Happy Birthday - A reflection at Open Table #lgbtqia+ #comeasyouare

by the Revd Dr Louis Johnson on Sunday 20th June 2021 for Open Table Liverpool’s 13th Anniversary

Reading: Mark 4.35-41

Good evening. It’s a real pleasure and a privilege to be with you all to share in this act of worship, and to be celebrating Holy Communion with the Open Table community for the first time. Our reading from Mark’s gospel presents us with one of the iconic images of Jesus in scripture, stilling the storm whilst all around him the disciples are losing their heads in panic. And I think this image might have a general resonance for all of us at the moment, as we try to navigate the storms of the ongoing pandemic, and the different kinds of impacts it is having on our world and lives. Indeed, for me, this passage calls to mind the old cliché: ‘we’re all in the same boat…’, or, in another wording, ‘we’re all in this together’, one of the paradigmatic phrases of the pandemic in this country, heard on this lips of government ministers, scientists, broadcasters, with a note of sarcasm in the news media, and with a tone of bitter irony from those who have borne the brunt of the negative effects of covid-19 and its wider impact. Indeed, it might be more accurate to say, and I have heard it said by others, that we are all in the same storm, but not necessarily in the same boat. After all, some can face the storm in the splendid isolation of a luxury yacht, whilst others are desperately and dangerously crammed with many others into hopelessly inadequate inflatable rafts – some can exploit the opportunities the storm provides – whilst others are victims of it.

So, it is hard to believe that ‘we’re all in the same boat’, and it very often does not seem or feel like ‘we’re all in this together’. And perhaps this sense is particularly resonant today as we celebrate not only Holy Communion, but the 13th birthday of Open Table which, as our liturgy tell us, began in June 2008 In June 2008, when six people gathered with a vision to start a regular communion service for the LGBTQIA+ community, and which since then has grown in numbers and multiplied, with Open Table communities to be found gathering across the country. That there was a need for Open Table at all perhaps tells some uncomfortable truths about the wider Church: if we were indeed ‘all in this together’ as Christians, would there have been a need for Open Table at all then, and a continued need for it now? After all, in our reading from Mark we hear that the disciples took Jesus ‘with them in the boat, just as he was.’ (Mk 4.36) – that Open Table exists might suggest that the wider Church isn’t always as willing as the disciples to take people just as they are. Yet I think there is more to it than this, because Open Table has grown and flourished, and it is ‘only God that gives the growth.’ (1 Cor. 3.7) And whilst Open Table might have sprung up in the face of adversity, I believe that it is a blessing from God for the Church and the world. After all, the Holy Spirit has taken this community in a direction never envisaged thirteen years ago, so who knows where the next thirteen years and beyond will lead.

But, nevertheless, there was a need, and there still is a need, for Open Table, as, for many Christians, church communities are not always places where it is easy to feel like ‘we’re all in this together’ – because, in the middle of the storms of life, our confusions, uncertainties and fears, it is so often easier to divide rather than unite, to run around panicking, throwing stuff overboard and acting like it’s every person for themselves – when we’re in a storm, it is very easy and understandable to feel like we’re on our own, and to make others feel the same way – but it is often in the middle of the storm that we realise that we need each other, need community – and need God. And there is Jesus, Immanuel, God with us – and what is he doing? He’s asleep, on a cushion, no less. At that moment, in the storm, the disciples did not feel that God was with them, even though, paradoxically, he was, right there, in the midst of it, literally in the same boat. And Jesus is with us, right here, right now, in the midst of our own storms, personal and collective – but I think that, so often, this is as hard for us to see now as it was for the disciples then: ‘Surely the LORD is in this place – and I did not know it!’ (Gen. 28.16) as Jacob says after his dream of the ladder at Bethel. And the implications of this, of God being with us, in the boat with us, are as hard for us to understand now, as for the disciples then: “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” (Mk 4.41) We, now, are with the disciples, then, and they with us, here, with Jesus, next to us in the same storm, praying for the faith we do not have, not understanding what we see before us, in fear, in awe, in the same boat.    

So, what are we to do? Well, if one of the callings of a disciple of Jesus is to be more Christ-like, then it seems that when the storm breaks, we need to find the nearest cushion and be still. This reading also calls to mind for me Exodus chapter 14, verse 14, when, on the edge of the Red Sea, with Pharaoh and the Egyptian army in pursuit, and with seemingly no way ahead, the people of Israel tired, hungry, confused, frightened, in middle of the storm, turn on Moses, divided, not united, as panic sets in, and Moses says to them: ‘The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.’ (Ex. 14.14) But how easy is it to be still in the middle of a storm? How easy is it to go against our instincts to panic, to give in to fear? Well, speaking personally, I don’t think it is easy at all – but I also don’t think it is meant to be easy, nor that it is a state of serenity to be achieved, a qualification you can earn, a ‘calmness in the face of adversity’ certificate. And I think this is ok – because God does this for us, God is still for us, and with us, stillness is a quality of God’s grace, God’s gift, to us – and I think it is a journey with God that we’re called to continuously take, not a destination we arrive at, a constant learning of what it means to be still, an ever deeper understanding of who this God is who is with us, who even the wind and sea obey – and this is a journey of transformation. When we share Communion, with one another, and with God, we enter God’s stillness, are drawn more deeply into God’s mystery, where we find ourselves, each other, and God with us, a process in which the wounds we bare are transformed into gifts of blessing for all. Thirteen years ago, a group of people gathered as community, for Communion and, in the midst of the storm, found Jesus there amongst them, offering stillness as a gift – and they offered all they had, their very selves, as they were and are, pains and joys, as gifts – and God transformed it into blessing, ongoing blessing into which we are all invited, as we share in community and Communion, with each other, and with God.