Sermon by the Bishop of Norwich, the Rt Revd Graham James at the funeral of the Rt Revd Lord Runcie of Cuddesdon, Archbishop of Canterbury 1980-1991.

St. Albans Abbey and Cathedral Church

I have two texts, a very unRuncie like practice. The first you have just heard from Luke's gospel.

"all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted." (Luke 18.14)

That text speaks for itself, and this address is but commentary upon it. The second comes from St. Paul, writing to the Corinthians.

"I have become all things to all people, so that I might by any means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel." (1 Cor. 9.22,23)

It is odd that this missionary virtue should be looked upon with suspicion in our own day. St. Paul became all things to all people through conviction, not uncertainty. He says "To the weak I became weak so that I might win the weak…..To the Jews I became a Jew in order to win Jews….." It didn't always work, of course. When Paul preached in the Areopagus he tried eloquence to impress the sophisticated Athenians. But he founded no church there. Yet to the Corinthians Paul spoke of the church as the Body of Christ in a city where the human body was the source of peaks of sensual excitement. These days we might say that Paul began where people were to draw them to faith in Jesus Christ. Paul's subtlety has often been under-appreciated - but then subtlety, if true to itself, should pass unnoticed.

In many respects Robert Runcie was not at all like St. Paul. Height, for example. According to Paul's account of himself he was neither attractive, tall nor elegant. Sometimes people were surprised to discover that Robert Runcie had such a fine bearing. On the way out of Liverpool Cathedral one day a woman greeted him with "Well, fancy that. I thought you were a little shrimp of a man."

Robert loved returning to honest Merseyside and to St. Faiths, Great Crosby where the colour, order and beauty of the Catholic tradition of the Church of England captured his soul as a young man. He received his religion through the eyes quite as much as through the ears. His faith was a faith of all the senses. Sermons were to be elegant, poetic, an art form. They were laboured over, words weighed for both truth and impact. They were to reflect the attractiveness of God. Robert wanted people to be drawn in their humanity to the God in whose image they were made. He always saw God in them as well as the flaws and failures that make human beings seem so frequently ridiculous. It is this incongruity between our status as children of God and our vanity and foolishness that was the source of so much of his humour. That was why he was so patient with a fallen world and a defective church. He could never be a recruit for the single issue fanatic or the moralising majority. His sense of proportion frequently irritated them.

But this did not eradicate Robert's urge to identify with whoever he met. To the Jews he became a Jew. With the weak he was weak. He would connect. "When I was a country vicar in Oxfordshire", he would say to the rural clergy rather than "when I was a theological college principal" which took up a shade more of his time at Cuddesdon. "When I was a curate on Tyneside" was a good line for the inner city though some of the leafy boulevards of Gosforth do stretch the boundaries of inner city ministry a bit. I heard him describe his father variously as "an agnostic Presbyterian" or "a Presbyterian agnostic", depending on just what degree of subtlety was appropriate. His mother was frequently mentioned with affection as "a hairdresser on an ocean going liner". In all this there was a deep love for his roots, his history and his family. He instinctively put himself at the service of others. That was why he was a good pastor. His was an incarnate religion.

In many ways the episcopate is not family friendly. The diocese - let alone a worldwide Communion - is an irritating competitor for the wife seeking her husband's attention or the child or teenager wanting some fatherly care. The freshness and liveliness of the Runcie family shows how it can be done, but Robert would never have been able to tell you how. That's partly the secret. Before we had ever met Lindy, my wife had an article written by Lindy on display in our kitchen. It was titled - "Clergy wives are people too". There has never been any doubt about that in Lindy's case. With her by his side there was no chance of Robert becoming donnish and remote.

Robert Runcie was an achiever but curiously resistant to recalling his achievements. I cannot remember a single occasion when he made reference himself to his military cross, his first in Greats or of other activities that could have made him a bore rather than a boon-companion. Robert was reticent. That's one of the reasons why so many of us loved him.

He was also curiously detached from material possessions. This wasn't because he lacked an aesthetic eye. He loved beautiful things, but there was a spareness to him and a discipline as well. He may have liked fine wine, but his intake was moderate, which is perhaps why he needed a succession of chaplains who could be relied upon to finish any bottle of champagne.

Those few of us privileged to work with Robert Runcie also prayed with him every day. He was incapable of public displays of piety, but his Christianity permeated the whole of his personality. It was no easy faith. There was nothing glib about it. That was why it convinced, or put better he convinced. There is, of course, a much bigger tale to be told than is appropriate for a funeral sermon. There is the story of the tank commander; the trainer of clergy; the Bishop of St. Albans who made this diocese an exciting place and who loved this city; the priest whose instinct it was to identify with institutions yet who became the focus in the eighties for dissent from prevailing political orthodoxy; the archbishop who travelled the Anglican Communion supporting those in more threatening situations to which Desmond Tutu's presence today is testimony; the ecumenist - who will ever forget the Papal visit, though the real breakthrough of his time came with the Lutheran and Reformed churches in Germany. Then there was the retired Archbishop whose ministry continued to the very last. It was only two weeks ago today that he delivered his final address here for Peter Moore's funeral. The day before on the telephone he tried out a few sentences on me. Dying himself, he wanted to get exactly right what he said to honour a friend and colleague and to honour God. He spent himself.

Yes, there is more to be said. Indeed as we all know, there is a biography still to be written. What we do today is honour Robert Runcie the man, the husband, the father and grandfather, the companion and friend, the Christian priest and bishop. He left people feeling better - more in touch with themselves and with God - for having met and known him. He was Good News, and that is spiritual stature.

A poem by Ann Lewin called After Word draws the themes of this address together.

Thus heavens and earth were
Finished, and were good. But
In the middle of the night, God woke.
'It might be burdensome,' he thought,
'To give dominion over all created things
To earthling folk; lest they should
Take themselves too seriously,
I'll give them music and a
Sense of fun, to lighten duty and
Enliven praise.'
So in wise mercy did Creator God.
And all the seventh day, he rested,
Well content.

On this seventh day we delight in Robert Runcie's life and ministry which has lightened duty and enlivened praise. Robert, may you now rest in the refreshing peace of our Creator God, to whose wise mercy we commit you, well content. Well content. Amen.