Bible reading: Psalm 46.

Message.

Wales is justly proud of its castles, and there are a lot of them! For instance, we have Caerphilly, Chepstow, Caernarfon, Criccieth, Caldicot and our own Cardiff castle: that’s just a few, all beginning with the same letter, and there’s the rest of the alphabet to go!

Wales may take the prize, but there are of course castles in many other countries. So England has, for instance, Warwick Castle and the Tower of London; Scotland has Edinburgh and Stirling castles. France has the castles of the Loire and Dordogne valleys, Portugal has castles in Lisbon and nearby Sintra, Romania has Bran castle with its alleged connection to Count Dracula; and I remember climbing a steep dusty path to Saint Hilarion’s castle in north Cyprus on a very hot day. And there is one becastled (is there such a word?) country I haven’t yet mentioned: Germany. Perhaps the best-known castles there are the 19^th century fantasy of Neuschwanstein and Colditz, famous for its role as a prisoner-of-war camp in World War Two.

Wartburg castle, situated more-or-less in the centre of Germany, is probably one you’ve never heard of. But, from May 1521 to March 1522, it was the hiding-place of a man whose influence on church history cannot be measured. That man was Martin Luther who, four years earlier, had scandalised the academic world by writing his famous “95 Theses” exposing the corruption and heresy of the Roman Catholic church. (The story of him nailing the Theses to the church door in Wittenberg is probably a myth). Luther’s action attracted the attention of the Pope who threw him out of the Catholic church. In the politics of the time this should have led to Luther’s arrest and execution but Saxony’s Prince Frederick the Wise intervened and it was decided that he would appear before a tribunal, giving him the chance to take back his words. Luther remained defiant so, after the tribunal, he was rushed back to his hometown of Wittenberg by coach. On the way, he was captured by highwaymen, who were really a group of Frederick the Wise’s guards in disguise (you couldn’t make this up, could you?). They escorted Luther to Wartburg castle where he would secretly and safely remain for the next ten months. He even grew a beard and called himself “Sir George” to aid the deception.

Luther, although closeted away, was not idle. He wrote theological treatises defending the Protestant Reformers’ approach to the Bible. He translated the New Testament into German: no mean feat. And, it is suggested, he wrote the famous hymn “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott” – “A safe stronghold our God is still” or “A mighty fortress is our God” (there are over 70 English translations). The hymn’s first line is a paraphrase of Psalm 46: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” and seems highly appropriate for Luther’s situation, as do its themes of safety and security in God, of enemies plotting to kill him, and of setting aside family, friends and even life itself in Christ’s service. However the hymn, often called “the battle-song of the Reformation”, didn’t appear in print until a few years later – and it probably should be sung faster and with more “bounce” than we’re used to singing it today!

Let’s get back to the Psalm, which opens with a scene of elemental chaos. Oceans are surging. Mountains are crumbling. Waves are threatening to wash the psalmist’s world away. These disasters aren’t metaphors but speak of Israel’s real-world experience. Ancient people understood these natural phenomena, the roaring sea in particular, as manifestations of godless chaos. Anyone witnessing them would believe that the world was dangerously out of control, slipping away from God into primeval disorder and they would wonder what disaster was going to happen next. We, with our scientific knowledge, might pooh-pooh such notions; but the fact is that, even though we know why earthquakes happen, understand the mechanism of climate change, and have supercomputers that can predict hurricanes and floods, we are still at the elements’ mercy. We have to batten down the hatches, pile up the sandbags, cower in the cellar or shelter and – perhaps while desperately praying – hope for the best. We may understand what’s happening, but we are powerless to prevent it.

You may think I’ve left something out, and you’d be right. For the people of the Old Testament also believed that natural calamities such as freak weather were judgements sent by God on wicked people and societies. So, for instance, we have Noah’s flood, Elijah’s drought and Joel’s plague of locusts. Such thinking was very common in primitive societies who often set up elaborate rituals, offerings and sacrifices in the attempt to keep on the right side of their gods.

This thinking pervaded Christian thought until fairly recently. In 1750 John Wesley preached a sermon about earthquakes which, he said, were “set forth by the inspired writers [of the Bible] as God’s proper judicial act, or the punishment of sin: Sin is the cause, earthquakes the effect, of his anger”. Wesley went on to single out the 1692 quakes in Sicily and Jamaica, and a more recent one of 1746 in Lima, Peru. (I have to say that he paints his pictures of these disasters in the most lurid detail). Wesley had no doubt that these earthquakes, which killed thousands, were examples of God’s judgement on the wicked. What he doesn’t explain is why, in God’s mercy, some people survived; I also wonder what he said after the Lisbon earthquake of All Saints’ Day 1755, when many of those who died were in church, at worship. Perhaps he thought that the heretical Catholics deserved it …

These beliefs haven’t gone away. In 2007 the Rt Rev Graham Dow, the Anglican Bishop of Carlisle, said that the floods which had devastated his city and left thousands of people homeless were God’s judgement on new laws which, he said undermined marriage. A similar view was put forward by David Silvester, a councillor for Henley-on-Thames; he claimed not only that Britain’s recent storms and floods were divine retribution for the government’s decision to legalise gay marriage but that had warned the prime minister that this legislation would result in “disasters”. And to conclude these modern-day views, let me tell you about Rabbi David Basriwho, in 2006, argued that the bird flu outbreak in Israel had been sent by God because calls to legalise gay marriage had been made in the election campaign. I hope no-one brands Monmouth as an evil town which deserved last week’s floods – however we could perhaps say that those floods are a judgement on us all for our reckless “head in the sand” attitudes to climate change.

So, says this Psalm, calamities and disasters are part and parcel of life on earth and God’s followers (I was going to say “Christians”, but of course the psalm was originally Jewish) must expect them. It would be nice to think that believers will be protected from all difficulties and dangers, that they will be divinely shielded from the perils of warfare or natural disaster. It would be nice to think that, but we know that Christians die in conflicts, earthquakes, plane crashes and from nasty diseases, just like everyone else. That’s why Psalm 91 always bothers me as it speaks of being “saved from the fowler’s snare and the deadly pestilence”, it tells warriors that “a thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand” but that they will remain safe; it says that God “will command his angels to guard us … lifting us up so that we will not strike our foot against a stone”. We’ve all heard Christians thanking God for miraculous escapes (but uneasily ask why did the person standing next to them not survive); but the thought that we will sail through life unscathed seems totally unrealistic.

But the Psalmist takes a different approach. What he (or she – who knows!) is saying is that God is with us, even when the world around us seems to be falling apart. Despite unpredictable natural disasters that change and destroy the earth, God’s people are told not to fear; in the midst of political confusion, the voice of God can still be heard; even as warfare rages, God will bring peace. What people of faith are told to do is “Be still and know that I am God”. This isn’t an invitation or excuse to withdraw from a violent and noisy world, as the psalms never have an ideal of silence. No; somehow we must find God even in the noise and conflict; we should pause and realise that God is mightier than the most powerful army or force of nature. He challenges them and wins. The declaration that God is “the Lord of hosts” signifies his total control of the heavenly realms, while saying that he is “the God of Jacob” asks readers to recall his history with the people of Israel. In other words this psalm says that he is worthy of our trust; what we have to do is “hang in there” by faith. Our confidence does not depend on thick castle walls, defence missiles, flood barriers, tsunami warning systems or bullion in the bank. Good as these undoubtedly are, they will prove unreliable. Our confidence has to be in God.

Can I be honest with you? That’s easy to say – but, at least for me, impossibly idealistic. You may say that my faith should be stronger – and you may be right in saying that. But I’m pretty sure that all of us at times are perturbed by the news, or frightened of the storm that’s about to hit, or nervous about the results of the medical tests which could turn our lives upside-down, or lie awake at night worrying about a problem that’s looming large in our minds. We know that we should “be still and know that God is God” or, to quote that hymn, “take it to the Lord in prayer”; but somehow we don’t seem able to achieve that level of confident calm. The Psalmist’s words of trust in God don’t reassure us: in fact they challenge and taunt us. Perhaps our vision of God is simply too small.

That’s a downbeat note on which to finish; but I suspect that most of you will identify with what I’ve just said. If you don’t, if you genuinely experience “the peace that passes all understanding”, then I’m happy for you, and ask that you pray for the rest of us. But I can’t, I mustn’t stop there. For this is Christ the King Sunday. This is the day when we remind ourselves of God’s ultimate power over everything. So let’s remember how that power was demonstrated when Christ conquered death and led the way through his death and resurrection. Yes: we can still sing our praises to Jesus, our King and Lord of the universe.