Two Tales of a City
Sunday 10 May 2026
The Very Reverend Nicholas Papadopulos, Dean of Salisbury
Zechariah 8: 1–13
Revelation 21: 22—22: 5
Tonight’s readings are not so much a tale of two cities as two tales of a city…
The first is the prophet Zechariah’s account of God’s words to Jewish exiles returning to Judah from Babylon, to rebuild their Temple. The second is the prophet John the Divine’s account of God’s words to believers beyond the bounds of Palestine, anticipating an era of severe persecution.
The accounts are written centuries apart and are addressed to different audiences in different contexts. But both articulate a vision of a city – Jerusalem – a city which has borne and continues to bear a burden of significance, meaning, and interpretation which surely exceeds that of any other city in history.
The two tales have much in common.
In both, Jerusalem features as the locus of God’s ultimate reconciliation with humankind. ‘I will return to Zion, and will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem’ God promises Zechariah. ‘The city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light’ John promises his hearers.
In both, God’s reconciliation with humankind brings blessings for the city’s inhabitants. In the first, the returning exiles sit in the city streets if they are old and play in them if they are young. In the second, night never falls and the gates are never shut. How often are portraits still painted of an era when doors were unlocked and children played in the streets! Across the centuries it’s been a powerful image of perfect unruffled security.
And in both, the very soil of the earth responds to the presence of God. In the first, vines yield their fruit and the ground gives produce. In the second, the tree of life blooms and its leaves offer healing to the nations.
To the prophet Zechariah and to the prophet John Jerusalem means reconciliation; tranquillity; fruitfulness and healing. The poets and visionaries who have followed them have not stopped imagining and re-imagining the city. Many of these imaginings and re-imaginings are part and parcel of our worshipping life. They tell tales of Jerusalem the golden, with milk and honey blest; they recall that glorious things are spoken of the city of our God; they name it as light’s abode whence peace doth spring; they claim it as the city we will build in England’s green and pleasant land.
Jerusalem is so many things to so many peoples. And to you and to me Jerusalem is…what?
It’s forty-eight square miles on a plateau of the Judean Mountains, between the Mediterranean and the Dead Seas. It’s a human settlement known to Zechariah, to Jesus of Nazareth, and to the prophet Muhammad. It’s a bitterly contested space at the epicentre of history’s most intractable conflict. It’s a metaphor for the final realization of God’s presence in and rule over all things.
Ancient city; conflict zone; icon of God’s ultimate purpose – but what does Jerusalem mean? What does it mean to us, this Easter?
Jerusalem is the place where God chooses to dwell. Where God chooses to dwell there is life; there is no need for any other source of power. Where God chooses to dwell there is peace and there is light; there is no fear and no darkness; children play in the streets and the aged sit with their staffs in their hands. Where God chooses to dwell the earth around is abundant; there is new life springing up in abundance and for the enjoyment of all.
Sisters, brothers: you and I are the place where God chooses to dwell. We are built to be Jerusalem – the place, the people from whom shines the light that lights up the earth; in whom there is peace; around whom there is abundance. We are the new Jerusalem – we are those from whom the new Jerusalem will be built. May it be so!