Sermon
19th October 25
St Luke, who is described, in Colossians chapter 4, as “the beloved physician”, is the Patron Saint of doctors. It is right that, on this day, we focus our thoughts and prayers on all who seek to bring healing and care to others. Although conscious that this will take a little longer than my normal sermons, I want to share with you something which happened to me about three months ago, because of what it said to me about that healing and care, but also something about this eucharist in which we share.
I was in St Thomas’ hospital appropriately on St Thomas’ day, 3rd July. It was five days after my first operation, three days after the second. The consultant decided on the morning ward round that I needed to have a blood transfusion. It didn’t happen until very late that day: it was probably about midnight before the blood started flowing through the canula into my arm.
I was tired and very weak and slept for a while. I looked out of the window and, from the clockface on Big Ben, saw that it was nearly one o’clock. Whether it was the sleep or the initial benefit of the transfusion, I don’t know, but I felt better and stronger that I had for several days. I looked up at the bag of blood hanging above my head, by now perhaps two thirds full, and my first thoughts were about who it might have come from: a man or a woman? From thinking about him or her, I moved on to thank God those who selflessly donate their blood for the benefit of others and then, by extension, for all those who give their time and effort in caring for others, whether or not they even know them.
I probably dozed for a while before looking at that bag of blood again. I thought about all the effort involved in transferring it from that unknown donor into my body: the blood transfusion staff, the scientists involved in testing and treating it, the porter who had brought it up to the ward. That led me to pray, as we all do on this Feast of St Luke, for who work in our NHS and other healthcare providers. For our doctors and nurses and the other more obvious ones, to the medical researchers and laboratory staff, to those who facilitate their work such as porters, cleaners and hospital administrators: so many people, in so many different ways, bringing care and healing to others.
By now, the hands on Big Ben, were indicating it was just gone two o’clock. I looked up at the bag, now with about a quarter left. I watched as the blood dripped, drop by drop, into the tube, leading to the canula, and thus into my body. I remembered some altarpieces that I had seen, occasionally in Italian churches, and more frequently in art galleries. They were made in the days when the Priest stood at the altar, facing east, and thus looking at the art behind and above the altar, instead of out at the congregation.
I was thinking about the altarpieces showing Jesus on the cross. But the blood dripping from his hands is not falling to the ground: rather angels are there with small chalices to collect that blood. The iconography is clear: as the Eucharistic Prayer is said, the wine in that chalice on the altar becomes for us the blood of Christ. Blood freely given at personal cost, given for the benefit of others who received it and who, because of it, receive healing.
It all became clear in that hospital bed in the middle of the night. I was receiving blood given by a generous selfless donor, that was already making me feel much better. This was an icon of what happens at mass when I receive the blood of Christ from that chalice, again for my healing. The blood of Christ encapsulates what happened on the Cross and, whether in the wine of the Chalice, or through faith placed in Jesus, it brings healing and salvation for those who believe in him.
There are those who can meditate at a fixed time and place. Several folk meditate in our Chapel at Bromley College for half an hour, often in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. That’s never worked for me. I find the same with prayer generally. Outside the formal liturgy, I don’t pray at set times and in fixed places, but out of situations in which I find myself. But that is another sermon: this one has been too long already!
Amen
