Fiftieth Anniversary of Consecration of Holy Spirit, Southsea, Jan 26th 2008.

Readings: 2 Sam 7:1-10/Rev 21:22-27/Jn 2:13-22

Standing before you today makes me wonder what I was doing in January 1958, around the time of the Consecration of this Church. I was an eight year-old boy, just getting used to commuting into Edinburgh to my new school. As far as church life was concerned, we had just switched from North Berwick to Dunbar, because my father preferred the liturgy there, and I didn’t get carsick on the journey. I had recently become an altar-server, but you can be well-assured that we didn’t begin to approach the exotic antics of what goes on here! So while I was up to, shall we say, lesser things, you had a great beano of a Consecration, with bishops galore, one for each altar to be consecrated; among them was Ted Roberts, war-time incumbent of this parish, whose mitre and mediaeval crozier I am using this morning. And right in the thick of it all was my predecessor, Launcelot Fleming, doubtless hemmed in by diligent servers, checking to see that he got everything absolutely right, and perhaps enjoying when he didn’t! Now, fifty years on, we assemble for another beano, as we try not to become too nostalgic in our valiant efforts to be the Body of Christ in 2008.

Let me return for a moment to my childhood. I grew up with buildings in a special way, because my father was an architect. I’m sure he would have approved of Holy Spirit, Southsea. Then there is its unusual dedication, which to my mind (if I can tease you all slightly) is very un-catholic, but very Lutheran, as you’ll discover if you go to Copenhagen! The light and space of this building are probably among its main assets, which give the worshipper an immediate sense of being part of something much bigger. The great thing about churches, too, is that they gather together, in their own kind of memory, the occasions which they have hosted. I’ve even noticed it about my chapel, at Bishopsgrove, which was consecrated around this time only ten years ago. That small sacred space has absorbed many special liturgical events – most recently the Confirmation of an ordinand who came from the former East Germany, where she was baptised as an adult, at some cost to her family’s public life at the time, because of the Communist authorities. I’m sure that you all will bring your own memories of what this place has meant to you across the years.

But the memories aren’t enough, as today’s readings make clear. God doesn’t need a dwelling place, as King David learns from the prophet Nathan, in the Old Testament lesson. And, at the end of the day, we are not called to stay within our own earthly framework, because we are destined to be citizens of heaven, as the New Testament reading reveals. But what is perhaps most surprising is the Gospel-reading set for this occasion, where Jesus cleanses the temple, and casts out the money-changers and those who sold pigeons for sacrifice, with a whip of cords. Here is a stark admission that the holy place always stands in need of God’s grace, which can mean being cleansed by Jesus, not a very comfortable or reassuring experience. We can’t therefore become too cosy with our favourite shrine. We can’t limit God in any way, otherwise we start confining him there; and confining him is not the same as focusing his presence in a particular way, such as whenever we celebrate the eucharist. Remember, in John’s Gospel, Jesus cleanses the temple right at the start of his ministry, after turning the water into wine at the wedding in Cana. So in John’s Gospel, Jesus’ vigorous cleansing is about renewal – and not, as in the other Gospels, the climax to the triumphant entry into Jerusalem on a donkey, and the prelude to his passion.

Vigorous renewal can be quite demanding, as I have discovered in fighting a serious illness. But it has the habit of making one realise the difference between what is really important and what is not. For example, why not appreciate the depth and the sheer undeservedness of offering the eucharist, instead of arguing endlessly over its details? Part of that process of vigorous renewal, I know, is expressed in your plans to re-order the use of this building – and I want to encourage you to persevere in that work, in spite of the funding difficulties. Future generations will thank you for your courage, but they won’t thank you if you shy away from grasping important opportunities for how this sacred space can be used in a different way. Thank your lucky stars you don’t have me as your parish priest, and instead have Father Lewis, in all his wily Welsh wisdom! I would want to do something much more radical, like putting the altar where the choir stalls are, the lectern at the back, build a new font like the Cathedral’s and place it in the centre of the nave, and change the seating arrangements so that the congregation faces inwards, like a monastic choir. (I hear cries of ‘shame on you, bishop!’ at the mere mention of such an idea – but never mind, bishops are always suspect!) All the discussions we have about using our buildings differently – they’ve happened before countless times – are about mission and ministry in a particular locality. The Liturgy, after all, unlike the Bible, does not have canonical status. It changes down the generations, and that applies as much to how we do it as to what we say (or sing) in it.

Buildings do change, because peoples’ needs change. But do not let these, or any other ideas, distract you from the main business of today…….which is to give thanks for this holy place and for this community, and to offer this eucharist for their future together, Church and parish, in the work of the everlasting gospel.

+ Kenneth Portsmouth