prayers. It has been an honour to serve as a priest in your midst.

Experts in child development will tell you that the first three years of a child’s life are an utterly vital part of child development. It is these three years that build a lasting foundation for future learning, health, and even success in life. That is a truly scary thought, I should add—a sure recipe for sleepless, anxiety-ridden nights for any parent. In essence, it is the first three years that will have a primary and disproportionately formative influence on your child and will shape them into the kind of person they will ultimately grow up to be.

This, I think, is a wonderfully fitting definition of a curacy too. Over the course of the last three years, you have been forming and shaping me into the kind of priest I will be for the rest of my life. I certainly hope that my formation will continue in the years to come, but St Bene’t’s has laid the foundation. And this will forever remain in my heart. Your formative influence—many, many happy memories, many lessons learned, and many insights gleaned—I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Indeed, we as a family will carry with us for the rest of our lives. This is the church where Simeon was confirmed and Teddy baptised.

There are many important spiritual insights that I have gained from my time with you. But the one deep truth I will take away with me and treasure forever is that while the way of discipleship is indeed tough, we are not travelling alone. We are travelling together, along Christ’s way. You have welcomed me into this place with open arms and open hearts. You have prayed for me. You have tolerated my missives from the pulpit. You have carried me through some difficult times. You have made me laugh. You have not made me cry. You have been patient with my mistakes. You have showered me and my family with innumerable acts of kindness and hospitality. In your faces I have seen the face of Christ.

So we are not travelling alone. I have learnt much from your wisdom. You, the people of St Bene’t’s, have been a real gift, and I will miss you more than you will ever know. It has been a privilege and a joy to serve as your Curate. I have received more than I have given. I hope you realise how blessed you are to have one another as companions along Christ’s way. Take up your cross and follow me. This is how we do it. Together.

But now it is time to say goodbye. And the good—or bad—news, depending on how you look at it—is that I will only be up the road.

My dear friends, thank you. Thank you for your generosity in allowing me to learn from you and with you. May God the Father richly bless you. May God the Son walk with you always. May the Holy Spirit guide you in the years to come.

Amen.