Easter 7 - Evensong
4th May 2008

Theme: Great and Marvellous

Text: Acts 1.15-26, Ps 68 (1-8), Rev. 14. 1-7; 15. 2-4

When I was a child I thought as a child that beetles were insects with 6 legs. So really the band that reigned in the sixties should have been a trio and not a quartet; after all – 2 legs a piece would make 6!  Did you realise that when the Beatles started out, at the beginning of the sixties, they actually had 5 members and not four. Whatever happened to number 5?

Let’s turn to consider our reading from Acts. We’re told that after the traitor Judas met his appalling end, Peter proposed that he be replaced as a member of the 12 (don’t forget the special significance of the number: the 12 tribes of Israel ). The field for the first century Episcopal election was from among those who had been with Jesus throughout his earthly ministry. They settled on a shortlist of two likely candidates: Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias.

So sometime between the Ascension (which we celebrated last Thursday) and the day of Pentecost (which we’ll celebrate next Sunday), the remaining apostles elected a twelfth by casting lots, a traditional Jewish way to determine the Will of God. The lot fell upon Matthias. But did you ever wonder what happened to dear old Joseph called Barsabbas who was also known as Justus?

It’s worth dwelling on this: because amidst the glory of Matthias being appointed an apostle we forget the guy with the silver medal. Yet he wouldn’t have been on the podium at all if he hadn’t at least some special gifts to offer. His Latin name suggests he was deserved, lawful, legitimate. But his fate was obscurity. Vanished into the mists of history as without a trace. Number two. The runner up.

And we can ask the same of ourselves. On this our Patronal weekend, we have an opportunity to rejoice in the 100 or so years of ministry that has gone in this place. Tonight we have with us some ‘old choristers’, and this morning we welcomed folk who hadn’t graced our doors for some time. You are all part of the ongoing story of ministry in this place. And join with the countless number each of whom has made their individual contribution. Yet not everyone gets a mention. Not everyone gets the gold medal. Not everyone has the place of honour. There are infinitely more Barsabases than there are Matthiases – unfair, perhaps, but that does not mean that our contributions are not valued and valuable.

The pictures of Revelation, although they mention specific numbers, are in fact remarkably inclusive. For while the passage can be taken to draw distinctions between what we might simplistically see as ‘good and bad’ – it also talks about the fact that the possibilities of God are open to all:

I saw another angel flying in mid-heaven, with an eternal gospel to proclaim to those who live on the earth—to every nation and tribe and language and people. He said in a loud voice, ‘Fear God and give him glory, for the hour of his judgement has come; and worship him who made heaven and earth, the sea and the springs of water.

In the Week when we remember in prayer the sacrament of Christian Unity it’s good for us to reflect that we are not the sole possessors of the truth: rather we are custodians of Christian insight for future generations. We play our part in the great unfolding of God’s purpose in creation.

For it is by God’s power alone that we live, and move and have our being. Seen in this light, our reading from revelation is more a hymn, more of an expression of fulsome praise than a blueprint of what you have to do to get to heaven. All those folk who spend their lives fixated on whether they are numbered in the 144,000 have got it wrong. The numbers in Revelation are symbolic. They point to all of God's people throughout history in the heavenly Church.

We are worker bees buzzing round our Lord and Master: and yet Jesus believes in each one of us however small or insignificant others might tell us we are. We might never be selected to run for our country, but we are invited to run a race where the prizes are not limited to the first patch of folk past the finishing post. That we run a race at all implies we have some sense of our own worth in the eyes of God.

The great Archbishop of Canterbury William Temple makes the point eloquently.

It is rather agreeable than otherwise to expand the mind by contemplation of an eternal purpose, and there is perhaps a certain amount of thrill and glamour about the conception of the age-long purpose of God now to be wrought out through His Church. But when it comes to what we can do ourselves, it always seems so little, as, of course, it is. What each one alone can do is always very little,, but the way great things are done is by all doing that very little unitedly. And it is the test of our sincerity whether we are ready to do the little things in our power – the things that have not about them a great thrill and glamour, the things that are rather dull, the things we can only do, if we do them at all, because we are genuinely loyal and because we have a purpose that is firmly set, because we have a firm determination to serve Christ as we have the opportunity.

So when we call to mind the legacy of 100 years – like the 100 metres – we may have had to dash here and there to keep going, but really the race is a marathon where everyone’s activity has contributed. Barsabbas is not, paradoxically, forgotten – even if we don’t’ know what became of him. And the remembrance of Barsabbas gives us all encouragement to strive for the kingdom of God in our midst.