'Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.' [John 14.12]

Works have sometimes been contrasted with faith. There have been bitter disputes about which is more important. Surely, the answer is, 'Both'. But works have one quality harder to identify in faith. Works are always 'time-specific'. We either did something yesterday, or we didn't. Whether we believed yesterday - or exactly what we believed - is harder to say.

But we Christians don't just believe in Jesus. We pledge ourselves to follow him; and that means doing things - doing 'the same works that Jesus did, and even greater'.

Like works, place is also specific. I work at Newcastle Cathedral - and I bring you warmest greetings from the whole community there. But I'm still new to the North East; and I keep discovering the sort of local associations that every place boasts, which people only learn about when they live there.

Two years ago, Newcastle Diocese marked the centenary of the death of Josephine Butler, who was born up near the Scottish border. The calendar simply calls her 'Social Reformer'. That's a gigantic understatement! One writer has actually called her 'the most distinguished woman of the 19th century'. [Millicent Garrett Fawcett, quoted in Church Times, 26.05.06]

Josephine Butler was herself the epitome of respectability; yet she spent her life working with, and for, those who were least respectable: prostitutes. She was often savaged - in the press, in the courts, even in the House of Commons. But she went on fearlessly, inspired by the Gospel.

What is respectability, anyway? There's a good definition in the opening pages of The Hobbit, the prelude to Professor Tolkien's great saga. Describing his hero, Bilbo, Tolkien says:

This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood ... for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could always tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is the story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained - well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.' [The Hobbit, George Allen & Unwin Ltd, London, Third Edition, 1966, pp. 9-10]

Those words might have been written about Josephine Butler. She was born a Grey. The Greys were much involved with the Reform Bills of the 1820s, and gave their name to Earl Grey tea. They were frightfully respectable.

Josephine married a clergyman. You couldn't get more respectable than that in mid-Victorian England. The young couple were well-off, extremely able, and good looking. They had it all.

It was a very happy marriage, with three sons and one daughter. But when the daughter was five, she fell over the banisters and died in front of her parents. Josephine was inconsolable. The following Easter, she couldn't bear to receive communion. Her world was just too black.

One day, her husband brought home a poor young woman who had been in prison for killing her illegitimate baby. She was considered unemployable - irredeemably 'lost'. In those days, had someone not taken her in, she would either have starved or been forced into prostitution. As it was, she didn't live very long; but that experience launched Josephine on her life's work.

Grieving for her daughter, she sought to address 'some pain keener than my own'. That pain was easily found - for those not too respectable to see it - in thousands of women who chose prostitution rather than starvation. Mrs Butler campaigned hard to find them alternative careers. She created all kinds of possibilities, and was even instrumental in founding Newnham College, Cambridge.

Most specifically, she worked for sixteen years to get the Contagious Diseases Acts repealed. Those Acts effectively legalised prostitution and demonised women, placing all responsibility - both legal and moral - on their shoulders. Some claimed that the Acts helped to 'reclaim' women detained under their authority. Josephine Butler asked the question no one wanted to hear. 'Where are the men reclaimed by [these Acts]?' [Church Times, op. cit., p. 19]

Mrs Butler was deeply devout. She also believed that Christianity should make us happy. But what does happiness consist of? Staying at home, shutting our eyes, and being respectable? Or holding out a hand to the wretched of the earth in the name of Christ, helping to make God's love specific - and thus believable?

The horrors of 19th century England are behind us. Instead, we have 21st century horrors - which are just as great. Prostitution is still here. Women are still victimised. There is increasing public awareness of a black market operating all across Europe (never mind the rest of the world), where women are bought and sold like any other commodity. Women still live as slaves, even here in Britain. The sex industry is very big business. There's a lap-dancing club next door to Newcastle Cathedral.

But you don't have look at the sex business to see the wretched of the earth. One-third of the world's population will never have enough to eat. An even higher percentage lives hand-to-mouth, with no real security. It's easy us to retreat into 'respectability', and just not look at such people. But what does that do to us?

In that first chapter of The Hobbit, Gandalf the wizard says to Bilbo, 'I am looking for someone to share an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.' Bilbo answers, 'I should think so - in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!' [The Hobbit, p. 12]

This might be an encounter between the risen Christ and one of us. On the whole, we don't want adventures. We would much rather, in the words of the old collect, 'pass our time in rest and quietness'. It took Josephine Butler a long time to recognise Christ's call. 'She complained that God "simply would not leave her alone, but sent hint after hint."' [Church Times, op. cit., p. 19]

What hints is he sending us? We don't have far to look - if only we will. Yet I, for one, am not always willing to see or hear the pain of others. I'd rather not be late for dinner! But as I try to follow Christ, I say to myself - and this morning to you as well - wake up! Listen! For the sake of Christ, don't worry about being 'respectable'. Dare to see those who are dying of thirst, in one way or another, and offer them (at the very least!) a cup of cold water!

If we at least try to meet the fundamental needs of our brothers and sisters, we will do the works Christ does - and even greater. We will gradually change the world, starting with ourselves. In serving others, we become more and more like Christ. And that's surely the best way - perhaps ultimately the only way - to glorify our risen and ascended Lord.

More sermons, modern and historical, available in Norwich Cathedral Library

Back to Sermons homepage