Homily at the Requiem for Sr. Constance Murphy, SSJD, St. JamesCathedral, Aug 10, 2013

The Reverend Bill Whitla, Associate SSJD

+In the name of God who made us, who gave Love to us, and who fills us with blessed spirit. Amen.

It is humbling to consider Sr. Constance’s long, long life of love and service in her beloved community. Sister Constance was born in 1904, just three years after the death of Queen Victoria in 1901. Who, we might ask, was the American president when Sr. Constance was born? Well, beginning with Theodore Roosevelt, she has lived through the terms of 19 of the 44 Presidents of the United States. And in her own religious order, the Sisters of Saint John the Divine, she has served through the leadership of five of the six mothers superior—only the Founding Mother Hannah was before her.

Some here, like Sister Beryl, will remember her for some seventy years—Sister Beryl went to Qu’Appelle Diocesan School as a boarder in 1943 when she was just turned a teenager. Sister Constance had joined the community ten years earlier, and had already been at QDS for five years before that youngster, now Sister Beryl, arrived. When she first saw her, Sr. Beryl says, “She was in motion, hurrying somewhere, with her arms full of books and papers.” That’s it —a nun in motion, hurrying here and there, teaching the young, a lifetime and more working on behalf of the elderly. She said so herself: “”And I’m just going to go on. Seize the day, that’s my motto.” Well, didn ‘t she just go on—and talk about seizing the day! I only remember her for a mere fifty-eight years,when I was a server for Father Freeland at the Church Home for the Aged, to which she had come in 1958. And, of course, it was in gerontology that she was a pioneer, making an enduring contribution as a founding member with Dean Charles Fielding of the Canadian Institute of Religion and Gerontology and numerous other associations and organizations where her expertise was asked for and freely and incisively given, and for which she received numerous awards—two honorary doctorates, chosen the senior of the year in Toronto in 1999, awarded the Ontario Senior Citizen’s Achievement award, the Confederation medal, and so on—And not least, a canon of this Cathedral! While still in her wheelchair, she was still going —still seizing the day. But—and this should be stressed equally, she was a praying sister, she lived her life with her sisters, and she died in their midst.

In her Baltimore family it was often the custom to name children with at least one of their names from the Bible. So her father’s middle name was Benjamin. She alone, among her brothers and sisters, so far as I know, had no middle name [though some have more recently told me that she did indeed have a middle name—Elizabeth]. She was just Constance. The word means “Steadfastness, firmness, resolution, faithfulness, fidelity . . . Persistence, and perseverance” (Oxford English Dictionary)—all those she certainly was—along with endurance and fortitude., and with the final and not quite so flattering a connotation, stubbornness. But the word “Constance” or “Constancy” does not occur in the Bible—not in the King James translation, not in the RSV or any of the other standard translations. But I have found one passage from the Bible that names the great virtue of constancy, in an almost unknown translation by the Anglo-Irish Plymouth Brother, John Nelson Darby. Here is Darby’s translation of 1 Thessalonians 1: 3–4. Paul was speaking of Thessalonians, but I am thinking of Sister Constance:

“We give thanks to God always for you all, making mention of you at our prayers, remembering unceasingly your work of faith, and labour of love, and enduring constancy of hope, in our Lord Jesus Christ . . ., brothers and sisters, beloved by God, your election.

I doubt that the Darby translation was available in 1904 in Baltimore, so I wonder if her name came instead from one of the books that the well-read and well-educated Murphy family had nearby, one that their devout religious upbringings at St. James’s Episcopal C hurch Baltimore, would foster under the Rev’d George Freeman Bragg, himself one of the first black priests in the Episcopal Church, and a tireless worker for black education, black voting rights, and black equality. Through him and through their own interest they would have at hand, Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. And the word occurs only once there too. In the last chapter of the second book, Mr. Great-Heart says to Mr. Valiant-for-Truth

And did none of these things discourage you?

Valiant-for-Truth: No; they seemed but as so many nothings to me.

Mr. Great-Heart: How came that about?

Valiant-for-Truth: Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true had said; and that carried me beyond them all.

Mr. Great-Heart: Then this was your victory, even your faith.

Valiant-for-Truth: It was so. I believed, and therefore came out, got into the way, fought all that set themselves against me, and, by believing, am come to this place [and then they sing this hymn]

Who would true valour see,

let him come hither; 

one here will constant be, [there is the word] 

come wind, come weather; 

there’s no discouragement 

shall make him once relent 

his first avowed intent 

to be a pilgrim.

So I think of Sr. Constance as this constant pilgrim, going through the river with Mr. Valiant-for-Truth . “and all the trumpets sounded for them on the other side.”

She was born in Baltimore into what was known as the Murphy clan—and what a clan it was! Her grandfather and grandmother were both the children of slaves and somehow got an education, enough for her grandfather, John Henry Murphy to establish the Baltimore Afro American, the parent of several highly influential alternative newspapers, including one in Washington, that became the largest black paper on the Eastern seabord. He had ten children, and one of them, Sr. Constance’s father, George Benjamin Murphy, born in 1870, became the principal of Baltimore Elementary School 112 where Sr. Constance and many of her cousins attended. Her father had seven children, and Constance was the third child, the second girl. The family eventually became famous; all five of her brothers and her older sister achieved degrees in higher education, as did she, and so did their numerous cousins. Her oldest brother took over the publishing of the Afro-American. Her youngest brother William became a judge. The brother born next after Constance, George Benjamin Murphy Junior, was an eminent journalist, taking over the editorship of the Washington Afro American, and turning it into a major voice for Black America during the troublesome 1940s and 1950s. He immersed himself in the world of the NAACP and worked all of his life for social justice, against Klan lynchings and other terrible racism. Becoming ever more radicalized, he left the NAACP and joined the National Negro Congress to press for gains in the labour movement and equal rights in all areas of life. He numbered among his close friends Paul Robeson and Marian Anderson and the members of the Kennedy family. His newspapers provided the evidence for a petition to the United Nations, “We Charge Genocide” for the abuse of African Americans. For his work for justice he was brought up before Governor McCarthy’s notorious witch-hunting UnAmerican Affairs Committee, defended by his brother the judge. “Who would true valour see, let him come hither, One here will constant be, come wind come weather. It was in this crucible that Sister Constance was forged at the beginning, and the work of education and care for those neglected—in her long term vision the aged—was the work already assumed by the Sisters of Saint John the Divine and they fit like a hand in glove.

Constance had set her heart on joining the All Saints Sisters of the Poor in Baltimore, but because they would not accept her because of her colour, she came to Canada and was welcomed by the Sisters of St. John. The rest, as they say, is history.

How separated she must have felt —separated from a large and loving and active family, separated from her own country, separated from the community she wanted to join by the colour of her skin. Yet welcomed in Ontario, at what had once been one of the ends of the Underground Railroad, by a new community that made her one of their own.

What Paul in the Letter to the Romans is talking about in that remarkable passage when he was writing to those few—perhaps only a hundred—Christians in Rome, and to the Jews there too, was about similar things—how, even in their far-from-Jerusalem existence, they were not separated; even in being isolated in Rome, in the centre of the Empire because of their faith, they were not isolated. But this part of the letter, the culmination of the first half of Romans, is not really about separation at all. Paul mentions separation—but only to negate it —nothing can separate us, he says—His writing here is really about inclusion —the inclusion of all despite all that seems to separate —the ills of human life, even death –and in the life to come, not even angels —nothing in the present or in the world to come, nothing in time or beyond time —all is inclusion of those who are in the love of God in Christ Jesus —and not only inclusion —but union –Paul is instructing those few Roman Christians about union of of them —all of us—in Christ.

God calling the individual —yes certainly—the individual who is faithful and the individual who is a sinner —that is – each one of us being called into this new relationship of life unified. But also God is calling the Gentiles along with the Jews —all are being incorporated —a community of faith and a community of deliverance.

It is that deliverance that Jesus is talking about in the great Eucharistic dialogues in Chapter 6 of John’s Gospel, when the people stretch out their hands to him asking for the bread that satisfies. Chapter 6 begins with the huge Eucharistic feeding of the 5,000—the crowds have brought no provisions with them, the disciples are totally unprepared and have nothing to offer of their own. Only a boy has the five barley loaves and two small fish for the Eucharistic banquet. The miracle occurs, and the people misread it, or ignore it, and so apparently do the disciples. The crowd wants to crown Jesus king—the last thing he wants—and he escapes by boat. Some follow him, and eventually comes to-day’s reading in which the crowd comes to Jesus and asks him, “Where do we get this bread that satisfies?” It seems they—and we—are never satisfied. We desire more and more, and we catch our desires from each other and pass them on again . It seems, then, that the only way out of this loop of stumbling over one unsatisfied desire after another is to finally find what God desires for us.

That is called vocation, and we all hear it and respond to it however we will—Vocation is having our best desires aligned with what God desires, made visible and tangible in Jesus, in the vocation to follow, and to love, and to serve. “Where do we get this bread that satisfies?” they ask. Jesus declares “I am the bread of life”

[one of seven such declarations: I am (he declares emphatically each time, ego eimi) I am the light of the world, the door of the sheepfold, the good shepherd, the resurrection and the life, the true and living way, and the true vine.]

When Jesus declares that he is the true and living bread, those who hear that vocation stretch out their hands and claim it. —because it is the food that fills, that feeds, that satisfies, not just for now, but bread for life, bread as life, bread as deliverance, bread as unity, bread as community, bread as foretaste and bread as memory. For Constance it was all these things, and now for her, it is the bread of life indeed. As we receive it now, and share it now, there is no separation, but fulfilment, inclusion and union with God and with each other in the bread of hope and the wine of faith, here and now, and still to come. Amen.

The Rev. Bill Whitla

Associate, SSJD

Sister Thelma-Anne McLeod SSJD 1928-2011

Today was designed to be a double celebration: first of John for whom the Fourth Gospel and the other writings attributed to him are named. Second, this was to be a joyful celebration of the 50th anniversary of the profession of Sister-Anne. I looked forward to her presence, hunched into her wheelchair, but it was not to be. Her death does not, however, relieve us from the opportunity to celebrate, to give thanks for her long, steady, and creative life as a member of this community.

First, however, a few words about St. John. Identification of the actual author is not as easy as the title of the day suggests. There are in the New Testament a number of men named John and scholars differ on the identity of the authors of this literature. I am reminded of debates about the authorship of the plays and poems of Shakespeare and the suggestion by a wag that they were written by another man with the same name. The title, “John the Evangelist,” refers to authorship of the Fourth Gospel.

The title, “John the Divine,” is frequently associated with the author of the book known as Apocalypse or Revelation, the vision of the last things and the final triumph of the kingdom of God. I have seen it suggested that the word “Divine” is used in a way that is associated with Anglican tradition. “Divines” for Anglicans are not simply godly people, they are theologians. The great Anglican scholars of our tradition’s most formative period are known as the “Caroline Divines.” They flourished during the reigns of Charles I and Charles II. When we refer to “John the Divine” we may really be saying, “John the Theologian.”

But let us leave aside questions of authorship and debate as to whether the literature identified by the name of John was written by a single man or even possibly by a community bearing his name. I offer a couple of points for reflection. The first is paradox. The author of the gospel seems to me to be able to hold together positions that might, at first glance, appear to be opposed. He presents Jesus as the embodiment—enfleshment, if you like—of the reason or mind or meaning of God. And with equal force he avoids the frequent temptation among Christians to suggest that Jesus only appears to be human. The Jesus of John’s gospel is totally human. He counsels the woman at the well who has a chequered marital history and suffers spiritual dryness and thirst. He weeps on the way to the grave of Lazarus. He says, “It is finished,” and gives up his spirit. And so in the first epistle attributed to John we read, “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 life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it, and declare to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was revealed to us.” This is the heart of the theology of John the evangelist, or John the theologian, if you prefer.

And this tangible, physical, fleshy experience leads to a practical, tangible, physical experience of community. Behind the writings attributed to John there is this possibility, this vision, of a community bound together by love—not sloppy sentimental affection but commitment to mutual care and responsibility. As we read elsewhere in the first epistle of John, “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God and God abides in them.” (4.16b)

This brings me to the second dimension of our celebration today: the anniversary of the profession of Sister Thelma-Anne as a member of the community of the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine. Here I will speak more autobiographically. I first met Sister Thelma-Anne at a meeting of people concerned with theological education in the Province of Rupert’s Land. I met a sharp, forthright, direct personality. Our paths crossed a number of times in the ensuing years. And then she returned to the Toronto house of the community when I was a frequent presider at the Convent’s Sunday eucharist. She was the organist and director of music and we began a long friendship on the basis of liturgical collaboration.

Eventually the General Synod directed the Doctrine and Worship Committee to begin work on a new hymn book. Sister Thelma-Anne and I were members of the working group to which the task was assigned. The work went on for the next ten years. The mandate assigned to the Committee and its working group was to produce a collection which contained hymns both old and new, which would complement the Common Lectionary, and which would be as inclusive as possible in terms of theology, language, and gender.

Hundreds of hymns were considered. Some were selected as they were. Some were rejected. Others were tagged for adoption if they could be brought into line with the mandate, especially in the area of gender-specific language. Sister Thelma-Anne and I were constituted as a committee of two to work on these hymns. There were, as I remember, about 240 of them.

We met at the Botham Road convent for a day about once a month over a period of about eight years. Amending the hymns was concentrated work and sometimes we could finish only half a dozen hymns in a day. Sister Thelma-Anne brought committed but not fanatical feminism to the task. It was not enough to change gender loading; the result had to be as elegant and expressive as the original. Our goal was to make the work as invisible as possible. If people didn’t trip over the changes, we had succeeded.

This is a homily and not a biography so I will limit myself to two more aspects of the life of Sister -Anne.

First, for more than twenty years Sister Thelma-Anne offered her gifts of leadership to the Toronto chapter of Integrity, an organization of gay and lesbian Anglicans and their friends. Having become aware of discrimination on the part of both church and society against people with a same-sex orientation, she conducted retreats for the members of Integrity and wrote articles for their newsletter. In 2001 Sister Thelma-Anne was diagnosed to have Parkinson’s Disease. She treated it not as something she had, like a cold, but as something she was and which was therefore to be met and assimilated into the fabric of her journey. She met the disease with characteristic spiritual and intellectual vigor. All of this is documented in her book In Age Reborn, by Grace Sustained. She tells the story of the ups and downs of this degenerative disorder, a journey documented through the filter of her own ongoing development as a Christian and a religious. She concludes with the message that if she were asked to express in a single word what her experience has meant to her, the word would be grace. She wrote, “I have found again and again that what has been lost on one level is restored on another. And lost again. The gifts give me hope that lost ground can be recovered, if only temporarily. Nevertheless, the time comes to relinquish freely and generously into the wounded hands of the Saviour, the gifts and strengths we were entrusted with.”

Today’s psalm was doubtless chosen to highlight the ministry of St. John the Divine. It may be applied equally to the ministry of Sister Thelma-Anne, which we also celebrate today.

1 It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
to sing praises to your name, O Most High;
2 to declare your steadfast love in the morning,
and your faithfulness by night,
12 The righteous flourish like the palm tree,
and grow like a cedar in Lebanon.
13 They are planted in the house of the Lord;
they flourish in the courts of our God.
14 In old age they still produce fruit;
they are always green and full of sap,
he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.

Amen.

Paul Gibson

(Italics added)

Ash Wednesday, 2010

Shrove Tuesday pancakes
and with real maple syrup—
before lenten fare.

Sometime early last December I began writing haiku poetry, something that I hadn’t done in a long time. I was preparing for a retreat talk and was looking for ideas for an activity that would engage people in the biblical text we were using. Haiku are short poems, no longer than 17 syllables written in three lines of five, seven and five syllables. In their brevity, haiku capture a thought and feeling about a fleeting moment, something that intrigues the poet’s heart. Haiku are wonderful for capturing the essence, the pearls of wisdom that we read in Holy Scripture.

This haiku I wrote as I was thinking about pancakes for supper on Shrove Tuesday and the delight of having real maple syrup, a treat before the simpler lenten fare which begins with Ash Wednesday. You know the saying, “absence makes the heart grow fonder”? Well, fasting from things, a common practice in Lent, is to make the enjoyment of them ever sweeter when you take them up once more.

Shortly after I began writing haiku again I found a book called Haiku – The Sacred Art: A Spiritual Practice in Three Lines, by Margaret D. McGee [see excerpts here], which I eagerly read. In it was a challenge to write a haiku a day for 100 days. As of today I am at #33 with the haiku on Shrove Tuesday. It is a challenge and a discipline. It puts me in mind of the season of Lent we are approaching and of the various ways people will mark this season.

Some people will mark the season of Lent by giving up things such as chocolate or coffee or wine. The Church generally abstains from using Alleluias during lent. The Rev. Margaret Guenther, Anglican priest, renowned author, speaker and spiritual director, once suggested that people might fast from the media for a while. Imagine giving up television during Lent or the internet. Rather than letting go of things, other people will intentionally take on spiritual practices during Lent such as practising patience, kindness, gentleness, and making donations — what we used to call almsgiving.

Both ways, giving up and taking on, get at the essence of the spiritual reasons behind why we do these things. Any spiritual discipline we take on is to help us put on the mind and heart of Christ in our daily lives in an intentional way. Practising the discipline for 40 days will help make it a habit. Or you might take on something like the 100 day haiku challenge instead. May you have a blessed and holy Lent.

Sr. Elizabeth Ann, SSJD

Feast of the Presentation

Feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple

When we read the gospel stories, especially this one, that is so family oriented and familiar, I think that sometimes we miss some of what it might be saying to each one of us in our own situation and life today.

Luke the evangelist tells us that Jesus was presented in the house of God as the Law of Moses required - and Mary and Joseph offered what the law said for the first-born of poor parents: a pair of turtle doves or two young pigeons. They offered Jesus to God and received Jesus back, entrusted to their care. They came to give thanks for the gift of this child. I am sure they prayed for the quiet strength and patient wisdom to nurture this child Jesus in all that is good, true, just and pure. It was a symbolic act, an outward sign of a deep inward understanding and mystery. What they were willing to give up returned to them as a great gift. In letting go, in releasing control ... the gift is the freedom to receive much more in return. As you look at a young child with this inner understanding and mystery, you know that giving up - not possessing - allows them to become who they were meant to be - means that you receive a far greater gift in return. We know this is our own relationships with each other, we know this in our life together in community as we learn to live together with our differences. This giving and receiving - is a paradox - the more we give, the more we are able to receive, the more we hold on to and guard, the less we are able to be open to more. How do we come as individuals, as families, as a church community - and present ourselves to the God, offer ourselves to God - give ourselves as gift: and with that same quiet strength that Mary and Joseph asked for - wait to receive back what God longs to give to us?

Luke then goes on to tell how two people came to the temple and praised God when they saw the child Jesus. What I would like to focus on today in this gospel story are these two people: Simeon and Anna.

Simeon took the child Jesus into his arms, and danced and sang praises to God: a song that celebrated the child’s birth, a song that proclaimed the child as the glory of Israel and a light to the Gentiles - and a song that also spoke chillingly in prophecy of what a contradiction this child would be - destined for the rising and falling of many and a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed.

Jesus, as contradictions sign - You and I know something of contradictions in our own lives ... what we do not always see is, and what I believe we need to begin to see, is that Jesus is in the midst of all those contradictions ... so that the inner thoughts and desires, the deeper meanings and experiences that God longs for for us, can become clear. Simeon takes this Jesus, contradictions sign, in his arms, accepts and celebrates the contradiction, lingering over it, pondering it, accepting it as it is ... willing to enter into the contradiction in order to discover deeper meaning, deeper understanding, deeper relationships. As Simeon takes the child Jesus in his arms, and offers Jesus to God in praise and dance ... I believe he also experienced being offered himself and that indeed he also was held in the arms of God. A small baby held in our arms ... do we not also experience that same overwhelming experience of being held ourselves within the mystery of love? This feast day - the Presentation - is God’s gift to us of being ourselves held within the mystery of love. Like Simeon who held the infant Jesus, the light of the world, in his arms ... we too are called to hold Jesus, the light of the world in our arms for the life of the world.

Then Anna appears on the scene! Again there are praises and joy ... in this little child, Anna saw God and spoke to everyone who was there. This little child was the light of the world, who they were all waiting for. Anna had waited and prayed for a long time ... I am sure that she too took the baby in her arms, and walked up and down showing the child to anyone passing by, telling them that this was what they had been waiting for. This child would make a wonderful contribution to the world ... the child they were waiting for ... the redemption of Jerusalem: the healer, the Saviour, the light of the world. Anna had waited a long time ... what she now saw was like an icon: she saw what the child means. She had eyes to see through Jesus, and like Simeon, saw that we are called to hold Jesus, the light of the world in our arms for the life of the world. Her waiting had given her the gift of seeing through ... with understanding, compassion and an accepting heart, with courage and patience .. and to all who were passing by ... in praise and joy ... in this little child, Anna presented God.

Can we, you and I, in our waiting and longing for understanding, compassion and an accepting heart ... can we with courage and patience ... receive that gift of seeing through? Seeing deeply with the eyes of our heart ... seeing in the child Jesus, each other. On this feast of the presentation can we hold the child Jesus in our arms for the life of the world ... can we hold each other in the heart of God, can this community of faith here at St Paul’s enter into the presentation - and with each other hold out in praise and joy the light of the world for the world?

Blessed are you, O Lord our God
for you have sent us your salvation.
Inspire us by your Holy Spirit
to recognize him who is the glory of Israel
and the light for all nations,
your Son Jesus Christ our Lord.

Sr. Doreen, SSJD

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

A homily at the noon eucharist

Readings for this day

• Ephesians 4: 1-6 NRSV link »
• Psalm 122 NRSV link »
• John 17: 6a, 15-23 NRSV link »
• Bible Browser Readings at Oremus.org

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

Homily for “Q & Pew” at St. John’s York Mills, Toronto

William Wilberforce

William Wilberforce was born in Kingston upon Hull in England in 1759. He was the only son of a wealthy merchant and his wife. He wasn’t always in the best of health and was considered to be fairly sickly as a youth. As a young man at age 17, when his grandfather and an uncle died, he became independently wealthy.

He went up to Cambridge University but because of his wealth, he was little given to study nor apply himself except to the social pursuits of student life. He was seen as witty and generous among the other students with a wonderful speaking and singing voice. He was a popular figure and made many friends including the far more studious William Pitt who was to become the future Prime Minister of England. These two friends used to go to the House of Commons to watch the debates. At the time Pitt was already wanting to pursue a career in politics and convinced Wilberforce to do the same.

Wilberforce won a seat in his home borough of Kingston upon Hull at the age of 21 while still a student at university, in 1780. He sat as an independent, determined not to join either the Whigs or the Tories. but voted according to his conscience. This lead some to believe that he was wishy washy because he would not commit to one party or the other and kept voting with whichever party seemed to present legislation that came closest to his own values. The unifying thread was his conscience and later his strong Christian convictions.

In 1783 his friend Pitt became Prime Minister. Wilberforce was not offered a seat in cabinet by his friend – partly because of his determination to remain an independent, partly because his eyesight wasn’t all that great so he couldn’t read, and partly because he was often late; not prime material for a cabinet position.

In 1784 Wilberforce went on a tour of Europe which changed both his life and his future career in parliament. He began a spiritual journey while there – getting up early to read his bible and to keep a journal – two good solid spiritual practices. Reading the bible and then reflecting on you’ve read is a good way to grow in the spiritual life. Wilberforce had a real conversion experience in his life while in Europe. He resolved to commit his future life and work to the service of God in Jesus Christ. He returned to England and struggled to decide if he should remain in politics as he wasn’t sure that it was in keeping with his new convictions. He sought guidance from an Anglican clergyman, John Newton, the author of the hymn Amazing Grace, who convinced Wilberforce that his gifts and talents could be best used by God in the public sector by remaining in politics. The 2006 movie titled Amazing Grace, told the story of Wilberforce’s fight for the emancipation of the slaves.

Wilberforce began meeting people who were concerned with the slave trade that England had become involved with during the 16th century. They had a triangular route, first taking British made good to Africa to sell and then purchase slaves. The second leg of the journey was to transport the slaves to the West Indies. They were sold for goods in the West Indies which had been produced by slave labour – tobacco, cotton, sugar – which were then transported back to England in the third leg of the journey. The conditions for slaves were horrific on the boats. Out of 11 million Africans transported into slavery, about 1.4 million died during that second leg of the voyage.

British anti-slavery movements started in England in the 1780's. Wilberforce was actively cultivated by a group called the Testonites, because they realized that they needed a voice in parliament. In 1787 he was formally asked by the group to bring forward the abolition of the slave trade in Parliament and Wilberforce agreed.

He was motivated to be involved in the abolition movement by his desire to put his Christian principles and faith into action and to serve God in his public life. It suited the abolitionists well because Wilberforce was a man of conviction who eloquently in the Parliament. Wilberforce began to introduce legislation into Parliament year by year for the abolition of the slave trade. It was thought that by abolishing the slave trade, that is, the transport of slaves, that slavery itself would gradually disappear. It was felt that this would be more palatable to the many British landowners in the West Indies who relied on slave labour for their profits.

Session after session, after more research, more testimonials from former slaves, from clergymen who had seen the conditions and reported, Wilberforce reintroduced his bill into Parliament and pleaded for its passage with persistence and eloquence, only to see it defeated time after time by the tactics of other parliamentarians who were being subsidized by wealthy British West Indian landowners. His persistence finally paid off when his bill was passed in Parliament in 1807 – twenty years after he had started his fight.

Slavery did not diminish with the abolition of the slave trade in the British Empire. Wilberforce now immersed himself in work towards the emancipation of slaves. Through the years of steady work towards emancipation his health began to decline and he withdrew from parliament in 1824. He still made speeches for the abolitionists. His final speech at a public meeting on anti-slavery was saluted by the House of Commons when they introduced a Bill for the Abolition of Slavery. Wilberforce died several days after the introduction of the bill. One month later the bill was passed in the House of Lords which formally abolished slavery in the British Empire as of August 1834.

Wilberforce had been married to Barbara Ann Spooner in 1797 and they had a wonderful happy life together with six children. His family life was very happy and proved to be a good balance for his hard work. Among other things, he was one of the founding members of the Society for the Prevention of the Cruelty of Animals, the world’s first animal welfare organization! Upon his death, he was buried beside his friend William Pitt in Westminster Abbey.

Wilberforce followed his Christian convictions in his life and work. He lived congruently with the passage from Matthew we heard read.

‘When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family,* you did it to me.” (Matthew 25. 31-40)

We too are called to be people of faith like William Wilberforce to redeem the needy from oppression and to work to maintain the cause of those who have no helper. May we so live our lives congruently that what we profess with our lips we take action and persevere as we care for the least in our Lord’s family. Then we too will be welcomed into the kingdom of God.

Collect commemorating William Wilberforce

Let your continual mercy, O Lord,
kindle in your Church the never-failing gift of love,
that, following the example of your servant William Wilberforce,
we may have grace to defend the poor,
and maintain the cause of those who have no helper;
for the sake of him who gave his life for us,
your Son our Saviour Jesus Christ,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Sources

 

For All the Saints: Prayers and Readings for Saints' Days, Revised by Stephen Reynolds (Compiler) Item No: 9781551265025 Augsburg Fortress Press

Hochschild, Adam (2005), Bury the Chains, The British Struggle to Abolish Slavery, London: Macmillan, ISBN 978-0330485814, OCLC 60458010

NRSV Bible (New Revised Standard Version) ISBN code: 9780888345646 

Wikipedia: William Wilberforce, and  John Newton

Homily given by Sr. Elizabeth Ann Eckert, SSJD for the “Q & Pew” at St. John’s York Mills, Toronto [ website »] , on Wednesday 29 July, 2009

A homily for Proper 17 Year B

Readings for this day

• 2 Samuel 11.1-15 NRSV link »
• Psalm 14 NRSV link »
• Ephesians 3.14-21 NRSV link » 
• John 6.1-21 NRSV link »
  

In Alice in Wonderland, Alice proclaims to the White Queen, "one can't believe impossible things." And the Queen replies: "I daresay you haven't had much practice. When I was younger, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

I think that sums up perfectly the good news in our readings this morning and the good news we all need to hear in time of great challenge and transition in our church.

All the readings this morning are about seemingly impossible things. In the ongoing saga of David’s kingship over Israel, he deliberately organizes to get Bathsheba’s husband Uriah into the front lines of the battle so that we will be free to have Bathsheba as one of his own wives. Earlier in David’s kingship he had been equally manipulative and immoral in order to win the hand of Abigail as one of his many wives.

What is nearly impossible for me to believe is how and why God chooses someone like David to be king over his chosen people, to be the composer of the beautiful psalms which have been the centre of Judeo-Christian worship for several millenia, and even more important to establish the kingly line which Jesus the Messiah will fulfill. David is a womanizer, a flouter of the law, someone who manipulates others and uses his power for his own ends. He would never make it through the psychiatric and moral screening that candidates for the priesthood have to go through in our church.

So this shows us how God uses even the basest human instincts – lust, jealousy, and power – to further the building of the kingdom.

But David is only one of many people in the Biblical narrative that seem to be the most unlikely leaders. Think of Moses, and Saul, and many others. Virtually all the leaders of the Kingdom (until we come to Jesus) broke God’s law. None of them were what we would consider models of Godly life.

As we move into the New Testament story, we see a similar pattern. Jesus chooses for his disciples a group of men who are rough and ready, uneducated, unrefined, and who might not even be welcome in some congregations of Christians in our city. Peter denied him, Judas betrayed him, and all of them ultimately ran away when the moment of testing came.

There is something about this religion of ours that says to me that the Kingdom of God is different from our expectations of good and efficient government. And there is a lot of good news in that, because so many of us feel unqualified to fulfill a role in the church much less a role in bringing about the kingdom of God. If God could choose such people to work out the plan of salvation, then maybe we aren’t such impossible candidates ourselves!

In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians this morning, we see a different way of measuring the kingdom. It does not come about by human effort or special qualifications, but by being called into a relationship of love with Christ, within the Christian community. We ourselves, in our local communities, are part of the larger kingdom. Paul’s prayer in Ephesians is for us as much as the early Christian community of his time, when he prays that we “may have the power to comprehend the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God.” What an amazing prayer that is. It seems impossible that we should aspire to such joy.

But then Paul uses those inspired and courageous words which we recite at the end of every Eucharist in a slightly different translation. He gives glory to God “who by the power at work within us” – that is, God’s power – “is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.” The impossible becomes possible.

And that power is seen in the two stories we heard in the gospel this morning.

The narrative of the loaves and the fishes was apparently one of the favourite miracles circulated in the early Christian community, because it appears in all four of the gospels – there are actually 6 slightly different versions of the story. John tells us that it takes place near the time of the celebration of the Passover, and it reminds us of some elements of the Passover and the journey in the desert that followed. A little boy provides a few barley loaves and small fishes – this is a seemingly impossible situation – “what are they,” Andrew says, “among so many people?” But Jesus just replies “Make the people sit down.”

Well, you know the rest of the story – everyone has plenty to eat with lots left over. Not unlike the manna which God gave Moses and his people in the wilderness.

And not unlike the Eucharist itself, in which one loaf is divided among many people with – usually – lots left over. In the Orthodox tradition, special bread is blessed at the Eucharist and taken home by parishioners to nourish their families. In our tradition – especially here were we don’t use real bread – the left-overs are more symbolic, and perhaps more powerful for that reason. What is “left over” after the Eucharist is the love which is given to us and which the sacrament signifies – and there is so much of that love that we cannot but take it home with us, out of the walls of the church, into the areas where we live and work and go to school.

Impossible things – small barley loaves and dried fish multiplied to feed thousand of people with plenty left over to share; bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ, nourishing us with the love of Christ to feed thousands more people.

And then there is the storm at sea. Another impossible event – Jesus walking on the water, and the boat landing immediately safe at the other side. That story, too, is told in different versions in all four of the gospels, and again there are 6 different variations. The early recorders of Jesus’ ministry were obviously fascinated with impossible things which, in God’s kingdom and in God’s power, are in fact possible.

We call these impossible things miracles. John calls them “signs.” In other words, the miracle of the loaves and fishes or the calming of the sea are not the most important thing. They are signs of the Kingdom, signals that we are called to go out and build that kingdom and that we are given the tools to do it – most importantly the knowledge of the great love of God for us and within us.

There are many spiritual practices, or disciplines, that we can follow which help us in our Christian life and will help us through this time of great transition. They include daily prayer, coming to the Eucharist to be fed and receive the strength we need, and participating in the life of our local parish or community. We all are aware of these central disciplines of the Christian life, along with many others.

But there is another spiritual practice that may be new to us – and that is to following the advice of the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland and practice believing six impossible things every morning before breakfast – particularly the six we have heard about in the readings this morning – and I’ll just summarize them here:

1. God’s criteria for choosing leaders in the kingdom are truly counter-cultural.
   
2. By extension, we who are just ordinary sinners, trying our best to follow Jesus but failing often – we are the people chosen to work out God’s mission here in our neighbourhood.
   
3. God can take the least that we have to offer, and multiply it beyond our imaginings. All of us in this church this morning, with our limitations and fears and reluctance – we already have the gifts we need to reach out to people around us with the good news of Jesus Christ. We just need to believe it.
   
4. After we have offered all we have to God and for God’s purposes, there will be so much love and generosity left over that it will spill out into all our relationships, our jobs, our school life, and our family life.
   
5. God is able to calm the storms of our lives simply by his presence among us – without doing or saying anything.
   
6. And through something so simple – just being aware of God’s presence with us – we are enabled us to do the same for those who are suffering.

All that is required for us to believe these six impossible things is to commit ourselves to growing in love for God – to let our roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love, as Paul says it, and to stay rooted in the Christian community. The more deeply we know God as our creator, our redeemer and friend and brother, and as the Spirit of life and renewal, and the more deeply we experience that in community, the more we will come to know that we, even we, can be used by God for the building of God’s kingdom.

And so as we look to the future of our communities and our church, let us not be overwhelmed or skeptical like Alice, but follow the Queen, and every morning before breakfast practice believing six impossible things.

Glory to God, whose power working in us
can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.
Glory to God from generation to generation in the church
and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever.

Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD
July 26, 2009

Lenten Musings: The Fourth Sunday in Lent, 2009

Readings of the day

• Numbers 21.4-9 - text »
• Ephesians 2.4-10 - text »
• John 3.14-21 - text »

Today’s gospel contains perhaps the most famous of all verses in the Bible: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life” (v. 16). In the Methodist Sunday school in which I grew up, we used to memorize scripture verses, and I’m sure that this was the very first one I learned.

In my young adulthood I left the church and went on pilgrimage looking for God. During that time, John 3.16 was the one verse I always remembered and could quote exactly. It crept in and out of my conscious mind during those somewhat arid years when my intellectual life was blossoming and my spiritual life was languishing.

During that time, I also remember vividly the musical setting of “God so loved the world” from Stainer’s Crucifixion, which our Methodist choir sang every year on Good Friday. I could remember almost exactly the style in which we were taught to sing it. I knew all the crescendos and decrescendos, the changes in tempo, the attention to the words. I could sing the whole thing for you right now, even though I haven’t heard Stainer’s music in years. It haunted me, it pulled at my heartstrings. God so loved the world – God loved the world so much – it was like an unconscious mantra that kept me connected at some subliminal level, to the Good News I had grown up with.

But I didn’t understand it. Why would God’s love for us cause God to send his son to die?

I found an answer to that question not through studying theology but through reading poetry – especially that of George Herbert, the 17th century Angican priest and poet. In poems like “Love bade me welcome,” Herbert’s passionate love for God touched me deeply, and I began to grasp the depth of that divine love – a love which would go so far as to die for the world.

Another experience affected me deeply while I was still a seeker. As a young woman living in Minneapolis, I joined the choir of St. Mark’s Cathedral, where the choirmaster believed passionately that the function of music and liturgy was to lead people to God. It was hard not to get hooked. And one Sunday, I heard something quite remarkable in a sermon. The preacher said that seekers of God outside the church were like people who try to appreciate stained glass art from the back side. One can see the beauty of stained glass, he said, only from inside the church, when the light is streaming through it. Likewise, one can understand the church only by being welcomed into the fellowship of the body of Christ.

That was the point of conversion for me – conversion in terms of turning around. I started looking for the stained glass from inside. And I began to see that the central message of the Christian faith is about love and passion – the love of God and the passion of Christ, yes – but it is also about the love and passion of our response to that good news.

All through scripture we see examples of this generosity of God, in response to human sin. Time after time, human beings wander away from God, and God intervenes. One example is mentioned at the beginning of the gospel for the fourth Sunday in Lent:

Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

The reference is to the incident from the book of Numbers when the Israelites get sick of eating manna in the desert, and are ready to go back to Egypt. God sends poisonous snakes to punish them for their complaining, and then instructs Moses to make an antidote to the poison – a bronze snake on a pole. When the Israelites look on the bronze snake, they are healed. Now this practice is condemned elsewhere in the Hebrew scriptures as idolatry. Here, however, it can be seen as a kind of homeopathic medicine, where the disease is cured by the very thing that caused the illness. With a difference, however. The serpents, who crawled on the ground, were the punishment, the result of Israel’s turning away from God. The cure was to look up rather than down to the ground, to see the bronze serpent as a sign of God’s healing – and so they found life in the very source of death.

The Greek word translated “lifted up” means both to physically raise, and also to exalt, reminding us that Jesus’ crucifixion is also the climax of his earthly kingship. The passage from Ephesians underlines this double meaning when it refers to us being raised with Jesus.

But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ - by grace you have been saved – and raised us up with him.

In comparing Jesus to this image of a bronze serpent, John also underlines his absolute conviction that Jesus is in fact God, whose self-giving love led to the crucifixion and beyond it to the resurrection and ascension – the final “lifting up.” As in the homeopathic principle, Jesus’ death destroyed death forever.

So the reason for Jesus’ passion and death is to bring us to life and to health. And what is the motive? Why does God go to all this pain and trouble? The motive is, of course, love: “God so loved the world . . .” It is pure grace, pure gift, as Paul tells us. God created the world in love; the risen Christ among us calls each of us into a relationship of love, with each other and especially with God; and in that love Christ sends us into the world as his body, to minister to his brothers and sisters – our brothers and sisters.

But the tragedy is that Christ’s body, his church, sometimes acts as if God sent the son to the church and not to the world. And then we, the church, forget that we are saved by the pure grace of God, the pure gift of God’s self-giving love in the passion of Christ. When that happens, the church (that is, we) can undermine the pure gift of God’s love.

We try to set boundaries, to judge, and to insist that people fulfill our expectations and agree with our theology and our standards in order to be welcomed into the body of Christ. And we expend a lot more energy on dealing with our internal conflicts than we do on the mission which God calls us to on behalf of the world.

But Paul says, “by grace you are saved.” Not by meeting the standards of a particular church or group within the church, but by accepting the saving love of Christ.

And how do we accept it? By experiencing, it of course, and for most people, the strongest experience of Christ’s love is mediated through those people he calls his body. If people in the world do not find the love of God in the friendship and acceptance and affirmation and support of those in the church, where are they going to experience that love? I found it in a choir, and in people doing liturgy together in a way that said to me, we know the love of God and want to share it. Others find it in other ways in the church.

And once we have found it, we accept our baptismal mission: to be the body of Christ, to be Christ in the world.

So instead of succumbing to the temptation to think that God sent his only son for the sake of the church, we might paraphrase John 3.16-17 this way: “God so loved the world that he sent the church into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world, through his body, might be saved.” God loved the world so much that he sent you and you and you and me to be Christ’s body, to bring that amazing grace of God’s free love to the world God created.
May God bless each of you as you journey through Lent toward Easter. May God give you the grace to share the suffering of his world that you might also be an instrument of resurrection life in his world

Homily for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, 22 March, 2009
Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

Sisterhood of St. John the Divine
A religious community within the Anglican Church of Canada
www.ssjd.ca

Lenten Musings: The Third Sunday in Lent, 2009

Wind blows in billows
around vast thrones
of limestone,
etching patterns
into a surface that
seems impervious,
impenetrable;
yet, over eons
hollows form, then caves and
arches,
and the rock echoes
in silence.

Rain falls in ribbons
upon vast thrones
of limestone,
infiltrating
infinitesimal
pores between
molecules of the
rock, emerges
years and yards
below
and the rock weeps
in loveliness.

 

Spirit pours invisible
around vast thrones
of limestone,
emanating
from bare essence
of earth, skeletal
universe set out for those
with inner eyes to see
what God has wrought in
desert,
and the rock shouts
in exultation.

A poem by Sr. Sue, SSJD

The Third Sunday in Lent - 15 March, 2009

Sisterhood of St. John the Divine, Toronto - website » 

Lenten Musings: The Second Sunday in Lent, 2009

Once I lived

in a world of

rock,

bed-rock,

solid rock.

Blocks of rock

formed the borders

of my world,

square rocks,

round rocks,

rough rocks,

smooth rocks.

Domes of rock and thrones of rock,

limestone, sandstone,

granite and basalt -

rocks formed

the centre

of my world -

centre, edges, all around

was rock,

bed-rock, solid rock, trusty rock:

you can depend on rock.

It's good stuff!

Once I lived
in a world of
green -
of green and
brown and
flowery hues.
Grasses and bushes filled my world,
reeds and flowers,
and tall leafed
trees,
lavender spikes
bright red sprouts;
deep rich
soil with
worms and mites;
lush green life
set firmly
on earth,
growing, dying
decaying, nurturing,
cycle of life,
set firm
in the deep
bed-rock.
You can trust in
green!
It's good stuff!


Now I live
in a world of
sand,
trickling sand,
blowing sand,
rocks eroded,
blocks all gone.
Sandstone crumbles
at a touch,
granite shatters
at a glance,
limestone leaches,
basalt breaks
and all that
is left is
blowing sand.
Plants cannot grow
on blowing sand;
I cannot stand
on blowing sand.
All that is solid,
all that is sure,
blows in the sunset,
blows in the air;
Can you depend on sand?
Is this good stuff? 

A poem by Sr. Sue, SSJD
Footprints in the sand  photo by the Rev. Jim Doss
March 8, 2009 - The Second Sunday in Lent


Sisterhood of St. John the Divine, Toronto - website »