The poet, WH Auden, once divided the human race into Arcadians and Utopians. The Arcadian instinctively locates happiness in the past; his happy place is green and rural he is at home in a garden. The Arcadian values leisure and memory, the aesthetic and the authentic. He seeks to rediscover and reconstruct the lost glory; he holds on to what is traditional and tests the modern by its continuity with the past. The Utopian on the other hand looks for happiness in the future; her happy place is urban and architectural she is at home in the city square. The Utopian values activity and change, invention and productivity. She seeks out what is new, exciting and revolutionary, and all that challenges the past. The Utopian is politically energised and works for the building of the New Jerusalem.
Auden saw himself as an Arcadian and so he wrote rather self mockingly, Glancing at a lampshade in a store window, I observe it is too hideous for anyone in their senses to buy; he observes it is too expensive for a peasant to buy. In my Eden a person who dislikes Bellini has the good manners not to get born; in his New Jerusalem a person who dislikes work will be very sorry he was born.’
The imagery which inspires Auden’s ironic distinction is clearly Biblical the Bible starts in the Garden of Eden and ends in the heavenly city of the New Jerusalem and Christianity is situated uncomfortably midway between the two. Most of Jesus’ ministry was spent in the rural villages of Galilee. Many of his parables are located in the countryside; he is after all the Good Shepherd. When he comes to Jerusalem he is betrayed, tried and taken outside the city to be crucified. He is the victim of the power of Rome. And when the author of the book of Revelations came to pen his wild poetic visions it is Rome which represents all that is against God. The city is condemned for its idolising of wealth and its traffic in human bodies and souls. It is the city we are all capable of creating.
And yet at the end of his text John does not lead his readers away from the city back into the pastoral idyll of a New Eden. His image of heaven come to earth is the New Jerusalem – the city whose light is the glory of God. The dominant features of this city are a river and a tree Arcadian imagery in a Utopian setting. The river harks back to an image in the book of Ezekiel, where the prophet sees a river flowing from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea making its salt water fresh. This is pure water, living water, that baptises what is dead and makes it live. The river flows out between the roots of the tree of life whose leaves are for the healing of the nations. There is a curiously international feel to this city. The kings of the earth bring their glory into it. Nothing false, cruel idolatrous or impure can enter; only those whose names are written in the book of life. But the book of life is bigger and more inclusive than we might have expected. The glory which the nations bring in is their glory things which have been made according to their own imagination the music of the New Jerusalem is more than just ecclesiastical. Drawn by the light of this city all who are not actively opposed to it are drawn in, with the gifts they have to offer. We shall have strange neighbours in the New Jerusalem. We shall not be able to choose by whom we shall be nourished.
We see a glimpse of the New Jerusalem in Paul’s experience in Macedonia. He has had an unexpected vision of a Macedonian a Gentile calling him out of Asia Minor into Europe. He comes to this Roman colony of Philippi and stays there, but ironically it is not until he goes out of the city on the Sabbath to a place of prayer by a river that he meets someone who is prepared to listen. Lydia is baptised and then invites Paul and his companions back into the city no longer as strangers but as guests.
Though we may have the view from the hill we are part of a city of 3.6 million people and one of its 479 churches. We are part of a city in which extremes of wealth and poverty have grown even greater over the last ten years. We are part of a city in which teenagers are knifed, trains are blown up, schools and hospitals struggle to keep pace with change. We are part of a city where almost every nationality, race and religion on earth is represented. And it is perhaps as true of us, as it was of the Jerusalem that Jesus wept over, that we do not know the things that make for peace.
And yet we are also part of a vibrant and curious city a city in search of spirituality. Yesterday a group of strangers, some Christian some not, sat down in this church to describe five objects we had each chosen to represent our spirituality. Some of the objects were overtly Christian most not. All of them represented part of each person’s story and each person’s search for meaning and significance. Some found it difficult to associate spirituality with objects. Others were very imaginative. On the table among much else, were a travel alarm clock, a packet of cigarettes, several candles, pens and pencils, a bottle of water, a drawing of a cat, a dog lead, a packet of Darjeeling tea, a piece of bark, several stones, an old woven bag which once contained horse’s oats, a credit card and an ipod, a pearl necklace, a feather, a black cap and an onyx egg. Though there was some discussion, the session was most alive when people talked about themselves, their aspirations and their spiritual journey. Ironically the conference was organised not by the church but by a group of young graphic designers. But perhaps that isn’t so strange in that their primary concern is communication and what the church has to rediscover is a way of communicating with a city in search of spirituality. Like Paul perhaps we have to find a way of finding groups of people who are praying, pondering, or spiritualising in their own way and to share our search with theirs. In such a group a vicar has a hard time. His instinct is to defend Christianity when it is criticised, to make judgements, to explain and teach and take the lead. But in such a group that would be wrong he has to listen, to respect, to learn and to take part as one of the group. And perhaps that is what Christians in their ecclesiastical cocoons have now to learn. The old Adam in Eden was thrown out of his garden; the new Adam Christ was driven out of the city to be crucified. If we want to share the glory of the New Jerusalem we have nothing to lose but our securities.
Stephen Tucker