Showing posts with label sermon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sermon. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

The sermon preached at the Convent by The Reverend Maggie Helwig on August 3, 2013



The  Rev. Maggie Helwig
As some of you know, I'm the parish priest at St Stephen-in-the-Fields, so it is quite meaningful for me to be celebrating the saint with you today. The feast of St Stephen was tradtionally celebrated on December 26, the “feast of Stephen” mentioned in the famous carol, “Good King Wenceslas.” Acknowledging that this is a fairly terrible day to try to get anyone into church, the calendar now allows for the feast to be marked in early August instead; which, as far as getting people into church goes, is not actually all that much better, but there you go.

Stephen was the first martyr of the early church, stoned to death by an angry mob, and the prayers and readings for today focus very much on that, and on the pattern he sets for commitment in the face of, and to the point of, death, without returning violence. But I'd like to look at another aspect of Stephen's story today, because he was not only the first martyr, he was one of the first deacons, and that's something we talk about less and perhaps understand even less well than we do his martyrdom.

It is a striking moment in the very early church, and in its way a troubling one, the point when the apostles decide that they are too busy and important to be feeding poor widows, and create a separate order, the deacons, to deal with all this table-serving business. There was more than just that involved, of course. This was also part of the internal politics of balancing the two main communities in the early church, the native Palestinians from whom the original apostles all probably came, and the diaspora Jews whose native language was Greek – the original deacons all apparently belonged to this second group, and it gave them a place within the emerging structure. But it's clear enough from the story in Acts that the creation of the first deacons was in some part about the apostles judging that service to the vulnerable was not quite worth their very important time and energy. It is one of those moments in Acts when the barely-forming church reveals itself to be a very human community, living out the new life in Christ to the best of its ability but always inclined to slide gently backwards into familiar old ways of understanding.

The word “deacon” comes from a Greek verb, diakonein, to serve. It's quite a common verb, but all through each of the four Gospels, the word is used almost exclusively of women. It is women who serve, who carry out the less prestigious, necessary, life-sustaining humble work of feeding and caring and tending. It is Peter's mother-in-law, raised from sickness so she can serve the apostles their dinner. It is Martha of Bethany. It is the group of women who came with Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem and supported the apostolic mission from their own resources.

Women, I can only think now, very much like the amazing Sister Constance, whose long life of service in this world ended yesterday evening – her birthday into glory, as they say of the saints. Women who, like Constance, got out there and did what needed doing for the sick and the hungry and the aging and the dying, did what had to be done until they could do no more.

Now, I said the word was used “almost” exclusively of women. There is one male person in the Gospels to whom the word diakonein is attached, in fact frequently attached. And that one man is Jesus. In fact, it is the word he uses to summarize the entire meaning of his earthly ministry -- “The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve,” to diakonein. Jesus, the incarnate Word who bends down to wash the feet of Peter and the rest, did not see diakonia as unworthy, did not scorn the work of slaves and women but identified it as the fundamental work by which we should understand his whole earthly life. All of it – healing and teaching and feeding, walking with the poor and the outcast, going voluntarily into the hands of power, death on the cross and resurrection – diakonia. Service. The Bread of Life waits upon all our tables.


The order of deacons in the church has been through a number of vanishings and recoveries, and is understood differently in different denominations, but it's made clear, in the Anglican and Roman Catholic rites for ordaining a deacon, that it is still intended fundamentally as a call to service. Deacons are called to serve the vulnerable, weak and needy, to feed the hungry and visit the sick – and more than that, to speak for the vulnerable when they cannot make their own voices heard. To bring the suffering of the world into the church and make it known, and call us all to be responsible to that suffering, to tend the wounds of the world and to try to create a better one.

Everyone who is ordained a priest is ordained a deacon first, and remains a deacon forever. But, insofar as all Christians are called by baptism to share in the life of Christ, and insofar as Jesus identified diakonia as the meaning of his life, in that sense all Christians are called, fundamentally called, to be deacons. And we see the work of the deacon at the core of all those lives we recognize as showing forth the truth of Christ. Sometimes I think we don't need so much to remind ourselves of the priesthood of all believers as we do of the diaconate of all believers. In some ways, that life of service, that humility, that openness to the world, which is the first necessary basis of all our various vocations.

Oddly enough, that carol I mentioned earlier, that old favourite about the feast of Stephen, that song actually gets it; for it is, after all, about a king who sets out into the snow and storm to bring food and firewood to a poor man. It's not without meaning that it's set on Stephen's traditional feast day. For it tells us that all human status, all worldly importance, is an incidental thing, and that the real calling is to get out there in the wind and do what is needful. Get on our bikes, as Constance did. So let us do, then, on this feast of Stephen and always.


The  Reverend Maggie Helwig was appointed priest-in-charge of St. Stephen- in- the- Fields in Toronto  in May 2013.
Before her ordination, Maggie worked as a writer, editor, arts organizer, and human rights activist. She spent nearly ten years as an organizer of the Friday Out of the Cold/Out of the Heat meal program, which began at St Stephen’s and is now hosted by St Thomas, Huron Street; she also worked as a parish outreach facilitator for York-Credit Valley, and chairs the diocesan Social Justice and Advocacy Committee. She has published twelve books of poetry, essays and fiction, and her most recent novel, Girls Fall Down (which includes scenes set in a slightly fictionalized St Stephen’s), was shortlisted for the Toronto Book Award in 2009, and chosen as the Toronto Public Library’s One Book Toronto in 2012. She has been the literary editor of Canadian Forum, the co-coordinator of the Toronto Small Press Fair and the associate director of the Scream Literary Festival. Maggie was ordained priest in the Anglican church in January 2012, and has served as the assistant curate at St Timothy’s, North Toronto. She has lived near St Stephen’s for most of her adult life (currently in the Alexandra Park area, a few minutes to the south) and is very excited to be joining the parish as their priest. She hopes to work with the congregation and the community to revitalize their long tradition of engaged urban ministry in the Catholic tradition at St. Stephen- in- the- Fields in Toronto 

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Christmas Eve at BC House - A Reflection

House of Bread 

Luke 2: 1-20 [ text » ]

“When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem, and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.”



And so the shepherds came to Bethlehem, to the town whose Hebrew name, Beth-lechem, means “House of Bread.” There was no glorious sight for them to see, no mind-boggling spectacle. No. Hidden away in that House of Bread they saw a baby, a baby less than ordinary, cradled in a poor stable. But, with eyes of faith opened by the word of God made known to them, and with hearts trusting in the God who will redeem his people, they saw, in that baby less than ordinary, the Saviour of the world, come to dwell among them.

And now it us our turn to come to Bethlehem, to come to our Bethlehem, our House of Bread, here, at the Lord’s table. Here again is no glorious sight for us to see, no mind-boggling spectacle. Here is only bread, bread less than ordinary, cradled in our poor hands. But, with eyes of faith opened by the word of God made known to us, and with hearts trusting that God does indeed come and dwell with us, we see, in this bread less than ordinary, the Saviour of the world, come to dwell in us.

Such is God’s love, to give us “heaven in ordinarie,” God the Word-made-flesh made bread for us, to nourish our souls, to inebriate our spirits, to make us alive with God, to build his House of Bread in us, that, as he dwells in us, we might dwell in him. Let us then come to Bethlehem, to God’s House of Bread, and taste and see how gracious the Lord is.

- Fr. Bill Morrison

A Reflection on Christmas Eve, 2009


Still to this day the midnight Christmas Eve service holds a special magic for me. The service has a different feel to it than the earlier ones. Maybe it is because there are fewer people and there seems to be a silent hush over the church. Or that there it seems to be a cold chill in the air with perhaps a dusting of snow outside. Things seem to be clearer, shinier and more beautiful. This time of night seems to really embody that ancient antiphon, for while gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, your all-powerful word leaped from heaven.

This is the night that the all powerful word leapt from heaven and came to live among us. Tonight is the night that Mary held that shiny and beautiful baby that came to turn the world upside down, to bring fourth a new way of being, a way of shinier, clearer and beautiful living.

To night is the night that reminds us of our common vocation, our vocation given to us by the birth of this child. To live each day with the awe and wonder that Mary must have felt when she held Jesus in her arms. To bring forth the love, warmth and joy that Joseph must have felt standing beside the Manger. To be willing to share, make room and welcome the stranger as the animals did in the stable. To be willing to follow our own stars and be able to see and hear with fresh eyes and hearts like the shepherds who followed the star and saw the greatest gift of all.

Sr. Amy, SSJD

Thursday, July 30, 2009

A homily at the noon eucharist


Readings for this day

Grace be unto you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Between the words spoken and the words heard, may God’s Holy Spirit touch our hearts with love, hope and action. Amen.

Ephesians 4:1 I therefore the prisoner of the Lord beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

How many times have we heard these words? A passage read at ordinations, inductions, and Thursdays in the convent when the Sisters pray for Christian unity. It’s very moving to me that every week prayers go up from this chapel for the unity of all Christian people.

Paul and his followers write in powerfully poetic language about this urge, this prayer. Their words are probably drawn from early hymns and liturgies. This letter is a celebration of the community of disciples that is the church. Paul believes that the family of believers was established by God’s eternal purpose through Christ. We the members of Christ’s family are to live in unity with God, with one another, and within ourselves. We do this through the Holy Spirit, the Lord and giver of life. This direction toward unity is where things are tending – the telios – the full union in the life to come.

But Paul has a curious turn of phrase which bothers me: “the prisoner of the Lord”. I mention this because I’ve been thinking about that word off and on. I love the passage – but ‘prisoner’ – that’s too strong for me. What ‘prisoner’ means in Greek and for Paul is the subject of another homily.

What I want to focus on is not the word itself, but my reaction to it. I don’t like it. It’s one of the tensions in my own life – perhaps in yours as well. I understand my loyalty to God in response to God’s love and grace in Christ, but also I want my own freedom. I think my freedom is a gift of God. So I want to belong – I want to be part of it – but describing myself as a prisoner is going too far. I can see myself as yoked – loyal – a disciple – a learner – a member of the body - those words all work, but not prisoner.

As I think about it, there is a tension between my need to belong and my need to be free. We see this tension in ordained and professed life; in married and family life; even in our employment. I want to belong but I don’t want to be chained down. ‘May the circle be unbroken’ but ‘Don’t fence me in’.

As part of my vocational work I use an instrument called the Birkman Method and there are two scores that refer to this tension. One is the ‘acceptance’ score, which is how much I need to belong to other people. The other is the ‘freedom’ score which is how much do I need my own freedom. In my case they’re both very high.

That’s why, as I reflect on it, parish ministry as a priest worked very well for me. On the one hand, I belonged to a bishop and a diocese, and to a community, but I was free to set my own schedule, be my own boss and express my individuality. As I look back now, in many ways I was free to be myself. My current work as a vocational consultant also gives me this freedom. But I also need to belong, and this community is one that gives me that opportunity.

You probably know a thing or two about this. I know people – perhaps you do too - who have not entered into marriage or ordained ministry – I suspect religious life as well – because they thought they would lose themselves instead of finding themselves. Their need for freedom was too great to allow them to belong to a community.

And it seems to me that it is to this tension of opposites that God calls us – to belonging – and yet to individual personhood, worthily magnifying God’s holy name. A phrase from the collect for peace at Morning Prayer in the Book of Common Prayer captures it – ‘whose service is perfect freedom’.

I remember a neighbouring minister in the middle of a conflict in his church telling his board, “I am your servant but you are not my master”.

And so that is the unity Paul is writing about – the unity of this tension – I therefore a prisoner of the Lord – beg you from my own person to live out your own life and vocation worthy of your calling together. Be yourself but take responsibility for the community.

And this is the unity that Jesus prayers for, not that we’re to be taken out of the world but that we’re protected from the evil one. We’re here to share in the glory – the ortho – doxa - of the relationship of personhood in the community of the divine Trinity of love and purpose and energy. From the chains of love comes the invitation to join with Christ and be yoked easily and to lightly carry the burden because that is what it means to be learning to live with Christ and what it means to be me and what it means to belong. There is freedom with responsibility. Personhood and purpose.

I therefore the prisoner of the Lord beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

The prisoner of the Lord from the chains of love begs us to take the invitation seriously. Amen.

Notes for a homily preached at the noon Eucharist of the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine - 30 July 2009 by the Rev. Canon Tim Elliott. Tim is an Associate of SSJD. Tim's Website here »

The Rev'd Canon Tim Elliott
July 30, 2009


Sunday, March 1, 2009

Lenten Musings

In the name of God who created us, who redeemed us, and who sanctifies us. Amen.

This is the first Sunday of Lent. A time when we recall those 40 days that Jesus spent in the wilderness fasting and prayer. After those 40 days, Jesus is tempted by the Tempter, the Evil One. In his weakened state, Jesus still overcomes temptation and show us his tremendous focus on his mission in the world, which was and still is, to show us just how very much God loves us.

Nothing could come between Jesus and his sense of mission. This would become a habitual way of Jesus’ living. Jesus would not be put off his mission to show us God’s love even for consideration of his own personal safety or even for other practical reasons.

After his 40 day fast, the gospel tells us that Jesus was famished. I imagine that he was terribly weak as well. His first temptation is to turn stones into bread, to take something which God had created just to be and turn it into something totally different just to satisfy a need. This would have been going against God’s will who created the stones in the first place, just to be stones. So Jesus replies to the Evil One, that the “word” of God is the chief nourishment. We live the way God created us and know God’s love for us there, in whatever situation or circumstance we find ourselves, in weakness or strength.
Next Jesus is taken to the pinnacle of the temple which overlooks the Kidron Valley - the highest point of the temple. The Evil One tells Jesus to demonstrate to all that Jesus is God’s Son by throwing himself off the temple for all to see, trusting in God’s protection. Every one would have seen this demonstration and know Jesus’ divine nature.

But Jesus refuses to test God’s protection and to unnecessarily risk his life which would then make a mockery of his real martyrdom, of his sacrifice on the cross which was to come which was the real demonstration of trust in God’s love for us and of Jesus own love for us.

Finally the Evil One, the Devil, invites Jesus to prefer personal wealth and power, to choose strength over what the world regards as weakness when we are poor and needy, weak and powerless. Jesus again demonstrates how focused he is on his own sense of mission to show us how much God loves us, and how God’s power is shown in our weakness, when he says in reply . . . “Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.”

Our worship is our response to God’s tremendous love for us. God’s love has come to us first, not because we are good, not because we are sinless, not because we are powerful, but God loves us just as we are.

Jesus refusal to let anything come ahead of his sense of mission, of his sense of the love of God for us, of his own love for us, was to become a habitual way of life for Jesus. This habitual way of living, of demonstrating that God’s power is shown in our weakness, had its ultimate fulfillment in his death on the cross leading to his resurrection and ascension into glory. Jesus has given us a model to live our lives within the ordinary circumstances and situations in which we find ourselves, and to let God’s power and love manifest itself through our weakness. Amen.

Sr. Elizabeth Ann SSJD
Lenten Musings at http://www.ssjd.ca
1 March 2009