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Good morning.  The Eurovision Song Contest was created in the post-war austerity of the 1950s as an expression of unity through music.  But somewhere along the line it seems to have taken on a different role. Whether the organisers like it or not, Eurovision has become a joyous celebration of camp culture.  Tonight it’ll be marked by countless fancy-dress parties where the music is taken less than seriously. It has echoes of the Medieval carnival, with its exotic dresses and self-mockery.

Carnival has its origins in pre-Christian revels like Saturnalia and Bacchanalia.  In Medieval Europe it was a day when misrule and excess were licensed, a reversal of social norms.  Children became kings and queens, and the poor poked fun at the powerful.  Strangely perhaps, all this was sanctioned by the church as an annual reminder that revolution, not conformity, is at the heart of the Christian message. 

A few weeks ago I was at the Mardi Gras in Sydney, Australia – one of the biggest carnivals in the world. Of course it’s long ago lost its religious roots. But it’s still marked by a subversion of authority. So in Sydney there were camp versions of priests and nuns, police and politicians - laughing in the face of the powers that be.

Theologian Carol Kingston-Smith sees carnival as a metaphor for the Kingdom of God – one day to experiment with an alternative view of society, where hierarchies are turned upside-down and laughter drowns out tears. 

God, you have promised,
To build an upside-down kingdom,
Where the humble are exalted, and the exalted are humbled.
Help us to live in the reckless joy of that promise
As we celebrate the revolution of your love.
Amen