The Scorpion and the Egg.
This is one of those many homilies about a mythical person in a mythical parish. This person is a collage of people whom I have been privileged to minister to.
I’m going to call this person Seraphina. Seraphina was one of those remarkable people who danced in the shadows of the parish. She had never been a Sunday-by-Sunday person and was never going to be. Apparently, there had been a ‘to-do’ with Reverend what's-their-name, and so that was that. The exact details of the debate had been lost to time, but according to parish legend, it was a fiery contest with no clear winners. There never are, except maybe the pharmaceutical companies that make blood pressure tablets.
Some Sundays, I’d just look up and she would be there. And by the time the last hymn was finished, she would be gone again.
So the first opportunity I had to really get to know her was when she turned up in the Hospital.
She had been diagnosed with something nasty and incurable. The long-term outlook was pretty grim. That’s me dressing it up and trying to be polite.
Seraphina and I had some scrumptious chats, and she taught me much. I shall always be deeply and profoundly grateful for her patience and skill. And even though she may not have been a Sunday by Sunday pew sitter, I always came away from her bedside knowing that I had been in the presence of the living God. And that was both a scary and an exhilarating experience.
I was young and inexperienced enough to believe that prayer might go some way to sorting all this out. So pray I did, as pray I might, as pray I tried.
I would come back to today’s gospel frequently.
The Lord’s prayer was always a good place to start. I knew how this one went, and I could prattle it off quick smart and give myself an A+ every time.
I would read again the bit about the guy who had unexpected visitors and knocked on his neighbour's door at 3 am in order to get a sandwich loaf and some sliced honey leg ham, and a bottle of Chianti to give to his visitors.
“ Because of his persistence, he will get up and give him whatever he needs”. There! It's in the bible, so it’s gotta be right. If I am just persistent enough, then Seraphina’s next scan will show a reduction in the tumour and we’ll be well on the way to recovery and a full, healthy and happy life.
And I read and prayed the next bit.
“So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened”.
I was sure searching and knocking and asking, all it seemed to be to no avail.
How do we reconcile Our Lord’s promise in this gospel reading with the cold, hard reality of Seraphina in a coffin? For me at least, the scorpion of death had not lost its sting at all.
What do we say when God seems to fail?
A tiny baby step forward was given to me once by a wise old priest. “Hmmph!” he snorted. “This God of ours, I shake my fist at Him”.
And I can tell you that after every Seraphina’s funeral, there is a good deal of passionate fist shaking and long may it last.
Perhaps part of the answer is that we are not supposed to have all the answers. Perhaps our fist shaking and our silent sobs are the prayers that we should be offering more frequently instead of the quick, trite I’m the religious prayer professional person.
And perhaps another part of the jigsaw puzzle that we never see completed on this side of the grave is the line ‘your will be done’ which would infer that God’s will isn’t always done. Perhaps, sometimes God’s last word will be spoken convincingly and lovingly sometime in the future and Seraphina’s story is just Episode 2 of a huge blockbuster mega series the final episodes of which are only just being directed and rehearsed.
One other thing that I think about. I refer you to the very last bit of the gospel with the scorpion and the egg.
‘What parent, if the child asks for an egg, will give them a scorpion?’
On the surface of it, I was asking for an egg for Seraphina(s), and it felt like, feels like I was handed a stinging scorpion.
But what if, by asking for a continuation of poor quality, pain-riddled, morphine fuelled life for Seraphina, a delay of what is inevitable for all of us, I was in fact asking for a scorpion for her?
And is it not possible, that through Seraphina’s gentle, superb and holy ministry from her deathbed, that God offered me an egg? A new life, bursting with blessing, enrichment and potential to share with the world. Maybe now I can finally, authentically learn to say…
For the kingdom, the power and the glory are indeed yours, now and ever amen.