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Good morning.

The poet Ted Hughes apparently reported to his friend and fellow poet Seamus Heaney what the experience of meeting TS Eliot was like. Heaney set the description into his poem, ‘Stern’: it was the equivalent of ‘standing on a quay/Watching the prow of the Queen Mary/come towards you, very slowly’. Amazingly evocative of the stature, and perhaps the perspective, of TS Eliot the man and those who revered him.

In her book, Jacob’s Room is full of Books, Susan Hill tells of a rather different sort of encounter. She takes some novels, including some of her own spare paperbacks, into her local charity shop. The lady who serves her, and who obviously has no idea who she is, notes that there are some Susan Hill novels among them and tells her they are very popular; they even have a couple on the shelves at the moment, which are signed. She then goes on to confide that they can sell the signed ones for 10p more.

Self-deprecation, of course, is very endearing, but the contrast between the two encounters prompts us to consider the nature of greatness and the significance of reputation. Jesus drew forward a child when he taught his seemingly status-hungry disciples that the one who is apparently least among them is the one who is truly great. The weakest, the most precarious in their chances of survival, the one with least influence when there are decisions to be made. A figure with the presence of a lilo in the open sea, rather than the Queen Mary. And yet great in the Kingdom of God; worthy of respect and notice.

Loving God, whether we identify with the weak or the strong, or somewhere in the middle, give us grace to find greatness without regard for reputation. Amen.