23rd August, 2020.
​
My dear friends,

Face masks, I have decided, are a bit of a mixed blessing. I am sure they help to protect us from Coronavirus. My glasses unfortunately tend to get steamed up when I wear them (a problem when administering Holy Communion...) – but that is a minor issue. A bigger consideration is that one cannot see people’s faces when they are wearing face masks. As babies and toddlers, long before we learn to speak, we learn to read other people’s faces and to react accordingly. If they are pleased, we usually smile back.
 
Face masks have made reading people’s faces impossible. Some of my congregation who have difficulty hearing have said that face masks mean they cannot read people’s lips. On a more basic level, people cannot see us when we smile.
 
This was brought home to me in Great Bardfield Co-Op. As I paid at the check-out, I said ‘Thank you’ and smiled at the member of staff; the meaning behind the smile being ‘Thank you for being open and for serving me.’ Normally, this would elicit a smile in return, but this time the member of staff just looked blank – my smile was concealed by my face mask.
 
I have taken to saying ‘Thank you’ a second time as I am about to walk away from the checkout, accompanied with a little wave of appreciation (not easy with two bags of shopping). I have always thought that saying ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’ oil the mechanism of daily life; and I miss being able to smile at people and see them smile in return.
 
It is possible – indeed probable – that members of the public wearing face masks will not be able to smile at St John Ambulance staff who come to their assistance. I think, though, that we should recall that they may well be smiling behind their masks. Whether they show it or not, most of the public are deeply grateful for the help afforded by St John Ambulance. Sometimes their hearts may be so full that no words are really adequate, and their smile says it all.
 
Perhaps someone will soon invent transparent masks, so that our smiles of appreciation may be seen and understood.

With continued prayers and kindest regards,

The Rev. Dr ROBERT BEAKEN, County Chaplain
TRINITY 11 – 23rd AUGUST 2020.
 
Gospel: St Matthew, chapter 16, verses 13-20
I wonder what the most difficult thing was that you’ve ever had to say to someone. I think one of the hardest things I had to say was to tell my Vicar that I thought God might be calling me to be ordained to the priesthood. I was aged about 16. Every time I tried to say something, I lost my nerve. I thought he’d think I was potty, or say I was unsuitable to be a priest. In the end, God gave me a nudge. The Vicar invited me to read a lesson at the forthcoming Christmas carol service. This was the first time I had read a lesson in church, so he said he wanted me to practice in church and he would listen. When I turned up at the vicarage, he said we had to make a detour to collect something from a nearby rectory. When we got there, I was introduced to the Rector of the neighbouring parish, who said to me, “Well, are you going to become a clergyman, then?”  I mumbled something vague. On the way home, the car stopped at some traffic lights. ‘It’s now or never’ I thought to myself, so I plucked up all my courage and said rather weakly, “You know what he said back there, well, I have been thinking…” I saw the vicar’s face smile, and he said, “I’ve been waiting for you to say something.” I needn’t have been worried after all. He sent me to a weekend conference called ‘You and the Ministry,’ and the rest you know.

            I have rather a sneaking sympathy with St Peter in our Gospel reading. We have been following the story unfold over the past few Sundays. We have seen the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and then Christ walking on water, and calming the storm on Lake Galilee. The disciples must surely have wondered about Jesus, who he was, how he managed to work miracles, heal people, and teach deep things in easily-understandable parables. But, though, they might have thought about Jesus, they hadn’t asked him who he was, or declared their faith in his divinity.

            Christ gave them a push. “Who do men say I am” he asked them? They came over all coy. They mentioned John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the other prophets as possibilities. But Christ was having none of their equivocation. “But who do you say that I am” he asked? Peter could remain quiet no longer. He blurted out what had perhaps been forming in his mind for a long time: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

            Was there perhaps a moment’s silence as the enormity of this sank in? Peter had come out and said what was almost impossible to say. He had acknowledged that the Messiah had come, and that he was Jesus of Nazareth.

            “Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah,” replied Jesus, “for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church, and the powers of Hell will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of Heaven; and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in Heaven; and whatever you loose on earth, will be loosed in Heaven.”

            In other words, Jesus was appointing Peter to be the leader of the apostles, the rock upon which his Church was built. We have become so used to this fact that we have begun to take it for granted. It occurred to me the other day to wonder what Peter made of all this? Did he want to be the leader of the apostles? Would he sooner have been a back room boy? Perhaps he thought that John, or James, or one of the others might have been better qualified or suited?

            But, the point is, Jesus chose Peter. The Lord knew what he was doing. He had absolute free choice. He was not constrained in any way by the culture or the expectations of the others. And in choosing Peter, Christ selected a man with whom we can all easily empathise, for from time to time we are all like Peter ourselves in some ways. Peter’s heart ruled his head – he was weak and wobbly – he didn’t always understand things. He didn’t want Jesus to wash his feet at the Last Supper; and when it became clear that this was going ahead and had to happen, Peter wanted Jesus to wash all of him. He said he would never desert Jesus, and yet that is precisely what occurred in the garden of Gethsemane. Yet, the risen Lord Jesus forgave Peter and rehabilitated him beside Lake Galilee, and used him to establish the Church, his mystical body on earth. Peter ultimately accepted martyrdom, sooner than deny the divinity of Christ.

            What are we to learn from this? Sooner or later, we each and all have to come off the fence about Jesus Christ. It is no good saying hedging our bets and saying: “Well, (1) Christians think Jesus is the Son of God; (2) Mormons and Muslims think he is a prophet; (3) others think he was just a man.” For Christ will not let us get away with this, just as he didn’t let Peter get away with it. The question the Lord asks every human being, sometimes over and over again throughout our lives, is: “Who do you say that I am?”

This is something no-one can answer for us. We must answer for ourselves; and much may depend upon what we say. If we can each say from our hearts “You, Jesus, are the Messiah, the Son of God,” – even if we are weak and wobbly like Peter (and we probably are – I know I am) – our answer will, quite simply, have opened the door to eternal life.
​
But if we open that eternal door and step through it, our lives, though still ours, are henceforth to be shared with the Lord; and, like Peter, we may find that Jesus Christ wants us to do all sorts of things that we never, ever dreamt we should find ourselves doing. We may, as we say today, have to step out of our comfort zone. But, like Peter, we shall find that we are immeasurably richer for it.