Portsmouth and the new Jerusalem
Acts 16.9-15
Revelation 21.10, 22-22.5
John 14.23-29
The Very Revd Dr Anthony Cane
When the Scottish historian Professor Tom Devine was asked if devolved government would lead to the break-up of United Kingdom, he very sensibly replied, ‘The future is not my period.’ I say ‘sensible’ because the future is rarely predictable, consequences cannot be known for certain, and events constantly surprise us, whether we are talking about major world events such as the pandemic or the invasion of Ukraine, or simply what is going to happen to us this coming week.
In 1930 the economist John Maynard Keynes wrote a futuristic essay called ‘Economic Possibilities for our Grandchildren’. He asked his readers to imagine a world in which most people worked just fifteen hours a week, but were also being well paid. This would occur, he predicted, through technological progress, which would increase the output of goods per hours worked. And so,
‘For the first time since his creation [Keynes wrote] man will be faced with his real, his permanent problem – how to use his freedom from pressing economic cares, how to occupy the leisure, which science and compound interest will have won for him, to live wisely and agreeably and well.’
Keynes thought this enticing future would be with us around 2030. With just eight years to go, and with the current cost of living crisis hitting hard, his prediction is horribly wide of the mark. Note, however, his sense that the real issue in life is how ‘to live wisely and agreeably and well’. For me this chimes with a powerful presentation I heard last week, at the National Cathedrals Conference in Newcastle, by Mark Russell, Chief Executive of the Children’s Society. Speaking about the terrible extent of child suffering across the UK, he argued that the key metric for measuring progress in tackling this should be ‘happiness’. The number of GSCEs, and household income, are of course significant, but ultimately what counts is happiness – the extent to which children are living ‘agreeably and well’ in their particular circumstances.
Tom Devine said, ‘The future is not my period.’ For John the Divine, author of our second reading from the book of Revelation, a vision of the future was what sustained him during a time of persecution and exile. He tells of the heavenly Jerusalem, where all the nations are gathered together in a single city, and where the gates are never shut because there is no need for defence. This is because the heavenly city is characterised by the kind of love and peace of which Jesus spoke in our Gospel reading. ‘My peace I give to you’, he says to his followers, ‘I do not give to you as the world gives.’
A sceptic might say that this is all about as likely as Keynes vision of a fifteen hour working week. John’s vision, however, is exactly that – a vision. It isn’t history, or straightforward description, but the poetic words of someone caught up in love and wonder and praise. There are other parts of the Bible like this, alongside a whole variety of material: songs and letters, wisdom and advice, social critique and law, history and narrative – such as our first reading, where we heard of how Lydia became the first named Christian convert on the continent of Europe. And then there are the accounts of Jesus Christ we find in the four Gospels. This Jesus also features in John’s vision, although not by that name; he is the one referred to when John writes of ‘God and the Lamb’ and the ‘lamb’s book of life.’
There are references to the ‘lamb of God’ later in this Eucharist; the phrase evoking the willingness of Christ to sacrifice even his own life, in the cause of love and peace and justice. Jesus’ ministry ended brutally, but it began with promise and hope. It began with him speaking of the future, but in a very particular way. Here are his very first words, in the earliest Gospel to be written: ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near, repent, and believe in the good news.’
What does this mean? Well, John’s vision of the heavenly city is a description of the Kingdom or reign of God, where human destructiveness is at an end, tears are wiped from every eye, and death is no more. Jesus offers the astounding claim that in his ministry, in what he says and does, this future kingdom is breaking into the present. When Jesus reaches out to those who are shunned and despised, because of sickness or disability or social status, we are witnessing (to paraphrase Tom Devine) that the future is his period, and shaping your life according to God’s coming Kingdom can transform lives right here right now. Jesus also reached out to children, whom well meaning adults were preventing from bothering him, welcoming them unconditionally, as they were, in a manner that should inform our support for young people, of whom far too many live lives distorted not only by poverty, but also fear of failure and the hostile judgement of others.
Visions of the future can take a number of different forms. President Putin and Patriarch Kirill of the Russian Orthodox Church share in a vision of a Holy Russia, free of what they see as the evils and corruptions of the west. Martin Luther King, was energised by a dream of racial justice for his and other children. In Silent Spring, Rachel Carson pictured a world without birdsong because of environmental degradation. In each case these different visions shape what we and others do in the present, whether for good or ill.
So what is shaping our actions and priorities? What do we really value, what do we really love? These questions are at the heart of one of the greatest works of Christian theology, City of God. It was written by the fifth century North African bishop, Augustine of Hippo, in the aftermath of the fall of Rome to nomadic invaders. It’s a long book, and it took him thirteen years to write. But at the heart of it is a contrast between the earthly city and the heavenly city, and the relationship between them. Or, to contextualise this, the relationship between this City of Portsmouth, and the new Jerusalem of our second reading.
We all have dual citizenship, Augustine argued, but our ultimate allegiance is to the heavenly city. This city offers a vision of rest and peace that is our ultimate destination; proper peace, not the kind of earthly peace achieved by domination and destruction. The peace of which Jesus spoke is one of the great themes of City of God, along with justice, order, and the supreme good. While Augustine recognises all of these are found in some measure in the earthly city, their true meaning is found only in the heavenly city. The City of Portsmouth motto, ‘heaven’s light, our guide’, expresses this very well.
City of God is a challenge to every individual and every society to choose which city it wishes to belong to, and to show its allegiance by what it truly loves. The purpose of history is to foster the City of Heaven and fill it with worthy citizens, citizens who are transforming their earthly cities through lives of service, hospitality, love and peace. This is what it means to serve in local and national government; this is what it means to be a follower of the crucified yet risen Jesus Christ; this is what it means to live with heaven’s light as our guide. Amen.