Village Shepherd

Years ago, politicians were regarded as the epitome of authority and therefore above reproach. There were occasional scandals which shocked the nation, like the Profumo affair in 1963, but it seems like Watergate in 1972 was the real opener of a very large can of worms indeed.

Since the days of Watergate politicians have no longer been above reproach, but have been regarded as fair game for all branches of the media. So much so that governments since have in part at least, been toppled by allegations of sleaze. But needless to say, no one party has exclusive rights to sleaze, and all parties now have their fair share of media revelations.

When I hear about the downfall and disgrace of politicians, I feel sorry for their families and I almost felt sorry for them. Almost, but not quite. A priest I once knew used to have a rule of life by which he would never do anything in private that he would be ashamed to do in public. It could be a good rule of life for politicians.

Perhaps in previous eras politicians were no more above reproach in their private lives than they are today, but the public didn't know about it. Although we've enjoyed a free press for many years, it's comparitively recently that the press has been quite so free with other people's privacy.

Of course, it isn't only politicians who have skeletons in cupboards. Many of us at one time or another in our lives, have done something in the dark which we wouldn't want shouted from the rooftops.

So those first few words of Jesus in today's reading can strike quite a chilling blow, "Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known." And he goes on to say, "…what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops."

There's a dark, brooding quality to all the words of Jesus in today's gospel reading. Perhaps the shadow of the cross was already hanging over Jesus, and although he wasn't aware at this stage of exactly what was going to happen to him, he certainly seems to have been aware that trouble was brewing.

On the one hand he seems to be warning his disciples about the terrors in store for them, and on the other hand bolstering their confidence and their courage. "Don't fear those who can harm your body," he says, "for they can't touch your soul." And he goes on to say that God cares about even the smallest sparrow, but he cares so much more about his children that he even knows how many hairs each one has on his or her head.

But then come those terrible warnings, each one worse than the previous one. Jesus is clearly expecting big trouble, for he warns that he will deny before God any one who denies him. Terrifying words, especially if his friends deny him simply because they are unable to withstand torture or the threat of torture. It's difficult to have anything but the utmost sympathy for people who find themselves in that particular situation.

Jesus goes on to warn that he hasn't come to bring peace but a sword, and that following him may well cause irreparable rifts between different members of the same family.

It all sounds a very far cry from those halcyon days of Advent when we proclaimed the coming of the Prince of Peace, and Christmas when we worshipped the tiny baby in the crib, who was going to save the world.

Yet the history of Christianity is turbulent and bloody, and today, such historical violence impairs the witness of the Church. Families have indeed been split over religion, and continue to be split. The Northern Ireland situation was for years a prime example of the horrors of Christianity, and the Balkan war, waged between Christians and between Christians and Muslims, was so full of human atrocities that it makes the blood run cold.

Religion is such a hotbed of seething emotions, that most people in polite society refuse to discuss it, at least over dinner or on other social occasions.

Jesus was right. He brought a sword, and a sword which has cleft not only families, but countries and nations too. The longing for peace is deep in the heart of most people, but not, it seems, at the expense of their religious beliefs.

Even those who claim to have little or no religious belief, still hold strong opinions about religion. For instance, the secular world often calls for the return of the Ten Commandments even though hardly any non-churchgoers would actually know the Ten Commandments. And non-churchgoers are very sure in their own minds what sort of behaviour they expect from those who attend Church, and are very quick to point out when churchgoers slip beneath those standards.

Those who do have religious belief find it very close to their hearts, at the centre of their being, so any threat to their religion, real or imagined, is a threat to their very selves.

Perhaps religion is so dangerous because as it's at the centre of being, any threat to it automatically invokes our inbuilt self preservation mechanism. We all have a basic insticnt for survival, and for many people self-preservation is synonymous with fighting. We fight to preserve our lives.

Yet Jesus said, "Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." Perhaps there are some religious beliefs which we need to shed. Perhaps we carry too much religious furniture. Perhaps if we could each discover what the very centre, the very basis of our religion is, and be prepared to let go of everything else, Jesus would be able to bring peace rather than a sword.

And then perhaps we'd look forward to standing on the rooftops and proclaiming to the world that which Jesus reveals to us in the darkness of the innermost centre of our being.