HOMILY: FEAST OF THE DEDICATION, CHAPEL OF ST. JOHN THE DIVINE JANUARY 17, 2014

1 Kings 8:22-30 Psalm 122.1-9

1 Peter 2:1-5, 9-10 John 20:19-21

In the Name of God, for the Love of God, to the Glory of God. Amen.

It’s really amazing how you can repeat the same feast, year after year, hear the same

Sister Constance Joanna

readings, pray the same prayers, and sing the same hymns and it is always new.

“I was glad when they said to me, let us go to the house of God.” And it is a great gladness every time we come into this place of prayer.

“How awesome is this place” says Jacob in our first reading. “How awesome is this place” the sisters sing. This place is awesome and the feast of the dedication is awesome.

“How lovely is thy dwelling place” we will sing later in the service. And this house of God is indeed lovely.

This chapel is indeed lovely, it is awesome, it is always new, and it awakens our deep gladness. But what is even more lovely and more awesome, what stirs the gladness of my heart even more, is seeing each of you in this chapel – the faces of my sisters, the faces of our extended family – our Alongsiders and Oblates and Associates. And the faces of our guests who come to worship with us. Because as Peter says in his letter, we are called to be living stones, built into a spiritual house on the foundation of Jesus Christ our Lord and God.

It is the community here that is important, and what God calls us to do as a community. There have been times in our community’s history when we have not had a chapel to worship in, when we used whatever space was available wherever we happened to be. Many of the sisters here remember approximately nine years ago, Christmas Eve 2004, when this chapel was still a building site, and we were temporarily living in what is now the Guest House. We each took a candle and walked over to this space, pushing some sisters in wheel chairs, helping along some in walker, so that almost every member of the community in Toronto was able to gather right here, in this space, and sing “Silent Night” by candlelight.

“How awesome is this place,” we all felt. “How lovely is God’s dwelling place” and “how glad we were to go up to the house of the Lord. But it wasn’t because of the building itself or whatever the building promised to be when it was finished. It was because of the people gathered there. We consecrated that chapel in our own way that night as we stood in a sacred circle and sang Silent Night. It was our prayer that filled this place that night, our awareness of the presence of God with us in that moment, in this place.

And in those special moments where we are more than ordinarily aware of the sacred in our midst, we might think of St. Anthony of the desert, whose feast day is today, because it is from the desert fathers and mothers of the 4^th century that our vocation as a monastic community derives. Those first hermits went to the desert to pray for a world that was becoming increasingly focussed on values that conflicted with the gospel of Jesus. But they soon found that they couldn’t do it alone. People came to them for spiritual counsel and they offered hospitality. The found they needed the support of other desert dwellers in their prayer, and they discovered that it was precisely among the community and their visitors that they were most deeply and effectively challenged in their own spiritual growth. And they also discovered that some of them were called out of the desert, just as Jesus was, to carry the message of God’s love and mercy to a troubled empire.

And so they developed the four movements of the spiritual life that Jesus modelled, and which are the foundation of our own monastic life: prayer, hospitality, community, and mission. Their chapel was the desert, their communion table a rock, and their music that of the birds and the wind. And out of that beautiful chapel in the wilderness they were sent to found monasteries, establish hospitals, build guest houses, and teach and nurture the young and the old in the ways of the gospel.

And that is really what this feast day challenges me to think about. We are aware of the beauty and functionality of the physical chapel, of the light that comes in the windows, of the music of the spheres that we are part of when we sing or when the organ plays. But what really makes this chapel a sacred place is that four-fold movement of the spiritual life that the chapel nurtures.

It is first our prayer – the prayer of our hearts and the prayer of our common worship.

It is second our relationships with each other – each of us who is present – our awareness that we are part of the Body of Christ and that Christ is here among us.

It is third our welcoming all who want to come into our communion of prayer.

And it is fourth, and most important, what we are sent out to do when we leave this place, the mission that God gives us for the world.

Prayer, Community, Hospitality, Mission: The four movements of the spiritual life.

And that brings us to the very brief but powerful gospel from John, which illustrates all four of these movements.

It is the night of the resurrection. The disciples are huddled together in fear. Jesus has been arrested and executed as a political insurgent and the same thing could happen to them. Guilt by association. Some of them have hear the stories of the empty tomb but probably all of them are sceptical. And then Jesus is there among them.

The presence of Jesus – that is what our prayer is. That is what we long to be most aware of when we come here to worship. Jesus said to the disciples “Peace be with you” and attests to his reality by showing the wounds in his hands and side. Those words welcomed the disciples, and allowed the disciples in turn to be hospitable to Jesusl

The disciples rejoiced. Jesus’ words of peace overcame their fear. His woundedness and vulnerability gave them permission to be vulnerable. And so they could rejoice in the community of each other with Jesus.

So we have the first three movements of our spiritual life – prayer, relationship, and welcoming hospitaltiy.

And the last two sentences of the passage direct us to the fourth movement of our spiritual life. “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

The disciples would have to leave that house where they had taken refuge. They would have to go out and be the hands of feet of Jesus in the world. We know that they came together often to worship together, as the book of Acts tells us: “they continued in the Apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers.” And then they sent out again, to proclaim God’s love and mercy, to heal and help and teach and preach.

Our community has a mission, and that is God’s mission. Which part of God’s mission it is, at any point in time, changes. And our ministries – that is the ways in which we work out that mission – change. Some of us carry out the mission here, in keeping the house going and all the many creative tasks that happen here each day from cooking to accounting, from sewing to shoveling snow. Some of us carry the mission to St. John’s Rehab, to Victoria, to other places in Toronto and beyond. But this feast of dedication is real a feast celebrating the mission God has given each of us, and the mission we have together as a community.

“Peace be with you,” Jesus said to the disciples and says to us. “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

Homily for New Year's Day - 2014

The readings for today are wonderful but I'm not going to reflect on them directly but rather on the theme of names and the process of naming. I read recently that the most popular name in Ontario this pas year was "Olivia" for girls and "Liam" for boys. In the Church calendar we call today the "Naming of Jesus".

The name, Jesus or Jeshua, was a very common Jewish name at the time of Jesus' birth. It meant "he saves" or "will save" and thus is a very appropriate name for Jesus.

In the scriptures Jesus has been called by many names. Acc. to

Sister ERT

Luke, Gabriel tells Mary that her son will be called "the Son of God". Other names include Emmanuel or "God with us", Saviour, Messiah, the Christ, rabbi. In the Gospel of John there are the many "I am" phrases, phrases which Jesus uses to describe himself: "the bread of life" or "the living bread", "the light of the world", "the gate for the sheep", "the Good Shepherd", "the resurrection and the Life", "the way, the truth & the life" and then there are all the names used in the O antiphons such as: Wisdom, Lord, Root of Jesse, Key of David, Dayspring, etc.. But Jesus was also called blasphemer, a glutton & a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors

& sinners. I suspect that each one of us has also had many names. My parents gave me the name Elizabeth and my mother firmly believed in not shortening names. But at school some of my classmates would call me Liz or Lizzie or worst of all Lizard. Usually I simply would not answer to those names. Some would respect my preferred name and others wouldn't. During university days, I had a boyfriend who called me "Beth". There was nothing wrong with that name but it wasn't me. I could never get used to it. When I worked in a travel agency, my name was changed to Betty without even asking me if that was O.K. I discovered the

change of name when someone called me, "Betty". I looked around to see who it could be. After the third time (like Samuel hearing the voice of God), someone said "Look up". The person calling me was in a loft above the offices so I went upstairs and explained that my name wasn't Betty and that was why I hadn't answered. She responded that the manager's wife's name was Elizabeth and it would be confusing to call me Elizabeth as well but the manager's wife didn't even work in the office. Over the next 18 months I got used to the name "Betty" and quite liked it. My nieces and nephew still call me Auntie Betty because it was easier for them to say Betty than to say Elizabeth when they were small. So when I went

to work in Japan and was asked if I had another name besides Elizabeth (another CMS missionary was called Elizabeth), I said Betty. So for two years I was called Betty by all English speaking people and "Rolfe Sensei" by all Japanese speaking people.

This was fine; I became accustomed to being Betty. What was interesting was what happened when I came home and started teaching in the school from which I'd graduated 11 years earlier. There were still teachers who knew me as Elizabeth, yet I'd become so accustomed to the name "Betty" that that was how I introduced myself to everyone else. It was almost like having a split personality. After a couple of years I realized I was "Elizabeth" not "Betty". Why? I don't know. It just felt right. It was who I was. So I

asked people to call me Elizabeth and most did and do. I still get caught at Christmas sometimes and forget to sign myself as Betty or Auntie Betty to those who knew me that way. And those aren't the only names I've had. Anyone in the Guiding world called me "Ste" (which was Lord Baden-Powell's nickname); it was the name given me by the members of the first guide company I led in the 1960's. And at least one person knows me as ERT which are my initials (Emergency Response Team). I've also been called a heretic. I could go on. What do names mean? What does your name mean to you? Have you ever had more than one name? If

you had the opportunity to choose a new name, what name would you choose and why? If you have or have had several different names, what does each of them say about you as a person? Who is the authentic "you" behind all of those names — the person you were created to be. When Samantha Caravan was here recently, she quoted a poem by Dietrich Bonhoeffer which he had

obviously written while in prison and it really spoke to me:

Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for the words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine.
When Br. Jude was with us in 2012 to lead our Long Retreat, he kept asking the questions:
Who Am I and who are you, God?
These are very good questions to ask at the beginning of a New Year? 
A variation of the question might be:
Who am I now and who do I want to be in the coming year?
What is my name?
I couldn't resist ending with T. S. Eliot, "The Naming of Cats" although I'm sure many of you have heard it several times.

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have Three Different Names.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey –
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter –
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina or else Jellylorum –
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover –
But The Cat Himself Knows, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable, effable,
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

SO. . . . Who are you at the very centre of your being?
Who are you when you are being most authentically yourself?
What is God's name for you?
And

Who is Jesus for you? Which of Jesus' many names or descriptors is most helpful for you?

HOMILY, ST. JOHN’S DAY St. John’s Convent, December 27, 2013

Exodus 33.18-23; Psalm 92.1-2, 11-14; 1 John 1.1-9; Luke 5.1-11

In the name of God, for the love of God, to the glory of God. Amen.

When I was living in Minneapolis back in the late 1960s, I had a friend who earned her bread and butter working as a graphic artist but at heart she was an abstract oil painter. She was captivted by light and colour and form. She gave me one of her paintings, a large one about 4 feet high by 2 feet wide – abstract of course, with a lot of blues and oranges and dynamic form and movement. I asked her if it had a title and she called it “The Kansas City Zoo.” Now there was absolutely nothing about that painting that would make you think it was depicting a zoo. But that painting graced my living room wall in three cities I lived in, and it was really important to me. You see, Jane was a mentor to me. She taught me how to see colour, how to see light in a new way.

One time when I was still living in Minneapolis, Jane and I made a car trip to a ski resort in northern Minnesota called Lutsen, not far south of the Ontario border and what was then the twin towns of Port Arthur and Fort Henry (now Thunder Bay). Everything was still deep in snow, and if I hadn’t been travelling with Jane I would have seen nothing but boring brown and white the whole trip. But on the way up to Lutsen Jane would say things like “look at those beautiful red berries on the side of the road” or “I just love the amazing subtle shades of brown and grey in the forest” or “the snow is brilliantly blue in the sunlight” or “see how the light just dances off the snow,” and so on. That trip was literally an eye-opening experience for me – I felt as if I had been blind before, and now I could see colours and shades and hues and textures everywhere. Nature came alive to me in the dead of late winter.

I expect all of us have had experiences that we would call eye-opening. Maybe not about colour and light the way I did with my friend Jane. But we have all had mentors who have helped us to see in a new way.

And that is what our Patron St. John has been for me. He has helped me to see the light and beauty in the face of Jesus, in the face of my sisters and others that I am privileged to know through this wonderful life that we live. And I want to reflect on that for a few minutes in connection with the readings we have just heard.

In the reading from Exodus, Moses asks to see the glory of God – the light of God. But he is granted only to see God from the back, because just as on Mount Sinai, seeing the face of God would have blinded him.

In our gospel reading today John is given a more direct gift of sight. Because he has met God in the person of Jesus he can look upon the glory of God, the light of God, in a way that Moses never could. Jesus, his friend, showed John the glory of God – and that glory was what must have called John, along with his brother James and their friends Andrew and Peter, to leave their fishing and respond to Jesus’ invitation to “catch people.” They were first drawn into a relationship with Jesus in fellowship and teaching and prayer. Out of that relationship came their life mission – to share with others the beauty, the love and glory of God as they saw it in the face of Jesus.

In the first letter of John, we hear these beautiful words: “We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands concerning the word of life. . . . this is the message we have heard from him (that is, from Jesus) and proclaim to you, that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all.”

There is no darkness at all. Even in the midst of personal pain and grief, even in war zones, even in the midst of widespread power failures in our city, in the cold and the dark, the light of God shines through as we share that light with each other. This past week is a good example – the beauty and glory and love of God were seen everywhere – in neighbours helping each other, in churches opening their doors as warming centers and church members going door to door in their neighbourhoods checking on the elderly who might be cold and alone, in people gathered around the fireplace in one room, seeing family in the light of the fire in a way they never could watching TV or sitting in their own rooms doing their own thing on their electronic devices. And we saw it here over Christmas, with those who were finally able to come for the Christmas retreat, in the faces of those who joined us for Christmas dinner, in the light and joy on the faces of those who would otherwise have been alone.

There is a pattern here that we see wherever the love of God touches people, whether they

Sister Constance Joanna

are aware that it comes from God or not – like Moses who was called the friend of God, and like John the beloved disciple, we are first called into a relationship of love, and we are then sent out to share that love.

The message of the scripture readings today is that the light and glory and love of God is so brilliant that we have to share it. We can’t keep it for ourselves. We can’t focus on our own comfort and safety. The glory of God spreads when it is shared. That is what friends and mentors do for each other. That is what neighbours do in a crisis. That is what John did when he left his fishing and went around with Jesus, spreading the glory. And that is our own mission as a Sisterhood.

“This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light and in God there is no darkness at all.” May we help to spread that message, that light, and that glory.